#And they have every right to use the swings for whatever they like

[merakiui]

HALLOWEENIE. [1]

skully j. graves x (female) reader cw: nsfw, retail au, smoking, modern au (no magic), cheesy workplace romance, may be ooc (some creative liberties were taken for various aspects of skully's character and may not align with characteristics shown in tnbc event), characters written as 18+ note - skully returns for another season of work at fellow honest's halloween store. is this the year he finally musters the courage to confess to his cherished coworker, or is it going to be another year spent with his nose buried in his poetry journal? // split into three parts due to size. read part two and part three.

“It is hotter than Satan’s asshole out there. Why are we open this early?” you grumble, toying with a skull squishy toy. Its villainous sneer is stretched out in your hands, liquid glitter sparkling from within polyurethane skin. “No one’s doing Halloween in August.”

Sighing, Rollo hides his disdain behind his handkerchief. “Many people prefer to be prepared well in advance for important events and holidays…unlike some.”

“I know that dig wasn’t meant for me. I’m as prepared as they come. I’ve always got my share of rent ironed out, don’t I?”

“If only that was all that required ironing…”

“Now, now!” Fellow taps his cane against the ground. It’s all for show, but you’ll admit it adds flair to his exuberant character. “Both of you, show some more enthusiasm! And, Miss (Name), treat the merchandise as you would a baby—with care! Halloween is upon us in this haven of hellish haunts.” He slinks over to you, leaning in to whisper covertly. “The white-haired one—”

“Rollo.”

“Right, just what I said! Mr. Rollo here speaks the truth. Profit made in a month will never surpass that stretched out across many months. The optimal time for Halloween shopping and foot traffic in general happens between August and all the way up to October, and when everything goes on sale in November… Hah! Imagine it! Holidays are about the commercial and the—ahem!—the…uh. Well, the collaborative efforts of a hard-working team, of course! Right. Yes. Very so!”

“Uh-huh. And how many broke college kids are just itching to flock here?” You drum your acrylics along the stress toy. They’re painted with pastels and decorative sunbeams. You’re still in summer mode, not Halloween mode. “Fellow, are you sure you couldn’t have pushed opening until—I dunno—the end of August? I’d like to enjoy what little summer I have left, thank you very much.”

He gasps, scandalized. “And deny the people their ghastly goodies? I think not!”

“Who’s our target audience? The dead? Literally no one’s interested in Halloween when—”

The doors swing open then and a lanky leg steps through. The rest of him follows next, every impossibly tall centimeter straightening out into an impressive, gangly height.

“Happy Halloween, lovely people!” he exclaims, arms spread wide.

Rollo smirks behind his handkerchief, quietly amused. “No one, you say?”

“So there’s someone,” you mutter, rolling your eyes. “Whatever. He doesn’t count.”

After all, if you’re Skully J. Graves, spooky season savant, every day is Halloween.

Fellow pushes off from the counter to greet him. “Ah, Skeleton, my boy! Welcome back! I see you’re raring to go as always.”

“Naturally! I’ve waited all year for this day—the annual opening of this spectacular store of spooks!” He turns a full 360° to view the scary stock and then bounds over to a wall lined with freaky frights—costumes and masks, candy and corpses, faux cobwebs and other yard props. Squealing in delight, he adds, “And what a terrifying array! How dreadful!”

Skully skips over to Fellow, and the two shake hands with an energy that would’ve been infectious if you and Rollo weren’t already immune.

“Those same sunglasses… Wearing them indoors as always. What a bold fashion statement,” you murmur, leaning into Rollo. He meets you halfway, and the two of you hide behind that infamous square cloth of his. “If it were anyone else, I’d see nothing but a pompous fool.”

“Admittedly, it is quite fitting for a man of his…tastes.”

“You should get yourself a pair.” You nudge him with your hip, snickering. That earns you a quirk of lip, the slightest hint of a smile.

“Even a circus of one requires a ringleader. Might you consider joining me?” 

“We’ll walk around the flat in our silly glasses and wax poetry. ‘To be or not to be’—”

“That is the question, is it not!” Skully pops up between the both of you. He wraps his long arms around you and Rollo, much to your roommate’s dismay. “‘Whether ’tis nobler in the mind to suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune’—” he plucks the skull stress toy from your hand and holds it up to the fluorescent lights, dramatic like a Shakespearean actor— “‘Or to take arms against a sea of troubles and by opposing end them.’ Oh, my dears, how delightful it is to meet under this roof!”

He drops the toy and embraces you both once more before pulling away to take hold of your hand. Gently, he places a chaste kiss upon the top of it.

“A kiss for this auspicious encounter! How radiant you are, my sweet, more so than the brightness in one’s eyes as expiration is thrust upon them through betrayal of a sharpened blade.”

“Hello to you, too, Skulls.”

He hums and reaches for Rollo’s hand next, but it’s yanked away in a blink.

“Good afternoon to you, Skully,” he mutters, a shred of contempt lodged in his brittle tone. He lifts his handkerchief to his mouth.

“A fine one at that.” He smooths nonexistent wrinkles from his black overcoat, seemingly unaffected by Rollo’s icy exterior. How he manages to wear such an outfit in the scorching heat, you’ve never understood. “I cannot contain my excitement, nor can I possibly express in words just how grand it is to see all of you again.”

“Been a minute, hasn’t it?”

“Far more than just one!”

“And with that our frightening fivesome—we mustn’t forget Gidel—is complete!” Fellow gestures for the lot of you to huddle up. “Let us give this season our best go, yes?”

“Yeah, whatever,” you say, your energy far from in it.

“Sure,” Rollo agrees.

“Yes, sir!” Skully salutes with an eagerness that puts you at ease. If anything, he hasn’t changed since you saw him last. You sort of missed his cheerful, happy-go-lucky attitude.

Faced with a variety of conflicting reactions, Fellow sighs and knocks his cane against the wall where a Halloween advertisement is posted. Scarily Good Deals reads the eerie, dripping font. 

“Look alive, you three—er, uh, dead if you’re Skeleton.”

“Already on it!” he replies, beaming from pale cheek to pale cheek.

“Yes, just so. Ahem! This is an important time for this tiny town. We’ve got to give it our all! No unhappy customers on my watch. Unhappy customers lead to talks of refunds and questions of my validity and… Well, just overall crummy nonsense that will dampen this spooky experience, and we certainly don’t want that.”

“No, sir!”

“Yeah, yeah. I getcha. Sell lots of stuff, be nice to the customers, avoid issues.”

Rollo hums his acquiescence. 

“Precisely that!”

You break formation just as a customer walks in, the little bell above the doors signaling their arrival. Fellow gestures for you and Skully to follow him. On your way out from behind the counter, you pat Rollo’s shoulder. 

“Leaving it to you, Mr. Prepared.”

You can feel his ire burning into your back, and it prompts a giggle from you—one that’s quickly muffled into your hand. 

“A new shipment arrived just yesterday,” Fellow explains while you and Skully trail after him. “Those boxes over there—I’d like the two of you to finish stocking their contents. If it gets busy, one of you assist the white-haired one.”

“Again, it’s Rollo,” your white-haired friend calls out from the front. “I’ve been here long enough for you to remember it.”

“Yes, just as I said! In any case, do that for me, if you would.”

“You can count on us, Mr. Honest!”

“Skulls and I are gonna stock this stuff so good you’ll have to give us a raise.”

Fellow grins like it’s funny, but he isn’t laughing. “Oh, the imagination of this generation’s youth is truly boundless! Simply wondrous,” he exaggerates, waving his arms about in a mesmerizing way. “A marvelous feat of the mind!”

“He isn’t granting us a raise, is he?” Skully asks, watching him depart. 

“Did that sound like yes to you?”

“Far from it. Ah, but I don’t seek anything extra. I have everything I need here.” He gestures to the store. “Halloween! What more could you need?”

“Money, firstly.”

Skully waggles his finger in your face, clicking his tongue. “Money does not grow on trees, my dear, but pumpkins do—on the ground, at least! Therefore, Halloween is a necessity! A glorious, essential holiday worth more than money. The only holiday! It’s what Jack Skellington thought.”

“Before he discovered Christmas.”

“Righto! It’s wonderful, isn’t it? He took Christmas and made it so despicably dreadful. An absolute scream! Spiders in stockings, haunted dolls, terrifying toys for all! Abundant surprises of holly-jolly horror.”

You fold your arms over your chest and raise a curious eyebrow. “He got kinda tunnel-visioned, didn’t he? Wouldn’t listen to a word Sally had to say.”

“Well, of course he did! But who wouldn’t when struck with a bolt of inspiration? Aah, it’s an excellent film. I hope to be just like the great Pumpkin King—strong, exceptional, a master of fright!”

“I believe in you.”

He looks at you as if you’ve just met, blinking owlishly behind his sunglasses, but then he coughs awkwardly into his arm and turns away.

“W-Why, thank you. Your support is very valuable. I shall cherish it in my heart.”

You bend down to open the box, which is full of smaller, rectangular boxes. Ominous graphics, the alphabet, YES/NO, and GOOD BYE are printed on each one. Housed inside are spirit boards. You pull them from the larger box and hand them to Skully, who places them neatly on the empty shelf. He’s humming “This Is Halloween” as he works, perfectly at peace. You think, if given the chance and if it were allowed, he’d choose to live in this Halloween store in a heartbeat.

Has he grown taller since I last saw him? you wonder, observing the way he effortlessly stretches to touch the top of the shelf. Must be nice being tall… Those three have it so easy.

You’re aware that asking for help doesn’t make you weak or prove some outlandish point that you’re incapable. Even so, it’s always a humbling experience when you need to rely on one of them to reach something for you, especially if it’s for another customer who also can’t reach and is thus relying on you to do just that. Curse those tall shelves! You’ll get your revenge one day.

“Sooo. How was your summer?” You glance at Skully, who’s carefully arranging new stock from another box on the shelves. “Do anything fun?”

“It was fine,” he mumbles, noticeably lacking his usual echoing ebullience and theatrics.

“Yeah? Feels like it went by way too fast.” You join him at the shelf and hand him a small, coffin-shaped music box to place with the rest. “You excited for the school year?”

He shrugs and runs his fingers over the lid. You watch those unique skeletal gloves trace the swirls carved into the sides. “It’s school.”

“I guess we feel the same. But you must be looking forward to something. A club, maybe?”

He opens his mouth and then shuts it, humming thoughtfully instead.

“Any friends? Special events? Maybe a specific course you can’t wait to get into?”

“You could say that.” Before you can dig into that lukewarm reply, he’s changing the subject. “What about you? Are you still seeing that one guy?”

“Who?”

“Fingers, was it? The one who had a fascination with your hands.”

“Oh! Salad Fingers!” You laugh at the silly nickname—one you and Skully came up with together based on the name of a show he’d introduced you to—and then punch him playfully. “I can’t believe you remembered that. That was all the way from last year.”

Skully’s lips pull apart in a toothy smile. “With a name as memorable as Salad Fingers, why, of course I’d remember him!”

“He was strange—and not charming-strange. Felt like he was more obsessed with my hands and spoons and all kinds of odd stuff. I thought for sure he’d chop them off and keep them for himself, and then I’d have to steal all of the spoons in his house to fashion the framework for all my missing fingers.”

“It’s not very polite to cage one’s hands and keep them as pets. How else are they to come crawling back to their owner if they’re confined?”

“Exactly! You get it. I’d have to go digging in graves for a new pair, and I don’t think anyone could ever have nails as nice as mine.”

“No, no, you mustn’t disturb the dead where they rest. Rather, allow me to lend you mine in times of trouble. They may not be decorated as brilliantly as yours, but they are reliable nonetheless.” To cement this point, he taps his palm as if in scolding and says, “Treat my darling with the same respect you show me, all right?” And then he balls his hand into a fist to make it talk in a wacky, high-pitched voice: “I’m in your care, (Name)!”

You giggle at the absurdity of it all, which then snowballs into a fit of raucous laughter. Skully stares at the tears gathering on your lash line, his eyes wide behind his circular lenses.

Recovering from that, minding your makeup, you wipe the wetness away and take hold of his gloved hands. “I’m grateful for your assistance,” you say, speaking mostly to his hands.

“Well!” He clears his throat loudly and rips his arms free. “You…can always rely on them. Troublemakers they may be, they shall listen to you because I said so.”

His lips purse in a tight line and he returns to stocking the shelves. He looks stiff and mechanical, more wire doll than person, and it gives you reason to smile.

“Thanks, Skulls.”

“S-So…” He chances a hopeful glance at you. “Salad Fingers is no more?”

You drag a box cutter through the thick tape on the cardboard to break it down. “Dead and gone. Not literally, but you get the point. Here’s to hoping he doesn’t resurrect to bother me on Halloween.”

“Restless as a vengeful spirit.”

“Let’s take the vengeful out of spirit, yeah? I can handle restless, but vengeful’s pushing it.”

He chuckles. “Nothing a simple grave serenade can’t save!”

“Very true.” You fold the box up before moving on to the next one. “That, or a restraining order.”

When you aren’t looking, Skully turns away to celebrate quietly. He pumps his fist in the air, his pale features awash in sanguine delight.

For the rest of the shift, he’s flitting around you like a friendly, gothic butterfly. You think he might’ve missed you (if only you knew!). Absence is known to pack a weary heart full of fondness, after all. When you aren’t stocking merchandise, breaking boxes down, or assisting Rollo at the register, you’re watching Skully interact with the customers. He’s a bundle of energy, eagerly selling all kinds of stories with his propensity for showmanship.

“Someone couldn’t wait,” Rollo remarks, watching Skully talk a customer’s ears off about his top ten favorite horror films. You notice they’re not very engaged, only nodding to placate, but that doesn’t deter your Halloween-loving coworker. You’re sure if it was possible that customer would have torn their ears off by now.

“If not us, who else is going to bear the brunt of his obsession?” You rest your elbows on the counter while Rollo rings a woman up. “I feel bad. They don’t really pay attention to what he’s saying.”

With each scan, items pile up in front of you. Muscle memory activated, you work swiftly to bag all of them. Your gaze remains glued on Skully the entire time.

“Customers come here to browse and buy, not receive lectures. Many prefer to get through their shopping without unnecessary conversation.”

“Okay, not everyone’s allergic to friendship like you. Personally, I enjoy listening to other people talk about the things they like. It’s fun.”

“Then perhaps it would benefit you to indulge,” he says, tucking the receipt into the register and shutting the drawer.

You roll your eyes and pass the woman her bags. “Maybe I will.”

Come closing, Fellow’s gathered everyone for another meeting. This one is different from his earlier pep talk. It’s a congratulatory chat for a successful shift.

“Excellent work, you three! You’ve done well today and it’s only the beginning! Keep this up. I like what I’m seeing.”

“Thank you, Mr. Honest! We’ll do our best,” Skully promises. The light reflects off his sunglasses, making them appear more beady and insect-like than the hollowed-sockets-in-a-skull vibe he normally goes for.

“Your schedules are posted in the back. Don’t be late tomorrow,” he advises before disappearing behind the counter to tally today’s sales.

“What about fashionably?” you try, leaning against it like a suave, beyond-sexy Casanova. Your efforts are wholly ineffective.

Bright, amber hues flick up to view you briefly. “Timeliness is what makes money. Every second counts, Miss (Name).”

“Ugh. Lame.”

“If it makes you feel any better, we get to work together tomorrow!” Skully turns his phone so that you can see the picture he’s taken of the schedule. “Behold—a devilish duo renowned for their enchanting expertise, paired together just as the stars have divined!”

“Expertise in what? Minimum wage?” But then you snatch Skully’s phone for closer inspection. “Fellow, what the fuck? You gave Rollo off? Tomorrow’s Saturday! You know I always take those days off.”

“Not tomorrow you’re not.”

“Rollo, switch with me.” You round on your roommate. “Please? I can’t spend my Saturday cooped up in here. I need to be out on the town, pretty and perfect, going on dates, living out the rest of my summer free as a bird! Hot girls don’t spend their weekends at work.”

“Your priorities are so abstract,” he criticizes, scowling from behind his handkerchief. “But, yes, hot girls do spend their weekends at work if they care about productivity and paying rent.”

You exaggerate a gasp, your shock resembling that of Edvard Munch’s The Scream. “You think I’m hot?”

Rollo’s pale face explodes with color. You can’t tell if it’s just the product of his anger or authentic embarrassment. “You operate with a surprising amount of self-confidence…”

But you’re not paying attention. You take hold of Skully’s arms and drag him into a giddy twirl. “Rollo thinks I’m hot! Rollo thinks I’m hot!”

He chuckles, welcoming the impromptu dance. “Is that not already a well-established truth? You’re dazzling, my dear. An exemplary enchantress!”

It’s Fellow’s cane knocking against the walls that shatters this comedic scene. All at once, you turn to look at your boss, who doesn’t seem very pleased that you’ve thrown off his count.

“With that, I’ll be taking my leave.” Rollo huffs and stalks towards the front doors. “And I won’t be swapping shifts with you, (Name). I quite like my Saturdays, too.”

“Ugh, fine. Guess that’s the curtain call.”

“I made sure to sign everyone out,” Skully says, trailing after you with long, spidery limbs.

“Thanks, Skulls.”

“But of course!”

“See ya tomorrow, Fellow. Perfectly on time, as always.”

He barks out a chuckle. “Yes, yes. We shall see. Good night, you three.”

“He doubts me now, but wait until he sees me walk in ten minutes early,” you whisper to Skully, elbowing him playfully.

He grins. “I dare say the dead might rise from their graves next, and slashers will let their final girls flee.”

“It’s not that hard to believe! I can be punctual…when I feel like it.”

“When she feels like it,” Rollo echoes, pulling the car keys from his pocket.

“He’s my number one hater. Don’t listen to him, Skulls.”

“My ears are filled with worms.”

“That’s it!” You flash him an approving thumbs-up and skip over to the car. “See ya later.”

“Yes! Farewell—until we meet again! May you sleep peacefully, enveloped in the warmest dreams.”

Rollo buckles into the driver’s seat and turns the key in the ignition. The old car coughs to life, lurching forwards when he takes it out of park and pulls out of his parking spot. You stick your head out the window to wave until Skully’s out of sight.

“Not so bad once it cools off at night, huh?”

“Mm. Indeed.”

“Let’s leave the windows open tonight. This breeze is great.”

“A sensible suggestion.”

You watch the open road as it’s devoured by the moving car. It’s quiet for all of four minutes before you speak. “You think Skully’s doing good?”

“What makes you ask that? Was he not perpetually sunny today?”

“Yeah, I guess. But… I dunno. I asked him about school and he sorta…shrugged it off.”

“Perhaps it’s a sensitive subject.”

“What? School? Come on, Rollo. He’s like an open book.”

“Is he?”

“Well, yeah! We know all about his favorite Halloween franchises. We know the lore for The Nightmare Before Christmas. Hell, I’ve even memorized the songs.”

“Everyone is privy to that knowledge.”

“So what?”

“So it’s impolite to poke around in someone’s private affairs. Would you be partial to a conversation about school?”

“Ew. Gross.”

“Case in point.”

You slump into the seat’s stained upholstery. An accident from a night out that Rollo wasn’t too pleased to see. He is very neat and tidy. You are very not. It’s just one of the many caverns you cross when you share things—the car, your living space, the kitchen… At the end of the day, Rollo appreciates you. He may not always express it, but you know he cares. As much as the both of you get on each other’s nerves, you’re something close to family. Dysfunctional polar opposites, but family nonetheless. You’d do anything for Rollo. Maybe he’d do anything for you, too. At least, you hope that’s his mindset.

“It’s probably nothing,” you mumble, watching the moon as it lights the way home.

But you can’t shake Rollo’s earlier words from your brain: Is he?

Of course he’s an open book! You know Skully. You’ve worked with him for so many Halloweens already. You know he likes everything spooky season, The Nightmare Before Christmas, obscure horror media, and gothic literature. He’s an eccentric guy with an expressive, exaggerated personality. He speaks in convoluted compliments, a young, old-fashioned gentleman. 

What more could there be to a book that’s already been pried open for everyone to read?

You are not ten minutes early. You’re not even ten minutes late.

“Good afternoon, Miss Thirty Minutes,” Fellow greets the moment you step through the doors. He’s flipping through a Halloween-themed interior design magazine—no doubt Skully’s doing—and doesn’t bother to bless you with eye contact.

It’s scalding out there. I could cook an egg on the pavement. Nothing ‘good’ about that!

You throw your arms up in surrender. “Fellow, come on! Cut me some slack. I had to take the bus. Rollo’s using the car. He’s got some student council stuff to take care of for the upcoming semester. Had to be up extra early for their stupid meeting or whatever.”

“It pains me to think a brilliant scholar like yourself could get so held up…”

It pains me I can’t kick you in your rickety knees. 

“It’s too hot for this,” you say instead, brushing all thoughts of violence under the rug.

Skully pokes his head out from behind the curtain to the back rooms, which also functions as a makeshift break room. He’s clutching a small, leather-bound book. The cover is plastered with Jack Skellington’s face. Stickers, mostly. 

“Welcome, welcome, my dear! You look darling as always!”

I feel like a sweaty loser. How is that anything close to darling?

But then his expression shifts into something serious, and the book is tucked out of sight. “You came alone?”

“Do you see Snow Fright torching me with his fiery glare?”

He giggles at the nickname. “You should’ve told me. I would’ve accompanied you as your escort. It’s in poor taste to leave a lady waiting. Why, my heart aches to imagine you there all by your lonesome at the bus stop! If only I was there…”

“Nah, it’s not a big deal. I made it. Might not be on time, but it’s something.”

You trot towards the back to drop your purse and clock in, scribbling lazily on your time card. You notice Skully’s drawn a tiny gravestone and Jack Skellington’s face in the corner by your name.

And literally no one’s here. These next few hours are going to suck majorly.

“I suppose it’s worth overlooking just this once,” Fellow says once you emerge from the thick, velvety curtains. “It has been rather uneventful today.”

“So you do have kindness in your heart.”

“It shrinks every time my precious employee chooses to neglect the time,” he replies in a playful sing-song.

“There’s no need to fret, my darling. Mr. Honest’s heart is as pure as crystal waters!” Skully forms a heart with his fingers and holds it up to encapsulate Fellow and then you. “And a pure heart is one full of soft spiders and fluffy fiends!”

What a wild characterization of the boss…

Rolling your eyes, you smooth the wrinkles in your cherry-print sundress. You’d sooner die than wear those ugly, branded shirts Fellow’s calling a uniform. He would nag at you for that all last year until you reached a compromise: You can wear your own clothes (work-appropriate, that is) so long as you pin your employee name tag on. But there’s just no way you’re going to don dark colors and slacks when the sun is piercing through the clouds with enough heat to singe the hair off your body. Again, you’re impressed with Skully’s dedication to the brand. He’s fashionable every shift regardless of the weather, dressed for a Victorian funeral service. You hope to reach his level of commitment one day. 

“So,” you say, peering at the suspiciously empty center, roped off for staff, “what’s going there?”

It’s then when you notice Skully seems to be at his limit, his lips twitching in anticipation. He’s a volcano on the verge of eruption. 

“Go on then, my boy,” Fellow says, chuckling at his poorly concealed excitement.

He opens his mouth to take in a big breath and the words come tumbling out all at once. “You’ll never believe it, my dear (Name)! We were blessed with the most fantastic, frightening thing! Or… Well, not a thing. Certainly not! The Pumpkin King is not just any old thing! Why, I would never besmirch his glorious name! Ah, but that’s besides the point! (Name), my dear, today we get the honor of setting uuuup—” he pauses for dramatic effect, dragging the word out— “the life-size Jack Skellington figure! He’s to be the centerpiece for this year’s display. Isn’t that just grand?”

His hands on his cheeks, he squeals like a schoolgirl with her first crush.

“But wasn’t Jack, like, the star the last three years?”

Fellow nods, but Skully steps directly into your path. “And rightfully so! He should always be the star.”

“Yeah, I guess… But what about the other characters? We could switch it up, you know. Maybe Sally and Jack. Ooh, or Oogie Boogie. What about all of them?”

“Oh, that would be divine!”

“Right?!”

You and Skully high-five, mirroring each other’s joy.

“You, my dear, possess a delightfully creative mind. A visionary, one might say!”

“You know it!” You cast your gaze on Fellow. “You’ve got the other figures in the back, right? Can we make use of ’em?”

“That rag doll should be there. Can’t say where the others got off to.”

“And we’ve left her in the dark all this time? Shame on you, Fellow, keeping the Queen locked away in solitary confinement like this. You’re no better than Dr. Finkelstein.”

“And she isn’t just ‘that rag doll’!” Skully gasps, offended. “Her name is Sally!”

“Yeah! Show some more respect for my girl!”

Tutting, you beeline for the back. Skully skips after you, and together you disappear behind the curtains.

“A scavenger hunt mission with my lady! Aah, how exciting! This is just like when Sally was held captive by Oogie Boogie and Lord Jack went to rescue her and Santa!”

“Ah, yeah, that did happen, didn’t it?”

“Twice, actually. In the game—”

“There’s a game?”

“Indeed! The Nightmare Before Christmas: The Pumpkin King. The plot is all about Lord Jack trying to save Halloween Town from being taken over by Oogie Boogie. He wants to turn it into Bug Town!” Skully explains, gesticulating wildly. “He’s not very happy when his Bug Day is ruined, and so he sends Lock, Shock, and Barrel to kidnap Lord Jack—he was his main target, you see—but it’s actually Sally who’s taken instead.”

“So now Jack has to save her?”

“Precisely! And he befriends Sally and defeats Oogie Boogie—and he keeps his throne as Pumpkin King.”

“Can’t dethrone the king.”

“Absolutely not! It’s a masterpiece, really. An astounding timeline woven just a year before the events of the film. Isn’t that spectacular?!”

You hum and open the storage closet, rummaging through the boxes in hopes of finding the right one. Skully’s going on and on about the game and its extensive lore, but you’re too focused on locating Sally to tune in to Info-Dump Radio. You think you see her box, pushed all the way in the back and blocked off by bigger boxes and plastic bins. 

Seriously, Fellow… Organize your shit, you think, reaching over a container packed full of decorations from last year. Your dress catches on the edge of it, and when you stretch it hikes up ever so slightly. Frustrated, you smooth it down to no avail. I don’t get paid enough to struggle like this.

“At the end of the game, Oogie warns Lord Jack that he’ll return and it’ll be a nightmare of a thing! Isn’t that ominous? It foreshadows his role in the movie, which probably would’ve been more interesting if the game came out before the movie. But then that might’ve been awkward timing. Usually, film-inspired games come out after the fact. Not the other way around. Oh, but even if it were the other way around it would still be so—ah?!”

You crane your neck to look at him. His hands are covering his bright-red face, and he’s stammering over incoherent syllables.

“What?”

“Ah. Um. Aah… N-Nothing! Just… W-Well…” His fingers part so that he can peek through them, and he swallows thickly. His voice is squeaky when he speaks next. “P-Panties… Your…panties… Um.”

It’s then when you realize your dress is bunched up, riding up your rear and giving Skully a full view of your underwear. Which are, thankfully, hugging your hips quite flatteringly. The panties themselves? Not so much. They’re what you’d call a lazy pair or a period pair. A pair you aren’t particularly attached to. A pair you wear on days like this so you can shamelessly sweat in them and not have to worry about ruining the fabric. They’re decrepit. The exact opposite of cute.

Part of you wants to snap at him to grow up, but the other part—the part that cares more about your image and how others perceive you—is mortified. 

“D-Don’t look!” you shriek, standing up straight and hastily pulling your dress down.

“I’m not! I’m not!” he promises, still shielding his face. He turns around so fast he smacks into the doorframe. His sunglasses are knocked from his face. “Ack?!”

Shit! Shit! Shit! What the hell is wrong with this day?! I’m cursed!

Sighing, you scrub at the horror prickling your cheeks. Your molten embarrassment is brought to a calm simmer. “Let’s…forget that happened.” Conscious of your dress and its length, you take care when bending down to retrieve his glasses. “Skulls?”

“I’m sorry—terribly sorry! I didn’t see anything, and if I did I’ll will it away—quick as a blink, I assure you. I’ll wipe it from the folds of my brain! I’ll pluck these shameful eyes out and condemn them to a box and I’ll bury that box and I’ll never look at anything ever again!” With his eyes still squeezed shut, he massages his scalp and murmurs in a hiss: “Wiping the memory… Wiping the memory. Forgetting it right now… Don’t remember it… Come on, Skully!”

You watch this melodramatic display with mounting amusement. It’s almost adorable, and it saps the awkward tension from the air, replacing it with something lighthearted. 

“Hey… Skulls, it’s fine.”

