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merakiui · 2 days ago

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HALLOWEENIE. [2]

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 one and part three.

You stand in front of your mirror and hold an outfit up. Rollo sits on the edge of your bed and surveys each option like one of them is the key to a life-or-death riddle.

“Does it really matter?” he asks.

“Well, I don’t wanna be lazy. I have to show some effort. Plus, I always strive to look my best regardless of the situation.”

“And said situation is a borderline date.”

“As if. We’re just hanging out.”

Rollo watches your reflection apply lipstick as dark as onyx to puckered lips. He hums low in his throat.

“And what’s on the agenda for today’s ‘hang-out’?”

“We’re meeting up at a bookstore and then we’ll probably go to a café. Maybe come back here to play some games.” You shrug and smack your lips to coat both the top and bottom evenly. “We’ll see where the day takes us.”

“In that case, take your key. I plan to stay at the library for most of the day.”

“Don’t party too hard, scholar.” You lean in close to admire your makeup. It’s just the right amount to look presentable and not in the trying-too-hard way. “You sure you don’t wanna hang with us?”

“I’m sure,” he replies with an immediacy that startles you. “You should enjoy your time together. I couldn’t get in the way of that. Rather, I’d like to avoid doing so.”

“Why? Worried Skulls will accuse us of being married again?”

“It seemed like a genuine fear for him.”

“I dunno why. We’re all still young. Who’s thinking about marriage now?”

“A man hopelessly besotted, that’s who.”

“Have you ever considered that he might like you?”

“Not at all, for I’m merely Mr. Rollo to him.”

Frowning, you settle on one of the many outfits you assembled for today. It’s not very extravagant, but you tell yourself it shouldn’t be. Rollo busies himself with his phone while you change.

“With his sweet and polite attitude, he’s probably super popular with his classmates. He doesn’t need to fantasize about me if he’s some sorta lady charmer.”

“You think?”

You pull your shirt down just as Rollo flips his phone so you can observe what’s pictured on the screen. Bewildered, you stare at the student in the photo and wonder what you’re seeing. There’s an uncanny familiarity about his shy smile, crooked circular frames, tell-tale bedhead, and sweater vest. If it wasn’t for the Jack Skellington pin, you’d think this was someone else entirely. You yank the device from his hands for closer inspection.

“Whoa, hold up—pause! Is that Skulls?”

“Were you not aware? He goes to the same school as us.”

“Yeah, but—no?!” You whip your head in Rollo’s direction, flabbergasted. “What do you mean he goes to our school? How come we’ve never seen him?”

“I have,” he corrects. “Many times, as a matter of fact. You neglect to pay attention on behalf of his lack of presence.”

“Wait. So this is how he normally dresses for school? He looks so…different, and his eyes are so pretty. Orange like pumpkins.” You pinch the screen and zoom in. “I always thought he wore that goth suit of his everywhere. Are you telling me there’s a chance we passed each other and I completely ignored him?”

“It’s a possibility.”

“Fuck. I feel like an asshole now. He’s a first-year, right?”

“Going into his second year, yes.”

“And you’re sure that’s our Skulls? That’s not a doppelgänger? Those are real, you know!”

“Where else is he going to attend school? The woods?”

“So that really is him. Wow. He’s almost another person without his makeup and sunglasses. Doesn’t really have that gothic vibe when he’s dressed like this.” Despite your roommate’s protest, you zoom in on every aspect that catches your attention. “He looks so cute. Where’d you get this picture?”

“He’s in the drama club. They have staff pictures online.”

“Staff? Isn’t he part of the show?”

Rollo shakes his head. “According to their website, he’s credited as a stagehand.”

“No way! I always pictured him front and center. Lead role. Roses thrown on stage when he takes his bow. That sorta stuff. Not…stagehand.”

“It isn’t our place to judge or speculate.”

“But you’re totally curious, aren’t you? You wanna judge, too, don’t you? I know you do, Rollo.”

“Not nearly as much as you do. Besides, any longer here and you’ll leave Skully waiting. It’s rude to be late.”

“Shit, you’re right!” You snatch a jacket from the pile on your bed and stuff your arms through the sleeves. “See ya!”

Skully’s waiting outside the bookstore when you come jogging down the street. A surge of relief flashes through you when you notice his casual manner of dress. Plaid green slacks, a black-and-cream striped jumper, and a collared shirt with a tie. You notice he’s without his sunglasses, having swapped them for the circular frames instead.

He’s fidgeting anxiously, tugging at the oversized sleeves. When he turns his bespectacled gaze on you, he breaks out into a beaming grin and straightens his shrimp posture. He meets you halfway, covering the distance in just a few lanky strides.

“Hey! Nice to see you.” You mirror his bubbly energy after a short assessment of his person.

So this is Skulls outside of work. He seems quieter. Kinda meek.

Skully’s cheeks flush, but he still lowers to one knee and grasps your hand. You notice his hands are soft and slim, lithe fingers curling around your wrist to gently guide your hand to his chapped lips. A startling contrast you’ve since grown accustomed to after receiving so many hand-kisses from him.

“I’m honored to meet you here on such a fine day. May this glorious encounter remain everlasting in my memory.”

Cute.

“Were you waiting for a bit?”

“Not at all!” He offers his arm. “Shall we?”

You take hold of it, giggling. “We shall.”

The shop is packed full of books, all stacked and arranged on shelves that stretch up towards the ceiling. It’s a literary paradise—old and new novels, genres and titles of all ranges, the satisfying smell of a flipped page and an unbroken spine. Caught in a web of awe, you separate from Skully and shuffle deeper inside. The thin passageways between the stacks have a distinctly labyrinthine feeling to them when you can’t see what lies beyond the sea of authors.

After greeting the woman at the front, Skully trails dutifully after you. “Are you looking for anything in particular, my dear?”

“Not really. Just browsing. If you’ve got any suggestions, lay ’em on me.”

“Oh, I have a veritable cornucopia of recommendations!” He begins to rattle them off in succession, occasionally threading in his thoughts on a specific work. “Carmilla is a classic you absolutely must read! Did you know it came before Stoker’s Dracula? I think both are wonderfully eerie in their own rights. And ‘The Rats in the Walls’ is perfect if you’re looking for something that will leave you speechless and haunted.”

You’ve heard of some of the literature he’s listing off, familiar with their stains on a course syllabus, but a few of them are new.

“I should be taking notes,” you joke. “You sure know your stuff.”

“Those are just the classics. There are plenty of gothic tales published by contemporary writers.”

“Sounds like a lot to keep up with. Where do I even start?” You run your fingers along the spines as you travel down the shelf, plucking one at random. From the looks of the cover and the synopsis printed on the back, it’s a sci-fi thriller. “Do you have any favorites within the genre? What about gothic romance?”

“I couldn’t possibly settle on a favorite—not when each one is so brilliant!”

“I guess that’s fair.”

You slide the book in its spot. You’re not searching for any particular titles, so it’s with a surge of excitement that you squeal and attempt to seize the book from the shelf above. Your fingertips brush the corner of it, but you can’t quite reach it. Skully takes notice of this and grabs hold of it for you.

“This is one of my favorites!” You hug the book to your chest and then flip through a few pages to remind yourself of its greatness.

“The Phantom of the Opera! I’ve read it a handful of times. The musical production is simply stupendous!” Skully gasps and moves in closer to read from the page you’ve landed on. “I’ve always imagined how beautiful it must be to behold the Palais Garnier in all its grandeur. Would that I could witness a real opera, but I’ve never traveled abroad before.”

“I’m not an opera fan, but I love Phantom and everything related to it. I actually got to see the opera house a few years back with Rollo. He’s got family there, so it was really convenient. We went for the city’s Halloween festival and decided to get tickets for a tour since we were already there. Aah, he’s so lucky. He’s from a place with yummy food, amazing architecture, and so much history! It’s a city full of the prettiest flowers. So romantic.”

Skully nods, his gaze wandering across the words and never meeting yours. “You and Mr. Rollo do a lot together.”

You’re not sure how to respond to that. It’s not as if you and Rollo are joined at the hip, even if you do have a tendency to drag him around like he’s your own personal therapy goat. But when you aren’t under the same roof or scheduled together, you live separately. You and Rollo value solitude and independence, and sometimes the two of you need that. At the foundation of your friendship, there’s a mutual understanding you’ve never known from anyone before.

It occurs to you, while searching for an explanation to debunk the myth in Skully’s comment, that he doesn’t appear as outwardly cheerful anymore.

You turn to face him. “Are you…jealous, Skulls?”

“N-Not at all! I admire your closeness. That’s all,” he replies in a snap, mumbling the rest under his breath. “And I desire something like that for myself. I wish someone understood me the way Mr. Rollo understands you.”

Suddenly, you’re brought back to the day you broached the subject of school with him.

Does he have any friends? It’s not like I can ask him that outright without hurting his feelings. At least, I hope he thinks of me and everyone else at the shop as friends.

“If it’s any consolation, it took us a long time to understand each other. We didn’t get along at all in the beginning. Hated each other’s guts.”

“Really?” His eyes glitter in the amber lights.

“Really. We had to learn how to coexist if we wanted to continue living together.” You drum your nails over the cover of the book and fall back into reminiscence. “You should’ve heard the way we’d argue. ‘You can’t take the car on a day when I need it. That’s hardly fair.’ And I’d always say, ‘It’s my car, so you either get used to the schedule or you’ll walk!’ Random junk like that. Looking back, it was all stuff that could’ve been resolved if we weren’t so quick to bicker. Learning to share was an experience.”

“And now your companionship is sturdier than stone!” Skully applauds.

“So you’ll find someone to connect with one day. Maybe you already know them.” You nudge him encouragingly. “When I moved here, I thought this town was filled with nothing but losers and conservative assholes. I thought I’d never find my crowd. But after meeting you and the rest of the guys at the shop…” You shake your head before you can get too sentimental. “My point is that there are lots of people who see you as a friend. I’m definitely one of them.”

A look of surprise passes over his face and then it mellows out into a soft sort of acceptance. There’s pure happiness in his smile, brimming in the gloss that glistens in his orange hues.

“I’m honored to be held in such a lofty regard! You have my gratitude, my dear. No, not just my dear. You’re my very own Angel of Music!”

Beneath your clothes, you feel your skin warming considerably. It’s as if someone’s just bundled you in blankets, and now that same tingly warmth is spreading through your body from your head down to your toes. You have the strangest urge to stuff your face in a pillow, roll around on your bed until the sheets are properly tangled, and giggle like a fool. A reaction you haven’t had since you were an awkward, pimpled teenager.

“Does that make you my Christine?” you tease, winking at him.

“‘And do I dream again? For now, I find the Phantom of the Opera is there, inside my mind,’” he sings, a hand splayed across his chest. The dramatic pose prompts a sudden laugh from you. “I’m so pleased you know of it! Very few are openly appreciative of the classics like you. That, or they know nothing.”

“Are you kidding? Who doesn’t know Phantom? Studied it once for a class and never complained about another reading assignment again. It’s too good to blindly hate.”

He chuckles. “I assume you’ll be purchasing this little slice of literature then?”

“Absolutely.” You hold it up to the light, proud as a peacock. Its weathered cover and dog-eared pages are the closest thing to treasure. “I’ve always wanted a copy for myself.”

“’Twas fate you’d find it here.”

The both of you travel up and down the aisles, picking books and flipping through the pages for random passages. Skully reads from Edgar Allan Poe’s “The Raven,” citing each line in a bold, deep timbre. Or as deep as he can manage in between his laughter. You huddle close in the corner of the bookstore and giggle like children concealing a secret.

It’s a little over an hour by the time you step out into the sunshine, side by side and brimming with satisfaction. Most of the leaves have shriveled and fallen from the trees, punctuating every step of your path with a musical, multicolored crunch.

“So opera, yeah? Tell me more about that,” you say, swinging your bag in time with your casual stride.

“It’s a curiosity I explore every now and then. I’m especially fond of classical music, you see, and opera is just so magnificent. The entertaining ensemble, the emotions, the orchestra, the beautiful stage, the variety of intonations! Aah, there are so many elements to opera that make my heart skip in exultation.”

You watch him gesticulate as he praises each part and can’t stop the laughter from slipping out. Skully hesitates around his words, suddenly self-conscious.

“Forgive me. My propensity for verbosity gets the best of me at times…”

“I don’t mind. I think it’s sweet when you talk about your interests with so much passion.” Smiling, you nudge him with kittenish intent. “And a little verbosity never hurt me.”

“I’m pleased you think so. Truthfully, my classmates… They just couldn’t hope to understand.” He breathes a wistful sigh. “Which is why I’m forever grateful to be acquainted with you. Oh, and Mr. Honest, dear Gidel, and Mr. Rollo as well!”

“Your classmates are missing out.”

“On what, if I may ask?”

“On you.”

Struck speechless, he blinks at you.

“You’re amazing, Skulls. One of the coolest guys I’ve ever met. Maybe I’m stating the obvious, but it’s the truth. I don’t know anyone who’s as earnest about Halloween as you are, and I definitely don’t know anyone who can turn a solo into a duet. And in the freezing rain—are you kidding?! You’re talented, passionate, respectful, and always authentic. And your poetry’s award-worthy. Those qualities are hard to find in people nowadays. Last time a girl wrote me a poem, she rhymed nice with lice. Like, thanks for saying my kindness is like an insect. A parasitic insect.” With a scoff, you stuff your hands in the pockets of your oversized varsity jacket. It was a parting gift from a not-boyfriend. You’ve only held onto it for so long because it’s warm and comfortable…and because you feel bad for forgetting his name. “Romance is dead and I hate illiteracy.”

Skully stares at you, soaking in your ardent adulation. It colors his cheeks a very pleasant salmon-pink, and a shy smile plays on his lips. He fixes his eyes on the path ahead.

“If I may amend her comparison… You deserve to be recognized for more than just your kindness, and it is not at all parasitic.” Having gathered the words, he clears his throat. “Your laughter is soft as sugar mice, your brave, brutal honesty renders all to ribbons with its slice, and it would humble me honorably to admit you warm my thoughts like the sweetest spice. Or that’s how I would write it, if I was that girl and I wanted to use simple words that rhyme with nice.” He coughs and pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose.

A breeze rustles through the square. You inhale deeply.

Holy shit. He improvised that like it was nothing and it’s actually kinda good.

You want to ask him if he means it, but you dread the answer and what might lie beneath.

“How are you not married already?” you blurt, lacking the decorum to speak in complicated codes.

Skully sputters. “M-M-Married?!”

“Hey, look—there’s the place you told me about the other day. Let’s go!” Seizing his hand, you pull him along towards the storefront.

Ew, ew, ew! Why did I say that? Maybe being cringe and free isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.

It’s as if you’ve entered an old-fashioned world primed for Halloween when you step inside the cozy café. The fragrance of fresh coffee beans and sugary pastries hangs heavy in the air. Friendly spooks smile back at you from where they drape in paper chains. You marvel at the glass case near the register, covered in faux cobwebs and stretching the length of a table for six. A large assortment of delectable desserts are positioned within, and for a minute you think you’ve drifted right into the best dream.

“I’d buy them all if I could,” you whisper, pressing your palm against the cool, reflective surface as if you expect the treats to reach for you like in The Shape of Water. Turning to Skully, you point at a generously-sized slice of pumpkin pie. “Wanna share?”

“I desire nothing more.”

You place your orders. Skully settles on spiced cider and you choose vanilla chai, two ideal beverages to combat the chilly bite in the air. Before Skully can be a gentleman, you shove your card at the lady. He looks like he wants to protest, but a sly wink from you has him clamming up.

“You didn’t have to,” he says once he finds his voice.

“But I did.”

A handful of crumpled cash is held out to you next. “Please allow me to remunerate you!”

“What? No way. This is my thanks to you. I won’t accept refunds!” You push his arm away, and eventually he pockets the money.

“Then… Thank you! I will treasure your goodwill forever and always.”

You and Skully find a table near the window. It’s when you set the plate down beside your drinks that you realize the single fork.

“Looks like we’re sharing a fork, too.”

Skully’s face explodes with color. “But that’s much too scandalous! I couldn’t—I shouldn’t!”

“Why not? It’s just a fork.”

You cut a tiny portion for yourself and lift it to your lips. The pumpkin pie is soft and carries with it subtle hints of cinnamon and nutmeg. Your hum of satisfaction draws Skully out of his trance, and it’s when you offer him a bite that he begins to fluster.

“F-From the same fork… Oh, that’s much too intimate,” he murmurs hastily, his hands on his cheeks. He looks at the pumpkin pie with a doleful pout.

“C’mon, it’s not the pie of perpetual woe.” Giggling, you wiggle the fork. You’re partially aware of the effect this has on him, so you’re ready to take the blame if he bursts from the embarrassment. It’s too tempting. “Only fair if you get to enjoy it with me. Now say ‘aah’.”

Orange eyes flick from your hand to the piece and then past it all to your grinning face. He swallows thickly and leans in to meet the fork halfway. He chews mindfully.

“Oh, this is scrumptious! A fine slice of pie indeed.”

“Isn’t it? Here, have more.” You’re in the process of securing another bite when he stops you.

“M-Maybe I could…use the fork this time—for the rest of the time, actually?”

“Be my guest.”

After surrendering the utensil for Skully to peacefully eat his fill, you sample your vanilla chai. Silky tendrils curl up from the rich, redolent beverage, reminding you of little ghosts. The sip burns the tip of your tongue, but that doesn’t deter you from drinking more.

Vanilla chai is the best. Definitely a sacred gift from the gods. No exaggeration, you think, comforted by the blend of warm spices. I bet their café au lait is just as good, too. I should see if Rollo’s been here before.

You’re so caught up in your internal monologue that you fail to notice Skully’s admiring you. When he began, you can’t say. But suddenly the pumpkin pie slice is down to the crust and the fork is stained black from your lipstick. Skully rests his elbows on the table, his chin propped in his palms, and he watches you with a dreamy smile. It softens his already gentle features to angelic levels. He’s not wearing makeup today, so it’s much easier to spot the rouge that colors his cheeks. Now that you’re analyzing him and the events of the day up to this point, he’s done a lot of blushing. More than he normally does.

Shit.

You know that look. So does the Rollo in your head.

He’s going to fall for you if he hasn’t already.

“What do you wanna do after this? Rollo decided to be lame and make it a study day, so he’s not around. I was thinking we could go back to my place and play video games, but I’m down for anything.”

“A spot of video gaming sounds delightful! Um… How does one ‘video game’?”

“You’ve never played video games before? Like never, ever?”

“I can’t say I’ve had the pleasure, no. I don’t have anything like that at my house. We have board games, though! I assume it’s something similar?”

“Seriously? You’re missing out! We’ve gotta play something then. I think you’ll love Layers of Fear and Little Nightmares. There’s Dead by Daylight, too.”

“If it’s by your recommendation, I’d be foolish to turn a blind eye.”

Platonic. It’s just platonic. There’s nothing happening here. Like I said, platonic vibes only.

Repeat that mantra you may, something still gnaws at you—the need to prove that it’s not a lie. To force a fact from the cruel chrysalis of truth. To make Rollo choke on his words.

And when I’m right he’ll have to dress in costume to make up for his idiocy.

Supremely satisfied, worries temporarily shelved, you slip into simple conversation about games. While Skully recounts his favorite childhood games, the names of each make you wonder whether he really is a Victorian lad stuck in the wrong time. You suppose marbles, jump rope, and dolls aren’t antique. Despite being on the precipice of obsoletion, sought after only by collectors, they’re still somewhat prevalent today.

Even so, there’s something endearing about a sheltered Skully scribbling in notebooks and enacting complex plots with porcelain dolls and toy soldiers.

“How about you, my dear? What did you do for fun in your youth?”

“Mm, I’m not sure… My dad owned a console and had a few computer games, but I was never allowed to play them. So instead I drew a lot. Loved listening to music and doing puzzles. I never could solve any of them, though. The colored cubes were the hardest, but they were fun to mull over. It helped pass the time.”

“I listened to music, too! Raindrops on the windows, the tip-tap of nails against all types of surfaces, the wind whistling through glass chimes… Aah, the nostalgia of a natural symphony is wondrous.”

Somehow, knowing what Skulls is like, that information isn’t very surprising.

“Any other music?”

“Lots! My parents have a gramophone that’s been in our family for generations.”

“Whoa! That’s awesome! I bet it plays all sortsa stuff.”

“Mostly records. Just records, actually. I would love to show you someday. I think you’ll find classical pieces are quite compelling. They’re brilliant sources for inspiration.”

“Ooh, I’ll have to take you up on that invitation. We can listen to classical music and do some writing.”

Skully smiles, enamored with the suggestion. “I’m grateful if you even give it a smidge of consideration. It would be an honor to host you.”

With your cups now empty and the pie reduced to crumbs, you and Skully drop the dishes in the to-wash bin on your way out. Determined to do one act of gentlemanly service, he holds the door for you. He’s the picture of confidence, oozing eager smiles, so you walk through.

“Why, thank you, Mr. Graves.”

“Anything for my lady,” he replies with exaggerated aplomb, lowering into a dignified bow.

Even though the clouds obscure the sun, thus adding another unnecessary layer of cold to an already nippy day, the walk back to your apartment is all comfy conversation and lighthearted laughter. You find yourself grinning so much that your cheeks have started to ache, but it isn’t unpleasant or burdensome. It’s just the diversion your body needs to ignore the chill seeping through to your marrow. You regret wearing a skirt, even if your leg warmers provide a modicum of protection against the encroaching frost, but in the presence of Skully you’ve never felt warmer.

You can’t shake it—this growing fondness. It’s always been there; you’ve just never paid it any mind. Maybe it’s become so prominent because you’ve never been privy to this side of Skully—one that’s so shy and reserved, a quiet contrast to the boisterous character you work with at Fellow’s shop—and you find yourself charmed by that. He’s like a scarf or a hug or your favorite plush, carrying with him the comforts of inviting, dependable softness.

And he’s weird, but that’s his most lovable trait next to everything else.

“Hey, you’re not wearing your crown!” You reach up to touch his hair and he jerks away in a flash.

“W-Well, yes… Um. Is that a bad thing?”

“No. Just different.” You skip ahead towards your building, twirling your keys. They jingle in time with the rhythm of your footsteps. “I like Skully with and without the crown because either way he’s still himself, and that’s perfect to me.”

He has to collect himself, for when your back is turned to him he shakes with merriment. It’s at your calling of, “You coming, Skulls?” that he hurries along.

Once at your front door, the key turned in the lock, you realize something.

“We’re kinda like Jack and Sally, aren’t we?”

“W-We are?! Is it because we’re simply meant to be?” Hope is sewn into each hasty syllable.

“What? No. It’s because you’re tall and I’m wearing patchwork fishnets.” You stick your leg out so he can view the various patterns sewn together. A spiderweb, hearts, roses, spirals, zigzags, polka dots. “Just like Jack and Sally!”

“Ah, right… That’s what you were implying. Please ignore my wishful connection.”

What the fuck! What the fuck! What. The. Fuck was that?!

You push the door open in your haste to shake off whatever all of that just was. It’s a reference to his favorite film—you know that much. But the implications in it—in what Jack and Sally are… You give yourself a mental kick and file inside the apartment. It smells like apples and cardamom and is filled to bursting with houseplants. Most of them are Rollo’s. Actually, who are you kidding? They’re all Rollo’s. Your thumb is about as green as the radioactive waste you see in cartoons.

We’re like Jack and Sally? Am I dumb as dirt? Why would I say that without thinking? They’re love interests! Lovers! And Skulls and I are…not.

Shrugging your jacket off, you trudge deeper inside and drop it on the nearby sofa. Skully, having left his shoes at the door, trots after you.

It wouldn’t be an issue if I knew where he stood, but I don’t and so this is basically like me edging him over the course of however-many-months he’s been feeling this—if he even has feelings at all. Uuugh. Skulls, why can’t I read your mind? If I could, all of this would be so much easier… Maybe.

“Welcome to home, sweet home. Make yourself comfortable. My room’s this way.” With a surprising amount of balance, you manage to tug your sneakers off as you wobble-walk down the hall.

It’ll be fine. We’re gonna play some games and it’ll be totally chill. Nothing weird. You glance over your shoulder to find a starry-eyed Skully gazing at the autumn decorations strewn smartly about the kitchenette and sitting room. Damn it, Rollo! Why did you have to put that nonsense in my head? Now I’m overanalyzing every one of Skulls’s behaviors like some stalker just to prove your stupid ass wrong.

Your room is exactly how you left it: a mess. But you’re just shameless enough to not care about appearances. Skully watches you push all of your potential outfits onto the floor, looking away when his gaze happens to fall on a stray bra.

He has such a vintage heart… Fuck, Skulls, you’re way too polite for your own good, you think, swiping the remote from beneath the wrinkled sheets.

“Your bedroom is resplendent, my dear.” He glances at the many lights strung along the bed frame and fastened to the walls. To make up for your abysmal botanical brilliance, you’ve filled strangely-shaped jars and vases with plastic flowers and paper stars, and you’ve even hung strands of faux ivy in empty corners. In his scan of your chaotic decorations, he notices the pumpkin-shaped fairy lights situated above the headboard of your bed. “Truly spectacular!”

“Don’t you think you’re laying it on too thick?”

“Not at all! This place has a warm and welcoming feeling. It’s very alluring.”

You set your copy of The Phantom of the Opera on the ledge beneath the window, a gem you’ll pry open later tonight. Various trinkets greet you with painted faces and mirror reflections when you peer at them, all set in a line like misfit soldiers.

“Alluring, huh?” You sit on the edge of your bed and fold one leg over the other. “Okaaay. Tell me, then—what makes it seem so?”

“You.”

“Me…” And then you look at him sharply. “Me?”

“This entire room is very you.” Skully gestures to each section while he speaks. “The decorations, the lingering fragrances from candles and perfumes, the charming clutter that gives this space its character—it’s all part of who you are. Tiny tidbits of (Name), revealing unto me a beauty I’ve only just scratched the surface of.”

I’m not sure you can find beauty in a mess.

“Well, this is a first. Rollo usually tells me I’d make good friends with the rats in their nests, so thanks for the optimistic review.”

Skully shakes his head, but the motion slithers down to his hands as well. He waves them in front of you in objection. “You misunderstand! It isn’t just mindless optimism. These are pieces of my heart—the truth—shared freely with you! I really do admire your room.”

Pieces of your heart?

“Huh.”

Falling backwards, you lie on your back like a turtle overturned. The ceiling is the easiest thing to comprehend here. Nothing to dissect amidst the cracking drywall and smears of long-dead insects, all of which were subjected to the brutal thwacking from your slipper.

No one’s that nice. Even Fellow has his limits. But then you cringe at that. Maybe he’s not the standard I should be comparing Skulls to. They’re on completely different levels.

“Um… Is something the matter?”

You lift your head only slightly to view Skully, who stands awkwardly at the end of your bed.

“Yeah. I’m struggling.”

“Oh! Is—well, is there anything I can do to be of service? I’m sorry if I did something o-or if I crossed a boundary at all! It wasn’t my intention. Aah, I’m a vile reprobate—a soul most wretched! To make my lady uncomfortable when I only meant to commend her lovely room…”

“Whoa, hey! It’s not your fault. I’m debating something and can’t seem to decide.”

Skully’s eyes, which were starting to gleam with tears, light up. “A debate?”

“Mhm.” You sit up and level him with a grin. “Are we feeling a movie or video games today? What’re the vibes?”

You can feel the charged energy in the room disperse at once, and Skully visibly slackens in relief.

“If it’s a movie it has to be The Nightmare Before Christmas, of course! What better way to welcome October than with Lord Jack!”

A giggle rises in your chest. “Sure. We can do that.”

Finding the remote buried beneath the covers, you click the old TV on and scroll through your watchlist until you locate it. It’s been a few weeks since you’ve seen it, having rewatched it with Rollo to acquaint him with the references Skully would undoubtedly make during shifts. That, and it’s an enjoyable watch. If there’s one thing you know about Skully J. Graves, it’s that he has impeccable taste.

You shift on your bed until you’re cozied up against the wall of pillows lining the headboard. And then you turn towards him and pat the space beside you.

He hesitates, fidgeting on his feet, before stiffly seating himself on the edge.

“Here.” You toss him an oversized goat plush—a souvenir from Rollo’s home city. “Get comfy and veg out properly. There’s plenty of room.” To prove it, you relax against the pillows and stretch your legs.

Skully’s gaze climbs up the length of your legs before quickly snapping up to your face. “Is this really okay?”

“Why wouldn’t it be? I don’t care if you chill on my bed.”

You wouldn’t be the first guy to do so.

His apprehension made obvious, you heave a sympathetic sigh and sit up. “Do I make you uncomfortable? You can be honest. It won’t offend me.”

It’ll just hurt. A little. A lot.

“N-Not at all!” You’re almost certain that’s a lie. “It’s just… Well… To be perfectly transparent, I’ve never been inside a lady’s room before…” He hugs the plush close to his chest as if hiding behind the fluffy veil it provides. “That is to say, it feels wrong to trespass in this sacred space when you haven’t even met my parents. Isn’t this the sort of meeting meant for wedding nights? It’s too special!”

Meeting his parents? Wedding nights? What is he on about?

You lift yourself from the sheets and shuffle closer to where he’s anchored at the very edge. He’s a bundle of stress and anxiety, scrunched up like he’s hoping to shrink out of sight. The connection doesn’t occur to you at first. You were so busy refuting it that it struggled to slip through your defenses, but with that now compromised the realization finally rears its head.

“That Spider Queen you wrote about—she’s supposed to be me.”

Skully angles his body towards you. He opens his mouth like he’s about to confess the many secrets sewn into his soul, but all he can manage is a nervous noise. His face flares up, treacherously lambent. The silence is confirmation enough.

Now you’re left with a scary thought: Is the Spider Queen a comparison birthed from libidinous attraction or romantic affection? If it’s meaningless lust, you can work with that. You deal in the casual sway of physical and emotional desire like it’s second nature.

But romance is craggy, unstable terrain—all steep, jagged, perilous curves and drops. You can’t maneuver around something so high-stakes.

“Jack’s Lament” reaches your ears then. Your gaze pans over to the TV, where the melancholic Pumpkin King climbs the infamous Spiral Hill.

Deep down, you had an inkling there was some connection between you and the Spider Queen. You just didn’t want to trust in Rollo’s shrewdness. Annoyingly, he’s usually right with these things. His ability to see everything in objective scope will forever chew at you. You who is almost always caught in the cobwebs of everything but what rests within reality.

“Please forgive my transgression.” Skully’s kneeling in front of you now, his head bowed as if in anticipation of admonishment. “I meant no harm! I only meant to convey my thoughts and feelings, and I did so through the Great and Glorious Spider Queen. I understand if you find it improper. I… I’m willing to burn every poem I’ve ever written. As long as it will bring you peace, I’ll do anything.”

“I’m not upset. I’m, like, insanely flattered to be your muse. That’s what it’s called, right?”

His head snaps up to look at you, and he manages a shy nod. You notice the tears gathered at the corners of his eyes, and this time he can’t hide behind his sunglasses. “So… So you still wish to see me at work?”

