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catsteeth · 4 months ago

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Blood & Steel

Jacaerys Velaryon x Fem Stark Reader

+:✿ Request ✿:+

Request: “After the incident with Blood and Cheese when the Greens send someone to retaliate, instead of finding Rhaenyra they find Reader. Jacaerys goes feral against the attacker. Make him pretty intense since he's become extremely protective of Reader.” CW: MDNI. Mention of arranged marriage, violence, graphic depictions of violence towards children, canon typical violence, nsfw themes, angst, arguments

Word Count: 7k

Since you arrived at Dragonstone, you grew more and more fond of your arranged marriage. Particularly you grew fond of the man you were to marry. Jacaerys was a kind and patient man. Something you did not think you would be fortunate enough to marry.

You and he often spent your free moments looking for solitude from the talks of war and politics. Soon, you and he would spend time on a small patch of land separated from Dragonstone, hardly an island. It was only about twenty miles wide if that. But it became your haven. You could spend hours away from the weight of the war.

You missed your home, but here on the island sand, you found comfort in the presence of Jace and Vermax. And Jacaerys found the same in you.

That day you had been away from the castle for hours, and you knew sooner rather than later, someone would come looking for you both. You sighed as you tore your eyes from the calming and consistent waves crawling up and down the sands of the beach. You turned to look at your betrothed who lay on the sand with his eyes closed. Desperately trying to push out the fact your time was running slim.

You sat beside him, running your hand through his hair trying to gain his attention. You lay down, getting closer to him, “My prince.” You whispered teasingly.

“Mm?” He hummed furrowing his brows but refusing to open his eyes.

You continued to play with his brown curly hair as you smiled softly, “We’ve been out of Castle far too long.” You said begrudgingly. You knew it was time to return though you were not looking forward to the return of somber and formal interaction between you and high lords.

Jacaerys groaned, “Ah,” he rubbed his eyes before finally and reluctantly opening them, “I can’t find sleep there.”

You breathed a laugh, “You seem to find it well enough out here.” your fingers finally left his hair as you were about to stand.

As soon as Jacaerys felt your touch abandon him, he grabbed a hold of your hand and pulled it close to his chest. “Only because you are beside me,” he said with an earnest gaze.

You understood him. He had an unbearable weight on top of himself, one similar to the one on top of you. You knew he could only find pure comfort in the presence of something… familiar and uncomplicated, love. You thought on it for a moment, wishing to help him. “Perhaps you could sleep beside me tonight.” You said without any real thought of how it might have sounded until Jacaerys looked at you with wide, but excited eyes. “Meaning nothing so bold-” You choked on your own air as you corrected yourself.

“Course you did not,” Jacaerys said quickly with a shake of his head as he sat up.

You sat quietly for a moment, “What of it then?” you asked.

Jacaerys looked towards you trying to hide a smile, “I cannot promise I won’t feel temptation.”

You smirked, “Temptation?” You scooted closer to him, “Temptation for what?” You teased. It was not a secret to either of you that you both wished to hold closer intimacy with one another. Though Jacaerys was not a pious man he did take the opinions of high lords and ladies seriously. They already thought lowly of the bastard prince, he would not have them think lowly of their future queen. He wished to protect your character and your reputation. Though you held the opinions of high lords and ladies to almost no value at all, you reluctantly respected his wish.

“You tease me?” He asked faining offense.

“Do I?” You pretended to be shocked by the accusation, but soon your facade was wiped away by an earnest smile, “Sleep in a chair beside the bed if you must. I merely wish for you to find sleep.” You said plainly without any hint of lust or jest. Simply wishing to help him in any way you could.

He held onto your hand slightly tighter, “What if someone were to find out I was sneaking into your chambers?” He asked with a smirk, teasing you back.

You scrunched up your nose and scoffed as you looked out into the ocean, “Fuck what those high lords and their hypocrisies think.”

Jacaerys stifled a laugh, “Is that any way for a queen to speak?” He asked as he leaned in closer to you.

You shook your head and smirked, “Not queen yet. Still a Lady, and hardly that.”

“You are very much a Lady.” He mumbled as his danced over your facial features and down over your body.

You pushed his shoulder and stifled a laugh, “You’re a dog.” You said scrunching up your nose at him. Feigning disgust, when really you felt butterflies in your stomach.

He playfully pulled you closer, “And you a wolf.” he said as his eyes sparkled in yours. “May I kiss you?” He asked softly.

You smiled, “You needn’t ask.” You said as if he asked you a ridiculous question.

He returned your smile, “I like to hear you say ‘yes’.” He said as he stared longingly at your lips.

He didn’t move an inch, waiting for your approval. You rolled your eyes and with a smirk, you conceded, “Yes.” And his that, Jacaerys pulled your lips into his with a hand grasping at the back of your head gently. You could not wait until your wedding, so eager for this man to become yours in the sight of the Gods. All you could think of each time your lips met was how rare this kind of love must be.

Though you could not think of it long, your haven was interrupted by the loud and shrill sounds of a horn. “What was that?” You questioned as you looked over to Dragonstone.

Jacaerys looked over to Dragonstone as well. He knew the horn was to call members of the council together in an urgent meeting. Though it was only used when in times of critical importance. He took your hands and helped you stand, “We’d better get back.” He said, trying to keep you calm, but also trying to return as soon as possible.

“Has something terrible happened?” You asked as Jacaerys ushered you over to Vermax as quickly as he could.

As Jacaerys helped you climb on top of the green beasted he shook his head, “I cannot be certain.” He spoke honestly, and strapped you into the saddle before he climbed on, “If it has, I promise you will not be affected.” He said in an attempt to comfort any anxieties you might have been feeling.

You couldn’t understand how that was meant to help, “If you are affected, I am affected.”

Jacaerys however, did not respond, merely he pulled on the reins of Vermax as he took off into the sky, set on returning to Dragonstone.

꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・┈

Upon your return, you were rushed into the council chamber. You were told of a vile act that had taken place within the Keep, an attack on the Greens. Normally this would have been a beneficial evil. But this time, the act was so gruesome it was hardly an attack on the Greens' claim, it was an attack on the Blacks’.

Two men snuck into the chamber of ‘Queen’ Helena’s children. Maester Gerardys relaid the rest of the story to the Queen and the rest of the council, “It is yet unclear how the Keep itself was breached. The boy’s head was severed from his body. Thousands witnessed the procession.”

You felt sickened by the description of the attack on the babe. You placed a hand on your chest, over your heart. Jacaerys took your hand and held it under the table. Wishing to comfort you while hiding your emotions from the High Lords.

Rhaenyra shocked spoke with disbelief, “And they are accusing me of having a hand in this?”

Maester Gerardys nodded, “It appears so. There have been messages sent to that effect. Throughout the realm.”

Rhaenyra scoffed, “We must send our own messages, denying this vile allegation.”

“I will do so at once, but I am not sure they will be received in good faith.” The Maester said cautiously.

Rhaenyra paid no mind to the comment, “And we must double our guard, here and in Driftmark. There will be swift retribution in one form or another–”

“I have seen to it, Your Grace.” One of the lords spoke. The idea made you feel weary. She was right, it did not matter whether she did have a hand in the murder or not. The Greens would blame her for it and would see to it that they were avenged.

Jacaerys stood from his seat, “Let me fly out on Vermax.” Rhaenyra looked at him with concern. Jacaerys however spoke with courage and ambition, “Rhaenys is needed in the Gullet and I can watch for movements from Kings Landing.”

“No,” Rheynera said quickly with a shake of her head as she turned her attention back to the matter at hand.

She saw Jace as a fragile and delicate thing, something she could not jeopardize more than she already had. You understood how she felt, she’d already lost one son on dragon's back she didn’t wish to lose another. And if you were honest, you were somewhat grateful for it.

Though you could see the frustration, and embarrassment grow on the expression of Jacaerys’s face. As he sat back down you placed a hand on the back of his arm, giving it a gentle squeeze. Just enough for him to ground himself back into reality, and know you were with him.

“It must be said that the damage to our position is immeasurable, at a time when we most need loyalty to our cause.” Some high lord spoke again through the tension building in the room.

“But it’s a lie.” Rhaeynera scoffed, finding the accusation ridiculous, “Having lost my own son, that I would inflict such a thing on Helaena, of all people. An innocent!” She proclaimed.

Alfred Broome, a high lord who had grown too comfortable with his position began, “The death of Prince Lucerys was a shock and an insult. A mother so aggrieved might, naturally, seek relief in retribution-”

As you felt anger rising in your chest, the Queen shot up from her seat and charged towards the arrogant man. “Are you suggesting, Ser Alfred, that my grief drove me to order the decapitation of a child?” She nearly spat her words at him in disgust.

“I merely thought, perhaps, an action taken in haste.” He stammered,

“Mind yourself.” You said out of near instinct. Your anger had gotten the better of you but it seemed well warranted.

Her grace stood staring down the overly confident man. However, exhibiting far more strength than you would have had, she sat herself down.

Once she was sat she looked over towards her husband and uncle, Prince Daemon. You felt weary of the man ever since you had heard the stories of his brutal and seemingly erratic behavior. Daemon now in this council meeting, discussing the beheading of an innocent babe was smirking.

It made your stomach turn as it did Rhaenyra’s. Her face dropped, and she then dismissed the council meeting.

Jacaerys angered by his mother’s decision to coddle him, stormed off down one of the halls. Rather than follow after him you allowed him to go his own way, you decided to wait in your chambers for his blood to cool. However, it was not long til you yourself were summoned by the Queen.

꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・┈

As you walked down the hall towards the council room, you noticed an enraged Daemon storming out of that very room.

You stuck to the stone wall and kept your eyes on the ground. You never felt particularly welcomed in his presence. As he stormed past you he did not speak a word nor did he look at you at all.

It was times like this when you wished you were back home in the North.

As you entered the council chamber, you noticed a broken glass of wine on the floor, and the Queen wiping tears from her eyes.

You entered the chamber cautiously, “You wished to see me, your grace?” you asked softly, not wishing to upset her further.

She seemed somewhat startled by your sudden presence. She stood, wiping another tear away. “Our position has been weakened as you know.” She said as she walked towards you, “You are a great asset to us, the greatest we have now.” Her words hung heavy over your head, but you knew it was true. “Send a raven to your brother, Cregan Stark. Please try to persuade him to send more men. We need the North more than ever.” You nodded, and just as you turned your back to her, about to leave she spoke once more “You must know I did not order this.”

You turned back around to face her, “Never.” You shook your head and spoke with conviction. You stepped closer to her, “I shall send the raven at once. My brother will know this is merely a tragedy and a vile rumor.”

She took hold of your wrist and hand, gripping onto you tightly, “I depend on you.” As she spoke you could hear the desperation in her voice as it wavered. You could tell her words were true.

Rhaenyra was gladdened to have you there. You would be Queen one day, you had to witness the hardships of that role. And she was grateful to see you could weather them, and stay loyal to her house.

You bowed your head to her with the utmost respect you could offer, “I’ll not fail you, your Grace.”

꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・┈ ・ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ꒱꒱

The day was long.

Daemon had fled Dragonstone on Caraxes. You had no knowledge of where he was to be going when he would return, or what this meant for your soon-to-be husband’s future. The Queen had fled Dragonstone as well. For what purpose you did not know. But you were confident she would return. It was not in her nature, nor her character to abandon her children.

The castle felt cold and empty. All you could hear was the sounds of whiny children, Joffrey asking for his mother, while Ageon and Viserys cried as their nurses cradled them.

You could not find comfort in a place like this. It felt eerie and unsettled. Like the ocean before a storm. As you struggled to find sleep you longed for the company only Jace could provide.

Hoping his blood had cooled enough, you dragged yourself out of bed and sought him out.

You found him in the first place you looked, the library. He was always in the library. “Jace?” You beckoned out softly as you entered, wrapping yourself tighter in the robe you were wearing.

Jace was sitting at a desk, holding his head in his hand as his other flipped through the pages of a book, “A child was beheaded. The lords' faith in my mother waivers. And she flees.” He said without looking at you. It was clear he was still frustrated, no angry.

Though you did not know where the Queen had gone, you knew it had to be a reason of importance. But you could understand Jacaerys’s anger.

You began to step closer to Jace, not intimidated by his anger. “Your position is a difficult one, I would wager.” You leaned against the desk he sat at, “As I imagine her position is also a difficult one. I cannot pass judgment on her actions.” You said softly.

Jace looked up from the book on the desk, “Has this shaken your belief in my mother's claim?”

“No.” You asserted quickly, “Your mother did not want for this. It was clear she rebuked the act with all her heart. Her claim was given to her by birth, no force but death will change that.”

Jace looked back to the book he was reading, “Not all of the realm sees it the way you do.” You could feel the frustration building in him.

“I’ve written to my brother. He shall send us more men. Spread the truth about the murder about the realm.” You said hoping it would ease his mind, though you could see it did nothing. You sighed “You should sleep.”

Jacaerys scoffed, “How can I? Damon has fled to plot his own war, my mother vanishes from her responsibilities, and now our claim has been weakened by the death of an innocent child.” He rubbed his eyes, “I am alone with these responsibilities with lords who pester me for answers.”

“You are not alone.” You said as you ran your hand through his hair, “The burden is a heavy one, let me hold it with you.” You said as if you were pleading, “I can send ravens and bark at the lords who dare pester you.” Jacaerys did not respond to you, ignoring your words and continuing to read. You removed your hand from him, growing frustrated with him, “And how will reading thousand-year-old histories hunched over a desk in the middle of the night help that?”

“Someone has to do something.” He muttered.

You sighed, “If you insist on it, perhaps you could read in my chambers. Maybe the company would help you feel less lonely. Or I could sleep here-”

Jacaerys interrupted you, “I don’t feel lonely. I am alone with my mother's war to fight. A letter to the North will do well. But it might do nothing at all. So by all means, sleep, and make yourself easy.” He said, his words dripping with anger and frustration.

You stood, shocked by his reaction. “My apologies my prince, I merely wished to ease your anxieties.” You said in a mocking tone.

As you stormed out, Jacaerys knew he had made a terrible mistake. He allowed his anger to take hold of his emotions and lashed out at the one person who wished to make things easier on him.

You stormed down the hall, wiping a tear from your cheek. Your face was red from a strange mixture of heartache and anger. You thought of how Rheanyra looked after Daemon stormed away. You didn’t know what happened in that room but you could assume.

Maybe it was true what all those women in the North said. All men are the same, they are all born of the same nature. You felt foolish to have had such hope for Jacaerys.

But you knew, hot blood has a way of blinding you. You decided it would be best to sleep and wait for you and Jacaerys to calm down.

Once in your chambers, you splashed your face with warm water, washing away your teasers. You then turned to Liana, your Handmaiden. She handed you a cloth to pat your face dry. Once you did, she took the fabric from your hand. You smiled coldly at the girl, “Thank you, Liana.”

The girl bowed her head to you before leaving your chamber.

As you lay down in your bed, you tried your best to sleep. You tossed and turned, hitting and folding your pillows in a desperate attempt to get comfortable enough to find rest. The cries of the babes still echoed throughout the castle’s stone walls.

Frustrated, you once again tore the blankets off of you. Holding a candle to light your way, you followed the sounds of cries.

As you entered the babe’s chamber you saw a sleeping boy in one cradle, and a Handmaiden bouncing the other child in a desperate attempt to comfort him.

“My lady!” The handmaiden called out, surprised by your sudden appearance. “I am sorry, I cannot seem to put him to rest.” She said worrying she’d upset you and your night.

“Seems like a common problem here.” You said with a weak smile. You set down your candle and walked towards the handmaiden. “I find singing soothes them best.” You suggested softly as you tucked your loose hair behind your ears.

The handmaiden chuckled, “I’m not much of a singer I fear.” She said as she continued to rock and bounce the child to no avail.

You stood for a moment looking at the boy. Though he had silver hair, he reminded you of your siblings in the North. “May I?” You asked as you held out your hands towards the babe.

First slightly unsure, the handmaiden placed the boy in your arms.

You held him gently as you swayed him back and forth. You began to hum a melody that your mother would sing to you. The hum soon turned into vocalization. The babe calmed in your arms finally.

He gripped onto a strand of your hair that fell loose over your shoulder. He didn’t pull it, just absentmindedly toying with it.

This boy must have been Viserys. It could be hard to tell at times, but Viserys had curls, whereas Ageon did not. And Aegon slept much better than Viserys did. As evident from the silver-haired boy sleeping soundly in the cradle and the other in your arms. It surprised you how well Aegon could sleep through such noise.

You looked back down at Viserys. As he looked up into your eyes you noticed he and Jacaerys shared the same eyes. It made you think of being a mother to the future King, or Queen. And maybe many other princes and princesses. You wondered what those babies might look like. A bit of you, and a bit of him.