“It truly isn’t! I’m a fiend! Aaah! To have looked at you while you were in such a vulnerable, revealing position… Oh, I implore your forgiveness!”

Rolling your eyes, you cover the distance between the both of you and poke his arm. “Hey, it’s okay. No harm done. You can open your eyes.”

“E-Even so…” He fidgets from foot to foot.

“You’re more embarrassed than I am!”

“Of course I am! It’s—your—you…” Orange eyes crack open, and he inhales deeply to settle himself. “I promise you I would never dare look at you in such a lecherous manner.”

“I believe you.” You motion for him to bend to your height and he does. Gingerly, you fit his sunglasses back on his face. “Is your head okay?”

He gives you a bewildered look, which then morphs into one of alarm when you push his fringe up to feel his forehead. “My dear, if I may… W-What are you doing, exactly…?”

“Checking for a bruise or a bump. It sounded like you hit it pretty hard.”

“Oh, that! That was nothing. It’s all well and good.” He forces a nervous laugh and waves his arms about aimlessly. Your arm is pushed away in his anxious scramble. “I’d be wounded if you were hurt in any way, so you needn’t concern yourself with me. Everything is intact up here.” To demonstrate that point, he knocks on his head. “See? My cranium remains undamaged. No cracks here. Full of brains. Not hollow or halved!”

You scrutinize him a moment longer before shrugging. “If you say so… Don’t worry too much. It was an accident anyway. No one’s at fault here, but if we’re gonna blame someone let’s make Fellow our scapegoat. This is his storage closet, after all.”

Skully breathes a relieved laugh, adjusts his glasses, and pats his hair down. “One might resolve to call this mess a means of creatively conserving space.”

“A distinctly Fellow mess. Honestly… Didn’t Gidel organize this last year? What happened?”

Perhaps you haven’t learned from your previous blunder, but you’re already bending over the storage bin once again in an attempt to reach the box at the back. Your fingertips brush the very edge, and you grunt with the effort as you stretch yourself.

“Fuck! Why is it so faaar?” you lament, falling limp against the bin. “Skully, help meee. You’ve got long arms. You could totally reach it.”

“Oh, right! I… I should probably be the one to do that. J-Just to avoid any future mishaps.”

“That might be for the best.”

You step off to the side to allow Skully passage, watching as he very skillfully climbs over the bins with minimal trouble. 

Note to self: Wear cute panties even when it’s burning up outside. You never know when you might accidentally give someone a show. And then you groan quietly. This is so lame. I hope this shift speeds by.

When you and Skully emerge from the back, hauling the large box up front, Fellow lowers his reading glasses at you in confusion.

“You took your time.”

“We can go slower.” You grab hold of Skully’s sleeve. “Let’s go, Skulls. Back to the closet for round two.”

“Very well!” And then he stops, mouth agape once the innuendo seeps in.

You release him and turn towards your semi-benevolent, always-sly boss. “Fellow, you’re great…ish.”

“Oh, you flatter me, dearie.”

“But—heavy emphasis on but—your storage is a wreck. The whole point of storage is to keep things organized!”

“It is organized! Very much so!”

“Very much not so. We fought for our lives trying to rescue poor Sally. Isn’t that right, Skulls?”

“Indeed! ’Twas a battle most fierce!”

Fiercely embarrassing.

“But there’s no foe who could possibly best us! We’re an unstoppable force!”

“Wonderful! I love to hear that!” Fellow claps encouragingly. “Then I assume my favorite unstoppable duo will have no trouble assembling our centerpiece?”

“No trouble whatsoever!” Skully confirms enthusiastically. 

“We’ll do it, but I don’t trust that sleazy smile,” you mutter.

“What sleazy smile? Why, this is all genuine!”

Skully takes hold of your hands and squeezes them. “There’s no need to fret, my lovely. Mr. Honest has entrusted this task of utmost importance to us! We shan’t let him down.”

“Maybe important to you, but I’d rather be doing anything else.” 

“I would like to remind you that you’re being paid to work, not grouse fruitlessly, Miss (Name).”

“You can help, too, you know.” You cast an ineffective pout towards Fellow. “Aren’t you number five in our so-called frightening fivesome?” 

“Oh, but I have! I went through the painstaking trouble to retrieve Mr. Jack Skellington.”

“Gee, thanks for doing the easiest thing. What would we do without you?”

Fellow holds his hands up in mock surrender. “Now, now. You needn’t jump up and thank me so readily.”

“No one’s doing that—”

“Your assistance is invaluable, sir!” Skully beams. “I cannot thank you enough.”

You bring your hand to your face and sigh. Way to be a brainwashed yes-man, Skulls.

“You flatter me. It really was nothing. I’m always pleased to help out where I can. Think nothing of it,” Fellow goes on, basking in Skully’s positive attention.

“Aah, you’re too kind! Is it fate that we would find ourselves here?”

“Destiny, my boy. Destiny! D-E-S-T… Err, probably another ‘e’ or two in there somewhere…”

“Oh, how my heart soars! No longer stiff as a corpse, it flutters freely in the breeze. Truly, your kindness is much appreciated.”

Why is he encouraging him? Honestly… All of you are terrible.

As if having heard your thought, Fellow chuckles and gestures to the empty center. “Now don’t let me keep you from the task at hand. I admire your efforts most sincerely.”

You bite back the rest of your disgruntlement and turn towards the blank, boring space. Fellow returns to his magazine-browsing. 

“So what’s the plan?” you ask, resting your hands on your hips. “Obviously Jack’s going to be there. Now that we have Sally, maybe we could put them side by side and have something resting at their feet. Like one of the plastic pumpkins.”

“And cobwebs! Spiders! A snake here. Perhaps a ghoul or two there… Plenty of pumpkins. Oh, yes, a perfectly spooky ensemble for the Pumpkin King and his dearest Sally.” With a Mephistophelian grin, he crosses his arms over his chest and strikes his infamous pose.

“Yeah! That’s it! You’re seeing the vision.”

With Skully’s assistance, you’re able to pull parts of Sally from her cardboard confines and assemble her so that she can stand proudly with Jack. 

“Look at us! Teamwork!”

“Us…” A dreamy sigh tumbles from his dry lips. And then he snaps back to himself. “Uuuh… Us! Right, yes! We’re a very productive pair. The two of us.” Brittle laughter bubbles up from his chest.

Behind the counter, Fellow slaps his hand against his face and groans.

It takes an hour for the display to come together, but once it does you and Skully marvel at your handiwork. Jack and Sally stand together, their arms spread in greeting, and plastic jack-o’-lanterns are arranged around their feet. Zero pokes his head out from behind Jack, looking just as friendly as he appears in the film. The finishing touch, as Skully dubbed it, are the fake leaves and flowers scattered about—all in colors of autumn.

“What do you think, Fellow? Raise-worthy, isn’t it?”

To further sell it, you do jazz hands. Skully joins you with another dramatic pose. Your stone-hearted boss remains unfazed.

“The only thing raising is my blood pressure watching you ninnies conspire so openly…”

“He loves it,” you whisper to Skully.

“’Twas a spooky success!”

To commemorate it, you lift your phone to capture the both of you in front of the display. You wrap your arm around Skully’s waist to pull him in close. In the photo, a stiff, rosy-cheeked Skully bends down to fit in the frame. He smiles shyly. 

“Allow me,” he pipes up, taking your phone in his hands. “For a better angle.”

“Ooh, good call!”

Together, you pose with your fingers curled into claws and devious, preternatural smirks etched on your faces.

“Now it’s a spooky success!” 

August trickles by without incident, and with the shift in seasons comes new nails. Short and almond-shaped, they’re patterned in brown and white check; both of your middle fingers are adorned with pumpkin-orange leaves. When Rollo asked why those fingers specifically, you flipped both of them and replied with: “So when someone gets on my nerves it’s extra festive.”

Between the start of the semester and your part-time hours at Fellow’s shop, you’ve been swept up in the swamp of busy schedules, lengthy syllabi, and upcoming deadlines. A rush that, while turbulent at times, is much too monotonous for your preferences.

So the sleek car that’s parked right outside the shop is a welcome diversion from what is yet another boring workday.

“Mr. Honest?” Skully calls out, peeking through the glass. “What’s the protocol for big, fancy, out-of-town cars that look like they’re made of money?”

“Big, fancy what?” Fellow rushes to the front from seemingly nowhere, his hands plastered to the window. The car’s doors open to reveal two gentlemen, one in very bright, breezy attire and the other in a simple hooded sweatshirt and jeans. A spark of recognition flashes in your boss’s eyes, only to soon die out and be replaced with a groan of disgruntlement. “Ugh. Not this guy again.”

You join Fellow in hopes of satiating your curiosity with this sudden commotion. “Ooh, it’s the guy! Wait. Who is he again?”

Clearing his throat, Fellow pivots on his heel. “All right, you two, let’s review once more. What don’t we accept from strangers under any circumstance—especially when it’s wealthy strangers?”

“Halloween candy that’s been tampered with?” Skully offers.

“Drugs?”

“Donations!” he hisses, frowning at both of you. “Gracious. And to think schools are meant to nurture those brains of yours…”

“So what’re we gonna do? Turn him down?”

“Of course we are! I refuse to take handouts from someone who has no sense of reality.” He scoffs. “And on the day when my finest, most reliable puppet—ahem, employee, ahem—is out… The skeleton would sooner convert him to his film cult and you…”

“Me…?” you trail off with a sharp smile. “Choose your words wisely, Fellow.”

“I always do. Why, it smarts that you’d think I wouldn’t. I would appreciate it if you could perish whatever thoughts you’re having.”

“Uh-huh. Good save.”

Fellow glances out the window and cringes. “Let’s not dilly-dally over semantics. We need to be in tip-top shape for when—”

The doors open and in walks Kalim Al-Asim, a friendly bell announcing his arrival.

“Ernesto, hi!” He skips over, beaming like the sun. “I’m so happy to see you again! It’s so amazing you’re still doing business here. Actually, I was just saying to Jamil on the way over that you’d do great business back in the Scalding Sands. I could even get my family to endorse you! What do you think?”

“And you flew in…just to tell me that?”

“Not just that! I wanted to help out. This place is so drab—oh, no offense!”

“None taken! It has a certain charm, don’t you think? The dilapidation and the cracks in the brick,” Skully muses, holding his hands over his heart. “There is romance in a haven worn by time.”

“But it could totally benefit from a makeover. That’s why I wanted to give you a small sum for repairs. I was gonna hire a team for you, but Jamil thought it’d be better to leave the creative freedom up to you.”

Fellow puts his whole chest into his laughter, but you’ve worked with him long enough to know it’s an exaggeration. It must sound real to Kalim, though.

“Oh, you’re much too kind, Kalim! I don’t know what to do with you,” he says through clenched teeth.

“No need. I’m just happy to help out.”

“Yes… ‘Help’. That’s certainly a polite way of putting it.”

“Kalim!”

He cranes his neck to view the other man who’s just stepped through the doors. From the look on his face, it’s apparent he’s not too invested in this visit.

“Jamil, there you are! Meet my friends! That’s Ernesto and that’s—I believe Ernesto talked about you before, (Name). Over there’s Skully! We met last time I was here!”

“Greetings!” Skully waves.

“Hellooo there.” You paste a sweet smile onto your face. “It’s an honor to finally meet you. We didn’t get to last year, but I’ve heard lots about you. Any friend of our boss’s is a friend of mine. Speaking of which, Kalim, I sure could use a donation myself…”

“Really?” 

“Mhm. It’s been hard to fish up enough for rent, and with this place being a wreck my poor boss has to cut a few corners with my pay. A shame, isn’t it?”

He gasps. “That’s terrible! Everyone deserves a stable income. Oh, but I understand having to struggle when you can’t afford repairs… Both are equally difficult situations. How much do you need? No amount is too little or too large for me! I want to help everyone here, actually. I’ll fund everyone’s Halloween purchases!” With a joyous laugh, he rifles through his wallet for his card.

“Aaand that’s enough of that!” Fellow gracefully steps in front of you, shielding Kalim from your wicked grin. “I assure you everyone’s pay is completely livable. There’s no need to fret. It stings my pride as a salesman to have my business practices scrutinized so unfairly!”

Jamil appears to be of the same mindset. “Kalim, think about this. You do this every year and Mr. Foulworth tells you the same thing. What makes you think this’ll be any different?”

“But friends help each other out! I want Ernesto to know I’m always here to lend a hand. Gino, too. Is he around?”

“I do believe he’s gone out and about.” Fellow slinks between Kalim and Jamil, his hands on their shoulders. “You’ve only just got here. What’s the rush? How’s about you tour the town? Lots of exciting things to see! Plenty of opportunities to peruse. And souvenirs! You mustn’t leave without them. A sleepy town is only sleepy if its tourists aren’t awake and seizing the day!”

“Well, when you put it like… I guess it wouldn’t hurt to look around.”

“So come along now. Follow my lead. Hi-diddle-dee-dee!”

You and Skully watch your boss, who’s singing a very catchy tune, as he guides them through the doors with a pep in his step. The last thing you hear is Jamil’s mournful groan and then the trio are gone.

“He seems nice,” you muse, joining Skully behind the counter just as a customer walks up.

Skully chuckles. “The shop’s personal patron saint!”

You hum your agreement and set to work totaling the customer’s items, punching buttons on the register. Skully works to bag them as they’re handed to him.

“Ooh, an excellent choice!” he notes, holding up a strand of Halloween garland. “Very terrifying. You’ve scary taste.”

She gazes up at him like he’s a shooting star arcing across her sky. “O-Oh. Um. Thanks!”

Skully smiles and places it in the bag with the rest of her items.

“I remember you from last year, a-actually. It’s good to see you again.” With timid motions, she stuffs a few crumpled bills into your outstretched hand. It’s when she looks up to receive her change that she notices the tag pinned to his winged lapel. “Oh, your name is Skully.”

“Indeed. Skully J. Graves, at your service, dearest customer.” Plucking the receipt from you, he offers it to her with a cordial bow. “Might I know your name, lovely miss?”

She mumbles something incomprehensible, flounders like a fish out of water, gathers her bags under her arm, and ducks out in a hurry. Skully frowns at the sad slip of paper left unclaimed.

“A pity. She neglected to take her receipt.”

Slack-jawed and wide-eyed, you stare at him. He isn’t oblivious, right?

Right?

“Skulls, there’s no way.”

“Come again?”

“Holy shit. You actually don’t know.”

“Don’t know what?” He stares at you, puzzled.

“That girl was totally into you!” You nudge him with your hip, a suggestive smirk twisting on your lips. “Don’t tell me you didn’t notice.”

“When you say ‘into me,’ do you mean…”

“She likes you.”

“Ah. Um… Well, I’m flattered, but I’m certain there are far more eligible suitors for her. B-Besides…”

“Don’t knock yourself down, man! You’re a good-looking guy with a charming personality and cool fashion. No surprises you’ve earned yourself an admirer.”

You flinch at the sound of a harsh slap. Skully’s gloved hands cover his cheeks and his mouth twists into a flabbergasted ‘O’.

“You… Y-You think I’m pleasing to look at?”

“Sure. You’re, like, super tall, too.” You lift your hand to approximate his height. Definitely-taller-than-you is your deduction—whether in centimeters or feet, it doesn’t matter. “And those sunglasses—the crown! Kinda hard to forget all that swag.”

Laughter whistles through the gaps in his teeth. You cut the conversation short to attend to another customer—a father with two kids, both of whom appear to be in fierce debate about the best Halloween movie. When he thinks you aren’t listening, he mumbles the same few lines to himself: “She thinks I’m pleasing to look at… Me. Pleasing.”

“Find everything okay, sir?”

“Not everything. An answer to their never-ending debate would be appreciated.” He gives you a look that suggests you hold the key to this subjective question—or a lie that’ll satisfy both of them enough to refrain from bickering on the car ride home.

Gesturing to your Halloween-adoring coworker, you smile at the children. “You should speak to an expert about that.”

“Yeah?” One of them peers up at Skully with intense, take-no-prisoners scrutiny. “And what do you think’s the best Halloween movie?”

“The Nightmare Before Christmas, naturally!”

“Whaaat? No way. That’s a Christmas movie.”

“Nuh-uh,” his sister interjects. “It’s a Halloween movie.”

“No! A Christmas movie.”

“Halloween!”

“Christmas!”

This new argument seems to age their father, who wilts before you like an abandoned, rotting house. “Come on, you two. No fighting.”

“Why can’t it be both? For all of their differences, holidays do one very important thing. Would you like to guess what that is?”

“We get candy and gifts!” they answer in unison.

“That’s a beautiful benefit, of course, but holidays bring friends and family together. You should always be grateful for those you hold close. Your loved ones are irreplaceable.”

Somewhere in the middle of his lecture the children decide it isn’t worth it to prattle on about their Christmas-Halloween discourse. Their father strings the bags along his arms and beckons them towards the doors with a whistle. They stick their tongues out at you and Skully before waddling after him.

“That was…not as effective as I had hoped.”

“Don’t sweat it. Kids’ll be kids. They’ll learn that lesson at some point.”

It’s then when Fellow finally drags himself through the doors. The exhaustion that blankets his body makes him seem older than he is. He’s muttering something to himself, bushy brows creased in exasperation.

“Ernesto, huh?” you tease once he’s within earshot.

Fellow rolls his eyes. “Please. I never thought I’d shake that ball of energy… Don’t you start using that name. That era of mine’s done and dusted.”

“What’s this? Sounds like incoming Fellow lore.”

“Hardly.”

“Ooh, do go on!” Skully rests his elbows on the counter.

“You scholars sure do take interest in the most arbitrary details.”

“Can’t call it arbitrary if the story behind it sounds extraordinary.”

“Preach it, Skulls! Come on, Fellow. Fess up. Sharing is caring, as they say.”

He stalls around a noise that swiftly smooths out into a syllable of delight when he spots Gidel, who seems to be struggling to reach a shelf. “Would you look at that? I’m needed elsewhere, and you’ve got customers. Toodle-oo!”

“How quickly he flees…”

“More mouse than fox, no?”

That elicits a chuckle from you. Your boss has all the makings of a sly fox, but when it’s necessary he excels at playing prey.

The humor dissipates as soon as a familiar face approaches the counter and, rather than carrying merchandise for check-out, he brings a bad attitude and resentment aged by separation.

“Looks like you’ve gotten uglier since I last saw ya.”

You look into the face of Salad Fingers, an ex-boyfriend who was never really a boyfriend to begin with. He was more akin to an accessory or an extra pillow you would hug in bed, additional warmth for a restful slumber. More of a convenient dick appointment than anything else.

“I think you meant to say prettier.”

“I didn’t stutter, did I?”

You can’t help laughing at the absurdity of his logic, or lack thereof. His confidence in such an insignificant insult, which could never cause you any true damage, is astounding and almost inspiring. 

“I’m guessing you’re not shopping for a second chance, so have fun looking around. Maybe one of those monster masks will cover up all of your…ick. Oh, wait, I forgot. You once said, ‘if it’s broken why bother fixing it,’ right? Silly me. That was—what?—your ingenious catchphrase?”

“And it still applies to you. Stuck at this dead-end job every year. You’re never gettin’ outta this town, (Name).”

“At least I have a job. You’re still bumming off your folks like a baby. If I were you, I’d focus on graduating from diapers if you ever wanna feel like an adult.”

His jaw clenches, and frustration flashes on his face. “That all you got? Petty bullshit?” 

“It’s all you came in here with. I’m just returning the favor. Oh, wait. Maybe all of this is too complex for your baby brain to comprehend. Want me to dumb it down for you? Will that help?”

“That’s it. Get over here, you bitch!” It looks like he might lunge for you, and you can only brace yourself for the fight or the flight—whichever your body responds to first.

Nothing happens. You remain rooted in place.

Skully slides between you and the counter, his arm outstretched, to intercept Salad Fingers. You don’t intend to cower behind him—rather, you’d much prefer throwing yourself into the ring and defending your honor with your fists—but with his skyscraper height it might as well seem like surrender on your part.

“Don’t talk to her like that,” he spits venomously, all the whimsy drained from his tone. His orange eyes are narrowed sharply behind his sunglasses. “You’re being disruptive, so I’ll have to ask you to leave.”

“Sooo sorry, Prince of Darkness. I’d better be careful, or else you’re gonna cast a spell and sacrifice me to the woods. I’m sooo scared.” He rolls his eyes. “This doesn’t involve you. This is between me and her. Move aside.”

“So you can continue to disrespect her? I think not. Once more, I’m asking you to leave.”

“You’re all bark, no bite. You might be tall, but you’re skinny enough for me to snap ya in half. If you don’t wanna crawl outta here with broken bones, move. Last chance.”

Skully straightens his shoulders, a knight standing for his cause. “Don’t burden my lady with your foul mood.”

Salad Fingers pulls a face at that. “Your lady? I dunno why you’re defending her like you’re her boyfriend. Wait, is that it? Do you like her? Well, tough fuckin’ luck, dude. She’ll eat your heart if you aren’t careful. Leave it in complete shambles. Save yourself while you can.”

“That’s enough!” You step out from behind Skully to frown at Salad Fingers. “You couldn’t have put this mess in a text? Coming into my workplace to harass me about it is so limp-dick-lame. It’s been a year. Let it go.”

“I wouldn’t have to if you didn’t ghost me. That’s all you’re good at. Running away like a weak, pathetic—”

“Don’t you dare finish that sentence, asshole!”

Your anger now at a raging boil, you wind your arm back in preparation to knock the teeth out of his mouth. But then a toy hammer comes down upon your head, a painless shock that throws off your aim and leaves you sputtering in confusion. You whirl around in search of your attacker. Held up in Skully’s arms to meet your height, glaring so fiercely you think he wants to set you on fire, is a very unhappy Gidel.

Skully sets him down then. He grabs the hem of your shirt and drags you away from the counter, just in time for Fellow to waltz over and play his part as pacifist. 

“What do we have here?” your boss muses, feigning a jovial disposition in an effort to diffuse the situation. “You, my good sir, seem to be in quite the pickle.”

“What? No. Get lost, old man. I’m just here for—”

“It’s your first time shopping here, is it not? I’d recognize a memorable face like yours—yes, I would! Come along. Allow me to show you around. There’s lots to see!”

Turning Salad Fingers towards a display, Fellow sends a furtive glance towards Gidel. The two seem to understand this silent communication. It’s lost on you and Skully.

“Hey! Let go, Gidel. I’m not gonna hurt him.”

Gidel gives you a disbelieving look.

“Okay, so maybe I was gonna kick him. Just once.” He still isn’t buying it. “Okay, twice. I was gonna kick him twice. Three times, actually. He deserves it, Gidel! I know you wanted to hit him with your hammer, too. Do me a solid and lemme get one punch in. Just one!”

He shakes his head. You sense you won’t get very far no matter how much you beg, so you swallow your dignity and allow him to lead you into the back room. Gidel tugs at your shirt and you obey his wordless command, seating yourself on the floor like a good, obedient prisoner.

“How long am I in jail for, warden?”

He smiles and holds his hands up.

“Ten minutes?”

But he doesn’t reply, parting the curtains and disappearing from your sight. Moments later, he’s pulling a very willing Skully through the doorway.

Once Skully’s folded himself on the floor, Gidel points to a group of boxes with his hammer. You flash him a confident thumbs-up, to which he nods his satisfaction, and then he’s gone. Now it’s just you and Skully, and you attempt to lighten the mood in the only way you know how.

“Welcome to jail, accomplice. What’re you in for?”

Skully laughs, but it comes out short and hollow—like it was ripped from his lungs. He retrieves a box cutter from the table and runs it through the tape on a nearby box. You watch him fish around in the contents, his gloved hands brushing along strands of Halloween tinsel.

“Skulls?”

“Are you okay?” he blurts, looking you square in the face.

“Uh, yeah? Why wouldn’t I be?”

“But that awful guy—”

“Standard behavior from Salad Fingers. Nothing new. Don’t let what he said get to you. It’s all nonsense anyway. Seriously, though. We shouldn’t have jinxed it that time. Talk about bad luck…” With a huff, you use your nail to peel the tape off an unopened box. “I can only hope Fellow sells him a bunch of stuff at exorbitant prices. I’m telepathically channeling my revenge through that silver tongue of his.”

Despite the humor threaded through your words, Skully isn’t amused.

“I don’t understand,” he says, drumming his fingers against the cardboard flaps. He sits with his legs criss-crossed. Despite his height, he looks and sounds small and fragile when his barely audible mumble reaches your ears. “If you love someone, why would you ever want to hurt them?”

“Some people are just assholes,” you reply, sifting through the cheap Halloween trinkets. “And he doesn’t love me. He’s just salty he’ll never get attention from my perfect, beautiful hands.” You flash your palm at Skully and waggle your fingers.

“But you don’t deserve to be treated that way. No one does. That’s not the kind of fright you’re supposed to give someone on Halloween. It’s about contemplations of mortality and monstrosity! Nightmares and fear galore! And yet that was…”

“It’s whatever.”

“It’s not just…whatever.” His bottom lip juts out in a petulant pout. “Not to me.”

You pull a foam sword from the depths of the box and point it at him. “Thanks for standing up for me back there.”

“Oh, but of course!”

As if knighting him, you move the sword from shoulder to shoulder. “My hero, the ever-so-gallant Pumpkin King.”

Skully blinks at you, color quickly seeping through his pale face. And then he slaps his hands over his cheeks. “Whoa. Whoa! Waaah?! That’s an honor—n-no, not just an honor! The highest honor. The honor of all honors! To be called that… Oh, it’s just like Lord Jack! How flattering!”

“Dreadfully flattering?”

His lips purse together in a silent squeal. He pumps his fist into the air in celebration.

You laugh and bump his head with the sword. “Never change, Skulls.”

A bashful smile slants across his lips. “Um… If I may… That comment Salad Fingers made—about you being stuck here in town… Do you truly dislike it here? Are you going to leave?”

“Who said anything about that? That loser doesn’t know what he’s talking about.” You scoff. “The whole reason I came to this crummy town was to escape. As far as I’m concerned, I’m here to stay.”

“Escape? I’m not sure I follow.”

“I ran away from home when I was seventeen. Actually, the more accurate version is that my dad kicked me out and I was homeless for a time. It’s just easier to say I ran away instead of having to admit he didn’t want me around anymore.” With a sheepish chuckle, you lift a Jack Skellington snow globe to capture Skully in the wintry scene. Through the glass, he sends you a sympathetic frown. “Along the way I met Rollo and we both came from difficult situations, so it made sense to stick together. We hardly knew anyone back then. Same with Fellow and Gidel. All of us were fresh out of whatever mess we’d just survived and looking to start over. Fellow needed workers for his business and we needed money to pay rent. The rest is history.”

Skully runs his finger through the grout between the tiles. “I never would’ve imagined. You seem so comfortable here.”

“You think? I guess I’ve settled in. I mean, things are definitely stable now.” You set the snow globe down and pull a shield from the depths of the box. It’s placed beside the sword at your feet. “I wouldn’t trade this misty town for anything. It’s weird and there’s probably a cult hiding in the woods, but that’s what makes it fun. As eccentric as it is, it’s home.”

“So… You’re not leaving?”

“Nope! You’re stuck with me forever.”

Skully gasps, a giddy smile widening on his lips. “Oh, what splendiferous joy!”

“Yes. Splendiferous indeed,” Fellow parrots, looming in the doorway with a reproachful grimace. “What a relief he’s nothing more than a brainless brat with a foggy future—if scum like him are even worth a future.”

“Fellow, my favorite boss, who is so full of love and appreciation for his employees—”

“Miss (Name), I cannot believe you would resort to violence. Use that brain of yours next time! It’s one of your biggest assets as a scholar.”

“What was I supposed to do? Make him answer a riddle? Solve for x? Be real.”

Fellow folds his arms over his chest.

“Mr. Honest, if it’s worth anything, might I be permitted to come to (Name)’s defense? That barbaric brute started it.”

“Yeah! Skulls is telling the truth. He was barbaric. Super mean. He called me ugly! Are you really going to let a criminal like that get away without a beating or some sort of public humiliation? I say we shame him to the grave.”

Fellow massages the bridge of his nose, exaggerating a weary sigh. “Is today destined for doom? Goodness gracious… I swear, if one more hellion makes their way into my store—”

At the very front, the doors burst open and a loud voice reaches the three of you.

“Ernesto? Where did you—oh, hey, Gino! It’s nice to see you again. How’ve you been? Have any idea where Ernesto might be?”

You jump to your feet and pat your despairing boss on the shoulder. “One more hellion, huh?”

“At least he’s a kind hellion,” Skully consoles.

“That’s the worst kind! Ugh. This happens every year. You’d think he’d take the hint by now. Must I carve it onto the walls? Never mind that. One of you chase him away. Get the broom if you must. I want him out.”