“Are you kidding? Hell yeah I wanna see you! You’re the best part of those boring shifts. You make work feel like we’re getting paid to have fun.” You tilt your head at him and lightly bat his shoulder. “So don’t worry. I’m totally cool being part of your writerly inspiration if it means you’ll continue producing some kick-ass poetry.”

He straightens up and tries a shaky smile. “My dear, have I neglected to mention you’re an affable angel? I’m forever beholden to you.”

“They call me Miss Affable for a reason.” No one has ever done that before, but you’re glad his anxious expression is finally shifting into one of amusement. Because you’re you and can’t help it, you add, “So how’d I become the Spider Queen?”

“Well, you always have such beautifully sharp nails. It reminds me of a spider: dexterous and strong, yet gentle in their artistry. They must be if they’re to weave such meticulous patterns into their webs. Like you.”

You give an impressed whistle and flash your acrylics proudly. “Thank you, thank you.”

“And…female spiders are often in charge of s-sexual encounters. They’re more dominant than the males. S-Sometimes…” He rubs his arm nervously. “Sometimes the male will t-tie the female up just to avoid being cannibalized at the end of copulation.” And then he ducks his head in shame, a fierce blush sweeping over his face. “I apologize most heartily. It’s strange, I’m aware. Please pay no heed to it.”

I get it now. He has the hots for me. That’s all this is.

You’d punch the air in celebration, but you don’t want to scare Skully off. This situation requires tact and patience. Gentle, you remind yourself. Don’t chase him away.

“You’re saying those aspects of spider sex remind you of…me?”

Am I really that frightening?!

“Oh, that wasn’t my intention! I didn’t mean to offend. I-I only meant to draw attention to your many strengths as they align with that of spiders.”

“Aah, all right.” You click your tongue and eye him like a predator would prey. “So if I’m the Spider Queen, does that make you the Spider King?”

“I could never flatter myself with that title.” He shakes his head. “Rather, I’m just an ordinary fly.”

“Hey, you deserve to be praised, too. I can’t be all-powerful and perfect in your poems.”

“You could be. You are.” He shrinks back when you creep in, pushing himself against your wall.

“And you’re more than an ‘ordinary fly’ to me.” Playfully, you place your index beneath his chin and lift his gaze to yours. “As Queen, I hereby decree that you, Skulls, are to be my Spider King for the rest of today.”

“Just today?”

“Mhm. And then you can decide if you still want to be a fly.”

“If I still want to be a fly…” he echoes, searching your face for any indication of a blague. You notice the way he lingers on your mouth, caught in a web of his own making, and suddenly your mind’s made up.

“Tell me what you want.”

He chokes on his reply. “W-What I want? Uh… Um. I…” He turns to look helplessly at the TV, as if Jack Skellington can poke his skull out of the screen and offer a satisfactory answer in his stead.

You think you might be cornering him, so you back off. “Sorry! I didn’t mean to pressure you. Maybe we’re not on the same wavelength like I initially thought…”

“No, we are! At least, I’m hopeful we are because I—” He inhales deeply and rushes through the rest of his sentence. “B-Because it’s not what I desire but, rather, who. You, my dear. It’s you whom my heart longs for like that of a parched plant.”

His hands twitch towards the beginning of a protective barrier, but he catches himself and twists them together instead.

“Well then, shall we, my Spider King?”

His hasty nod isn’t good enough. You need to hear him say it—need the confirmation that this is just sex and nothing more.

“If at any point you wish to stop—”

“I won’t.” Conviction hardens his wobbling tone. “I want to do this.”

You wink. “Then I hope I live up to the legend.”

Unceremoniously, you lift your shirt up and over your head and toss it aside. Your skirt goes next. Skully marvels at the sight of you, transfixed by your black, lacy bra and matching panties. An exquisite garter belt hugs your waist, its hooks attached to your thigh-high fishnets. In every sense of the word, you’re ravishing.

“Oh,” he breathes, taking you in like one does a portrait of incredible renown. He reaches for you next, his fingers curling through the air, and stops himself. In a quieter voice you think you’re not supposed to hear, he says, “I’m spellbound, hopelessly so. No. No, I shouldn’t. Aah, but if only I could…”

“You can touch me. No need to be shy.” You creep towards him on the bed. Your acrylics drum a teasing rhythm along his arm, and he flinches in surprise when you lean closer to whisper in his ear. “I won’t bite…unless you want me to.”

His face explodes with color and he slaps his hands over his cheeks. “W-Would you?”

“Do you want me to?”

“Only—” Skully swallows thickly, his throat bobbing. “O-Only if it won’t b-bother you…”

“Not at all.” You take hold of his hand and guide it to your chest. “So you’re into biting, hmm? What other scandalous mischief does my Spider King like to get off to?”

“I shouldn’t say.”

“Why not?”

“It’s…shameful.”

“Try me.”

Skully looks between his hand cupped around your breast and your challenging smirk. Somewhat shyly, he cradles your other unattended breast and squeezes curiously. And then he slides both hands beneath your bra to explore without the pesky barrier of fabric.

“Mm. Well. I… I wish to hear your voice when we…” He clears his throat and gazes at you, shy and sincere. “And I want you to talk to me. I want you to tell me I’m doing it properly—that it’s pleasing.”

“I can do that. Anything else?”

His stare lingers on your lips, but he’s quick to center his attention on your face. “I want to make you happy. More than anything. I hope… I hope I can be the one to add light to the bewitching depths of your beautiful eyes. There’s a distinct melancholy in them—your eyes, I mean. I’ve always noticed it.”

Way to put me under a microscope, Skulls.

“That doesn’t sound shameful at all.” Looping your arms around his neck, you coax him closer. You sink into the pillows and Skully melts against you. “It’s all very sweet.”

“But I’m selfish,” he admits, his mouth at your neck. “I want to give you the world and everything in it even if that takes away from others. When that ghoulish brute showed up and treated you so callously, I wanted nothing more than to slam his head into the wall… Just so he’d stop hurting you.”

Strangely, your heart flutters. That’s…new.

“I want to protect your smile, your happiness, your heart… All of it. All of you. I want to take all of your pain and sadness away—cloak your fear in warmth so that you’ll only know comfort. If I could, I’d do it in a blink.” In a softer voice, he adds, “I… I hope I can. I’ll try.”

“Why? There’s no need to go that far.”

My pussy cannot be that good.

You force a brittle laugh and then giggle when he presses another peck into your jugular, as if he’s trying to leave an invisible mark of affection.

“You’re worth it.”

“Am I?”

“Indubitably.”

The kisses trail up your throat to your jaw. His hips rut uselessly against yours, his dick straining against his slacks. You catch his face in your hands and admire his pale skin burning bright beneath your palms, shimmering with sweat.

“You’re cute, Skulls.”

He chokes on a hitched breath. “Y-You think so? I think you’re much cuter.”

“Whaaat? No way.”

You kiss his cheek, leaving a dark print in the wake of your lips, and revel in the way he proves your point when he stumbles over his retort. Slyly, you shift your hands to his shoulders, down, down, down until they’re sliding beneath his sweater. He squeaks when your warm palms rest over his chest to map out the feel of him. You trace his skeleton in your exploration, internally naming off various bones when your fingertips press down on them. He whimpers when you settle on his hips.

“You can kiss me, you know.”

“May I truly?”

“What’s stopping you?”

“Well…” He inhales sharply when you palm at his erection. His brows crease together, and he nuzzles into the crook of your neck. “I’ve never kissed anyone before.”

“And you want your first kiss to be with me?” You say it like it’s something he ought to rethink, but his next admission indicates that he is not on the same humorous page as you.

“Just you. Only you. I wouldn’t dare dream of it with anyone else.”

You grasp his chin to hold him still. Orange meets (eye color). “Then follow my lead. Don’t think too much. Just feel.”

You’re the safety net who catches him when he falls—the sticky strands of web that ensnare the fly. You fit your lips against his. They’re chapped and cracked, but they’re honest and reveal an inexperience you were expecting. He’s paralyzed, his hands frozen at your sides, caging you in against the pillows, and so you smooth his paranoia with comforting strokes along his back and up his shoulders. He sucks on your lip in an attempt to keep pace with you, hotly molding his mouth to yours. You’re reminded of a dog slobbering all over its owner when it’s excited, and the image of Skully with a wagging tail and floppy ears bleeds vividly into your wild imagination.

“I’m sorry,” he pants once you’ve broken away. “I’ve much to learn. I just—I don’t want you to be displeased.”

“It’s fine. No one’s an expert their first time. I wasn’t.” You kiss his cheek consolingly, tilting your head to meet him halfway for another saccharine smooch. He whines appreciatively. You break to speak. “And it is pleasing. Very much so.”

You seize his wrist and drag it towards your sopping panties, allowing him to feel liquid proof of your arousal. Skully stares at you in awe. He presses against the wet patch and you suck in a shivery breath. When he drags his hand back, his fingertips are moistened with your slick.

“All of this…from me?”

“Mhm. Most don’t get it like this.”

“This wet?”

“I’m not easy,” you lie because you’ve been nothing but easy today. A peculiarity you’ve decided to ignore for the time being.

“No. No, of course not,” he babbles, shaking his head rapidly. “It’s beautiful. You—” He cups your face. “You’re…beautiful.”

“Thanks, Skulls.”

He runs his thumb over your cheek, smiling.

A minute ticks by. Neither of you says anything, and Skully makes no effort to break this silent spell. You’ve never truly looked at him before. A real, punctilious look, one of assessment. He has such a kind, handsome face. You’re not sure why he hides behind his sunglasses. If it was your choice, you’d have him wear his glasses. They’re nerdy but in an attractive way. The look suits him.

Eventually, though there’s something flattering about being pinned under his adoring stare, you can’t bear it any longer. You place your hand over his and clear your throat.

“So…”

“Oh! Right. Yes, that’s right!” He scrambles away, hurrying to pull his sweater over his head. “Sorry, my darling. I was so caught up in you I almost forgot what I was doing. It’s like when you see something so exquisite that it roots you in place and all you can do is simply stop and admire. Do you know the feeling?”

“I do.”

You giggle at his muffled rambling and lift the sweater to hear him clearly. He blinks back at you, his glasses sitting tilted on the slope of his nose. You’ve been told all sorts of things in bed, each of your partners choosing their own salacious nicknames for you. You’ve never been very partial to any of them. They’re all flimsy words at the end of the day, buoyant and ephemeral, never sticking no matter how much you secretly want them to.

None of them ever do. They never feel right or real, more of a placeholder for bedroom pornography. You want to be lavished so much you drown in the praise and blarney.

You reach for his glasses, fold them up, and place them aside. “You’re a natural charmer, aren’t you, Skulls?”

“I mean it.”

“Everyone does in the heat of the moment.”

“But I—” He stops short, chewing his lip, and softens the admission to a dejected, near-inaudible murmur. “I mean it always…”

You peer into his face and conveniently choose to ignore it.

“Which way do you want me?”

“Every way,” he blurts. “Or whichever way you wish to be had in.”

You laugh. “I feel bad. Like you’re doing most of the work and I’m neglecting your pleasure.”

“Oh, please don’t! You’re not. This is everything I could’ve ever imagined and more.”

You poke at his bare chest with a manicured finger. Dark lips twist into a convincing puppy-pout. “Come on, Skulls. You can be greedy with me. What do you want? I’ll do it.”

Skully withdraws enough for you to sit up properly. He allows himself to fall when you push. His hands fly to his face. A crooked part of you is satisfied to see him wriggling beneath you, his legs bent up awkwardly, as if he really is strung up in your web. You pull them apart easily, slotting yourself there. Peeking at you through the cracks in his fingers, he watches your hands dance along the waistband of his slacks.

“You wanted me to bite you, didn’t you?”

He nods weakly, the words clogged in his throat.

“I think you’re holding back. You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to. I won’t pry, but I am curious.”

You undo the button and zip on his pants and slide them down. You’re not sure what you were expecting, but your stomach somersaults at the sight of his hefty erection straining against the fabric. His boxers are comically patterned with expressive cartoon pumpkins. He’s nothing if not loyal to the brand.

“I… I-I…” he stammers from behind his hand-shield, forcing the syllables out. “I… I really want your phone number!”

“My…phone number?”

That’s a first. Most guys usually want a blowjob or anal from me. Did I hear him right?

“I really, really long to talk to you. O-Outside of the shop, I mean. But I… I didn’t want to impose. I saw how much it bothered you when customers pestered you for it and I thought maybe you might not want mine. A-And it’s very fine if you don’t! But…I would like to talk to you, if you’ll allow it. I want to know you—all of you, every precious side—if you’ll allow it.”

The request is so stunning it temporarily blanks your brain. You come to with a mechanical nod, your palm hovering over his dick print.

“Yeah… Yeah, of course you can have it.”

That’s it? Is it really that simple?

You realize it’s been four years since you and Skully met. Has he always wanted your number, or is this new?

Does it matter?

Social anxiety exists. He’s probably shy. And I guess I’m kinda to blame for scaring him into thinking he couldn’t have it.

Again, you decide it’s not worth the deliberation. With your mind now successfully emptied of those mood killers, you focus on peeling his boxers away to reveal what’s waiting beneath. It springs up to meet your hand, pathetically weeping pre-cum, and he goes stock-still when you wrap your fingers around the tip and thumb at his slit.

“O-Oh—if you do that—” A gasp shudders through him. “(Name)—”

“I’ve got you. Just relax.”

Skully tries to, but he throws his head back the moment you drag your hand down his length. His skin prickles with a shiver, and he gazes blearily at the ceiling and then at you. It’s almost too much, adorable and titillating at the same time. You want to see how far you can take your teasing, how much more until he’s sobbing.

You care about your coworker and want him to experience only the best slivers of seventh heaven, but you also want to see him shift through a range of emotions, to make his back arch up against the sheets while you stroke him to climax, and feel satisfied knowing it was you who got him there. Maybe it’s this cruelty and the spark of electric lust that are intrinsic to your nature—to that of the famed Spider Queen.

“Do you wanna cum inside?”

He lowers his hands, looking like you’ve just asked for marriage. Orange eyes glimmer brighter than the fairy lights strung around your bed frame.

“My lovely darling, your benevolence is inspiring.”

A laugh rattles in your chest. Not because it’s funny but because he really does mean it, and perhaps it’s this virginal authenticity that encourages the sound. Like it’s been tickled out of you, a delightful noise that pairs well with his rosy cheeks. You move to straddle him next, and he props himself on his elbows to observe. There’s a soft stutter in his breath when you tug your panties aside and, holding him still, position yourself. The soft head of his cock kisses your slick folds, and you can almost hear the flowery poetry lurking on his tongue.

But he keeps his mouth shut, absolutely enamored with the erotica brought to life before his very eyes. You’re about to sink down when he squeaks.

You pause. “What’s up?”

“I’d like to hold you when we… Is that all right with you?”

“That’s fine. Come here.”

Skully sits with his feet tucked under his rear, kneeling very patiently. You move to straddle him once more and reach between your bodies to spread yourself open. His hands find your waist. This time, you lower yourself without issue. The stretch has both of you hissing through your teeth. It’s delicious.

You’ve only taken half of him and you think he’s about to pass out from the pleasure, but then he grips your hips and tips you over. Gasping, you fall back against the sheets and scramble for purchase. He steadies you, dragging your hips up to meet his, and it occurs to you, now arranged in missionary, that he’s leaning in to savor the warmth of your bodies pressed close.

Like a spider, you think, impressed. Look at you, Skulls.

You’d give him the euphoria of a bite—canines in his shoulder—but it’s hard to think when he’s so set on rutting into you with reckless abandon.

“Inside you… I’m inside you. Our bodies—” he grunts and bows his head— “are kissing! So sweetly. So wonderful…”

You cling to him, digging your fingers into his shoulders. Your nails will have to take the place of teeth for now. That’s romantic, you manage to think in between the thoughtless daze. A sharp gasp tumbles from your lips.

“Does it hurt?” he whispers, pressing his forehead to yours next.

“It’s fine. Are you okay?”

Skully peers at you, orange eyes alight in the dimness of your room. With his dazed expression and the blush dusting his cheeks, he looks pure and cherubic. Sweet and shy. An exact opposite of the eccentric gentleman he normally masquerades as at work. There’s a certain vulnerability to this Skully, whose layers have been rendered bare here.

“Mhm,” he hums, pushing in deeper. You deflate against the many pillows propped behind you and sigh dreamily. His mouth ghosts over yours. “I’ve dreamt a moment just like this on countless nights.”

Before either of you realize it, you’re kissing again. Despite his awkward non-technique, Skully’s movements are gentle. He kisses the corner of your mouth, your chin, your cheek, your lips—every inch of your face.

“I love you,” he admits suddenly, panting, and places his hands on either side of you. “Oh, I love you so much. I’ve always—a-always loved you. You’re my everything.”

You halt your physical reciprocations, for the emotions don’t match up.

Oh, you think worriedly. Oh, no. No, no, nooooo.

“Skulls��”

“And I want to continue loving you for as long as I’m alive.” He thrusts aimlessly, his breath caught in his throat. “And… Aah… I’ve never felt this way about anyone before. (Name)… My darling, my lovely, you mean so much to me—more than I can ever hope to describe.”

No, no, no! Don’t say that!

“Skully, wait.”

His hips stutter to a stop then, and he pulls back from the column of your throat to look at you. “Is… Is something wrong, my dear?”

You realize now that the my dear and every other hypocorism he uses for you holds a special weight when contrasted with the rest.

“I…” Exhaling a rattled breath, you try and fail to meet his concerned stare. “I can’t do this.”

In your peripheral, Skully opens his mouth to speak and then promptly shuts it. A shadow flickers on his countenance. You can’t tell if it’s betrayal or sadness or something worse.

“I understand,” he mumbles after a long moment.

No further words are exchanged. He slides out, climbs off of you, and quietly dresses himself. You turn over on your back, hug a pillow to your chest, and drown in the tidal wave of regret that washes over you.

He’s going to fall for you if he hasn’t already, Rollo told you, but you didn’t believe him. And why should you? You’ve had plenty of people lust after you to varying degrees, but they’ve never loved you.

Not like Skully does, that is. He loves you in every conceivable way and never expects anything in return. He loves you with everything he has, heart and soul, and you could feel the sugar crystallizing in his confession. He loves the unlovable you. The you who is vulgar and impatient. The you who has a temper. The you who is awkward and strange. The you who is broken. The you who is sometimes semi-whole.

He loves everything about you—the good and the bad. He loves you for you.

You weren’t ready to battle that monster today.

You feel the soft caress of the duvet and realize Skully’s draped it over you. In a panic, you turn around to confront him.

“Skulls, I’m—”

But he’s already gone. Minutes later, you hear the front door shut behind him.

“Sorry…”

Immediately, you slap your hands over your face and groan.

What am I doing?

You pull the blanket up to your chin and lie there, gazing at the plastic star-spotted ceiling. They don’t glow as brightly in the dark as they used to.

“I fucked up, Rollo. I fucked up big time. But what was I supposed to do? The guy likes me—actually likes me—and I—”

“He loves you.”

You purse your lips in a tight line. Thanks for that oh-so-helpful correction.

“Well, what do you feel for him?” he asks in a you’re-making-this-more-complicated-than-it-needs-to-be tone.

“I don’t wanna hurt him with loveless sex. I mean, come on, that’s kinda my whole thing. I don’t date because it never works out, and Skulls is…not like me.” Sighing, you drum your acrylics against the counter. “He’s a really nice guy. He isn’t faking it because he wants to sleep with me.”

Scanning the items of the next customer in line, Rollo hums his acknowledgement. In desperate need of a mindless task, you begin to bag them as they come.

“You should tell him that, then.”

You worry your lip between your teeth. “I… I was scared, Rollo.”

He remains quiet, allowing that revelation to soak into the air. You think he understands. You’re not afraid of Skully. You could never be afraid of the guy who makes you smile and laugh, who loves so tenderly, who puts himself in front of a bully all for your sake.

“Scared of him?” he finally asks, just to clarify, and there’s a dangerous edge to his voice that wasn’t there before.

“No, not him. Just… He was so sweet and gentle. With past partners, we’ve always…fucked. No decorum. Maybe a little foreplay to set the mood. Nothing too cheesy. That’s all there is to it. Usually. But with him it wasn’t just sex. That was, like, I don’t know! Valentine’s Day or some shit. Like, I felt so cherished, Rollo. Or maybe it’s better to describe it like worship? Like I really was his Spider Queen… A-Anyway, that’s never happened before! I was caught completely off guard. My heart wasn’t ready.”

Rollo hums like he’s putting thought into your confession, but he’s more focused on the next customer.

“I feel bad. He’s obviously inexperienced. I mean… He said he’s never felt that way about anyone before, Rollo.”

“So he’s infatuated.”

“It’s just a crush. It’ll pass.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure.”

You frown at a grinning pumpkin plush and then stuff it in a paper bag. “Everyone goes through the honeymoon phase when they’re in love.”

“So you recognize that what he feels for you is love.”

“No.” You hold your finger up and wave it in front of him. “Not love. It’s a weather forecast, okay? Completely unreliable. I’m sure it’ll change the minute the season’s over. Seasonal romances are a real thing, you know. Same for situational stuff, too.”

“What can you call his actions if they aren’t motivated by love?”

You drag your finger along the spotless countertop. What indeed?

“Like I said, he’s a nice guy. Affection comes to him naturally.”

“Does it?” Rollo punches numbers on the register and swaps cash for change. “You can like someone, but it takes effort to love someone. Truly and authentically.”

A line from Skully’s diary pops into your mind: I’m not so sure I like (Name). He wrote that about you. About how sour his first impression of you was and how he was certain he wouldn’t get along with you because, as he put it, the both of you were too different.

Rollo is steadfast in this opinion, and you know he’s willing to debate it into the grave with you. So you curb your opposition and instead take his side. Purely for entertainment purposes, of course. Devil’s advocate.

“So he loves me. What about it?”

“Do you love him?”

You scowl at him and stuff a witch hat into a bag with other decorations.

“You really don’t sugarcoat anything, do you?”

“Perhaps that’s a difficult question lacking a clear answer. Allow me to amend it. Rather, do you enjoy his company?”

“He’s fun, yeah. I enjoyed what we did. Who wouldn’t? It’s sex.” You give Rollo a not-so-amused side-eye when he quirks his brow. “And I like being called pretty. Is that so bad?”

“You like the person who calls you pretty,” he suggests, but it doesn’t sound accusatory or questioning.

Like is a safe word. It can imply everything and nothing at the same time. A pleasant middle ground between love and not-love. Between absolute detestation and tolerance. Between platonic and romantic. It’s almost like the word fine. No one worries when you say you’re doing fine, just as no one wonders anything more when you say you like someone.

“I liked the chemistry.”

“Do you hate Skully?”

You groan. “Until you break this circular conversation, I’m not talking to you anymore.”

“So be it. You’ll have to tell him something, though. He deserves closure, at least.”

“I’m not gonna break his heart.”

“I’m not saying you should.”

You recall Salad Fingers’s insult from before: 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.

“I’m not gonna break his heart,” you repeat firmly, but more for yourself.

“When exactly does this ‘I’m not talking to you anymore’ come into play?”

“Right now.”

And so you shut your mouth.

A familiar face approaches the register next. She places a Jack Skellington doll on the counter and Rollo rings her up.

“Sorry to interrupt, but is your other coworker in? Skully, was it?” She shifts from foot to foot, embarrassed. “I’d like to introduce myself. I didn’t get the chance last time.”

You narrow your eyes at her. She’s that girl from before. The one crushing on Skulls.

You swipe the doll and hand it to her, all business. The scathing comments that leave your mouth are the exact opposite.

“Back off, bitch. It’s never gonna happen. You’re not his type.”

I don’t see him writing poems about you or info-dumping about obscure Jack lore. Are you his muse? Did he fuck you like you’re his cherished Spider Queen? Didn’t think so.

She backs away as if you’ve just hissed and bared your fangs at her. You might as well have with your tone. Rollo is quick to defuse the sizzling tension by offering her the receipt as some sort of balm. “Have a spooky day,” he recites the workplace catchphrase in perfect monotone, which doesn’t do anything to improve her shattered mood.

The poor girl hugs the doll to her chest, tears brimming in her eyes, and hurries off. Rollo doesn’t need to voice his opinion this time, for the hand that claps down on your shoulder is searing in its disappointment. You almost wish it was just a disembodied limb and not your boss, who ushers you away from the front with a beaming grin that’s strained for show.

“Walk with me.”

It’s not a suggestion. You’ve been in waist-deep water with Fellow plenty of times before. Judging by his unsmiling tone, the water’s way past your head.

Luckily, you know when to keep your mouth shut. Advantageous as that is, it doesn’t save you from the trip to the back room. The curtains have never felt more like the bars in a prison cell when he parts them for you to step through.

“What’s the first rule all employees must follow when working at this store?”

You drop down into the electric chair—an old stool that stands tall in this make-believe interrogation chamber. It’s very reminiscent of stand-up comedy. A shame you fail to demonstrate an iota of comedic relief when you give your answer to your executioner.

“The first rule? Let’s see…” You count all the possibilities on your fingers. “Don’t accept donations from rich brats. Never entertain lengthy conversation with cops, or else they’ll start doing their job. Send all annoying customers to Rollo because he doesn’t care enough to let them get under his skin. Send the chatty ones to Skulls. Love and cherish (Name) always. Yeah, that just about sums it up.”

Fellow gives you an unamused frown. You squirm under the oppressive weight of silence blanketing the air. That’s more threatening than Gidel with his squeaky hammer.

“Am I forgetting something?”

“Respect. I don’t care how much it pains you to lick the boots of that sorry lot, but when you’re working under this roof the customer is always right.” He lifts his hand before you can object. “Even when they’re wrong. Laugh at their idiocy all you want, but refrain from doing so in public. So, Miss (Name), I expect you to uphold a shred of courtesy to even the most troublesome customers. Loath as I am to admit it, it pays in spades to be mindlessly kind and subservient. I should know. This is a business, and a successful business model dictates that we lavish the customer with enough appreciation to ensure they’ll come running back year after year.”

“Not like they have a choice when this is the only Halloween store in the middle of the mountains.” You fold your arms over your chest and huff. “I was only saying what everyone was thinking. Skulls already told me he wasn’t into her. I saved her from the inevitable heartbreak.”

“By tearing her heart apart before he could?” He raises a bushy brow. “A lie would’ve eased that burden.”

“Oh, so the rules just don’t apply when it’s you? Not very fair or courteous if you ask me.”

Fellow shrugs off the stiffness in his shoulders and pulls up a chair. He points his cane at you. “You’re a scholar, are you not? Full of brains and bursting with brilliance.” It takes all of your restraint to nod instead of giving him the spiel he isn’t asking for. “So what’s this really about?”

Wait, he makes a point. Why did I say that? Who cares if some rando likes Skulls? It’s not my business.

“It’s nothing—” you start to say, but it’s Gidel’s insistent prodding that draws Fellow’s eye.

“Hmm? What’s this?”

He plucks the notebook from Gidel’s sleeved hands and skims through the pages. He’s humming like he’s about to stumble upon another one of his useless diagnoses. If he calls you lovestruck, you’ll have no choice but to knock him out and diagnose him concussed. Fellow snaps his fingers.

“What? What is it?” You lean forward, expecting something terrifying.

Fellow flips the notebook to reveal a shakily drawn heart. It’s scribbled halfway in with pink crayon. On the next page, amidst Gidel’s handwriting practice, are doodles that could only come from Skully.

“I don’t get it. What am I looking at?”

“An affection chart, would you call it?” He glances at Gidel, who points to the page and nods. “An estimation of affection earned over the course of this work season. He’s more diligent than I thought.”

Gone is his chastising tone. The interrogation room quickly shifts into that of a not-so-clinical doctor’s office.

Oh, great. Dr. Malpractice is in. Just my luck.

“What’s that, Gidel? You also think he isn’t one to give up so easily? Well, that’s our skeleton!” Fellow hums and strokes his chin. “It’s as we all assumed, really. If we’d placed bets, we’d all be receiving the payout.”

“How comforting to know my boss and coworkers were ready to bet on—what?—utter nonsense?”

“It’s certainly not nonsense to him.”

The notebook now in your hands, you flick to the next page and find an assortment of poetic lines amidst Gidel’s own practiced handwriting. Was he…anticipating a change in dynamic this season?

Upon closer inspection it becomes clear that these lines are all the start to something you’ve been hiding from: I wish to share with you the secrets in my heart… Your loveliness outshines even the sun. There is no competition If I could have just one moment of your time to myself, you might finally know of my bittersweet affliction affections.

There are dozens of lines scribbled in swooping cursive and scratched out. All work-in-progress variations of what was to be a patchwork love confession.

“No surprises there,” Fellow says, taking the notebook from your limp hands. “We’ve all had a thought that he might fancy you.”

There’s a punchline to latch onto somewhere in his words, but you can’t seem to find it. You don’t want to if it means you’ll have to wade through the waters of Skully’s love—a love you’ve never been on the receiving end of before.

This is messy. Of course it is. Love is always messy. This is why I don’t do it.

That’s a lie, isn’t it? At least, it’s not the full truth.

You suck in breath through your teeth and release it with a low, agonized hiss. “I need a smoke.”

“Gidel, would you be a dear and assist Mr. Rollo at the front?”

Armed with his hammer and resolute determination, Gidel sees both of you off with a salute. Under the veil of a fifteen-minute break, you and Fellow slip out the back door.

With the grey clouds bunched in the sky, the frosty air grabs at your face like little pinpricks from a needle. You shake off the shiver that threatens to roll through your body and instead focus on popping your casket open. A cigarette poised at your lips, you cup your hands to cover the flame as Fellow takes care to light it. You do the same for him, and within no time you’re standing with your backs to the brick, smoke slithering up to disperse in a frigid zephyr.

You pull the cigarette away from your mouth to speak. “What do you think about love?”

His nose scrunches up as if it’s a particularly odious question. “Love, huh? On a commercial scale, it sells lots of chocolates and teddy bears to the brats foolish enough to believe in sappy stories of true love. Speaking of which, I’m considering opening the shop for other holidays. What say you about taking up work here during the season of Cupid?”

“Oh, now that’d be a right laugh. And our uniforms will be wings and halos. Rollo’ll have no choice but to follow his true calling and become an angel.”

He barks out a laugh. “Quite the angelic ingenuity you have!”

“Ha. Yeah. Awfully angelic, isn’t it?”

He notices your bitter smile then and clears his throat. Smoke comes trailing out.

“You’re moping about something that’s out of your control, dearie.”

Momentarily stunned, you snap your head up to give him a bewildered look. He offers you a smile and it’s the first time you’ve ever seen your normally insincere boss appear so…not insincere.

“When you’re in the business long enough, you learn to pick up on tells.”

“Tells?”

