#i just wanna feel these feelings again where you’re like do they like me do they not and you have so much chemistry and all these moments | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

wvyik · 1 day ago

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you wanna?.. d.w. ᝰ.ᐟ

dean winchester x fem! reader

summary; dean’s been acting weird all morning, but you don’t think much of it — until he casually slides something across the table between bites of waffles. And just like that, your whole world tilts.

warnings; mdni!! pre-established relationship, aggressively casual proposal, dean being a menace as usual, fluff so sweet it might kill you!!… eventual smut (because let’s be real, this man does not propose without following through. is skip able though!!). dirty talk, dom! dean, oral sex, praise kink, unprotected sex, after care cause ima softie.

notes; AHH!! had so much fun with this one. tysm for all the support >ᴗ< i appreciate you all!! tbh this is the best thing I’ve ever written in a while. we love dean with a happy ending. ꒰˶ - ˕ -꒱ buckle up for the spicy stuff later!! as always, feel free to drop a comment or yell at me if you’re feeling some type of way about this. i’m here for it.

words; 4420

It’s early. Too early.

You’re exhausted in that way only hunters understand— the kind that seeps into your bones, makes your muscles ache, keeps you in that hazy space between asleep and awake, even with a steaming cup of coffee cradled between your hands.

Dean, of course, looks annoyingly good for someone who barely got any sleep. His hair is a mess, there’s a fading bruise on his jaw from last night’s hunt, but he’s still effortlessly him — green eyes warm with amusement, shoulders relaxed, mouth curling into a smirk as he watches you fight to keep your eyes open.

“You look like you got run over,” he says, the corners of his lips twitching.

You take a slow sip of your coffee, staring at him blankly. “Thanks. You always know just what to say.”

He chuckles, reaching for his own mug. “Just speakin’ the truth, sweetheart.”

You roll your eyes but don’t argue. Not now, anyway. You’re definitely too tired for that.

The sound of Dean shuffling around the motel room pulls you out of your half-sleep. You crack open one eye, only to find him already dressed, boots laced up, and pacing with that ‘we’re about to hit the road’ look in his eyes. His leather jacket is hanging on the back of the chair.

You rub your eyes, groaning, and try to keep the sleepiness from spilling out of you. “Do we really have to go now?”

Dean grins, not even bothering to look at you. “You know how I feel about sitting still.”

You roll your eyes again, itching to bargain with him, but knowing if you did, he’d just drag you into whatever shenanigans he had planned for the day anyway. After a couple of minutes, the room starts to feel too small, and the silence is making your head spin, so you sit up. The plan— at least, the unspoken one — was to hit the road after a quick breakfast, and you’ve learned that when Dean Winchester says quick, he means quick.

The car ride isn’t long. Dean’s humming along to the radio, steering with one hand as he swerves around potholes, and you’re trying to ignore how damn good he looks in the morning light filtering through the car windows. Eventually, the sound of the engine and the warmth of the sun lull you into a comfortable quiet. You’re barely paying attention when you both pull up to an old diner on the side of the highway, a place that looks like it’s been around longer than you’ve been alive.

Dean parks and shoots you a look and smirks. “I’ll bet you ten bucks the pie here could change your life.”

You raise an eyebrow but don’t question it. You know better than to doubt him by now.

The diner is quiet, just a few truckers scattered at the counter, the hum of conversation mixing with the low crackle of an old radio playing Blue Öyster Cult in the background. The air smells like burnt coffee and bacon grease, and the vinyl booth seat sticks slightly to your thigh where your jeans have a tear, but it’s…nice.

Comfortable.

It’s one of those rare, normal mornings. No hunts lined up. No immediate danger. Just you, Dean, and a crappy little diner on the side of the road.

You should’ve known he was up to something.

Dean’s been acting weird all morning.

Not in an obvious way. He’s still teasing you, still stuffing his face with an ungodly amount of waffles and bacon, still shooting you that signature smirk every time you make a face at him.

But his knee is bouncing under the table. His fingers keep drumming against his coffee cup. And every once in a while, you catch him looking at you — this soft, thoughtful expression flickering across his face before he shakes it off.

You think about asking. But then your waitress swings by again, and Dean immediately perks up, flashing her a charming smile as she tops off his coffee.

“Another round of waffles, darlin’?” she asks, clearly smitten. You don’t blame her.

You smile softly behind your mug as Dean leans back, cocky as ever. “Wouldn’t say no.”

The waitress laughs, shaking her head. “You got a hell of an appetite.”

“That’s what she said,” Dean mutters under his breath, just loud enough for you to hear.

You kick him under the table. He deserved that one.

By the time the waitress walks away, Dean is already back to his food, completely unfazed. You shake your head, cutting into your own waffle, stealing one of his bacon strips just to be a menace. He lets you.

And then— casual as anything, like he’s commenting on the weather— he reaches into his pocket, pulls out something, and slides it across the table toward you.

A ring.

Just sitting there. Between your plate and the salt shaker.

Your brain short-circuits. You stare at it, then at him. Then back at it.

Dean, the absolute menace that he is, doesn’t even look up from his food. Just swipes some syrup with his fork, chews, and— without a single ounce of drama — says,

“You wanna?”