“I’m on it.” You skip through the curtains. “Ohhh, Kaliiim!”

“Ah! Wait for me, my dearest!” Skully scrambles after you.

“And no donations, you two!” he shouts, but the reminder doesn’t reach your ears.

Defeated for the day, Fellow collapses into a chair.

Somehow you and Skully manage to convince Kalim—that is, signal to Jamil—that a certain Ernesto Foulworth, while grateful for the offer, is going to have to turn it down. In your brilliant wisdom: “Double it and give it to the next person.”

And now you wave after them as they depart. Kalim tries to turn back twice, but Jamil stops him and says something you can’t parse through the windows. If you had to guess, it’s likely something along the lines of, “You heard what they said. Mr. Foulworth isn’t interested.”

“’Twas a shame you couldn’t get any donations for yourself.”

“Nah. Don’t sweat it. I got something even better.” Grinning, you lift your phone to show off Kalim’s contact. “Nothing wrong with long-distance friendship. And if he wants to send me some money… Well, who am I to turn down our patron saint?”

Fellow’s cane knocks you upside the head then. “And good riddance.”

Hissing through your teeth, your hand cradling the back of your skull, you turn to look at him. He’s joined by Gidel, who watches with a dopey smile. “If it isn’t Ernesto, back from hiding. Good to see you again, Gino.”

Fellow flashes his canines at you. “Ha-ha-ha. It seems you won’t need me to sign your next check, nor will you need Gidel’s assistance the next time a rowdy brat disturbs the peace.”

“Now wait a minute. No, don’t do that. I’m a scholar, sure, but not when it comes to forgery!”

“Just as I thought.” He smirks and twirls his cane. “Now back to work. We’ve a few more hours to go.”

“We’ll do our best!”

“Yeah, sure. Let’s just get this day over with.”

Stuffing your phone in your pocket, you return to your place behind the counter.

Rollo is sitting at his desk when you enter the student council room, absorbed in his work. A shiny placard with his name engraved on it winks back at you. President Rollo Flamme. Very official. He messaged you shortly after classes ended for the day, citing that it was important you meet him, and now you find yourself here in this empty classroom. The lack of student body makes it feel bigger than it actually is. 

“I got your text. What’s up?”

He looks up from a stack of half-read documents and ducks down to rummage through a drawer. A familiar journal is placed on the desk. One look at the many Jack Skellington stickers pasted to the cover clues you in to the owner’s identity.

“You’re scheduled with Skully today, so I’d like you to return this to him.”

“Sure, but why do you have it?” 

“He left it at the shop yesterday.”

“And you just took it?”

“Would you rather I have left it with that shady Fellow?”

You roll your eyes at the implication he’s making. “Fellow doesn’t give a shit about what we do outside of work. Besides, I doubt there’s anything written in there that he’d wanna read.”

“Even so, it never hurts to be careful.”

“Ooh, what’s this? The Rollo Flamme looking out for a friend?”

“Not a friend. A colleague.”

Falling into a nearby chair, you prop your feet on his desk. He clicks his tongue at you, brows creasing in disgust. It’s an expression he doesn’t bother to hide behind his handkerchief. He doesn’t have to when it’s just you.

“Let’s see what Skully writes during his breaks.”

“I don’t think it’s very wise, much less respectful, to pry in his personal affairs.”

“So you care.”

Rollo bristles. “From one diary owner to another—”

“Just a tiny peek. He’ll never know. And if it’s bad we’ll just pretend we never saw anything.”

“I want no part of this mischief.”

“Too late! Into the mind of Skulls we go!”

You crack the book open to a random page. A few lines of poetry are scrawled within. The rest has been scribbled over until it’s illegible. You clear your throat in preparation for the dramatic reading.

“‘I once thought Halloween was a time defined by repentance and fear. I thought there was no better music than that of gales howling through trembling trees. That there should be no celebratory cheer. But there was someone who changed my view. Someone I now hold very dear. Lovely, wonderful you.’ Ooh, this is cute. What else is there?”

You turn back a few pages and select a new poem. Rollo frowns, but he doesn’t make any movement to stop you. Not yet.

“This one looks neat. ‘Her Majesty is popular with the guests strung up in her silk. Every side character written in for temporary trysts, soon to be discarded, a faux fairytale sealed with a kiss. I can’t help pondering, perhaps there is more to her story that I’ve yet to witness. Perhaps she, sitting solitary on her throne, is lonely just like me.’”

“Are you finished?” Rollo plucks the journal out of your hands before you can read more about a figure called the Spider Queen. “And please remove your feet from my desk. It’s unsanitary and uncivil.”

“Fine, fine.” Pouting, you pull your legs from the desk and plant them firmly on the floor. “Happy?”

“Quite.”

“You know, Skulls isn’t half bad at poetry. I was expecting worse.”

“Hmm. There’s certainly potential.”

“How come he’s never shared any of this with us?”

“Would you be willing to spill the contents of your heart at work?”

“Fair point.”

“It’s very him. Genuine. Ebullient. A caricature of gothic brilliance.”

You’re inclined to agree. His prose matches his fashion style and personality so well it’s almost as if they’re meant to be a singular package. Pieces that fit together to form the portrait of Skully J. Graves. You can even hear his voice in every stanza, and for a moment you picture him reciting these lines center stage beneath a flaxen spotlight.

I always knew he liked poetry, but I didn’t know he wrote it. What else does he like?

You know of his obsession with Halloween and Jack Skellington, his fascination with the macabre and morbid, and his love of horror media. But those are facts everyone learns when they meet Skully.

Have I never asked him about his hobbies?

“He’s going to fall for you if he hasn’t already,” Rollo warns like it’s inevitable, casually flipping through the pages to peruse the rest of Skully’s poetry.

“Shut up. Anyone could be the Spider Queen he’s writing about. And where is this coming from anyway?”

“Hmm.”

“It’s not me, Rollo. You know how he is. It’s probably a character from a horror series or something.”

“‘But if I could just explore part of her, lavish her soft, slick epigyne with kisses, I might come away with sweet, sticky gossamer. A secret to dye my lips, stamped proudly on her hips.’” He glances at you, brows raised. “Well?”

“So what? There are people out there who fuck fictional characters. My point still stands. It’s not me.”

“It could be you. You’re not exempt from that possibility.”

“Gimme that! I thought you said it was wrong to snoop.”

Snatching the journal from him, you skim the remaining lines. Beautiful, waltzing cursive, a script that could only belong to Skully.

The Spider Queen, who I admire most ardently, is an unsolved mystery.

Her sharp spinnerets are skilled and sturdy.

She can hypnotize with honey-coated song,

All while wrapping me, hopeless fly, in her web of guise.

Perhaps my affections are misplaced and wrong.

But if I could just explore part of her,

Lavish her soft, slick epigyne with kisses,

I might come away with sweet, sticky gossamer.

A secret to dye my lips,

Stamped boldly on her hips.

“You started it,” he argues.

“And I’m going to finish it. He’s not into me. Not like that.”

You hope to dispel that same theory with more of his poetry. It does the exact opposite, much to your dismay, bolstering a notion you’re beginning to suspect is true. 

Won’t you let me know just a little death,

Under pretty, pointed fingertips, my darling Spider Queen?

Your voracious appetite never before seen.

Starved is the connection of our chelicerae as we exchange breath, 

Affections of the heart left unsaid,

Her Majesty, my darling Spider Queen, is unhinging her jaw to devour my head.

And then another poem. This one is filled with even more lyrical longing. 

To lay you down on silken sheets,

Melt slowly like candle wax with me,

Flickering flame, smoldering heats,

Soft sighs, bare vulnerability, the likes of which angels have yet to see.

I wish to remain here in the clouds evermore with you.

It doesn’t have to be romance,

Even if I yearn desperately for your heart to be true.

All I ask, if you’ll indulge me, is a simple moonlit dance.

You slam the book shut. “That’s enough of that.”

“I’ve told you before,” he says, and the corners of his lips curl into a satisfied smile. “If you’re going to follow the whims of illicit curiosity, you ought to be ready to face the consequences when they come knocking.”

“None of this is about me.”

This time, much more hesitantly, you peel the pages open and land on a journal entry. It’s dated during the year he first started working at Fellow’s shop.

I’m not quite sure I like (Name). Our ideas of what makes a true Halloween are staggeringly different, and she’s much too obnoxious. Who in their right mind would dare besmirch the ghoulish goodness of Lord Jack Skellington?! There is no such thing as ‘sexy Jack Skellington.’ There is only scary!

You cringe at the surfacing memory. That’s what you dressed up as for Halloween that year. Sexy Jack Skellington. It was also Skully’s first impression of you when you met and you dragged him and Rollo to a Halloween party in the woods. Judging by what he’s written, you weren’t held in high esteem after that introduction.

We definitely won’t get along. It’s impossible! We’re much too different. I refuse to act chummy with someone who will never understand the true meaning of Halloween. There should be no decorations or noisy displays. It’s quiet and solemn!

“Ha! So he doesn’t like me after all.”

You point at the passage so Rollo can read it. He glances up from the page.

“That’s an old opinion. I highly doubt he feels that way now.”

“He might. He sounds super pissed in this entry.”

“I still think you shouldn’t make a conclusion yet. That’s like solving a crime based on mere assumptions. You need evidence—lots of it.” Rollo sighs. “My entries have certainly evolved over time. It’s likely the same for Skully.”

“So I’ll prove it.”

“You’ll prove his dislike for you?”

“Exactly! Wait, that phrasing kinda hurts…” You shut the journal and stow it within the depths of your messenger bag. “I’ll prove he only sees me as a friend. There.”

“And how do you plan to go about that?”

“Simple. I’ll ask him out and spend the day observing him. It’s Skulls. How bad can it go?”

Before Rollo can criticize your intentions, you’re skipping out the door. 

“See you later, Prez! Don’t forget to pick me up after my shift!”

You and Skully make it to the shop together and you’re both surprised to see the other. You’re so used to Skully’s timely arrivals and he’s accustomed to your I’ll-get-there-when-I-get-there schedule. 

In other words, he’s always early and you’re always late. Predictably so.

“Good afternoon to you, my dear! It must be fate that we find ourselves here at the same time.” As if celebrating it, he takes hold of your hand and kisses your knuckles. “What wonderful fortune.”

Rollo’s got it all wrong. This is normal behavior for Skulls. 

“If Fellow asks, that was definitely planned. And  before I forget—I’ve got something for you.” At that, he perks up like a dog awaiting a treat. You rifle through your bag and withdraw his journal. “I think this belongs to you.”

Skully gapes at the book in his hands. And then, with an ecstatic gasp, he hugs it close to his heart. “I thought I lost this! Aah, I’m so relieved. You have my gratitude.”

“Rollo’s the guy to thank. He said you left it lying around after yesterday’s shift.”

“That’s very possible. It was much too busy yesterday. I missed—we missed you—could’ve used the extra help, yes! That.” He chuckles awkwardly and holds the door open for you.

“Man, that’s rough. I’m not sure what’s worse—the rush or no customers at all. Business or boredom. Either way, glad you survived.”

He smiles and trots in after you.

Gidel welcomes you both with a cheery wave from where he sits on a stool at the register. Fellow’s right at his side, poring over an upside-down newspaper. 

“Greetings, dearest Gidel! Mr. Honest!”

“Heyyy, how’s it going, you two? Guess who’s finally on time? Me, that’s who! That’s gotta be worth employee of the day, at least.”

“The crown is yours,” Fellow replies, holding his hand out to offer you the invisible trophy. “No one was seriously vying for it anyways.”

“Has it been busy today?”

You round on Skully. “Shush! Never say those forbidden words.”

“Ack! My deepest apologies!”

“No, no! Please continue. If anything, those are the right words,” Fellow says, folding the newspaper away. “We need as much business as we can get. October is fast approaching. Manifest it or whatever you kids say.”

“Don’t worry so much. I’m sure we’ll get even more customers come October. I don’t need to charge my crystals for that.”

You vanish behind the curtains to drop your bag in the chair. You make quick work of your time card and then pass the pen to Skully, who scrawls the time in for today’s date. He seems normal enough, but then why wouldn’t he be? He’s always joyful and affectionate. You’ve explained this to Rollo on multiple occasions. Why he would even theorize something as asinine as Skully having a crush on you, you can’t say. But no matter what you’re going to prove him wrong. Because he is. Very wrong.

Skully doesn’t have feelings for you. Even thinking it sends a shiver right through your heart.

“We should hang out,” you declare, turning to face him.

“Hang out? As in, outside of the shop?”

“Yeah. Get lunch. Go shopping. Whatever you wanna do.”

Skully’s mouth drops open. “Truly? You want to do all of that with me?”

“Why not? I think it’ll be fun.”

“Indubitably!” Having recovered from his previous astonishment, he flashes his pearly whites at you in a dazzling, gap-toothed smile. “Where shall we meet? There’s a bookstore on the other end of town, and I know of a cozy café that’s sure to be a delightful time. Ooh, this is so exciting!”

“How about a day when we’re both off and available?”

“Next weekend, perhaps?”

“Sure! Sounds like a date.”

“A… A date,” he repeats, pronouncing the word carefully. “A date… What a magical word.”

His swooning prompts a giggle from you. “I look forward to it.”

Skully grabs your hands. “I promise you, my lady, it will be a most pleasant day! I won’t disappoint you.”

“You never do.”

Skully’s cheeks are set aflame. “T-Thank you sincerely for saying so. I’m flattered.”

Just then, Gidel parts the curtains and pokes his head inside. A knowing smirk darkens his face with mute mischief.

You read his expression wrong and separate from Skully at once. “I get it. The boss wants us up front. Would hate to keep him waiting.”

With that, you slink off to meet Fellow at the counter, leaving Skully to chat with a curious Gidel.

“Somehow I get the feeling it’s going to be Valentine’s Day whenever you ninnies are scheduled.”

“Why? Because you love us so much and we’re your favorite employees?”

“Because the way you look at each other is sickeningly fond.”

You narrow your eyes. “Ew. Gimme a break. You sound like Rollo.”

“He isn’t wrong.”

“He literally is. I don’t know why everyone seems to think that.”

“Seems to think what, exactly?” Fellow asks, wearing his best smug smile. He produces a pair of circular frames from within the satin folds of his rich, royal blue coat and balances them on his nose. “Step into my office for a most astute consultation. I’m sure we’ll find the direct cause of your ailment. Gidel!”

Like clockwork, Gidel comes rushing out. He’s stuffing a piece of paper in his patchwork pockets, and you catch the hints of a heart drawn and partially colored in with crayon. The rest is crumpled.

“Let’s assess the patient! My trusty assistant, your notepad, if you will.”

He holds it up proudly.

“Uh, let’s not? I’m perfectly fine. No armchair doctor needed.”

“Now, now! That simply won’t do. Denial is just the beginning—a symptom of what’s to come!”

Those words sound more ominous than they’re meant to be, but a quick peek at the scribbles acting as Gidel’s notes relaxes you.

“You, my dear, are suffering from quite the malady. Isn’t she just, Gidel? Why, it’s as obvious as the sun in the sky, isn’t it?”

He nods hastily in response. Fellow takes hold of your arm and scrutinizes it like it’s a precious artifact. Humming his consideration, he presses down on your pulse and then yanks it up to his ear as if attempting to listen to your heart through your wrist.

“Hmm. Very interesting… Ooh, quite the rhythm you’ve got going! A steady thrum-bum-bum-thrum! What do you make of this, Gidel?”

He plucks the notepad from his hands. Despite the fact that nothing of substance has been recorded, Fellow manages to glean a diagnosis.

“Yes, just what I assumed! You are on the precipice of love.”

“The precipice of what now?” Skully blurts, having just emerged from the back.

“Ah, what a timely arrival for our Prince Charming. He’ll administer the cure.”

“Okay, relax. No one’s on the precipice of anything. Pack it up, drama club.”

You rip your arm out of Fellow’s grasp and storm off towards a shelf. Maybe arranging the stock will give you some peace of mind. There’s no love or feelings or any of that mushy-gushy Valentine’s Day stuff here. You and Skully are just friends. He isn’t interested in you like that and vice-versa. It’s mutual. 

Right?

For most of the day, when you aren’t dealing with customers, you’re turning that one-word question over in your head. It becomes so suffocating that you can’t endure another second indoors, so you retreat outside for a smoke.

“Hurry back, dearie,” Fellow calls out, and you have a suspicion that if he wasn’t working he’d join you.

It smells of wet earth when you open the door and step out into the crisp, late-September afternoon. The overcast sky opens up to fall in dreary drizzles. You shut your eyes briefly to appreciate the musical pitter-patter against the roof while you fish a cigarette out from its coffin. Your thumb flicks against the spark wheel until a flame flashes to life. It takes a few attempts, but you manage to successfully light the tip.

I guess he’s not the worst guy to be paired with, you muse, inhaling deeply and holding the breath for three. You rest your head against a wooden support pole and exhale a curl of smoke.

It shouldn’t matter when it’s just a harmless joke, and yet you can’t stop dissecting it. Under any other circumstance, you’d have no issue turning down a lovestruck boy. But Skully isn’t just any (allegedly) lovestruck boy. Maybe it’s because you’ve worked together for so long that the idea of Skully with a crush isn’t so far-fetched.

I’m not stupid. I know opinions change over time. If he didn’t like me, I’m sure he’d make it obvious. He doesn’t seem like the type to fake his feelings. Open book.

But is he truly? You only know Skully through work. You’ve never gone out of your way to get to know him. Everything you know comes from tidbits you’ve picked up over the years. Basic facts like age and hobbies have come up in conversation, but you never thought to ask anything deeper. Like what he does in his spare time when he isn’t obsessing over horror and Jack Skellington. Or where he shops for his gothic wardrobe. Or what he’s studying in school. 

You don’t even know if he has any other friends outside of the shop.

Suddenly, you’re not so sure he’s an open book.

This fucking suuucks. Why am I even bothering with this gloomy shit? He’s not the first guy to fall for me, and he won’t be the last.

Would it be so bad if he was the last, though?

Skully has potential, far more than most people you’ve toyed with in the past, but something tells you he’s not the casual type.

Don’t think about it. It’s not worth it.

Thankfully, a familiar voice breaks your concentration—how long were you laser-focused on the worms wriggling out of the soil?—and you don’t need to dwell on it any longer. 

“What’s this?” Skully peers down at you from his place in the door. A metal awning protects him from the chilly curtain of rain falling just inches in front of you, allowing you to smoke mostly dry.

You almost quote the song out of habit—the entire soundtrack is carved into your cortex, courtesy of Skully. Instead, you take a drag from the cigarette poised at your mouth. Skully watches, entirely ensorcelled, as smoke curls from your pitch-black lips. Cheap lipstick you often swipe from the SFX and cosmetics section in Fellow’s store. He can’t fire you for stealing because that would mean he’d have to find another employee willing to overlook his dubious business practices. Hard to score someone who fits that criteria in a town as small as this one. 

“What’s up, Skulls?” You pat the space at your side.

“I noticed your absence and thought I might search for you.”

“You found me.”

“That I have.” He lowers to sit next to you. “Have you come to admire the rain, too?”

“You could say that.” You offer your cigarette. “Wanna share?”

He blinks at it, confused. “How does one go about…that?”

“Like this.”

Cigarette at your lips, you inhale another drag, hold it briefly, and then exhale. Thin trails of smoke float skywards, perfuming the air with all kinds of pungent notes: warm and comforting, earthy and stale… Skully tilts his head and watches the cloudy haze blanket the space between the both of you.

You try to hand it off to him next. “You try.”

He jerks back, startled out of a daydream. “I… I’m meant to…to put my lips on the same place…as you?”

“Where else?” 

Skully’s Adam’s apple bobs with the motion of his swallow. “R-Righto. Of course. That makes perfect sense.”

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

“Oh, but I must!” he insists. He places his hands against his cheeks and swoons. “Aah, how romantic it must be to indulge in the rain like this! It makes me want to recite a few lines of poetry or perhaps reminisce about rain storms past!”

You laugh. “Hey, that reminds me! I got a new case a while back. I think you’ll dig it.”

Passing the smoldering cigarette to Skully, who receives it with a grateful hum, you dig through your pocket for the aforementioned case. He’s enamored with the lipstick stain curled around the end of it, so much so that he doesn’t seem to register the sharp sound of your snapping fingers.

“Skulls?”

He meets your stare, cheeks tinged pink. “Eh? Ah… Um. Y-Yes? You were saying…?”

“Check it.” Quite proudly, you hold the little purple casket in your palm. “A coffin to keep all of my cigarettes. Fits the Halloween vibe and it has morbid irony.”

He nearly chokes on his drag, shocked and amazed in equal measures. “That’s positively dreadful!”

“Isn’t it just?”

“The detail on the lid is most exquisite. True craftsmanship.”

“I thought so, too. It’s perfect for spooky season.”

He smiles and breathes out a wheeze of smoke. The rest sticks in his throat and it brings on a coughing fit he struggles to stifle. Sympathetic, you rub his back. 

The droplets hit the gravelly ground in splashes, and the rest play a musical, metallic plink-plonk along the warped awning. Defeated, having relinquished the cigarette, Skully pulls his legs into his chest and rests his chin on his knees.

It’s a scene full of tranquility. You wonder if you should break it. You’ll need to eventually. Too much silence and you’ll spiral into your previous worries.

Should I? There’s never going to be an optimal time for this.

“I read your journal.” Like ripping off a bandage.

I have to. He needs to know the truth. I feel bad. He’s so transparent and honest. It’d be wrong to lie.

“Just the poetry,” you add, as if rubbing cream into the sting of truth.

Okay, he doesn’t need to know the whole of it.

His entire body goes rigid. The air thins out, charged with anxiety.

“What did you think?” Skully asks after minutes of unbearable silence. He traces a wobbling path along the crooked stitching in his suit.

“It’s very impressive. You’ve got a way with words.” You nudge his tense shoulder. “I never knew you were a poet.”

“Um. I… I’m not exactly… I merely dabble,” he mumbles.

“But you’re so good! Way too good to ‘merely dabble’. Don’t be so modest, man!”

Skully hides behind his hand, turning away so that you won’t see his flustered face. You wonder if anyone’s ever praised him as openly as he praises everyone else.

“If it’s okay, can I ask about the Spider Queen? She sounds so cool.”

“She is.” You can’t tell where his eyes are fixed behind his sunglasses, but if you could see them you’re certain they’d be brimming with stars. “The coolest.”

“Is she a character from a book? A film? Something related to The Nightmare Before Christmas?”

“She is. Sort of. Not really. Or… Um.”

Skully turns to face you, only to reel back when you’re right there, so close it’s reminiscent of a spider looming over the unlucky insect stuck in its web.

“Really? Which one?”

“Your illimitable curiosity flatters me. I wasn’t aware of your avid appreciation for poetic expression.”

So it’s not me. Ha! You were wrong, Rollo. Suck my dick!

You shrug. “I slept with a guy who was all about it. Practically lived and breathed sonnets.”

“Is that…an undesirable trait?”

“Nah. It was fun. He was great in bed—amazing with his mouth. Maybe the open mic nights did that.”

You bump shoulders with him, to which he chuckles woodenly. “Perchance.”

A rap at the wall causes you and Skully to jump out of your skins. Like puppets on strings, you turn at once to view Fellow in the doorway. By the unsmiling expression on his face, he doesn’t look very happy to have caught the two of you shirking your duties.

“Snogging’s over, lovebirds. Wipe your mouths and get back to work.”

“Yeah, yeah. Sorry for having fun without you, boss.” You snuff your cigarette in the muddy gravel. “If you want in, just say so next time. You’re missing out on prime participation points.”

“The capacity in my lungs is so small I can’t seem to find my laughter.”

Skully, who has jumped to his feet, extends his hand like a Victorian gentleman from olde. “What say you, my darling? Shall we rendezvous at a later date for amorous osculation?”

A grin breaks out across your face. You place your hand in his, allowing him to pull you up. “Not here, though. Stuffy, old Fellow put the ban on tonguing it.”

Despite his lighthearted tone, Fellow’s eyes are devoid of smiles. “As a pair of extraordinary scholars, I’m sure your extensive education has taught you the important phrase ‘there is a time and a place,’ yes? So there’s a time and a place for studying each other’s anatomy just as there’s a time and a place for making money. Customers await, my oh-so-astute assistants!”

He coaxes you through the door rather impatiently.

“We’re going. We’re going. Damn!”

For the remainder of your shift, the rain persists. Normally this wouldn’t have posed a problem…if you came in the car. As you wipe down the counter, maneuvering around a preoccupied Fellow, who scrutinizes the register and taps at a calculator at his side, your hopes for a break in the rain dwindle.

“Is that everything, Mr. Honest?” Skully asks once your boss has finished his calculations.

He does a brief once-over of the store and then runs his index over the counter to inspect for any dirt. “Well, would you look at that? The two of you are quite efficient, as expected of my dynamic duo.”

Skully gasps and slams his hands on the counter. “We’re dynamic?!” he whisper-squeals. 

Fellow gazes over his glasses at his hands propped on a perfectly clean counter. With a sheepish, apologetic chuckle, Skully withdraws.

“Sure, kid. Whatever hangs stars in your sky,” he replies, noncommittal.

“Yes!” He pumps his fists in the air and then folds them over his chest to swoon. “Yes!”

“We’re free to go?” you call out from the back, time card in hand.

Skully flashes you two very enthusiastic thumbs-up and you make quick work of signing yourselves out.

“It’s been fun, Fellow,” you announce, blowing him a mock kiss.

“Yes, yes. Good evening to you. Study hard and all of that.” Fellow follows you to the front, swinging his keys on his finger and humming a merry tune.

Skully holds the door open, and the moment you’re both outside you’re assaulted with rain and wind. The door locks behind you and the lights inside dim. It’ll take a while for Fellow to close the register and complete everything he needs to do as boss, but that doesn’t concern you.

“This fucking rain,” you mutter, wrapping your arms around yourself and peeking out into the night.

I thought it would’ve settled down by now. I really hope it doesn’t storm.

You fish your phone out of your pocket and call Rollo, who answers on the second ring.

“Can I help you?” he asks.

“Rollo!” you hiss. “Get your ass over here! I’m cold, wet, and very much car-less.”

“It’s raining.”

“Gee, thanks for that, Mr. Obvious. You wanna tell me my pussy’s pink next?”

He doesn’t say anything in response to your catty sarcasm. Seconds stretch into minutes. You pull your phone away from your ear to see he’s hung up.

“That asshole! I’m going to… Gonna… Ooh!” You stomp your foot and stuff your phone in your pocket. “I’ll crucify him and then put him out in the middle of town square so everyone can point and laugh and throw tomatoes at him.”

“My dear?” Skully’s hand falls gently upon your shoulder. He’s been so soundless you almost forgot he was standing next to you.

“Sorry.” You huff, but the breath sticks in your throat the minute lightning arcs across the sky. It cuts through the trees in a brilliant, jagged flicker. Right on cue, seconds later, thunder rumbles forebodingly. “O-On second thought, maybe I’ll wait inside…all the way at the back of the store, where it’s dark and I won’t have to look at any windows, and I can cover my ears and block out the sounds.”

Skully looks at you strangely, brows furrowed. He watches you struggle with the door, a gloved finger tapping thoughtfully at his chin.

“Could it be,” he says, peering at you with more intention, “that my dear is afraid of thunderstorms?”

“Wha—I’m not scared! Of that? Please.” You jut your thumb at the sprawling treeline, where the trunks melt away into mountain peaks and then a cloudy expanse, and flinch when the sky thunders again. The rain continues its steady downpour. Gritting your teeth, you grind the admission out even though it hurts your pride. “Okay, fine. Yes, I’m…scared. I…  I don’t like storms or loud noises or lightning. I hate it. Always have.”

“Ah.”

“Lame, isn’t it?”

“Of course not. It’s human nature to be afraid. Everyone is scared of something, even myself.”

“So what’s your fear?” you ask, hoping his is lamer so that you won’t feel so childish.

Skully hesitates around a reply. Just before he can tell you, a loud boom shakes you to your core. Someone up in the clouds is having fun slamming pots and pans together… You’d send them your most vicious glower if you weren’t on the verge of crying. Hoping to dispel some of your fears, you tap at your phone.

Come on, Rollo. Please pick me up. I’m sorry I was a bitch, but I really need a ride. Please. I don’t even have my wallet on me.

Orange eyes track your every movement. He inhales once, clenching and unclenching his fists. He takes another breath and then…

“‘Hey there, cutes, put on your dancin’ boots and come dance with me. Come dance with me. What an evening for some Terpsichore!’”

Taking pause, you glance up from your screen at him. “What’re you…?”