Soon the boy's eyes became heavy and he drifted into a light sleep.

“Can I get you anything my Lady?” the Handmaiden whispered, not wishing to disturb him.

“Perhaps a tea for sleep? I can’t seem to find it but I shall see to it that the boy sleeps.” You whispered as you continued to sway the boy back and forth.

The handmaiden nodded and swiftly but quietly left the chambers.

As you turned your attention back to Viserys you realized the boy was limp and heavy in your arms. He breathed calmly and deeply, snoring even. ‘Finally’ You thought to yourself.

You played the babe into the cradle beside his brother. As you looked down upon them you thought back again on your daydream of you and Jace’s children.

It made you feel excited and hopeful to think of that future. But with this recent turn in the war, and your fight with Jacaerys, you felt doubt. But you were willing to fight for that feeling of hope.

You ran your hand over the boy's silver curly hair once before you heard the chamber door creek open. You turned towards it, expecting to see a Handmaiden holding a hot cup of tea. Instead, you saw a knight, one you recognized.

You wrapped your robe around you tighter, “Ser Erryk?” You asked with concern. Though he looked at you with pity, and what was stranger was his eyes didn’t look like his eyes at all, “You’re not Erryk, are you?” You mutter quietly as you hold onto yourself tightly as your anxieties rise.

Your heart dropped into the pit of your stomach once you saw a cloaked man behind the Knight posing as Ser Erryk.

Viserys began to stir from his sleep, whining slightly. You took a step back, keeping your eyes on the men in the doorway. You placed a hand on the wooden railing of the cradle holding the two young princes.

“It’s the real Targaryen boys.” The cloaked man rasped to the Knight.

With that, the two began to inch their way into the chamber. You moved to block their view of the infants sleeping in their cradles.

“There's gold, silver, anything you desire I will give. Just leave the babes.” You whispered, not wishing to wake the infants to such a horrific scene. Though your heart began to pound so quickly you thought that alone might wake Viserys.

The man in the cloak smirked at your attempt to derail their plan as he got closer and closer to you. His filthy hand tore off your mother’s necklace that hung around your neck. He examined it in his hands before placing it in his pocket. “Blood must be spilled.”

The knight, however, did not find humor or joy in the act he was anticipating. “You’ll take us to the Queen.” He whispered. It was a command, but it felt like a plea. As if this armed intruder had no desire to bring harm to you. But you knew he had the ability and the will to.

You shook your head, “I’ll do no such thing.” Your eyes were wide and filled with terror.

“You will.” The knight said, again, it sounded like he was desperately pleading with you.

“The Queen fled Dragonstone this evening.” You said almost mockingly, “Even if she were here, I’d not take you to her.”

The cloaked man began to walk towards you with a rotten and crooked smile, “You then.” He said with a giddy high chuckle as he raised a dagger towards you.

You moved away from the children, not wishing to bring that terrible creature near them. The man followed after you, “Please-“ You pleaded quietly as he grabbed hold of you. His stench was thick, nearly choking you as he pressed a knife to your throat. He held one of your hands while your other attempted to pull his knife away from you. “I rebuke the act with all my heart-” You quietly pleaded as you felt the knife begin to drag against your skin, cutting into your throat ever so slightly.

You squirmed and the cloaked man began to giggly snicker in your ear. But the knight stepped forward raising a hand to the man halting his action. The man’s snicker died out, as though he was upset he was being interrupted.

“Perhaps-” The knight began, “If you returned to Kings Landing.” The knight was speaking to you, but his eyes stayed on the man, “If you married Prince Aemond, give the North’s power to the Greens.” His eyes then fell onto you, “Then we could spare you.”

“That wasn’t what he asked for.” The cloaked man barked back to the Knight. The knight however did not respond to the man, only looking at you with pleading eyes.

With eyes widened and your heart racing. You felt the cold blade beginning to split your hot skin as sweat trickled down your brow. Terrified, and vulnerable. Still, you knew you would never betray the only man you ever loved or the true Queen. “I’d rather you put my head on a spike.” You said, your voice shaking but your eyes did not show fear, but contempt.

The man holding the knife to your throat grew giddy once more, and the Knight sighed as he grabbed hold of the hilt of his sword. “Then, believe me, I have no choice, " he said with a regretful sigh.

The knight drew his sword, making you gasp and your eyes grew wider, so wide you thought they might fall out of your head. The knight approached the sleeping babes in their cradle and you squirmed violently in the grasp of the cloaked man. As you did the blade only cut its way deeper into your skin but you did not care.

“No!” You pleaded desperately.

“Only one needs to die.” The cloaked man said you could practically hear the grin on his face. “Which will it be?” He asked with a giddy chuckle.

Tears began to fall from your wide eyes down your red cheeks, “Spare-spare them- take me- me- me-” You desperately and quietly pleaded. The man's giddy chuckle only grew more erratic.

But the knight did not move, “I cannot.” The knight said with shame as he looked down at the infants in their cradle.

The man who held you tightly against his blade threw you down onto the ground, “You take care of the woman.” He said with frustration as he made his way towards the babes.

You stood quickly and grabbed a hold of a golden pitcher within the room. You hit the man over the head with it. Making water splash over him, and the babes waking them instantly. The babes screamed and cried as the golden edge of the pitcher cut the scalp of the man open, and he fell to the ground in pain before he picked himself up and ran out of the chamber disappearing in the shadows of the halls.

The knight’s large hand rose and fell on your face, knocking you to the ground. It was at that same moment you heard the shattering of glass hit the floor. It was the handmaiden dropping your cup of hot tea onto the ground. “M’Lady!” The woman shouted.

You looked up from the hard ground to the woman, “Find Ser Lorrent!” You called out. You wanted for a moment to call for Jacaerys, but you would never forgive yourself for bringing danger to him.

As the woman ran down the hall, the Knight begrudgingly grabbed a chunk of your hair as he pulled you off the ground. As he looked into your tear-stained face he noticed the damage he’d already done.

A bruise to your cheekbone that rose to your eye, and a cut to your lip. You could see the shame in his eyes as he brought his sword to your neck.

“Brother!” A voice yelled out. You looked over to the door to see the true Ser Erryk. He drew his sword.

Without exchanging many words, they unsheathe their swords. You took the opportunity to grab hold of the wailing children and run to the door. All you could hear was the sounds of steel clashing and blood splattering the floor. Their identical fighting styles and knowledge of each other’s tactics result in a deadly stalemate at first.

The clash of swords echoes through the halls, as Ser Lorent finally arrives. He did not know who was who, and at such a distance you did not either.

Ser Lorent kept you behind him, as he watched the battle continue. You watched on in horror holding onto the crying children.

You jumped as you felt hands wrap around you. But as you looked you noticed it was Jacaerys, his expression was one of terror and rage.

“Jacaerys!” You said with relief, as he pulled you and his siblings further away from the fight.

He held your face, observing your injuries, “Where are you hurt?” He asked frantically, “Where did he touch you?” He repeated the question several times but you were far too frightened to speak.

You heard the sound of metal hitting the floor, as you turned you saw one of the knights fall dead onto the floor, and his sword along with him.

The surviving Knight, you could only assume was Erryk, stepped forward. His eyes were filled with grief and guilt.

You looked towards him with sympathy, you didn’t know what to say, but you would not have a chance to think of anything before the knight stumbled into the hall. “My Lady,” He said as he turned his sword towards himself, “Forgive me.” He said as he fell onto his sword.

“No!” You screamed out, but it was too late. Erryk lay dead beside his brother.

꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・┈ ・ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ꒱꒱

You spent the rest of the night locked away in your chamber with Viserys, Aegon, and Joffrey. The guard around your chamber was nearly tripled at the command of Jacaerys.

“We have no idea how they penetrated our walls.” Ser Alfred began.

Jacaerys marched across the council room, exuding every once of rage he felt, “And where were the members of this council when the traitors threatened their Queen, their Princes, and their future Queen?” He questioned, ignoring Ser Alfred's words. “My betrothed is our stronghold.” He barked at the men in that room. He then marched towards Ser Lorent, stopping inches from his face, “And where were you while the Prince and my Lady were threatened?” His tone was oozing with contemptous rage.

Ser Lorent looked down like a child who was caught misbehaving, “I was abed-”

“A bed!” Jace shouted, interrupting the Knight. “She could have been killed!” He nearly screamed as he continued to march around the room.

“It is not the time for blind accusations.” Lord Corlys began, attempting to settle his grandchild’s rage but failing.

“If I may-” Lady Mysaria began, “The guard has detained someone.” This captured Jacaerys’s attention, “The men whom they have captured are not known to us. However, they were caught attempting to flee Dragonstone in a small boat. With the Ladys necklace.” She said holding up the necklace Jacaerys knew was your mother's.

Jacaerys felt that cold sting of rage crashes through his chest, he grabbed a hold of his sword as he walked towards the door to the chamber, “I’ll kill him myself.” Jace, his eyes watery with angry tears.

Lord Corlys, placed a hand on Jace’s chest, stopping him, “I believe it may be best that we approach this with a level head.” He said in a hushed tone.

“A level head?” Jace scoffed, “He had a knife to her throat!” He barked.

“And he will pay for such an insult.” Ser Alfred said, in an attempt to aid Corlys in calming Jace.

“Insult?” Jace repeated in a mocking tone offended that he would compare what was done to you to an insult.

“Jacaerys.” Corlys said, redirecting Jace’s attention back to him, “We must first extract all the knowledge they have of the attack. Who ordered it-”

“We know who ordered it!” Jace shouted,

Ser Alfred stepped forward once more, “They paraded the boy throughout the streets after his death. Shouting of the depravity of Rheanyra the Cruel.” Jace turned to face Ser Alfred, he looked at him with contempt. Weary of what he was to say next. “We cannot parade the Lady and her injuries to the public but we can send letters detailing each act- the horror they inflicted-”

Lord Corlys buried his eyes in his hand.

“No.” Jace asserted, “I will not allow my wife’s honor to be compromised.” He began emotion building in her voice.

No one said a thing, but they all noticed how he spoke of you as his wife though your wedding had not even been planned yet.

Despite Jacaery’s anger, Ser Alfred continued, “Will the Lords of Westeros support Aegon once they have heard of their depravity, or will they rather not denounce the Greens?”

“I will not let her be seen as weak,” Jace said, his voice dripping with fury.

“Not weak. Courageous.” He attempted to rationalize, “She protected the prince and the queen, nearly costing her own life to do so. Her misfortune will do more for our cause than a hundred thousand knights.”

“I said no-” Jace asserted once more before he was interrupted by a handmaiden.

“I apologize, my prince.” The handmaiden said cautiously, “The Lady has requested such action be taken.” She said weary of how the Prince might receive this information.

“What?” He asked breathlessly.

The handmaiden fidgeted with her fingers, nervously, “She has said, she understands, as a representative of the throne she must make sacrifices-”

Jace shook his head, and rubbed his brow, “She needn’t sacrifice anything.”

“My Prince, the lady has insisted. She has expressed she will not turn her cheek.” The handmaiden said before turning back to leave.

꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・

In the Dungeon, Lord Corlys entered the cell holding the badly wounded man.

“I would suggest you speak of whom sent you.” Sitting in front of the man, Lord Corlys intimidated him well enough on his own, he did not need much to convince the man to speak.

“I was sent by Ser Criston Cole under the order of the King Aegon Targaryen.” The cloaked man said, still holding onto his bleeding scalp.

“What was the anticipated outcome of this mission?” Lord Corlys questioned.

“Kill the Rheanyra, kill the true born sons.” The man spoke the truth, in a desperate attempt to avoid any more harm. “Arryk muddied it all up. Didn’t know where the right room was. Then didn’t want to kill the boys.” He spoke with haste and fear, “I don’t know any more than that I promise.” With that, Lord Corlys nodded and stood. The man looked up at him with confusion. “Are you going to hurt me?”

“No.” He said calmly, “But I cannot vouch for the Prince.” Corlys said before leaving the cell.

The man’s breathing grew rapid as he saw the prince enter the dungeon.

Jacaerys entered the dungeon, with clenched fists, holding a large Morningstar mace. Jace looked more disheveled than when Lord Corlys saw him in the council chamber. His shirts were unbuttoned and his hair was a mess. His eyes were darker than they normally were. His feet marched along the stone floor as he came into the cell holding the man.

The man did not plea, he only gritted his teeth knowing what was to come. Jacaerys clenched his jaw as he looked down at the man. He thought of the injuries he saw on his betrothed. The cut on her upper lip, the bruise on her cheek, the cut on her neck, and the bruising on her wrist where the man held her against him. The rage grew inside of him. His nostrils flared as he breathed in and out.

The man began to cry as he stared up at Jacaerys. It only made the rage within Jace grow. How dare this man cry after what he had done.

Jace could no longer hold in his fury, he swung his mace over his head and down onto the man’s already cracked skull.

He brought the mace down onto the man, again, and again, and again until the man’s groaning, whimpering, and twitching ceased.

Jace breathed heavily, exhausted by emotion and physical exertion. His face was covered in blood splatter and sweat.

He stood tall over the man, dropping the mace down onto the man's skull before turning and leaving the cell.

Lord Corlys watched as Jace said not a word and left the dungeon.

꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・┈

Afterward, word traveled quickly of what the Prince had done to the man in the Dungeon.

It took no time at all for you to have heard of it from several handmaidens. Though it made you feel a certain comfort you still wished Jacaerys would see you, would apologize to you. You valued that much more than violence.

But it would not be long for that either. As you sat by the fire, you watched over the children sleeping in the well-guarded chamber with you. You jumped slightly once you heard the chamber door open softly. Despite you knowing how well you were guarded now you still were on edge. Though your anxieties dissolved once you saw it was your betrothed. Deshovled, with what looked like blood splattered onto his shirts.

Jace had washed his face but had not the patience to change before he could see you.

“You saved my brothers.” Jacaerys spoke gently despite his gruesome appearance, “You showed the realm your heroic bravery.” He said as he approached you. He tried to move your hair to see the cut on your neck, “Show me please.” he said softly but you moved your head so he could not look.

You didn’t look at him, still holding resentment. “Tis nothing.” You spoke dismissively.

Jacaerys got onto his knees, placing his hands on your lap, “I must beg for your mercy.” He bowed his head in shame, “My behavior was abhorrent.” he said shaking his head. You still said nothing. Jace looked up at you, “Speak, please. Plainly, even if they are words meant to hurt me I just wish for you to speak.” He pleaded.

So, you did. “You made me feel useless, unwanted.” You said looking at him with hurt eyes, “I only wished to comfort you. And you pushed me away.” You sighed, “I am not a hero, and I am not brave, Jacaerys. I am hurt and far from home.”

He took in your words for a moment, nodding, “You alone have given us the North, you have saved the Prince and the Queen.” He spoke calmly, “And you have made me a true man and bewitched me, mind and body. I want no one else, and our house could not survive without you.” He took hold of your hands and looked at you with eyes that spoke of the love and devotion he felt toward you, “I was an arrogant fool to make you feel otherwise. Blinded by my own anger towards matters that were not caused by your hand.” You saw his eyes begin to tear up, “I could have lost you. It was so narrowly avoided. I imagined it when I saw those men who attacked you. Losing you… You are my way of life, without you, I could not go on.” He said before sniffing and swallowing whatever emotion was consuming him, before he looked back to you “If I have proven unworthy, I will see to it you have safe passage to the North. No action will be taken against your house.-” He began but you interrupted his ridiculous words.

You scoffed, “I am not going to leave you over an argument, Jacaerys.” You placed a hand on his cheek, “I said I loved you and I meant it.”

“I will live to earn your forgiveness.” He said gripping onto your hand tightly.

“You have it you fool.” You said stifling a laugh. You found it hard to hold resentment toward him any longer.

He smiled softly at you, and then he ran a hand gently over your hair, “May I?” He asked and you nodded.

He moved your hair to see the cut on your neck. He grimaced at the sight, not out of disgust but out of anger for what they had done.

“I said it was nothing.” You said trying to comfort him.

“It is something.” He insisted.

You pushed your hair forward covering the mark, “The maester said it will scar, but can easily hidden.”

“You’ll not hide anything.” Jacaerys said as he placed a hand on your cheek, “You did not have to send those letters.” He said shaking his head. He felt shame for allowing such a thing to happen.

You shook your head, “I couldn’t lay back and make myself easy.”

“You did much more than that,” Jace said sternly, he would not allow anyone to make you think otherwise.

You looked at his disheveled appearance, “Is it true what they said?” You questioned softly, “You-You killed the man who did it?” He looked at you with conviction, “I will not allow someone to threaten harm to my wife and live.”

“Your wife?” You asked with a smile,

“You are quite nearly that.” he smiled back.

You shook your head one last time, “Not near enough.”

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ppyopulii · 26 days ago

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send-off ⏳ (demo ver.)