“A little somethin’ that gives you insights into a person’s thoughts and feelings. Think of it like a magnifying glass that zooms in on the tiny details of a big picture. You, Miss (Name), are fixing me with plenty of confusion! But you’re leaning closer; you expect to be told something that may sway you, and you know I, masterful salesman—ahem! Masterful empath—yes, that’s right—that I am, I shall provide just that.”

“That’s less of a tell, though. It’s just my curiosity getting the best of me.”

“Ah, but you’ve always done this whenever something or someone piques your interest.”

You roll your eyes, suddenly freed from the immersion. “Don’t sell me a lie, Fellow.”

“’Tis only a lie if the liar is the first to believe it.”

“And do you?”

“Not at all, for this is a truth that comes right from my heart!” He wraps his arm around you and gestures with his cane, spelling out a vision you can’t yet see in sparkling lights. “Picture it—a life with that dear someone! Who is it you see?”

You gaze past the flourish at his fingertips and picture dozens of people all at once, each one flashing into your mind and then dissolving like short-lived fireworks.

“Well, Rollo and I aren’t gonna stop living together anytime soon.”

“Then perhaps that is love.”

“And Skully and I are…something.”

“Even that, too, is love.”

You turn your head to stare at him, unimpressed. He hums and returns the cigarette to his lips. “You have no concept of love, do you, Fellow?”

“You and I…” His chuckling grows more sheepish by the second, and he drops his arm to his side. You read the gesture as a submissive defeat. “We’re on the same sinking ship.”

“How nice,” you mutter, sarcastic. “I’m not sharing my door with you when that ship finally goes down. But whatever—I’ll bite. If my ‘tell’ is leaning in close, what’s yours?”

“That’s a trade secret.”

“So evasion via flowery speech. Got it.”

Fellow laughs. Even though it wasn’t your intention to joke, you feel yourself cracking a smile.

“Then what about Skully?”

“That boy…” Fellow rubs his chin in thought. “I’d say he looks at you like you’re the only one in the world.”

“That’s not a tell. That’s an assumption. A baseless one, at that.”

“His pupils dilate more for you than they do for any one of us.”

“Ew. These observations feel so stalkerish.”

“I don’t need the full story to know what’s in that lover boy’s heart.” Before you can provide context, he shakes his head. “In fact, I don’t want the full story. Keep those smutty details to yourself.”

“And here I thought you were one of the girls, Fellow.” You smirk at him. “Don’t wanna hear how Skulls and I went at it like rabbits?”

Fellow pulls a face. “Your ability to be so shamelessly candid is…a skill. Whether it’s impressive or even remotely useful leaves much open for debate. But, no, I think you’d benefit from the increase in reading comprehension after reconsidering that exchange.”

The sardonic laugh sticks in your throat. You’d take offense at that backhanded comment if he wasn’t right. Technically.

“So what do you recommend I do? I don’t wanna break his heart.”

I care about him.

“Therein lies your answer. If you’re so keen to shatter the hearts of every other twerp, what’s preventing you from doing the same to Skully?”

“Because he’s Skulls, duh. What the fuck is this, Fellow? An elementary-grade brain teaser?”

“You’re the scholar,” he says like it’s common sense. “Use that beautiful brain of yours to work out a solution.”

“Gee. Thanks a bunch, Professor.”

“If you want my advice,” he adds, puffing out smoke, cigarette balanced between his fingers, “you should start being honest with yourself and what you want. No more lying. It’s all you brats do nowadays…” He clicks his tongue, only half-disappointed.

You elbow him harshly. “Your age is showing, Gramps.”

“I resent that! I’m still plenty young. Moreover, it wounds me to be demoted to a nursing home in the span of seconds.”

Gazing out at the gravel road, you recall the day you and Skully spun around in waltz. It was a dance meant to shake loose the nerves that had gripped you from the first clap of thunder. It’s only been a few weeks since that magical evening, yet the memory feels even more distant. It’s as if the world has split in two, placing you and Skully on opposite sides.

The silence seeps into your skin, invading your brain like a parasite. You think back on yesterday and realize it’s taken on the dewy quality of a dream. When you close your eyes, you can still see Skully hunched over you, the look in his eyes so full of devotion. As if laying with you was something religious—as if you were a deity in need of a disciple.

What I want… Huh.

“Well, I believe that just about does it!” Fellow announces, stubbing out his cigarette. “Quite the chat we’ve had, but there’s much to be done inside. Come along now.”

Comforted by the whoosh-whooshing of the wind, you follow his lead and drive your cigarette into the dirt. Your voice is almost swallowed in the breeze. “Thanks, Fellow.”

“Is this what I think it is?” He takes hold of your arm, lifting it up to view the gaping, coin-sized hole in the sleeve.

“Another one? It’s never-ending with this sweater!” you lament, shaking your head. “I really should throw it out. It’s way past its expiration.”

Each multi-patterned patch has been carefully sewn into the rips and tears, emptiness mended via Fellow’s nurturing hand. His needlework was sloppy in the beginning—when this sweater was a size too big and you’d just started at the shop—but now you’ve grown into it and so, too, has the love worn into the wool.

“Not real wool,” Fellow would say while you sat patiently and he worked his magic, “but then no one asks the worth of fool’s gold when they’re too blinded by its shine.”

“We’ll have to get that patched up,” he says instead, brushing off your previous remark. You won’t mention it, but something tells you he’s grown attached to this relic of a sweater. It’s been through a lot, battered frequently and now boasting conflicting colors and wild repairs. “No employee of mine will go around in tatters.”

You lift your hands and laugh. “You gotta admit. I did a damn good job taking care of it for so many years.”

“I’m surprised you even held onto it. It’s not worth much.”

“Maybe not to you with its fake wool.” You grab at the hem to admire the pilling. “But, believe it or not, this has become my comfort sweater.”

Fellow huffs out a disbelieving breath. “Feeling sentimental is about as valuable as a rock.”

“And when you split that rock open, there’s a possibility you’ll find jade. Don’t judge a book and all that, remember?”

“Yes, yes. Enough with the antique wisdom. Now in you go.” Rolling his eyes at the heavens above, Fellow prods you through the doorway with his cane.

You miss the affection that fights for a place on his face, softening all of his rough edges. Edges that have eroded and sharpened in the name of survival.

That, too, is love.

“Whatcha writing?”

As soon as your voice invades his ears, Skully angles his body away out of protective instinct. His arms shift to cover the open pages of a leather-bound journal. Dry lips set in a thin line, he narrows his eyes at you.

“Ooh, is it a secret? Maybe something dirty? It’s gotta be if you’re so intent on hiding it. You can tell me. I won’t snitch.”

Just then, a thick packet of student council paperwork comes down upon your head. The assailant? Rollo Flamme—your new roommate and recurring headache.

“Fellow, can you please exercise your power as boss and fire her?” he asks, readying his arm for another punishing thwap.

His noncommittal response floats over from between the shelves. “Unfortunately, no.”

“What?! Hey!” You round on Rollo, matching his glower with equal ferocity. “Not my fault we applied to the same place. Why don’t you quit instead? That option ever occur to you, brainiac?”

“To think I have the misfortune of sharing a living space and now a job with a bad-tempered nuisance such as yourself…”

“I hope you know I’m so not gonna vote for you when you run for president.”

“I won’t need your measly vote.” Pride flashes in his eyes. “But I thank you for making your stance clear.”

Having caught wind of this incessant bickering, Gidel wanders over to you and, taking hold of your hand, forces you to lock fingers with Rollo. You remain trapped in a silent staring match with him until, eventually, you break away with a huff. Rollo cleans his hand with his handkerchief.

“We won’t fight anymore in the store, Gidel.”

“It’s (Name) who carelessly picks fights.”

“What was that, Snow Fright?!”

“You! Have you no respect?!”

Gidel frowns at both of you, and that’s your cue to hush up and feign friendship.

“Sorry, sorry.” Hoping to placate him, you wrap your arm around Rollo and lean most of your weight on him. He shrivels at the contact. “Starting today, we’re besties!”

He peers between you, assessing the validity of this claim, before an approving smile perks on his lips. As soon as he’s turned his back, though, you’re distancing yourself from Rollo. He returns to reviewing his paperwork, prim as ever, and soon your attention falls on a very gloomy Skully.

You rest your elbows on the counter. “Are you keeping a diary?”

It seems like he won’t answer you—he’s the silent, brooding type you’ve noticed—but then he snaps his journal shut and addresses you.

“I’m detailing my plans for Halloween.”

“Ooh. Nice, nice.” He doesn’t reply, so you take the initiative even though it’s obvious he isn’t interested in conversation. “So what do these plans of yours entail?”

Again, he levels you with an uncertain frown. “I’m going to spend Halloween in desolate solitude, enshrouded in darkness with naught but a singular pumpkin lantern.”

“Uh…huh.” You nod like you understand, but it sounds patently absurd. “That’s it? Sounds…historic.”

“Naturally. This is a town-honored tradition.”

Your nose wrinkles. “And that’s it?”

“I beg your pardon?” He tilts his head at you like a spider trying to make sense of the creature wound in its web.

“You’re not going to throw a party? You must decorate for Halloween at least, right? Or what about candy? That’s practically a staple for any holiday. Halloween without candy is like an addict without their fix.”

Appalled, Skully stares at you. You’re unprepared to face the brunt of his uncompromising attitude, and the subsequent harangue almost knocks you off your feet.

“How could you say such things? Halloween is a time meant for reflection and contemplations of mortality. It’s to be celebrated with absolute simplicity: in silence, in darkness, and alone. There will be no games or other fatuous nonsense like candy and decorations. It’s a solemn occasion! Absolutely no parties. It would be a disservice to such a sacred occasion by even entertaining thoughts of those noisy, disrespectful displays. It’s about fear, nightmares, and tradition.”

“Right.” You give a conciliatory nod. It’s obvious his opinion isn’t going to be swayed, but you’re nothing if not the most persistent of pains. “Well, once you’re done with that, how about you join Rollo and me for a good, old-fashioned party in the woods? It’ll be my first Halloween in this sleepy town. I’ve gotta do something to make it memorable!”

Skully blinks at you. ��Did you not just hear me? Halloween is—”

“And where do you get the confidence to lump me in with your plans?” Rollo interjects, peering at you from over the top of his files.

“Because I know your socially inept ass has nothing better to do.” You slink over to him and pluck the paperwork out of his hands, which earns you an indignant shout of, “Hey!” from him. “Consider it a roommate-coworker bonding exercise. We’re a team—at least as far as splitting rent goes—so we’ve gotta stick together. From now on, it’s peace and love.” To illustrate this point, you form a heart with your hands and wink at the unsmiling Rollo.

His repugnance is palpable, but that isn’t going to deter you from a good time.

“So how about it, Skulls? Can I call you that?”

He hesitates and then opens his mouth. Three consecutive knocks tumble out instead. Pulled from the pupa of a vivid dream, a slimy insect spreading its wings, you blink your eyes open against the harsh shine of morning’s light. There’s another set of knocks on the door and you sink under the blankets, hoping to block the noise out.

Rollo’s voice sails into your room from next door. “It’s your turn to greet the mystery visitor.”

“That’s bullshit,” you grumble into your pillows, hugging one of them to your chest. “You do it! I’m not wearing pants.”

“Then put some on! I answered the door last time.”

You groan loud enough so Rollo will hear and know what a hassle this is for you before sliding out of bed. Your initial reluctance is replaced with annoyance as soon as more knocking resounds, this time a touch impatient. Stepping into your shorts, you yank them up and slide your feet into a pair of fuzzy slippers. You catch sight of the time and sigh.

It’s way too early. Don’t people enjoy sleeping in on their weekends anymore?

“I’m coming, I’m coming! Hold on!”

You pull a sweater over your head on your way through the hall and then, smoothing the very wrinkled front down, rip the door open to meet a finely dressed Skully. He must be on his way to work, for his bicycle is propped against a tree. You peer past him at the backpack and Jack Skellington-themed helmet hanging from the handlebars. And then you look back at him. His arms are twisted behind his back, hiding something unwieldy.

“Oh. Uh, hey.”

“G-Greetings! Did I wake you? My apologies if I did.”

“Not at all. I was already up.” You spare a glance at the hall and, sensing Rollo’s going to spend a few more minutes tucked in his room, you step out onto the stoop and shut the door. “I’m glad you’re here. I think we should talk if you have time.”

“Yes, of course! That’s actually why I’ve come.” He produces a heart-shaped wreath of flowers and holds it out to you. Half-concealed by the autumnal blooms, he attempts a shy smile. “I’m very sorry for that day. I crossed a boundary and it wasn’t my intention to make you uncomfortable. I do hope you’ll forgive me. I’ve made this for you in hopes of conveying my sincerity.”

You take it from him and admire the imperfect heart. “You…made this? It’s beautiful.”

He nods, bashful. “It took me a few days to gather and prepare the flowers. I would’ve come much sooner. Alas.”

You turn it over for a perfunctory inspection. He took the time to make this by hand and then deliver it to me in person.

“Skulls, it’s not your fault. None of this is. It’s mine.” Before he can object, you shake your head at him. “I should’ve known better. I thought we were on the same page and because of that I was willing to fool around, but your feelings don’t align with mine. I didn’t mean to hurt you. It was a misunderstanding on my end. So I’m the one who’s sorry.”

You cringe at the thorny apology. Most of that sounded better in your head.

“I’m not hurt. I… I could never be. Not when you’ve treated me with so much kindness.” He averts his gaze and speaks in a softer tone. “Not when you understand me. So…um. I wouldn’t mind continuing this. Like what you did with Salad Fingers.”

Anyone with a shred of common sense would balk at his suggestion of casual sex after learning the context, which is precisely why you’re quick to shut that notion down.

“Friends with benefits doesn’t work like that.”

“But… But it does. Am I misunderstanding something? Forgive me. I’ve never done this before.”

“The whole point of friends with benefits is that it’s completely loveless. No romance. No strings attached. No expectations for anything outside of the bedroom. But you’re in love, Skulls. It’s not gonna work. If anything, it’ll only hurt you more.”

“But I’m not hurt,” he insists. “I won’t get hurt. I can do it. Please, (Name), believe in me. I love you. I’d do anything for you.”

Your stomach lining curdles, and amidst the internal unrest Fellow’s words only serve to gut you further: You should start being honest with yourself and what you want.

How can you do that when you don’t even know the first thing about honesty?

“That’s exactly why it’s a recipe for disaster. You…love me—” you choke around that sentence— “and I… Listen, Skulls, I’m flattered. I really appreciate you and everything you’ve done, but I’m not going to sleep with you again when I know it’s just gonna make things worse.”

“Why? What’s so wrong with it?”

“Because it’ll complicate things.”

“Then… So then we can compromise and avoid that! Surely that’s a possibility? It won’t change our friendship.”

“I’m sorry, but my answer is no. I don’t want to hurt you.”

��You’re not. I promise you.”

“I am. I might.”

Skully drags his hands through his hair. “I don’t understand what’s so difficult. If you love someone, you should be willing to do anything for them—”

“Not at the cost of your own happiness and well-being.”

“That doesn’t matter!” he shouts, and you flinch back. Skully winces and tries again. “My… My happiness… You’re my happiness. I was all alone before you moved here—nothing more than a quiet, transparent existence. I thought my peers were foolish and thick-headed. They could never understand me. Not like you do. You were my first friend. You mean so much to me. That’s why I want to do this.”

It feels like you won’t get anywhere with him, going back and forth like this, and if you raise your voice to match his the neighbors might poke their heads out. You don’t want to cause a scene. You don’t want to break his heart. You don’t want to do any of this.

But you have to.

“You wanna know why this won’t work? You want a clear example?” You shake the wreath at him and a few petals flutter loose. “This. This is done out of love. Your poems about me were written out of love. Everything you’ve just said is love. That defeats the whole point of casual! If we repeat what we did, it will hurt because I don’t love you. And if we do it again and again, you’re going to fall harder and it’ll end terribly when I can’t give you the things you want or need from me.”

The scowl brewing on his face freezes. You realize your delivery was far from gentle. It shows in the tears that have started to gather in the corners of his eyes. He looks like a kicked puppy. Regret swells in your chest.

“Wait, hold on. I didn’t mean—fuck. Skulls, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean… I like you. It’s just that—”

I can’t love you. I’m terrified.

“No, I understood quite well,” he manages over a voice crack. “Even you…”

You don’t hear the rest of that sentence. In an effort to soften the verbal blow, you try a lighthearted tone. “If it makes you feel any better, a girl came by looking for you a few days ago.”

A girl I chased off for some reason.

Skully doesn’t reply. On rusted hinges, he turns away from you and carries on down the row of doors. You hesitate. Should you say something? What else can you say that won’t dig the knife even deeper into his heart? Devastation chomps its jaws around your jugular. It’s a feeling you’ve never felt before. You’re used to breaking off spiraling situationships and cutting ties with obsessed bed partners.

This feels more like the end to a cherished friendship.

The door creaks open before the tidal wave of tragedy can wash over and drown you completely. “I heard yelling. Is everything all right?” Rollo spies Skully pulling his bike along the path. His attention lands on the wreath next. “Ah.”

“That…didn’t go how I wanted it to.”

“I don’t suspect it would even if the circumstances were different.”

“I shouldn’t have fucked around like that.”

“I’m certain he would’ve told you eventually. Either way, this is a conversation you needed to have.”

“Felt more like a breakup.” You wilt against the doorframe. “Fuuuck. I ruined everything. I was so mean. I told him I didn’t love him.”

“Well, you don’t.” When you don’t add further support to his claim, he stares at you. “You don’t, right? Or am I mistaken?”

What does it mean to be in love? How do I know that’s what this is? What even is love?

“Yeah. No, yeah. He’s just a friend. That’s all.”

“It’s unfortunate. Hopefully things will sort themselves out.” Neither of you are particularly skilled in the art of comfort, but you’re grateful Rollo’s making an effort to extend an olive branch. “You must be hungry. I’ll start on breakfast.”

That snaps you out of your head. “Absolutely not!” You push through the door to beat him to the kitchen. “I need way more than your twelve grapes and two croissants.”

“I’ll have you know it’s sixteen, and I only eat that for lunch!”

“You eat like it’s wartime. No one’s flying overhead, soldier.”

He scoffs, but an amused smile pricks on his lips. “Forgive me for trying to offer you something to ease your distress.”

Sun cuts in through the curtains, and yet you can’t seem to shake the cold.

What do I want? Am I allowed to want something—to want someone—when I’m so…me?

You can replace that pronoun with a dozen self-loathing adjectives. Through the jumbled fusion your heart garners yet another chip.

third part.

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

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my-rose-tinted-glasses · 7 hours ago

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Weekend Ramblings

Thame·Po Episode 10

Yeah, I'm late but my brain was not working properly on friday, so, now works. Congrats on the sex! I love this friend group so much. This episode was a lot. First of all Baifern needs to go touch grass. I did appreciate that the show went there, all things considering, but she made me mad. And not that I needed more proof, but Po is a better person than me. Also I hate Pemika and this whole thing around idols and dating. It's insane, but obviously eventually the company will come around, cause glass houses and all that. The PepperGam noble idiocy thing was a bit whatever, although still heartbreaking, but I'm hoping this means that our mains won't follow in their footsteps. This show is as close to perfection as I have seen from gmmtv in a while, so let's not ruin it. The best part was definitely seeing the group supporting each other. The hand holding at the press conference had me all emotional. I'm giving up on screaming at Thame. I guess since they were technically already caught, he's not bothered. Not that he acted like he ever was. Thame and Po continue to be them. I just love how even through all this, they keep checking in on each other.

GelBoys Episode 2

Never has a show made me feel so ancient. Also this show is a massive reminder of how much I absolutely hated all that love drama in high school. I had zero patience for it. Obsessively rereading messages, overanalysing every word to find some hidden meaning, wondering, Does he actually like me? Honestly, I’m exhausted just thinking about it. And on top of that, I’m beyond grateful that I didn’t have to deal with any of it in the era of smartphones, social media, selfies, apps, and so on. So much angst. I guess playlists are the new mixtapes. It's certainly easier. I continue to really like the atmosphere, it feels very grounded. And although I like Fou4Mod, I adore Baabin, so I'm not a huge fan of the way Fou4Mod is using him to make Chian jealous. Like since he's his bestie, he could've at least been honest. I'm sure he'd be on board. And I know he's gotta learn this for himself but, Fou4Mod, sweetie, this is a terrible idea. You are going to be crying a lot on that train in the future. But, I mean, who hasn't done that before?

Perfect 10 Liners Episode 17

I got YothaGun and PondSand. What a joy! I really could watch Perth do anything but seeing him being the biggest love sick puppy is a special treat. Faifa seems to have a bit of a savior complex, which we kinda knew but it's pretty obvious now. I love characters that hide their pain behind a smile, and he's so kind on top of that, so of course I love him. I also liked that he noticed Wine's overall mood and checked in with him about boundaries. I'm hoping Wine can break some of his walls and perhaps teach him the word 'NO.' I'm thinking maybe we won't get a side couple this time because we have enough couples to check in with, in between FaifaWine stuff, but we'll see.

The Boy Next World Episode 7

First of all, it was great to see Thorn/Tong again, I keep forgetting this is part of the TharnType Universe. As I said last week, BossNouel can bring it in those scenes, but I still feel like I'm watching RainPhayu. Now Cir, you had to see this coming, no? I mean you only had like a million chances to come clean. I feel bad for Phu, but I gotta say, last week I thought he might have an inkling about this, but maybe not?Now…for that ending and the preview. So not multiple universes, but something else is going on. He's dissociating. I'm intrigued and worried if they will land this part of the story. It seems we'll be getting our beloved amnesia trope and I'm so excited about it. Honestly I was thinking maybe he doesn't really have amnesia and he's faking, but wouldn't that be a bit much, all things considered? I mean, they’re going to end up together, so I’d really love to not completely despise Cir by then. The second half of the episode was strange though, pace wise. It felt a bit disconnected, and rushed. Part of it might be intentional, given Phu's state of mind, but it still felt weird to me. The sides are kinda cute, although I must admit, Wim gets on my nerves a bit. That dude must end each day with a tension headache. Like seriously, he's so tense it makes me stressed. And also, why is he so annoyed by Jin?, cause like he listed a bunch of stuff but honestly I don't see it. Wim needs to forget about Cir for 5 seconds and focus on something else. This animosity feels a bit forced.

Sangmin Dinneaw Episode 8 [Finale]

I honestly don’t even know where to start. I’ve come to expect a certain level of whiplash from this show, but this was on an entirely different level. We went from child abuse and murder plot straight into that cucumber scene. I can’t even begin to imagine the thought process behind it. This was a roller-coaster, and not in a good way. That said, at least we finally got a storyline where a guy gets revenge on his abusive parents, so that wasn’t terrible. But the fact that the hotel dude didn't get run over is unfortunate. Now that it’s over, I genuinely don’t know what to say. The main couple was cute enough, and the sides were decent, but overall, this whole thing was a mess. Honestly, the ending was the only part that felt even remotely normal. And still I'm not sure about the amnesia. But who cares? Most of this makes no sense and I'm not gonna waste any more time trying to figure it out.

#thamepo #gelboys #the boy next world #sangmin dinneaw #thai bl #multi bl #rose rambles #rosygifs #rose weekend ramblings #ok so it might become a thing #or maybe I'm just having two good sundays in a row

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burymagdalene · 1 month ago

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Covetous Cravings - S. Reid x Reader

Spencer finds himself sulking around in jealously for the first time after you regrettably tell him you have plans for the night. When surprising him with your presence later, Spencer realizes just how badly he missed you while he was away.

pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader genre: Smuttttt...... (18+ pls pls) tags: Whiny & desperate Spencer, he's just very eager to please. virgin Spencer, munch!spencer, head (fem!receiving), coital takes place on Spencer's pretty Persian rug, jealous Spencer, fingering, heavy make out session, nipple play, handjob, panty sniffing, Spencer's POV! Dirty dirty dirty wc: 5.3k a/n: I've written "Spencer" so many times it doesn't sound like a name anymore. I saw this tweet and was inspired to write something related to the carpet picture. That's all. I don't even think of you that often.

Cold water washes over Spencer's tired eyes and rolls slowly down his wrists to the bottoms of his sleeves (that he rolled up to avoid getting them wet, annoyingly) as he frantically tries to wash away a strange sour feeling in his gut.

Upon looking into his mirror he gazes over the 5 o’clock shadow he’s garnered over the few days spent away in a small town in Delaware. He pulls in his lips and rubs over it with his finger tips. He doesn’t have the energy to shave it right now.

Spencer is currently harbouring a bit of a sourpuss persona, he knows this well. The team had wrapped up the case quicker than expected, leading him to message you as soon as he could about heading back to D.C. and seeing you again.

To his dismay, when he got off the plane and checked his crummy silver Nokia, that you’ve giggled at a fair share of times, the response he receives from you is… that you’re… busy?

Something about a group of friends at a late night cafe/bar getting together, he didn’t read all of it, pouting so much that he just closed his phone. Spencer is aware you had these plans before he asked to see you. Spencer is aware that he’s back from Delaware earlier than expected. Yet he’s still over his sink, face wet and cold, grumbling about your social life.

The two of you have been together for a couple months now, it’s extremely new, he knows you wouldn’t drop everything upon his arrival, but the whole plane ride home he imagined your ideas around hanging out once he got back. He got his hopes up too high.

He begins to reflect a bit, maybe a better word would be spiral, as he wanders back into his bedroom and unpacks his go bag. I shouldn’t be feeling lousy right now, he thinks. We’ve been dating for 2 months and 3 days, he had missed your two month anniversary while he was away. He couldn’t even text you that day because he was too busy. Should he even text about anniversaries like that? He’s so new to this he has no clue.

Considering your dating timeline now he starts to worry. He’s inexperienced, almost completely… no, yeah, actually completely. He sighs.

You have been over twice, by all the beautiful luck he might have fostered in a past life, he has had the spine-tingling honor to have made out with you those two times as well. After a handful of museum and bookstore dates, even visiting your apartment once, the first time you shared a kiss was when he was showing you Jean-Pierre Melville’s Le Cercle Rouge, attesting it was substantial to the gangster film genre.

When he felt your eyes against the side of his face during the best part of the film, he took a double take at you, seeing an unreadable expression in your eyes. He cringes at the memory of his confusion.

“Th-this part is really good… Pierre’s use of cinematic synecdoche here is perfectly timed compared to–”

You had leaned in closely and started kissing along his jaw as he fumbled through the rest of his explanation till he tapered off into a whimper that was sealed with a kiss planted on his lips. He even reached to the coffee table in front of him while you were kissing to pause the movie, not wanting you to miss anything.

Spencer groans a bit at the memory, a little embarrassed, he now would recognize the signs you were displaying easier. He’s jealous of his past self, having you to himself so unabashedly. He’s jealous of his past time spent with you and he’s jealous of your friends right now who are hearing your laugh and smelling your perfume all night.

He sighs and flops down on his back to his bed. Spencer does not feel jealous often. He feels completely rotten and out of sorts. He thinks, maybe if he would’ve kissed you more suavely that first time you would’ve dropped your plans now. Maybe if he translated the French into English for you in a more sultry voice you’d skip out on a coffee with your friends. Maybe–

Spencer hears a faint knocking on his front door. He looks over at his alarm clock, 12:12 a.m., hm. He’s hallucinating for sure. Like a lonely old man who hears his late wife’s voice in the dark of his haunted halls–

Another tentative knock.

He leaps up from his bed and races over to the front door with his legs moving so fast he feels like he’s in Looney Tunes. His heart starts pounding as he looks through his peephole to see a small blurry version of you shifting on your feet. He scrambles to unlock his door and swing it open.

“Hi!” You smile at him, smelling like strong coffee mixed with whatever lactonic and spicy fragrance you usually wear that curls his toes. You step forward and give him a hug, your arms wrapping around his neck. This springs him into action, wrapping his arms around your waist he mutters out a “wow” against your shoulder. Like he just won a sweepstakes.

You pull away a bit, but Spencer's arms stay around you. “Is it okay I’m here? You never responded to my texts.” You give him a shy smile and he realizes as he was grovelling he didn’t open his phone again after you said you had plans for the night.

“Yes! Yes,” he clears his throat… be suave. “Of course. Um. Was just thinking about you, ha. Come over whenever. Yea. Even if I say I’m busy, come over still, haha.” Shit.

“Ah. Okay, noted. I missed you too, Spencer.” You giggle a little at him and walk into the apartment, leaving him to shut the door behind you. “What were you thinking about?” You muse.

“Ummmm. Le Cercle Rouge.” Spencer clears his throat again. IQ slashed to 60.

“The Le Cercle Rouge incident, right.” You laugh again and look over at where he’s standing with a blank face. “Oh. Are you sure it’s okay that I'm here? I know I said I was busy, so I’m sure you’re ready for bed now, especially after the case. Did that go well?” His blank expression has made you nervous, he notices, though he was just considering again the feeling of his neck being kissed for the first time in 24 years.

“Please stay. A while, too. I’m not tired.” A pause with long eye contact. “The case went surprisingly well, hence the early arrival.”

The curve of your lip pulls up in a smirk and he sees he’s convinced you fully now. You bend down and unzip the sides of your brown high rise boots, leaving you in your black tank top, skirt, and now kneehigh socks that create a monochromatic wet dream for Spencer. Though this isn’t a dream, he shakes his head from side to side to get rid of the distracting thoughts.

“Good.” You sit down fully on his red carpet now, trying to pull your last boot off. “You know, you were a really short walk from the coffee shop, I’m surprised you’ve never been. As soon as you texted you were back I kept trying to slip away as politely as possible.” You talk while struggling with the shoe.

Spencer takes a deep breath in and meets you on his carpet, sitting on his knees to pull the boot off of you, which was incredibly easy. You were pretending to struggle with it on purpose. Once removed, he sits back against his heels and pushes your knees together by your ankles.

“You walked?” He mumbled back. He would’ve picked you up. He should’ve just checked his phone, told you to have a good night like a proper boyfriend.

“Mm, like five minutes. No worries.”

“Its midnight- I. I can always pick you up.”

You whined your response, “But you weren’t answering your phoneeee.”

Spencer rubs his face with his hands, covering his smile a bit and feeling his skin heating up. “I’m very glad you showed up anyway. Even if it scares me you walked alone this late,” he glances at you leaning back against your hands, knees still pulled together. “You look very pretty.”

“Really? Thanks. I thought so too. About you, I mean. You’ve got a little 5 o’clock shadow right now, you look really handsome.” You smile and let out an airy laugh. Spencer subconsciously rubs his face again. He’s not sure when these jittery feelings will go away, if they ever will. One compliment from you and he’s feeling a blush coming from inside of him stretch over to his skin.

He remembers his petulance earlier, his flair for the dramatics. Whining over people other than him seeing you, cursing his past self for awkward conversations, so he leans over onto his hands and knees and kisses your lips.

You hum against his lips, knees together against one of his sides, happy at Spencer's first time initiating a kiss between you. You sit up off of your hands now so they can cup his face and pull him firmer against you. Taking one of his wrists from where he’s planted on the floor to the other side of you, you guide him to slowly hover over you.