Skully steps out into the rain and turns with a flourish, his arm extended. “���Pretty face, I know a swingin’ place. Come on, dance with me! Romance with me on a crowded floor!’”

Wary, you eye him from where you’re fidgeting under the awning. Your phone finds its home in your pocket, the text unsent. Rain patters the roof. It isn’t loud enough to drown out the distant thunder or the encroaching crackle of lightning. Skully projects his voice only slightly to guide your attention away from those things.

“‘And while the rhythm swings, what lovely things we’ll be sayin’!’”

You take a few deep breaths in through your nose, rub your arms consolingly, and join him for musicless karaoke in the rain.

“‘And what is dancin’ but makin’ love set to music…playin’!’”

You close your hand around his and belt out the lyrics, uncaring to whether or not you sound good. You just want to shake off these nerves. Having sensed that, Skully spins you closer and smiles joyously.

“You know the words!”

“Of course I know the fucking words!” Laughing, you slap his chest. Skully smiles wider. “I love this song! Michael Bublé’s version is like sex but for your ears.”

His face lifts in amusement. “It’s not a duet, but perhaps we might make it one?”

“Yeah… Yeah, I’d like that.”

“I trust you’re familiar with what comes next?”

“Obviously!” You squeeze his hands. The chill of the rain can’t compare to the warmth of comfort slowly spreading through you.

Don’t think about the storm. It’s going to be okay.

“‘When the band begins to leave the stand and folks start to roam! As we wing home, cheek to cheek we’ll be…’”

Your voices mix together in sweet, screeching harmony for the next part: “‘So come on, come on, come on, come on and dance with me!’”

Thunder resounds then and you yelp, clinging to Skully out of instinct. You realize your proximity seconds later and jerk back. He takes hold of you in a position for an upbeat ballroom dance, and you stumble after him when he pulls you into the one-sided rhythm. You’re spun energetically, rain shrouding your visage and clinging to your lashes, and you scrabble for purchase when he releases you. You trip into a dramatic pose, your shoes skidding on the slick ground. It’s unintentional, but it earns you verbal applause from Skully.

“That’s it! Marvelous!” His laughter isn’t mocking. It’s threaded through with thrill, so infectious it paints a goofy smile on your cheeks. “‘Hey there, sweets, throw on those Latin cleats, and come dance with me! Oh, what I mean is, come on and my, let’s…’”

“‘Cha-cha-cha!’” you shout over the rumbling and grin at him.

He spins you towards him, his hand curled around your waist. You kick up mud and specks of stone as you dance together. Eventually, your shaky voice smooths out into something less frazzled the more you immerse yourself in the theatrics. Now you’re pulling Skully along, and he eagerly settles into your tempo. 

“‘And leave your sweat and do the bongo bit. Come on, dance with me!’”

“‘Romance with me, ooh-la, la, la, la, laaa.’”

“‘I don’t care what it has ’cause that jawbone jazz makes me move it.’” As you sing that line, you bump hips with him.

“‘And we charade when the band starts to groove it. They prove it.’”

“‘Come on by ’cause we’re all set to fly, and I’ll let you lead. If that’s agreed, you know where I’ll be.’”

You squeeze his hand and he reciprocates by spinning you into a low dip. The sudden switch leaves you clutching even tighter, your leg lifting as gravity shifts. Skully’s hand splays across your back to hold you in this position. Even though you know he would never let you fall, you still dig your nails into his shoulder. He giggles boyishly and hoists you onto your feet.

“‘So come on, come on, come on…’”

“‘Come on, come on, come on…’”

“‘Come on, come on, come on. Come and dance with me!’”

The both of you come chest to chest, your fingers intertwined and bodies pressed together like dried flowers in a book. It’s a magical moment punctuated by the rumbling sky and falling rain. Even when lightning flashes through the clouds, you focus on your reflection in his sunglasses. Your faces proceed to inch closer with every verse.

“‘We’ll do the cha-cha-cha.’”

“Ooh, the merengue!’”

“‘We’re gonna tango,’” you say, putting on a comically deep voice.

“‘Come on and dance with me,’” he finishes, holding the last note with a wide, adoring smile.

Mere centimeters are between you; if you shuffle in you could close the gap and—

And then a car honks at the both of you, and you flinch away with startled shouts. Caught in the bright headlights, your shadows spattered against the brick building, you lift a hand to shield yourself from the harsh glare and rain. You manage to spot a very unamused Rollo in the driver’s seat, and for once you couldn’t be any happier to see your grump of a roommate.

You abandon Skully’s side and throw the door open. “Rollo, you came!”

“I wasn’t going to leave you to walk home in this awful weather.”

“So you do love me. If I wasn’t so soaked, I’d kiss you right here, right now.”

“There’s no need to overdo it. A simple ‘thank you’ will suffice.”

“Yeah, yeah. Thank you very much, Mr. Chauffeur.”

You climb into the back and, realizing you’re a person short, poke your head outside.

“You coming?”

Skully’s shivering just as much as you are, looking more bug-eyed from this distance. He points to himself, as if asking: Me?

“We’ll give you a ride.” You look towards Rollo, who seems ready to agree to anything so long as he can get back on the road. “That’s fine, isn’t it?”

“He’ll catch his death otherwise.”

“Oh, no, it’s quite all right!” He waves his hands in objection. “I appreciate your kind offer, but I could never burden—”

“Get in the car, Skulls.”

“Yes, ma’am!”

The door shuts after Skully boards. Now you’re both sitting huddled in the back, shoulder to shoulder. Rollo pulls out and onto the road. Your sodden clothes cling to your body in a way that makes you feel as if you’ve just been shrink-wrapped. The toasty heat does nothing to chase away the chill in your marrow, but the music softly spilling from the radio boosts your mood.

“My dear, I would hug you and offer my warmth, but I fear that might make it significantly worse,” Skully says, teeth chattering.

“Why didn’t the both of you wait indoors?”

“Uh, why didn’t you get here sooner?” you shoot back, fishing around for a blanket.

“I didn’t have to come at all.”

“Okay, all right. I’m in no position to fight you on that.”

“A romantic musical number in the rain never hurt anyone, Mr. Rollo.”

“Maybe not, but you’ll get sick if you aren’t careful,” he advises, glancing at Skully in the rearview mirror. He watches you drape the blanket over him.

“Ah, live a little, Snow Fright.”

“I am, and as it happens I’m not looking like I’ve just sailed the Seven Seas.”

Unable to craft a clever retort, you stick your tongue out at him. Skully adjusts the blanket so that it envelops you as well, and you sidle closer to conserve warmth—if any can be found when you’re both sopping wet. You rest your head against his shoulder and shut your eyes, relieved to find the lightning and thunder have abated. He stiffens and peers down at you from where he sits stock-still.

“My dear?”

But your tongue is so heavy in your mouth that you can’t muster an answer. Exhaustion wraps itself around your brain like a cotton shroud.

“Thanks for looking after her,” Rollo says, but his voice and the soft notes spilling from the radio sound like distant murmurs.

“You needn’t thank me, Mr. Rollo. I shall always be present to protect and serve my lady. All I hope for is her happiness.”

What is this, a period drama? Isn’t that way too knightly?

“I’m sure she appreciates that.”

Very much, you think, and you drift off enveloped in the coziness of his care.

“If I may, what might you be planning to dress up as for Halloween?” Skully asks during a particularly uneventful lull.

The lot of you are crowded behind the counter, bored out of your minds, and his question is a welcome distraction from the nothingness.

“I’m not dressing up,” Rollo replies, not looking up from his book. “I don’t celebrate.”

“Don’t listen to him,” you interject, waving your hands before Skully can launch into his why-Halloween-is-the-superior-holiday-and-everyone-should-appreciate-and-celebrate-it lecture. “Rollo and I are matching costumes. I’m gonna be a succubus and he’s gonna be my priest!”

“Absolutely not.”

“What?! Come on, Rollo, pleeease? We’re a duo—a two for one sorta deal! You can’t bail on me like this. Every exorcism needs a demon, and every demon needs a priest. Oh! How about this instead? You can be the angel and I’ll be the devil!”

“I’d rather not.”

Pouting, you review the picture on your phone: A scanty, latex one-piece with stockings, a clip-on devil tail, and matching horns. “Look at this cheap, definitely-not-gonna-last-after-Halloween masterpiece! Who’s gonna match my biblical freak if not you?”

Rollo glances up from the passage in his book to spy the costume. “I assume the angel costume is just as revealing, so my answer remains the same. I’ve no interest in matching any sort of freak, biblical or otherwise.”

“But that one will be robes. There’s a halo and wings, too. It’s perfectly virtuous, Mr. Righteous and Holy.” You bat your lashes at him. “Please? Pretty please? I’ll cover all the cleaning and cooking for November—”

“I don’t understand,” Skully interrupts, squinting at the screen. “Where are the horrors beyond human comprehension? The claws? The gnashing fangs or the blood and gore dripping from a gash in the stomach?! This just isn’t…terrifying.”

“That’s the point. It’s supposed to be sexy, not scary.”

“What for?”

“Uh, so I can get laid? Can’t do that if my costume scares the guy soft.”

Skully glances from the phone to you and then back, as if attempting to comprehend your vision. He must’ve landed on something, for his face burns brighter than an apple. “O-Oh, righto… I see now. Very… Very clearly do I see the…intention.” He clears his throat just as you pocket the device. “And then you bite off the head, no?”

“What?”

Even Rollo, who has gracefully benched himself from this conversation, raises a bemused brow from behind the pages of his book.

“Like a praying mantis! She devours the head of her lover after they mate. Isn’t that romantic? Even in death, they remain part of one another. Aah, the insect world is filled with alluring examples of creepy-crawly consummation.”

“Sexual cannibalism’s pretty popular in the animal kingdom, isn’t it?”

He nods. “Quite the macabre fascination, I’d say.”

“So what do you think, Father Flamme?” You nudge Rollo. “Priest is still on the table. Or do you wanna be the unfortunate bug between my jaws?” You fix your fingers into curled claws and swipe at him. “Want me to make a meal out of you?”

He glares at you, half of his sneer now hidden behind celestial patterns. “None of those ideas are on my table.”

“Boooo. You’re so boring! Where’s your Halloween spirit?” With a dramatic sigh, you fall back into Skully’s arms. He holds you steady, allowing you to play out your mourning as if it’s an act in a melodrama. Draping your arm over your face, you exclaim, “Woe is me! Who else will entertain my spooky whims if not my kind, selfless roommate who loves me oh-so-much?”

You hazard a glance from under your arm. Rollo isn’t swayed in the slightest, but then you’re not about to give up either.

“Who’d do anything for me because, despite being a hard-ass, he cares a lot. I see the love in your stone heart. You can’t hide it from me and my all-seeing, all-knowing eyes!”

He sighs. “Must it be me?”

“You’re the one going to the Halloween parties with me so, yeah, it must be you.”

He finally decides to snap his book shut. Tucking it beneath the counter, he says, “Costumes aren’t mandatory, so I see no reason to fret over minute details.”

“Well, you should treat it like it is. It’s one night for a few hours and then you won’t have to give a shit about the ‘minute details’ until next year. You’ve gotta come with me. It won’t be Halloween without my angel.” You straighten up in Skully’s arms and lean towards Rollo to whisper, “That’s you, by the way.”

He rolls his eyes. “You’re never going to convince me. I hope you’re aware your pestering will earn you nothing but my ire.”

Pouting, you slump over the counter. “So harsh… And you’d look so cute with your halo. Am I gonna be flying solo for the first time in forever this Halloween? The café au lait to my croissant has abandoned me! Can you believe this, Skulls?”

“Enough of that. I never said I wouldn’t attend the gatherings,” Rollo chides, clicking his tongue at you.

Immediately, you snap to attention. “Wait, for real? You’re the man, Rollo! Are you sure you’re not actually an angel? This guy’s seriously seraphic!”

Before he can evade the shadow of your appreciation, you throw your arms around him. He relents, all too familiar with your physical affections to bother with protest, and reciprocates with a pat to your shoulder.

Skully, who has witnessed this spectacle and remained strangely silent throughout it, barks out a laugh. It’s strained and unnatural. “You seem very close.”

“We are, aren’t we?”

Your arm moves to wrap around his waist, and you drag Rollo closer despite his obvious discomfort. But then the connotation of close catches up to you and that takes precedence over every other feeling.

“Not in the way you think,” Rollo corrects, shaking his head.

“Yeah, we’re close but not that close. He’s my best friend. I couldn’t ever imagine him as anything else, but if it comes down to it we’ll totally be roommates for life. Rollo’s a certified ride or die!”

“She’s my roommate, so I have no choice but to tolerate her. How will rent be paid otherwise?”

“As you can see, I’m very cherished. You can tell because he called me his roommate.”

“Um, but isn’t that technically what you are? Unless…” Skully gasps and looks between the both of you in a panic. “Unless you’re already more than that?! Roommates for life…” He points as if accusing you of witchcraft. “That’s marriage!”

“And we haven’t even held hands yet,” Rollo mutters wryly.

With a scandalized gasp, you shove him. “Rollo, you slut!”

“All this time…” Skully’s mumbling, his hands tugging at his hair and leaving his crown askew. “Right before my eyes, my darling’s heart rests within the palms of another… How could this happen? How could I fail to see it—to chance upon such covert courtship in this soul-wrenching way?”

Sensing his seriousness, you settle your laughter. “Whoa, whoa! Slow down, Skulls. Don’t burn us at the stake!”

“I rescind my previous remark—made entirely in jest, you ought to know.”

“We’re just messing with ya, man. No romance here. Platonic vibes only. I’ll be the first to tell you that.”

“And I, the second.”

“So there’s really nothing?” he asks, hopeful.

Rollo gives you that look, and you signal to him with your own secret scowl: Don’t utter a word.

“Nothing you need to worry about, no,” he says instead, duplicity warping his thin-lipped smile. “(Name) remains lover-less. How fortuitous for you.”

“I think he gets it. No need to put me on blast.” You push Rollo out of Skully’s sight, which hardly achieves much when he’s so tall, and rush to change the subject. “Anyway, what about you, Skulls? What’re you gonna be for Halloween?”

“Something truly fearsome.”

You and Rollo wait for an elaboration, but when he doesn’t follow through you start to nod. “Uh-huh. That’s…vague. So are we talking monster-fearsome or something with serial killers? Jack Skellington?”

An ominous grin cuts into his cheeks. “You’ll see.”

“We all will,” Fellow announces, approaching with Gidel at his side. “I’m giving Halloween shifts to everyone here. And, yes, that includes you, dearie.”

“Fellow, do you know what day Halloween falls on this year?”

“Saturday.”

“And everyone’s going to be out. No one’s coming to the shop.”

“That’s what you think! Do you know how many pestiferous devils like to target my shop?”

“Sorry you’re an old man who can’t run fast enough to catch those devils.”

He scoffs. “I resent that!”

“If you’re a fan of dressing up for Halloween, might I offer a suggestion? You can be the considerate boss who gives his employees the day off. It’s a holiday and a Saturday.”

“For once, I must agree.”

“See! Even Rollo agrees and you know he never agrees to any of my ideas.”

“Only when they’re good ideas,” he adds, smirking behind his handkerchief.

“I’d fire you both if I could,” he grumbles, shaking his head in disapproval. “Skully, my boy, surely I can count on you to show up?”

“Um… Actually, Mr. Honest, I thought I might accompany my dear and Mr. Rollo to their Halloween soirée.”

“Wait, what?” you and Rollo parrot in perfect unison.

“Not that you can’t join, Skulls, but parties aren’t exactly your scene. No offense.”

“Yes! Listen to Miss (Name). What good will a mindless party do? Working the holiday shift will teach you plenty of valuable life skills. You don’t need some…party for that.”

“I’m certain I can learn them every day before and after Halloween, but this special day only comes once every year. I mustn’t squander this opportunity!”

Before Fellow can offer a valid counterpoint, Gidel tugs at his coat. He regards him passively for a perplexed beat and then his expression falls.

“Don’t tell me you want to galavant through Dante’s Inferno, too.”

“You make it sound like one day of no work is hell.”

“It is for my business. Honestly, you ninnies are so simple-minded sometimes.”

“Is your reason not just as simple?” Rollo argues.

“Come on, Fellow. Let the kid go trick-or-treating.”

“You must! It’s what our dearest Gidel deserves. A scary night full of memorable fun and treats.”

Gidel nods rapidly.

Fellow hesitates around outright acceptance and instead deflates with a huff. “You’re all dead to me.”

“Hell yeah!” You exchange high-fives with Skully, Rollo, and Gidel. “Master negotiators! Go team!”

“More like monstrous manipulators.”

“I wouldn’t describe us as such just yet. We haven’t even broached the subject of holiday pay. If you schedule any of us for Halloween, you must be intending to pay us accordingly.”

Your boss grits his teeth, and you think if Rollo were to nudge him any further he’d shatter. Instead, he spins with a flourish.

“We shall discuss that as we get closer to the date!”

“Wanna bet he folds and leaves us off the schedule for that day?” you whisper, bumping hips with Rollo.

“I quite like my odds, so I might have to accept that proposal.”

While you and Rollo scheme amongst yourselves, Skully watches with a fading smile.

second part.

[milla-frenchy]

Shameless

3k1 | Lucien de Leon x fem reader | ao3 | masterlist

Summary: you ask Lucien to come over and he does exactly what you need him to Warnings: 18+ mdni. Oral (f/m), size kink, cigarettes, rimming, ass play, piv, creampie, pet names (baby, baby girl), reader has no specific physical descriptions but wears a dress

a/n:  Thank you for the inspo @gothcsz 🙏❤️ (tumblr free Kat FFS§§§) Thank you @aurorawritestoescape for beta-ing and for everything, ily so, so much 🥹💕 @/saradika-graphics for the dividers 🙏

“Come on baby, don't play like this now,” he said, full of self-confidence, leaning against the wall in front of your door in his stupid shirt. The mountain of shit he had been dragging behind him for years had never damage his self-esteem.

“I don’t know why I keep calling you,” you said, bitter and unfair towards him. “Every time I regret it. Before or after I fuck you.”

“Mmmm… So you regret it now? You want me to leave? Ok,” he added, turning around, before you could even answer.

“Fuck, wait, Lucien!”

He didn't hide his smile as he turned around. 

“See, baby? That's your problem, you always push people away. You're scared to be loved. And that's why you always call me.”

“Yeah, right. And you’re perfect for that, because love’s not your thing.”

He leaned against the wall again, a soft smile on his lips.

 “You think that? But who's gonna love you like I do, baby?”

“And how do you love me?”

“My way,” he said, coming closer to you, a cigarette resting behind his ear. This motherfucker was the hottest man you knew. The biggest red flag you’d ever met.

“You always say you wanna be good but you keep begging me to come over,” he said, moving closer to you, his face only a few inches away from yours. Damn, you just wanted to kiss him. To fuck him.

“Because no one can touch you like me, that deep,” he added, brushing your lips with his before pulling away.

“I’m not just talking about here,” he said, pointing at  your heart with his finger. “But also here,” he added, grabbing your pussy. “You need me. No one can fuck you like me. That deep, right?”

You swallowed loudly. Fuck, you needed him, deep and rough. He probably saw it in your eyes, but instead of leaning in and kissing you, he grabbed his cigarette and lit it. He smiled as he let the smoke out.

“Come on baby, don't give me that ‘piss off’ look. I’m gonna give you what you want,” he said, pressing his hard cock against the fabric of his black pants and pushing himself against you. He turned the cigarette over to offer it to you, and you took a drag.

“Yeah, whatever,” you said.

“Had some good dicks in the last few weeks?”

“Fucked a few. Can’t say they were that good, though.”

“Awww,” he said dramatically, before adding, “you fucked them raw? Do I have to use a condom, baby?”

“No. You’re the only dick that I fuck raw.”

He chuckled and threw his cigarette on the ground. You rolled your eyes and in two seconds he was fully against you, crushing his lips against yours, his hands cupping your cheeks.

He was never aggressive or possessive, always beautifully sensual and free. No strings attached, and that's exactly what you needed. Someone who wouldn't ask you something you couldn't or wouldn't want to give.

Each time he’d kiss you, each time you’d fuck, you never knew if it was the last time. Didn't know if you'd end up getting bored with him like with everyone else. 

You doubted he would, on the other hand. He was always patient, never seemed to take your mood swings badly. He never said ’no’ to you, even if he knew you just needed to use him, somehow. Even if you were sometimes hard on him. 

He was probably right: he loved you in his own, unconventional way, and that twisted relationship was oddly the most stable part of your life.

“What are you thinking about?” he asked as he kissed your neck, your eyes already rolling to the back of your head just at the feeling of his soft mustache brushing your skin, then his rougher beard that he loved to rub against the soft skin of your neck. Just like he loved to graze it against your inner thighs each time he ate you out.

He straightened up to look at you then licked your lips with the tip of his tongue, your mind suddenly blank.

“Need it bad, huh,” he chuckled. It wasn’t a question. Yeah, you needed it bad, but still, you shrugged.

“Come on baby, let me in,” he said against your lips, his familiar tobacco breath invading your nostrils a little more. “And I'm not talking about your cunt, she’s already droolin’, right?”

You didn’t answer and just pulled away from him to lead the way inside your house, to the dining room. You could feel his eyes fixed on your ass. You didn't even have to sway your hips to know he'd follow you anywhere at that moment.

He pushed the front door behind him, quickening his pace to be right behind you and caress the roundness of your ass before seizing your hips to make you stop.

“Mmmm, baby… I never get enough of this body,” he murmured in your ear, his hard cock against you. You wanted to say something clever, or at least something with your usual “whatever” attitude, but his touch was overwhelming you.

He slid his hands up to your breasts and cupped them sensually, his nose against your hair, he breathed it in as he said, “damn you’re so hot,” almost to himself. 

He squeezed your breasts slightly, perfectly, then pulled down your neckline, freeing your nipples swollen by desire. His hand slithered down your spine to your ass and then he grabbed his bulge.

“Shit, I’m so fucking hard,” he said, his voice not as playful as usual. “Turn around baby,” he added. You did as he asked, trying to get your composure back as you looked up at him.

He cupped your tits again and took a nipple in his mouth. He sucked and licked it, making you whine “shit” softly, as you ran your fingers in his hair and pressed his face against your skin. He chuckled, so sure of himself, that he was even hotter than a second before, and sucked your other nipple. He coated it with his saliva then peppered your chest with kisses, up towards your neck and finally your lips, his tongue quickly pushed through yours, while he grabbed the hem of your short dress then pulled it over your head. He was in a rush and your head was dizzy.

His hands were rubbing your body as if he didn't know what to touch or where to stop, but he finally covered your pussy with his full hand, his fingers brushing the wet garment.

“Mmm yeah…” he said, and you didn’t take your eyes off him as he unbuttoned his shirt then freed his hard cock from his pants. The most gorgeous cock you'd ever seen, with a fat tip and a large vein that you loved to roll under your tongue.

“Come on, baby. I’ve been thinking about fucking your mouth since you called me,” he said, slowly jacking his thick cock with his fist, his stare full of lust. 

He was insanely beautiful and hot as hell, with his shirt open over his broad chest, two chains resting at the bottom of his neck. 

“Yeah? Well I’ve been thinking about cumming in yours since I called you,” you replied.

“Damn, you’re gonna kill me one day, you know that?” he smiled. 

“Mmm… clothes off, red flag guy,” you told him, then sat on the couch, feet firmly planted on the ground, legs spread. Shameless. 

Panties still on, you knew he loved to remove them himself. 

“And light me a cigarette, big boy, will you?”

You were in charge again. He was letting you be. 

A silent game between the two of you with rules that never needed to be stated.

He took his pack out of his shirt pocket and lit a cigarette then handed it to you, letting the smoke escape from him towards you. Then he undressed, slowly and sensually.

You watched him getting naked in front of you, dragging on your cigarette from time to time, arm resting along the backrest. He always made you feel safe, free, powerful.

He remained standing for a few moments, looking at you like you were the most beautiful woman in the world. His hard cock pointed towards the ceiling, slowly jacking off again after spitting into his palm. Even though the precum was flowing from his reddened slit.

He knelt down and placed his hands on your knees before moving up the inside of your thighs, the soft rub making you shiver. When he grabbed the hem of your panties, you lifted your hips to help him to pull them down slowly, revealing your glistening pussy and the butt plug you had inserted just before he arrived.

“Shit, baby…” his husky voice and eyes full of desire made you drool a little more. He swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing in his throat.

“Fuck… Take a drag, baby,” he asked, unable to take his eyes off your two holes. He spread your thighs wider by pushing on them with his shoulders. You exhaled the blue smoke slowly, looking down at him, kneeling between your thighs. So broad, so strong, but still at your knees, leaving you in full control of your femininity. It made him even more beautiful, even more attractive, even more sensual. He grabbed one of your thighs and kissed the sensitive skin, then placed it on his shoulder.

“Fuck you're so hot. A true free spirit, aren't you?”

He didn't let you answer and leaned down, running his nose up your folds. He growled as he licked them with the tip of his tongue, then moved away slightly to look at your cunt and ass.

He seized the plug and pulled on it slightly, until the widest part reached your ring, making you moan.

“Shit,” he said, unable to say more as he watched your muscle tighten every time the metal spread it apart.

“You always let them go down on you?” he asked, moving the plug deliciously back and forth, before sticking his tongue into your wet cunt. You let your head fall back against the back of the couch. He had always been a really good fuck, but he always ate you out divinely well, leaving you breathless as soon as he dived in.

“Mmm?” he insisted.

“Shit… you’re the jealous type now?” you pantered.

“No. It turns me on to think about it,” he answered, grabbing one of your breasts with his hands.

“Damn, Lucien you're twisted…” you whimpered. “Not always… shit… I… not all men are good at it,” you stammered. 

He chuckled, so sure of himself, pushing a finger into your cunt already stuffed by his tongue. It was like he was all over your body, boobs, pussy and ass, and it was intoxicating.

“I think you forgot about your cig, baby,” he said, teasing. He wasn't one of those men. Of course he wasn't. He was so good at this. 

You crushed the cigarette in the ashtray by the armrest. He was so good that sometimes he would make you come in less time than it took you to finish your cig. Then he’d grab it from your trembling fingers to take a drag while you were still trying to catch your breath. 

His hand left your tit to press your hip against the sofa and he pushed his tongue into your drooling hole. 

“Gonna come for me? Yeah, you're gonna come for me. Soak my face, baby girl.”

You used him to get off, rubbing yourself against his nose, hands tight on his head, thighs spread as wide as possible, giving him full access to your core. You were so aroused that some of your wetness was leaking down to the plug, making it even easier for him to fuck you with it.

“Lucien,” you whined. His hand tightened on your flesh, letting you use him like you needed until you came in his mouth.

He pushed two fingers in your cunt and looked the way your body was squeezing his thick digits pumping your cunt and the plug, until it finally stopped. 

He pushed the metal all the way in then stood up and brushed your cheek as you looked up at him and straightened up, his cock inches from your lips. He held it tightly and you licked his shaft from his fingers to his tip, unable to tease him more. He growled when you took him in your mouth, focusing on the tip at first then deeper and deeper, getting your throat used to his width, and your saliva started to flow down his shaft to his fingers. Your hand caressed his balls full of cum.

“Fuck yeah, just like that,” he murmured.

You pushed his hand from his shaft and jerked him off slowly, licking his balls that you could never resist for long. He whimpered when you took one of them in your mouth, the thin skin rolling between your lips. 

“You're so easy, Lucien,” you chuckled. It was your turn to make him fall apart, and you loved it.

“Shit, yeah, I'm easy with this damn mouth,” he agreed. “That’s it baby. Keep licking them.”

You pulled them up then tasted the skin behind them, gaze looking up at him but his eyes were closed, his hands resting on your head.

“You don’t want a cigarette, Lucien?” you bantered, then licked him again from his scrotum to his ass that you teased with the tip of your tongue.

“Fuck… I can barely breathe, no I can’t smoke right now, you little minx,” he whimpered as you took a ball in your mouth. You finally released it with a needy moan. Your core was already filled with warmth again and begging for release. 

“Shit, you need it deep, right? Wanna ride it?” he asked as he held your elbow to get you up.

“No, want you to fuck me.”

“Come here then, baby. All fours. Lemme see that ass.”

You settled and he knelt behind you, rubbing his cock against your soaked folds, before grabbing the plug and pulling on it slightly, making your ring contract instinctively as it was stretching you.

He chuckled, then mocked gently, “that’s cute. As if he doesn’t want to get fucked.” He nestled his fat tip at your sloppy pussy then pushed in, and you stopped breathing for a minute under the feeling of his cock splitting you in two.

“How do you need me, baby? Need me to fix you up for a while, until next time?”

You moaned, feeling him push in your two holes.