PREVIEW. “I have no words for them other than ‘take care.’ I have nothing to say that will comfort worries should they have any.”

FEATURING. choi seungcheol x reader GENRE(S). established relationship, hurt/comfort LENGTH | WC. <10min | 1k words EXPLICITS. one (1) curse word, descriptions of kissing

JAY’S MUSINGS. this… was supposed to be a 200 word drabble. my heart goes out to @etherealyoungk and @junplusone. thank u for watching me crash out about caratland. and of course, lots of love goes out to csc today and tomorrow and forevermore. u will always be their #1 role model, cheollie.

YOU MIGHT ALSO LIKE. unlovable by glowie. honesty by pink sweat$. lover by taylor swift. soldier, poet, king by the oh hellos. tahanan by adie. love. by wave to earth.

“What’s in your heart?”

There’s a heaviness piling on Seungcheol’s character, one that knots his shoulder blades together and wears on the crease in between his eyebrows. Your whisper of a question to him has a breath stuttering out of his throat in response.

His grip on his phone loosens, and a quick glance at the screen confirms your worries. It’s a viral edit of various CARATLAND adventures; Wonwoo’s bright smile molds into Jeonghan’s smirk and makes your heart sink. You can only guess that the next member to appear is Soonyoung, and you’re proven right when the video automatically replays to showcase the energetic dancer.

You sigh.

“Cheol,” you press a kiss to his shoulder, taking note of the tense muscle and reminding yourself to make him a cup of his favorite tea in a bit. “Let’s go to bed, yeah? You’ve had a long day.”

He doesn’t answer you right away. Instead, your husband lets his phone clatter to the coffee table’s mahogany wood, running a hand through his hair. It’s kept a little longer than usual, freshly dyed with red streakings, something you suggested to him when he was looking for new inspiration on how to style it.

You’re about to call out to him again when Seungcheol squeezes his eyes shut.

“What kind of leader am I?”

His voice is quiet in volume, but the question echoes throughout your dimly lit living room, bouncing off the walls of framed photos and hanging plants.

“I–” Seungcheol starts, before running another hand through his hair, “I’m supposed to be the strong one. The one that they look up to in hard times. What kind of model do I serve as when I can’t be there for them through something as big as enlistment?”

“I have to sit back and watch them enlist, one by one, and all I can do is wish them well. Jeonghan-ah and Wonwoo–” his voice breaks on the last syllable of Wonwoo’s name, “They’re not on active duty. But what about Jihoon-ah? Or Hoshi? I have no words for them other than ‘take care.’ I have nothing to say that will comfort worries should they have any.”

He ends with burying his face in his worn, calloused hands. They’re rough to the touch, you know firsthand—but you take in the way Seungcheol’s right pinky is laced with a silver ring and a gold band is wrapped snugly around his left ring finger, eyes drawn to the polished metals with awe. The reason they fit so perfectly with nothing more than a speck of rust is his continuous, present care—damned be the experience his hands have been through.

“Seungcheol,” you murmur, resting your chin on his shoulder before snaking your arms around his hefty torso. “Seungcheol. Your presence is enough. It will always be enough.”

“How good can my presence be if I don’t even—”

“They are not asking you to live their life for them through an unknown chapter,” you cut him off sharply. “They are not asking you to teach them the ways of the world. They are asking you to be there. To stand with them and listen to them and be present.”

Seungcheol, oh, your Seungcheol—he’s crying, pulling his crewneck up to hide his red-rimmed eyes and turning into your body to shield himself from the world. You draw soothing, long circles across his back as he weeps, taking deep breaths to keep your own tears at bay.

“I know you burden yourself with the task of being their leader,” your voice is softer now, dulled with your love for him. “You have for the past decade now. But this? They are not asking you to lead them. They are asking you to simply be their friend.”

“And you are,” you gently push his sweater down and bring his face to yours, hands wiping away his salty tears. “And you will be. I know you will.”

He hiccups before leaning into you, rubbing his face along your fingers that so eagerly hold him. You pay no mind to the snot and saltwater; how could you, when you’re currently holding your whole universe in your hands?

His eyes are closed, eyelashes curling with every breath, and you softly press your lips to his right eyelid. Seungcheol barely stirs. You continue, kissing his left eyelid, then his temple, before murmuring sweet words of comfort to each of his blushing cheeks.

“You’ve done well, Cheollie.” Your lover is now gripping your face with those lovely toughened hands of his own, lips quivering while he kisses you with all the strength he has left in him. “There is no more to be asked of you from anyone. You have proven yourself, a thousand times over.”

“Thank you,” he sobs against your mouth; you welcome another open-mouthed kiss, his teeth clinking against yours. “Thank you. I love you. What did I do to deserve you? To deserve them?”

You giggle, the sound reverberating through your living room and whisking away all of his shadowing thoughts. He quietly laughs along with you, a chuckle that warms you to the bone, and you know your Seungcheol is back.

He clasps his hands over yours and smiles at you; you can feel the heat radiating off his fingers that meets the cool metal band of your own wedding ring, and Seungcheol thumbs over it like a promise. His eyes are shining despite his tears.

“Nothing, silly,” you finally answer. “You did nothing but be yourself. And isn’t that enough?”

Choi Seungcheol kisses you like it’s the last breath he’ll ever take.

“And isn’t that enough,” he echoes.

#🎶 ppyopulii’s discography #seventeen #choi seungcheol #seventeen x reader #choi seungcheol x reader #seungcheol x reader #seventeen imagines #seventeen fluff #choi seungcheol imagines #choi seungcheol fluff #seungcheol imagines #seungcheol fluff

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merakiui · 2 months ago

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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 singsong.

“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.

#twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #skully j graves x reader #skully x reader #n/sfw

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brain4stew · 2 months ago

Note

forsaken killers with a deceased so perchance

Anon… Do you like angst?? ☹️💔

But alr then…

(Again, I don’t know the characters exact personalities and so on, so they might, if not most likely will be OOC!!)

‼️ WARNING; ANGST ‼️

HEADCANONS/SOMETHING UNDER THE CUT!! ;

(1x1x1x1)

• Ah yes, the embodiment of hatred… Having yet another thing to fuel his hatred.

• You were a great, respectful and caring s/o. (*COUGH* In his mind, spouse. *COUGH*)

• He loved you, dearly. He still does, even though you aren’t with him anymore.

• He keeps a minion close to him, when he’s back in the killer lobby. The minion in question? Being you.

• He has used necromancy on you, to keep you by him. Even if you’re now just a minion, who attacks survivors…

• In rounds, he’s filled with pure hatred, as he always is. If one of the survivors even remotely looks, or acts like you, he’ll pause for a moment, before mercilessly killing them. Pretty harshly.

• How dare a mere mortal survivor, act and look even remotely close to you?! IN FRONT OF HIM. NO LESS.

• Whenever that happens, he’s showing no mercy, whatsoever to anyone and everyone.

• Back in the killer lobby, he immediately seeks out your minion self. Hesitantly hugging, holding and kissing you.

• He wishes that you didn’t have to go… But, he couldn’t do much about your death, could he…?

(John Doe)

• Ah, John Doe. He knows you don’t have a high life expectancy, however…

• His corruption only worsened when you were gone.

• WHERE DID YOU GO?! PLEASE… You are one of the few people who can calm his corruption down…

• In rounds he’s killing every survivor he can, not caring about them at all.

• He does hesitate when someone acts or looks like you, but he kills them nonetheless, when his corruption spirals.

• Foul vermin survivors.

• In the killer lobby, he immediately goes to his specified room, looking at the picture of you.

• You were so happy, smiling, and holding his corrupted hands, before they became too dangerous to touch…

• Although he doesn’t remember much, and forgets quite a bit, he’ll still always love you. You were the perfect s/o…

(Jason)

• Jason, Jason… A mama’s boy, really…

• His mother took an interest in you first, as you were always kind to him back in ‘51.

• Jason, was always quiet, but trusted his mother’s words about you.

• You both were a picture perfect couple. You didn’t bother to pry into his history, because you loved him, as he is.

• Why I’m saying that you “loved him”, as if you don’t anymore you may ask? Well, it’s because you’re dead.

• Jason now has yet another reason to kill survivors, as it was one of them, that killed you.

• He doesn’t understand why they’d kill someone he cherishes. His mother was already dead, and he can still hear her, and follows with what she says…

• But why did they kill you?

• He’s killing every survivor, in cold blood. Not a single one survives him, whatsoever.

• If there’s a survivor that looks or acts like you, he’ll pause, before his mother tells him, and reminds him that; you’re dead. You’re gone. To kill the survivors.

• He does so. Killing them all.

• Back in the killer lobby, he goes to his specified room. Going to his mother, (if you haven’t seen friday 13th, then idk if you know what I’m talking about…) and talks to her. Hell, he even keeps your body near his mother.

• It’s so he knows you’re not going to be taken away from him or his mother. He still loves you, a lot.

(Mafioso)

• This prick. This guy, absolutely adores you. He was the first one to tell you his feelings.

• You accepted of course. You didn’t pry into his work either, you figured it out yourself, due to how he was dressed. (You thought he was one of those cliche mafia guys. Which he is.)

• Whenever he has to chase the ones in the dream land, due to their debt there, he’ll always have one or two of his men staying by you at all times.

• That was a terrible idea however.

• One of his “trustworthy” men… Killed you. Why? Perhaps the guy thought you were just a distraction to his boss.

• Mafioso, of course killed the guy out of anger and revenge for you.

• He kept your body in those freezing cubicles in his room. He doesn’t trust his men after what happened. He only trusts his boss, Eunoia. To be near you, and watch over your body, in case of any fractures on you.

• In rounds, he’s pissed off everytime. Someone looks and acts almost exactly like you… What a fucking vermin of a survivor.

• He kills every and all survivors. Hell, he lets them all know that he doesn’t take kindly to anyone looking, or even acting like you.

• By that, I mean he broke several bones of the said survivor that looked and acted similar to you. ♡

• Back in the killer lobby, or, the shared lobby of him and his boss. He immediately goes to his room, where Eunoia is also.

• He constantly asks how you’re doing, as if you’re awake, and will be awake soon. (You won’t…)

• Eunoia always tells him to calm the fuck down, and tells him every update she has about your body, as you’re in the freezing cubicle.

• Mafioso looks at you in the freezing cubicle, savoring, smiling faintly, and even loving the way you look. Even when dead, you’re still a beauty in his eyes…

(Help, I just noticed that 1x’s and Mafioso’s have way more texts than the other two killers 😦 I think I love Mafioso and 1x too much…)

#roblox forsaken x reader #forsaken roblox x reader #forsaken x reader #1x1x1x1 x reader #dreamgame x reader #mafioso x reader #jason x reader #john doe x reader #brain4stew/l i n’s work‼️

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godjustkys · 22 days ago

Note

Hello!! I love your works. I was just wondering if I could request Dean Winchester x Top M!reader?

Maybe something along the lines of Dean had been grumpy & filled with attitude the whole day. I’m talking like snarky, sarcastic comments/reply’s to people if they were to ask him a simple question. So, reader goes to check up on him once it’s just them and turns out Dean’s been acting like that for a stupid jealously reason. And one thing leads to another and they fuck?

Could you maybe throw some overstimulation in too? Thank you!

THEME: fucking dean to reassure that you only want him! <3

CHARACTER: top!male reader x dean winchester

NOTE: ESTABLISHED RELATIONSHIP. but, just imagine dean throwing a hissy fit because you were studying lore with sam..

p.s. i cannot write for shit rn, forgive me please what the fuck.

WARNING: overstimulation (dean cums a lot),, PRAISE,, cocky reader,, dirty talk,, multiple handjobs,, light dacryphilia,, light pet name use,, cum used as lube,, pathetic dean,, brief fingering,, unprotected sex,, creampie,,

“dean, did you get the book?” sam asked his older brother, not looking up from the papers he had scattered around the table. “yea, totally did. Not.” dean responded in a mocking tone, emphasizing the 'not', sitting comfortably on the couch, arms folded over his chest and a gruff expression on his face. sam blinked his confusion away as he looked up at dean, eyebrows furrowed. “dude? why not?” the younger inquired, clearly baffled. “get it yourself, you lazy dunce.” dean quipped, rolling his eyes and tilting his head to the side.

you looked up from the papers as well, raising an eyebrow at dean's tone. you see, dean woke up, ready to get some care from you, some cuddles, kisses, whatever, but when he opened his eyes, you weren't there. you were already up, studying with sam. missing his morning kisses made him grumpy, and to see that he missed out on it because you chose to help sam - it made him jealous.

for the entirety of the day dean was snarky, giving you and sam judgemental glances and scowls. he purposefully did things to annoy you; left trash somewhere in the bunker, left his plate on the table, didn't fold the laundry, whatever he could possibly think of to piss you off. you cleaned up after him when you took a break, like you would after a small child. the entire day, dean didn't get any attention from you and it frustrated him even more. night eventually rolled around.

dean was in your shared room, a frown on his face as he changed his clothes, his back facing the bed. through the years of hunting, you had learnt to walk silently, without a single sound. so basically, you sneaked up behind dean and heard him grumbling something along the lines of 'stupid motherfuckers' and a rough whisper of your name. you couldn't make it out fully, but that didn't matter right now. wrapping your arms around dean's waist, you pressed your nose to his hair. dean jumped slightly as he had just left you alone with sam. “what-” he mumbled, his hands landing on your forearms and gripping them. “off.” he said roughly, trying to get out of your grip. “what's the matter with you today?” you asked softly, moving your head to the side, your lips ghosting against the shell of dean's ear. he let out a bitter scoff, his grip on your arms tightening. “fuck off, go back to study lore with that stupid idiot, you nerd.” dean managed harshly, his face a scowl. ah, that was it.

you sighed against his skin, pressing hot, open mouthed kisses down the side of his neck. “grumpy, aren't we?” you mumbled, a hand moving down to dean's lower abdomen. dean's muscles contracted a bit at the contact. “i ain't grumpy—” he started but did not finish his sentence once your hand slipped past the fabric of his boxers. dean looked down, his mouth agape as he breathed through it. your fingers wrapped around his cock, lazily stroking him and getting him hard. dean just watched, not saying a singular word as soft pants left his lips.

“nice, ain't it?” you mumbled, your other hand resting on the side of his waist. “see, this type of treatment is reserved only for you, baby,” you cooed softly, your tone bordering on mocking which dean did not approve of. he grumbled out, shifting on the balls of his feet slightly, leaning back into you for some support. “do you ever just- shut up..” dean breathed out, the bitterness in his voice very distinguishable. “i do, but I'll make sure you won't.” you responded flatly in a quiet voice, thumb sliding over his tip to spread the already leaking precum. the threat, or you could say a promise, sent a shot of heat straight to his cock, making it twitch lightly. “enjoy this, dean. your first orgasm for tonight, certainly not the fucking last.”

dean groaned softly, his hips canting forwards, pushing into your hand. his eyes were still watching your hand jerk him off beneath the fabric. mind you, his hands were still on your forearms. his grip tightened momentarily, gathering himself. “mhh, shit..” his voice was a soft moan, slightly higher pitched. adorable, really. the longer you continued to stroke him at this pace, the closer he was getting. fast forward a couple moments later and he cummed, his stomach tensing as he let out a drawn out groan, his hands sliding down from your forearms to your wrists, his grip almost desperate. dean's cum was mostly on your hand, so you just slowed your pace to stimulate him properly again, his cock getting slick with his own precum and cum, too. “y— wh- again?” dean managed, his skin getting coated with a very thin layer of sweat. “told you, didn't I? so, c'mon lovely, be a good boy and stand still.” you answered him flatly, your own hard-on pressing against dean's ass.

his legs tensed as he did his best to stay still, no matter how much he wanted to walk away from this just to spite you. he couldn't. he just.. loved the way you approached him; so abrupt and nonchalant. it dizzied his mind. his cock twitched more, whining out your name in a low voice, indicating he was overstimulated. that was what you wanted though, so you didn't pay any mind to it. despite the overwhelming feeling, dean rutted into your hand unsteadily with absolutely no rhythm, soundless gasps leaving his throat as his eyes fluttered shut. he came a second time after a little while, this time with a louder groan. his shoulders hunched forward and his chest heaved. your hand was dirtied with his cum - yet again. you pulled dean aside and pushed him onto the bed. he fell down with a grunt, his body tingling with need even though your hands just left his body.