Spencer can’t help but let out a tiny noise, a moan, against you as his palms dig uncomfortably into his carpet. He feels you lean back against your elbows and swing one of your legs to the other side of him. Now, you are pressed flat against the carpet, legs on either side of his waist. Spencer slowly moves so he’s on top of your frame, elbows crowning your head.

Both times Spencer has had the pleasure of tasting you like this you have been straddling him on his couch. This is the first time that he’s been able to lay on top of you and feel his hip bones dig into you and your legs around him.

Woah. Your legs are wrapped around him, just like how he’s dreamed of having you in his bed. Legs squeezing helplessly around him as he buries himself in you. Feeling your chest against his as you arch up into him. He lowers one hand to trail it up from your shins covered in your knee highs that make him faint to your hip.

He pushes his crotch down a bit from where it was against yours, making it so the hard-on he’s now sporting is against the floor now. He remembers the visceral feeling of you kissing his neck. Immediately he’s moving down to return the favor. What starts in soft kisses escalates quickly to sucking and laving against your skin, face buried into the source of his wildest dreams, your perfume.

Your hands are carding through his hair right now, nails scratching at him softly and he has to position himself a bit closer to the ground now to rub off some built up tension his cock is begging for. This is usually where you part.

Face buried in your neck he’s smelling your intoxicating scent and moaning against the skin. He feels like a wild animal smelling a pheromone filled scent gland. Spencer realizes briefly where he is and pulls up from your neck to stare down at your face.

Hair haloing around you, you’re feverish and pressed against the Persian rug he spent his first big paycheck on. You have a bit of mascara smudged under your eyes and the lamps scattered around his living room are highlighting you in a way so beautiful he moans out again softly. No friction, no kissing, just by looking at you.

“I’m so glad you’re here,” he traces the line of your neck up and down softly with the tips of his fingers. “I almost drowned in my sorrows before you knocked on my door.” He leans back down and chuckles against the skin of your neck.

You don’t have exactly the same romantic thoughts in mind as you gasp out for the first time since he’s laid on you, “You feel so good against me, Spence. Wanted this so bad,” he stops kissing, breathing lightly against your neck as you continue. “Can’t believe I haven’t pulled you on me sooner.” He’s blinking silently hidden in the corner of your neck. He acts on a whim and bites down lightly against where your neck and shoulder meet and you squeal.

Spencer was not prepared for the blazing eye contact he’d be met with once pulling away to look at you. Your tank top has ridden down, the top of your pink bra showing a bit and your hair is drastically more disheveled than when you arrived. He can feel his heart in his throat. He has to keep making you let out that sound.

You seem to notice his brazen eyeline and you take one hand to pull the neckline of your top down a bit, exposing most of the bra covering your breasts that are only slightly spilling out from all your wiggling. Spencer shuts his eyes like he’s in pain, but he’s actually moving his hips up and away from the floor so he doesn’t come in his pants right then and there.

A completely new and formidable heat spreads over him and into his loins. Never in his life has Spencer trembled with anticipation in this way. His skin is on fire and he’s struck with the overwhelming need to make you the happiest person in this world. He wants to have you shiver and shudder completely against his apartment floor, he wants to hear every moan and grunt until your voice gives out. He wants to fuck you with his mouth.

“Gah-God, baby,” Spencer moves himself away from you so that he’s kneeling between your open thighs, rubbing the outsides of your legs as he looks into your eyes. “My mouth. Um, can I use my mouth?” He lets out a shaky breath at the image.

You bite your lip softly at him, he feels like he just licked the screen on one of those old staticy TVs he used to have. “Use your mouth for what?” You half play coy and half ask in earnest, not wanting to jump to conclusions since you and Spencer have never taken off many layers together.

“I want to use my mouth to make you cum.” His face flushes immediately, your eyes widen in shock. He drags his sight down to where you lay in front of him. Legs spread open and skirt ridden up giving him an obscene upskirt of your underwear for him. Also black. He keeps his eyes there as you reply.

“Yeah. Please, please-” he whips his head up to look at your face again to engrain the image of you unkempt and nodding a desperate yes into his memory. He lightly reaches out between your thighs to briefly feel the bottom of your panties. He’s barely thinking, his first instinct was to gauge how wet you are, to compare it to how you’re going to feel later. You gasp sweetly and he moans in response, untouched, again.

With this searing hot permission Spencer gets hit with a strong pietistic devotion towards you. There is literally nothing in his life that has mattered more to him right now than how the gusset of your panties stick onto you and that his tongue can finally be given the task he has thought about constantly since knowing you.

The anxiety Spencer was expecting as a result of his inexperience is completely overthrown by a perfectly instinctual autopilot setting he falls into. The excitement of making you feel good, you letting him touch you in such a profound way completely overshadows the doubt of his expertise.

Not that he’s completely clueless. Erotica classics hide in his bookshelves, copies of Anaïs Nin’s short stories, the detailed counts of female pleasure derived from biology books, decent sex education stemming from the countless hours he’s poured into literature. He’s fairly in tuned to what generally makes people crumble, he just has to try it out himself.

Spencer starts at the top again. The push and pull between him and eating you out the way he’s craving will have to drone on a little longer as he starts kissing along the exposed skin of your breasts, not wanting to leave anything unkissed. How rude.

You outstretch your neck to him and slide the tank top off yourself, leaving just your pink lace bra that's covering little of your nipples. Spencer fingers the straps briefly while taking in the sight of you. He cannot believe the cosmic circumstances that have led him to this moment.

“D’you like?” you mumble while watching him eye-fuck you. He almost feels sorry for how he’s watching your chest rise and fall but the way his dick is pulsing under the confines of his underwear allows for little words.

In fact, his hips kick a twitch forward at the sound of your voice. A siren song as old as time.

“MmmIwanna,” Okay. Form words. “I wanna-” he pities himself enough to give up on that one and kisses along your chest again.

“Do what you want to. I want to feel you everywhere… I want you to touch me.” You seem to understand his dilemma. A once articulate tongue falls flat in such a frenzied situation.

Spencer palms your tits through your bra properly now while kissing you sloppily. He feels the friction of the lace against his palm and your hardened nipple receiving the rough friction from it as well. He picks up on your whine against his lips and pulls your bra down by the middle of it, exposing your chest fully.

You gasp against his lips and move your tongue against his as a thanks. Spencer lets out a tiny “ah” from the back of his throat when your tongues meet. To regain composure he takes the nipple he was palming through lace earlier and rolls it between his middle finger and thumb, it’s your turn to kick your hips up for friction now.

He decides to lower his hips against yours fully for the first time, desperately searching for that debauching pleasure that he was avoiding earlier. His dick rests nicely under your belly button and you bite his bottom lip when he’s fully settled against you, he feels sort of proud.

Feeling your body completely pressed against him in this way makes him mourn every second he’s been with you and not made you moan in happiness like he is now. Wishing that the pesky virginity he’s carried with him this long will be taken by this angel underneath him right now. His cock twitches against you at the thought of it.

He stops fiddling with the nipple and instead moves to hold one of your hands with his as his other hand moves to rub your neglected nipple. He subtly grinds a long and slow rhythm against where you two are pressed together and you make a curious noise, a full moan caught before getting let out. Nudged in your throat as you hold it in.

Spencer thinks for a moment and smiles at the realization that it sounds almost exactly like how you hold back a laugh in your throat. A small and choked out “hngh” high pitched before its snuffed out. He thinks of any future endeavors where he gets to hear you hold back a laugh in a quiet museum or library from one of his stupid jokes. With this comparison he’s going to be pathetically hard in so many more inappropriate situations now.

“Please, can you please take my panties off.” You mewl gently, almost as if you’re worried he will refuse, and break him out of his thoughts. Spencer nearly forgot how lost in his head he was while methodically rubbing your sensitive breasts and grinding against you.

“Pretty girl, I’m sorry.” He really is, he never wants you to feel so desperate you have to beg for him to touch you, but without interference he could probably sit for eight hours straight playing with your tits to see if you could come from it. He whines out loud at the thought. “I will, of course, I will.”

The feeling of him peeling himself off you feels tortuous. However, it is very much a high risk, high reward scenario when he looks down between your thighs again to see a wetter fabric clad to your hips. Spencer leans towards you, pushes your socks down slightly to kiss the tops of each of your knees. You giggle and he nips the inside of your leg slightly.

It’s dizzying, the experience of pulling your panties down for the first time. Every night where he has sloppily fucked his fist thinking of your smile lines and pretty hands, every evening after you’ve left his apartment well kissed has finally led to this life altering moment.

Your panties have been slid off and he’s got an iron grip on them as he’s staring at you fully exposed, the translucent liquid smudged around your cunt. He’s trying incredibly hard to not push them up to his nose and inhale, he thinks he’s done enough animalistic sniffing and grunting at you tonight. He places them neatly on the couch instead.

“Baby, Spence, you’re a voyeur.” You laugh at his staring gently, he assumes 25% of this experience for you has been watching him stare bug eyed at every inch of skin you’ve surrendered. He lays down flat on his tummy, sucking in air through his teeth as his dick presses against his carpet through his slacks again. “Feel sensitive, that feels like a lot?” You ask softly down at him. He flushes, embarrassed a little that you notice him the exact same way he notices you. Spencer pinches his eyebrows together and nods.

“Feels.. real good though.” He laughs gently at himself as you groan and rest your head back down on the carpet at how sweet he is.

He wraps his arms tightly underneath your thighs to pull your pussy closer to him, your skirt riding up to your belly in the process. He feels you squirm a little under his arms and kisses the skin above your hip flexors softly.

His heart skips a beat when he’s up close to you, a sliver of doubt creeping up along with the immeasurable need to make you feel good. Spencer takes his tongue out and licks a broad stripe up from right below your opening to above your clit. This is more for himself, actually. He wants to taste every single drop you expelled from him kissing and touching you, it’s what he deserves.

Spencer's arms immediately have to resist against your thighs moving shut, using a bit of his strength to keep you open as he does it again. This time he moves his head slightly side to side. The whine he hears coming from your lips makes him take one arm away without thinking to hold your lips open and wraps his lips around your clit.

The open window you get without one arm suspending your leg allows you to close one thigh to the side of his face while the other is still pried open by him. He continues to suck gently, pulls away and lifts up the skin covering your clit, kisses it softly, you let out a pitiful sobbing noise and Spencer sucks your clit again, rolls it between his lips.

You help him out by taking your other thigh away from his face and holding it up yourself. “Wh-who taught you to do this?” You squeak out giving him a sense of confidence he’s been desperately striving for. Spencer cannot bear to part from your cunt to reply so he just hums lowly against you, hoping that you get his message of I daydream about doing this to you every waking moment through the vibrations he’s emitting.

He feels you rock your hips against his face greedily and he smiles a toothy grin against you. His perfect pliant girl, he couldn’t be happier to have your wetness rubbed against his nose as he dives into you.

Wanting to escalate the scenario a bit, he’s internally pleading to feel you cum against his face, Spencer begins to suck harshly and suction onto your clit intermittently. The loud “fuck” you whimper out and how your torso isolates to twist to the side as you keep your hips in place is a good indicator that he’s making you feel good. This is a dream.

“Hh- mmmm” you cry out and Spencer flickers his gaze up to your face. You’re scrunching your face like a sweet bunny and have one hand up and posed above his head, waiting to push him away, the pleasure so strong you have to implicitly prepare yourself to shove him away when it gets to be too much. He moans highly against you.

The hand you had defensively propped up begins to lightly push at his face, he smiles at this, suctions your clit through his lips and runs circles over it with his tongue, your hand falls limply to your side.

“Fingers- ah, fingers!” You manage to gasp out one more plea before sucking your lips in and moaning deeply against them.

You seriously do not have to ask him twice. Being able to feel you twitch and grip around his fingers while he sucks on your clit has him pushing himself against the floor. The bordering on painful stimulation he’s getting from using all his body weight to hump his carpet sends tingles up and down his spine. As you said, sensitive.

Spencer starts by tracing your entrance with his middle finger, he slips in easily just by doing that, your slick and his spit making the intrusion incredibly easy. He wastes no time pulling his finger up against your g-spot and slips in his ring finger alongside it, rubbing slick circles inside of you.

The noises your cunt is making from his incessant sucking and rubbing could probably be heard from any of his neighbors walking by his front door. He gasps hotly at this thought, what are you doing to him? Has he no shame?

You’re riding his face and fingers again, mumbling intelligible sentences. God, his cock hurts.

“Baby, close, don’t stop-” The angelic words fall from your mouth and his ears perk up like an owner saying her dog's favorite words to it. Spencer continues exactly what he’s doing against you and looks up at you again through your back arching.

He can feel you twitching and senses you’re done for. If only he could talk and eat you out at the same time, he wants to call you pretty until tears come from your eyes. You gasp wetly and come all over his fingers.

Your thighs clamp against his head and he lets you do whatever you need to do to his face to get off. He’s rubbing soft and soothing circles against your hips as you hiccup through your orgasm.

You open your mouth as if you have something to say, and close it again, shuddering out a breath of air. Spencer pulls away, he can talk again.

“My good girl, thank you. I mean, you tasted so good… you’re so pretty, my pretty, oh my god-” He’s got a lot on his mind right now.

Spencer watches and follows your movements as you sluggishly sit up to kiss him, moving your tongue against his in an eager display to taste yourself against his lips, he whines again, feeling your warmth against him. When you palm him through his pants Spencer stutters out a pornographic “hnnn”, the friction from his rubbing against the floor has left him painfully needy.

“Can I take your cock out baby?” You ask against his neck. Spencer is aware of the embarrassing uhhuh uhhuh he releases as he scoots back against his couch. You don’t bother teasing him, taking out his red dripping dick from his pants and underwear and you don’t even giggle when it makes a whip sound as it taps against his skin.

He actually has to close his eyes after watching you whine in overstimulation as you collect your come from yourself to use it as lubrication to jerk him off with it. He’s genuinely going to pass out.

With a mouth open to the shape of an “o”, Spencer has an onslaught of tiny gentle noises that fill up the room alongside the skin slapping sound of you jerking him off. You touch the crown of his dick and one of his arms shoots out to brace himself against the couch.

He accidentally grabs your panties he placed on the couch earlier.

Not thinking, he grips onto them and you kiss his cheek. “Want em’?” You tease. “My panties are in my top drawer next time you come over and want to snoop around.” You joke further, a red flush of humiliation covers Spencer's neck and chest. He slowly moves his grip on them over to his nose. Too far gone to have the same self-control he had earlier to set them aside, he finally indulges in taking in your scent.

He’s somewhat expecting more prodding and teasing, but you just continue to kiss over his face softly. He’s so thankful.

There’s no surprise to the fact you have him coming especially fast. Spencer feels his legs twitch and he sets down your panties to kiss you properly as he finishes all over your fist.

As he comes down from this unexplainable high he is struck with such a tender feeling of affection towards you his eyes water. You notice and scoot onto his legs and lap and wrap your arms around him in a hug.

Not letting go until you feel him chuckling against you, you ask him how he feels and he sighs out dramatically. He’s so exhausted now.

You shyly offer to wet-vac his carpet once you guys move to clean yourselves up and he breaks out into a laughter that makes his stomach hurt. You eventually join his contagious laughter at the situation.

Spencer’s suggestion for you to stay a while is accepted with open arms. You spend your first night together wrapped up in each other's embrace. Being back in his own bed with you here settles his mind so gently that within three minutes of his head hitting the pillow he’s out like a light.

In the morning when he wakes up for work he rubs his nose softly all over your face to wake you up. Spencer offers that you stay in his bed and sleep more or he can drive you back to yours before he heads over to work. He ends up driving you home so you can get ready for work yourself. Once you’re back home he finally opens up his phone again from last night to see a picture of yourself you sent on the walk to his apartment last night with the text under it “Had to come see you anyway, hope the doors unlocked mwahaha”.

He finds himself smiling at his missed message all day at work and once he’s seated back in his car to go home later that day he finally finds the “forgotten” panties you left on his passenger car seat when you left this morning.

Spencer flushes then pockets them before texting you that he is in fact not a voyeur or a perv and he did not put your panties in his pocket and he is not asking you to come over again tonight so he can cook you a pasta dinner before he lays you out for him again, hopefully on his bed this time.

#spencer reid #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x reader #spencer x reader #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid smut #smut

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darkmatilda · 25 days ago

Text

𝐦𝐢𝐫𝐫𝐨𝐫 | 𝐬.𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐝

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: your relationship is still very new, and you're getting ready to tell the rest of the team about it. in the meantime, you find yourselves again in another unusual hotel...where suddenly spencer starts acting very strangely?

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬/𝐩𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐚𝐥 𝐭𝐰: glasses spencer reid x newbau!female!reader, fluff, intimacy conversation, spender being adorably shy

𝐚/𝐧: 'matilda how many more times are you gonna write that one bed trope' AS MUCH AS I CAN TILL I DIE btw i wrote this fic over a pretty long period of time, had a main idea (supposedly), but in the end i'm not happy with how it turned out—kinda all over the place. anyway, enjoy

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬: 4.8k

"My five dollars"

Spencer sighed and reached into his jacket pocket to pull out the slightly crumpled bill. You closed it in your hand, a triumphant smile on your face.

"Let's make bets more often, darling," you suggested.

When you used that nickname, his gaze briefly flickered over your face, as if studying whether it had been said purely in jest.

"You’re puffing up like you just invented the wheel," he said, gently shaking his head from side to side. "And just to remind you, all you did was park parallel."

"Parked parallel, indeed. And my coffee?"

He also handed you the paper cup he’d been holding while you performed those incredibly complicated car maneuvers that the bet was about. It was morning, the first day back at work. January, the first days of the new year. You had just arrived at the office parking lot in your car, after spending the night at your place. Everything around you still seemed to smell of that melancholic blend of the past mixed with the fresh scent of the coming months. And coffee, bought at the café on the way.

You took a tiny sip of the hot drink. Spencer, it seemed, hadn’t touched his even once. Both of you, consciously or not, were stretching out the moment just a little longer. And, truth be told, you could afford to. The parking lot around you was only beginning to fill with cars, suggesting the early hour. It was nice to sit there together, sharing the quiet without any discomfort.

You realized this was supposed to be your first day at work as a couple.

A warm, pleasant feeling spread through you at the sound of that word, even though you hadn’t said it out loud. It still felt a little unreal. You had grown closer during the New Year’s Eve party at your place. It was only after that shared—and not just one—kiss that a new perspective dawned on you about the past months of your relationship, revealing some undefined emotions.

"I was wondering..." Spender suddenly began, his brows furrowed slightly, pulling you out of your thoughts.

His gaze suddenly fell on his watch.

"We still have some time," you reassured him calmly. "Let me guess. You've been wondering what would happen if we crossed the DNA of a jellyfish that can reverse its life cycle with the human genome?"

A small smile flickered across his face, a touch of affection despite the rather serious expression on the rest of his face.

"That too," he admitted, nodding. Then he opened his mouth, with some visible hesitation, as if a particular question was troubling him. You shifted in the driver's seat, preparing for whatever he wanted to discuss, whatever he wanted to ask. "How...how are we supposed to act...you know, towards each other? At work?"

For a moment, your brain didn’t understand what he meant. But then, a fleeting oh escaped you as the meaning of his words sank in, and you realized that it was indeed something worth considering. Somehow, over the past few days, neither of you had brought it up. You had just gone back to work, without any reflection on the fact that none of your colleagues knew about the progress in your relationship. About how it had suddenly taken a step to a completely different level.

Spencer studied your face in silence, waiting for a response. As he looked at you, coming up with a logical solution became incredibly difficult. Before you finally said anything, you let out two half-intelligent mutters, like a fish thrown onto the surface.

"We have to tell them," you finally said, stating the obvious. "Somehow. Maybe...we can meet at my place this weekend. All of us. Or we could go out somewhere, and then tell them calmly."

"This weekend?" Spencer repeated cautiously.

It was Monday.

Suddenly, it became incredibly hard to read the expression on his face. He was facing you, his brows slightly furrowed, a look of uncertainty, almost withdrawal. The air inside your car thickened, making the silence even more palpable. He seemed almost concerned, downcast. You froze, wondering if you had really said something wrong.

"So until then," he started more quietly, "are we just supposed to hide it from them?"

“I'm not sure hide is the right word," you replied with a grimace. "I just...I meant, maybe we should wait. For a better moment, you know? Instead of walking into the office on the first Monday of the year, when half the people are still nursing hangovers, and saying hey, guess what? we hooked up!”

His expression hadn't changed, despite your pretty honest explanation.

"You don't like the idea," you stated, rather than asking. You made sure your voice sounded gentle, adjusting it to the situation. "I can see that, Spencer."

"Okay, you're right, I don't like it," he admitted with a sudden coolness, his lips tightening slightly between sentences. "Because...I don't get your reasoning. Or, maybe I just don’t know if this is really what you mean."

Slightly surprised, you shook your head.

"What else could I—"

"I don’t know if it's really about that, or maybe..." he cut off, looking into your eyes as if hoping you'd understand by now. But you didn't have the skill to read his mind, no matter how remarkable it was—it was also incredibly complex. "Or maybe...I don’t know, you just don’t take it seriously. That's why you don't want to tell anyone about it."

You gasped, finally understanding his behavior. Realizing the hidden concern.

"You’re worried I don't take us seriously?"

Spencer shrugged briefly.

"You know, if that's really the case, I'd rather know now..."

You leaned in to catch one of his hands, which had been clasped over his chest. You broke his defensive stance, pulling him toward you by his long fingers, simply holding it for a moment before speaking again. With a smile. A slightly amused smile.

"Of course, I take us seriously, you idiot," you snorted. A sense of relief washed over you. Earlier, he’d seemed genuinely worried, and you’d been expecting far worse things than the fact that your guy literally paled with anxiety over worrying you weren’t as invested in your fresh relationship as he was. Well, out of context, it sounded like a very serious concern. But the context was, you took it seriously, and you were incredibly happy he did too. "You know what? Maybe you're right. Why should we make idiots out of ourselves for the next week? Let’s just walk in like this."

You motioned toward your intertwined fingers, raising them as if they were a trophy earned through sweat and tears. Spencer followed their movement with his gaze, initially surprised, but then the corner of his mouth twitched, and he tilted his head with a quiet chuckle.

"We can do it your way," he said, taking control of your hands, clasping them with both of his. He looked relieved; your reassurance and the sincerity in your voice clearly calmed him. You smiled too, finally seeing that peace on his face. "I really don't mind waiting a few days. It might even be… interesting. One of us might not hold out and accidentally slip up."

You raised an eyebrow in a teasing manner.

"Another bet, Reid?" you clicked your tongue. You kept eye contact with him, feeling his thumb gently tracing circles on the back of your hand. He seemed so unaffected, as if he didn’t realize he was doing it. "You already lost five bucks about…ten minutes ago. At this rate, you'll be broke within a month, and we'll have to skip that overpriced coffee downtown. Now that would be a real horror story, speaking as a citizen of the first world."

"Didn't say anything about another bet!”

"Too late," you shot back, turning his hand and taking it in a more formal handshake. "Handshakes sealed the deal."

He rolled his eyes, but a half-smile lingered on his face. He still hadn’t let go of your hand.

"I think we should get going," he said reluctantly.

You sighed with the same enthusiasm. You really felt stuck to that seat, right next to him.

"You know, being late on the first day of the new year should be fully justified..."

"We really need to go."

He was right. But before either of you could move to get out of the car, he leaned forward. Gently cupping your cheek, he drew you in, his lips meeting yours in a soft, lingering kiss. You closed your eyes, feeling the warmth of his touch, and for a brief moment, the world outside seemed to vanish—just the two of you, in that quiet, perfect stillness.

His face suddenly turned to the side, noticing something through the windshield. You frowned and looked in the same direction.

"That's Gideon," you remarked out loud, even though both of you had already spotted the silhouette of your coworker stepping out of a car that had just parked a short distance ahead. He wasn’t looking your way yet, but he could at any moment. "Quick, hide!"

Okay, you were completely honest with yourself. It wasn’t about being afraid of getting caught. After all, there was nothing strange about two coworkers arriving at work together in the same car—it was even very eco-friendly. You just liked the idea of shoving Reid under the seat. And the poor thing, so thrown off by the mock authority in your voice and the situation itself, did it without a second thought.

When Gideon finally noticed you, you cheerfully waved at him.

"Fuck," you muttered suddenly.

"What is it?" Spencer returned to his seat, adjusting his glasses on his nose. "Do you think he saw me?"

You shook your head.

"I just realized…this is your car."

"Okay, draw a straw."

"Morgan, how old are you?" You shook your head in disbelief, staring at the man standing across from you in the motel lobby. The place where you were spending the night this time was very tidy, with subdued colors, but, as tradition demanded, there had to be some sort of problem. You had one room for two, but one of them only had a double bed. So, you had to decide which two lucky people would share it. "Five?"

"And a half. Listen, we have to decide somehow. Let fate do it. The two who pull the shortest will sleep together. Simple as that."

Before you could say anything else, Garcia approached, weighed down by her bags. Yes, her—rarely did any case require her to be on-site, but it wasn’t completely unheard of.

"Oh, come on, Sweetie," she muttered to you, setting her luggage down and hunching slightly to catch her breath. "Let him feel like a kid again for a moment. He doesn’t get the chance often."

You sighed in resignation, but before you could pull one of the purple straws (how did he even get them?) that Morgan was holding in such a way that their lengths were hidden, you glanced around briefly. Sometimes you arrived at hotels at different times, some getting there faster, others later. Spencer and JJ had just walked in, both wearing coats to shield them from the cold January air. You couldn’t help but smile at the sight of him and his fogged-up glasses, which he quietly cursed under his breath—judging by the movement of his lips. However, you quickly composed yourself, returning to a neutral expression. It had only been two days since your agreement to keep the details of your relationship hidden, and so far, neither of you had slipped or forgotten to keep quiet around the others. Well, out of the two of you, you were probably struggling with it more—being a bit of a clinger, sometimes even your body would naturally gravitate towards his when standing next to him.

“Why are you standing here?” Spencer asked, approaching you. “Is there a problem with the rooms?”

“Is there ever not a problem with the rooms?” you responded, laughing. “Some poor souls are going to have to share a bed,” you explained, making brief eye contact with him. You were sure only he could catch the emphasis you placed on poor souls.

Of course, you wouldn't mind ending up in the same room. It wasn't about the fact that you were together—before, you’d shared rooms and even beds, and you were used to it by now. You would've probably offered it yourself, if it weren’t for the potential suspicion and that silly bet, which was starting to lose its point in your eyes. Maybe you should’ve just told them a few days ago?

“Oh,” he said shortly, crossing his arms with a bit of stiffness. His brown bag hung from his shoulder. He held your gaze for a moment, but his expression wasn’t as amused as yours. His brows furrowed slightly as he cleared his throat. “Poor them. Who’s it going to be?”

You slightly puffed out your lips slightly, watching him with a sharp look. What was it that made him so uneasy—the fact that you might not be in the same room this time?

“We were just about to decide,” Penelope replied, glancing at her friend with a teasing smile. “Morgan’s going to show us a game he learned today in kindergarten."

JJ couldn't help but snort.

“Just draw a straw…!”

You couldn’t recall another moment when all of you, every single one, rolled your eyes in perfect unison. But that’s exactly what happened when Derek once again enthusiastically explained the rules, as though they weren’t already ridiculously simple. In the end, each of you reached for one of the straws he was holding.

JJ went first. She pulled hers quickly, and it was of regular length, so it was immediately clear she wasn’t one of the poor souls. She raised her hand in a mock display of triumph, earning a few amused chuckles from the group.

Your turn came next. You approached the task with a certain gravity, as though the fate of the night depended entirely on the straw you chose. You studied each one carefully, as if their lengths could somehow be deciphered from the way they were arranged.

You wouldn’t have minded drawing the shortest straw. But only on one condition.

Morgan looked at you with mock sympathy. Your straw wasn’t even half as long as JJ’s, which seemed to settle things. Now, it was just a matter of figuring out which of the remaining two—Reid or Garcia—would end up joining you.

Spencer reached out with a calculated, deliberate motion, his eyes immediately darting to yours when his straw turned out to be...one of the longer ones.

You shot him a look of bitter disappointment before your gaze shifted to your soon-to-be roommate. Penelope didn’t seem disheartened—on the contrary, an enthusiastic smile lit up her face. She opened her mouth to say something, but you caught the fleeting shift in her expression and the subtle flicker of her eyes.

“Oh no,” she suddenly gasped, her voice filled with exaggerated horror, even though she’d just seemed perfectly content, or at least not displeased, at the idea of sharing a room with you. “No, absolutely not. There’s no way I’m sleeping in the same room with her. Do you guys even know how loud she snores?”

Lies! You wanted to yell, but stopped yourself as realization dawned. Garcia was a good actress—you had to give her that—but her flair for dramatics always bordered on overkill, making it far too easy to catch her in a lie.

“I’m not used to traveling as often as you guys are,” Penelope continued in the same over-the-top tone. “I barely get a wink of sleep in a new place when it’s quiet, let alone with someone next to me snoring like a steam engine…”

“Love you too, Pen,” you muttered dryly.

“Someone has to switch with me, please,” she concluded, clasping her fingers together in a dramatic plea and pulling off the best puppy-dog eyes you’d seen in a long time. Well, at least since the time Reid had tried to coax you into reciting one of your old, cringe-worthy high school poems—the existence of which you’d only ever confessed to him.

“JJ?” Penelope turned her hopeful gaze toward her.

“Not a chance. My straw was the longest,” JJ replied, smug and immovable.

“Don’t even think about asking me,” Morgan chimed in before anyone could so much as glance in his direction.

And so, all eyes inevitably fell on Reid.

He awkwardly scratched the back of his ear, not looking directly at you.

“Well, I always carry earplugs with me…”

“Then it’s settled!” Garcia declared, hoisting her luggage with sudden determination. One of her heavy bags was thrust into Morgan’s arms so abruptly that he staggered backward under its weight. “Sweet dreams, everyone! Don’t let the bedbugs bite, and may the sheep you count tonight be extra fluffy and adorable. Goodnight!”

Just before she fully turned to leave, she sent you a quick, knowing wink.

You shook your head in disbelief, but the faintest smile danced on your lips. You didn’t even bother questioning how she knew. Only one conclusion circled your mind. Penelope could be really impossible. Thankfully, being impossible didn’t disqualify her from also being the best friend under this vast, sprawling sky. Period.

"What do you think about starting a tier list for all the hotels we stay in?” you remarked as both of you crossed the threshold of the room. Your eyes immediately landed on its unexpected feature. “Or at least the weirdest ones. Like the one with walls the color of cat pee where the power went out in the middle of the night. That one’s definitely at the top..."

"I don’t really get the point of a mirror on the ceiling," Reid said after a pause, looking over his shoulder at you. He was standing a few steps away, near the bed in the glaring white room with birchwood floors. "Who wants to look at themselves while trying to fall asleep?”

You raised an eyebrow, unsure if he was joking or not. He raised an eyebrow too, not understanding why you did that. Okay, he wasn’t joking.