“Tell me,” he insisted, filling you with his whole length and brushing against your cervix.

“Yeah, fuck…. Yeah, I need you to fix me.”

“Damn, baby,” he said, pulling out to eat your pussy from behind, and he removed the plug to press his nose against your ass before coming up to lick it.

“Oh god,” you whined, eyes rolling in the back of your head and fists squeezing the sofa cushions. He spat on your ass and watched the saliva run down and slide inside before licking at it, pressing his tongue against it then pushing in. Your ass opened up to let him reach inside and you couldn’t hold back a loud moan as he was lapping at your hole.

He spanked you and focused his tongue on your most private place before grabbing your ass with his two hands. You wanted to beg him to stuff you until he’d fill you with his seed. 

“Lucien, please… Fuck me.”

He straightened up and pressed his tip against your cunt, pushing in slowly to let you feel all of him sliding in.

“Oh, fuck,” you whined.

Leaning on your forearms, you didn't move, letting him thrust into you, filling you so slowly that you could feel the vein of his cock brushing your insides.

“Oh, god, that’s good Lucien, fuck…”

“Yeah? Always takin’ me so good, baby…”

He started to fuck you, his thumb pressed against your ass, growls and moans escaping from his lips. He was watching you contract on his digit as he was filling your two holes. 

“Mmm,” you hummed. “Harder, please,” you whined.

You knew he would do it for you, in the way you needed, even though you knew he would want to take his time, to get you used to him. But he had quickly understood why you called him. Because he would answer your needs, because you were safe with him. Because his cock was so big it was perfect for what you were looking for, to forget everything else. He knew you were scared to be loved, or to love, and didn't want that kind of relationship. That this way of fucking was what you needed. For now anyway, and maybe forever. He always smiled when you called him a red flag, unaware of that game he was still playing for you. He could find it funny, how wrapped he was around your finger, although you didn't even know it. Or maybe you just didn't want to see it.

He was rolling into you, faster than he wanted. Harder than he wanted. Because if it was the only way he could have you, he would never say no. Because he knew you wouldn’t fall for him, and it was probably for the best.

“Fuck, baby… your little cunt is squeezing me so hard… You know I can never say no to you, right?” he asked, sliding his hand down to your clit, eager to make you come. His entire length was pushing in and out, fucking your insides like no one else could. Not as deep, not as wide.

“Make me come, Lucien, please,” you whimpered.

His balls squeezed him painfully, waiting to give you what you wanted. When you came, tightening on his cock so fucking hard, it was enough for him to spit his cum deep into your core while he panted even louder than you, mouth crushed against your shoulder, nibling at it, his weight pushing on your back. You leaned forward and felt his length leave your cunt and his cum flowed when you lay down on the couch, under him. Already feeling so desperately empty.

He leaned towards you and kissed you. He knew you didn't want more, and wouldn't allow more. Didn't want some bullshit proximity.

He sat on the couch, putting your calves on his lap, while you stayed lying there. He lit up a cigarette for you, then another one for him. You smoked them silently until he got up and put his clothes on.

“Till next time?” he asked.

“Till next time,” you replied.

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[memoiresofaneternaldreamer]

Gilded Cage

Pairing: The High Priestess! Hyunjin x Billionaire’s Daughter! Reader

Themes: Smut | Strangers to ? | Crime Syndicate AU

Wordcount: 4.9K

Playlist: ‘Venus In Furs’ - Ängie

Smut Warnings: Explicit sexual acts - Use of a blindfold - Feather play - Oral (F. Receiving) - Slight sensory deprivation - Pleasure dom! Hyunjin - Use of pet names - Praising - Slight submission (F. giving)

This story is intended for an adult audience only. Minors do not interact.

Previous chapter: Drive By - The Fool

The world is your playground.

Or at least, that’s what your father says when he drapes another diamond necklace around your neck or hands you the keys to yet another car you don’t need. Being the only daughter of one of the wealthiest men in the country has its perks—your wardrobe is worth more than some people’s homes, your vacations are always on private islands, and your life is a carefully curated dream. But beneath the luxury, beneath the silk and gold, there is something you would never admit to anyone.

You are bored.

Painfully, excruciatingly bored.

Your father keeps you in a cage—gilded, beautiful, but a cage nonetheless. Every move you make is monitored, every outing meticulously planned, and every interaction carefully screened. He says it’s for your safety, that the world is too dangerous for someone as delicate as you. And, to be fair, you don’t exactly fight him on it. Most days, you let yourself be entertained by whatever new, expensive distraction he throws your way.

But today, something has changed.

You’re in one of the most exclusive shopping malls in the city, sipping on a lavender-infused matcha latte while your personal assistant carries your designer bags. A hushed conversation catches your attention as you browse through racks of couture you don’t need.

Two women—elegantly dressed, just the right mix of old money and scandal—stand by the jewellery counter, their voices low and intrigued.

“Did you hear? The next one is happening soon. Invitation-only, of course.”

“I heard the last one had a snow leopard. Can you believe it? A real one.”

Your ears perk up. A snow leopard? Your curiosity is immediately piqued.

“It’s all so thrilling,” one of them sighs. “The kind of place where only the right people get in.”

Your fingers tighten around your drink. You are the right people. More than that—you are the people.

The moment they walk away, you turn to your assistant.

“Find out where that auction is,” you instruct. “Now.”

That night, you sit across from your father at the grand dining table, the chandeliers above you reflecting off the polished marble floors. A team of chefs has just served a meal you barely touch, your mind preoccupied with the plan forming in your head.

“Papa,” you say sweetly, swirling your wine. “I want to go to an auction.”

Your father looks up from his plate, intrigued but unsurprised. “An auction? What kind?”

You flash him a practised, innocent smile. “An exclusive one. Downtown. They’re auctioning off rare artefacts, and there’s a necklace I’ve been dying to get my hands on. A princess’s necklace.”

His expression softens, and just like that, you know you have him. Your father loves indulging you, and he loves history almost as much as he loves keeping you happy.

“I don’t see why not,” he says after a moment, nodding. “But you’ll take security with you.”

You sigh, pretending to be annoyed. “Of course, Papa.”

The plan is in motion.

The auction is at the far edge of town, in a place so inconspicuous that, for a brief moment, you hesitate. For all you know, this could be an elaborate trap. But the thrill of the unknown is too tempting, so you push forward, your lime green Shelby Mustang purring as you pull up to the entrance.

A single man stands at the door—a bouncer, thick and unyielding.

“Name?” he asks, looking down at a clipboard. You confidently give it to him, expecting the doors to swing open. He checks. Then checks again. Then looks back at you.

“You’re not on the list.”

Your smile doesn’t falter. “That can’t be right.”

“I don’t make mistakes.”

You shift your weight, tilting your head. “Do you know who my father is?” The bouncer remains unmoved. “This is a private event.” Annoyance bubbles in your chest. This never happens to you. You always get in.

You try again, pushing, persuading, letting hints of your father’s influence slip between your words. But it’s no use.

With a huff of frustration, you turn on your heel, ready to storm off in dramatic defeat—

And then the door opens.

And he walks out.

At first, you don’t register anything except presence. The kind that commands attention without even trying. Then, the details follow—high-end fashion that drapes like it was made for him, layers of gold jewellery catching the dim light, a fur coat thrown over his shoulders like an afterthought.

But it’s the face that makes you stop.

He is beautiful in a way that feels almost unfair—graceful yet masculine, soft yet sharp. Dark eyes meet yours, and for the first time in a long, long time, you feel entirely out of your depth.

His lips curve into an effortless smile, and when he finally speaks, his voice is like velvet. “Well, well,” he murmurs. “Who do we have here?” Your throat dries, but you don’t let it show.

He steps closer, the scent of expensive cologne lingering in the space between you. Then, with a slow, practised elegance, he takes your hand—his touch light, deliberate—and brushes his lips against your skin.

“I don’t believe we’ve met,” he says, lifting his gaze. “My name is Hyunjin.”

Your heartbeat stutters.

You don’t blush. You never blush.

But you do now.

Hyunjin’s smile deepens as if he knows exactly what he’s doing to you. “I must say,” he continues smoothly, still holding your hand, “it’s a pleasure to meet you.” Then, without looking at the bouncer, he gives a simple nod.

“She’s with me.”

And just like that, the doors open.

The moment the doors shut behind you, the world changes.

Gone is the cold, industrial exterior of the building. In its place, dimly lit corridors stretch before you, the air thick with the scent of expensive cigars and something more elusive—power. The floors beneath your heels are marble, the kind that doesn’t just exist to be walked on but to announce wealth. You glance at Hyunjin, his expression unreadable, and follow him deeper into the labyrinthine hallways.

Hyunjin doesn’t speak, but you feel the weight of his presence. His every movement is deliberate, controlled—graceful in a way that feels almost practised. You wonder if he was born like this or sculpted into the man he is now, refined like a perfectly cut diamond.

Before you can say more, he stops in front of a set of grand double doors. They are obsidian black, carved with intricate gold detailing—regal, imposing. He places a hand against one and pushes.

Beyond them, the world comes alive.

A breathtaking display of wealth and secrecy unfolds before you. The room is vast, the ceilings high, adorned with golden chandeliers that cast a sultry, amber glow over the opulent setting. Rich mahogany and velvet dominate the decor, the air buzzing with hushed conversations and soft laughter, the kind only the truly powerful possess—the type that speaks of invulnerability.

It’s intoxicating.

Your gaze sweeps over the room, taking in the sheer decadence of it all. These aren’t just rich people. These are the elite. The ones who don’t just buy luxury—they own it. You recognise some of them—captains of industry, heirs to ancient fortunes, politicians whose faces grace magazine covers. But there are others, too, ones who remain nameless but equally dangerous, exuding an aura of control that makes the hairs on your arms stand on end.

Hyunjin leans in, his breath warm against your skin as he gestures discreetly.“See the man in the navy suit by the bar? Oil tycoon. No country owns him, yet he owns half the world. And the woman in emerald green? Former royalty. Loves her diamonds, hates her family.”

His gaze sweeps the room, pointing out kings without crowns and monsters in silk. You drink in this untouchable, untamed luxury, and it fuels something inside you.

Hyunjin guides you to an elevated space near the front, a private alcove with plush seating and an uninterrupted view of the stage. A waiter approaches instantly, offering crystal flutes of champagne. You take one, savouring the way the bubbles tingle against your lips.

The auction begins.

It starts slow, calculated. The first animals brought out are rare but not shocking—exotic serpents, small creatures from faraway lands. The bidding is fierce, millions exchanged with nothing more than a subtle nod or the lift of a hand.

Hyunjin watches you, his expression unreadable. “Fascinating, isn’t it?”

You nod, unable to deny it. “The money… It’s insane.”

“It’s not about money,” he corrects smoothly. “It’s about power. Ownership.”

You gulp at his words, nodding as your mind drifts at the implications.

Then come the true prizes.

A magnificent Amur leopard, its coat like liquid gold under the spotlight; a Siberian tiger, its piercing eyes scanning the crowd with quiet defiance; African wild dogs, black-footed ferrets; and an addax whose curved horns could belong to a myth. The crowd leans forward with anticipation, voices sharpening as the stakes rise.

You are mesmerised. Not just by the spectacle, but by the people surrounding you here. These people don’t care about rules. They buy what they want. Own what they want. They are free.

You don’t realize you’re holding your breath until the birds are brought out.

The Red-fronted macaw is dazzling, the Kākāpō rare and heavy with legend. But it’s the fruit dove that steals your breath.

It is smaller than the others, delicate and impossibly vibrant, its feathers painted in hues of emerald and coral, nature’s own masterpiece. It looks utterly out of place in this world of predators. And yet, there’s something captivating about it.

You barely notice the way Hyunjin is watching you.

“You like it,” he observes, voice smooth, knowing.

You nod, barely looking at him. The bird is mesmerising.

“Then bid.”

Your eyes flick to him, but he is already watching you, something unreadable in his gaze.

“It’s rare,” he continues, tilting his head slightly. “Much is still to be learned about them. Many species are shy, difficult to observe in their natural habitat. They are not hunted for food, and yet…” His gaze drops, a fire within them that sets your skin alight.

“They are still coveted. A prized possession.”

You hear the words, but it is the way he says them that makes your breath hitch. The way his gaze rakes over your form, slow and deliberate. The way his voice lowers, rich with a meaning that has nothing to do with the bird at all.

You swallow. Hard.

“Bid.”

So you do.

The game begins, and at first, it is easy. A simple back-and-forth with another bidder.

But then— A woman’s voice. Sharp. Confident. Challenging.

You glance toward the source and immediately understand.

She is stunning, older, with an air of authority that suggests she is used to winning. But more than that, how she looks at Hyunjin—possessive, knowing—makes it clear.

She wants to win. Not just the bird.

The moment you realise this, a spark of something hot and reckless ignites in you. Your fingers tighten around the paddle. Not tonight.

You raise the bid. She counters. You go higher. The tension thickens. The numbers rise.

Four hundred thousand.

Four hundred and fifty.

Five hundred.

The woman hesitates. You see it in her expression. Hyunjin leans in, his lips just barely brushing the shell of your ear, “Don’t stop now.” You inhale sharply.

“Five hundred seventy-five thousand.”

Silence.

The gavel comes down. Sold.

You exhale, your pulse racing, but before you can bask in your victory, Hyunjin leans in. His lips brush the shell of your ear again as he whispers, “Good girl.”

A shiver runs down your spine.

The auction moves on, but you barely hear it. Not when his words still linger in your mind, setting every nerve in your body alight. And then, just as you take another sip of champagne, Hyunjin extends a hand once more. “Come,” he says, eyes gleaming. “Let’s finalize your purchase.” He leads you towards the back rooms, away from the crowd, away from prying eyes.

And something in the air tells you that whatever awaits you behind the darkness is far more dangerous than anything you’ve seen tonight.

You follow Hyunjin without question, still high from the rush of winning the bid, from the weight of his presence at your side, from the way he had whispered good girl in your ear like it was something sacred, from the taste of freedom you feel at finally doing what you want.

As you weave through the corridors, the sounds of the auction fading into the distance, a voice—her voice—cuts through the air.

“Hyunjin.”

You slow, glancing back. The woman from the bidding war stands in your path, her delicate fingers brushing against his sleeve in a way that is anything but innocent. She tilts her head, a sly smile curving her lips, but her eyes are sharp, assessing. “Leaving so soon? I was hoping we could… catch up.”

Hyunjin doesn’t even hesitate.

“Not tonight.” His tone is smooth, effortless, yet absolute. He doesn’t turn to face her, doesn’t spare her another glance. Instead, his hand rests on the small of your back, guiding you forward.

The rejection is brutal in its indifference.

You don’t look back. Not right away. But after a few steps, curiosity tugs at you, and you steal a glance over your shoulder.

 The woman’s smile is gone. She watches you with barely concealed disdain, her lips pressed into a thin, furious line. A slow, victorious smirk tugs at your own lips. She sees it. And it only makes her scowl deepen.

Hyunjin leads you through another door, and suddenly, you’re in a different world.

The room is exquisite—dark, sleek, littered with gold and fur. It is extravagant, opulent. Just like him.

Everything from the black marble floors to the velvet drapes screams power. A large desk sits at the centre, its surface polished and pristine, illuminated by the soft glow of an expensive-looking desk lamp. Behind it, shelves house rare artefacts, books that likely hold more secrets than stories, and bottles of aged liquor with labels in languages you can’t read.

At the centre of it all, a large black velvet couch sits like a throne.

You take it all in, slowly circling the room. “This is an office?” Hyunjin’s voice is smooth somewhere behind you. “Would you prefer something more… ordinary?” You glance at the velvet couch, running your fingers over the fabric. “No. This suits you.” You can hear the smile in his voice. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

Your heels echo softly as you step toward the desk, where Hyunjin is flipping through the paperwork, his golden rings catching the light. He slides the documents toward you, handing you a pen.

“Just a signature,” he murmurs. “And your payment, of course.”

You take the pen, its weight surprisingly heavy, and sign where he indicates before reaching into your purse. Your fingers find your chequebook, and you lay it flat on the desk, leaning over to fill it in.

The room is so quiet you can hear the soft scratch of your pen against the paper.

And then, a shift.

The slightest change in the air, a whisper of movement behind you. At first, you don’t register it. You’re too focused, too caught up in the ritual of payment, in the finalization of your victory. But then—heat.

A presence, pressing against your back.

Before you can turn, before you can speak—Dark silk blinds your vision.

Your entire world is cast into black.

Panic surges. Your body tenses, your pulse hammering wildly against your ribs. “What the hell is going on?” Your voice is sharp, edged with fear. “Hyunjin—!”

His hands are on your hips in an instant, grounding you. He leans in, his lips brushing the shell of your ear, his voice low, soothing.

“Hush now, little dove.”

You shudder, your panic mixing with something else.

“You have been in a cage for far too long,” he murmurs, his fingers pressing firmly into your waist, his warmth melting into you. “It is time I set you free.”

Then—his lips. A slow, deliberate kiss against your neck.

Your lashes flutter beneath the blindfold, your senses heightening in the absence of sight. You can’t see him, but you feel him—everywhere. The warmth of his breath, the teasing press of his mouth, the strength of his hands holding you still.

“Will you let me?”

It is a question, and yet it isn’t.

The control is still yours, and that realization sends a different kind of shiver through you. You don’t speak—your voice has abandoned you. But the minuscule nod you give is enough.

Hyunjin’s lips curve into a smile against your pulse. His hands leave your waist, only for one of them to take yours, guiding you away from the desk. You follow blindly—literally—feeling the shift beneath your heels, the soft give of something plush against the back of your knees before he eases you down.

The couch. He has settled you onto the black velvet couch.

His touch disappears.

The absence of it is maddening. Your heart pounds against your ribs, your fingers flexing against the fabric as you try to sense where he has gone.

And then—A whisper of sensation against your arm.

Not fingers. Not skin. Softer. Lighter. Barely there.

A feather.

It drags down the length of your arm, trailing like a whisper over your wrist, up toward your shoulder. A pause. Then, lower—brushing against your collarbone, ghosting along the curve of your cheek, the corner of your mouth.

Your breath shudders out of you, and your lips part.

Hyunjin moves in silence, unseen but everywhere. The feather traces down your throat, over the fabric of your dress, dipping lower, teasing but never quite giving.

It is torturous.

And you have never wanted anything more. Your body feels strung too tight, your breath uneven, every sense heightened in the dark. The feather glides over your stomach, your thighs, pausing just short of where you ache to be touched.

Then—his voice. Soft, but commanding. “Open your legs.”

Your breath catches, but your body obeys before your mind can catch up.

You part your thighs.

You hear nothing—see nothing—but every nerve in your body is awake, thrumming, stretched taut like a violin string. The feather moves again, a whisper of sensation against your parted thighs.

You exhale shakily in anticipation, readying your body (and mind) for what is to come, and then—

It drifts lower. What?

The softest, most excruciating caress against the inside of your knee. It lingers there, teasing, before gliding downward, following the gentle slope of your leg.

You let out a soft whine, the sound escaping before you can stop it. Hyunjin chuckles, a low, indulgent hum that vibrates through the air. His voice is warm, teasing, like liquid gold spilling into your ear.

“Be patient, little dove.”

Your breath stutters. Patient? You are beyond patient. You are aching. Burning.

But he is in no hurry.

Your fingers twitch against the velvet couch, the fabric burning hot beneath your touch as the feather travels further—down, down, over the bare skin of your calf, brushing the sharp curve of your ankle. And then—your foot.

You gasp as the feather flutters over the sensitive arch, the unexpected sensation making your muscles jerk in response. Hyunjin hums in amusement. “So sensitive,” he murmurs, and though you cannot see him, you can hear the smile in his voice.

He takes his time, mapping the contours of your foot with slow, agonizing strokes—gliding along the curve of your arch, teasing the tips of your toes, circling back to skim over your ankle once more. It is a form of torment you never knew existed, this unbearable, feather-light pleasure that leaves you trembling, aching, your breath shuddering past your lips.

You make a small, involuntary noise when the feather finally begins its ascent again.

It trails back up your calf, slower this time, deliberately drawing out the moment. The sensation coils deep within you, tightening with each passing second, your skin hypersensitive, your body hyperaware, your underwear soaked, your pussy clenched.

It glides over the inside of your knee once more—then higher.

Your thighs tense as the feather sweeps along the sensitive flesh, tracing intricate, meaningless patterns that set your skin aflame. You shift, unable to stop yourself, but Hyunjin does not let up.

Instead, he continues his merciless game, the feather dancing along the curve of your thigh, drifting from one leg to the other, back and forth.

Your breath stutters. You’re trembling now, your body betraying you, responding to the teasing touch with increasing desperation. You can feel how close he is, the warmth of his presence, the weight of his gaze.

And then—finally—The feather reaches your cunt.

A sharp, wanton gasp escapes you when the feather softly grazes over your pulsing clit, your fingers tightening into fists against the couch. Hyunjin exhales slowly, like he’s savouring the sound.

The feather lingers there, tracing slow, deliberate strokes over the engorged nub, never quite giving you the pressure you crave. It brushes, flickers, teases, sending jolts of pleasure shooting up your nerves. Your hips twitch, your breath coming in ragged, uneven gasps, and yet—he does not give in.

Not yet.

You shift again, desperate, seeking more friction. Something. Anything. To relieve this building ache in core.

And then, just when you think you might lose yourself completely to this torture, Hyunjin’s voice breaks the silence. Soft. Amused. Knowing. “What is it you want, little dove?”

You have never begged for anything in your life. Not once. But for him? For this?

“Hyunjin…please.”

Your voice is raw, breaking over his name. But he doesn’t move.

You can feel him, so close yet so infuriatingly still, his presence a smouldering heat between your thighs. You shift, parting them further, seeking more friction.

“Please, Hyunjin… I need you. Your fingers, your mouth, anything…Please.”

Hyunjin hums, pleased, his voice rich with amusement. “Look at you.”

Finally his fingers glide over your thighs, warm, firm, stroking in slow, deliberate circles, and you feel as if you might cry.

“You were so put together when you walked in here. So sure of yourself. And now…” His touch tightens, fingers digging in just enough to make you gasp. “Now you’re begging me.” A shiver rolls down your spine.

“Say it again,” he murmurs. “Beg me properly, little dove.”

You swallow, your head falling back against the couch. The words spill from you before you can stop them. Before you can even think.

“Please, Hyunjin, please—I need you. I need you to touch me.” Your breath hitches, your voice trembling. “I need your mouth on me. Please.”

There’s a sharp inhale above you. Then—warm hands, strong and unyielding, gripping your thighs. “That’s it,” Hyunjin purrs. “That’s my good girl.”

He pulls you forward effortlessly, dragging you to the very edge of the couch, spreading you wide for him. Your shoulders hit the backrest, your body melting into his touch as a quiet, needy whimper escapes you.

“So pretty,” he muses as if admiring his favourite masterpiece. “So perfect for me like this.”

His fingers slide beneath your underwear, slow, teasing, just a brush—just enough to make you choke on a breath, to make you arch into him. “Let’s get these off, hmm?” There’s no waiting, no hesitation. The fabric is gone in seconds, leaving you bare beneath his gaze.

And then—heat. Hyunjin’s mouth finally presses against your cunt.

You moan out at the sensation, his lips softly enveloping your clit and sucking the nub into his mouth. Your sounds only seem to spur him on, and he dives in. He’s not gentle with it, like a man who had been starved for far too long finally getting his first taste of sustenance. He buries his head deeper between your thighs, sucking harder, his tongue and teeth alternating between flicking and nibbling the nub.

���More, Hyunjin…. Please.” You moan out, hips gently rotating against his face, desperate for more friction. More pressure.

He releases your clit with a pop, his lips instead tracing a path down towards your entrance. As his tongue pokes out to gather your juices, another gasp escapes your mouth. A second later, his tongue plunges into your hole, and you buck forward at the intrusion, your hand flying into his dark locks. Hyunjin pulls away, tsking at your behaviour.

His voice is strained, deeper than before, as he grounds out: “Now, now, little dove. Don’t make me clip your wings.”

The gaze that greets yours is dark, feline, and suddenly, you wonder if you might have actually become a bird at the mercy of this predator.

Hyunjin commands softly: “Grab the back of the couch. Don’t let go.” Before diving back in. Even though his head is buried against your cunt again, you still nod your head before doing as you’re told.

You feel his hand sneak its way between your legs as his lips resume their plays around your clit, before he plunges two fingers inside. “Oh fuck…” you groan as his hand picks up the pace, in perfect sync with his mouth. You grind your hips against his face again, careful to keep your hands behind you, and Hyunjin groans out at your brazenness, the vibrations sending another shiver up your spine as they pulse through you.

Hyunjin picks up the pace even more, adding a third finger, curling them inside of you and flattening his tongue to apply more pressure and draw quicker circles on your clit. It’s slightly embarrassing how quickly you reach your peak, the combination of the blindfold still covering your eyes, your senses being dulled, the earlier ministrations of the feather, and Hyunjin’s skilful movements between your legs proving to be too much.

“Oh fuck… I’m coming. Hyunjin. I’m coming.” You have just enough time to scream out as you topple over the edge, your body quivering as your orgasm overtakes you.

Hyunjin pushes you through it: “Yes, little dove. Yes. Come for me, such a good girl you are.” He groans, his fingers still pistoning inside of you. Your juices cover his hand, his lips, but he doesn’t stop. Only when you cry out, sounding a little less pleased and a little more pained, he gently removes himself from you. Delivering a soft kiss to your vulva, a silent praise.

Your body is still humming, the aftershocks of pleasure leaving you weightless, limbs heavy against the velvet couch. The world feels hazy, suspended between reality and something more indulgent, more intoxicating.

Hyunjin rises from the floor, slow and fluid, his presence still a smouldering heat between your thighs. And then—warm hands cradle your face, fingers pressing just enough to ground you before his lips crash against yours.

You moan softly into his mouth, tasting yourself on his tongue, letting him swallow the sound like a secret. The kiss is deep, unhurried, yet claiming, leaving you dizzy all over again.

And then—he pulls away.

“Stay put.” His voice is smooth, firm, laced with something unreadable. “Don’t take off the blindfold yet.”

You exhale shakily, nodding without question. Your body still belongs to him, your mind too clouded to resist. You listen as he moves—footsteps, the rustle of fabric, the faintest shift in the air.

Then—Nothing. The silence is so thick, so absolute, it coils around you like an invisible tether. You strain your ears, waiting, anticipating. Still—nothing. A minute passes. Then another. Your fingers twitch against the couch, unease flickering beneath the remnants of pleasure.

“Hyunjin?” you whisper. No response. You wet your lips, your throat suddenly dry. “Hyunjin.” Louder now. Still—silence.

A strange chill spreads through your limbs, the absence of sound shifting from anticipation to something else—something wrong. You sit up abruptly, your legs pressing together, your body instinctively curling inward as your fingers move quickly to your face. The blindfold slips away.

Blink. Adjust. Focus.

The dim golden glow of the room sharpens around you, the opulence still intact—the dark, sleek walls, the velvet couch, the furs spilling over the furniture. But Hyunjin is gone. Your chest tightens. Your gaze sweeps the room, searching for movement, a shadow, an open door. Nothing. No lingering warmth. No sign he was even here. Your breath hitches. You reach for your underwear, needing something tangible, something to ground you.

But they’re gone.

Instead, lying beside you is a small folded note. As you pick it up, your fingers tremble slightly, the thick paper cool against your skin. You hesitate, pulse ticking at your throat before you finally unfold it. Neat, elegant handwriting stares back at you.

“Don’t fly too far, little dove. Or I’ll have to catch you again.”

Your breath shudders. Something slips from the note into your palm.

A tarot card.

Matte black, smooth between your fingertips. You turn it over, gold lettering gleaming under the soft glow of the lights.

The High Priestess.

Your grip tightens around it, your mind racing, pulse hammering. You’ve heard whispers before. The Syndicate. A name never spoken too loudly, slipping through the cracks of high society, shadowing the rich and the powerful. You know enough to understand its weight, but not enough to know its reach. A slow chill creeps into your bones, replacing the lingering heat. What does it mean? Why this card? And more importantly—

Did you just sign away your soul to the devil?

A/N: Part two of The Syndicate is here! Still have 6 more members to go, each with their own role and plot within the group. Can you guess who is next on the list? Also, kudos to anyone who noticed the little easter egg at the beginning. 💟

Send me your thoughts - feedback/fangirling is always welcome.

Taglist: @hanjisungs-bitch66 - @smartie-pants

(Collage created by me. Credits to owners of the pictures taken from Pinterest)

[goquokka00]

SKZ vs Shark Week (Minho ver.)

How would each member of Stray Kids handle you while you're on your period?