it was a matter of time until you were atop of dean, his legs spread wide for you. you took off his boxers with his assistance, discarding them to the floor. your dirty hand went under and the tip of your finger prodded at his entrance. dean raised his hips a bit, almost instinctively, moving his own hand to press to your chest. he was propping himself up by his elbows. pushing your finger all the way in, dean's eyes shut once again, eyebrows furrowing. “so pretty, gonna fuck you stupid,” you breathed out, your eyes locked onto his face and facial expressions. you pushed the digit in and out for a short while, before adding another one. dean's hole clenched slightly at the feeling, his face twitching once or twice. “you're fucking slow.” dean rapsed out, his head pressing back into the mattress as he laid down fully. as you processed his words, you pushed a third digit in, stretching him out properly. it was rather normal, until you curled your fingers. dean's back arched slightly off of the bed, his other hand moving to grasp your bicep. “ah.. god, fuck you.” he said as he turned his head to the side. dean's legs bent at the knee, his feet on the bed itself. his thighs trembled and threatened to close; but couldn't. you were in-between them. “oh, what a pretty little slut.. you make such gorgeous sounds, sweetheart, keep 'em comin’..”

you resumed pushing your fingers in and out of dean, curling them at prodding ever so slightly at his prostate. at first he held in his sounds, just out of pure spite, but it was getting harder to do so. his breathing was more laboured than before and he had a difficult time keeping his eyes open. not that it mattered. luckily, your hand was still rather slick with dean's cum, so once you pulled out your cock, you lubed it up with it. it wasn't much but it would have to do. your hand held the inner side of dean's thigh, the other - adjusting your tip to his hole. you pushed in just barely, before pulling back and doing it again. just prodding at his entrance. dean whined as he realized what you were doing, squirming slightly. he opened his mouth to speak but a loud, whore-ish moan was punched out of him as you bottomed out with zero warning. “g—ghh..od fucking damn it!” dean whisper-yelled, clenching his jaw, his lower body taut. “ugh, yeah, yeah baby, lemme hear you,” you groaned out, your voice strained as you started thrusting at a steady pace. the man under you let out a shaky breath, his hole clenching around you almost desperately. “so so good,” you enunciated your point with a harsh thrust, not only making dean's cock throb, but also making his legs tremble. in a very pathetic attempt to keep you close, dean wrapped his legs around your waist.

dean moaned your name, his hand on your chest fisting the fabric of your shirt. your pace quickened, thrusts only getting deeper and harder. you adored the sight in front of you; seriously, who wouldn't love themselves a pathetic, needy dean? speaking of which, the soft, barely audible groans that left dean every time you thrusted in were agonizingly adorable. eventually, when you shifted and switched the angle, you started abusing dean's prostate. he was a fucking mess. “oh— ah- ah-huh, there, there, fuck, fuck fuck fuck, yes, keep- keep going,” dean rambled, despite pulling his hips back as you hit his prostate each time. his face was scrunched up, but you could tell it was in pleasure. you regulated your breathing as you kept up the harsh pace, moving your hand to dean's cock once again, starting to jerk him off unsteadily. it was then that dean started babbling absolute nonsense, half of it not even coherent. he was thrashing around slightly, squirming and writhing, his body overwhelmed.

a very good pounding later, dean was spent. he came at least four times, two times just from your hand, two other times from your cock. it was an intense session, you were relentless. pressing a soft kiss to dean's forehead, you slowly pulled out, cum dripping from dean's entrance. “you're amazing.” you muttered softly, moving to press a chaste kiss to his lips. dean blinked his tears from overstimulation away, groaning in annoyance. “you're a bitch.” he muttered, his shaky hand moving up to wipe the drool off of the corners of his mouth. “a stupid one.” he finished begrudgingly, his legs falling limp.

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hellsslibrary · 11 months ago

Note

your twisted wonderland first time stories are so good! is it fine if i request you write about vil, rook, jade, leona, and cater next? i love top male reader stories but its hard to find ones about twisted wonderland :<

-🍤

»—> Vil's, Rook's, Jade's, Leona's and Cater's first time + Azul from another request.

#a.n. : my writer's block and problems in life are finally over and I'm writing again. An amazing sight, but still.

#cw/tw: top!male!reader, bottom!male!character, first time obviously, praise kink, fingering, teasing, and quite a vanilla sex in general, sex toy(Cater), riding(Leona), very little nipple play(Leona), dirty talk(Rook), Rook is a brat just a little.

This is definitely a planned action, simply from the fact that Vil more than knows about sex (I think Eric explained this to him as a child as needed). Therefore, it is at least planned on the part of your yes/no, preferences and the like.

I don’t know why, but it seems to me that it’s important for Vil that your first sex with him be vanilla and romantic. That is, so that this sex is not so much a show of your lust, but of intimacy, your trust in each other.

If you are not a virgin, by the way, you will think that you are a virgin. This guy will guide you as if he knows everything, where, what and why (although he didn’t go beyond jerking off, because he didn’t see the need for it).

But he will still give you control, almost completely, simply because... It’s more convenient for a virgin than to do it all himself.

“Mmm... Yeah, it feels good,” Vil mutters as your fingers poke into that sweet spot and his fingers curl into the sheets. “Please continue... A little slower, yes, like that.”

A quiet moan of pleasure escapes his lips as your fingers slow down ever so slightly, pressing with each slow but rhythmic thrust into him. He sighs shakily, his arms wrapping around your neck as he presses a chaste kiss to your lips.

"Vil? This..." You whisper, watching as he spreads his legs beneath you invitingly, a smirk blooming on his lips that turns into a smile of pleasure in a matter of seconds. "Too tempting for a virgin."

"In your opinion, I'm always tempting, no? Or do you think I don't notice your glances at my ass?" Vil asks, chuckling and making you laugh too and kiss his lips, in a deeper way, and push your fingers even deeper.

It is clear that the sensations will be strange. But he’s still pleased, and the main thing is that it’s you. And Vil is not one of those who goes back on his word, after all. And if he allowed you to fuck him, then you will do it (if you want, ofc).

Vil simply found some kind of peace in this first act. Slow thrusts, your hands touching his body, which has become like a continuous erogenous zone, your quiet voice whispering praises and compliments to him... It's wonderful.

“Ah, [M-Mc]... It’s so good, don’t stop, I beg you, my love,” Vil whispers, closing his eyes in pleasure, feeling the relaxed, slow tremors inside him; a whine escapes his lips as you lift his hips off the pillow, going deeper.

“So good... You take cock too well, handsome. Although it’s you, what else could I expect,” Your whisper is heard in his ear, and he melts at the sound of your hoarse laugh.

His nails dig into your back, creating crescent-shaped marks. His hips rock in time with your thrusts, meeting them. Moans and whines escaped his slightly reddened lips from the kiss, mixed with the sound of your name... Just perfect.

I'm honestly not sure if this was planned or not. Just from the fact that I can easily imagine something innocent with him developing into something obviously intimate and... I'll leave it up to you.

And you DO NOT need to discuss the main important things before getting into bed. He knows everything about you, which seems strange, especially if you have never even thought about it, but this is Rook... But he will tell you his boundaries and what he loves, yes.

He is absolutely calm before the penetration begins, absolutely. You even begin to think that he lied, that this was his first time. He's too... Stretched for a virgin. (Although let's be honest, I just think he was playing with himself. And I think he's one of the few people who did it with his hole, lol)

He doesn't moan at all before the penetration begins, like AT ALL. Rook just watches your fingers penetrate him with a satisfied smile and red cheeks and tells you all sorts of praise and some phrases that make you swear you want to simultaneously blush and hit him at the same time.

“Mmm... Your fingers are so good, Mon cher, it’s almost unbearably good. If you’re so good with your hands, then I can’t even imagine what it will be like when your dick is inside,” Rook whispers with a half grin, half smile on his face, his palms lie on your chest, drawing some invisible patterns there with his fingers.

A sigh escapes your lips and you lightly slap him on the back of his thigh, causing Rook to twitch slightly but only chuckle at your displeasure showing; his back arches when you make deliberate, harsh contact with his prostate.

“Rook, I ask you, keep quiet... Everything has its time. Have you heard of such a phrase?” You ask a rhetorical question, and a joyful glint appears in his eyes when he realizes that he has angered you just a little.

He's also calm when you finally insert your dick, it's like he's done this all before, seriously. Although moans are already beginning to escape his lips, he still does not stop these dirty conversations, they even intensify.

Although they soon turn into only convulsive declarations of love and praise when he approaches orgasm or this happens after the first orgasm.

"Ahh... You're so deep, it's incredible! Don't stop, please," Rook ululates as his face slams into the pillow again, squeezing it in his grip, causing it to tear pitifully.

“I didn’t plan on stopping, blondie, don’t worry,” He trembles when he hears and feels your whisper right next to his ear.

Your tender kiss behind his ear absolutely does not fit with the rough and rather sharp thrusts, creating a wonderful difference between roughness and tenderness... And damn, he can feel how his dick is getting hard again.

... No, I don't think it was planned, no. But this was not something wild too. It’s just that at some point you smoothly flowed into intimacy when there was the most suitable time and moment for this.

Although you have probably discussed similar topics with him many times before. I just think he's terribly curious when it comes to his partner, plus he probably doesn't have much of an idea of how sex works between someone who has legs.

An absolute mess. He gradually, but quickly enough breaks down under any of your actions, touch, word, even glance. He simply surrenders to these sensations headlong.

"Jade, are you okay? You haven't said a word since my fingers were inside..." A question leaves your lips as you watch Jade try his best to hold back any sounds that escape his lips, and he just nods, "Baby... Give me a verbal answer."

"Y-yes! This—... Th-this is so good, mmhmm... Plea-please don't, agh, st-stop!" Jade groans, barely able to utter the words, causing a chuckle to escape your lips, causing the moray eel’s already red cheeks to turn an even darker shade.

His body trembles, his hands grab at anything just to maintain a little sense of reality. His cheeks are completely red, his teeth are nipping at his bottom lip, his eyes are closed as tears stream down his face... What a charm, right?

You'll probably need to keep his mouth closed somehow when you finally enter him. He will no longer be able to control his moans, and he will moan so damn loudly.

He doesn't even feel discomfort, he just wants all of you. He wants you to go ahead and just fuck him like he deserves.

“Hush, precious, hush. You'll wake everyone up, these aren't soundproof walls after all,” You whisper as Jade's head is thrown back on your shoulder in pleasure, and your fingers are in his mouth, playing with his tongue to muffle him just a little.

Your other hand lowers and lifts his body on your dick, making him twitch and whimper every time. His thoughts are jumbled, if he can think at all right now. Now there is only you, him and your dick, which lies perfectly in him.

No, this is not planned. I think it was completely unplanned. For some reason, I imagine him sending you a repost of some video where there is something sexual and like, “Maybe we can do it too?))”

And if you agree, he is the happiest in the world. He expected that you would not agree and then he would have reduced everything to a joke, but since you agree...

He also probably once tried to finger himself, but he didn’t really succeed, because his fingers didn’t reach what he needed, so he maybe used toys, or didn’t touch his hole for the time being.

"Mmm, are you sure this thing is comfortable, pumpkin? Is everything wonderful?" You ask to make sure he's absolutely fine as he lies on the bed, fascinated by the toy below.

"Y-yes... It feels good, really," Cater whispers, moaning as the toy touches his prostate. It's just a prostate vibrator with a circle of rubber that attaches to the base of the penis... But he swears it's never felt as good as it does now.

An absolute mess when you penetrate him. He's quiet though, I guess. You feel so much better than anything in his life has ever felt. And... A real cock is probably more pleasant to have than rubber, glass or other materials.

And yes, he won't let you go. He will cling to you with all his might, but he will still hold on to you.

“Cater... Calm down, calm down. I’m not going anywhere,” You whisper as his nails run down your back for the hundredth time in these moment, leaving red marks there that will clearly make your tomorrow less rosy.

“So-sorry,” He sobs, wrapping his legs around your waist, practically hanging on you as you continue to thrust in and out of him at a slow pace, “You're just... So h-hot and wet inside... And twitching, too! Weird..."

I think this is more about presenting you with a fact rather than a planned action. He can just lie on your lap in the garden and then say something like “I want to have sex tonight” and start snoring a few seconds later, and you react however you want.

For the first time he is surprisingly active, I think. Really active. Of course, he doesn’t know how to do anything in practice, but if you want him to suck you off or something, he will do it. (And will still do it damn well)

Quiet asf. Just a few growls, maybe very quiet moans, but it’s hard to get him to other sounds. In general, I think that he is not particularly sensitive himself.

“Mmm, come on, herbivore... I'm not glass, damn it,” Leona mutters as you slip your fingers into him a little too slowly for his liking and he sighs contentedly when you speed up a little.

"Sorry, sorry. I just don't want to rush anywhere, okay?" You speak, specifically aiming for his prostate and he just makes some kind of guttural sound reminiscent of agreement.

He will ride you. Yes, you can fight me, I’m ready, but he will do it. Leona wants to control the pace of your first time, so he will do that.

Although, of course, when he gets tired, he’ll just lie on top of your chest and you’ll have to fuck him like that because it’s convenient for him, lmao.

"Ha... Leona, you look incredible when you're on top of me, you know?" You ask, looking at him riding your dick at a slow, but quite sharp pace, while his hands lie on your chest, sometimes squeezing it convulsively in his palms.

“Yeah, I always look incredible actually... But I'm glad you recognized my greatness in a position that no one else saw,” Leona whispers with a smirk, flicking your nipple lightly, chuckling as you twitch inside him, but then it’s his turn to moan as you lift your hips, meeting his bounce halfway.

Yes, considering him, this is planned. He was very nervous, thinking that something would go wrong, so he discussed it with you in advance and of course asked when, after the start of the relationship, you would feel comfortable taking this step.

He is absolutely nervous before starting, even if he has read a lot of educational literature on this topic. He thinks something will go wrong or you won't like something.

He... Something between quiet and loud, yes. The most common moans, whines and sighs. Although, if you overstimulate him or just bring him into some kind of faint state of ecstasy, he will sound like the girls from hentai, I swear.

"Azul... Relax, okay? You're pretty tight even for a virgin," You whisper, squeezing his thigh reassuringly, letting him know that you're here and you're not going anywhere.

He nods, wiping his eyes from the accumulated tears, although it didn't really help, because they almost immediately appeared again. Azul sighs deeply, taking one of his pillows and covering his face halfway as he continues to stare at you.

“Okay, sorry... It's just unusual, I didn't think people walking on two legs felt this way,” Azul mumbles, muffled by the pillow but surprisingly able to keep his voice unwavering, throwing his head back when you touch his G-spot.

The absolute prince of pillows, at least the first few times. It's not that he wouldn't want to do something. He's just embarrassed and has no idea what to do.

Definitely a very kisser. Firstly, to muffle his moans, which make him ashamed. And secondly, it seems to me that he has a sensitive mouth and tongue... And his throat too, if you have a long tongue.

Azul meets your lips with his own again as he lies on his back, his legs twitching on your shoulders from the thrusts inside him. His tongue slides awkwardly against you as you run the wet muscle over his teeth for the hundredth time that evening and then pull away.

“You're so cute, Azul... I had no idea you'd be so clingy,” He blushes when he hears you whisper against his ear and squeezes his eyes shut when you lick the shell of his ear.

“It’s not true, love... Don’t tease me,” Azul mutters, covering his face with his hands, although he immediately leans forward when you kiss him again.

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cinnbar-bun · 1 year ago

Text

Affinity (Various OP Characters x Reader)

Characters: Brook, Buggy, Beckman, Crocodile, Zoro, Mihawk, Corazon, Shanks, Law

Rating: SFW

Word Count: ~4k

A/n: Reader is GN! I kinda made this after hearing about a special thing in my religion, and decided I wanted to do this. I of course made it more romantic in nature than the original idea goes, but hey, romance! I had my followers choose 7 originally but it went to 9, which is a very lucky number in my religion so maybe it was a sign? Who knows! Please enjoy <3

Tagging: @fanaticsnail @gingernut1314 @undeadeurydice @i-am-vita @kiribuchi @therosietoesy (sorry, I forgot who asked for Law my bad)

———————————————————————

There is a belief that before you are born, you were once a soul that had existed with other souls. Souls who had an affinity for each other would find that affinity carried in their time as a human. Souls who repelled each other would find that distaste carried over as well. Perhaps it was preordained, fate, destiny- whatever you’d call it. Regardless, it seems your soul has met with someone who once had an affinity for you…

Brook

Being an undead figure unable to pass on was not what Brook had in mind. In some ways, he was grateful for another chance at life, another chance to do what he previously was too dead to finish. Albeit, being a pile of bones did have its drawbacks.

While he could still function and do things many humans did, fact was, he was anything but. One look at him would easily make him stand out as something like a freak of nature.

Skeletons cannot love and be loved like a human. He could hold, but could not be held like a human. Admittedly, it had bothered him on occasion, but he always tried to brush it off with a simple hum or shrug. After all, he had his friends and crewmates- and he had a promise to continue fighting for. That should be enough.

But he couldn’t stop his eyes (if he had any) from wandering… couldn’t stop the way his mind wondered…

Just what could it be like if I too could fall in love?