"You know, the main point isn’t really to look at yourself while falling asleep," you explained, with a bit of amused pity. Your gaze also briefly lingered on the glass surface above the bed, designed to reflect the bodies of people lying in bed. You thought it was a surprising addition but weren’t planning on spending too much time on it for now. You just wanted to get your shoes off—shoes you’d been wearing since sunrise—and finally lie down on something soft. "By the way, I’m taking a shower first."

Spencer only muttered something under his breath in response. Before disappearing behind the bathroom door, you cast one last glance at him. He seemed quiet—strangely quiet. Not that you were expecting his usual chatter after a long day of work; it could weigh on anyone and leave them feeling subdued. Maybe he just needed an extra moment to unwind, and that’s where his restraint came from.

Anyway, you took a quick shower. The pressure of the hot water nearly scalded your skin, which meant you’d be spared the bitter complaints, grumbling, and dramatic resignation threats from Morgan the next day. You felt too tired to linger under the stream for long. After a few minutes, you stepped out of the shower, changed into your sleepwear, and gathered the clothes you’d worn all day from the floor.

You and Spencer passed each other in the doorway without a word.

Glancing back over your shoulder, you frowned. The bathroom door shut behind him, and some concerned question froze on your lips. For a moment, you stood still, debating whether you should ask it. But then the sound of running water reached your ears, and you figured he probably wouldn’t hear you anyway.

Instead, you decided to climb into bed, wait for him, and ask about it then. Whatever it was clearly weighed on him, and the fact that something was bothering him bothered you. Funny how that worked, right?

You spent that moment lying on your back, eyes wide open, afraid you might accidentally fall asleep if you closed them. A comfortable bed during a case—it felt like pure luxury. You were waiting for Spencer to finally emerge from the bathroom so you could curl up next to him, fall asleep to the fresh post-shower scent of him, and the gentle rise and fall of his chest as he breathed.

Just like you had spent half the day after the New Year’s party at your place—wrapped around each other, arguing over who would get up to make coffee and whether you should start cleaning up the mess from the night before.

You tucked your arm beneath your head, gazing at your fully-covered form reflected in the ceiling mirror.

“Did you find a portal to another galaxy in there or what?” you finally called out, impatient. He’d been in there way too long. And coming from you—a known lover of long, indulgent baths—that was saying something.

“Sorry,” he murmured as he finally emerged from the bathroom, wearing a gray t-shirt instead of his usual neat work attire and tie perfectly knotted at his neck. He still had his glasses on, which he might’ve forgotten to remove, judging by the way he slid into bed to your left without taking them off.

You watched him closely, rubbing at your tired eye. The shower had managed to wash away about half of the tension from Spencer’s face, but the other half stubbornly remained.

“You didn’t have to wait for me,” he said softly.

“I didn’t have to,” you admitted simply, watching as he carefully adjusted himself, finding the right position. The lamp on his side of the bed cast a warm glow over his skin. You were both half-sitting, you comfortably propped up against the soft pillows, and him barely leaning back against them. “But I wanted to. We really lucked out with this room, huh? Penelope is one of a kind.”

"Did you tell her about us?"

"I didn’t say a word. She's just more observant than the rest”

He nodded, agreeing with you. You thought he might say something else about it, maybe make a joke about the bet, but he didn’t. You yawned.

"You seem tired.”

“How did you figure that out, Sherlock?” you asked, your sarcasm light, without a hint of malice. “You too, by the way. Although, it’s not just that you seem tired—you are tired, at first glance. Or maybe something’s bothering you. Or maybe both. Am I right?”

He shrugged slowly.

“No, as far as I know.”

“Oh, come on,” you muttered, rolling your eyes. You pulled your knees closer to your chest, shifting into a full sitting position with slightly bent legs. You leaned forward just enough to gently take his glasses off and fold them, your fingers brushing briefly against his cheek. He didn’t look at what you were doing, his gaze fixed on your face under the soft fall of his lashes. The wonderful color of his eyes, the slight hesitation in your movements as you moved a little closer to kiss him—a fleeting, tender press of lips.

“Something’s going on, and you can tell me about it.”

“Or we could just go to sleep,” he suggested quietly. “It’s been a long day. You must be tired, I mean, you yawned a little while ago.”

You tilted your head, studying him thoughtfully. Was he really trying this hard to dodge the topic? How could you get him to open up?

“I know blackmail isn’t exactly healthy for relationships,” you started finally, turning his glasses over in your hands, “but I’m not giving these back until you tell me.”

Both corners of his mouth twitched at once.

“Oh no, what am I going to do now?” he replied with feigned concern, gently shaking his head. Then he lowered his voice. “This is exactly what I’d say if I didn’t also have contacts with me.”

"Sometimes I just want to…ugh."

"Violence isn't too healthy for relationships either."

"Just like not opening up. Remember what we talked about a few days ago in the car? You were worried I don't take you seriously. How else am I supposed to prove I'm serious if I don’t ask what’s wrong when I can tell something’s off?"

Your explanation sounded a bit jumbled, but he had to get the general idea. The reference to that specific conversation and his own words seemed to hit a sensitive spot.

"I didn’t want you to feel like you have to prove anything to me," he quickly corrected, swallowing hard. His chest fell, and the sigh felt like surrender. "I'm sorry. I just don't want you to worry about it. It's nothing serious. I’m just tired...and a little stressed."

"Stressed?" you repeated, surprised. "You're stressed? But about what?"

He hesitated for a moment.

"Just... about this," he said vaguely, his gaze shifting from you to your reflection in the glass ceiling. "Us, I mean."

"What do you mean?" you asked quietly, still confused, gently shaking your head. "We've shared rooms before, so if it’s about that, I really don’t get it."

"Yeah, but never like this. In a room with a king-sized bed and a huge mirror right above us," he explained, his voice tinged with embarrassment, clearly wishing he could just stop talking. "Okay, I know this sounds dumb, I know it does, but I don’t know why it’s messing with my head like this. I just...I kinda thought maybe you'd want to..."

"Spencer," you interrupted, saving him from going any further. You saw a flicker of relief in his eyes. You weren’t sure what emotion was bubbling up inside you now—whether it was still confusion or just pure amusement. "You were worried I’d want to have sex with you?”

You didn’t even need to wait for his answer to know you’d hit the nail on the head. Considering how your relationship had grown out of friendship, slowly evolving over time and shared experiences instead of a sudden burst of passion, you weren’t surprised you hadn’t yet taken that step together. It was something special in its own way—there had never been any pressure, and you hadn’t expected that he might feel the exact opposite.

So when you finally figured out what had been bothering him all this time, you couldn’t help but laugh, the sound light and genuine.

"You were right, you know. It does sound kind of dumb," you said, unable to keep the smile from your face. His expression remained unreadable, his posture betraying a hint of anticipation as he waited for the rest of your reaction. "But also…I don’t know, kind of adorable? But seriously, Spencer, we don’t have to do anything if you’re not ready."

"It’s not that I don’t want to at all," he clarified quickly, almost too firmly. "I mean...it’d be our first time. Together. That’s what I mean. And I guess I just didn’t expect it to...happen tonight, here, of all places."

"I didn’t either," you admitted truthfully, the smile still lingering on your face. Unlike him, you didn’t feel even a hint of embarrassment. "I figured we’d just go to sleep, especially since we both already admitted we’re exhausted."

"Fair point," he mumbled.

"Honestly, this has to be the biggest example of overthinking I’ve ever seen anyone put themselves through, Spencer," you teased lightly, shaking your head.

For a moment, he stayed silent, but it felt like he was letting out a breath he’d been holding.

“You’re gonna have to get used to that,” he admitted finally, his voice soft. But then, you caught the faint glimmer of a smile tugging at his lips.

He even started to laugh, a quiet chuckle filled with a sort of amused self-awareness. Meanwhile, you leaned out of the bed to place his glasses on the nightstand on your side. If he wanted them in the morning, he’d have no choice but to reach right over you.

“But just for the record,” he began after a moment, as you reached for the edge of the blanket that had slipped off you earlier, pulling it back up to wrap around yourself. Your head was only inches from the pillow now. You gave him a questioning nod. He, too, was getting ready to lie down, finally looking genuinely relaxed. “How pathetic do you think that was, on a scale from one to ten?”

You just rolled your eyes, not even dignifying the question with an answer.

“In the interest of science,” he pressed, “one to ten?”

“Pathetic enough that you’ll need to redeem yourself a little in my eyes,” you sighed dramatically. “Go on, I’m waiting for your ideas.”

“I think I might have a few,” he replied with a soft chuckle.

You prolonged the kiss, savoring the deep sense of comfort it brought you. The two of you lay face to face, and you gently brushed a few still-damp strands of hair from Spencer's forehead, though they stubbornly fell back into place. Eventually, you gave up with a soft sigh against his lips. Spencer kept his eyes closed, lost in a quiet bliss, even as you pulled back just slightly, leaving only an inch of space between you.

"Can I turn off the light now?" you asked, as always. The question had become a tradition since you'd learned about his complicated relationship with darkness.

He hummed in agreement, nodding faintly. Leaning over him, you reached for the bedside lamp on his side. The room was instantly bathed in darkness, your reflections in the mirror above fading into obscurity.

You didn’t fully return to your original spot. Instead, you shifted closer, resting your head comfortably against his chest. The hotel pillows were unbelievably plush, you had to admit, but that night, you chose this over anything else.

"You’re not asleep," he noted gently after about fifteen minutes. He cleared his throat. "During sleep, a person’s breathing becomes slower and more regular. You know, if you’re uncomfortable here, you don’t have to…"

"I’m listening to your heartbeat," it slipped out of you. Though it was true, you hadn’t planned on admitting it out loud. "Nothing sinister, just to be clear. I’m not planning to rip it out of your chest or anything like that. It just works for me."

"Really?"

"Yeah. Like those videos that imitate the sound of a crackling fireplace. Pretty calming."

"My heartbeat reminds you of the sound of a fireplace?" he said, a glint of confusion in his softly hoarse voice.

You sighed, in the darkness, he couldn’t see the faint smile painting itself on your face, pressed against his chest.

"Sweet dreams, silly."

tag list: @she-wont-miss @mggslover @nyeddleblog @dylanobrienswife0420 @wmoony

@heddgie @khxna @marauder-exe-old @yujyujj @charleyreid @kitty-kai @sp3ncelle @pleasantwitchgarden @beesin03 @misserabella @re1dsb1xch @trulymadlydarling @cynbx @penelopegarciaismygf @awordsmith

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfic #spencer reid criminal minds #spencer reid fanfic #dr spencer reid #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spence reid

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cutetanuki-chan · 16 days ago

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sometimes I see people being confused where alectostasia ship came from so here's a little bit of run down

I'm not really good with words so it might be clunky

what we know from the text

Anastasia tries to achieve 'perfect lyctorhood', something goes wrong during her ascension, John kills Samael, Anastasia fails her attempt

Anastasia moves to the ninth, continues working on the house or only founding it at that time

John asks Anastasia to help build the tomb 'I built that tomb with Anastasia, designed every inch of it.'

somewhere between working on it and Alecto's entombment, Alecto and Anastasia make a vow where Alecto basically swears as a cavalier to her 'Alecto said, I remember my vows. As I swore to Anastasia I swear to you. I am in your service until you bid me the favour, and whatsoever you appoint I shall perform, and consider the vow rendered. This is what I promised, until such a time as you deal with me as you see fit.'

as John leading Alecto to the tomb, she asks to see Anastasia 'She had said, There are almost no beautiful things left. Where is Anastasia? Let me talk to Anastasia.'

presumable Anastasia is the one to inflict to the ninth house importance of keeping her bloodline and worshiping of the tomb through all of those years

Anastasia's bones are in the tomb 'She looked back beyond, and she saw Anastasia, tucked where nobody would find her: Anastasia, all bones. Not really Anastasia. But Anastasia’s body without the meat on it, snuggled right into the curve of the rock, ready to close the door whenever it was opened. She remembered Anastasia.'

Alecto immediately getting chill after tasting Harrow's blood 'The child was silent; but her blood was on Alecto’s lips, and through that blood Alecto was made to understand what it was, and was astonished exceedingly. Alecto put away wrath and said: Thou art the blood of the tomb-keeper.'

Alecto saying sorry for Samael

the implications

the vow on itself is very interesting, at first we all know how usually normal cavalier and necromancer relationships are. then for Alecto to comply to that, indicates she should be pretty trusting of Anastasia, and their relationships at least somehow better than with other lyctors who were terrified of her

then there's also the tombkeeper blood thing, what serves as a check note for Alecto after waking up, and means the initial purpose of the ninth house was actually waiting for rock to roll away

and one part of the vow seems to imply 'if anyone beside a tombkeeper wake you, slay them as they came to hurt you', as could hinted on a protection from other lyctors who wanted to kill Alecto? (Then Alecto remembered the vow, and turned back upon the altar to face the second child and raised the sword with wrath in her heart, for they meant to bring destruction upon her.)

then the matter of Anastasia's bones laying in the tomb next to the rock. not sure if it's just her skeleton or she made herself a some construct mechanism from her bones. and not clear if she got entombed on her own volition or John closed them both there, but being entombed together five feet apart cause we are not gay

there's also some oddness in Alecto immediately after waking saying she's sorry for Samael, but I won't go into that here, anyway Anastasia was trying to find a better way to lyctorhood and I think in her more close relationships with Alecto she figured out something that John wasn't telling them, before or after her ascension

and some theories

I think I first heard this theory from @/mayasaura, that ninth house tradition of telling secrets while submerged in the salt water could've corelate with Anastasia trying to have a talk like that with Alecto since she feels the most at ease in the salt water, so means pool time for alectostasia too

another one that I really like but not sure how much legs it actually would have in canon, one of the reasons Nona was so enamored with her body cause Harrow is a spitting image of Anastasia, first saw @/corvophobia talking about it

coming back to Harrow, could there be anything more to her taking immediate affection to the Body a la some fuckery with Anastasia's spirt/tombkeeper's blood

more people explained it better, I try to reblog most of the theories in my side blog, you can check it out there but some of it explicit just in case

anyway in conclusion, as I keep procrastinating with my work, I don't think they were making out 24/7 in Canaan house in canon but something for sure happened there between them

#I will still continue drawing them making out 24/7 in Canaan house tho cause who can stop me #the locked tomb #anastasia the first #anastasia the ninth #alecto the ninth #nona the ninth #nona the ninth spoilers #harrow the ninth #harrow the ninth spoilers #alectostasia

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oceanxveiined · 1 year ago

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Genshin Verse Side Muses:

*Mentions of abuse, dysfunctional families, manipulation, torture, violence, experimentation, ableism, transphobia, and death, not necessarily all present/to various extents depending on each bio, ahead.

1) Chang Da’Lun (500+/appears 23): Half-Adeptus, born some time before the Cataclysm. He can shift into a smaller birdlike form at will, though it does take a bit out of him to switch back. It doesn’t stop him from shifting into it on his own or a friend's whim though.

His father was a Yaksha named Wuye, alias Caligo, who had inevitably become consumed by his karmic debt and became more akin to a malevolent demon. Though admittedly, the adeptus had already possessed quite the cruel streak, even long before he’d fallen. Being driven mad by the karmic debt meant his slaughters turned to fellow adepti and humans alike, which had also grown to be far more frequent and brutal. Each consumed opponent led his power to grow as he’d absorb their vitality and any abilities they possessed.

By contrast Da’lun’s mother, Anhe, had been fully human, having been with a group of treasure hunters who’d taken her from her family in ransom when they’d strayed too close to the maddened Yaksha’s territory. When they had realized and tried to sneak away, she risked her life to draw Wuye out and betrayed them all in a desperate bid for freedom and power. She offered them all to be slaughtered and devoured by the corrupted Yaksha, as well as to offered to lure more to satisfy his bloodlust for incentive to make him spare her own life. She even offered to be his mate as well, to let herself be used by him as he saw fit, sparing no expense to give anything and everything she could to ensure she survived this encounter. He conceded out of convenience, taking her as promised and continuing his slaughters about Wuwang Hill with her aid.

Anhe delighted in having his favor, even with how terrified of him she’d been at first, growing more and more sadistic herself with every massacred he’d rend, every death scream that filled her ears while she remained unscathed. The thrill of power and having a mate so powerful to keep it was too alluring and far too intoxicating, she would never dream of ever parting from him.

Only for her to end up alone and powerless anyway when the former Yaksha was killed shortly after the birth of Da’Lun.

Much of his childhood had been Anhe relentlessly tormenting him, using him as a scapegoat for how her life had fallen apart and due to having been affected by his father’s karmic debt as well ( both in her continued presence alongside him up until that point and in stubbornly lingering at his lair where the miasma was all concentrated rather than returning home with him gone ). Da’Lun took the abuse without protest, wholeheartedly believing her and his own guilt. He spent his whole life striving to ‘make up’ for his existence, in bringing her gifts and attempting to make her life easier every way he could. To protect and provide for her as his father had intended.

It all came to a crashing stop when his mother at last succumbed to the cursed energy infesting their home. Or so he tells himself and anyone who ponders of her fate, not wanting to admit he himself had killed and devoured her. It had been when she’d tried to end his life first and the resulting corruption of them both had his adeptal nature spiraling out of control during the struggle. His Electro Vision had been what had ultimately murdered her, bestowed upon him during his struggle as she denounced and cursed him, which he hadn’t realized until the morning after.

Plagued with guilt and fear, and knowing he must have taken on her share of the karmic debt's influence, his father's ability considered, he traveled Teyvat to distance himself from his former home for a few years. For 500 years, he witnessed beauty and horrors alike throughout it all, before he decided to settle some time in Sumeru. His main aim had been to learn all he could on humans and their histories ( learning from each Darshan over the course of the centuries he’d spent there, changing his appearance every time he’d reapply ), as well as to pass the time in a way that would not aggravate lingering traces of his father’s influence. It was while he learnt from the Amurta Darshan when he met Danae. With time to spare, and admittedly intrigued by the utter madness of her ideas and her equally frenzied determination to see such impossible fantasies made reality, he signed a contract to assist her in any endeavors she may undertake for them, as she would his own, per its terms. They would maintain it dedicatedly before briefly parting ways when her illicit studies were discovered.

He himself remained at the Akademiya mere weeks before deciding his life had dulled too much without her odd ideas and eccentric ( not to mention at times exceedingly cruel ) methods, setting off to travel again in search of her. Traveling through his homeland, he would come to meet Ozzy, whom he would follow to Mondstadt, after he’d found him interesting company, especially when the man would encourage him to not feel so wary of the karmic debt’s influence. There, he would become a founding member of his gang when it resulted that the man’s interest had been likewise piqued and thus given him the invitation to stay.

Ozzy was able to locate and drag Danae into his business thanks to Da’Lun’s scheming and using the terms of their contract to rope her in.

What could he say? He would be a fool to let one of his favorite toys go. Just as he would the chance to see what would come out of putting so many volatile little components together.

Surely the end result would be most spectacular indeed.

Oswald “Ozzy” Beauregard / Ásvaldr Bjornsson (appears early 20s): One of the remaining survivors of Khaenri’ah, though he keeps that card very close to his chest, having fled the nation after the surviving the Cataclysm. Only Da’Lun is actually aware of said fact, due to their shared longevity and closer bond compared to many of the others. If asked of his origin, he will always give the half-truth that he is of the Sumeru region. He currently gets a kick out of pretending to work for himself at his little tavern named Fleur de Nuit, from where his gang operates under the guise of a legitimate business.

Stricken with immortality, Ozzy tends to push the limits of what said immortality will do for him, especially since his perception of pain and danger has been skewed severely by his curse. For the longest time, he had wandered about the desert and Sumeru’s forests, picking fight after fight using the very Abyssal energies he’d been corrupted with. Even with no formal combat training outside teachings he learnt as apprentice mage ( these very learnings being the reason he was was to maintain his appearance as it was, without succumbing to the curse of wilderness ), his increasingly frenzied manner tended to allow him to prove a match for the hilichurls, Eremites, and Treasure Hoarders he encountered, leaving brutalized corpses and wreckages in his wake, and plenty a scar to mar his own body. Some of which healed worse off than others due to his inability and gradual lack of real want to properly care for himself. Eventually, he would be found and formally taken in by the Fatui when he had too grievously injured to fight them off.

Not that he would have wanted to even if he could, considering how much they piqued his interest.

He had been with them long before Danae had joined, having willingly surrendered himself to be experimented on by Dottore out of boredom and curiosity to see what the man could get out of it. As well as a vain hope to possibly stave off his Erosion and keep his mind with the Abyssal energies eating away at it when his own treatments would prove increasingly inefficient. Needless to say, Ozzy’s sanity had still taken quite the toll throughout the centuries he’s been alive, and the outright torture he faced through the time he’d been with them had truly not helped in the least. Especially not while being injected with god remains had steadily twisted up his mind, more and more. The Abyssal energy he’d already been afflicted with had ironically been what helped keep himself through it though, allowing him to fully assimilate the god’s lingering energy into himself and steady his condition.

When Danae had decided to desert the Fatui, she broke Ozzy out from containment and left him an experimental Delusion to have him serve as a diversion so she could escape, figuring he would have some exploitable grudge that would prompt him to seek vengeance. And he served his purpose well, slaughtering Fatuus after Fatuus he encountered with the three tail-like, bladed chains he could manifest from it. He did so with great delight and utmost zeal, damn near like an animal in frenzy. But in truth, he really cared not for getting even. He rather merely wanted enrichment, as he called it.

While Danae had figured the Delusion would simply kill him in the end, his own longevity and the god remains he’d assimilated allowed him to use the Delusion so freely without truly debilitating consequences, though still at certain cost to his body after particularly prolonged usage. It severely aggravates the place with the god remains had been injected, low at his right side where the Abyssal energy was at its highest concentration. Due to it also being the place of his most severe wound and one of the ones that truly never healed properly, it leaves him feeling as though something had been gouged right out every time he’d stop its use. Still, in the moment of that first use, all he could think of was the thrill of the fighting and being able to run about, free at last. To this day, that very thrill is what keeps him using it, even knowing the painful consequences.

The euphoric high he felt back then lead him to completely destroy the location all together, both in his own kills and in tampering the delicate machinery that would consume the rest of the location along with it in the ensuing explosions. He himself made his getaway before the destruction caught him up along with everything else, after finding and bringing along a fellow victim ( not that he consciously saw himself as such ) of the Fatui experiments.

After hearing tales of Monstadt, her homeland, the idea of a nation whose Archon had no real say in its ruling appealed to him greatly, Thus, he would hijack and man a Fatui ship to gain leave off Inazuma, heading to the Southern side of Liyue, and making their journey back to Mond that way.

Ozzy’s aim in making the gang had solely been to collect interesting people to surround himself with, nothing more nothing less. Something to help stave off ennui and keep his mind sharp; a little pet project he could maintain or ruin at his leisure when the time came. It only became a formal organization incidentally, but he finds it a decent pastime to run it and especially the business he and Da’Lun came up with as a front. Especially when he genuinely ended up attached to a certain select few, though he maintains it is only out of how entertaining the lot of them are, themselves and with him.

Due to past experiences, particularly what he witnessed during the Cataclysm, he has a mild to severely violent visceral reaction to fire based abilities; which is only worsened by his love of deliberately avoiding triggering his own phobia and habit of gambling with extreme stakes, typically involving fire in some way.

What sort of gambling man would he be if he let something like that stop him, after all?

Elisabeth “Eliza” Merrimack (18) - A Mondsadt-born girl whose family lineage traces back to the Imunlaukr clan, after the clan had broken up due to a schism. Originally Visionless, she would gain a Dendro Vision ( chronologically set late in the events of the Sumeru Archon Quest ) and take up Catalyst-based combat.

The eldest daughter of her main family at the time, she had a horse riding accident in her youth that left her paraplegic, exhibiting little to no movement in her legs even after treatment at the church. The fact that it had taken them some time to get her there, seeing as she had been lost for days, was probably behind it. Regardless, her family despaired at the incident, frantically trying everything they could to heal her, even as the church insisted nothing could be done. Even as she herself tried to reason it was alright; that she didn't need to be, having accepted their verdict when her family could not. And they never truly did.

When she was fifteen, the Merrimacks ultimately accepted an offer from the Fatui to aid them ( though in hindsight, Eliza couldn’t but wonder if it had been seen as an excuse to have them take her off their hands ), and carted her off far from home. Betrayed at her family giving her away so easily, especially after she realized they would not check up on her or visit, Eliza at last fell into despair after seeing what awaited her at the hands of the Fatui. Her parents had been lied to, after all–Eliza had not been taken in to receive care, instead becoming subjected to experiments with god remains like every other subject they got their hands on.

And no one would be aware of that to come save her. Assuming they would even care to try if they did.

Things began to change years later after meeting Danae, who was assigned to oversee her. To be precise, Danae had at first been in charge of her post-op treatments, ensuring the effects of the experiments didn’t disrupt her vitals and in keeping her alive overall. They began to know more of each other and interact after the then Fatuus had been promoted and would have her as an exclusive subject, due to her ideas and personal project.

Even with how callous Danae could be, she and Eliza eventually came to get along well due to Eliza coming to understand Danae’s wordless gestures and tough-love care after the former had begun to get attached to Eliza. Said care usually being in the form of snuck treats and material comforts. It wasn’t until later on in their friendship that Eliza learned it had been because she reminded Danae of her younger brother, that she had specifically requested to oversee her treatments because she wanted to help her like she'd intended to help him. Learning why and how she intended to do that did embitter Eliza rather than endear her though.

That said, they truly became each other’s first real friend and confidante after Eliza had been–even if gruffly–encouraged by Danae to start speaking up for herself and the first thing Eliza did was tell her off for thinking she ought to ‘fix’ her and any other person, for that matter. It had been a gut reaction based on Eliza’s own resentment of how her family regarded her as well as the god remains in her acting up due to her agitation.

Still, even while the burst of temper had startled Eliza, it had been enough for Danae to not only respect the girl, but also to begin to doubt her own goals. Most notably, it was enough to prompt the Fatuus to pick up her old ideas anew rather than continuing the original experiment plan she’d had altogether, choosing to help make amends in fashioning Eliza a special wheelchair to take her out for enrichment. Not that Danae would ever admit that’s what it had been for, even in present day, but Eliza understood and was grateful for it all the same.

The day Danae broke out, she had actively tried to reach Eliza to bring her along, but was unable to in the chaos she’d wrought and severely underestimated. Thinking her dead, she prioritized her own survival and left without a second thought.

Eliza hadn’t realized she’d been abandoned once again, rather had been merely confused by the happening and chaos around her. She patiently awaited Danae to come, trusting the Fatuus to soon fill her in and protect her if need be. Instead, it was the newly freed Ozzy who had found Eliza and offered to bring her along after having slaughtered her guards and in hearing her request to see the stars outside before he ‘put her out of her misery’ had moved him.

And especially because she then tried to cut his throat the instant he got close enough to try and carry her.

After convincing her he did want to bring her along, not kill her, she at last conceded and let him take her away from the wreckage of the lab. Eliza's tales of her home nation had been the reason Ozzy had chosen to settle there, and she was more than happy to return with him, though flares ups of the god remains in her did pose some problems both were unsure of how to handle. Not that he trusted anyone in Teyvat to be able to take care of her as they should, especially considering how she’d ended up in the Fatui’s hands in the first place.

Still, she is grateful he took it upon himself to allow her to stay by his side as his ward, even while she couldn’t offer him much in return in terms of fighting skill, money, or knowledge besides that of her home. When he founded his gang, she did find purpose in aiding with the logistics aspect of running the front for his gang, using the learnings of her youth. Without her, it would have fallen apart from the start, Ozzy would always say, leaving her giddy with excitement and her heart full. After finding and enacting a solution to quell the unstable god remains in her ( taken place post-Sumeru archon quest, story-wise ), she would start taking a more active role in the gang as aid to their resident healer. In addition, her wheelchair would be adapted for combat, to suit her needs and her Vision’s abilities.

She is well aware that elemental concentrations worsen the god remains' extreme and dangerous flare ups, but she still constantly insists upon staying with everyone else in the gang and utilizing a soothing device relying on Elemental energy anyways. She’d rather spend it in comfort and with her friends, even the lot of them encourage her to when she frets what could come out of it ( even Ozzy telling her the risk of that danger is exactly why they are so comfortable was a twisted solace that wound up giving her more confidence to accept her wants to be with them ). Once the traces of god remains in her would be sealed off enough, she is able to head out with them with her wheelchair from that point on, as well as set at ease her fears of hurting them. She still feels chronic flares up of pain due to her affliction, but with less risk of it going out of control and killing her dear friends, she can bear it a lot easier.

After all she’d been through, this was nothing. Nothing, in the face of being able to smile and delight in her life to the fullest once more.

Durene (19): Hailing from Natlan, Durene is a demigodess, born from the union of a mortal man, Jevaun, and a nature godess Jaladri, whom he had ensnared with a talisman along with several of his friends and fellow warriors when her tempests had threatened their home village. She had fallen for him when he had been watching over her, and had been the kindest of her captors, eventually conceding to be his wife after enough time in his company, as well as certain courtship of his had won her over.

Even while bound to human form, Jaladri had been content in their union at first, up until her husband began to get exceedingly paranoid and possessive of her following being imbued with several of her blessings that granted him great strength and renown in his tribe. She began to grow miserable, cursing Jevaun and unable to do much to fight him as he was, as her powers had become considerably weaker compared to his over the years, especially after Durene’s birth. And it didn’t help that it was especially so because the man kept her away from the sea, an important source of vitality for her. Still the goddess did not fault her daughter upon her birth, teaching Durene the ways to be a soothsayer and healer so she could properly go through the initiation process and her actual training in the village once she was of the apt age. At the same time, Jevaun had taught Durene the art of war and trained with her every chance he got, hoping his daughter could bring him renown and glory with her exploits in the yearly games.

Durene took to both her learnings quite well, eager at the thought of being able to contribute to village and her family this way. She particularly excelled in serving as an herbalist and healer, though she did work hard to improve her skills when it came to divination to impress her mother. It always did seem to put Jaladri in a far better mood whenever she did, as well as when she would listen to her mother’s tales of gods and places she’d been, of her life prior to being confined to mortal form. Of their Archon, and her great deeds. More than anything, she loved singing for her mother, songs she learned from her and the others in the village, seeing how her voice seemed to bring the goddess some semblance of solace, when she felt her weakest.

At twelve years old, Durene had bonded with a Koholasaurus she'd named Aje, who helped her gather materials from the seas and magma caves, often keeping Jaladri company whenever Durene would gather from the land, or while she worked to make her treatments or to preserve her supplies. Around that time, she also learned the full story of her mother’s plight. Horrified and moved, she would elect to repay her mother all she’s taught her in concocting a clever plan to gleam out from her drunken father the location of each piece of the talisman needed to complete the needed ritual and free the goddess. With this knowledge, Durene was able to find and bring them to her mother with Aje's aid. The goddess would aid her in completing the necessary steps once it had all come together. As her bonds would break and her strength returned, Jaladri lamented being unable to take her child with her. Promising to return with a means to ascend her as soon as she could, the goddess would transform into a pillar hundreds of crabs that would scatter into the sea and leave Durene standing alone at the outcropping. Bittersweet and all-too brief as their parting was, she felt content in knowing her mother would be happy at last.