BANGCHAN | MINHO | CHANGBIN | HYUNJIN JISUNG | FELIX | SEUNGMIN | JEONGIN

WARNING: This is a female reader going through their period. If the topic of a period/anything that has to do with a period makes you uncomfortable, then don't read it. Just remember that there's nothing wrong with a woman's period. It's a perfectly healthy body function :)

THE MOODS When your period is close to arriving, it's very safe to say that you become an absolute nightmare. Even Minho thinks so. Your mood swings are seriously no joke, and so when you woke up crying only to yell at Minho for no reason, Minho knew that your period was close. Oh, joy.

The issue with this is that one itty bitty slip up from Minho would just send wave after wave of emotion, and Minho barely had time to recover before the next switch. If he accidentally brushes his hand against your chest, it's game over. He's getting chewed out about how he's always trying to have sex, and then the next minute your in tears because you feel bad about yelling at him.

So, how does Minho help you? He can't. There's no saving you. All he can do is just take blow after blow, apologize for something that really wasn't a big deal, listen, and comfort you. Carefully. He knew it wasn't you and it was just hormones. He could just pick at you after your period was done.

THE BLOOD God, you think your mood swings are bad? Your flow is worse. You only bleed for 3 days, but holy hell, you bled and you bled HARD. A lot of times, you were on the toilet for the majority of the day because your flow was so bad. And when you weren't, you had to wear a heavy duty pad and a heavy duty tampon. Fucking sucks.

Minho, understanding this, usually does his best to support you. Sometimes, if you're in the bathroom on the toilet just to let blood drain, he'll come in and play games with you. If you don't want him in the bathroom, you and him will do local play video games so you aren't completely alone. And if you're walking around, he'll set up small dates for you both to do at home since you'd rather die than go out in public when your uterus is ripping itself to shreds and making a tidal wave of blood.

THE PAIN Thankfully, you don't deal with too much pain. God decided to have some mercy. Key word? Some. While you didn't deal with pain, you did deal with constipation, bloating, and extreme nausea. It...it was bad.

So what does Minho do? First, he makes sure you're drinking enough. He'll also make sure you eat at least something. He knows that you genuinely don't feel good and are really queasy until your period eases it's choke hold on you, and so he doesn't force you to eat a bunch. But he'll still give you some rice and eggs or foods that'll stick in you instead of making you feel like throwing up.

And once your nausea and bloating is gone, he'll make you whatever you're craving, making sure that the food will also help your intestines loosen up so you aren't uncomfortable when you sit down or move around.

THE PRODUCT There's not a whole lot that Minho can do for you on your period. It kills him every single time, and so he'll always help wherever he can. And if that means running to the store to get you what you need? He's on it.

He knows exactly what you prefer and use, and so he will make sure to buy a lot of it since you go through it quickly. There's zero complaining, zero whining, zero teasing. He's doing whatever he can so you suffer less.

And of course, he's getting anything else that you ask for as well. You want a coffee from a place that's 30 minutes away? Bet, he'll happily go and get it for you. You want croissants? He'll make them from scratch. You want Felix's brownies? Well, Felix is coming over to bake them right here for you. Simple as that.

Hey! Firstly, thank you so much for reading this post, and I really hope you enjoyed! If you did, please like, reblog, or comment so I can see how I'm doing with writing and getting feedback! I hope you have a lovely day! Sleep well, stay in good health, and eat something if you haven't! ❤️❤️❤️

Taglist: @miss-daisy04 @kayleefriedchicken @wolfs-archive @stayyyyyyyyyyyy21 @wolfs-howling @rose-w-00-d

[steddiehyperfixation]

holding out for a hero

@steddiebingo prompts: superhero au + fly | 1.8k words | rated T

Eddie doesn't believe in superheroes. He may live most of his life in fantasy, playing fantasy games and reading fantasy books, but contrary to popular belief, he does still know the difference between reality and fiction. And some superhuman wonderboy flying through the streets of small town Indiana sniffing out crimes to stop is definitely fiction, no matter what the local news stations have been saying lately. 

It's all just some angle, some sort of propaganda. “Something to make the ne’er-do-wells scared and the do-gooders feel safer,” as he'd put it in his lunchtime rant earlier this afternoon, stomping atop the high school cafeteria tables and laughing at everyone who jeered at him. He was being dramatic and theatrical, but the point still stands that these stories of a superhero in Hawkins are utter bullshit. Especially since the only evidence the news has been able to cough up on the contrary is a couple of fantastical eyewitness accounts and one singular blurry, grainy, heavily shadowed photo of a random guy jumping over a fence. 

Eddie believes in what he can see, and if there really is a superhero running around Hawkins, he’s fairly fucking certain he would’ve seen it by now. He commits crimes on the daily and no one’s ever stopped him. No masked vigilante has ever interrupted a drug deal. No wonderboy has ever busted him for petty theft. They're small crimes, sure, but it's not like there's too many others doing too much worse around here. To that end, no one’s ever saved him either, when a deal goes south or a bully gets physical, but that’s a weaker argument. Eddie knows he’s not the kind of person most people would care to save.

He certainly doesn't expect to be saved now as he finds himself at a meeting that’s quickly shaping up to be more of an ambush. It was already shady to start with, the details of the deal set up through anonymous notes left in his locker that led him here to wait outside of an abandoned building in the middle of the night, but then the guy marches up with three extra goons behind him, guns on their belts, and it’s only getting shadier. Eddie straightens up from the wall he’d been leaning on, every muscle in his body tensing warily. 

The guy in front gives him a derisive once over. “So you’re Al Munson’s kid, huh?” he sneers, and that’s when Eddie knows he’s really in trouble. 

“Shit.” Eddie raises his hands and starts backing away. “Man, whatever beef you got with Al, it’s got nothing to do with me, alright? I don’t want any trouble.” 

“Right…” The main thug’s lip curls up sarcastically as he advances. His goons advance with him, and as they step out of the shadows Eddie realizes that while two of the goons are respectably big and scary, the other one is just some fucking kid, no more than a few years younger than him. In fact, he’s pretty damn sure he’s passed him in the hallways at school before. That must’ve been who was leaving the notes. 

“Oh, eugh.” Eddie wrinkles his nose in distaste, his stupid mouth running off in reaction to his moral disgust before his brain has the sense to stop it, “Did you seriously rope your fucking kid into this shit? You know the more you get him involved the more it could just as easily end up being him in a situation like this instead of me.” 

He's answered, predictably, by Main Thug slamming a fist into his face. “Are you threatening my son?!”

“No!” Eddie yelps, cowering away as the pain blooms across his face from what is most likely going to become a black eye. “I’m just saying-”  

“Well, stop sayin’.” Main Thug swings again and Eddie tries to dodge out of the way, even throwing up his hands in an attempt to block, but the blow still lands and it stings like hell. His momentary disorientation from being punched again gives Main Thug even more of an advantage, which he uses to grab Eddie by the collar to keep him from moving. “Stop sayin’ and start listenin’. I’d hate to have to kill you before you can make up for what your daddy owes us.” 

“Okay!” Eddie raises his hands once more in surrender. “Okay. Take it easy.” 

Clearly, fighting his way out of this is not an option. These aren’t some high school bullies he can scare away with a single show of self defense and a well-timed weird face; these, with the exception of the random kid, are full grown men at least twice his size who are hellbent on achieving either Eddie’s death or his compliance, and they aren’t picky which. Surrounded and outnumbered, shutting up and staying still seems like his best bet for the moment. Although, he’s not too sure he wants to find out what exactly they want to make him do to pay off his douchebag dad’s debt either. 

He waits until Main Thug is satisfied enough with his surrender to let go of his shirt, and then, in a split-second impulse, Eddie turns and bolts. The half-second advantage of surprise allows him to slip through the circle of goons around him, but after that his luck dries up. His assailants recover too quickly, immediately swearing and chasing after him, and Eddie’s not fast enough to outrun them. He’s caught within moments, one of the big goons grabbing onto him and redirecting his momentum to throw him into a wall. 

“Ow, fuck!” Eddie’s shoulder slams into the wall first, then his back; and even his head gets a good thump against the brick too. The wind knocked out of him, all he can do is brace himself for another hit. But it never comes. 

Instead, the fucking Hero of Hawkins himself comes flying in out of nowhere to barrel down his attackers, very efficiently taking the heat off of Eddie as the thugs are now far more preoccupied with fighting off a goddamn superhero.

“What the fuck?” Eddie blinks the lingering blur of pain from his eyes, squinting to make sure he’s seeing things right. It’s dark and wonderboy’s wearing a mask, but Eddie would recognize that perfectly coiffed hair anywhere. “Steve Harrington?” 

Obviously caught off guard by being recognized, Wonderboy/Steve falters for one fatal second. His startled pause is tiny and brief, all things considered, but it gives the thugs just enough time to regain their footing and draw their weapons. 

“Shit.” Steve reacts in an instant. Within the blink of an eye, he dives towards Eddie, scoops him up bridal style, and launches into flight just before the first gunshot rings out. 

“Jesus Christ!” Eddie yelps, clinging onto Steve’s neck as they rocket into the sky. “Take me out to dinner first!” 

Steve, clearly, does not find this amusing. “We are literally being shot at,” he hisses. 

“Yeah, and that’s very scary, so I’m cracking jokes to cope,” Eddie retorts over the sound of his racing heartbeat and the wind in his ears. “Sue me, Harrington.” 

“I don’t know why you keep calling me that,” Steve lies, evasive gaze trained straight ahead as they stop flying up and start flying forward. “I don’t know who you think I am, but I’m not-” 

“What, not Steve Harrington?” Eddie scoffs, rolling his eyes. “Suuuuure. You know, the mask is good and all, but if you really don’t want people to know who you are, you might want to consider wearing a hat or something too. You have very recognizable hair,” he informs him. “And moles,” he adds in an afterthought, continuing to study Steve’s face with the utmost attention. It’s a nice distraction, better than looking down or looking back. “And jawline…and eyes… So really you should probably just wear a whole paper bag over your head, actually,” Eddie decides. “But then I guess that would kill the whole dashing hero vibe you’ve got going, huh?” 

To his surprise, that's what succeeds in making Steve laugh. “Oh wow.” Steve finally looks at him, eyebrows raised in amusement. “You seem intimately familiar with this Harrington guy’s facial structure. Does he know how much you've been looking at him?” 

“What, no, I look a normal amount,” Eddie protests indignantly. “Those are all totally normal things to notice. Especially since they are, like I said, very recognizable features.” 

“Sure. Which is why no one else has ever accused me of having the same jawline as Steve Harrington.” 

“Are you seriously going to keep denying it?”

“I think you got hit just a little too hard tonight,” Steve says, simultaneously dismissing the validity of Eddie’s accusation and redirecting the conversation with such smooth and genuine concern Eddie almost misses the implied insult to his current mental capabilities. “Is your head okay?” 

Eddie chooses not to be offended in favor of responding with a smirk and quip, “I’ve yet to receive a bad review.” 

“That’s not what I meant and you know it.” 

“Yeah, I’m fine,” he answers more soberly. “Just a little bruised, nothing serious. I’ll live.” 

“Good.” 

After a minute, Steve’s flying slows and he starts making a gradual descent. Eddie finally risks a glance down, watching the entrance to Forest Hills Trailer Park rise up to meet them. Steve's taken him home. 

“Aw man, is the ride over?” 

“Yeah. Go home, take it easy, get some ice on those bruises,” Steve says as he lands gently and sets Eddie back on his feet. “I’m gonna go make sure those guys won’t mess with you again.” 

In the moment where his feet have just settled steadily on the ground but his arms are still around Steve’s neck, Eddie can’t help but press a quick kiss to Steve’s cheek before letting go and swaying out of his space. “Thanks.” 

“Uh- yeah.” Steve stutters for a barely noticeable second before he recovers, nodding in a sort of farewell salute as he starts backing up to leave. “Stay out of trouble.” 

“And pass up the chance to be your damsel in distress again?” Eddie grins. “I don’t think so.” 

Steve huffs out a laugh, shaking his head. “Then I guess I’ll be seeing you around, Munson.” 

With that, he turns and launches into the air. Eddie watches as he arcs gracefully through the sky and fades into the distance. He stands there staring after Steve even after he’s lost sight of him, the far away silhouette of him disappearing into the night. 

“Jesus Christ,” Eddie mutters, blinking and shaking himself out of this trance. It still hasn’t quite settled in yet that any of what happened tonight was actually real, but what has settled in is that he’s exhausted and his face hurts. Everything else he can process in the morning. 

He drags himself around and makes his way back to his trailer where he collapses onto his bed and passes out within minutes, sinking into dreams of flying.

[britneyshakespeare]

the middle school principal wants to hire me in a full-time position so bad.

and who can blame him? i'm that substitute 💅

[enby-cuntboy]

thinking about an escape room but the twist is that if you don't get out in time, you're used by the entire staff until they're satisfied.

you know what you're getting into, of course. you sign the forms saying that the facility can't be held liable for any damages that happen to you. afterwards, you're stripped down and restrained. cuffs around your wrists behind your back as you're bent over a table, chains holding your ankles together. a collar is attached to your neck, connected in two places. one, to hold you still on the table. and the other connected to the ceiling with a lot of slack. you seem to be in a dungeon, iron bars blocking the unlocked exit.

you're left alone and the timer is placed immediately in front of you, counting down, minute by minute. right where you can see it. the restraints are firm and secure, but they each have their give, their weaknesses. the chains on your feet can be undone by looping it around the corner of the table and pulling at it at just the right angle. then you have to move your cuffed wrists behind your back and under your legs so you can use them.

the part of the collar connecting you to the table is dealt with by simply unhooking it, meaning you're able to stand up and move around the room. there's a box with a pile of keys for you to sort through. one of them must open the cuffs. one of them must unlock the bars. you sort through them in a hurry, adrenaline making your cuffed hands shake as you try each and every one of them, adding them gradually to the discard pile. once your hands are free, you fiddle with your collar. it doesn't seem to have any give. but while doing this, you see that on the other side of the iron bars is a bolt cutter, exactly what you need.

you're invigorated, trying all the keys on the bars as the minutes count down. your time is scarce, it's moving far more quickly than you're able to take into account. until finally, the lock clicks. the metal gate swings open and you can see the bolt cutter on the floor right in front of you.

except when you walk forward, the collar around your neck tugs you back. the tool is just out of reach. you can't get enough slack to pick it up. you try desperately, every option you can think of, to stretch your body out and try and kick the bolt cutter closer to you, desperately now as you see you only have three minutes remaining, then two, then one and a half.

until you finally remember the chains on your feet. you hurry back to the table, reaching under it to grab the chains and looking at the time left on the timer. 50 seconds. you hurry back to the iron bars, throwing the chains, trying to lasso the bolt cutter to finally get it in your grasp. and with 20 seconds remaining, the tool hooks onto the end of the shackles on the chains, and you desperately try reeling it in. 15 seconds, and you're pulling it closer, so very carefully. until finally, you reach down and wrap your hands around the tool and that's when your heart sinks.

it wasn't a bolt cutter. it was a toy. lightweight and useless, like something that would go in a child's tool set. and you realise: you were never meant to escape this. you never even had a chance. you had willingly walked into a trap.

your time is up and an alarm sounds, the lighting in the room turning red. the staff walk through the door, heading straight for you, cocks and straps and toys in hand, grins of delight on their faces.

they push you back onto the table and use you exactly how they want to, each and every one of them noticing how soaked you've gotten just from being in the escape room and playing this game, mocking you for what a slut you are as they take you without any preamble.

they use all your holes simultaneously, manhandling you into whatever positions they want. bending you over, taking you from behind. seeing how much can fit into you at once. slapping you about, spitting on you, spanking and whipping, passing you from one to another. never a moment for you to rest or recover before you're impaled on another cock.

all while their mocking voices taunt you.

this is what you were asking for when you came here. this is exactly what you were hoping for. to be used relentlessly. you never wanted to escape anyway, no matter what you'd say. you needed to be used like this. only sluts ever enter these escape rooms, and so you would be treated as what you were. willing holes for them.

once they've all had their turn, they take the toy bolt cutter and shove it into your used hole, fucking you with it slowly. it's too big and uncomfortable, but you stretch around it so easily after all that use. your arousal making it easy. you keep crying out, and they keep laughing. this was the thing you thought would set you free. this was your salvation for twenty minutes or so, all you cared to get. and now they were filling you with it. and worse than that, they were making sure you enjoyed it.

they bring you to an intense orgasm with the very thing you thought would save you. your mind is foggy and you can't think of much aside from the feeling of the toy inside you. you're burning with embarassment.

you came so close to escaping. you were so resourceful and clever about it all. but now you were nothing but holes for them to use until they decided they were done. all that intelligence you used to try and get out would leak out with your arousal as they continued to whore you out. your brain would never work the same once they were done with you. once they had reduced you to something so pathetic.

they aren't done using you. they won't be for a while. and you don't know if you ever want to be done serving them. this is where thinking got you, and now you were being put in your place.

[cosmictheo]

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐊 𝐎𝐅 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 | kang dae-ho

—summary: a sudden closeness of you and player 333 makes dae-ho's usually sweet mood swing in the opposite way, triggered by pure jealousy. why would you ever need anyone else when you've got him right there? —pairing: kang dae-ho/player 388 x female!reader —word count: 4.5k —contains: +18, smut !!! (minors dni), p in v sex, unprotected sex, creampie, descriptions of the reader having female genitalia, some porn with some plot, really passionate sex, voyeurism, public sex, sub dae-ho!!! (canon), slight praise kink if you squint, he talks to you through it, jealous and possessive behavior, fluff, dae-ho being so in love with the reader.

writer’s note: english is not my mother tongue, so please forgive me if there is a grammatical error. hope you like it!

Kang Dae-ho had been protecting you ever since he had helped you survive Green Light, Red Light, the first game of all this hell in disguise as a promising new opportunity.

Not knowing you from absolutely nothing, he stepped right in front of you, stretching a hand out to the back to hold yours and guide you across the arena, playing human shield until together, you had crossed the finish line. 

And that basically summed up the kind of person Dae-ho is; kind-hearted, courageous, selfless, caring. He was one of the best people you had ever met and he was making this whole calvary into something much better, something brighter, something to keep fighting for until you made it out of there.

Since that, he had stuck by your side, practically standing as your own shadow, constantly putting you first, looking out for your well-being and safety. Without him, you would probably be dead by now, devoid of purpose.

The other players had already gotten used to seeing the two of you together, always watching each other's backs and fooling around and strategizing. Through thick and thin, you were together.

It was only a matter of time —hours—; before something else began to spark between the two of you, growing every time your hands brushed, or when he wrapped an arm around your shoulders or when your bodies cocooned in each other's warmth at night when you slept. A tension was just starting to build, an emotion that for some reason, would always make Dae-ho nervous and flustered, whenever you'd smile at him or clasp his bicep to be by his side every time Gi-hun related a story from his past experience at the games, or when you'd lean your head on his shoulder or when you'd hug each other every time a game ended.

Whatever it was, out of the same feeling, Dae-ho sensed a heaviness in the pit of his stomach, feeling as if his guts were constricting like a viper, every time you chatted with the 333 player.

He looks at you from the distance, frowning slightly as you laugh at something the guy says, he doesn't even know why he dislikes him so much... he just does.

“Why are you all puckered up?” Jung-bae questions him, pausing his own story to express concern for his teammate's face, following his gaze until he finds you, naturally.

Dae-ho clicks his tongue, shaking his head gently, his tone of voice fluctuating between disbelief and annoyance, "Why is she even over there? It's dangerous"

“Dangerous? Buddy, she's just talking to him. He saved her in the last game, remember?” Jung-bae answers him, confused by the uncharacteristic grumpy attitude of the younger man, used to the sight of him being so cheerful and jovial and optimistic.

“If it weren't for him, she wouldn't be here,” Young-il adds, also glancing at how you whisper with player 333, “She's just being polite.”

But Dae-ho huffs humorlessly, forcing his eyes to drag from you to Jung-bae standing in front of him, his fingers still grasping his fork tightly, not really feeling like eating lunch today, “Bullshit, I would've saved her anyway. She didn't need him.”

Gi-hun rolls his eyes, sitting by his side as he quietly observes the whole scene, chewing a mouthful of rice, “You're just jealous, man, admit it,” he pronounces with his mouth half full, eyes attentively scanning Dae-ho's reaction.

The whole group of men laugh upon seeing Dae-ho's face morph to one of embarrassment and some offense, cheeks blushing furiously at Gi-hun's fake allegation.

“I'm n-not jealous” he tries to defend himself with a stuttering voice, looking frantically around the amused faces of the men around him, his fingers letting his fork drop by his twitching and nervous state, attracting the attention of a few players who were nearby, including yours, which only makes Dae-ho to blush even redder.

Jung-bae smiles playfully, picking up the fork that had fallen to the ground, “And you're being overdramatic.”

“I am not!” Dae-ho squeals, his brow furrowing as he stands up and yanks the fork out of Jung-bae's hand. As the whole group laughs at him, his eyes again search for you in the crowd, finding you in record time, and his whole face darkens again as he notices the way your hand is resting down the player 333's forearm, like you would usually do with him.

He sighs heavily and for the first time, he seriously considers the words of the older men.

Time passes unnoticed within that place, hours perhaps, days? No one really knows.

But the warning that the lights go out in thirty minutes usually means that you should lie down and rest for the next event that the monsters who created this have planned for you all.

The first thing you notice when you arrive at the bed you share with Dae-ho, is that he is lying on his side with his back to you, which concerns you a little, since he never had his back to you when he would sleep.

Something is off.

“Dae-ho?” you call out his name in a gentle whisper, sitting down on the bunk and looking across the broadness of his back with worried eyes, “Are you okay?”

No response.

“Hey,” you try again gently, thinking that maybe he's not exactly having a good day, considering the current situation you're stuck in.

Dae-ho is feeling his chest heaving as he senses your hand laying on his shoulder, fingers delicately squeezing his flesh beneath the tracksuit jacket. 

And suddenly, he's cracking up.

“I'm trying to sleep” and yet, he replies to you curtly, without showing even the slightest sign of rolling over and wanting to actually look at you.

You admire his back with unconvinced eyes for a moment, lying down on the bed and resting your head on the pillow, your hand moving from his shoulder, down his back, across his shoulder blades, before dropping to the surface of the bed.

“You sound off.”

Dae-ho considers his options; whether to just keep talking to you in that oh-so-ungentlemanly way —which made him physically cringe—; whether to express everything he was feeling or just stay quiet and pretend to sleep.

In any case, he acts on impulse, rolling over so he can finally look at you, his eyes softening the instant they meet yours, his heart beating hard and fast, pounding in his ears.

“It's not good for you to associate with players outside our group,” he suddenly blurts out and sees how you just stare at him with further confusion washing over your pretty face, “It could be dangerous.”

“What do you mean?” you inquire, silently urging him to elaborate on his point. You are quick to notice how deadly serious his face is, his lips lightly pursed and his eyes solemn, a look that is unusual on him. You don't like to see him like that, like everyone there usually acted.

“Player 333,” he replies, jaw clenched, his eyes following you as you sat up again on the bed, looking down at him in sheer confusion, as if somehow, you aren't recognizing him, “I saw the way he was looking at you.”

He sounds... hurt? Disappointed?

“Lee Myung-gi” your face turns enlightened, finally understanding what he's referring to now.

Dae-ho deflects his gaze away from yours, slightly rolling his eyes. Whatever that idiot's name was...

“I was just talking to him. He saved me in the last game, Dae-ho,” you explain in an overly naive tone, a little smile curving the corner of your lips, “I went to thank him”

“But I am the one doing that, that's why I'm here. You didn't need him, you have me,” he retorts back to you instantly, your name being pronounced by his lips like a plea for mercy, gesturing to himself with his hand for emphasis on his words. Your brow furrows at the same time as his, your lips turning into a small pout, feeling like a scolded child, “I was going to save you anyway! You only need me, no one else...”

His voice fades the more he speaks, shaky hand brushing through his loose hair. And now you notice it, the betrayed and hurt expression on his face, his eyes hiding something more than friendliness, something much deeper and bigger.

He is jealous.

“Why are you acting like this all of a sudden?” you are questioning him, getting more comfortable on the mattress, your voice keeping low so as not to wake the others, but also firm on your side of the little argument. You had done nothing wrong, “He was just being a good companion—”

“He didn't seem to be performing the good companion role,” Dae-ho interrupts you, spitting out the words as if they were venomous, rising himself up to also sit on the bed and face you, gesticulating with his hands, his tone of voice is fueled by sarcasm and subtle irony now, “I didn't like the way he was looking at you... neither how you were touching him with your hand.”

He crosses his arms and resembles a sulky kid who's had his favorite toy taken away, but you're too pissed off to pause and laugh at him.

Instead, you roll your eyes, starting to unbutton your jacket, feeling too hot all of a sudden, Dae-ho's eyes follow your fingers as they pull down the zipper, “You're being overdramatic.”

"I'm not!" he gasps-whispers, expression offended, he genuinely does seem to be feeling betrayed by what you had done. He leans close to you, so close that you feel the natural warmth of his body, but you stand your ground, looking at him with baffled eyes, his gaze remains soft yet aching, “I'm just looking out for you.”

“You'd rather I touch your arm then?” you raise an eyebrow on your forehead, dropping the jacket by the bottom of the bed, holding his gaze, “Is that what this is all about?”

The effect of your words in instantaneous on Dae-ho, blushing and causing him to pull away from you rather abruptly, brushing his hand through his hair again like a maniac.

“Yes,” he replies with certainty, the word barging into his throat before he could even think of a reasonable response, so he shakes his head slightly, “I mean no— I mean yes—” he cuts himself off, flustered by your attentive gaze, “—that's not the point! The point is that you don't need to go to anyone else when you have me right here.”

He gulps hard, eagerly waiting for your reaction through desperate, sheepish eyes.

“I know,” you whisper, letting out a soft sigh from your mouth, switching to a more empathetic postur. Then you nod your head and stretch out a hand towards him, who wastes no second in reaching out to take it and pull it close to his chest, nuzzling your knuckles with his thumb, “But he just dragged me with him, I couldn't do much,” you offer him a small apologetic smile, “I know you would have saved me anyway, Dae-ho.”

“Of course,” he murmurs your name, bringing your hand to his mouth to press his lips onto your knucles, kissing your smooth skin, “You're not alone, you're with me. You are everything...”

Without saying anything, you move closer to him and hug him. Dae-ho is more than happy to reciprocate your embrace, wrapping his beefy arms around your waist and hiding his face in your neck, breathing in your sweet and comforting scent, the scent he so adores. You feel his warm breath against the sensitive skin of your neck and a shiver runs through you from head to toe.

One of your hands goes up to his head, caressing his hair, fingers sinking into his dark long locks, the soothing and so intimate touch making him sigh.

“You're jealous,” you murmur after a moment of comfortable, heart-warming silence, and he stiffens, his body freezing, you can feel the way his muscles tense against yours.

Dae-ho pulls away from you just a little, far enough to be able to look at you, offering you a sheepish little smile, his cheeks blushing from all the attention and touch and closeness, the way you're talking and looking at him has him breathless.

“Maybe a little,” his expression shifts to one of shame as he dares to confess, valiantly enough to hold your gaze, letting himself fall into the gentleness of your eyes, always so lively and playful, but as beautiful and sparkling as a pair of gemstones, with your long lashes brushing your cheekbones every time you blink.

His hands gently squeeze your waist, contouring your curves and fitting into them perfectly, as if crafted for him to touch and hold.

“You don't have to be jealous, sweets,” you assure him, like a promise, a complicity, leaning into him again.

Dae-ho swallows loudly, squeezing his eyes shut as he feels your beautiful soft lips press down onto his throat, kissing his bouncing Adam's apple. He can feel himself in heaven, letting himself be swept up by the way you are treating him, the way your hands run down his body, passing down his chest until they stop at his midsection, just at the moment your tongue traces across his skin, making him hiss, feeling all the air being knocked out of his lungs.

“Fuck— ngh,” he whimpers, his whole body aching with heat, his heart pumping hot blood into his crotch, heartbeats matching up with each of your wet kisses on his neck.

His big hands wander over your waist, lightly caressing your lower back, fingers barely grazing the curve of your ass above the fabric of your tracksuit pants, clasping the flesh, pressing you helplessly against his body. His touch is needy, but nonetheless respectful, as gentlemanly as ever.

“Is this okay?” comically enough he's the one to ask as your mouth reaches his chin by a wet trail of soft kisses through his skin and he almost feels himself cumming into his boxers by the way you open your eyes to look up at him, pupils dilated in pleasure.

You sigh out a soft chuckle and your breath crashes against his half-open lips, needily breathing in your air, breathing you in. Your fingers fiddle with the edge of his jacket.