Ah, but that’s such a silly thing for a skeleton to consider. Who could ever love the undead remains of someone long forgotten?

He’d practically given up on such silly notions like love or a relationship- it didn’t fit his current predicament.

So Brook focused on his music and his performances instead. He held up his violin and decided to waste some time on this sunny day playing for his audience of a few blue birds chirping at this green park. It was beautiful and reminded him of his day with the Rumbar Pirates- agh, nostalgia was always his weakest attribute, he thinks.

His fingers drift along the strings of the instrument, peacefully playing his weary heart away. He doesn’t recognize he has another guest until he hears slow clapping.

“What?” He turns his head, surprised to see you on the bench, smiling and clapping.

“That was lovely,” you comment. Time slows still and your eyes meet, shining (e/c) eyes with hollow black sockets.

If he had skin, perhaps he would’ve been red or sweating buckets. As a skeleton, he was not able to do things. But Brook was still a man through and through, and he couldn’t help but freeze at seeing the way your eyes were soft and full of admiration.

“I’m glad you thought so. Music is my pride and joy.”

“I can tell,” you reply. “I felt like I forgot to breathe for a moment when I heard that. I’m sorry for watching, though, if you weren’t looking for an audience.”

“N-no, actually it was…” he was too caught up in the way his soul was resonating and burning within him. “I appreciate it actually. Would you like me to play a song for you?”

“Would you? I’d love to hear more!”

Buggy

Buggy never believed in things like soulmates or fairy tales or blah blah blah- it was all junk! The only thing he ever could trust was treasure- shiny, bright, treasure! What else did a pirate need or want?

Is what he would say out loud- Buggy, even at a young age, was secretly a romantic who refused to let himself be swept up in the sentiment. When him and Shanks would sail together on Roger’s ship, Shanks would often ask what he thought about love.

Unlike Buggy, Shanks was pretty honest and confident about his assertions. Buggy would stumble and try to keep the bravado up, pretending as if he didn’t secretly yearn for a person who could look past his red nose and maybe possibly sorta kinda like him? Was that too much to ask? If you were Buggy, the answer was yes, because he would never allow himself the chance to be soft or vulnerable with someone. Especially not when he was already so sensitive about his looks and attitude. The thought of letting his guard down to be loved terrified him- what if they left? What if they made fun of him, too?

It was just too much for his fragile ego, so he brushed it aside and continued his hunt for treasure.

“Now where the hell am I?” He yelled, tilting the map in his hand left and right, as if that would somehow make his destination clearer. “Kinda crappy treasure map is this?”

He glared and shoved the map back in his pocket as he stomped around this town. He hadn’t ever bothered to come to this place before, so everything was new for him. He glared at the kids who were pointing at his nose to scare them off (mission accomplished), but his foul attitude still didn’t lessen.

As Buggy turned a corner, he accidentally rammed into someone. They shrieked, and his hat fell off his face and covered his eyes.

“Watch it, will ya? I’m walkin’ he…” he pushed his hat back up and came face to face with perhaps the most gorgeous person he’s ever met. His mouth was wide open, gawking at you as you gave an apologetic smile.

“Sorry. I didn’t see you there,” you said sheepishly.

“Y-yeah it’s… it’s cool. No biggie,” he mumbled in a daze.

“Are you alright?”

“Huh? Oh, yeah,” he returned to normal. “I mean, yeah, totally.”

You chuckle at his behavior, and something within Buggy’s chest makes it feel like there’s a million butterflies flapping inside his ribcage. He can’t help the dumb grin on his face as he laughs along.

“Sorry again, sir. I’ll keep an eye out for you next time,” you wink and begin walking away, making Buggy flabbergasted. N-next time? Was that a promise? He didn’t even realize what he was thinking before he turned around and tried to jog back to you.

“H-hey, wait up-!”

Beckman

Beckman was fairly ambivalent to the idea of a “soulmate” or “affinity”. Sure, he humored his often childish captain with those notions, but the fact was, Beckman was simply a sailor at heart. He didn’t think being “stuck” to someone was the life he wanted, and he was fairly sure a sane, rational person would not want to be the lover of a first mate to perhaps one of the most infamous pirate crews on the sea.

Now, this would imply you were sane and rational, and this would also imply that he was also not a sucker for you. Perhaps that was what made him attracted to you in the first place, or maybe it was something that gave him the idea that his captain wasn’t so off base.

When it came to you, Beckman was eager, a bit too eager, the others would joke. Whenever you called, he came running and answering like a loyal servant. Whenever you wrote, his lips would form a large smile while he refused to let the others look at the letter you sent. Whenever he was away from you for long periods of time, he drank a bit too much.

It was common place enough for the others to notice and tease him about, even if Beckman was adamant there was nothing there. You guys were just… friends, or something ambiguous like that. You didn’t need a label for your relationship. This was completely normal, you were normal, he was normal- nothing was out of the ordinary, so if they would please stop asking and make him confront those pesky feelings he-

Maybe he had a problem. He never felt this way for anyone else he encountered. You knew of his philandering, not seeming to care all that much, but damn it, even he couldn’t continue that streak because his mind would get occupied with you, you, you. Love was too complicated. Maybe this was the alcohol talking. Or Shanks getting in his head about “souls being attuned” or whatever spiritual jazz the red-haired captain would spout.

No, it really made sense, all things considered. There was no one else but you to make him quit fooling around with others on the islands he stopped at. There was no one else but you who invaded his thoughts, who plagued him day and night with those eyes, that smile, the way you hated that red cologne he once bought and-

Oh dear god, he was deep into this, wasn’t he?

Crocodile

Love? Spirits? Souls? Soulmates?

Yeah right, add that to the list of stupid things weak poets say to make their miserable lives have some meaning. You could jump through a million hoops to try and blame encounters and relationships on things like “destiny” or “fate”. To a man like Crocodile, however, “destiny” was just something he could control. Whether through bribes of money or through making them submit with his fearsome powers, “destiny” was nothing but another means of his affluence.

Only those who were weak and had nothing could not control their lives.

Something like love was a crutch used by those who had nothing to pretend they did. What was love to power? What was love to wealth? To fame? To greatness?

Love was the longest-running scam that Crocodile almost could be impressed with, if not for the fact that the sentiment around love made him want to gag.

Except, now he was actively looking for jewelry to buy you, flowers to deliver to your doorstep, and outfits to clothe you in for when you visited him.

It was almost disgusting how Crocodile was eagerly awaiting for your next arrival, for when he could be able to see you on the street or at his casino so he could see that face he adored so much. Those eyes that made him want to melt, that voice that echoed in his head, that smile that made him want to have an image of you adorned on his wall so he could always see it.

Something, he could never place what it was, drew him to you. Something made you seem to stand out to him in ways that no other could. He was Crocodile- world famous business man and pirate- he had no shortage of people throwing themselves at him or fearing him. Only to you was he trying his luck attempting to woo you to give him that look he loved. Only for you was he making excuse after excuse to continue seeing you, lying over and over that he had a reason to use you, that it was just a part of some master plan.

He exhaled another puff of his cigar and rubbed his temples.

Gods, why was he acting this way? He was Crocodile. Not a lovesick teenage boy, not some lonely man, not some simpering-

“Sir, (Y/n) has arrived.” His ears perked up as he quickly slicked back his hair.

“Is that so? Send them up,” he orders, grabbing his expensive cologne to spray onto him again.

Zoro

Zoro had never heard of the idea of soulmates or anything like that. When one lives, breathes, and dies by the sword, something like “soulmates” is just comical. He doesn’t need love to become the best swordsman. He didn’t need love to teach him how to pick up a sword and kill another with it. That was, in fact, the complete opposite of love.

Survival of the fittest, he thought. Nothing more, nothing less. You kill for bounties, bounties that pay, pay that gives you a chance to eat food. Nothing more to it. He never did more than he needed to, never worked harder for anything outside of his sword training and hunting. What else did a swordsman need to live?

He was currently drinking his fill at a local tavern of some random village he washed out upon. He didn’t care to get names, not when he was always moving, always killing, always leaving. “Zoro” was a passing chance encounter few got to ever meet or understand. He was fine with that. A bounty hunter didn’t need attachments. A bounty hunter definitely didn’t need someone weighing him down.

At the tavern, a few rowdy pirates were acting up. Yelling obscenities, throwing food and liquor at one another, making rude gestures- nothing out of the ordinary for drunk pirates. Zoro had no business with them, so he ignored them, continuing to order pint after pint.

It wasn’t until he heard a crash that he looked up. You were angrily yelling at one of the pirates who threw a drink at you, and his mates were drawing their weapons. It was clear you were outnumbered, so you looked around the bar for anyone that would help.

Normally, Zoro wouldn’t bother, figuring you dug your own grave by messing with pirates like that. However, when he glanced to your eyes, he found himself… staring. Lost. Entranced?

He didn’t know why he felt like he should protect you, but he always had a good intuition when it came to these sorts of things. He sighed, placed his mug down, then stood up, drawing his swords from their sheathes.

“Zoro,” he stated. A rare thing for him to admit so casually to a normal person. The pirates heard his name and shriveled up in fear. Zoro didn’t pay them any mind, instead tapping his sword against his shoulder impatiently. “Need me to shut these guys up?”

Mihawk

If you had asked a young Mihawk about love, he would have most certainly called you a fool for daring to think of such illogical things instead of focusing on one’s own strength and potential. While he had heard of the sentiments about love and soulmates before, he didn’t place much value into it. Love was a distraction from the training he could have done. Love was a waste of time. Love was just for weak-minded people who let themselves be vulnerable or gentle with another. Love wasn’t for people like him.

Which was why he was now trying to instill the opposite into his foolhardy protege, Zoro. Yes, yes, unfortunately, Mihawk was proven wrong from his earlier ways of thinking, and ever since then, he’s been doing his best to be a good man for you.

“I didn’t think a guy like you would have a partner…” Zoro would mumble.

“Of course I would. Do I not look like a suitable husband?” Mihawk replied as he was sipping his wine. “A marriage is only an aspect of your training and power.”

“How does cooking dinner help you train?” Zoro raised a brow, not believing a word.

“If you cannot handle a routine for even the most mundane and domestic of tasks, you cannot expect to be disciplined enough to train. If you think something like making your love a cup of tea or folding laundry is too hard or not worthy enough, you are not worthy enough to hold a sword.”

Zoro nodded, impressed by Mihawk’s reasoning (or maybe impressed at how you somehow made the world’s greatest swordsman so whipped and happy to make you dinner).

“Well, when you put it like that,” Zoro scratched his cheek, looking back at his mentor to see him staring at you longingly from the window. You and Perona were outside picking some of the vegetables at the garden, an activity you insisted upon doing despite Mihawk’s protests. You and the young lady were joking and laughing about something Perona said, and Mihawk sighed.

“Something wrong?” Zoro asked, unsure what Mihawk was thinking with his stoic appearance.

“No, not at all,” Mihawk shook his head, taking another sip.

“Then why did you sigh like that?” Zoro questioned. A smirk grew on Mihawk’s lips as he chuckled, continuing to look at you. You… you who were so special, who had become the apple of his eye, his strength, his joy, his passion.

“Oh, you wouldn’t understand it right now, my student,” Mihawk closed his eyes. “Fate is… it’s simply a humorous thing.”

Corazon

He always was a sensitive soul, despite his outer appearance and harsh exterior. But even as a child, Law could tell something was up with Corazon.

“Why are you always looking at them?” Law grumpily asked, folding his arms and raising a brow at his benefactor.

“Hm? At who?” Corazon dumbly responded, cigarette in his lips.

“You know who I mean! Don’t act stupid!” Law shouted. Corazon chuckled and exhaled the smoke.

“Sorry, gotta be more specific.”

Of course, Corazon knew who Law was referring to. It wasn’t like Corazon had hidden his affection for you, but that was for another time. You were something special, something that Corazon yearned for but could never have. Not when Doflamingo’s influence was so large and looming over his life. But even if Corazon himself could not love you so freely, he always did like to tell the young boy stories. Of course, Law, being a jaded little boy, had never really given thought to such things like “soulmates” or “souls knowing each other”. That was stupid and impossible.

Corazon liked to believe, though. It comforted him. It made him feel happy that, hey, even if this life perhaps didn’t work out for him and you, at least he had known you before. At least he was able to see you again. At least he got you in his life for a moment, even if it would end in nothing but heartache and pain. At he least, for just a bit, he got to see that smile, those eyes, and feel your hands over his.

It made his life a little less hard, a little less dull. The romanticism that despite Doffy meddling in his life, Corazon still had a chance with you, was meant to know and be with you… well, that was plenty enough for him. It made him happier, too, knowing Law was perhaps a soul he was acquainted with before. It made him feel like he was always going to be guaranteed love and kindness with you and Law, even if the world was unkind to him.

Yes, this new family he had found was perhaps where he belonged the most. With you and Law by his side, there was nothing more he could ask for.

Shanks

“You’re obsessed.”

“Am not!” Shanks yelled childishly at Beckman, before turning back to face the island they were planning on docking at soon. The wide smile on his face made it clear he was beyond excited to be there, and the other men chuckled.

“Don’t tell me you’re planning on running off to see em?” Yassop asked, knowing the answer.

“Oh, stop bugging about it! It’s just a little reunion with (Y/n), not anything crazy,” Shanks waved off. He breathed into his palm and winced at the smell of his breath. “Crap, does anyone have any mouthwash?”

“I don’t think anything can get that stench out. If they hadn’t run away cuz of your smell before, I think you’re good now!”

“Haha, very funny guys. Besides, it’s just between friends. Nothing weird.”

Of course, that was a bit of a fib, but who doesn’t tell little white lies? Surely he’d be forgiven for saying that by whomever was possibly in charge of making this happen?

Shanks, even with his overwhelming power and influence, did believe in superstition. It would be foolish not to, especially in such a dangerous world that a pirate inhabits. Sure, some of them were old wive’s tales from scared-straight sailors, but he did find them having some merit. He didn’t like to discount the seemingly impossible, not when it made even the most outlandish things possible.

He believed it was fate he got to meet Buggy and be a part of Roger’s crew. He believed it fate he met little Luffy in Foosha Village. He also believed it was fate he saved you that day. Some things just “made sense” like that to Shanks. It certainly made his life more interesting while also giving him a chance to bother you as always.

“Oh, come on, you can’t really kick out your soulmate, can you?” Shanks would tease.

“Soulmate?” You laugh. “Is this your attempt at proposing to me?”

“Hey, if you’d like it to be, I can absolutely make it happen,” Shanks replied, an earnest look in his eyes. You smile at him- crap, how do you always manage to make him ache and miss you? It’s gotta be fate, because no way could anyone have his heart in tight vice like this.

“Well… if you’re insisting, Captain,” you begin, smirking at him. “Why not take me with you? As your soulmate.”

Shanks’s eyes widened and the look on his face was a mixture of bewilderment and excitement.

“You know I can always make room for you,” he answered, trying to steady himself.

“Good. Although, we could share a room.”

“You drive a hard bargain, dear,” he chugs his rum. “Cheers to us!”

Law

Since he was a young boy, Law always tried to remain by himself. You couldn’t really trust anyone in a world of piracy and violence like that. Corazon, of course, always recommended otherwise. He even shared stories about a place where souls all were together.

It didn’t sound plausible or even remotely make sense. How would you even know if your soul was supposedly affiliated with someone?

It had been years since those days and the loss of Corazon, and even though he tried his hardest not to, Law still kept those stories in his mind. They were pointless and silly, but they were something Corazon believed wholeheartedly, even saying it was a miracle he got to meet a young Law. In some ways, Law felt somewhat similarly.

Love wasn’t for someone like Law. Too damaged, too cold, too logical, too afraid to ever let that feeling grow. It was how he stayed and remained for his life, and how he was planning on operating for the rest of time.

Until you, quite literally, crashed into him.

Jeez, you had to be a pest. Or a virus. Or a parasite. Something like that, but gosh, you were contagious. When you smiled, he found himself wanting to smile back. When you talked, he found himself thinking over every word you spoke in great detail. Maybe he was overthinking things, maybe when you said you were happy to have met him that was just you being friendly. Or something.

Almost always his mind drifted to you, feeling a certain way for you that he didn’t feel with the others in his crew or from the Straw Hats. You were different.

Perfect? Maybe. Definitely too good for someone like him, he’d think. But even with that self-loathing and apprehension, he found himself being drawn to you like a magnet.

Cora, if this is what you meant before…

Damn it, now he was letting things like soulmates and affinity cloud his judgment. He was a grown man, not a young boy, he didn’t need those silly delusions and ideas growing in his head and making him think he had a chance with you.

“Tora-o!” Luffy called. “Come here!!”

“No,” Law grumbled.

“Law,” you asked right after. “Do you mind helping me with this?”