The good mood would not last long, as Jevaun flew into a deadly rage in realizing what had happened when he awoke to the sounds of a howling sea storm after she returned home.

His rage did not frighten her, even as he demanded answers. Did the she not care about their village? Of what the goddess would do to them, now that she was free? Of why she’d been confined to mortality in the first place?

Durene truly cared not, insisting Jaladri had borne and suffered enough under his suffocating hold. If they were all to be destroyed in her vengeful wrath, it was for the slight they’d done against her, and thus truly fair.

Her answers would brand her a traitor in the eyes of her father and, to his claims, their people. To ensure the goddess wouldn’t completely destroy them, he killed Aje and locked Durene away, making made sure Jaladri could never find her and that no one else would in turn ever think to help free her, as no one else would be aware of where she'd 'disappeared' to. As far as anyone knew, she and her Saurian companion had been killed while gathering materials.

She couldn’t say how much time had passed since he’d left her there. Days, then weeks, then months went by languishing in her prison, in the presence of no one else but her father, whenever he would stop by to bring her food. If her refusal to concede to his pleas to betray her mother and attempts to break out didn’t enrage him enough to leave her to her own devices the next few, that was. It wasn’t until she’d exhausted every desperate, rage and grief-stricken attempt at escaping that Durene formulated a proper plan to escape.

The next time Jevaun came to see her, he found his daughter seemingly unresponsive. The man freed her from her bonds and frantically attempted to wake her, only to find his daughter conscious after all, taking advantage of his closeness to grab hold of him. The man was only able to catch a brief glimpse of her newly bequeathed Anemo Vision mere moments before she would sap the breath from his lungs. Her face, twisted in every trace of hatred and resentment she felt towards him, was the last thing he’d ever see as he would succumb. Durene would hold no remorse for her actions, even as the village people would come to find her and try to seize her in retaliation.

Escaping their clutches and leaving them to the mercy of her mother’s wrath, Durene would take to travel about Teyvat as a wandering soothsayer, making a pretty coin on divination and healing. Truly, that whole time she had been seeking a way she may ascend to join her mother, sparing no expense wherever she may go. She'd even forged a binding vow for herself, giving up her tongue, and thus ability to speak in exchange for power. Through her journey, she fostered a particular resentment born in her in Sumeru and the way the Akademiya had gone about managing knowledge at the time ( such as the reason they had rejected entry for her, thinking her to be of the desert folk ). Which lead to her resolving to ensure that place would be the first she may pay a visit to once she reached her goal, to tear it asunder for the offense, seeing as its god would surely not be able to match her when the time came.

It was in being found by Ozzy in Liyue and being requested to come with him, Eliza, and Da'Lun along the way that she came to have company once more. The final founding member of his gang, she would happily settle in Mond with them. But by no means does this mean she had given up on her goal. With Da'Lun and his influence, as well as the addition of Danae later on, Durene would find use in the team’s members to further seek the information she required for her own ultimate goal. Who knew, perhaps she would just need to be a little more patient, just a little bit longer.

Well, fine by her. That, she had plenty practice in.

Jaeda Purmizra (18): The daughter of an affluent family in Sumeru and the most recent addition to Ozzy’s gang. She joined them after running away from home and continuously hitching rides on caravans then later merchant ships that guided her to Dorman Port in Mondstadt. From there, she hid among a lucrative-looking delivery, which lead her to Ozzy’s tavern, where she would be promptly caught for having stolen foods from the convoy and attempted to make off with other items to try and sell in the main city. Danae had nearly left her bound and at the complete mercy of Treasure Hoarders as punishment, had Eliza not intervened and personally pleaded her case to Ozzy. He accepted to take Jade in as well, only because he knew it would anger Danae in the process, and because he was intrigued by her Vision in particular,

Born male and then named Jahar, Jade had been the family’s sole heir and was raised into the role accordingly ( read: impossibly strict ) by her mother. It was thanks to a young servant girl who tended to her every need that she even began to experiment with and realized her actual gender identity. All because the girl had wanted to play dress up and needed a friend to help her, not realizing all the decorum she was breaking in daring to ask the heir, of all people, such a thing.

It had been quite the relief in realizing it, though, even when she hadn’t been actively searching for it. But to her, it meant everything from then on. And it meant despair, as she continued to masquerade as her mother’s precious only son and heir. She didn’t want to upset her mother, after all, especially since the woman banked so much of her bid for power as head of the family upon her. So she kept that her little secret, playing with the girl and growing up happily alongside her over the years.

Up until she and the girl had been caught playing.

The girl had been punished severely for her ‘crime’ and Jade was forced to bear witness to the bloody ordeal for humoring her. Only after the girl was left near death did Jade face her own punishment, the horrid humiliation her mother enforced upon her before an audience of the woman’s closest friends and advisers.

The anger she felt in seeing the life dwindling in her friend’s eyes and the cruelty she faced ignited a single-minded determination to make every last person in the room pay for her beloved friend's pain, enough to for her to black out, coming to only when her mother had screamed.

Snapping back to consciousness, Jade felt bloodcurdling horror and cathartic relief in realizing she’d burnt her mother’s lovely face beyond recognition, every other cruel person who’d participated in her torment left as naught but charred corpses in her wake. In spotting the gleaming, blood-red gem clutched tightly in her hand.

She didn’t stay long, stealing her friend away and running away from home with an intent to bring her along. They could make a life together away from them now, she was sure of it. She had a Pyro Vision after all, she was no longer powerless to protect them!

With the severity of the girl’s wounds though, her friend had little time left. With her last breath, the girl made her promise to live life for the both of them and to be happy. To stay safe, and never let anyone dictate how she may live her life ever again.

That day, Jahar died along with the servant girl. In his place and bearing the name of that girl to carry on her memory, Jaeda would set off to find that happiness she’d promised.

Mako du Raie (16): A Visionless young heir to a prolific merchant family in Fontaine, and the member who had joined the Snake-Eyes gang before Danae and Tua had. His father, Benshi, had been a doushin from Inazuma and met Mako’s mother, Marie, while she learnt the trade from her father, prior to the Sakoku Decree being fully enacted. Mako is their illegitimate child, though he was claimed to be his mother’s younger brother to save face for the family. As such, he was raised primarily under the strict watch of his grandmother and even stole the title of heir to the family from Marie, due to the story they’d given him.

He took to his studies like a fish to water, being quite bright and precocious for his age. And in his eagerness to pursue his grandmother’s approval, he went far above and beyond the efforts his mother had ever put into her own. The family agreed he was definitely a far more suitable heir than she as a result, though he avoided his mother’s jealous wrath by asking she be involved in everything he did. Like this, the woman’s temperament was appeased, her going as far as to even take credit behind his talent and boast of him to all who would meet them.

In all honesty, he would have been content enough handing her the reins of the family, had a business venture to Mondstadt not changed his mind entirely. His mother’s boasting lead to drawing Ozzy’s attention, the man having been seeking a nice, convenient little liaison for his gang’s front. With the boy being as young as he was, not only would he be easy to exploit, but his talent and influence would absolutely prove worth the effort to draw him in, just as he'd hope.

As such, Da'Lun would be the one to meet and gain his trust. To persuade him to join Ozzy’s gang as their merchant contact. And, to ensure Mako’s position and control over his family’s affairs, Da'Lun would even go as far as to encourage Mako to eliminate each and every family member that could possibly stand in his way of managing it all himself.

Mako couldn’t help but give in, even with how complacent he’d been before. Even being fully aware of the horrific task he would have to taken on to ensure his control over the family's business and finances. All it took was being given the affection and doting he always wanted, rather than lauded praises for his potential and saccharine-sweet yet ultimately empty words he knew better than to believe. It took one friend, who cared and spoiled him so, to make him turn his previous wishes of simplicity and contentment from before and pursue a more ruthless ambition without a qualm. Even as he gazed into his mother’s dulling eyes, frozen in horror and anguish, he would only feel a strong sense of satisfaction as he stepped over her without a qualm. As he would make his way over to Da'Lun, who would fondly ruffle his hair with genuine praises aplenty before carrying him back to Ozzy’s little haunt.

He knew full well he was to be used by Ozzy’s group, having realized it early on in Da'Lun’s attempts to worm his way into his heart. But once he’d met with the others in the gang and Ozzy himself, there was no longer a single trace of lingering doubt in his heart that his brutal choice had been in his best interest. Looking at the lot of them gathered to see him, all varying shades of proud of what he’d accomplished, no matter how horrific, he determined the excitement and validation that came with what they did was a lot better than living his life within conventional rules.

Where else could he feel like he was at the top of the world like this?

Tusitala / Tua (20): Originally hailing from a coastal village in Natlan then migrating to and eventually settling in Liyue due to his father’s relentless pursuit of riches and lack of interest in the wars that ravaged their nation, Tua had been a Treasure Hoarder well before his coming of age. He is rather proud of the fact, too, often boasting of his own successes compared to other factions, especially after he’s fought his way through a group of them in a show of his own Natlanian battle prowess.

At first it had been at his father’s urging that he joined and stayed with the Treasure Hoarders they’d met up with on their way to Liyue Harbor. It was only to serve as something to make for a side hustle while his father took care of other business dealings at first ( taking care of logistics for that gang while Tua himself got to take on the more dangerous aspects, as he also managed an artifact appraisal business with things Tua and the gang would bring in ), then it became Tua’s sole obsession as his own greed grew, right along his addiction for every victory and bounty he secured them.

Tua was quite content with this life, thinking himself the luckiest man in the world to have this chance. Even if he did have to surrender near all of his share of their spoils to his father, to quell the man's avarice ( and to ensure the man didn't try and take it all from him, by force or outright theft ). But with what he was allowed to keep or what he managed to squirrel away to pass off as such later, Tua would take to decorating himself handsomely to show off his successes. As such, he’s got several piercings ( many of which he did himself ) along his body, as well as bits of gold embedded in his skin, particularly about his shoulders. He also has a few tattoos to commemorate his victories and his comrades, which glow whenever he uses his Vision.

Speaking of, his Geo Vision came to him during a show of his conviction to protect his Treasure Hoarder ‘family’ by all means and any costs. In this case, it had been in protecting them from a squadron of Milileth by the skin of his own teeth then later its aid, having chosen to cover them on his own to ensure they could make off with a particularly rich score. Because of it, he became quite popular among them, with the lot thinking he would lead them to the greatest successes and eventually take over rival gangs and become their overall leader.

The thought strongly appealed to him, enough that he resolved to make it a reality. As leader, he would have a greater right to a bigger share of the spoils, and he could be independent enough to break away from his father, too. And of course, being able to protect his closest comrades and look after them with greater responsibility and authority. That was his greatest desire above all else, one he would swear before them during the celebration of his blessing by the Lord of Geo.

Though he did eventually fail to keep his promise to them when a conflict with Fatui, and severely underestimating them, left his group all slaughtered or near death, himself included. With his last lingering traces of full consciousness, he lamented not being strong enough to protect them all, and expected to meet his shameful end along with them.

However his survival had been ensured when Danae had stumbled across the massacre. Though initially focused on eliminating the injured and resting Fatui and with her own hatred of Treasure Hoarders having her near ready to ditch them all as it was, it was due to her having determined his potential usefulness upon noting his Vision that prompted her to nurse him back to health.

Deliberately leaving all the others to their fates, as she didn’t need them.

When Tua would ask later after awakening, she would swear they were all goners by the time she had found him. That Tua had supposedly been the only one strong enough to survive because of his Vision.

Grief would take hold, but he wouldn’t linger on that feeling too much. Not enough for it to consume him, anyways. Not when his savior made him an offer to come with her, a suggestion to carry on in his comrades’ names and honor their memories in continuing to plunder and seek the treasures they'd so craved. Feeling both indebted to her and a thrumming need to protect someone once more now that he was without a family ( he dared not return to his father nor join up with a new Hoarder faction after such a harrowing defeat ), he would choose to follow Danae to Mondstadt.

Along the way and upon reaching their destination, they would take up mercenary work and end up wrapped up in the group they currently associate with now, after participating in an attempt on the young head of the Snake-Eyes gang alongside others like them. Said hit actually having placed by the young head, Ozzy, himself, using it as a ploy for recruitment to test if Danae had been worth Da'Lun's recommendation to his group. Tua likewise making it out alive alongside her and having demonstrated his immense strength and capabilities had been the icing on the cake. He was more than happy to accept the offer to join after that, no need for incentives or anything.

Well, okay, maybe the pay grade and further chances to seek riches while with them was a pretty good incentive. That, and being able to take part in a whole new gang he could protect and grow stronger with helped convince him, too. There was something reassuring about being able to protect them them of all people, those who didn’t need to depend wholly on him and could defend themselves should his strength fail them. But would still rely on his skills to add to their own, and truly ensure they would all be okay. And he will make sure they would be. He refused to lose any one of 'his own' ever again, swearing the very same oath he gave his late comrades before.

He will protect his newfound family, with all he has. Whatever it takes.

Mason Ennosigaeus (17): Sidon’s actual biological child. He was stolen away from his family by Morjena when she had found out of his existence, snatching him during the chaos she'd set off after tricking Eremites into looting the caravan the man's wife had traveled with on her way to the main city. It was a move meant to ensure Danae had no competition to being the man’s heir, especially after the woman and her attendants had been killed in the ensuing struggle. Danae was supposed to kill Mason upon being left with him, as Morjena had thought she’d thoroughly beaten the heart out of her. When it turned out that she hadn’t and even wound up with an attachment to the boy, Mason became an opportunity for Morjena to ensure Danae stuck around, regardless of the abuse she faced, regardless of how much harder she became to control the older she got.

Mason himself was frequently abused by Morjena while Danae was gone and quickly came to rely on the latter for everything. Not that it necessarily meant he was entirely helpless. His weak constitution left him frail as it was, sure, but in truth, Danae never failed to endlessly dote on him every chance she was home to see him, even going as far as to sacrifice her own meals for his sake. She would even forgo sleep to guard him against Morjena as best she could, and when she did, she would deliberately sleep in a way that if the woman pulled anything, she would be the one to take the brunt of her mother’s abrupt assaults. Every little thing he could ever want or need and THEN some was his at his command, and without hesitation. He need only ask. She couldn't offer him comforts like reassurances and gentleness, but this, this she could do for him. And he was wholly all for it, appreciating the one good thing he had amid the horrid life he was stuck in.

Inevitably, her boundless devotion and their environment twisted him up as badly as it had her, albeit in a different way. The one who truly wound up heartless and cruel, through and through, just as Morjena was, had been him.

He may come off as shy and unassuming but in truth, he is twice as vicious and self-serving as Danae, behind the gentle demeanor. He is the one person who can ask of her to do anything at his whim, no matter what it is, no matter how hurt she would end up in the process. And he's used that, time and again to sic her on whoever it was he so chose, be it strangers for his own amusement or even people he's realized she started to get a little too close to, in selfish need to ensure she wouldn't start giving away her loyalties. To test that she truly did mean her loyalties to him, and act accordingly if she hesitated or doubted. In his eyes, he still needed her to survive, after all. Especially after an encounter with hilichurls had nearly taken his life, and had cost him his legs just above his knees, even after being rushed to Birmastan.

At the same time, he is also the person others could use to strongarm Danae into damn near anything if they hold him captive, as any threats to him lead her to be all to eager to comply for his safety ( though woe betide those who lose him as a bargaining chip at any point during ). He is the One and Only Thing she has left to lose, but the feeling is not mutual. It hasn’t been from the moment she’d left him at the Akademiya on his own.

Even having been left in the lap of luxury when she'd been forced to flee, being torn from her side and the endless doting, from his greatest asset, left him stewing in a resentful rage. His bitterness and broken heart earned him a Cryo Vision amid the enraged outburst within his room, gleaming enticingly within the wreckage of her final gift to him. That Vision, however, he deemed the greatest gift of all, and one he thoroughly believes was the Tsaritsa’s personal wish to him and show of support.

As such, as of earning his Vision, he swiftly abandoned the idea of staying at the Akademiya. Instead, he sought to join the Fatui, using his power as incentive to be kept of use to them alongside the Cicin Mages. Though he was sure to mask what he did, telling Danae he got to travel for his studies so she never suspects. So her constant stream of money and gifts from afar never end, having them brought to him by agents he roped into his whims that happened to be stationed in Sumeru.

In learning she had also once joined the Fatui only to abruptly disappear, he knew before any of the lot that she was still alive, and elected to keep this fact to himself, to ensure none of his comrades could seek out and find her. However his intentions are far from protective out of any genuine concern. He has full intentions to personally hunt her down and make her face the full consequences for abandoning him. And the Fatui, too, of course. But if possible, he would like to be the one to bring her end himself. To look her right in the eyes as he would use his Vision to make of her a pristine statue for himself to keep.

Maybe then she’ll actually keep her promise to never leave his side.

#hc; genshin #v; intertwined fates (genshin verse)#long post for ts #//Ok; lots of notes on this one #For Da'Lun: Ironically; staying w the gang makes the influence of his father’s karmic debt worse; esp the more he kills for em.#Working with Danae yielded the same result; he didn’t realize it then; but when Ozzy made him aware he just #tends to conveniently Ignore that fact; thus he’s become more tempered and sadistic than he was before meeting her.#Absolutely Not making him a ticking timebomb at the rate things are going; No Sir. Luckily; Durene’s there to keep him balanced. Sometimes.#For Oz: If it's not clear; Oz’s Delusion weapon is basically akin to a xenomorph tail kjfnkfjg. Bc YES.#He scarcely uses the Abyssal abilities he has after getting his Delusion. Considers the thing a lil' gift from one of his favorite allies.#Only uses those powers in Emergencies; esp bc he doesn't want to reveal his heritage. Not out of real secrecy or anything.#Bc he wants to wait for the right TIME to drop it on his gang. Like the dramatic bastard he is.#To clarify for Eliza; she really had been baiting Ozzy to get him close to defend herself; not actually resigned to die.#That aside; I like to think her wheelchair post-Vision resembles comes to resemble like #The sealchairs in Witch Hat Atelier. Has one that looks & works like a regular one; then uses the sealchair-like one for missions.#Deffo uses her Vision to move about without help once she gets it; not too frequently bc it does take energy to manifest the vines and such #But being able to do so makes her happy even still. She's getting much better with practice at it. In regards to Durene:#She is their BACKBONE. They would all fall apart or Mcfreakin’ DIE without her around. Is also v fed up with them all & v fond all at once.#When she ascends; she has no idea if she’d rather smite or bless them; when all’s said and done. She'll figure that out then.#For Jade; None of the group know she is trans except for Durene/Danae; both due to accidents. Durene bc Jade accidentally hurt herself and #needed the treatment; Dani due to Jade accidentally admitting it over misunderstanding. Both keep it a secret; which she is v grateful #Aight; Mako time: He’s the youngest yet that makes him no less unhinged than the others; Jade learned that the hard way #Has an unrequited crush on Da'Lun but isn’t fazed about it bc the guy still spoils & indulges his every whim when he gets the chance anyway #He’s usually w them; leaving the family business to be run by two of Oz’s associates. Keeps frequent contact to ensure it doesn’t go under.#Occasionally travels back to deal w things. Like getting tickets to a certain magic show in Fontaine when they all decide to visit.#//Extra Tua notes; he was briefly infatuated with Danae after they began traveling together & she Definitely used that to her advantage.#After getting to know her & the kind of person she truly is; it’s since died down & he even has become more wary of her intentions.#Notably; he is right up there with Eliza & Durene as the group's sweetheart. Even w his avarice; he truly cares & is kind to them.#Mason. Oh boy Mason. He essentially is a Cryo Cicin Mage. Genuinely chose it bc it was easier to move about; being one #Dani wouldn't be Aware of him until around Fontaine. The resulting fallout will Not be pretty. The lad would make Sure of it

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incognit0slut · 10 months ago

Text

Hypothetically

Chronically single, you suggest a pact with your best friend to start a family together when you turn forty.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x bau fem reader

Category: fluff/comfort

Warnings: marriage and baby talk, reader is insecure because she feels left out

A/n: This is my entry for the kid fic challenge by @imagining-in-the-margins! This was like a breath of fresh air from all the smut I’ve been writing

"Do you want to have a baby with me?"

The scalding coffee burned his tongue as your question lingered in the air. Spencer cleared his throat awkwardly and patted his chest, his eyes drifting towards you. "Uh... what?"

"Hypothetically," you replied, the tap of your pen echoing against the round table between you. "It's like a pact. If we're both still single in the future, we get married to one another and, well, start a family together."

Spencer felt the clamminess of his palms as he set his mug down, trying to steady himself. He considered you as one of the closest people in his life, if not his best friend, and he was accustomed to your random questions, but this sudden topic of conversation seemed to strike a nerve.

"Where..." he began, wiping his palm along his pants. "...where is this coming from?"

You shrugged casually, the tapping of your pen momentarily ceasing. "Just a thought. I mean, we're both at that age where these things start to cross our minds, right?"

Spencer swallowed, trying to push down the unease rising in his chest. "Yeah, I guess so," he muttered, but as he studied you, he noticed the tension in your shoulders. "Are you okay?"

Your gaze flickered away for a moment before you sighed, slumping against your chair.

"I have a wedding coming up this weekend." Spencer frowned, not understanding what you were trying to say. You continued, "And another one next week, and guess what? Two of my cousins are getting married next month."

"What does that have to do with...?" His voice trailed off as realization dawned on him. "Ah, I see."

But you weren't finished. Somehow, the thoughts that had lingered in your mind for the past few days spilled out right then and there, in the middle of broad daylight when you were supposed to be focusing on the case you were working on.

"And a close friend I went to high school with just gave birth while another friend from college announced she's two months pregnant. And look at me," you exclaimed, your arms flying around. "No wedding. No pregnancy. Spencer, I don't even have a boyfriend, heck, I forgot what it's like to go out on a date!"

He watched as your brow furrowed into a frown, and although your demeanor was all over the place, he couldn't help but notice how you still managed to look pretty.

"Spence?" You asked, nudging his leg with your foot under the table. "Are you listening to me?"

He blinked, momentarily pulled from his thoughts by your voice. "Sorry," he replied. "I'm listening."

You gave him a skeptical look, but the tension in your shoulders seemed to ease slightly as you leaned back in your chair.

"I just... I don't know, I feel like I'm left behind." You sighed, running a hand through your hair. "I mean, I'm happy for my friends and all, but sometimes it feels like everyone's moving forward but me. Like I'm stuck in this... this rut."

Spencer wasn't sure how to respond. On one hand, he knew how it felt to want something that seemed out of reach, but on the other hand, he felt like it wasn't his place to offer advice when he wasn't even sure what the future held for him.

"I get it," he finally said, trying to gather his thoughts. The least he could do was try to offer some comfort. "But just because you haven't reached those milestones yet doesn't mean you won't get there eventually."

"But what if it doesn't happen? What if I'm still all alone and nobody loves me when I'm gray and old?"

He frowned at you. "I'd still love you when you're gray and old."

"Platonically. You love me as much as you love JJ. Or Emily. Or Penny, or even Morgan." You leaned over the table. "I want to be loved passionately by someone who is head over heels for me, who can't imagine a life without me. I want to feel that kind of happiness."

His frown deepened. "I don't think you should find happiness in another person."

"You're missing the point," you groaned, crossing your arms. "I'm not saying I want to depend on someone else for my happiness. But is it too much to ask for someone to share it with? To feel like I'm someone's everything and not just another friend in the group?"

His expression softened as he listened, a sense of familiarity washing over him. He remembered feeling the same thing once, or maybe more than once; he wasn't sure. He had lost count of the times he felt his life was falling short.

But he realized the more he thought about the why—why was he so different? why couldn't he find love?—the more he felt worthless, and he hated that. So what was the best thing he did to ignore those thoughts?

Bury himself in work, because to him, pushing those feelings aside was easier than confronting them. But now, as he looked at you, it felt like he was seeing his own reflection and your words hit him harder than he expected.

"No," he quietly agreed. "It's not too much to ask for."

"I guess what I'm trying to say is... I'm tired of waiting for life to happen to me." Your gaze slowly met his. "So I came up with a plan."

His throat felt dry as he recalled how this conversation started in the first place. "The... baby plan?"

You nodded enthusiastically, sliding into the seat next to him.

"Think about it. If we're both still single when we're..." You paused, furrowing your brow as you did a quick calculation. "Forty? Yeah, let's say we're both still single when we're forty, with no partners, or like, no friends with benefits?"

You shook your head.

“Just... with no one in our lives—we get married. You and me."

He blinked, trying to process your proposal. It was unexpected, to say the least, but there was a strange logic to it that he couldn't quite shake. The idea of marrying his best friend as a backup plan was both absurd and oddly comforting.

"But what about... love?" he asked cautiously. "Wasn't that what you wanted?"

You paused, considering his question before responding. "I mean, I don't think it's impossible," you said, leaning back in your seat. "Haven't you ever heard of the saying, 'Marry your best friend'?"

His gaze lingered on you, his heart beating hard against his chest. "You're saying that we can fall in love?"

Your eyes met his, and a small smile tugged at the corners of your lips. "Who knows?" you replied softly. "Stranger things have happened."

Spencer shouldn't entertain the possibility. After all, who knew what could happen in the future? It seemed like an absurd thought, but as he stared at you, it was hard not to imagine a life with you as his wife.

He imagined you in a white dress, walking down the aisle towards him with a radiant smile on your face. He pictured you both in the house you had just bought, dancing joyfully around the empty rooms as you unpacked boxes together.

Then thoughts of you being pregnant with his child—or maybe even children—filled his mind, and he envisioned a future where your kids would run around in the backyard with a pet dog trailing behind.

And then he considered the prospect of growing old with you, watching as your children eventually started families of their own while you found comfort in each other's company. All of these possibilities didn't seem so bad, because if anyone could understand him on a deep level, it was definitely you.

Maybe this crazy plan of yours wasn't so crazy after all.

"I... I guess it's not impossible," he finally admitted. Then, not wanting to seem too eager, he added, "Hypothetically speaking."

"Of course," you replied with a smile. "Hypothetically speaking."

Suddenly feeling flustered by your gaze, Spencer looked away and focused on his coffee, bringing the mug to his lips. Then you heard laughter and footsteps drawing closer, and soon Derek and Emily entered the room. Their eyes immediately landed on the two of you, sitting closely together at the table.

"What are you children whispering about?" Derek's voice interrupted, his eyebrows raised curiously as he glanced between you.

You didn't miss a beat. “Spencer and I are having a baby together."

Spencer choked on his coffee, his eyes widening in shock as he coughed and sputtered. You quickly moved to pat his back.

"Well, we're gonna get married first, right, Spence?" you added with a grin, glancing at him expectantly.

Spencer finally managed to regain his composure, clearing his throat awkwardly as he shot you a sideways glance. "Um, yeah, of course," he stammered, his cheeks still tinged with embarrassment. "Hypothetically."

Derek and Emily exchanged bemused glances, a silent conversation passing between them. Emily's curiosity seemed to win out as she lifted a hand, turning her attention back to you. "Care to explain?"

"We were discussing our backup plan."

"Backup plan?" Derek echoed.

"Yeah," you replied with a nod. "In case neither of us finds the right person by the time we're, oh, I don't know, forty or so, we figured we'd marry each other and start a family."

Derek placed a hand over his chest, feigning hurt. "And you chose Pretty Boy over me?"

"I'm not going to compete with all your lady friends," you shot back, rising from your seat. "Come on, Spence, let's grab some lunch and brainstorm baby names."

He stood up, giving you a pointed look.

"Or do you want to discuss how we'd make those babies in the future?"

"Well, I was thinking of Amelia if it's a girl..."

You grinned, linking your arm through his before guiding him towards the door. Derek and Emily observed the natural closeness between you two, how you were practically clinging to him and how he seemed to be comfortable with it.

Derek turned to Emily as you disappeared down the hallway. "Do you think they'd actually get married when they hit forty?"

Emily shook her head. "Nope," she replied confidently. "I give it a year until he's already down on one knee."

He laughed, nodding in agreement. With the way Spencer's gaze lingered on you with unmistakable affection, it seemed like it was only a matter of time.

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x self insert #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x fanfiction #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid drabble #spencer reid scenario #spencer reid fanfic #criminal minds fanfic

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nohoney · 10 months ago

Text

inspired by a text i sent

“we should call out of work together one day, just spend a day fucking.” you suggest to bakugou one day when he returns from work as you’re setting food down at his place on the table. “what do you say?”

bakugou grunts and points out that you and him have sex on the regular, that there’s no need to take time off just to fuck for a whole day. he doesn’t pay your suggestion much mind at first. he works, comes home, spends time with you, and then he rests.

however there comes a stressful period from his agency. things are slightly fucked with an underground villain organization that his team is trying to keep tabs on so his schedule gets rearranged as he helps lead the case on the activity. suddenly he’s not seeing you as often, coming in unreasonably late at night when you’re already asleep, or you’re coming home just as he’s leaving. you’re only able to have a few minutes with each other before he has to go. maybe even a quickie if the two of you are really lucky but even those leave the both of you slightly unsatisfied.

it’s just not enough time together.

it’s a whole month of this fucked up routine, and it’s when he sees your engagement ring sitting in your little jewelry tray in the bathroom when bakugou recalls your words and decides that he needs it.

he trudges into his home again at four in the morning, dropping his work bag by the couch and running his hands down his face that’s coupled with an exhausted sigh. his eyes are tired, his back aches a little, and he’s a little hungry but can’t be bothered with eating a meal at this time. all he wants to do is rest next to you.

bakugou wants his old schedule back.

after he’s showered, bakugou is careful to not jostle you too much as he joins you in bed. his heart clenches a little as he sees you curled up on his side of the bed, your face smushed into his pillow and even wearing one of his shirts are your pajamas. fuck—he misses you.

so he picks up his phone, using the last of his energy to send a text to kirishima and a sidekick in a small groupchat.

[04:47] calling out for two days. keep it together until i get back or else.

kirishima will be unquestioning to his request seeing as bakugou had done a similar favor for him when he was getting burnt out from the agency too.

his phone is put on do not disturb and is set with the screen facing down on the bedside table. bakugou is careful to move you back to your side of the bed, pressing a kiss to your temple to soothe you when you groan unpleasantly. he’s happy to sink into the warmth of the bed and he pulls you in close, falling asleep quicker than he could have anticipated.

you normally wake up at seven and you’re pretty good at hopping out of bed to start your day. this morning is not as easy, not when you wake up to bakugou having practically trapped you against him. it’s nice though, so so nice considering the schedule he’s had lately. he has to rest though from his late night and you have to be ready for work, so you try to peel his arms off you.

oh his arms… so fucking strong and built, they feel so good to be wrapped around your waist but you have to go.

when you attempt a second time to get out of his hold, you let out a small yelp when your fiancé tightens his hold and grunts, “stay.”

“katsuki, i can’t,” your voice rasps with sleepiness, trying to shake it off along with your hulking hero soon-to-be-husband off you, “gotta get ready for work.”