“You want this?”

It's stupid that you even had the mere thought of that question.

“Yes, please, baby— please,” Dae-ho rushes to answer, hands squeezing everything they could grab from you, desperately, “Can I kiss yo—”

Before he managed to formulate the question your lips are on his and from one second to the next he pulls you close to sit on his lap, making you feel his erection press against the underside of your thigh.

Frantically, between kisses, tongues recognizing each other and hands grasping what they can of the other, he helps you to remove his shirt, breaking away for just a moment to pull it over his head, looking at you with eyes darkened with desire.

He groans against your mouth as you kiss again, your teeth nibbling gently on his bottom lip.

“Shh...” you coo against his lips, pushing him down to make his back lay against the bed, “You don't want the others to hear, do you?”

A playful smile stretches at the corner of his lips, squeezing your butt once you leaned over him to begin kissing his chest, his eyes rolling back in pleasure, feeling the way your back arches.

“I wouldn't mind if 333 listens—”

“Dae-ho,” you name him disapprovingly, but your eyes are heavy with playfulness and longing.

He gazes adoringly up as you take off your shirt, eyes roaming down your neck, across your chest, down your stomach.

“You're so pretty, fuck— come here,” he tugs you closer to him to kiss you one more time, his hands detaching from your hips to lift his own, pulling down his pants and his now, wrecked boxers, clumsily sliding the waistband of the cloth down his thighs.

His dick springs free and it has you open-mouthed, staring down at it with eyes of raw longing and adoration. His mushroom-shaped, leaking, needy head bumps barely against his lower abdomen, lining up with his happy trail.

Dae-ho blushes under your gaze, one of his hands caresses your hip to attract your attention back to his face.

“Can you handle it, baby?” his tone of voice lowers sheepishly.

Your cunt pulsates around nothing from his words only and in less than ten seconds, you're stripping off your pants too, pulling your soaking wet panties aside. He can actually feel how wet you are when your pussy barely brushes against his bare crotch, he has to resist to keep from cumming right there.

“I can— fuck, yeah— I can handle it,” you babble tremblingly through gentle gasps as he reaches his cock, stroking it three times before he aligns it with your inviting hole, rubbing it slowly up and down your slit to scoop up all of your wetness, and use it as a natural lube.

Dae-ho bites down on his lower lip to muffle a moan that ascends his throat, feeling the head of his cock push up into the tight entrance of your pussy, plunging between your slick folds.

He leans his forehead flat against your chest, nestling right between your breasts, his whole body trembling from a riot of pleasure, muffling his moans and noises against your skin.

“Shit, y-you're— h-hah— you're so wet,” he raspes out into your bare skin, his lips slurring insults and name-calling you like a prayer, a poem through your sweaty skin, his tongue rolls out from between his parted lips, coating your skin with his drool. 

His hands are roaming over your hips, each digit digging into the fat of your ass, never applying weight, giving you all the time you needed to settle onto his size, yet his voice was desperate and eager with anticipation, “So tight— so pretty.”

Your lips are pressed against the crown of his head, breathing shakily as you begin to lower yourself into him achingly slow, drawing a gasp from both of you. Your palms squeeze his broad shoulders, suppressing the urge to cry out with every inch he is pushing his way inside you, your pussy fluttering and squishing him deeper.

“Yeah, just like that, that's it,” Dae-ho is praising you, pressing sloppy kisses all over your tits, fingers caressing your lower back while his other hand pats your ass appraisingly, “just a little more, baby, a little m-more and I'm all yours— I'm yours.”

His words really touch your very core, hand sliding up his neck to sink into his hair and pull it, making him hiss as he licks your nipple. Your pussy swallows another inch of him and you feel him in your fucking guts by now. He feels your squishy walls clench around him like a vice and he refuses to even think about the possibility of a life without feeling like this again.

“Dae-ho,” you whimper his name as the bulging tip of his cock reaches a particular spongy spot and instantly your whole body reacts as well.

“Mh-hm,” his lips lick and kiss your collarbone all the way up your neck and then he kisses your lips, “I'm here. I got you, I always got you,” his eyes finally lock with yours again and you nearly feel every single muscle and organ in your abdomen twitch when you notice tears being held back in them, all from the flood of pleasure and bliss your body is giving him.

He can feel himself in heaven, beneath you, his hips grinding up into yours as his cock is plunged so deep inside you.

Dae-ho kisses you again, intoxicated, a thread of spit remains connecting your mouths once you part.

A few more long seconds and you're all the way down sitting on him, his heavy, throbbing balls pressed flush against your ass. Your pussy envelops him thoroughly, molding into his shape as you breathe a deep sigh and Dae-ho breathes out as well when your nails dig into his shoulder blades.

“There you are, my baby, you're doing s-so good,” he croaks, fondling your backside affectionately, feeling your dampness dripping down his thighs, “Holy shit you feel good... I'm so deep—”

And when you start to move on top of him, he has to close his eyes, his sweaty palms pawing your ass, hopeless for your mercy. 

But you have no mercy, your pussy, your thighs, your fucking hips, the way you look down at him and ride him, giving him whiplash with every bounce. And he can swear he knows you from another life, from the way his cock forms a shape inside you, reaching parts within you that no one else has been capable of reaching before, as if your body was made for him— no, as if he was made to fit your body.

“My God—” he hiccups and you press your forehead against his, seeking his lips with yours to silence you both, pushing him down until he's lying flat on the mattress.

The bunk just barely creaks beneath the relentless sway of your hips slamming into his, ass bumping hard down on his thighs, taking him all the way down and up again, so deep that every time you bottom out you feel him in your fucking throat.

“You feel so good, baby,” you whine, looking down at him and all of his body is reacting to the petname.

You take in the gorgeous sight that is his face flushed with utter pleasure, eyes squinting, sweaty arms wrapping all around you and holding you impossibly close, his lower belly tensed and cramped.

He looks so pussy drunk, drinking and drinking in your body and essence, everything you provide. The tought makes you feel your insides flip, squeezing into a knot. And Dae-ho feels it too.

You bend down, lips falling onto his shoulder, trailing down to the tattoo on his side and when your tongue traces the black ink, exactly when his engorged tip brushes against your fucking cervix and your ass does a particularly powerful bounce on his thick thighs, he starts to feel his body twitching, reaching that exquisite release. He begins to cum, wracked by a rush of erotic bliss that has him seeing stars in the pitch-black.

His hips begin to meet yours in mid-between your wild bouncing and your pussy squelches around his cock, ready to take in all he has to give.

“I'm cumming— hah— b-baby, where—” he babbles through breathy hiccups and whimpers, his body is flushing, seeking your gaze with half-closed eyes, his chest gasping fast.

You kiss his tattoo one more time before answering him, having the nerve to smirk, as if you aren't jumping his bones, “Inside— mhm— fill me up, Dae-ho,” your eyes finally meet his and you squish his biceps, “please,” you beg him, with tears on your eyes.

“Holy shit— you don't have to convince me, love” he growls out hoarsely, and you have never hear him insult so much in such a short span of time. He kiss the corner of your lips messily, “I'm so fucking deep, you take it so well, baby— fuck.”

He chokes on his own voice and squeezes your hips until his palms are molded into your flesh. His tip touches that special squishy spot inside you again and you're cumming with him, both of you riding your own high, sinking into each other's bodies, souls becoming one. Straight into the core of the storm of pleasure.

His trembling fingers eventually loosen his grip on your ass, but his imprint stays right there, flushed. His cock softens deep inside you and you can feel it still spurting hot ropes up into your womb. Dae-ho whimpers flush against your mouth, gasping for breath. And you know you might as well die right there, tangled with his body.

Your head is empty, blurry with him and only him, your hips keep rolling on their own motion, slower. Your pussy squelches, full of him, the friction only makes him chant your name over and over in raspy whispers, like a hymn. Your orgasm is rough and strong, rocking your body like an earthquake. It makes you moan his name and he cuts you off, kissing you senselessly.

“Thank you, thank you...” he mumbles repeatedly against your mouth, hissing once you stop all movement on top of him. And he kisses you again, appreciatively, lovingly.

Dae-ho throws his head back on the bunk, trying to catch his breath, his hands drop to your thighs, always with a possessive hold, groping around for your ass, pressed down on his trembling thighs.

And it's ridiculous how absolutely majestic he looks there under you, in an afterglow that has him breathless, eyes narrowed and lost stare, gazing upwards as if he's suspended in paradise. His entire abdomen is sweaty and you hold back the urge to run your tongue across his cute little tummy, since your body is slowly beginning to give in to exhaustion, your legs wobbling.

You are satisfied with tracing your fingers along his sweaty skin, touching what were strong muscles, now softened under your thumbprints. Your hand makes an appreciative path up his pecs and he comes back to reality with the touch, looking up at you and patting your ass lightly, his gaze softening as he met your eyes amidst the darkness. The look of love.

“Don't do that, I'm about to get hard again,” he murmurs in a playful voice, a little sheepish smile growing on his lips. He is blushing, like he's not balls deep inside you, his cum leaking out of your cunt and trickling down your thighs.

You let out a sleepy chuckle, leaning down and snuggling close into his chest, his arms wrap around your shoulders and he tugs a blanket over the two of you.

“I had to take you on a date first,” Dae-ho blurts out suddenly, sounding more like he's talking to himself than to you, but you do manage to hear him, yet not really understanding what he's trying to say.

“What?” you ask curiously, still a little dizzy, fingers tracing light caresses on his chest, right where his heart is.

He clears his voice, bowing his chin so he can look down at you, gaze full pure love and adoration, his fingertips soothingly caressing your spine as he answers you in a hushed whisper, “I was supposed to take you on a date before.... all of this.”

You smile bashfully against his chest, looking up at him with big, soft eyes, “Well, we're not exactly in a position where having a date is doable, Dae-ho.”

But he is confident on the subject, fingers drawing little circles on the small of your back, “After we get out of this, I'll pick you up at your house and take you to the fanciest restaurant.”

You kiss him tenderly. 

And he smiles like he's actually in love.

“I'll be waiting for you in my best dress, then.”

[phagodyke]

didn't even get to do my ironing :-(

[monstersholygrail]

New City, New Life

5k celebration ‘Choose your own adventure’ story

Wolf Hybrid x fem!reader— free use city, olfactophilia, semi-public sex, oral (f!receiving), marking, biting, knotting

You stop the moving truck just outside of your brand new house. Ducking your head you check it out through the window and nod appreciatively. It looked a lot better than it did online! Though for the surprisingly low price you got for an entire house you wouldn’t have complained about whatever it looked like. But you scored great for not viewing the house in person before buying it and moving to a whole other city you had never heard of let alone been to.

Was that pretty stupid of you? Sure! But you can’t exactly regret it when this is the outcome. And besides, you needed a change of pace from the monotony of your old life. You needed a new adventure. An unknown city, your own house, and a change in work was just the start, you were positive.

When that mysterious headhunter came to you a few months ago with the opportunity of a lifetime, it couldn’t have come at a better time. It was like something in the universe knew you were having a rough time and needed to leave. So you took the risk and packed up your entire life. It all happened so fast you didn’t even get the chance to do any of your own research on the neighborhood, the city, or your new job. All you had to go on was the brochures the headhunter sent.

Again, was it stupid? Nah, you’re sure it’ll all work out for the best.

But as you flip the latch and push up the tailgate to reveal the moving truck full of boxes that you alone have to move, you start to second guess your statement. You really should’ve hired that Minotaur Moving Company the headhunter suggested. You can handle this. You can totally… totally… hand this.

“Hey, neighbor!” A voice calls, startling you out your daunting thoughts.

You lean to look over the side of the truck and are instantly blown away by the sight in front of you. A sexy ass Wolf Hybrid walks down the sidewalk toward you. His muscles bulging and straining against his tight button up shirt. His slacks not hiding anything he’s got going on downstairs. The smirk on his face is absolutely panty-dropping and you feel yourself go weak in the knees from it. More than ready to drop down and him do whatever he wants to you.

“Moving in?” He asks instead of immediately taking you right then and then. For a second you’re disappointed before you realize this is the real world and people don’t have sex with people they’ve just met… right?

“Yeah, yeah. Gotta bring in all these boxes, gonna take so long,” you say, your voice sounding breathier than you meant it to.

The Wolf Hybrid’s eyes flash but before you can read the expression it’s gone and that friendly neighbor persona is back on. He looks into the truck and scoffs as if it’s nothing.

“Let me help you with that then!”

Before you can pretend to resist, claiming he doesn’t need to help before he insists in a way that would have your panties gushing, he swings himself up into the truck. The words immediately die on your tongue as you see him pick up a heavy box like it’s nothing. Oh, well I guess your panties are getting soaked either way.

You swear that the Wolf Hybrid can tell you’re already turned on as he inhales deeply just as he passes you. But thankfully he doesn’t say a thing and heads up your porch, waiting with a wagging tail for you to open up your house to him. You exchange polite greetings as you walk inside with him and get started.

The two of your work together pretty well. Walking back and forth between the truck and the house. You can’t help but let your gaze linger on him and the way he moves. And every time you look at him you catch him looking back, his heated gaze raking over your form.

The tension grows thicker with each box you both carry. While the Wolf Hybrid forces you to stay away from the heavy boxes, only allowing you to lift the light ones. It only serves to increase the tension and turn you on even more. Still, you both manage to work up quiet the sweat by the time the moving truck is almost empty.

You sigh heavily as you push yourself back up into the truck. Heading all the way down to the front to look for another box to carry in. Just as you reach down to pick up a box of throw pillows, two clawed hands dig into your plush waist and a sharp gasp falls past your lips. You freeze in place, questioning why your pussy clenches down around nothing.

“Think I’m finally gonna fuck you now, sweetheart, ‘k?” The Wolf Hybrid growls, his chest molding to your back. His snout nuzzles into your throat and down into your shirt. He inhales deeply, a rumble moving through his chest as your musk washes over him. “You’re finally ripe ‘nough f’me.”

With a quick jerk of his hands, he’s shucking off your pants. You jump a second later as his snout presses deeply against your slit, rubbing his nose back and forth, smelling all of you. You moan softly, your mind fading away before you can question what the hell is happening. This is what you wanted this whole time after all. Can’t complain now. And you surely won’t as his long prickly tongue joins in, lapping up the mess your slick left on your pussy.

“So fucking drenched for me already. I think you’ll fit in around here just fine,” he rasps as he latches onto your clit and gives it a teasing suck that has sparks shooting through your core.

You go to finally ask what he’s been on about, and why the fact that you’re a soaked mess for him would mean you’d fit in, but in a flash he’s standing up and kicking your legs out to spread for him. His fat tip pushes against your entrance and your jaw drops, tongue lolling out at his sheer girth. His cock splitting you open in two as he pushes his big cock all the way inside your desperate pussy.

“N-nngh! Fuuuck. So fucking tight for me. Glad I got to you first. With a pussy this good you’re gonna be busy in a city like this,” the Wolf Hybrid growls out, his claws digging into your waist.

You can barely hear him over the ringing in your ears. But none of it matters anyway as he uses his grip and immediately starts spearing his shaft deep inside your sloppy cunt, over and over again. The only sound that registers now is your own moans as he fucks you brainless.

The truck shakes with the force of his thrusts and you hold onto the boxes in front of you for dear life as he takes you on a wild ride. His cock glides along your gummy walls, igniting your every nerve as he hits those spots inside you that have you seeing stars. Loud cries leave you but you can’t seem to give a fuck if anyone hears. They should hear how good you’re feeling right now.

“God, yes! Take it! Take my cock, darling. Gonna have to get used to this after all. And I’ll be more than happy to help you adjust.”

You cry out louder, your throat aching with the strength of the noises leaving you. You desperately try and rock back and meet his thrusts but the Wolf Hybrid snarls, his claws digging even deeper into your hips. He leans over you and his fangs are sinking into your flesh a moment later. Keeping you perfectly still for him as he slams his length into your depths, his tip kissing your womb with every thrust.

The onslaught of one sensation after the other has every single one of your atoms quivering with anticipation. Your toes curl as he reaches down, flicking your clit just right, and a second later you’re freezing up as your orgasm crashes through you.

Wolf Hybrid roars as your precious pussy clamps down on him. He continues to thrust into you, swinging his hips back and forcing his knot inside you with a slick pop. The sudden stretch prolongs your orgasm and makes you scream in delight. He cums not long after you, his knot expanding inside you as he pumps load after load of hot cum straight into your wrecked womb.

“If I hadn’t already said it, welcome to the neighborhood,” he says breathlessly in your ear.

After his knot had gone down, he slipped out of you and the two of you finished carrying the boxes in. Well, more like you laid on your couch while he carried the rest in because you couldn’t seem to walk for the life of you. He offered to stay, help you clean up and look after you till you could walk again, but you politely declined. You started your new job in the morning after all.

As you leave your house the next morning, body still a bit sore from the best fuck of your life, you realized you had a tiny issue. Your car was being driven down by a friend from your old city but it wasn’t here yet. You had to get to work somehow.

Looking off to the side you spot your neighbor in their driveway and your cheeks tinge pink. He was with a couple of his friends and it seemed like they were on their way somewhere. His friends appearing to be an Orc, a Naga, and another wolf. You could always ask them for a ride. Or maybe you shouldn’t bother your neighbor after what happened yesterday. You could always take the bus. Except… you have no idea where the station is. Well, you could always walk. Maybe stop for some coffee along the way.

[sh1-n0bu]

♡︎ 𝙤𝙫𝙚𝙧𝙨𝙩𝙞𝙢𝙪𝙡𝙖𝙩𝙚𝙙 ♡︎

characters: AFAB!sub!jing yuan, dan heng, blade x gn!dom!reader

warnings: AFAB characters, overstimulation, headcannon+small drabble format, praise, degrading, cock/strap traditions, dacryphilia, usage of bullet vibrator, slight brat taming, nipple stimulation, fingering, oral, cervix fucking, begging, squirting, clit pinching, cock/strap warming, size kink, belly bulge, breeding, creampie, mating press, full nelson, just a personal headcannon of how i think they would act when overstimulated

notes: someone wrote “nobody writes ahegao quite like nobu does” in one of their repost tags and im fucking shitting tears😭😭

the giggler

jing yuan loves to be overstimulated. he loves the feeling of it, the adrenaline rush, the high, the feeling of finally cumming all over your fingers, tongue, strap whatever it may be and the feeling of you continuing to move, drawing out his orgasm while also driving him into an overstimulated mess

has the cutest giggles and laughs when he gets too much pleasure. he doesn’t even try to hide or won’t even try to hide it. why would he when you were making him feel so good over and over again? hell, he even wants other people to hear it, to remind them that you were his lover and only his. and how only he gets to feel the overwhelming amount of pleasure only you can bring to him and no one else

but, it comes with a catch. he needs a lot of foreplay and/or teasing and/or orgasm denial for him to finally cave in and shake his head before starting to blabber incoherent shit about how good your cock feels inside his gushing pussy, how he could feel your tip fucking his cervix, how he wanted you to fuck a baby inside him etc etc

and i mean a LOT of it

as a centuries old war hardened general, it’s safe to say that he had gotten used to some feelings and emotions. pleasure being one of them

so if you want to get him to break and to become absolutely dumb and drunk on lust and pleasure, you have to tease him a lots before getting into it. if not, he will somehow find a way to outsmart you and take the reigns. he’s a bit of a brat and a spoiled prince wrapped up into one after all

will tell you what to do and how to do it if you have failed in getting him needy in your foreplay. he will fist your hair and thrust his hips into your mouth, making you unable to breath for a moment or two with his clit right at your nose. will push you down and flip your positions so he could ride your face, all the while chuckling at your cute attempt to push him back down. a goddamn brat and he will show it to the fullest when you fail at your foreplay

did i mention he was a brat? well now i have. a fucking brat to the max and he isn’t ashamed of it. will definitely question your power in the bedroom, try to overpower you and he will. he literally swings a 7000kg glaive in one hand like its nothing and he will show it by throwing you around. gently and consensually of course, he wouldn’t want to hurt his beloved

but fully expect him to be cocky and devious. “can you say no to my pretty pussy?”, “so sleepy. oh sorry, i didn’t know your cock was inside me hehe”, “was that all?” you get the gist. will shamelessly yawn in the middle of fucking not because he is sleepy or tired, but simply because he is a brat. a goddamn brat

so, how can you get him to be needy and won’t make him go into his bratty side? simple. shove a long distance controlled vibrator inside his cunt and leave it there for the whole day for him to suffer at work. but if you’re going to do that, be sure to mute the ringtone for your phone for the day since he will call you, send you messages, pictures, videos every damn hour. the closer his hour for shift ending comes, the more frequent the buzzing of your phone will become because he will grow much more needier

when finally he’s back home and frantically pawing at your pants when barely through the doors, that’s when you know he had absolutely no intention of being a brat. how can he when his whole pants were slowly getting stained from his multiple orgasms?

when he’s gladly bending himself over, arching his back for you as he wiggles his hips, he will ask you to come inside. jing yuan is great with kids and such a huge family man, he will ask you over and over repeatedly to breed him. cum inside him, fill up his cute dripping cunt, put him in whatever position you want and make sure to breed his pretty cunt, you can finally raise your own family together!

remember the long distance controlled vibrator i mentioned? make sure to keep it on and buzzing inside his cunt at all times when he’s away at work, or else it won’t work. during meetings or report hearings, jing yuan had to leave to the bathroom a lot of times and it genuinely got his subordinates concerned for his health. the red face, the heavy breathing and sometimes, the jolts of his body or the bleeding bruised lips of his made the cloud knights worry and some even suggested for him to leave the seat of divine foresight early to look after his health. if only they knew just how their dearest general was pathetically biting on his hand to muffle his screams in the bathroom as he squirted all over himself

“[naaammeee], ‘m mmgh♡︎! aaaaangh haah mngck♡︎♡︎ i-i’m home!” jing yuan’s voice called out, weak mewls of pleasure slipping through as he collapsed onto the floor the moment the doors of your shared home was closed. desperately humping the floor, trying to push the vibrator deeper into his gushing pussy, your lover didn’t realize that you were leaning against the wall of the kitchen, watching him with a knowing smile. there was a wet patch growing in his usual red pants, growing more and more the further he humped the air in desperation. see? your tough brat was so easy to tame.

“you feeling okay, darling?” you call out, taking out the controlled from your pants pocket and messing with the switch. flipping it up, down, up to the highest level, before going to the lowest level. it was cute to see the ever so tough brat turn into a delirious mess from just a single small toy. all because he was being so stubborn about how you weren’t the boss of him. walking over to where he was kneeling on the floor, you reach your free hand out. tilting his head up, a thumb swiping away at the drool that was beginning to pool on his lower lip, you tilt your head to the side, asking the question again with a firm hold onto his chin.

“n-no…! no no no, not at aamgh♡︎♡︎ h-hhaaaggm not at all♡︎!” he shakes his head viciously, dragging out his words and tripping over them with moans and mewls falling in between. pathetically, he tugs on the hem of your pants, trying to get to his favorite treat, the one thing he’s been missing this whole day.

“n-need you… need you right now, need your—♡︎♡︎! need yo-our..! c-cock right now...♡︎!” jing yuan mutters between whimpers, finally, his shaky hands manage to pull down your pants and undergarments just enough to have your strap out. a needy whine falling as he places slobbering wet kisses on the tip, giving it a few licks as he flutters his lashes at you in an effort to manipulate you to give him what he was non-verbally asking.

knowing full well that he wouldn’t take no for an answer and that yanqing might come home soon, you drag him up to his feet — an action that was heavily protested against as jing yuan cries out after his favorite treat being taken away. once inside the comfort of your shared bedroom, by the time you have locked the door behind you, he was already naked. clothes messily strewn on the floor and on the bed, the many orgasm’s slick dripping down his puffy cunt to his ass and to the bedsheets eventually. you could see the light trembling of his pussy lips, an action caused by the vibrator fucking away inside him still.

turning the vibrator off, you take the toy out of his puffy cunt. jing yuan let out a drawn out mewl at the feeling, clenching around nothing as he tries to replace the empty feeling for something, anything. but seeing you starting to strip, he knew what he wanted. and he knew how he wanted it.

spreading his legs open further, his hand comes down, flicking at his enlarged clit with a jolt before spreading open his labia for you to take in how he was already so needily wet and dripping for you. a drunk giggle escaping him when the tip of your cock is right against his folds, wiggling his hips enticingly.

“[nnaameeee]~ you gotta fuck a baby in me this time, owhkayyy?♡︎♡︎ hehehe♥︎”

the crybaby

the cutest out of all three of them, in my personal opinion

he just gets overstimmed so easily and quickly, it’s adorable in the way that he brokenly begs for a moment of respite. legs shaking, smaller body jolting violently at the smallest of touches like your hand ghosting over his hardened nipples. don’t even get me started on the way he cutely squeals out loud when you pinch his clit augh

maybe it’s due to his nature as a vidyadhara and not a full human but every little touch is received with so much sensitivity and sensuality, it gets so easy to turn him into a blabbering mess in record time. push his smaller body against the wall and finger his gushing pussy while rolling your thumb over his clit. in no time, his legs are shaking as he bites your hand, his orgasm washing over him quickly and violently. but don’t just stop there, keep flicking at his clit, pinch it, tug on it, push a hand on the small bulge on his belly and he’ll be left sobbing by the second or third round

he’s noticeably smaller than the other two and it carries out into his size kink so well. he just wants to be pushed around and put into impossible, near painful positions and man-handled until he’s left a blabbering idiot

make him cockwarm you while asking him to read you a story or a book under the guise that you had a nightmare and can’t fall asleep without his soothing voice and soft cunny wrapped around your cock. at first he’ll huff and puff, saying that you’re a liar and just wants to fuck him. four or five pages in and his voice is already strained, whines coming out as hiccups and sniffles follow soon after

but just because he’s a crybaby doesn’t mean he’s an idiot. he knows how much you love his pretty steel grey eyes unfocused and hazy, brimming with tears and he will use that to his advantage. will make sure to play with his nipples or push down on the bulge in his tummy when cockwarming you so he could get teary eyed quicker. the moment he sniffles and grinds himself down on you, he knows you’re a goner and would give him what he wants

he may be a crybaby, but he’s also a goddamn minx so beware of that

tugs on your sleeve so cutely, looking at you with a flushed face and stuttered words to ask you if you wanna spend time with him in his room. today’s trailblazing expedition was too long and tiring after all, “surely you would enjoy some cuddles…?” or “i just wanted to help you patch up your wounds. i was just worried”

yeah sure, dan heng. just say that you wanna get fucked until you’re squealing out like a slut with fat tears running down your cute red cheeks. thank the aeons the express’ walls are thick and soundproof. if not, who knows the amount of noise complaint you would have gotten from everyone

has slight oral fixation. slightly. but that’s only because he wants to see you crumble and give into his non-verbal demands and just ruin him. he’s a bit too shy to ask directly after all

long serpentine tongue wrapping around your strap, pulling it into his mouth. will gag and choke so loudly with the tip of the fat dildo pushed right down his throat, hitting his uvula and choking his throat. he can complain about sore throats and pained jaws all he wants but you both know that he loves to suckle on your strap with tears filling his eyes

the most messiest cock sucker and that’s saying something bc blade is the one who has the biggest oral fixation out of the three of them. he’ll place wet kisses to the weeping tip of your cock, running the slitted snake like tongue over the weeping slit of your cock teasingly before wrapping it around your dick. loves the scent and the taste of your pre, basically addicted to it as he opens his mouth wider, slipping your cock inside the warm cavern of his mouth inch by inch

but be aware that he will also try to take advantage of this position. he will try to bat his lashes at you so he can continue suckling on your strap like he would be sucking on a lolipop, all under the guise to ‘make you happy’. when in reality, he would try to make you cum over and over to try and get you overstimulated. when in such position, just fist his hair and fuck his throat. gets him crying in no time like the crybaby he is

“… bamboo whispers in the w-wind, a secret pa-aaangh! aah aaah hmgk♡︎ a s-secret pa-act... ♡︎!“ the soothing voice of your lover drawls out into a weak sniffle, hands gripping the book filled with love poetry from his home planet tightly. so tight, you feared that he might just tear the book apart with his claws. you had crawled into his bed yet again to torment him today, the dildo hitting all the sensitive spots in his gushing cunt, dan heng couldn’t help but weakly whine when your hands around his waist tightens to not let him move.

“go on. i’m listening” you coo out, forcing him to stay still on your lap while his voice continue to drawl out. sniffles and broken pleads replacing his ever so stoic mask, a voice that is usually so cold and distant, always scolding other turning into one of mindless blabber about how badly he wanted your strap to fuck his pussy. you couldn’t help but laugh.