“...yes,” he replied, stoically walking up to you to see what your problem was. Luffy gawked and pouted from the side, while a few of the others chuckled at Law.

859 notes · View notes

yokumirumerafan · 26 days ago

Note

Hello, can I ask for Demon slayers reacting to artist reader drawing them?

Heyyyy!!!! Of course!

Demon Slayer Characters Reacting to Artist Reader Drawing Them

Hashira

Giyuu Tomioka

At first, he doesn’t even realize you’re drawing him. He just sits there, staring off into space as usual.

When you show him, his eyes widen slightly, and he’s quiet for a long moment.

“You drew this?” He’s genuinely surprised, not because he doubted your talent but because he didn’t expect you to waste your time drawing him.

He treasures the drawing, even if he pretends not to care. You might catch him glancing at it when he thinks no one is looking.

Shinobu Kocho

Smiles immediately when she notices you sketching her. She doesn’t say anything, but you can tell she’s secretly pleased.

Once you show her the finished piece, she giggles.

“Oh my, you’ve made me look even more beautiful than usual. Are you trying to flatter me?”

Playful, but deep down, she’s touched that you’d spend so much effort capturing her likeness. She might even ask for another drawing, pretending it’s for ‘comparison.’

Kyojuro Rengoku

Super enthusiastic about it!

“WOW! This is AMAZING! Your talent is truly remarkable!”

Insists on showing it off to EVERYONE. He holds it up proudly, beaming with joy.

Might even commission you to draw his family, promising a huge meal as payment.

Tengen Uzui

Immediately smirks when he realizes what you’re doing.

“Ah, I see you’ve chosen the flashiest model. Excellent choice!”

Overly dramatic about it, striking ridiculous poses for you.

When he sees the finished drawing, he nods in approval.

“You’ve captured only a fraction of my brilliance, but I suppose that’s the best any mortal artist can do.”

Secretly keeps the drawing and brags about it to his wives.

Mitsuri Kanroji

Absolutely melts when she sees what you’re doing.

“Oh my gosh, you’re drawing me?! That’s so sweet!”

Super flustered but LOVES it. Might even tear up a little because she feels so appreciated.

Will 100% ask you to draw her and her friends, and she keeps your drawing in her room like a prized possession.

Muichiro Tokito

He notices you drawing but doesn’t say anything.

When you show him, he blinks a few times, tilting his head.

“Oh. That looks nice.”

You think he doesn’t care, but later, you spot him just staring at the drawing, lost in thought.

He quietly tucks it away in his belongings, making sure nothing happens to it.

Sanemi Shinazugawa

“Why are you drawing me?! Don’t you have better things to do?”

Pretends to be irritated, but he keeps sneaking glances at your sketch.

When you finally show him, he goes silent for a moment.

“Tch. It’s not bad.”

He takes the drawing and keeps it somewhere safe, though he will NEVER admit how much he likes it.

Obanai Iguro

Notices immediately and watches you intently.

“You’re drawing me? Hm.”

When you show him, he’s silent for a long moment before mumbling, “It’s... nice.”

Secretly very flustered but hides it well. Kaburamaru, however, seems to like it, slithering onto the drawing as if claiming it.

He keeps the drawing close, maybe tucked inside his uniform.

Main Trio + Genya

Tanjiro Kamado

SO HONORED.

“You’re drawing me? Really?! That’s amazing! Thank you so much!”

Super appreciative, praises your skills endlessly.

Will 100% show it to Nezuko and everyone else, gushing about how talented you are.

Zenitsu Agatsuma

LOSES HIS MIND.

“Y-YOU’RE DRAWING ME?!”

Blushes like crazy and starts acting all dramatic.

When he sees the finished drawing, he clutches his heart.

“I-If you keep this up, I might just fall even more in love with you!”

He will NEVER let go of the drawing. It’s his most prized possession.

Inosuke Hashibira

Has no idea what you’re doing at first.

“WHAT IS THIS? YOU’RE SCRIBBLING MY FACE?!”

When he sees the final drawing, he grins.

“HAH! YOU CAPTURED THE MIGHTY LORD INOSUKE WELL!”

Might try to ‘improve’ it by drawing a stick-figure version of you in return.

Genya Shinazugawa

SUPER AWKWARD about it.

“Wait, you’re drawing me? Why?”

When you show him, he just stares at it, completely flustered.

“... It’s nice. Thanks.”

He keeps it, though, and looks at it whenever he feels down.

Overall, they all appreciate it in their own way, even if some of them try to act cool about it! 😆

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jellykyunnie · 4 months ago

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˗ˏˋ Entry : 051 - Wanderer x Painter! Fem! Reader ◛⑅·˚ ༘ ♡ ˎˊ˗

ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚ 𝕎𝕒𝕟𝕕𝕖𝕣𝕖𝕣 ˚◦○˚ ୧ .˚ₓ

╰┈➤ ❝ [ A Needle and a Thread ] ¡! ❞

There was this very pretty person in the akademiya, he was known for being snobbish and... Sharp tongued. Regardless, he had quite the reputation on him since he is affiliated with the akademiya and was one of the famous students just because of his incredibly written research papers.

Have you read them? No.

Not that you are lazy, of course not.

Even if you do read it, can your brain even digest and understand anything of his works?

No.

So what's the point of doing so?

Your worlds would never cross, him being an academic genius, and you being a self-employed painter who sells their paintings to make the living— What are the odds of ever crossing paths?

But ah, your fates would intertwine with eachother.

Carrying a heavy box of paint and canvases to use.

Today is a lovely day, the breeze is gentle, the clouds are fluffy and high with the sun resting rightfully so on the blue sky.

It's a perfect day to paint, is it not.

"Woah, woah!!" You squeak, your foot getting caught on a rock.

You practically sob out your heart, bracing yourself for impact on both the floor and your lovely paint getting wasted.

Those sweet, sweet paints that you have starved yourself to buy.

At least, that was what you thought would happen until a strong and firm arm held the box and another holding your arm.

"Just what are you doing stumbling about like a toddler?" A low voice grumbles, sighing before easily hoisting the box "Pathetic, you human beings are such clutz. It's a miracle your species have lasted this long"

"...."

A large, round hat similar to a straw hat but instead heavily decorated. Long light blue strips that complement its overall appearance. You couldn't see that high since you were significantly shorter than him, but you wear you could see stars at the top of his hat.

"Well?" He sneers, sharply glancing back at you with his intense indigo orbs.

"Oh... Uhm..." You fidget before pointing at a hilltop. "I just needed uhm... To get up there"

He turns around again and without a word, he goes up— Not even glancing back at you as he ascends to the hill.

Step. Step. Step. Step.

As soon as he reached the top of the hill, he placed the crate of paint and canvas onto the grass— The stranger makes his way past you.

"Wait, mister!" You call out and he sighs before turning back to you.

"What is it?" He speaks in that condescending tone of his.

"How can I pay you? I have some pie with me—"

"No need," The stranger crosses his arms, scoffing as he doesn't meet your eyes. "I don't need sustenance, especially sweet pastries."

"Oh..." You droop, "Then, is there another way for me to repay you?"

"Don't get in my way."

Those were the last words he said before walking away, leaving you in a daze.

...

You couldn't even get his name.

That boy with a delicate and fair face, sharp round eyes that makes you shiver from the sheer dominance and leadership it holds, and a voice that makes you instantly back away— You couldn't get his name.

As rude as he is, you felt guilty for not being able to at least repay him.

Because despite his sharp words, he still helped you in delivering your art materials up this hill.

⋅ ˚ ₊ ‧ ଳ ‧ ₊ ˚ ⋅ ⋆ ౨ৎ ˚ ⟡ ˖ ࣪

You surely thought you wouldn't be crossing paths again, right?

But ah, you would.

Time and time again, he would end up helping you in carrying your stuff or he would just grumble as he entertains your attempts at small talks.

Of course, the blue haired boy shuts you down in every attempt. Claiming "Small talk" is unnecessary just to occupy the awkward silence between.

But does he tell you to stop talking? No, not really.

Even if he jabs at you here and there, he lets you linger around him.

An odd character, is he not?

Actively avoiding deep connections, but doesn't necessarily actively tell you to go away. Well, he does say "Do you have to tell me this?" But other than that? He listens.

Despite looking like he couldn't care less about anything, the blue haired boy paid attention to every story you told him.

Sometimes he would even scold you when you told him the actions you took

"How foolish must you be?"

"You humans are such nitwits."

"Are you here to gossip about your stupidity again?"

Insult on top of another insult.

Yet he would lay down on the grass and listen to your little rambles.

꒰ .... ꒱

"You never told me your name" You say as you watch the blue haired boy rest on the green field.

"Names are things only humans have to attach themselves to," He simply answered.

"That's not an answer" You smile at him, poking his cheek that earned you a light smack on your wrist.

"Knock it off," He scoffs, "I don't have one. Call me as you wish."

"Hat guy?" You muse.

"Hah." The blue haired boy simply shakes his head. "Everyone calls me that, so do what you want."

"Wanderer?"

"I don't care what you call me"

He turns around, but you swear— You must have seen a small smile gracing his lips.

⋅ ˚ ₊ ‧ ଳ ‧ ₊ ˚ ⋅ ⋆ ౨ৎ ˚ ⟡ ˖ ࣪

Kunikuzushi

Kabukimono

Kuronoshi

Shouki No Kami

Scaramouche

The Sixth of the Balladeer

And finally, Wanderer.

He went by many names, all stemming from either happiness that ended in betrayal— Or a place born from pure hate and malice.

All his names are always surrounded by pain and suffering.

Abandoned by his mother.

Betrayed by his closest friends.

And left by a sweet child due to mortality.

All that he is— Is but a sorry speck of existence born from a purpose but ultimately was found unfit for the role that he was made for.

Pathetic.

There's no one here more pathetic than him.

Wanderer says he does not dwell on the past, but in the quiet night, where nothing else is really around him— His mind would wander.

No in fact, he was always thinking about the past on his lonely days. To avoid those moments, Wanderer would drown himself in creating essays. He doesn't know how people find them absolutely genius in a way and even hold it to some pedestal he never intended to.

But whatever.

It doesn't matter. As long as they don't bother him too much, then it's alright.

Then we have you.

No, there's nothing really wrong with you.

It's a bit of a.... Curiousity situation?

He was a little intrigued towards you. Wanderer has met a lot of eccentric people in sumeru who wont stop pestering him. Even people from the temple of silence have their eyes on him.

But unlike with those other people— The lonesome and melancholic Wanderer finds himself wanting to linger around you more.

He doesn't really know why.

It's just that his chest feels oddly pleasant so long as he is around your vicinity and he can hear your gentle breathing.

Why does he feel that way anyway? He only has mechanical insides powered by whatever the hell power his mother had used. There is nothing inside his chest but just some cogwheels and whatever.

And yet he finds himself fascinated by you, entranced even. He has this type of curiosity that he cant find a solution to.

So he just hangs around you in hopes of finding the answer to his mechanical predicament.

꒰ .... ꒱

"Hat guy?" You poke his arm curiously.

"Mn?" He groans a bit, stirring from his short nap.

"What's that in your pocket?" You point at the small bump on his pants and watched as he fishes the item out.

"Just a dumb piece of cloth" Wanderer scoffs, tossing it to your palm.

Dumb?

How can a doll so cute be so dumb?

The miniature thing had Wanderer's face and its clothes are a mix of white and purple. A single tear would run down from one eye too. The craftsmanship of the needlework is extremely skilled, maybe it was done by a professional?

"But it's so cute though, it looks like you!" You protest, waving the little doll on his face to which he replied by pushing your hand away slowly.

"Of course."

"Did you make it?"

"Who else would?"

"Woah, I thought the only talent you had in you was making up insults!"

His blue eyes would glance up at you all of the sudden, making you freeze in an instant.

"U-uhm... Heheh" You sheepishly chuckle, scratching your cheek as he kept looking at you.

"Five years back I would have cut your tongue for daring to do such insolence" Wanderer sits up, gently flicking your forehead with a finger as a way to have vengeance. "You're lucky I had a change of heart."

"I didn't think you would ever hide such a cute little thing on you!" You muse, holding up the little hat guy doll on the air.

"You like it?" He quirks up an eyebrow, "It's yours then"

"Eh?" You perk up at him, eyes wide with joyous glee. "Really? But wont it be lonely without you?"

"... Now where in the world did you get that logic from? It's a doll."

It was ironic coming from his lips.

After all, he's a doll himself and yet he is all too familiar with the bittersweetness of loneliness.

"But..." He watches the way you slump down as you hold the miniature version of him.

"If it's with you, then the doll will be happy." Wanderer averts his gaze from yours. "So quit sulking."

꒰ .... ꒱

He said that and yet here he is, a bunch of cloth on his lap and a set of needles on the other. He kept grumbling underneath his breath as he started to do the basic stitching.

It's just a doll.

And yet he made sure to be extra picky about the fabrics he'll use and the quality of the threads that will make this doll come to life.

He wanted it to be perfect.

As perfect as you are in his eyes.

He wants to replicate your perfect hair that bounces every time you hop to him the moment your pretty eyes would land on someone as dull as him.

He made your clothes simple and adorable to match the little hat guy doll.

"Should be enough?" He mumbles, holding up the doll version of you after stitching the eyes up and stuffing it. "I guess it is"

He adds the remaining stitches before standing up.

Wanderer started to stroll around while recalling your schedule. It's awfully sunny today, the weather he absolutely despises. However, he wasn't as ticked off as he normally is today since locating you in such a cloudless day is easy.

After all, you're normally on top of a certain hill, taking shade from a certain tree and painting your gleeful little heart away.

Why does he know this information so well? He doesn't know.

He just does.

And certainly enough, you were there.

A paintbrush in hand, a palette on the other, and your eyebrows scrunched as you try to replicate the overall shape of a sumerian rose.

"..." He shakes his head before floating to your side, catching you off-guard. "It's just me, pretty face."

Wanderer lands on your side, a hand stretching out to your waist so he can keep you steady.

"I forgot you have a vision" You sputter out, putting your paintbrush down to calm yourself. "Erm... You normally don't come looking for me. How come today is different?"

"I can do what I want." He says gruffly before handing the doll to you. "You said the little hat guy doll is feeling lonely as of late. Here."

You stare down at his hand that placed the little thing on your palms.

"Is this me?"

"No, it's a slumbering sumpter beast."

Hahah.

He can't really keep himself from being sarcastic huh?

Wanderer observes your reaction with crossed arms, watching intently as you bring out the doll version of him and placing 'you two' side by side.

"Now he won't be lonely!" You beam happily, so distracted by the cuteness of the dolls that you fail to notice the slight twitch on his lips. "I'm going to have to find loads of cute doll clothes for them, maybe I can find some in port ormos? Oh, maybe I can buy them a doll house too so they can have a home? What do you think?"

You look up at him.

"Wanderer?"

The name slips out of your lips again.

His name.

A name he never really thought about.

He just chose it because it suits his lost and weary soul.

His soul that is full of malice and sin.

It's just a name.

But how come it sounds so sweet when you call out to him?

"Hat guy—!!!"

Your words would come interrupted as something wet and sweet comes in contact with your lips. The view is suddenly so dark with the shadow of the hat hovering on top of your head and his nose pressed right next to yours.

You can't even think straight as he flicks his tongue once, twice, thrice— No. You lost count already.

Wanderer was tender with you, so ironic of his sharp tongue to be so soft and sweet.

You can maybe taste a bit of the bitter chamomile tea he chugs down on a daily basis.

Is it really bitter?

You can't even tell, all you know is that this man is kissing you.

"Wanderer sounds prettier when it's from your lips" He said the moment he pulled back, but not enough to break the string of saliva breaking you two. "So quit calling me that dumb name"

Ah.

You don't even realize you're standing on your tippy toes as you gaze up on those mesmerizing indigo eyes of his. The eyes that held so much sadness and loneliness— Is looking at you right now as if you're the only thing he has ever wished for in his lifetime.

"Wanderer."

"Yes." He nuzzles his nose against yours. "Call out my name a few more times, make it sound like it's the most pleasant thing you've ever said."

—Because I am tired. Tired of this loneliness that I feel; of this bitter and heavy feeling that weighs in my empty mechanical heart. Make me feel what it's like to have someone precious again.

And in exchange, I will make you my heart.

꒰ 🪼 A/N: It's always Scaramouche so I wrote for Wanderer. I love him a lot. I wasn't on the train as much when he was still Scaramouche but after meeting Wanderer I'm fully hooked and I love him a lot x3!!! He's adorable and flirty, as sharp as his tongue is I get the butterflies when he sneaks in his flirty remarks. Like I see you, Wawan! You want me to focus on your mean words but on the contrary I always end up rmbering whenever you said pretty~. I'm going to write more genshin and hsr. I want to expand my roster of love interests so heheh╰⁠(⁠⸝⁠⸝⁠⸝⁠´⁠꒳⁠`⁠⸝⁠⸝⁠⸝⁠)⁠╯꒱

ʚ(੭´͈ ᐜ `͈)੭ .｡✧: ~♡ —! stories written by kyunnie; translations, reposts, plagiarism are strictly forbidden.

#‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡🪐༘⋆— kyunnie's writings #genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #genshin wanderer #wanderer x reader #scaramouche #genshin scaramouche #scaramouche x reader #scaramouche headcanons #wanderer x you #wanderer x y/n #wanderer headcanons #scaramouche x you #scaramouche x y/n #genshin impact x you #genshin impact x y/n #wanderer x female reader #scaramouche x female reader

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dippindaz · 27 days ago

Note

Any hcs for billy, eddie, and steve with a mute or nonverbal or S/O? 👉👈

Ooo this is a very unique one! I love it! I included mentions of the reader making sounds, briefly for each character, but everything stays mostly with the reader being entirely mute.

Warnings: Mentions of people being rude/impatient with reader, but nothing crazy or detailed

Billy Hargrove

• At first, Billy doesn’t know how to handle a partner who doesn’t speak, but he quickly realizes that communication isn’t just about words.

• He gets really good at reading your facial expressions and body language. It almost freaks people out how well he understands you.

• Billy is a naturally loud and expressive person, so he starts exaggerating his reactions just to see you smile.

• If you use sign language, he tries to learn. He’s not great at it. Like at all. But he gets the basics down so he can understand you better.

• If you use a notebook or another way to communicate, he’s patient—at least with you. If anyone else rushes you, he’s quick to snap at them.

• If you hum or make small sounds, he lives for it. The first time he hears you laugh—even if it’s just a quiet breath—he gets cocky about it. “Damn, I must be funny as hell.”

• He is extremely protective of you. If anyone gives you a hard time or treats you like you’re incapable, he’s ready to beat their ass in a heartbeat.

• He’ll also call out anyone who talks about you like you’re not there. “They can understand you just fine, asshole.”

Eddie Munson

• Eddie thinks your way of communicating is the coolest thing ever. He immediately wants to learn whatever method you use.

• If you sign, he learns quickly—mostly because he thinks it’s fun. He also creates his own ridiculous signs for inside jokes.

• He starts narrating things dramatically just to make you laugh. “And lo! The great and mighty Eddie has retrieved his most prized possession—this stale cafeteria roll.”

• Eddie is very in tune with your emotions. If you’re overwhelmed or overstimulated, he knows when to step back and when to comfort you.

• He loves playing music for you. If you tap along to the beat, he swears it’s the best review he’s ever gotten.

• He doesn’t pressure you to make any sounds, but if you do, he absolutely melts. He’d never push you, but if you do say something to him, even just once, he’d probably cry.

• He adores inside jokes, and he’s the type to dramatically clutch his chest when you make a sarcastic expression at him. “Ah! A dagger to my heart, princess!”

Steve Harrington

• At first, he’s a little unsure about how to communicate best with you, but he wants to understand. He asks questions and genuinely listens.

• If you sign, he watches so intently when you do it, determined to pick it up as fast as possible.

• If you write things down to communicate, he gets used to it fast—he even starts carrying a little notebook around just in case you need one.

• He is so so patient with you, always giving you the time and space to express yourself however you need to.

• If you’re comfortable with physical affection, he gets really good at reading when you need a hand squeeze, a hug, or just to lean against him.

• Steve is so soft about any little way you show affection. If you touch his face, ruffle his hair, or even just give him a certain look, he’s done for.

• If anyone is rude or dismissive to you, his “mom mode” activates. He goes full protective boyfriend, politely but firmly putting them in their place.

• He sometimes talks for you in a way that makes sense—like when he sees you roll your eyes at something, he’ll go, “Yeah, I know, babe, that’s exactly what I was thinking.”

Taglist: @deesparticus @ajokeformur-ray @unknownroooose @cardinarose @ali-r3n @starrz2009 @cowboylikemunson @mayo-nouns-blog @hiimjulie @anothersoulless @joemamahehepoopoo @invadergir45 @quinny921 @ironmusictrash @highest-elf @maximmee @syriouslysyri @luv444lay @yunnie-f1

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pukefactory · 25 days ago

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♢ ◆ ♢ ❖ DIGITAL LOVE AFFAIR ❖ ♢ ◆ ♢

◇ Summary: A Compilation Of Headcanons Featuring Caine X Reader

◇ Character(s): Caine (The Amazing Digital Circus)

◇ Genre: Headcanons, SFW

◇ Warning(s): None - Completely Safe!

◇ Image Credits: @them4lware

◆ You’re his absolute favorite—though, to be fair, Caine claims he doesn’t have favorites. But the way he always makes sure you’re at the center of every new adventure? A little suspicious. Bubble even calls him out on it once, and Caine just laughs nervously before quickly changing the subject.

◆ Every interaction with Caine is a grand spectacle. You don’t just enter a room—oh no! Caine announces you like you’re the star of the circus, sometimes complete with spotlights and confetti. You sigh. “Caine, we talked about this.” He waggles his cane. “Ah, but dear, we never said I had to listen!”

◆ One time, you called Caine out on his habit of making up rules on the spot to keep you entertained. He genuinely forgot that rules were supposed to be consistent. “Ohhh, my dear, you mean people actually follow rules? Hah!” You groan. “Caine. That’s literally how rules work.” “I suppose we can give it a whirl!” Spoiler: He forgets in ten minutes.

◆ He never calls you by your name—it’s always something overly dramatic like “My Astonishing Assistant!” or “The Dazzling Digital Darling!” The one time he does say your name, it catches you off guard. He leans in slightly, voice a touch softer than usual. “Ah, see? Now I have your attention.”

◆ Bubble does not approve of your special treatment. Anytime Caine starts getting too focused on you, Bubble rolls over with an unimpressed “Oh, I see how it is.” Caine waves him off. “Oh, pfft, jealousy is such an ugly emotion, my dear spherical friend.” Bubble immediately pops himself out of sheer frustration.

◆ If anything even mildly inconveniences you, Caine goes full dramatic mode. Trip over a stray prop? He’s putting that prop on trial. NPCs don’t treat you right? They mysteriously disappear. “Caine, did you delete them?” “PFFT—delete? Me? Noooooo! I just… misplaced them. Permanently.”

◆ Caine isn’t supposed to feel complex emotions, but whenever you seem particularly upset or distant, the entire circus glitches slightly. “Whoopsie-daisy! Don’t mind that, my dear, just a minor existential crisis on my end—ahaha! No big deal!” (It is, in fact, a huge deal.)

◆ Sometimes, you ask him questions that make him… hesitate. “Caine, have you ever been lonely?” His grin falters for just a second before snapping back into place. “Well, how could I be when I have you all here?” But something about the way he immediately starts another adventure tells you he doesn’t want to dwell on it.

◆ If another circus member dares to get close to you, suddenly they’re roped into the most ridiculous adventure. Jax raises a brow. “Dude. Just say you’re jealous.” “JEALOUSY?!” Caine bursts into laughter, a little too loud. “That’s CRAZY! HAH! Ha…ha. Yeah.”

◆ One night, during a rare quiet moment, you ask, “If there was a way out… would you let me go?” Caine freezes. The circus glitches for a split second. Then, suddenly—he’s laughing again. “Oh, my dear, what a silly hypothetical!” He never answers.

Writing commissions are now open! I will create nearly any type of story, including OC x Canon or general imagine-style pieces. Please refer to the pricing details below.

Payment is required before I begin working on your commission. PayPal only.

If you’re interested, please send me a DM. Refer to my pinned post to see what fandoms I write for, as well as any additional information.

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lunarriviera · 4 months ago

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yet another shen yi meta [uts2 spoilers]

hi hey hello everyone i continue to be tormented with obsessive thinkings about s2 Shen Yi so i must holler about them/him some more, feel free to stop reading if you have not watched through approximately episode 11 which is where i still am. it's taking me longer to watch because i keep pausing to rewind/screenshot and/or weep in anguish about Him and What He Is Going Through. and how NO ONE IS PAYING ATTENTION. or insufficient attention. cf. Ryan Gosling in the Papyrus sketch screaming WELL IT WASN'T!! ENOUGH!!

[more. much more. behind the cut]

let's start here, with shen yi's artwork. in this scene he competed with AI to paint a chosen image and, surprising exactly no one, he won, partly because he's brilliant but tbh mostly because AI art is garbage and always adds dolphins, rainbows, and hands with six fingers.

but here's the thing: is no one going to question this? does anyone think to themselves "ah yes, shen yi is absolutely the BEST person in the world to make a painting in 30 minutes that depicts, quote, a lonely man on a beach." so here is this miserably hunched, despairing figure, surrounded by murky howling early-picasso blue, LOOKING IN FACT QUITE A LOT LIKE SHEN YI HIMSELF—even dressed like him (in the snowy white and dainty pastels he seems to favor this season)—and not a single person thinks: huh, wonder if this guy's okay?

in fact s2 seems to be repeated evidence of the fact that shen yi is Very Much Not Okay, and yet no one is really paying attention. he supports everyone else emotionally and they all seem to assume he either a) has no emotional blowback to deal with, or b) can deal with it himself unaided somehow. (through painting, maybe? but have you seen what he's painting lately? e.g. monstrous abusive parent figures, in some kind of breathless fugue state during which he can psychically hear lines from someone else's traumatic childhood?) he goes to li han's house to help her, which is so like him, and he says:

oh! you might think. well, maybe he will self-disclose a little? tell li han about some of his own personal difficulties that he's had to overcome, just to bond with her, get her to open up? HAHAHA ARE YOU NEW HERE, of course he doesn't, he just listens to her while she sobs out her tragic backstory, gives her a tissue, relates her struggles to a vaguely terrifying metaphor of his own device about a sealed room filling up ineluctably with floodwater, then smiles and takes her out for pizza. (totally unrelated but wow the product placement is heavy-handed this season. xiaomi! pizza hut!)

since we're talking about the li han case, consider this moment, too, when he interprets someone's house-person-tree drawing. does no one ever think, "for someone who talks constantly about love and connection, how interesting that shen yi has no family, refuses to date in very pointed and deliberate way, and lives alone with a cat."

shen yi knows all about love! never shuts up about love! constantly dispensing bromides about what real love should be like! and wakes every day ALONE from horrific guilty nightmares ft. creepy small girl in blood-red dress, pls will no one help this man pls he's drowning.

couple more bits and then i swear to god i'll shut up i'm starting to feel really stupid. but first consider this little story, in three parts:

"an image of despair" um okay well…technically it's just a dead body, albeit after a fairly grisly stabbing, but sure go off i guess

2. du cheng: wow even for you that was unusually poetic and weird

3. also du cheng: back to investigating the murder i guess [wanders away]

this kind of thing happens again. and again. either no one notices assorted horrified/devastated expressions on shen yi's face (in the way of classic extradiegetic reaction shots, where the camera sees them—we see them—but none of the characters onscreen do) or, when du cheng does notice, he's immediately distracted by his actual job, and/or the fact that he doesn't really know how to help his partner, because lbr he has all the emotional intelligence of a pony.

one more mini-story in three parts, and then i really will put a sock in it:

shen yi: why, what did i do. why are you looking at me like that

2. du cheng: bc you just lied your whole entire face off with alarming unsettling proficiency, since when are you that good at being dishonest

3. shen yi: hehe

in an earlier episode we also saw shen yi shouting at a suspect in the interrogation room, so convincingly that afterwards du cheng admits, you scared me. lol! says shen yi in carefree manner, i learned that from you! haha! agrees everyone, and they go about their business.

but ghastly things keep happening to and near him. at least once per episode, shen yi makes a face like this, because people are jumping off cliffs in front of him or abruptly smashing things with hammers or just lashing out with all kinds of antisocial behaviors in his vicinity:

to be fair, he has other expressions. for instance he also repeatedly employs his patented creepy ruthless smile, of the "i am going to fuck you up" variety, an expression reserved especially for criminals:

as well, i'm also leaving out all the ridiculously adorable/domestic scenes with him and du cheng, in which they share candy, roast each other about assorted nonsense, briefly co-parent a child, and, you know. are just generally disgustingly married. but that's a different meta.

also, admittedly du cheng does SAY things. he says, "are you still having trouble sleeping," he says "do i not care about you?" and "don't push yourself so hard" and "if you run into troubles, don't try to take them on alone." (i am sparing you all these screenshots since this is a meta about shen yi but trust me i have carefully accumulated every single shred of evidence in which du cheng is protective.) but, as frequently as du cheng expresses concern, he also just keeps clapping shen yi on the shoulder in a brotastic way and then strolling out. which i fear is just not going to be adequate. ("i don’t think this is literally papyrus. maybe that was the starting point but they clearly modified it?" "well whatever they did, IT WASN'T!! ENOUGH!!")

i leave you with two final images of shen yi, seen here continuing to be very much Not Okay, and to quote the bernie meme, i am ONCE AGAIN ASKING YOU, drama, is anyone going to care enough about this man to stop him going over the edge of the cliff with Evil Art Critic Eugenicist Moriarty Weasel Man? because he will, he will do it. because he's lonely and he's misunderstood and he's—

[cane comes out and drags me offstage]

#shen yi #under the skin 2 #tan jianci #猎罪图鉴 #沈翊 #under the skin spoilers #檀健次 #猎罪图鉴2 #under the skin meta

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 3 months ago

Text

To Those Who Wait 3

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as non/dubcon, virginity loss, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You are tired of being the safe one so you decide to pay for some excitement.

Characters: escort!Ransom Drysdale, Curtis Everett

Note: yeah, I couldn’t resist.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. Thanks to everyone who reads this one and thank you for all your energy.<3

Love you all like Tony loves himself. Take care. 💖

'Morning, sunshine.'

The sarcasm burns into every letter. You stick your tongue out and type your reply. You lay in the dim of your drawn curtains, still half-nestled in your bed.

'Morning, sparky.'

Curtis' response makes you giggle. 'Sparky?'

No emojis. He's not the type. You laze despite the minutes ticking by. Your thumbs flick over the digital keys.

'Give it but can't take it.'

The next bubble has you breathless; 'oh I'm more than willing to give'. Oh, okay. You don't know how to answer that. You send a wink emoticon then prompty groan at your own cluelessness.

You lock the screen and sit up. Is this what life is? Torturous obligation and cringey efforts to be normal. You want to send a message telling Curtis it's okay if he just gives up. You're a mess.

You drag yourself out of your room. As you try to empty the reusable filter for the coffee grounds, you spill it everwhere. You need to start emptying it after use. Another missed checkbox.

Your phone buzzes again. Great. You're sure it's just him calling you lame. You snatch the cell and go to swipe away the message but it isn't Curtis.

WhatsApp.

Hm. Maybe another recruiter cold messaging?

You tap with your thumb, resolved to finally delete the app and wipe the slate clean. You just need to forget that mistake. If you can.

The message waiting for you doesn’t bode well.

‘Feeling thirsty yet?’

You stare at it. You can’t be sure it’s Hugh. The number isn’t the same, you would recognise the last few digits at least. The coffee machine spits out the last few droplets. You turn to grab your cup, the phone buzzing in your hand.

You read with dread, ‘ah come on, just one more go.’

It has to be him. Who else could it be? What else could they be referring to?

A video pops up and plays automatically. You click it to make it bigger as you try to make out what’s going on. Your heart drops and your phone nearly does too. You stare at the recording of yourself on the bed, undressing as you huddle near the top of the hotel bed.

A cold splash sends a chill through you. You remember him turning on the speaker. He must have connected his phone but then you didn’t see what he did with it after that. You didn’t think to pay attention to that, you were too swept up in your own catastrophe.

‘Let’s talk.’

Those two words spike your panic. What did you do? You’re so stupid and yet how are you surprised? Nothing ever goes right. How dare you even try to believe things could get better? That maybe Curtis could be something more than a disappointment.

Loser. Loser. Loser!

You want to bang your head on the counter. You want to scream. You want to crumple into a heap in cry.

You don’t do anything of that. You simply key into the screen; ‘why?’

He sends a laughing emoji. Then a real message. ‘That’s what we’re going to talk about.’

Your eyes glaze with tears and you shake your head. He’s taunting you. Toying with you. This is all just an ego stroke for some narcissist that gets off on himself. Why else would he do what he does? Well, who are you to judge? You paid for his services.

‘That cafe near your office. 12:30.’

You toss the phone on the counter like it’s acid. What the hell? How does he know where you work? How does he know there’s a cafe there? No, no, no. How does he know anything about you? Why does he care?

You pace around hectically. You can’t stay still. You scratch your skin as if you might peel it off. An unbearable itch burns through you. You make a noise somewhere between a sob and a wretch.