“stay.” bakugou repeats himself a little more firmly.

you sigh out loud and attempt a third time to get out of his hold. you’re surprised when he pushes you to lie back on the bed and he cages you with his body, looking down at you with dark bags under his eyes. almost fed up, you’re about to yell at him but he speaks first, “call out, i miss you and i’m gonna fuck you all day.”

his words are familiar but in the moment, you can’t recall from when you heard them. it has a reaction on you, has you aching and clenching your legs together as you look up at him. “you need rest, you got home late.”

“i’ll sleep when i feel like it. i just fucking miss you.” he croons, leaning down to nose at your cheek and then inhale the scent of your lotion that he can still smell faintly on your skin, “call out.”

oh god, you are tempted but you want him to sleep and you have a scheduled call with all the other managers for your work today. “katsuki, get some sleep baby. i can make dinner tonight when i get home and-“ you try to convince him to get rest but he speaks over you.

“c’mon, fuck on my cock and show me how much you miss me.”

you’re finally convinced.

it only takes thirty seconds to send a text with a reasonable excuse to your lead manager that you won’t be in for the next two days. you know that they’ll say no problem to you since you’ve hardly called out of work since you earned your promotion within the last year. and besides, there’s always other people calling out anyway so now it’s your fucking turn.

plus you know… you’re dynamight’s fiancée so you should get to flex that occasionally.

everything is frenzied now that the two of you know you have the next 48 hours with one another. no work, no meetings, no emails—just the two of you finally together.

the kisses are desperate, clothes are flung off and thrown somewhere on the bedroom floor, and bakugou is lying on his back as he grabs your hips to have you sit on his face. to have him hold you like this again has you excited, moaning loudly in relief as your fiancé eagerly eats you out. your hips roll to glide his tongue along your pussy, his big hands sliding up from your hips and cupping just right underneath your tits, one of his thumbs leisurely petting just right underneath your breast.

“oh god, oh god! fuck, s’good!” your breath is low, speaking more to yourself and lewdly moaning when bakugou roughly grabs your tits.

“missed this pussy on my face,” bakugou groans from beneath in between licks, “missed my fucking girls right here.”

ugh it’s so corny how he refers to your breasts but in the moment you find it grossly endearing. sometimes when you were cooking, bakugou would come up behind you and put his hands under your shirt just to grope at you. sometimes you would get genuinely annoyed at him for intruding in your space but with him being so busy in the last month, you had missed it more than you thought you would have.

it’s almost embarrassing how easily you cum on his tongue but bakugou has no complaints, practically drinking it up as he continues to eat away at you. as much as you relieved to get eaten out again, you were aching even more for his cock in your mouth. hopping off his face, you feel your mouth drool upon seeing your fiancé’s hard cock flushed a rosy red at the tip as it twitches against his lower stomach.

“pumpkin, hold on i want to you to—fuck!” bakugou wanted your cunt right away but he throws his head back against the pillows when you immediately deepthroat his cock. just as he had eagerly eaten you out to show how much he missed you, you were enthusiastically taking him into your throat. bakugou almost feels like a virgin with the way he’s reacting, finding himself a little sensitive that he hadn’t gotten properly sucked off in a while thanks to those shitty villains that showed on the radar for some real serious shit.

bakugou swears he’s gonna rip them apart with his own hands once they’re located for keeping him and his fiancée apart this long.

his chest rises and falls quickly, one of his hands clenching a fist as we he wills himself to not cum. but god, your mouth feels so good on his cock and he hasn’t had a proper nut in a while. the quickies he had with you along with the secret hurried fisting on his dick while on the job just weren’t cutting it. finding some semblance of control, bakugou grabs you by the back of your head and pulls you off.

“katsukiiii!” you whine out his name in a small drawl, letting out a petulant little noise that makes him coo over you, “i want more!”

bakugou hushes you gently, guiding you back over to him until he’s got you hovering over his cock. “sit on it baby, give that fucking pussy to me.” he urges you with a tone of desperation in his voice, “c’mon, fuck!”

slowly you ease onto his cock, your eyes fluttering as the tip breaches you and the stretch of your fiancé has you excited. a month isn’t necessarily a long time but when neither of you hadn’t been able to not even spend at least fifteen minutes together in the entirety since his fucked up schedule, it ends up feeling like a lifetime has passed.

your hands rest on bakugou’s pecs, needing the leverage as you sit back fully onto his cock, gasping in surprise when you already cum on him.

“oh fuck, ya missed me that much sweetheart? you only put it in and you’re already cumming again?” bakugou breathlessly laughs, using his strong hands to lift you up slightly and slamming you down. he relishes in your gasp and how your cunt is already soaking wet—it’s dripping right where’s got you plugged and onto his balls. one would think that it’s a little cruel that he repeats the motion a few times, still getting the same result as you start to lose your mind from becoming sensitive already, but he’s been missing this and missing you.

you manage to get some semblance of your brain back, pushing off bakugou’s hands and put in the work of riding him yourself. there’s no work that you need to get to later on—nothing that’s going to get in the way between you and him!

“missed you, katsuki! missed you, missed you!” your words are desperate and your cunt is eager to milk your fiancé’s cock. you ride him hard, even as your legs start to tire and you can feel a thin sheen of sweat start to form on your body, you don’t want to stop. you take him in, watching bakugou become equally overwhelmed. his eyes shut and his mouth drops open to groan, but when he attempts to open his eyes it seems that he doesn’t know where to look.

he loves watching your cunt swallow his dick, he loves how your tits bounce in his face when you fuck him like this, and he loves looking at your face as you—

smack!

“ah shit, the fuck was that for babe?” bakugou curses but he was actually exhilarated from you slapping him. normally he’s the one slapping your cheeks, but it’s not unheard of for you to give him the same treatment occasionally.

“you-you missed tasting wedding cakes with me! it was scheduled this month and you couldn’t make it!” you huff out, sitting back again onto his dick and this time shaking your hips. the little motion makes his eyes roll back but he manages to hiss out ‘m sorry baby…

oh fuck, you’re right. he had it marked off in his calendar three months prior but this stupid schedule wrecked everything! and who knows if you’ve had to reschedule or postpone certain things that are needed for the wedding all because of him.

once bakugou is back to work, he is definitely going to kill those stupid villain fuckers.

he stutters apologies, canting his hips up to meet yours and fucking you from the bottom. “sorry, fucking sorry baby… tell me everything that i missed. everything.”

“r-right now?” you shudder and then yelp when bakugou seizes control, putting you on your back and leaning over you, “tell you now?”

“no stupid, tell me when we’re not fucking.” bakugou tuts, deciding that you’re way too coherent with his dick in you. so he rams himself into you, deep into cunt and hearing another wet squelch that drips onto his cock and is gonna make a wet spot on the bed. he’s got plans to make you cum more, to make you squirt, to make you lose your voice from screaming for him but only after he listens to all the updates he’s missed for the last month.

he is going to fuck you as much as he can for the next two days.

bakugou misses your tight walls clinging onto him, sometimes clenching so hard that he has to wait for you to relax a little so that he can keep on moving. soft and wet and warm, he’s been obsessed with your pussy since the first date he had with you. he’s been in love with you for the last three years and he’s going to keep on loving you forever.

right now though, he just really really wants to fuck you for himself.

the frenzied fucking is everything that he’s been missing, watching as your head digs into the pillow and your body starts to shake. you were babbling a little earlier but now you’re so fucked out that you can only make sounds, no discernible words can be formed in your head or out loud. he’s got you suspended in ecstasy, drowning in a sea of rapture, and just absolutely stupid from his cock.

“missed this sloppy lil, pussy. fucking love this pussy, all fucking mine.”

bakugou reaches in between your bodies, knowing that he’s about to make you undone. he rubs the pad of his thumb against your clit in tandem with his thrusts. it’s like you’re renewed, your eyes widening in a brief moment of clarity at the new stimulation, taking in the onslaught of pleasure that’s surging up and down your body.

you wail for him, your toes curling and your back arching high off the bed. your cunt spasms around his cock, hugging him tightly before your orgasm crashes hard onto you. one of your arms manages to clutch onto bakugou and pulls him in close, your nails dragging down hard against his back.

that makes him come undone, fucking hard into you still as thick ropes of cum fill you. even as he cums, his fingers still work on your clit but you can barely manage to take anymore before slapping his hand away instinctively to stop overstimulating you.

your fiancé’s body is a pleasant weight that drops on you, the both of you catching your breath after some mind blowing sex. bakugou feels your hands soothe over his back. your touch is relaxing and what he’s been needing this entire time. he decides to stay like this until his cock finally softens inside you.

bakugou pulls out and rolls over to his side of the bed, pulling up the blankets to help cover you up while you still try to get yourself in order. he basks in the glow that he’s sure is radiating off of him, like a knot that’s finally massaged out of his neck, like a joint that finally cracks and gives you some relief when you stretch.

yeah… he’s been needing this.

the two of you are up on your feet and hour later, barely clothed in your own home as you walk around in an oversized sweatshirt and he leaves the bedroom only wearing his favorite sweats. bakugou is at the stove as he cooks breakfast and you’re catching him up on some of the things he’s missed on your side while you make a dirty chai for him.

“i can order a wedding cake sampler and have it delivered here, how does that sound? seeing as you missed the actual tasting.” you offer to your fiancé, stirring up his chai for him before setting it to the side, “comes with twelve flavors for us to try.”

“yeah, why not? i don’t think we’ve ever sat around just eating cake before.” bakugou agrees as he plates the second omelette that’s meant for you.

“it’s not just cake we’re eating, katsuki! it’s for the wedding! we need to choose what we think everyone will enjoy.” you chide him playfully as you set up the table for the two you. bakugou likes the setup of the little breakfast nook, but he leaves for the bathroom to fetch one thing that will make everything complete.

he picks up your engagement ring from your jewelry tray.

although bakugou is the one who decided to call off work suddenly, he can’t help but glance at his phone anyway for any updates. and he gets a single text from kirishima-

[9:01] good news! we’re off the hook for now with the case—managed to get todoroki’s agency to help rotate the watch too. enjoy your days off bro!

bakugou is grateful but he only sends it in the form of a thumbs up reaction to the text. he knows that kirishima appreciates it anyway and is probably just as relieved.

so he walks back to have breakfast with you, deciding to withhold the news from you for now as he tells you to put your ring on. and it feels right again to sit down and eat with you, drink from his favorite mug, and to be actually relaxed for the first time in a month.

“mmkay, the cakes are gonna be delivered by one! and i know it’s us choosing together, but i really liked the strawberry mousse with white cake as an option.”

he’s still got the next 40-something hours with you to fuck you as much as he wants and to make up all the time he’s missed.

#bakugou katsuki x reader #bakugou x reader #bakugou smut

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lovelyghst · 10 months ago

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ex-boyfriend simon riley making you admit you still love him if you wanna cum <3

he can be such a jerk sometimes! calling you up one evening, claiming he was just wanting to check in on you and how you know how overbearing protective he can be sometimes, acting surprised when you snapped at him barely after his greeting.

“what has you so frustrated, hm, dove?… christ, can practically feel you seethin’ through the screen.”

you bit your tongue and gave him the truth over the phone; how he shouldn’t be calling you without warning like this considering you’ve broken up, and it’s inappropriate to be labeling you those sweet pet names you unfortunately and unknowingly still adore deep down.

how you don’t appreciate his abrasive bluntness, then again, he should know very well that you never have liked that part about him.

you told him the truth, though you couldn’t be entirely honest with him, in the sense of how fucking needy you’ve become with his absence. for touch and care, proximity and security, and all that.

but you are over him, undoubtedly, and you let him know that.

“yeah, baby, whatever you say…

…bet you rub that little cunt raw every night thinkin’ve me.”

and that shut you up quick.

he hummed in understanding, like your silence was readable.

“poor girl prob’ly hasn’t had any proper attention since i’ve been gone… shame such a pretty thing has to be so neglected, eh?”

butterflies invaded your tummy at the compliment, and you cursed yourself for your hasty, blind acceptance of it. but you can't blame yourself; what girl wouldn’t at least begin to crumble at that voice?

“i’m right, yeah?” he taunted, and it almost made you sick when you caught yourself rubbing your thighs together at his meanness.

“c’mon, sweetheart�� you know you can be honest wi’ me.”

and god, was his cocky tone so infuriating; you wanted to reach through the phone and slap his smug face straight for overstepping your relationship’s boundaries so blatantly, and with such a deeply rooted nonchalance in his voice that always had you heated and wet.

“say the word, ‘nd i’ll come over and fuck you right now.”

…which is why you had eventually asked him oh, so nicely:

“please..?”

you could practically hear the shit-eating grin on his face, followed by the faint noises of boots hitting hardwood floor and then the clicking of a door’s lock, the obnoxious ringing of keys clanging together.

“just give me ten minutes, doll.”

and now, as he bullies and buries his cock deep in your warm cunt, reaching all those sweet spots you or another man could never even come close to, you can’t really think much of his misbehavior.

truthfully, you can’t think much of anything at all, at the moment.

he had teased you prior to finally managing his way inside you, for god knows how long. his mouth, his fingers, his cockhead; all had brought you to the edge rather quickly, over and over after each other, but he was yet to give you that final push.

he puts his full body’s weight on you, strong pecs pressed up against your heaving, sensitive tits, and his stubble tickling your neck unceasingly. you can’t stop squirming and writhing beneath him, and his hot groans right up against your skin aren’t helping, either.

it’s always been a feat taking his cock, being crammed in your precious cunt almost every night when you two were together, but now it’s been weeks, and you nearly forgot just how big he was.

you missed it, admittedly. all of it; the veins and ridges, the unforgiving stretch. the slight twinge of pain he always hushed with his fingertips pressing your swollen, little clit, or a calloused thumb shoved between your puffy lips to suck on and drool over to distract yourself.

you missed his stamina, his libido. most striking of all, his selflessness in the entire act. he’s a soldier, he serves you right. most times.

“fuckin’ christ, sweetheart… missed this tight, messy thing wrapped ‘round my cock… practically stranglin’ me ‘n with no remorse, eh?”

shit, and you missed his dirty talk most of all.

“gonna fill this pretty, little pussy… keep ‘er happy all night, make up for lost time with my girl.” he wraps his hand gently around your jaw, making your eyes meet his. “you’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

you nod frantically, swallow as best you can, before sucking in a breath. “yeah— yes, please, si… i-i want it really bad… please.”

he kisses your lips with a smile, and then all over the side of your face, up to your forehead. he just can’t seem to stop kissing you.

“tell me, sweetheart. y’wanna cum, too?”

“i do, si—! i really, really do- fuck, please?” you beg and beg, and as much as it turns him on, digs at his heart to just give in, he sticks to his guns and merely adds:

“then say the words, pretty girl,” he coos, making you whimper in frustration. “that’s it, y’know what i wanna hear.”

you huff a whine in response, albeit your breath is strangled when he doesn’t halt his movements for even a second.

you really, really don’t want to give him the satisfaction.

he’s nearly panting himself, big chest and even bigger shoulders rolling upwards with every thrust. “y’ain’t cummin’ til i hear you say it, baby. c’mon, now. jus' admit it, that you still love me.”

he buries his cock to the very hilt, taking your slackened jaw tighter in his hand as he watches your eyes grow even hazier from his pelvis rubbing up against your vulnerable, needy clit. the stern look he gives you tells you he's serious about his last statement, but you'll later swear you sensed a bit of sadness, even despair in his expression.

“i love—” you choke on your own breath, desperate to sputter out the words. “i love you, si…”

and he practically has hearts in his eyes. “you mean it?”

“yes—! yes i do, i promise i still love you, please,” you spill, sounding closer to a temper tantrum than anything. “just lemme cum, please, si… really need it, please, i-i’ve been good...”

he hums lowly, contented, satisfied for once. as if those three words themselves — i love you — are the ones actually stroking his fucking cock. his ego maybe, you’d think, but jesus.

if you knew just how badly off he was beforehand, you never would’ve let him get this cocky and in control.

“love you too, sweetheart.” he kisses your puffed out lips, wipes a tear you hadn’t even noticed was trickling down your cheekbone. “always been my good, patient girl, haven’t ya?”

you nod once more, pinched brows and bleary eyes doubling in severity at his soft tone. simon praising you and being so, so uncharacteristically sweet has always made you fawn after more, even now. especially now.

“tha’s right, baby, you’re my good girl… now do me a favor and cum on my cock for me, yeah? lemme feel every last bit of ya.”

he ultimately resumes moving inside you, and it makes you wonder when he ever even stopped. your brain shuts off when he snakes a hand between your bodies, smoothing over your tummy before his middle and ring fingers quickly find your tortured, little bud. pressing hard, making you writhe with oversensitivity.

he works you over the edge diligently, and embarrassingly fast on your part, taking into account just how long he had edged you for. the sight and sweet noises you make are a dream; a reality he awfully missed, and something no other girl could compete with.

"that's it... easy, sweetheart," he coos softly.

he gives you a moment to come down from your high, softly palming your throbbing cunt to assist in grounding you, but you're barely able to finish catching your breath before he's doing it all over again! resuming flicking at your clit, rubbing you harshly and overstimming you enough to make you fruitlessly jolt and cry out beneath him.

he frowns down at you, damn-near condescending. "again, for me?"

you twitch and moan relentlessly as he gradually coaxes another orgasm from your tuckered body, his cockhead hitting that part deep enough inside you to make you see stars, his hard abdomen pressed against your tummy making the pressure of it all skyrocket tenfold.

the sensation of you finishing around his length once more has him barreling into his own orgasm, and soon fucking his pent up cum deep into your cunt with a few hard thrusts and a grumbled, broken groan right at your temple.

endless praises spill from his lips as everything becomes a blur for you; from the moment he's pulling out of your used cunt—crawling down and giving it and your pretty tits a couple sloppy kisses before briskly redressing himself—to being coddled in bed and squished between his muscular arms and torso.

he holds you so close to him that it makes you wonder why, or even how you could ever turn your back to it. he truly makes you feel like a spoiled doll in this sort of space. a doll with shaky legs, ruined makeup, and half a conscious.

"remind me why we broke up again?" he chimes.

you groan aloud, burying your face somehow further in his chest. "shut up, simon."

he laughs softly, pestering you with even more quick kisses, one after another to the crown of your skull. large hands rubbing up and down your back, moving to knead at your ass and thighs for a short moment. he just loves touching you so much.

“c’mon, pretty girl. let’s go get you cleaned up,” he mutters with an exhale. "how's a hot bath sound?"

you have no time to interject, other than a displeased pout and shake of your head, before you’re being hoisted up on your wobbly legs, then swept up and carried to your restroom when you couldn’t even make it three steps before your knees began to buckle on you.

you’re dizzy, utterly dazed and half asleep as he bathes you. making sure you don’t lift a finger as he works, treating you as nothing less than a princess. your loosened muscles somehow melt even more with his precise touch and strength, and you remember just how much you love being turned utterly numb and dependent on him.

you’re pretty sure you fell asleep the moment you were wrapped in a warm towel, pulled into the strong embrace of his meaty arms, but something he said moments beforehand had stuck with you.

“hey,” he whispered, soapy hand turning you to face him. he leaned in and kissed the area between your brows. “i’ll be better this time.”

“you promise?” you mumbled. your head fell atop your knees, arms wrapped around your legs and keeping them close to your body.

your extended pinky finger made him chuckle a bit, and he quickly looped his own around yours. solidifying his words. “promise.”

#he will in fact not be better!#because he is a man.#but i luv him anyway :3 #cod mw #simon riley #ghost cod #simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #ghost x reader #simon riley x female reader #ghost x female reader #simon riley smut #ghost smut

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yanderedrabbles · 3 months ago

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What would Yandere be like! Boyfriend with a girlfriend who is distant from him, but he finds out it's because she's planning a surprise party for him?

Oh this is such a great prompt!!

Yandere Boyfriend - Surprise Party

Yandere! Boyfriend immediately notices something is off. You tilt your phone screen away from him whenever you get a message. You go out shopping when he's away at the gym and when he gets back you've already hidden your parcels away. You whisper with your friends and grow quiet or change the subject when he gets close.

Yandere! Boyfriend hates it. But he tries very hard to be rational about it.

Yandere! Boyfriend who tries to get you to spill your secret. He'll pin you under him and pepper your neck with ticklish kisses, keeping you in place even as you squirm. His words are muffled by your skin but you can still hear the whine in his voice when he says, "Come on baby, you can tell me."

Yandere! Boyfriend who gets more and more pushy when you won't give in. His kisses turn to sharp little nips, his hands roam under your skirt and drag up your thighs. His voice drops dangerously low when he asks, "Why are you keeping secrets from me?"

Yandere! Boyfriend who has to fight himself to even let you up when you tell him to stop, that you're not hiding anything.

Yandere! Boyfriend who goes through your phone the second you're asleep. But you know what your boyfriend is like and you've covered your tracks well. He stares at the screen, his hand clenched so tightly around the device the frame almost bends. He has take several deep, slow breaths before he can make his fingers unclench.

Yandere! Boyfriend who starts following you. The errands you're on seem harmless on the surface. Buying a cake, ribbon, balloons... But his mind is an awfully paranoid place and all he can think about is some guy spreading chocolate frosting on your thighs and licking it off. Tying your legs together with ribbons and pulling them apart with his teeth. All he can think about is some bastard enjoying a gift that isn't his.

He goes to the gym after that and pounds at the punching bag until his knuckles are raw and bleeding inside his gloves.

Yandere! Boyfriend who tracks down every single one of your friends. Sometimes banging at their doors long after sundown. There's only one thing he wants to know from them.

Why is she keeping secrets from me?

Yandere! Boyfriend who hates the vague answers they give him - just wait and see, I can't tell you, it's a surprise. He has to bite his tongue to keep himself grounded or else he might start shaking them until the truth rattles out of their scrambled skulls.

Yandere! Boyfriend who honestly terrifies your friends with his intensity. They desperately want to tell you about it, the way his eyes go dull and dangerous, the way his massive fists stay clenched at his side like he's always on the verge of swinging, the blood that coats his teeth like he's been biting himself to ribbons. But they see the way you look at him, so hopelessly in love, and can't find the words to tell you.

Yandere! Boyfriend who won't let you out of your apartment. He'll cuddle you and pretend to be asleep so you can't even untangle yourself from his massive bulk. He'll "lose" the keys and help you turn the whole place upside down looking for it, teasing you for being so absent minded. He'll turn back all the clocks and hide your phone, just so he can steal a few more hours. Who only relents when you start considering the dangerously rusty fire escape.

Yandere! Boyfriend who is on the verge of tying you up in his basement. Who unlocks his door with the intention of taking a look down there and maybe making it comfortable.

"Surprise!"

Yandere! Boyfriend who stands frozen, taking in the ribbons, the balloons, the cake, the crowd of people. And at the forefront, you. In a pretty, new dress wearing those heels that make your legs look a mile long.

Yandere! Boyfriend who scoops you up in a hug and won't let you go. Who keeps a hand on you all night - around your waist, on your thigh, intertwined with yours.

Yandere! Boyfriend who practically kicks the stragglers out the door at the end of the night. He turn around to an empty house with you out of sight and his mind starts to doubt itself again.

Yandere! Boyfriend who finally finds you in the bedroom, ribbons tied all around you and a pretty red bow holding your legs together.

"Surprise."

Yandere! Boyfriend who thinks that might be his new favourite word. Who feels his throat go dry and for a second all he can do is drink you in. His pretty little girlfriend who played with fire planning this.

Yandere! Boyfriend who carefully unties each and every ribbon, planting soft kisses on your skin all the while. For now, the doubts have dissappeared and all that matters is you and him. Skin to skin and the only thought in his head is how he adores you.

#sees you buy cake and his first thought is 'oh god she's cheating on me'#lights on nobody home #Yandere Boyfriend #yandere #yandere x reader #reader insert #yandere scenarios #yandere imagines #yandere drabbles #x reader #yandere oc

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avatarchic · 11 months ago

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TWENTY-SIX MONTHS

— starring. baby daddy!todoroki shoto x fem!reader

— tags. miscommunication trope, angst, pregnancy and giving birth, friends with benefits, vague relationships, running away, slight single parent!au

— warnings. ages are unmentioned, but shoto is in his late 20s/early 30s, smut, soft sex, cunnilingus, praise, p in v, use of petnames (baby, pretty girl), reader gets called a good girl once, shoto is highkey a munch

— word count. 8.2k

— requested? no

— notes. this one ruined me tbh LOL i have a nasty habit of slipping btw present and past tense so the tenses in this one might be all over the place :')))

Whatever you and Todoroki Shoto had together, you knew it wasn’t romantic.

You were his outlet. His source of relaxation when being a hero became too much to bear on his shoulders alone. You were fantastical. You were illusionary. With you, he was no longer Pro Hero Shoto, Number Three Hero. With you, he was just Shoto. And for your moments away from the world hidden beneath wrinkled sheets and closed curtains, that was enough for him. When morning came, and those curtains had to be drawn, he would become Pro Hero Shoto again, and you would wake up to an empty bed.

For you, he was everything.

For you, he was your hero before he became a Pro. He saved you from succumbing to the stress of standing out to survive as a support class student. He saved you from your insecurities and false ambitions, and he saved you from living a life you didn’t truly want. Todoroki Shoto was your best friend before he became the man shrouded in shadow — the man you hid away in secrecy to bed whenever he wanted.

He told you he would be gone for a while. A mission in upper Kyoto that took him away from your arms while you stayed safe in Tokyo. He assured you that he would be fine and return to you as soon as possible. If you were a fool, you might’ve taken those to heart and swooned under the pretense of love. But you knew better.

Before Todoroki Shoto came Pro Hero Shoto. You would be a fool to think he would pick the first before the other. You would be a fool to think that you, a citizen with no name, could ever stand by his side. In your eyes, Shoto put his work before himself. Admirable, strong, ever-the-reliable Pro Hero Shoto. The nights he spent with you as just Shoto made you wonder who else got to see his true self.

The second month of his absence came, and you were sick. An illness had overtaken you, leaving you bedridden for days on end. At first, it had just been nausea. You put it off as motion sickness — you often had to take the train to and from anywhere. Perhaps your stomach had simply met its limit and was taking it out on you with lashes of sickness and vomiting.

After a week of being washed away in your bile, you realized that you had yet to bleed that month. Rather, you realized you hadn’t had your monthly bleeding for a while. You weren’t stupid. You knew what it all meant, and you knew the consequences of your actions had finally caught up to you. You hid away from the world, only leaving to purchase tests from the store.

The answers mocked you. PREGNANT. TWO MONTHS+.

You considered getting rid of it. To keep it your dirty little secret. Shoto would never have to know — no one would ever have to know. But as you stared at your reflection in the mirror, your hand resting atop your stomach, you felt at peace for once. As if you finally had a reason to keep going.

Five months had passed since he was gone, and you felt it now more than ever. You never explained to any of your friends or neighbours who was responsible for the swelling of your tummy, nor about the packages of furniture fit for a nursery that showed up on your doorstep. They never asked. No one knew your trysts with Shoto, and you planned to keep it that way.

For his sake.

You wished. You desperately wished that he could stay by your side, that he could support you through this time of anxiety and worry. You daydreamed of welcoming him home, your little bundle of joy wrapped in your arms as you kissed Shoto on the cheek — a reward for working hard as he always did. You thought about spending more than just nights of pleasure with the two-toned man, about wearing his ring and raising your beloved child together.

As a family.

Thirteen months had passed since you last saw Todoroki Shoto.

Thirteen long, gruelling, and lonely months were spent mourning his absence, even though he was still alive somewhere. It felt like the clouds that followed you for weeks parted only when your son was born. He looked like you. He had your nose and your eyes. He had the same rounded cheeks you still adorn, even well into adulthood. His voice was like bells on a clear sunny day, and when he lay in your arms, you declared that you would love him for all you were worth.

Even if the tuft of red and white on his head brought you immense heartache.

A selfish part of you wished that nothing of your son, whom you’ve named Yami, would resemble his father. That way, you could truly hide his origins — your past that you refused to uncover. But the bigger part of you was overjoyed. The moment you laid eyes on his hair, matted down with blood and amniotic fluid, you sobbed uncontrollably. The nurses and midwife recognized the two-toned hair immediately and watched you with pitiful eyes as you clutched Yami to your chest.

You moved away the second you were discharged from the hospital, baby carrier in tow. You wished your neighbours well and thanked them for being so kind to you in the years you lived among them. You were gone within that same week.

You lived peacefully in your new home, tucked away in the countryside of southern Japan. You opted to stay away from TVs and the internet, worried that seeing his face might make you regret the rash decision to pick up and leave. Yami was growing quickly, already large for a four-month-old. His hair grew out, more red than white.

You didn’t know if Shoto had made it back from his mission. If he did, you weren’t sure how long he had been back or whether he had sustained any injuries. You didn’t know if he went to your apartment to search for his fantasy. You didn’t know if he thought of you at all.

You didn’t know if he was alive.

The longer you spent away from the man, the more your heart yearned for him. Whenever Yami would quiet down for his nap, you stared out the window at the acres of empty farmland. In the vastness of space, you could only think of him. The man who had taken your heart from the tender age of fifteen. The man who possessed your life in his hands, though your essence seemed invisible to those blue and grey eyes.

The fool in you wondered if he ever had feelings for you — if he ever burned for you the way you did for him.

You felt like a dessert. Scorched inside and empty. Golden sands represented him—burning to the touch and yet all-encompassing. Even without him by your side, he was always there. He surrounded you, dragging you in, and you let him.

Yami’s babbling would always break you out of your reverie, the pangs of guilt and sorrow gnawing away at your still-beating heart. The routine remained the same, day after day. After he woke up from his nap with an incoherent cry for his mother, you would settle him onto your lap and cry. You sobbed into his soft tufts of hair, apologizing for taking him away from his father, for hiding him away from the world just because you were a coward.

Yami was your darkness. He was your uncovered secret.

Two years and two months had passed since you last saw Todoroki Shoto.

Yami was seventeen months old and starting to look more and more like his father. He took his first steps earlier than any parenting book had told you he would, and it wasn’t long after when he said his first word. It seemed the world was against you, and the universe was punishing you for keeping Yami away. You broke down for the first time in a while when that first word hit your ears.

“Da… Dada…”

You weren’t alone in your silent, unspoken wishes to be at Shoto’s side. Poor Yami, who had never met his father, spoke Shoto into existence with that one word.

“My baby,” you sobbed, hugging Yami tightly to you as he babbled, repeating those two syllables over and over. “My poor baby. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Mommy’s so sorry, my baby…” You rocked back and forth, crying endlessly. Yami’s hands grasped at your clothes, hair, and face. His little round features twisted into a grimacing cry as he watched tears pour from your tired eyes for a reason he didn’t yet understand.

The day he spoke his first word was when you showed him a picture of his father for the first time. Recognition flashed behind rounded eyes, recognition for a man he’d never met.

While you were grocery shopping — Yami balanced on your hip, a paper bag full of produce in the other arm — you heard Shoto’s name.