“is that what it says on the pages? i may be still learning the strokes but the next line seems to be the stroke for two” you point at the kanji on the book he was holding in his shaking hands, the strokes of the language seeming familiar to you. it was an easy kanji to read after all. yet not to your boyfriend it seems.

“please! p-please please move! i beg you, [n-naamee]♡︎ you gotta fuck meeh♡︎ you gotta fuck me you gotta fuck me— you have to fuck meeegck—♡︎♡︎!!” dan heng squeals, shaking thighs bucking down onto your dick, trying to gain some friction. it was enough, he had read you hundreds of love poetries from his home planet. he had been taking your pronged torture for long enough, please just fuck his cunt already!

“so impatient” you huff, putting the book away with a book marker tucked between the pages before hooking your hands under his knees. pulling him up and over until dan heng was left wailing at the sudden change in position. hooking your arms under his knees, his legs are left dangling in the air with nothing to support himself but for his hands to cling to your biceps. even then, he couldn’t hold for long as he jolts about in your arms like a hopping bunny, painting your dildo in his cum when the tip kissed his cervix.

“guuchk♥︎!! d-deep! aah ah naahmg haah t-too deep♡︎♡︎ [n-name] you’re f-fucckk fuck fuck—♡︎♥︎ fucking my cerviinxx my ceerrvv—♡︎♡︎ mngh unngya♥︎!” punched out sobs comes from his pretty lips, drawling out into whiny cries when you move him up and down. you could see the bulge in his tummy appear and disappear every little moment. every jolt, every gasp, every little whiny cry making the bulge in his tummy to get more detailed. he was so adorably small.

“‘m sorry, darling. i’m sorry, didn’t mean it. didn’t mean to fuck you this deep” you coo out apologies, lifting him just a bit so your strap won’t sink so deep to the point it would kiss his cervix. as much as you loved your crybaby gasping and writhing, you didn’t want the reason for such reaction to be pain.

claws scratching at every inch of skin he could touch, jaw slack open in a silent scream, you could barely make out his shrill yell of what appears to be your name when dan heng squirts over your cock after just a few thrusts. you could see the overflowing amount of cum just dripping down your cock, trailing down to your legs and staining the mattress. with a click of your tongue, you pinched his clit, making the shorter man sniffle with a squeal.

“‘m soowryyy… sorry sorry—♡︎ d-didn’t mean to be bad... s-soowwh uunhg hyaagk ungc gugcck—♥︎♥︎!!”

the hissy bitch

alright, so i know i’m going into territory that has been charted way too many times before by blade lovers standard but he def has piercings. on his nipples, tongue and on his clit. probably got the first three by losing a drunk bet or something or maybe he just wanted it but the last one, the clit one, is definitely his latest piercing. one that he got after his relationship with you began and he had made the sudden rash decision to get one so he could see your reaction and to feel you just messing with it while fucking him

there is a REASON why he always keeps his chest bandaged up. there is a goddamn reason and that reason is his nipple piercings and the fact that his chest is generally very sensitive im being delusional

so what does that bring and why have i specified it? simple. titty fucking. nipple stimulation. seeing his pretty big, round chest jiggle every time your cock sinks back into his dripping cunt. pinch it, roll it, tug on them, suckle on them, do anything to him with his nipple piercing and he’s scratching at your back, mauling it like an animal

the reason i see him as a hissy bitch is because he likes to throw small temper tantrums when he gets too overstimulated. he’s crying, begging, hitting your shoulders, back, scratching at them and leaving deep red scratch marks, perhaps even breaking the skin sometimes. how come blade get overstimulated quickly? because he is very touch deprived. he’s been alone and immortal for too damn long and his ass is fucking touch starved. i just know it in my bones

genuinely, he is indeed very touch starved. since his rebirth as an immortal, he had felt nothing but pain, anguish and suffering and therefore, has basically gotten immune to touches. especially the violent and bloody ones. but gentle, tender, affectionate ones? find him jumping away from your soft hands like a frightened cat, it’s goddamn heartbreaking. so when he finally gets his cunt fucked, blade would be overstimmed too fast due to receiving a sudden abundance of affection and touches

will shake his head ‘no’ when asked if you would wanna stop due to his tears. you were just concerned but blade didn’t wanted this onslaught of pleasure to stop. desperately rides your fingers, mouth, strap — anything. loves the feeling of being on top of you, gives him the slight feeling of being in control. until it all gets thrown out the window when you force him to stop bouncing, hands gripping his hips tightly as a warning. will whine and try to grind down, trying to chase that high again but will only end up with a pout and hissy tears falling down his cheeks

another one who loves the feeling of being stuffed full and overstimulated. it’s almost like he gets high from the feeling. loves having his pussy fucked in any way you please until he can’t stay on his hands or feet without shaking. it’s just so cute to see him shaking like a fawn when fucking him doggy style

prepare to have yourself used as a chew toy as well as a scratcher. blade’s almost like a cat, hissy and whiny but also so greedy and preferring certain things in certain manner. will bite at your shoulders, hands, fingers to muffle himself but also to try and get his shit together. will scratch at your back, thighs, wherever he could reach. such a spoiled brat

when eating him out, be sure to give an extra care and love to his clit piercing. constantly flicking it with your tongue would usually work though, gets his legs all shaky and jolty soon enough. maybe pair it with flicking his pierced nubs and bladie will be squirting into your mouth with an embarrassing high pitched shriek. make sure to clean up all of his mess before diving right back into his gushing cunny. he may not say it but he will expect you to go back to eating him out like he’s your last meal

has the BIGGEST oral fixation out of the three of them. like, down bad, delicious, scrumptious, sloppy oral fixation. and he is happy to give it 90% of the times due to his tongue piercing. knows how good it makes you feel and how you like to see his pretty face between your legs, sucking on the large dildo like his life depends on it. not a single thought or a single moment of choking from him, it’s almost like he doesn’t have a gag reflex

you just came back from mission, from being away from him even for a single day? unacceptable. let him bend over for you, you can get your stress out by fucking his already dripping wet pussy. too tired? that’s fine. take of your pants and get comfortable cuz’ he can stay between your legs for days

not a single minute of respite has greeted you ever since you came back from your latest mission, stepping foot into your shared home with your stoic lover. perhaps the single gentle kiss to your cheek before he started to leave slobbering wet kisses on your lips was the only warning and moment of rest you have gotten. not even shoes off yet and blade was already unbuckling your belt, giving you the puppy eyes and grumbling about how you’ve been away for too damn long. whining about how much he missed you and needed your strap to fuck him dumb. how his pretty pussy had missed you so much.

“n-nnghyaa♡︎♡︎ m-missed you... missed you s’ much, [name]! f-fuck me fuck me fuck me, fuck your favorite cunt gyyuck—♥︎♥︎ a-aaanh! haah ah ah mmngk—♡︎♥︎!!” unusually docile red eyes roll to the back of his skull, jaw going slack wide open as you push his legs up, feeling your strap hit him deeper than he thought was possible. he could feel your weight push him down, keeping it still on the bed and to stop him from wiggling his hips entirely. this new position caused his cat like pupils to widen, turning into heart shapes as you chuckle at the dazed look in his eyes.

“such a needy brat” you coo out in a condescending manner, pushing his legs up in the air with your hands hooked under his knees to keep him in place. pulling out until halfway out, you sink back into blade’s dripping cunt. a squeal tearing from his throat alongside the filthy wet squelch of his cunt tightening around your dildo. it was so easy to get him dumb.

“t-too nngh much! too muchtoomuchtoomuch♡︎! fucking m-my womb—♡︎ [n-name], y-youuwrr crush— crushing my wombgg aangh ah ah! gyyuck eengh aaangh nyaagh♥︎♥︎!!” the familiar feeling of his nails scratching at your arms takes place, tearing at the skin, clawing at any part of your body he can come in contact with. a desperate attempt to ground his already long gone mind, too deep into the throes of pleasure that he didn’t even realize his shaking hands were weakly pulling your hips to fuck deeper into his warm walls.

“don’t be so dramatic, bladie. i won’t be able to crush your womb in this position” you coo out mockingly, wiping away the fat globs of tears that continue to pour of his eyes. red and yellow eyes rolled to the back of his skull, wide open mouth letting out the most salacious squeals and shrieks of your name and how you were fucking his womb falling out. legs weakly dangling in the air, jolting and bristling at every deep thrust you fuck into his velvety walls. the lewd wet squelching noises were alongside your grunts and blade’s whiny sobs were the only noise in the room. you would probably get noise complaints the next morning due to blade’s loudmouthed blabbering self.

letting go of one of his legs, you shove your fingers into his mouth. almost as if it was an instinct, blade’s tongue wet your fingers. suckling on the two digits as it his life depended on it with the most cutest heart shaped pupils staring at you. once you deemed them wet enough, you take your fingers out of his mouth. an action that blade showed his hatred towards as his pierced tongue comes past his lips, trying to chase after your fingers.

“gghcck—♡︎♥︎♥︎♥︎!!” a sharp wail taking place as blade arches his back, his whole body shaking, soft big tits jiggling when you pinched at his pierced clit. rolling, tugging, flicking at the hardened nub as blade sobs about cumming before drenching your cock with his squirting. you had thought of him to be satisfied with it, but turns out you have underestimated your lover’s neediness when his strong scarred thighs comes to wrap around your waist, legs locked behind your back when you tried to pull out.

sigh… it’s times like this that makes you glad for your amount of stamina.

[enderlovez]

It's Romantic

Spencer Reid x Female Reader WORD COUNT: 980

Summary: When Spencer learns that his girlfriend is also an avid reader after visiting her apartment for the first time, something she's kept from him for reasons unclear, he is ecstatic. And a little concerned, when he reads one of your 'romance' books.

Content Warning: reader gets embarrassed, your book has a sex scene in it, reader bites Spencer once, possibly shy!reader?

────── ꒰ঌ·✦·໒꒱ ──────

Spencer has never once been to your apartment. You're spend most of your time at his place, occasionally spending the night with him when you feel like it, and he loves having you there with him... But quite frankly, he's curious to see the place you spent most of your nights.

How you've decorated, how you've make it comfortable for you. Yet every time it comes up, the topic of, at some point, going over to your apartment, you change the subject, or insist on going to his.

'Why would we go to my dirty old apartment when we can just go to yours?' you'd asked on multiple occasions.

He doesn't understand what could be so terrible about the place you live, so disgusting that you wouldn't want him to see it?

Well, tonight, he wants to find out.

"Why don't we go to your apartment?" he asks quietly, swinging your linked hand between the both of you as you walk down the street.

You side-eye him, opening your mouth to give him the usual spiel, but he beats you to it, pulling you to a stop and pressing a finger to your mouth.

"Come on, Y/N, we've been dating for almost a year and I still haven't seen where you live!" he states matter-of-factly.

"Why do you need to see my apartment?" you ask, a defensive tone lingering in your words, your voice rising a few octaves. He doesn't need to be a profiler to realize you're nervous.

He sighs lovingly and wraps and arm around your shoulder, guiding you down the sidewalk once again. "Because I love you, and I'm curious to know where you disappear to when you leave me every night."

"I don't leave you every night, though."

"Okay, almost every night, then," he corrects himself. "Whatever you're worried about, trust me when I say there's no reasons to be."

You know he would never judge you for anything, right? Especially not when you're so wound up about this whole thing.

He peeks down at you again, using his free thumb to gently pull your bottom lip from between your teeth.

"Look, if you're really set on me never seeing your apartment, that's fine, I'll never see it," he breathes, not wanting to cause you actual stress about it. "I didn't mean to upset you, just wanted to know more about you."

"No," you snap back immediately, hesitation swimming around your eyes as you reach up and take his hand in yours again, "you didn't upset me at all, Spence. You... you can come see my apartment."

"Sweetheart, if you don't want me to—"

"I do want you to," you cut him off, pressing a kiss to the side of his hand. "I want you to see it. Please, come see my apartment, Spence."

────── ꒰ঌ·✦·໒꒱ ──────

Your apartment is lovely.

Fairy lights and posters decorating the walls, all the furniture worn and cozy, and it smells so distinctly you. It's exactly what he would expect for you, actually, something just as sweet and cozy as you are.

The only thing he didn't expect was the tall wooden bookshelf in your living room, filled with books, none of which he's read. You don't have it organized in any particular order — actually, you don't have them organized at all.

"I didn't know you liked to read," he commented softly, plucking one of your novels from the shelf and flipping it over to read the back. How could he be romantically involved with you for almost a year, and not know something so simple about your day to day life?

You don't say anything, blushing from head to toe as he picks up another one of your books. He looks back at you when he finds the one he gifted you a few months back.

He never actually thought you would read it, simply wanting you to have something in your apartment that reminded you of him, so he was pleasantly surprised to find that it was worn — more than any of the other books.

Spencer doesn't need to know you started reading it the night he gifted it to you, or that you spent every free second away from him reading it, or that you've already read it two times at this point.

It's obviously not something you would usually read, but it's from Spencer, so it's different. You loved every second of it because of him.

He puts the books he's holding down and grabs another random one from the shelf, settling into your pastel-rainbow-blanket-covered sofa, and flipping open to a random page...

Only to see that the two main characters of this particular book are having sex. Very descriptive sex, he might add, red coloring his face as he gently closes the book again and slowly turns his eyes to you.

Your face is a similar shade of crimson, knowing exactly what he's just opened the book up to find, as you snatch it away from him and put it back onto the shelf.

"Is this why you didn't want me coming here?" he asks, somehow managing to keep his voice steady — for your sake, since you're clearly embarrassed about the situation.

You drop down onto the sofa beside him, pressing your face into the soft bend between his shoulder and his neck, and just barely nod.

"You know I'd never judge you for anything, Lovely," he assures you, turning his head to press a kiss to the top of your head, "but that might just be the most vulgar thing I've ever read."

"It's romantic," you argue without moving your face away from his neck, gently biting down on the skin there as if to reprimand him.

"Alright," he agrees with you, too easily for your liking, but you don't say anything more, "if you say it's romantic, then it has to be."

[1mlei]

I absolutely love the idea that Danny kills the Joker (because creepy clowns eww) and Jason happens to walk in right as he's panicking all over the place. Danny is desperately trying to explain it was an accident, while Jason's over here simultaneously feeling the best he's ever felt since his revival and falling head over heels in love at the same time.

Very cute, very fun, wholesome murder, 10/10 will read every time.

----------

Danny: *shoving Joker's body behind dumpster in a panic*

Jason: "Is that a dead body?"

Danny, recognizing Red Hood as someone famous in the Realms for avenging murder victims: "Oh hi Mr. Hood, ma'am, sir.. See this isn't what it looks like, it was a total accident I swear on half my life!"

Jason: "Half your wha-"

Danny, still in shock: It's just he was being all creepy, and I've had bad experiences with clowns before, I and then this one had a gun so I pushed him a bit, didn't mean to kill the dude, honestly!"

Jason: *walks over to check body*

Danny: "Soo, total accident, and I don't feel like being arrested, so I'm gonna go.."

Jason, realizing that is indeed the Joker lying dead behind a dumpster: "Hang on, at least give me-"

Jason turning around and seeing his saviour has vanished: "Damn, didn't even get his number."

...

Jason: *giddily takes selfie with corpse*

----------

Jason: *patrolling in relative peace when he sees some random guy and the flipping Joker in an alley, said Joker has a gun pulled on the poor guy*

Jason: *about to swing in to save the day and take out the Joker*

Danny, faced with a clown pointing a gun at his head while ranting about all the creepy things he's gonna do: "Yea no that's not gonna fly"

Danny: *Goes full on eldritch abomination and eats the Joker's soul, leaving his body as a lifeless husk*

Jason, standing at the mouth of the alley in disbelief:

Danny, turning back into his human form: "Oh eww, so not worth it, that guy tasted terrible."

Jason: *frantically straightens his jacket, tries to fix his hair and realizes his helmet's in the way, then strikes a pose and tries to look natural*

Danny: *turns around and realizes he's not alone*("omg is that Red Hood?")

Jason, using all his rizz: "Hey there handsome, don't suppose you'd let me treat you to some dessert after a meal like that? There's a place down the street ;)"

Danny: "..What?"

----------

Alternatively, Danny and Jason were already dating but got into an argument.

Danny, walking down a street brooding thinking: "Man, I've got to figure out how to make it up to Jason, chocolates, flowers, maybe get him a book, hmmm.."

Joker: *creepy giggling as he yanks a random kid that looks like he could possibly be a Wayne into alley™*

Danny, eyes lighting up: "Ohh yes you'll be perfect, thanks dude :]"

Joker: "Wh-"

..20 minutes later..

Danny, walking into his and Jason's apartment: "Babe! I'm sorry about earlier, but I have something to make it up to you!"

Jason, peeking around the corner with a frown: "Well whatever it is it's not just gonna fix- is that the fucking Joker?"

Danny: "Yep! Don't worry he only looks dead cause I'm holding his soul hostage right now, I thought you should get to do the honours <3"

Jason:

Danny:

Jason:

Danny: "...I have chocolates and that book you wanted to read as well..?"

Jason: "Marry me"

----------

Mmmhhh yes I love this trope so much!!

[mariswxt]

UNCONSCIOUSLY SEXUAL.ᐟREADER, where you didn’t even know that most of the things you said, wore or did were kind of/very provocative. you were just… sweet, a total darling to the adults, which was why MARTHA and JONATHAN lent CLARK to help you when your house had been burgled and your parents were abroad, so they couldn’t help. Of course. your pretty little head didn’t know how a boy in your year who you’d been friends with since childhood, but you were happy to spend time with the all-american, thirsted over farm boy. He was just pretty (your brain knew better, he was hot as high hell. to the point where your panties got damp to the thought of his biceps).

CLARK was in a similar boat— he wasn’t sure how much longer he’d last— he wasn’t sweating bullets because of the heat, he was sweating due to the face that your pretty lips — shit, he hadn’t even thought that way about you before — were wrapped around your thumb after a sweet glass of lemonade, in a low-necked tank, high-cut shorts, and he was so sure that he could’ve seen baby pink lace peeking out from the waistband.

Whatever it was, it was killing him fast.

Plus, he knew those panties matched a nice lil’ bra in your room that he’d unintentionally seen when up there dropping off notes— just another thing that made his mind run circles. Like, c’mon, he knew for sure that his mom and dad taught him better than to think that way about girls who didn’t even mean to do it, his brain wired itself to think that way. Now that he mentioned it, that sounded like a really bad excuse, he just felt guilty for objectifying you.

It wasn’t just the provocative actions like bending over or accidentally saying things that sounded like they alluded to sex.

it was your big eyes. your pouty lips. your perfect legs and the swing of your perfect hips when you walked. how you were so innocent and didn’t have the foggiest clue what some guys wanted to do to your gorgeous body. your ass in the pretty skirts and shorts you liked to wear. the bows on all your clothes. How you tilted your head when you didn’t know something. The bat of your eyelashes when pleading for someone to do something for you— it almost always forced a hand.

CLARK had to remind himself to stay calm. composed. a friend—

“Clark, mmh,” oh, fuck, the pretty moan that slipped from your parted lips as your soaking pussy glided up and down his cock was intoxicating, CLARK’S head tipping back against the sofa cushions at the sound, hand smoothing up your hip, to your waist and back down over your ass and thigh. his other hand trapped your little pink panties in a tight fist, his mind subconsciously making a decision to keep it so he could use it as a poor substitute for this tight cunt, dear Lord.

He was probably going to hell for using the Lord’s name in this context.

“That’s me,” He nodded, voice cracking right before a whimper, an honest to God whimper left his mouth upon feeling your pussy clench around him and seeing how your cheeks were flushed, pretty lips in a perfect ‘o’ and how your gorgeous tits moved up and down in that tank top. Up and down, up and down— he was going to get hypnotised.

CLARK didn’t even know how he got here— his foggy memory recalling something like getting you straddling his thighs, slipping his fingers between your legs to find your perfect panties already soaked— if that’s what he did to you, who knew what else you’d do for him?

His jaw clenched, feeling rooted to the spot as his fingers dug into your ass— but it wasn’t even him moving you, you were doing it all on your own, being such a big girl and bouncing on his cock yourself, with small little whimpers every time he filled you to the brim. You were moaning about how he was “s’big” and how you were “s’full”, eyes rolled back with your fingers digging into his back and along his hair.

His head lolled forward, only to have his eyes zero in on how your pussy sucked in his cock to pair with his super hearing overwhelming him with the wet sounds and your little moans and babbling murmurs hit his ears like a freight train. He didn’t help his case, he’d begun to jerk his hips up only slightly— but to you that felt like a rough thrust that had you crying out his name. Perks of having superhuman strength, huh?

And superhuman sensitivity, any longer and he’d be in the same state as you.

“S’tight, don’t— don’tcha stop—”

Oh, too late. Guess it’s not your fault that you’re UNCONSCIOUSLY SEXUAL.

special tags 4 my clark moots: @faiszt, @blackynsupremacy, @angelbabyyy99, @svnriseblvdd if there’s anyone I forgot I apologise profusely also @cherrygirlfriend I told u about this so here’s my vision

had to do a new line to include the lovely @sabrinasopposite

[divineturtle]

Bothers me when I'm reading a fanfic and they make Doctor Leonard "Bones" McCoy just like. A mean asshole? MY Doctor McCoy introduced Spock to baby talk. MY Doctor McCoy bounces on his toes and has a smile bright as the sun. MY Doctor McCoy knocked Kirk *and* Spock out with a hypo to sacrifice himself for them even though the aliens said he was almost for sure going to die, and the other two would probably live. MY Doctor McCoy was like, hey, sure Spock committed mutiny, but do we really gotta arrest him? Yeah he's grumpy sometimes, but have you considered the fact that he's stuck on a ship in Space with two assholes that literally never listen?

I just watched the Abraham Lincoln episode and I stg it's a miracle McCoy isn't actually a huge asshole, because wym "this planet WAS deadly but Abraham Lincoln says it's cool so we're going" "hey, don't do that, you could beam down into lava and literally DIE" "Ugh shut UP McCoy we're following Abraham Lincoln onto the Lava Planet That WAS ENTIRELY LAVA until two minutes ago" dude I'd be swinging at a mfer. Especially if I was their doctor knowing it was going to be my job to sew them back together. They're absolute menaces to him and he still loves them and is willing to die for them every other episode.

And I don't ever want to see another "ahh he hates Spock" when he so obviously does not. In the last episode, he wasn't even sure that Kirk and Janice had swapped bodies and yet again, he was ready to commit mutiny with Spock and Scotty (why does Spock love mutiny? 🤨) He does like to rib Spock and get reactions out of him, but Spock likes to do it to McCoy just as much. He's been around humans his ENTIRE life, his mom is a human, he's half human, "I have no idea what you mean, Doctor, I'm just a simple little logic machine," you cannot convince me it's not a game.

And every time I feel like McCoy is being hurtful for actually no reason, the next scene is Spock taking action because of whatever McCoy had said and allowing himself to tap into that human part of him. He has a way of speaking Spock. It's not always nice but it's a way that gets through. Do you think asking Spock to use his Vulcan powers to permanently alter his friend and captain's memory so he forgets his grief over this chick he fell desperately for and then also she died in the span of like four hours is a great idea? No, he'd probably have some moral or logical issues with that. but just speech at him about love and feelings and stuff, throw something in there about how great it'd be if he could just forget, and he'll do it himself.

ANOTHER THING. When he's an asshole, he apologizes. He's not an asshole often, but when he is, he apologizes. Leonard McCoy is a lot of things, but he's not really a dick.

I think he deserves to be represented for the guy he is. He has SO many nice and good moments, he's just subtle about them. Remember when Kirk was like, "Bones, why didn't you tell me she was blind?" And he was like, "Idk Jim maybe because that'd be rude? Have you considered it's not your business?" REAL. Honestly, real.

This is a much longer rant than I meant for it to be and somehow I still have more I could say so imma cut myself off right here ❤️ If you read all that, thanks, you're just as weird as I am, even if you don't agree with my lil character analysis. If you didn't read all that, then you're not reading this ✨️

[thinkinonsense]

DESIRE ୨୧

logan howlett x mutant!reader

cw: flirty, slightly nsfw

a/n: this was heavily inspired by that scene in the first suicide squad movie where they introduce harley quinn.

"we should all split up before someone finds us." storm tells her team mates as the break into the building.

inside were mutants of all kinds, being hidden and tested on. it was charles plan for the team to get as many as possible and bring them back to the mansion before they can cause any damage.

on the surface, it seemed simple enough. they have done this mission a million times. little did they know that an unspeakable danger awaited them in the basement of the old building.

everyone split up, storm went to the west wing while scott and jean went to the east. logan found his way downstairs, assuming that maybe he could find whoever was running the show here.

beyond the high security metal doors, he can hear the faint sound of an old record playing. the closer he got, the clearer it sounded. nancy sinatra? maybe? logan wasn't quite sure but he figured it was a trap so, he prepared himself for whatever was on the other side.

Way down along the stream

How sweet it will seem

Once more just to dream

In the moonlight

My honey, I know (I know) with the dawn

That you will be gone

But tonight

You belong to me

revealed on the other side is a large metal cage fit for a wild animal. inside was a girl swinging upside down from a line of tied material with her body in an obscene position.

"i've told you before, david..." your voice was angelic to logan's ears. light as a feather. "i don't like to be disturbed after 7."

"i'm not david, princess." logan said, stepping out of the shadows right as your eyes open.

logan's eyes scan over your scandalous appearance. tiny dirty white shorts and matching tight tank top, apparently whoever runs this prison doesn't allow bras either. you twirl down from near the top of the cage until your face to face with the man on the other side.

"who are you, then?" you ask, looking up at him as you hold onto the bars.

"i'm here to get you out of this cage." he says, unleashing his claws, ready to cut through the bars.

"hold it, baby." you purr, reaching out to touch his sharp claws. "don't you wanna play with me?"

"no, we need to leave."

"why should i leave with you? how do i know that you won't put me in another cage?"

even with a slightly dirty face, rings of lavender circles under your eyes, and dried blood on the corner of your bottom lip, logan still thought you were gorgeous. slightly intimidated by your fearlessness to reach out and touch his claws. he imagines that you had seen worse than this.

"tryin' to save you" he grunts.

"i wouldn't picture you as the prince charming type." you giggle, running your fingers up his hairy, veiny, strong arm over the black latex suit.

"i'm not."

logan glares down at you in a way that makes you want to jump his bones. what? it gets lonely being trapped in a cage all by yourself. plus it's not everyday that a handsome stranger wants to help you escape.

suddenly, you grab logan's palm, circling it as your eyes roll back to a dark green shade.

"tell me what you want to do with me." you demand.

this was the moment logan understood why you were held in a cage down in the basement. suddenly, logan's mind feels as if it's being bended and twisting, forcing every ounce of truth out of him.

"we are here to take the mutants to charles xavier's school for gifted youngsters." his voice sounded robotic under your spell.

"charles xavier?"

in a rush of excitement, you release logan from your threshold. he wants to bark at you for invading his mind but seeing you smile made him reconsider.

"so, you've heard of him?" logan raises a brow at you, watching as you hold his hand sweetly.

"of course i have." you answer tracing shapes on the back of his palm. "i've seen him in my visions. been waitin' on him."

visions? what kind of mutant are you? logan asked himself as you spoke.

"too bad i didn't see you in them, though." you sigh, batting your long lashes at him. "wish i had. could've bought us some time to... well, you know."

the teasing flirty tone made logan's cock stir under the tight latex. he felt this overwhelming desire for you fill his head.

"hm... we should focus on getting you out of here first, huh, princess?" he tilts his head to the side, amused by you. "step back."

you obey, walking backwards near your rope. in the blink of an eye, logan cuts through the bars and bends them out enough for him to help you get out. loud flashing sirens go off, slightly startling the two of you.

"guards." you warn him. "they're coming."

logan turns around, claws bare to anyone coming towards the two of you. he steps in front of you, ready to protect like a guard dog. it was quite cute of him, you think. the moment the guards burst in, logan starts attacking, stabbing them ruthlessly.

you allow him to take out a few one by one but as more poured in, you stepped in. your eyes roll back into the same shade of green as a hand raises, some of them fall to their hand and knees, shifting into dogs others were being strangled until they looked blue in the face.

logan couldn't believe it. the only mutant that he thought could rivaled your powers was jean. the room fell quiet except for the record echoing as it replayed.

"it's my favorite song, you know?" you grin as if nothing happened.

"old soul, huh?" logan asked with an eyebrow raised.

"witches are timeless, sugar." you wink, extending your hand for him to take.

logan hesitates but knows he has to get the two of you out of here alive. one look into your starry eyes and he's a goner. logan takes your hand and leads you to the jet, knowing he will never hear the end of it from his teammates.