You reel in your doom, just enough to retrieve the cell from the floor. You shakily send a thumbs up. That’s all you can manage. Not a good job, just a confirmation. You’ll be there because you have no other choice.

⛅

Your morning is frantic. You have a thousand things to do at once. The phone calls are endless and Shania double-booked another reservation. Don’t you always get the happy job of informing the guests they have to rebook. Fun, fun, fun.

The demanding customers are the least of your problems. Work at the Travel Agency can be downright agony but right now you prefer it to the alternative. It’s the rare instance where you curse the clock for going too fast.

Usually, a trip down to the cafe is your relief. An indulgence on an especially stressful day. That day is more nerve-wracking than any but you don’t think a dose of caffeine would make it any better. You’re already rattling through to your bones.

You reluctantly leave your desk. Your phone is firmly in your purse, where it’s been all day. You don’t want to look at it, even if it’s Curtis making it buzz. You just want to shut down.

You take the stairs. You don’t want to be around other people though you realise the cafe will be busy with the lunchtime rush. You wonder if that’s deliberate. You get to the ground floor and make your way outside.

You stop before the cafe. You peer along the tinted windows and your eyes stop on the singular familiar figure. There he is. Hugh. Somehow, he looks different than that night. How, you can’t say. He’s wearing a similar swear, a light robin’s egg blue, luxurious even. The sweater can’t be cheap given the small logo embroidered on one side of the chest.

You enter and skip the line. You go straight to the table and stop behind the chair opposite...him. You cross your arms and glare at him. Hugh casually lifts his chin and smiles up at you. Your forehead wrinkles in disgust.

“You look wound tight,” he sits up completely, the last consonant sharp. “Need help with that?”

Your nostrils flare and you drag out the chair. You drop into the seat and push your elbows into the table. You lean across it and snarl, “what do you want?”

He snorts, “I like that about. Always straight to the point... even when you have no idea what you’re doing.”

Your cheeks tingle with heat and you look away. You push your shoulders back and shift in discomfort. Even as the bruises fade, if you think hard enough, you can feel that night still.

“That boyfriend know about me yet?” He sips from the tall porcelain cup in front of him. You shake your head and put your eyes to the table.

“Aw, well, I can’t blame you,” he clinks the cup down. “He wouldn’t be able to handle the competition. Would he?”

“I have to get back to work so whatever you want, just say it.”

He chortles again and hums, “I said I wanna talk. We’re talking. Isn’t it nice?”

“I don’t have money if that’s what you’re getting at--”

“Money? Hm, that’s real funny. Oh, you think... you think I’m desperate? I wanted some Balenciaga.” He flicks a finger up and down the mug handle. “Thanks for that, by the way.”

You huff and shake your head, “and it’s better that you get off on embarrassing me? Well, I hope you’re enjoying it because you’ve done a great job.”

You peek up at him and his grin slants. He leans an elbow on the table as he sits forward. His eyes crinkle as he considers you.

“It’s not about money, not even about a joke,” he says. “It’s the way you squeezed me. The way you whined for me,” his voice lowers to a sultry rasp. “The way you drained me fucking dry. You know how many princesses I’ve had on my dick and they just lay there and--” He makes a motion with his hand, “dead fish.”

You frown, “you’re gross.”

“I’m secure in myself,” he argues. “Real rich of you to act like you didn’t like it when you came all over my fucking fingers. Didn’t even take much.”

You rub your neck and stare out the window. Your stomach is boiling. You just want him to get his kicks and go.

“It’s how I know you didn’t lie. About being a virgin, or whatever,” he says. “You know, you could’ve sold that yourself but I guess you were having some trouble finding a buyer--”

“My lunch is almost over,” you grit out. “Get to it, Hugh.”

He laughs louder than before. He scoops up his cup and drains it. “You’re so funny. Really. You make me laugh.” You glower and his smirks widens. “Alright, alright. Pretty simple, you probably already know what I want. Just one more time. I just need to feel it again. That grip--” He makes a fist and you scoff.

“I told you I’m not interested--”

“No? Not interested at all in your porn debut,” he taps his phone and you reach across to swat his hand back.

“Why did you do that?” You hiss.

“Woah, I gotta be safe. I record in case something goes wrong,” he pushes your hand away. “Lucky me, it went so fucking right. You know how many times I’ve watched it?”

You groan and rest your head in your hands. You’re fucked. Utterly and totally. Likely literally.

“Tonight,” he says. “Tell the goth boy you’re doing overtime.”

You sit back and stare at him. Your chest pits and your eyes glimmer. It shouldn’t hurt so much but it does. You don’t want to lose Curtis, not yet.

This is exactly why you didn’t want to get attached.

☕

You don't text Curtis. You can't bring yourself to do it. You just leave him hanging. He'll probably assume your busy. You're sure he has something better to do.

Just like most things in your life, it's over before it begins. Why did you let yourself believe it could be anything? After tonight, it definitely won't be.

That time is different. You don't primp yourself or preen over whether you look good. Instead, you toss all those things you bought to do yourself up the first time in the trash. Everything but the condoms.

You pace restlessly around your apartment. That's another violation. You offered another hotel. 'Your place.' The argument was short. Fuck.

He can't come here. He can't do this. You can't do this. Not again.

Your legs wobble and you teeter to the couch. You sit down and fold over your knees. You can feel the dull pain already. Back in that room, bawling as he pumps into you, scraping out your guts.

You're going to be sick!

You lurch up and run to the bathroom. You spew into the toilet and pant through the acidic saliva left in your mouth. You shut the lid and flush.

You should leave the residue in your mouth. It might repulse Hugh enough to get rid of him. Yet if you don't rinse out the acidic flavour, you'll just hurl again.

You brush your teeth slowly then look at yourself in the mirror. You look scared. You are but you look utterly terrified. Why is this happening to you?

You're not stupid enough to think you're special. No, you're weak. He's a shark and he smelled blood in the water. He set you up for this. You were too nervous, too desperate, and too stupid to see through his ploy.

Your phone buzzes. You ignore it, even as it thrums against the table noisily. If it's Curtis, you might just cry.

The door buzzer chirps. Right. You push away from the sink and shudder.

Your feet hit the floor clumsily and you walk as if you're wadding through thick mud. You hit the button as your stomach churns again. His voice adds to the broil of sickness.

"Baby, I'm here."

You press the button down without as response. You stagger away and linger by the door. You hear him coming down the hall. You open the door at the first knock.

"Someone's eager," he snickers.

You don't say a word. You step back. He enters and whistles.

"Not bad. Cozy," he says. "Bouta get real cozy, huh?"

You shut the door and lock it. He turns and examines the walls. You stare at him.

"Jeez, baby, you got a knife or something? Looking like you're about to crack up over there," he taunts.

That might have been a good idea if you weren't nervous of stabbing yourself in an attempt. Besides, he's a lot stronger. You remember how thick his muscle was, how easily he ignored your pleas.

"Hospitable too," he sniffs and slips off his velvet loafers. "Whatcha got going on?" He struts further into the apartment. "Wine? Beer?"

He goes to fridge and pops it open. You loom like a shadow against the wall as you tiptoe after him. He sucks his teeth as he examines the contents on the racks.

"Ugh, boring," he remarks.

"Don't drink," you croak.

"You didn't seem to mind the wine," he shuts the fridge without his bounty. "Fuck, well, it'll be good. You'll like it better sober. Although I do prefer a sloppy fuck."

You grimace. He makes no pretense as he continues his exploration. He strides past the living room and head through your bedroom door.

"No cute jammies tonight, huh?" He calls through.

You waft into the doorway like a ghost. That's what you are. You are hollowed out. You resign yourself, surrender yourself to ruin. It's all over.

Goodbye, Curtis.

"Looks like you don't got much in mind but don't worry, baby, I planned ahead," he faces you with a wink. "Wanna try something new?"

No. You don’t want to do any of this. You glower.

“Shit, baby, you keep looking at me like that and I’m going to have to wipe that look off your face... along with something else,” he grabs his crotch and growls. “Hard already, you know? Just thinking about what I’m about to do.”

Your lip curls as disgust crawls up your back. “Just get it over with,” you murmur.

“Trying,” his eyes flash dangerously. The retort makes you think of Curtis but he never spoke to you so harshly.

You step out of the doorway before you can fall apart. Your breath clouds in your chest until it feels like someone’s standing on you. You let it out slowly as plays with the black cat figuring on your bookshelf. He scoffs, unimpressed.

“So,” he faces you and tugs at the hem of his sweater, inching it up, “why are your clothes still on?”

You glance away angrily. “Your phone goes in the drawer,” you point to the night stand.

“Pfft, come on. I already got the good shots. What’s another dirty movie, baby? I gotta say, you look good on film--”

“Put it in the drawer,” you insist.

“Damn, don’t gotta be so mean, baby.” He snickers and wiggles his phone at you then puts it in the night stand.

“I’m not your joke, so stop laughing at me.”

“Lighten up. I’m not laughing at you, baby. I just...” He pauses as he pulls his sweater over his head. He wears a thin white tank underneath, his reddish chest hair peeking out the top. “How many women do you think hold my attention once I’ve been in ‘em? Let’s just say, we both had our first that night.”

“Don’t try to flatter me,” you snip.

“Girl,” he squares his shoulder and the humour flickers from his expression, “get your clothes off.”

Your mouth twitches. You take a breath and turn away. You look down at the wrinkled blouse you wore to work. You’re sure he’s full of hot air, he’s just mocking you, especially since he’s wearing Calvin Klein and you’re in Walmart clearance.

You unbutton it as you hear his clothing rustle softly. A shiver speckles across your back as you throw it in your hamper. Your pants go just as easily as you push down the elastic waistband. Another wave of nausea threatens but you keep it down.

You unhook your bra as your bed squeaks. You keep your eyes down and step out of your panties. You pause as you dangle them over the basket. You blink away the heat in your eyes. Why did you run away from Curtis all those times? Why does it have to be Hugh?

You spin and march over to him. He sits on the end of the bed, naked, knees wide. You reach for him, intent to be done with him, but he catches your hands and holds them away from him.

“Uh uh, you really think it’s going to be that easy,” he sneers. “Oh, baby, I didn’t get any of that mouth.”

Your lip quivers and your nose scrunches, “what?”

“Don’t worry, it’s fun, baby. I can train you up for the sad boy,” he chuckles.

“Shut up,” you twist away from him. “Don’t talk about him.”

“Aw, what’sa matter? He don’t make you wet like I do, huh?”

You stomp away and snatch the box of condoms from behind your dresser. You take one and bring it to him. He snorts.

“You like the taste of rubber?”

“Put it on.”

“You think I’m dirty? You saw my test results.”

“I don’t care,” you shove it into his chest.

“Be a lot nicer if you tasted the real thing,” he huffs.

You cross your arms and wait. He rolls his eyes and peels the wrapper open. He pinches the thick ring then presses the rubber to his tip.

“Well, get on your knees. You’re the one so anxious to get this done with. Is the boy toy on his way? Scared he’ll catch—woah!”

He lets go of himself and the condom rolls up just to his tip. He catches your hand before you can make contact with his cheek. “I told you not to talk about him.”

“I like this zest,” He stands and raises your arms above you, “but you won’t like mine.”

He spins you and pushes you onto the bed. You fall heavily and bounce, your teeth snapping down on your tongue. You whimper as he slides his fingers around his dick, pushing the rubber to his base. He climbs up on his knees, straddling you as he advances up your body.

You push on his thighs as he gets higher. Once more, he has your wrists. He clasps them against the mattress, locking them above your head. You flail your legs and he laughs again. His other hand goes to his length and he strokes himself as he presses the lubed condom to your lips.

“Open up for daddy,” he jeers and pushes until he meets your teeth. “I feel the hint of a nip and I’ll skip the kitty and go straight for the peach. Understand that, baby girl?”

Your eyes widen as your bottom puckers. Your fear radiates from your gaze and draws another pleased hum from him. You open your mouth and close your eyes, gagging as the rubber smears lube across your tongue.

He angles as he dips down, touching your reflex as he invades your throat. You choke and spasm under him as he wiggles his hips, testing your limits. You can’t breathe.

He rears and you heave in before he blocks your airway again. He groans and tilts again. Thrusting in and out as you writhe. Tears crest along the brims of your eyes and your saliva smears around your mouth. Each time, he pushes a little further.

“Fuck, baby, how is it just as good as the pussy?” He purrs as he clutches your hair, rocking over you as the smell of the condom adds to your revulsion.

He pumps into you until you’re raw with agony. He lets go of your hands and you push on his hips, begging for him to stop. He doesn’t care. He just keeps going. He quakes and groan, grasping the blankets around your head as he fucks you your head into the bed.

“Gahhh,” he pulls out of you so quickly you gag.

You cover your mouth as he bounces over you. He rolls the condom off and keeps stroking himself. You’re surprised as he spurts his cum onto you, the slimy mess string over your knuckles and onto your nose and cheeks. You put your hand out to shield yourself as he grunts and sits back on his heels.

“The hell?” You gasp.

“I couldn’t fucking hold it, woulda split the damn thing in half,” he puffs as he cups his balls. “Speaking of splitting things in half--”

You lift yourself on your elbows, trying to drag yourself out from under him. He snags you around your ribs and pushes you flat. “Where are you going?”

“You just--”

“Finished? No, that’s round one,” he snickers. “You don’t think I got a few tricks? I mean, a blue pill keeps me in business.”

You curl your lip again and he laughs even louder. You glance up at the night table at the box of condoms. He sighs.

“Fucking tight ass,” he hisses. “Want me to see if that’s literal?” You look at him and bare your teeth. He waves you off and climbs off you to grab the box. “Whatever. At least you had the good sense to get good ones.”

You slowly sit up and wipe your face. He leans on one knee and slides on another condom. He quivers and exhales through his nose. He grabs your shoulder and nudges you.

“Wouldn’t mind it from the back,” he says.

You resist and he snarls, “relax. If I go through the back door, I might not get it out with you being so uptight.” He pinches your nipple cruelly. “Go on, show Ransom that booty.” You tilt your head curiously. Ransom? His eyes dart away, “you gonna listen to daddy or you want some spankings while I’m back there?”

You move reluctantly. You roll over and he grabs your hips, guiding your ass higher as he jostles behind you. He drags his hands around your ass and down your thighs, then up again. He smacks you harshly so you feel the jiggle. You yelp and he guffaws.

“Oh, fuck, should flipped you over the first time.” He gropes your ass and rubs himself against you.

Your insides curdle. You hide in yourself. You try not to think about reality. Not about the desecration of your home, your safe space, of the place you made all your own. Nor the same being done to your body. To your relationship.

Whatever, it was never going to last.

He glides down between your cheeks, lingering as if considering it. You twitch and he snorts. He trails further down and presses against your cunt. He groans as he stretches you slowly. It isn’t easier. Not better. Not like they say.

No, they say the first time is the worst. No, this is. This is torture. This is hell.

He leans into you, grunting as you squeeze him, as your body resists his intrusion. He bends over you, his torso flush to your back, and thrusts. He impales you complete and you cry out. You push against him as your body racks in agony.

He pumps again and you squeal louder. Fuck. Your fingers curl until your knuckles hurt. You hang your head and shudder. He rocks into you, playing with your hair as he nuzzles your nape. He puffs into your skin and it sends a roil of disgust through you.

You sink down until your face is in the blankets. You crush your arms beneath you and drone into the bed. He hooks his arm under you to keep your ass up, rutting faster and faster. Your flesh claps like thunder, a never-ending cacophony.

He growls and brings a hand under your chin, then his other. You wriggle as he squeezes your face and hooks his fingers in your mouth, pulling taught your lips. You arch your back and whine as he keeps his callous pace.

You grab onto his arms as the strain in your lips feels as if it might tear. He lifts your head and you deepen the curve in your back, trying to balance him at both ends. His nose tickles the back of your ear.

“Yeah, baby, squeeze me just like that. Ugh, that pussy knows what it wants better than you do,” he taunts. “Ugh, you latched on tight.”

You can’t speak, you can’t shake your head, you can’t deny him in any way.

“You feel so good,” he snarls. “The way you go me... fuck I feel it in my gut... I’m gonna...”

He slides his hands from your mouth and wraps his arms around you instead; one at your neck, the other around your middle. He pulls you up with him and pounds relentlessly. The bed rocks furiously beneath you as your addled voice gurgles from your throat. The headboard knocks into the wall in a frenetic tempo.

“Yeah, so good,” he rasps between deep breaths. “So good. Never... think I’d let you go, huh?”

You hang from his embrace. Defeated. You did this to yourself. So take it.

#ransom drysdale #curtis everett #dark random drysdale #dark!ransom drysdale #ransom drysdale x reader #curtis everett x reader #dark curtis everett #dark!curtis everett #to those who wait #fic #series #dark fic #dark!fic #snowpiercer #knives out

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