“Didn’t you hear? Pro Hero Shoto is here! In town!”

“Isn’t that weird? Why would such a hotshot be here, of all places? We aren’t even on most maps…”

“Who cares?! Do ya think I can get an autograph?”

You break out into a run without paying attention to the rest of the conversation. You hold Yami to your chest, supporting his head as you run with all your might. The paper bag of fruit and vegetables lay forgotten behind you, surely to be crushed by any passing vehicles. You run until you can’t run anymore, chest heaving in exhaustion. Using your object manipulation quirk, you open the front door to your house without taking your hands off Yami.

You whisper sweetings into his ear, telling him everything would be okay. Maybe you were telling yourself.

Not long after you returned home, the door rattled with a gentle knock. The very door you locked moments ago. You hold your breath, not wanting to see anyone. You didn’t want to see him.

Your name was spoken in that soft voice you missed so much. Before you could stop him, Yami started sobbing, his high-pitched cries alerting the person outside that you were there. You shush Yami desperately, rocking him back and forth in an attempt to calm him down. You kiss his forehead, silently begging him to stop crying.

Your name was called out again, this time panicked and louder. Yami’s cries increase in volume, and you feel your eyes water all the same.

The door hinges begin to frost over, and it’s knocked down in seconds. The loud noise scares your son, causing him to sob uncontrollably as he grasps painfully at your hair. You hide him behind you as you face the intruder head-on. Without blinking an eye, you use your quirk to lift the door off the ground, pushing it against the intruder, hoping to push him out completely.

The door is pushed away easily. After all, you are no match for Pro Hero Shoto.

He has gotten larger in the twenty-six months since you last saw him. His shoulders grew broader, his hero uniform barely hiding the dense but lean muscle that hid beneath it. His hair was longer, falling into his eyes as if he didn’t have time to take care of it. The man in front of you looks different from the man you knew, but it is undoubtedly him.

He breathes out your name, steam rolling off his left side and icicles glistening atop his skin on his right. He steps over the forgotten door, into your house, and into your safe haven, large and commanding of your attention. You try to make yourself bigger, to hide Yami from his eyes, and perhaps to hide your shame as you stare at the father of your child.

“I looked for you everywhere,” he gravels, his voice deep and crackling with emotion. “I came home, and you were gone. Do you have any idea how fucking scary that was?! No one knew where you were, and your apartment was empty. I didn’t know if you were safe, I didn’t know if you were alone…” Shoto steps closer to you, anger seeping into his expression. “For fuck’s sake, I didn’t know if you were alive!”

Your heart hammers in your chest as he grows closer, his fists clenching angrily by his side. His eyes search you desperately, searching for any sign of injury or abuse. They trace over your wrists and ankles, perhaps looking for signs that you were held here not on your own will, that you didn’t leave him just because you wanted to.

You pick your brain for the right words to say. You have thought about this day for years, and now that he’s in front of you, you don’t know what to think. Your mind is a mess of shame and joy, your heart struggling in a fight against itself. Analyzing him, your eyes rake over his body. There were a few more scars you don’t remember, some fine lines on his face that weren’t there before, but it was him.

As your brain wraps around the fact that Shoto was really there after over two years, Shoto collapses to his knees in front of you. He all but crawls over to you as he shoves his face into your thighs. Hot, stinging tears hit your skin as he cries into your lap, his hands reaching to hold you. Large, calloused fingers grasped at your thighs, pulling you closer to him.

“I was so scared,” he admits, his body shaking as he cries silently. “I thought… I thought a villain had taken you.”

Your hands hover behind you, keeping Yami hidden. His cries have thankfully subsided the second Shoto entered the room, but you weren’t sure for how long that would last. You can feel him grabbing at your shirt, trying to peek around you. Resisting the urge to wipe away Shoto’s tears, you grip onto your son tightly.

“How did you know I was here?” You lick your dry lips, wincing at how raspy your voice is. The first words spoken to this man in over two years are painted over with wariness and caution, very unlike the words of encouragement and longing you had given him your last night together. “No one knew I was here. Not even my family, so how did you…” You trail off, unsure if you want to know the answer to this question.

Shoto pulls away from your lap, looking up at you with bloodshot eyes and tear-stained cheeks. “I searched for you every day. I never stopped once I realized you were gone. I was in communication with every hero in this fucking country, hoping that one day one of them would spot you.” He hastily wipes his cheeks, his trembling hands remaining at your side.

“Why did you go?” he asks in a whisper. His voice, low and cracking, is broken as he speaks. “Why did you leave me? Did I do something? Was I…” Shoto swallows thickly as his insecurities taint his mind. “Was I not good to you? Did I make you leave?”

His endless questions send you for a loop. In front of you was not Pro Hero Shoto, but just Shoto. Your Shoto, the one you long for in your dreams. The one who paints your every happy memory and the one whose name you whisper into the dead of night.

And yet, as you feel Yami’s tiny hands grab your arm, you can’t answer any of his questions.

“Dada…!”

The both of you freeze, and the world stands still for a moment. Shoto’s trembling gaze slowly left yours, meeting the eyes of the toddler behind you. The first thing Shoto notices is his hair — bright red with streaks of white bleeding through. He feels his heart stop and start again, his hold on you finally slipping as his body goes somewhat limp. He falls back onto his heels, fully kneeling before you now.

Snapping out of it, you turn around and take Yami into your arms, facing away from Shoto as you shush the poor baby, calming him down quietly. Shoto can only watch as you handle him with a gentle care he isn’t privy to.

Without sparing another glance at Shoto, you start to walk away. He calls out your name hastily, and you can hear him clamber to his feet. Swallowing harshly, you look at him over your shoulder. Shoto looks out of place in your cozy living room, too large for the space. And yet, he appears small. His shoulders are hunched in as he reaches out to you with a face that begs you not to leave.

“He… needs to be put down for his nap,” you whisper, kissing Yami’s temple. “We… can talk after.”

Before you can regret your words, you head into his nursery, painted a soft yellow. You coo at your son, gently resting him in the large crib that took up most of the room’s space. You hum a lullaby to him as you stroke his hair, looking down at him with nothing but love.

Even long after he fell asleep, you don’t move. You stay there for a while, watching Yami so closely you don’t notice the presence at the door.

Shoto’s voice comes in a whisper. “He… He is mine, isn’t he?”

You can only nod, shame filling your soul as tears slip from your watery eyes. “His name is Yami,” you speak, your voice cracking.

Shoto flinches but waits patiently as he watches you come to a stand. He doesn’t rush you as you place Yami’s favourite stuffed animals by his side, leaning down and kissing his forehead before approaching Shoto.

“Let’s talk in my room,” you whisper, glancing at Yami before shutting the door behind you.

The two of you enter your room, the stifling air suffocating you as you shuffle over to your bed. Shaky hands reach for your pillows as you keep your back to the Todoroki, fluffing them to keep yourself busy. Your throat feels grating as you swallow down harshly. The room feels both hot and freezing, which you assume is his doing.

He doesn’t say anything either as he stares at the back of your head. Your hair looks different from the last time he saw you, and the clothes over your body aren’t articles he can remember you own. He thinks back to that night when quiet goodbyes were whispered between sweaty sheets. He wonders what went wrong.

His eyes wander, his frightful gaze tearing away from you only to look around your room. There are remnants of you everywhere. Family pictures hang from the walls, and old posters he vaguely remembers from your apartment are pasted against grey paint. It was you, but different. It wasn’t as colourful as your old room, and your trinkets are either out of sight or gone altogether.

When his eyes rest on you once more, a million questions run through his mind. Why did you leave him without a word? Images of your child, the very one who bore a striking resemblance to himself, flash in the forefront of his mind.

“How have you been?” you croak out after too many beats of silence. Hugging a pillow to your chest, you turn ever so slightly, only glancing at him from the corner of your eye as if it were painful to even look at him. Perhaps it is.

Shoto can only stare at you in disbelief, his brows curling upward as his heartache shines through. “How have I been?” he repeats breathily, his low voice raising half an octave. His mouth opens, but the words die on his tongue. Only after an excruciatingly long moment does he find the words again. “I’ve been miserable. You were gone.”

You wince at the strain in his voice, gripping the pillow even tighter. Your knuckles whiten under your tight hold. “I’m sorry,” you whisper pathetically, swallowing the lump in your throat painfully.

“Why?” he asks again, his voice cracking as he takes a tentative step toward you. “Why did you disappear?” Shoto reaches for you, stopping just short of grabbing you by the shoulders. He can’t tell if he wants to shake you until you see sense or hug you and never let go.

“I had to,” you urge, finally meeting his eyes. Your breath hitches, and you regret turning to him, but now you can’t look away. Those mismatched eyes that used to bore into yours with unreadable emotion as he draped his body over yours were tired, dull, and pained.

Shoto is the first to break eye contact, staring at your floorboards as he attempts to string together his thoughts. “Was it me?”

With furrowed brows, you shake your head no. “Shoto—”

“If I knew,” he rushes out, interrupting you. His gaze drops to your stomach, and he imagines what you might’ve looked like, swollen with his child. “If I knew, I would’ve come back sooner. Fuck the mission, you needed me and I…” He cuts himself off, bringing his hands up to your shoulders. His grip is tight enough to force you to look at him straight on, yet gentle. You think you can feel them trembling over your clothes, but you aren’t sure if you’re imagining it or not. “I’m so sorry,” he almost cries. The pillow in your hands falls to the carpeted floor, but neither of you cares to pay attention to it.

“Shoto, no,” you whisper, cupping his cheeks as you press your lips together. You thumb away his unshed tears. “That’s not why I left.”

“Then why?” he breathes.

You purse your lips, biting at the inside of your cheek as you reflect on those lonely nights spent under cold blankets. “You’re a hero,” you speak slowly. “I never had a place in your life, Shoto, not really. I’m a nobody. If… If I stayed, I would have been holding you back. You deserved more than that.”

Shoto narrows his eyes at you. “I deserve you,” he blurts, his tongue stained with vexation at the mere implication of your words. You watch as his lower lip wobbles momentarily before he steels his expression. “It isn’t your place to decide whether or not you should be in my life. That’s something for me to decide, but you took that away from me.”

“Took what away, Shoto?” you exclaim, raising your voice for the first time that day. “The sex? The comradery? You could have easily found that in someone else.” It hurts to admit, but you know it’s true. During those days together, you were a mere placeholder for someone better than you. Someone who could relate to him more than a nobody civilian could ever hope to.

After all, Pro Hero Shoto could have anyone he wanted.

Any anger left in his body dissipates as his body tenses. His face scrunches into something painful, mouth ajar and eyes wide as his grip on your shoulders tightens slightly. “What?” he whispers, the word dripping from his tongue like ice water. “What are you talking about?” The room feels like it’s dropped a few degrees, and if the frost that clings to his skin is any indication, it might have.

Averting your gaze, you try to wedge yourself out of his tight hold, but he doesn’t let you, taking another step forward. You’re practically chest-to-chest as he shakes your shoulders gently. “What are you talking about?” he repeats with an urgent tongue. “Someone else? What are you talking about?”

You heave a sigh. “Don’t play dumb, Shoto. You’re… you. You could easily find someone to replace me.”

“Is that what you think?” he breathes harshly, steam rolling off his skin, melting the frost. “That you’re just some replaceable body in my bed? Do you really think that lowly of me?” His expression twists as he reaches up to cup your jaw. His touch is burning, and yet you find yourself leaning into his palm.

“Isn’t it the truth?” you murmur, your voice catching. “I’m not anyone special, Shoto.”

“You’re my girlfriend,” he spits out, angry at the notion that you were a nobody. “You’re special to me. Isn’t that all that matters? I couldn’t care less about the fact that you’re not a hero. That never mattered to me, so don’t give me that bullshit.”

Your eyes snap open as you stare at Shoto in shock. You feel your body freeze over, and suddenly, your lungs are empty. “... What did you call me?” you croak.

Shoto stares deeply into your eyes, his own darting back and forth as he tries to read you. “My girlfriend.” His voice wavers as he tries to understand why you look so confused.

“We weren’t dating,” you cry incredulously. “What are you talking about?” You watch Shoto as realization washes over his distraught expression and something within you cracks. “Shoto, what are you talking about?” you ask again with a frantic pull to your voice. Shoto’s hands slip from your shoulders.

“Weren’t we?” he whispers quietly, any strength sapping from his body as he limply stands before you.

With your heart beating faster than ever, your breath leaves chapped lips in uneven puffs of strangled air. “We never talked about being anything more than just…” You trail off, the past couple of years draping over your shoulders, weighing you down heavily.

“You thought I was with you for the sex?” Shoto doesn’t know how to feel or how to act. His face twists as several emotions run through him before his mind settles on heartache. His multicoloured eyes try to meet yours, but you’ve already looked away. He moves his body, craning his neck to take a good look at you. He wants to see you. He wants you to see him. He utters your name in a broken whisper. “It was never just sex for me, baby,” he declares, his voice cracking in sorrow. “You had to have known that.”

He moves closer, cradling your face as he gently forces you to look at him. When he sees the indecisive glaze that’s taken over your eyes, he feels his heart break just a little more. “Please tell me you knew. That you know it was more than that.”

You blink away tears, your chest rising and falling quickly as you meet his intensive gaze. “You’d only come to me at night,” you mutter, caught between wanting to lean into his touch and wanting to pull his hands off of you. “You never stayed. You were always gone in the morning, Shoto. What was I supposed to believe?”

Shoto fights back a wince as he mulls over your words. He sighs, absentmindedly rubbing your cheeks with his thumbs. “I was so busy with hero work,” he murmurs in horror-filled realization, frowning at himself. He shakes his head, his shaggy hair falling into his eyes. “That’s not an excuse. I should have tried harder to be around. But it was never just sex for me.”

His throat bobs as he swallows thickly, his forehead coming down to rest against yours. His eyes flutter closed, wet eyelashes sticking together as he lets out a trembling breath. “Please believe me, baby,” he pleads quietly. “I’ll be better. I’ll show you I love you. I’ll make sure you know this time, so please…”

Those three words pull the air from your lungs, but when he opens his eyes, you’re left truly breathless. Love, sorrow, and regret swirl in his blue and grey hues. You don’t remember the last time you’ve looked at Shoto like this. “Please come back to me.”

“Shoto—”

“I’ll stop being a hero,” he interrupts you, a deep frown tugging at his lips. “If that’s what it takes.”

You make a face, your brows knitting together tightly. “Don’t be stupid, Shoto,” you hush. “Being a hero is your life. I’d never ask you to throw that away for me.”

“You’re my life,” he presses. One of Shoto’s hands moves to cup the back of your head, carding through your hair. “Our child will be my life. You matter more to me than anything else.”

Sighing, you close your eyes as you lean into his touch. “I’d be even more upset if you gave up,” you murmur. “I understand that being a hero leaves you with little free time. So—”

“No,” Shoto cries out. “Don’t make excuses for me. I should’ve tried harder. I should have realized things between us weren’t clear.” He pauses for a moment, his brow bone tensing as he bites at his lip. “Do you love me?”

With a softened gaze, you knock on his forehead with a weak fist. “You’ve always been it for me, Sho.”

Shoto smiles at the nickname, a slight tick of the corner of his mouth. If you hadn’t been so close and hadn’t known his expressions as well as you did, you might’ve missed it. He leans closer, his nose brushing against your cheek as he kisses your tear-stained skin sweetly. “I love you,” he hushes, tugging you closer. His fingertips trail up your spine until they’re entwined in your hair. “I love you.”

A shiver runs down your spine at the sensation as you curl into him. Your hands trail up his broad chest as you wrap your arms around his neck. Inhaling deeply, you stare at him in hesitation. “Is this real?” you murmur, your mind swirling with the vivid dreams you’ve procured over the years. “You’re really here, right? And you really…”

“I love you,” he says again. He says it one, two, three more times, whispering into the side of your neck and he nudges himself into the empty space. His lips, which are cold against your blistering heat, brush against your earlobe as he all but whimpers your name. “This is real. I’m here, baby.”

You can’t help but believe him, your eyes closing as he presses kiss after kiss on your skin, moving down your neck until he’s reached your collarbones. He nips at the spot, his tongue jutting out to soothe the darkening mark he’s left behind. “Sho,” you scold weakly, your nails scraping against his scalp gently as you brush his hair out of his face.

Shoto grins boyishly at you, his hands resting on your hips as he guides you backwards, stepping over the forgotten pillow you dropped. “Let me show you,” he breathes out, looking down at you with wide eyes until he has you sat on the edge of your unmade bed. “Let me show you how much I love you.”

Then, he pauses, a brief flash of bashfulness flickering behind his embering gaze. “Please?”

You’re reaching out for him before you can answer, tugging him down to your height. You don’t reply with words, pressing desperate lips against his as you pull him over you until he’s pinned over your trembling body. Strong forearms rest beside your head, his skillful tongue swiping along the seam of your mouth. You almost moan at his taste—a taste you never forgot.

Shoto slants himself against you, your bodies resembling a mess of limbs. He flips you over with ease, strong hands gripping your hips to seat you atop his shaking lap. The shivers that run down the expanse of his body don’t go unnoticed, and you peck his lips once, then twice, before pulling away. He’s staring up at you breathlessly, lust-blown eyes dark but widened as he takes in the sight of you.

“Are you okay?” you whisper, stroking along the edge of his scar. Shoto leans into your palm, his eyes briefly fluttering closed, relishing in your warmth that he was deprived of for so long.

“I’m okay,” he murmurs back, brushing his lips against your palm. “I’ve just missed you so much.”

Your heart aches at his soft-spoken admission, and you kiss him again to tell him I missed you, too. This kiss is sweeter than the last, softer in its closed-mouth motions. His hand reaches up to palm your jawline, his other remaining on your hip. He sighs into you, breaking the kiss to leave fleeting pecks over your cheeks. “My pretty girl,” he whispers into your skin.

His hand trails up and down your side, as he gently pushes you against his growing erection. You let out a whimper at just how hard he already is, the tent pushing against your clothed cunt teasingly. Grinding your hips down, you relish in the gasp Shoto lets out. Busying his hands with the hem of your loose tee, he pushes himself off of the bed to chase your lips.

Shoto kisses you with a fervour you damned yourself for running away from. He kisses you like he needs your taste on his tongue to live, like you’re a lifeline, and he’s teetering on the edge. Gentle teeth scrape against your bottom lip, just barely grazing your swollen skin. Pulling away to rid you of your top, Shoto bites his lips at the sight of your bare chest. He lays back, propping his head up on your pillows. Tracing a hand down his strong pecs, you tilt your head back at the sight of his complete enamour.

Red cheeks hollow as he takes in a shuddering breath, looking up at you with nothing but love and adoration. “You’re perfect,” he breathes out, his hands tracing your sides so slowly. His thumbs, calloused from years of hero work, barely graze the underside of your breasts before his hands trail back down to your thighs.

“Take these off f’me,” Shoto urges, tugging gently on the fabric of your shorts. Those dark eyes never leave your face, as though he’s committing it to memory.

You don’t hesitate to obey his request, shifting off of his lap just enough to tug off the last of your clothing, fingers dipping beneath the band of your panties to take them off as well. Shivering, you sit back down on his lap, biting down on your bottom lip as you lean back. Shoto makes it clear how much he appreciates the view you’ve given him, his lustful gaze caressing your entire self. His eyes land on the apex of your thighs, and his bitten lips part in admiration.

A wide hand rests on your tummy, just below your belly button, as he gently pushes your hips back and forth. His other hand finds its way to your ass, gripping and rubbing the skin there in tandem with your movements.

You let out shallow breaths at the feeling of his rough jeans against your bare clit. You’re sure you’re sopping wet already, soaking the front of his pants with your slick, but you can’t find it in yourself to care when he’s looking at you like he’d cry if you stopped grinding down on him.

His eyes stay glued to where your hips meet, and he whispers your name lovingly. “C’mere,” he rasps out as he sits up with haste, wrapping those big arms around your midsection and pulling you even closer to him. Shoto kisses the tops of your breasts, moving up and up until his lips meet yours again in a searing kiss.

“Missed you s’much,” he gravels out against your lips, reaching up to cup your left tit. You whimper out when his thumb brushes against the hardened bud, his tongue following shortly after. His lips curl around your nipple as he kneads into you. Breaths leave your throat in shortened huffs as he bites down gently.

Pushing you gently, you find yourself on your back again with Shoto hovering over you. He lets go of your nipple with a pop, lips shiny with saliva as he kisses down your stomach. Arching into his affections, all you can do is lay there and bask in his gentle touches and sweet kisses.

“Sho,” you whimper out when he mouths your skin lower and lower. Strong hands push your hips up until your dripping cunt is in front of his face, and your legs are dangling over his shoulders. Your back arches deeply, his fingers digging into your sides to keep your bottom half suspended in the air. It’s almost embarrassing how wet you’ve gotten—you can’t recall the last time you’ve felt this aroused. “Please…”

Shoto smiles at you softly, looking at you through his lashes as he brushes his lips against your clit, making you jolt. “Patience, baby,” he chuckled. “I haven’t tasted your sweet pussy in too long. Let me take my time with you, yeah?”

When he asks so nicely, how can you refuse?

He leaves open-mouthed kisses where your inner thigh meets your pelvis, kissing and licking just around where you need him most. Pathetic moans slip through your wobbling lips as you press them together, trying not to be too loud. Your body is goo in his hands, and he knows this well. He easily keeps your back arched up off the bed, his beefy arms not straining at all.

When his lips finally close on your weeping cunny, you cry out louder than intended. “Shh,” he whispers, sitting back just far enough to leave you whimpering for more. “Don’t wanna wake the baby, do you?” Those teasing eyes meet yours again, and his teasing expression softens ever so slightly at your already fucked out look. “Be good and quiet f’me, love.”

“Okay,” you stammer out, screwing your eyes shut when he kitten licks at your slit.

Shoto kisses your inner thigh with a grin. “Good girl.”

Without missing a beat, he attaches his lips to your pussy once more, his skilled tongue licking and prodding exactly where he knows it makes your legs shake in pleasure. He eats you out with such expertise as if it hasn’t been over two years. You wouldn’t be surprised if he had a map of your body memorized.

Long, thick fingers push at your entrance, just barely pushing in before pulling out. “More, please,” you beg under your breath, arching into his mouth. “Please, Sho. I can take it.”

Shoto hums as he sucks on your clit gently, drawing circles over the bundle of nerves immediately after. “I know you can, baby. This pussy was made just for me,” he sighs into you, the loud slurping noises coming from the point of contact making you curl in on yourself. “You were made just for me, baby.”

He finally pushes two fingers in, curling up just how you like it. He groans as his tongue moves with ardour, his eyes rolling back behind closed lids as he savours your taste. “Fuck,” he mumbles. “Missed this s’much.”

Shoto’s fingers push in and out, in and out, your slick gushing around them as the filthy sound of your clenching cunt fills the room. His lips are glued to your clit, drunk on your wetness as he fingers you deeply.

“I’m close,” you warn him, gripping the sheets tightly. Your body jerks, your thighs shaking and closing around his head as you feel the string in your tummy grow taught. “Sho—”

“I know,” he growls, kissing your clit again as he looks back up at you. He watches your face twist and scrunch in pure pleasure, moaning at the sight. Pushing a third finger in, his eyes slip closed at the feeling of you clenching tightly around him. “Come for me, baby. Need to feel you come.”

His voice drips with honey, coating your body in its warmth as your back bends. “Fuck,” you cry, slapping a hand over your mouth as your thighs tremble hard. “I—”

Before you can say anything else, you’re cumming around his fingers harder than you ever have in the time away from him. Fat tears line your lashline as he fingers you through your orgasm, lazily licking figure eights around your clit as he continues to push his fingers into you gently. He doesn’t stop, making you come again and again until you’re weakly pushing his head away.

His tongue laps your pussy clean, the lower half of his face covered in your slick when he finally sits back. You watch with lidded eyes as he wraps his lips around his fingers, his tongue jutting out to lick them until they’re no longer soaked with your essence. Moaning, you reach up for him, grasping weakly at his clothed chest. “Need you,” you plea, pushing at his clothes in a sad attempt to take them off.

Shoto only chuckles, leaning over to kiss you. He tastes of mint and musk, the taste of your come on his tongue making your eyes cross. He holds you tight, pressing you against his chest, and his hands run up and down the length of your spine. His head tilts, his mouth ajar as he licks into your wet cavern.

Leaning back, you kiss and lick at his face, cleaning him of your juices. He only sighs blissfully at your ministrations, stroking your hair out of your face as he presses his lips against your temple. “I love you,” he murmurs. “God, do I love you.”

You leave one more kiss along his jaw, settling back onto the mattress as you look up at him. His hair is messy, tousled from the many breathless kisses you’ve exchanged in the last hour. His rouge-tinted cheeks make him look younger than he is, yet you can see fine lines at the corners of his eyes and between his brows.

“I love you, Sho,” you declare softly, tucking his long bangs behind his ears. He gazes at you with more affection than you think you’ve ever seen him express, and it takes everything in you not to combust on the spot. You trail one hand down his chest, dropping down to his tented pants. Palming his clothed hardness, you glance at him pleadingly, smiling at the moan he emits the second your hand grazes his hard-on. “I need you now, please.”

Shoto nods, kissing the crown of your head before leaning back. You watch with careful eyes as he undresses, his hands moving with less grace than he’s known for. As he fumbles off his shirt, you unbuckle his belt, throwing it haphazardly across the room. You barely register the thud it makes as you tug down his pants. His hard cock slaps against his abdomen, coated with precum.

Fully nude, you sit back to admire Shoto in his entirety. There are many scars you don’t remember littered over his muscled body, and your fingers trace them gently. “I almost forgot how pretty you are,” you say, sitting up to kiss his collarbone.

“Pretty?” he repeats, laughing softly as he grips at your waist.

You hum. “Very pretty, Sho.”

Unable to wait any longer, he manoeuvres you back onto the pillows, adjusting you as he places one beneath your hips. “Gotta have you now, baby,” he groans into you, reaching down to fuck into his fist. You watch with wide eyes as he rubs himself for a moment more, pushing your thighs up against your chest.

Pushing his angry cockhead against your slit, he thrusts shallowly against your soaked pussy. A low moan rumbles out of his throat when his head catches on the hood of your clit. He uses a thumb to guide his length to your entrance, a whimper of your name tumbling from those bite-swollen lips once he finally pushes into you.

Your jaw drops as a wanton noise claws out of your throat. Shoto is sure to move slowly, only moving in an inch of his dick at a time before pulling out. You had forgotten how thick Shoto’s cock is, the stretch of your swollen pussy around his length burning through your body. “S-Sho…”

He groans at your voice, dropping his head to your shoulder as he fucks into you slowly. “I know, baby,” he lets out breathlessly. “I know. You’re doing so well f’me.”

His hips finally press against you after some time, his dick pushing against your pulsing gummy walls. He stills, letting you get used to the intrusion as he kisses you again and again. Propping himself on his elbows, he shakily brushes your hair out of your face, kissing your forehead. “You okay, baby?”

Nodding fervently, you wrap your arms around his neck, pushing his chest flush against yours. “Yeah.” Your voice comes out weakly, barely above a whisper. “You can move—” correcting yourself, you look up at him with pleading eyes. “—please move.”

Without another word, he pulls out slowly, only to thrust back into your hole nice and deep. A loud groan leaves his lips as he settles into a quick tempo, his hips slapping against the back of your thighs as he starts to really fuck into you.

Barely keeping your eyes open, you watch his expression twist with gratification, his brows tilting upwards as his lips part. With lidded eyes, he watches you, too. “You’re—fuck—so pretty,” he whimpers, pressing his forehead against yours as his thrusts become faster. “Missed you. Missed you s’much.”

Sitting up, he grabs at your waist as he fucks you zealously. His thumb flicks at your clit, rubbing tight circles that leave your legs shaking. His cockhead rubs at that spongey spot in your cunt with every thrust, making your eyes roll back. “Sho,” you cry out, the thought of keeping your voice down long gone in your pleasure. “Sho, Sho—!”

His mouth opens as he lets out a stunted shout riddled with lust and overstimulation. “You’re so fucking tight,” he grins down at you, his stomach flexing with each movement of his hips. “Fuck, baby. Can feel you clenching around me s’tight. Are you close?” His words come out harshly, exertion tugging them from his throat sluggishly.

His thumb never stops over your clit, moving in tandem with his hips as he slams into you. Unable to form coherent words, you can only cry out in vague confirmation, grabbing at his forearms. You can feel your slick dripping down the slope of your ass, soaking into your pillow and the sheets beneath you.

Shoto’s smile falters as he feels his own orgasm near, his rhythm becoming desperate as his eyes screwed shut. His head drops, his mouth opening slightly as he chases his high. When your cunt grips tightly around him, he’s sure he’s going to lose it. Harsh breaths heave out of him, his flushed skin causing his hair to stick to his forehead.

“Come for me again, baby,” he begs, barely able to pry his lids open to look down at you. “Please, come, please, please… Gotta feel you…!”

Whether it’s from his words, the whimpering tone that tugs at his voice, or the way his cock throbs inside you as he nears his own high, you feel your orgasm crash over you in waves. “Shoto,” you sob, your body jerking violently as you come hard. He lets out a high-pitched groan as he releases inside you, his thick seed filling you up in seconds. His hips tremble and twitch as he keeps shallowly thrusting, pushing both you and himself into overstimulation.

“I love you,” he mewls, pressing his lips against yours in a hungry kiss as he wraps his arms tightly around your middle. Without pulling out, he slumps over you, knocking the air out of your lungs.

Laughing quietly, you weakly push at his shoulder. “You’re heavy,” you complain, still breathless from the countless orgasms he’s pulled you through. “Get off, Sho.”

“No,” he murmurs into the nape of your neck, cuddling into you tightly. “Don’t wanna let go.”

You roll your eyes. “You can hug me without crushing my ribs.”

Huffing, he rolls off of you, taking you with him as he lands on his back. You both groan lowly at the movement, his dick twitching inside you once you settle onto his lap again. “You’re insatiable,” you comment, feeling him thrust weakly up into your wetness.

Shoto only grins up at you, showing off that rare smile you missed so dearly. “You can’t blame me,” he tells you, wrapping his arms around you. “I have so many years of love to show you.” He kisses your shoulder. “I meant it. Before, I mean. You are everything to me, and I know our baby will be too.”

Your eyes wet again, fresh tears bubbling at the corners before dribbling down your cheeks. “Shoto…”

Looking up at you, he stares with an indescribable look in his mismatched eyes. “I wanna be in your life. I want to be in his life, too, if you’ll let me.” Leaning up, he kisses you sweetly. “So, please, come back to me.”

You only manage to nod tearfully before the shrill cry of your baby echoes throughout the house. Shoto eases you off his messy cock, watching as his release dribbles out of you. He lets out a breath, kissing you sweetly before moving you off of him gently. No words are exchanged as Shoto throws his clothes back on, wrinkled and unkempt. He pauses to wipe you clean, using your shirt, after throwing you an apologetic glance.

A smile reaches your eyes as you watch Shoto bound out of the room to get your child.

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