You blink. Your mouth opens. Closes. Opens again. Because what the hell is happening right now?

Dean finally looks at you, chewing like this is just another Thursday.

“What?” he says around a mouthful of food.

Your heart is slamming against your ribs. You feel warm all over, but you can’t tell if it’s from the crappy diner coffee or the fact that Dean Winchester just proposed to you like he was offering you the last french fry.

“That’s your proposal?” Your voice comes out hoarse, disbelief and laughter mixing in your throat.

Dean tilts his head, squinting at you. “What, you want me to get down on one knee in a greasy diner?”

“You literally just slid it across the table like it was a packet of sugar!”

He shrugs, still watching you, still unreadable in that way that makes your stomach flip. “Ain’t exactly my style, sweetheart.”

Your fingers shake as you reach for the ring. It’s simple— silver, understated, perfect. It feels warm from being in his pocket, the edges smooth against your skin.

Dean’s watching you carefully now. The teasing is gone, replaced by something softer, something quieter.

And that’s when it hits you.

Dean Winchester— who has faced monsters, demons, literal hell — is nervous. Like he’s bracing for impact. Like there’s a real, tangible fear in him that you might say no.

Your throat tightens.

“You really want this?” you ask, voice barely above a whisper.

Dean exhales through his nose, sets his fork down. He leans forward slightly, arms resting on the table, eyes locked onto yours.

“Sweetheart,” he murmurs, voice steady now, sure in a way that makes you melt. “I already got you. This is just making it official.”

Your heart stumbles. Because of course he’d say it like that. Like it was never even a question, like you already belonged to each other. Like you always would.

The ring feels solid between your fingers, grounding. It’s not grand or flashy. It’s him. It’s you. It’s perfect.

And god,

You don’t cry, but it’s a close thing.

You swallow hard, slip it onto your finger. It fits like it was meant to.

Dean watches, lets out a breath like he was holding it for years, and then— because you know him, because you love him— you smirk and say,

“You better get me a pie for this.”

That knocks the tension right out of him. His mouth quirks, the easy grin sliding back into place. “Damn right, I will.”

And just like that, you’re engaged. Not with a big speech. Not with grand gestures. Just this. Just him.

In a tiny diner off the highway, with bad coffee and waffles and the love of your life sitting across from you, grinning like a fool.

You bite your lip, trying to hold back the flood of emotions building up in your chest. You weren’t expecting this. Hell, you didn’t even know you needed it. But now that it’s here, now that he’s here, you feel like your whole world is shifting into place.

“I don’t know what I did to deserve you,” you whisper, leaning your forehead against his.

Dean chuckles, the sound deep and warm. “You’re the one that’s perfect, sweetheart. I’m just lucky.”

You shake your head slightly, not sure how to respond. You’ve been together for so long now, and yet, this moment still feels like a beginning. Like everything that came before— every hunt, every stupid argument, every late-night conversation— it was all leading to this. To this small, simple, perfect moment in a stupid dingy diner.

Dean cups your face, tilting your chin up so you’re looking directly at him. There’s a quiet intensity in his eyes, and for once, you see a rawness that he doesn’t always show.

“You know that’s the thing,” he murmurs. “It’s not about what you deserve. It’s about what you’re willing to fight for. And you—” He pauses, his thumb gently brushing over your cheek. “You’re worth every damn fight, sweetheart. Always will be.”

Your heart stutters in your chest, and you realize you’re not even breathing properly. It’s overwhelming, the way he can say so much with so little. His words hit you deeper than you expected, more than you thought you needed.

“I’m in this. All the way, okay?” he says softly, like he’s reminding you, like he’s trying to make sure you know it, truly know it. “I don’t do half-assed. Not with you.”

“I know,” you reply, your voice barely more than a whisper, the emotions bubbling up.

His lips press against your forehead, soft and tender. And in that moment, you know—you know—that you’re not just his. He’s yours too. No matter what comes next, you’re a team.

Dean pulls back, a playful smile tugging at his lips again, trying to break the weight of the moment. “So, uh, you think I could maybe get a little ‘yes’ out of you? Just a tiny one?”

You laugh softly, your chest full. You tilt your head, looking up at him with a smile that feels too big for your face. “Yeah. Yeah, you could.”

Dean’s eyes light up, a twinkle in them like he’s won the lottery, like this was the answer he’s been waiting for. He presses another kiss to your lips—brief, but meaningful.

And for the first time in a long time, you feel like you can breathe. Like the world, in all its chaos, has paused just for you two. Like nothing else matters except the person standing in front of you.

You know there will be bad days, tough hunts, and fights, but for now, this moment is enough. This love is enough.

And you, you finally feel like you’ve found where you belong.

“Guess we should finish our waffles, huh?” Dean says, the mood lightening again, but his hand still resting on yours.

You chuckle, your heart still racing. “Yeah. But let’s take it slow, okay? We’ve got all the time in the world.”

Dean grins, that cocky, perfect grin you know so well. “Works for me.”

As you both finish your meal— laughing, talking about whatever random thing crosses your mind— there’s an understanding between you two now. You don’t need big gestures or flashy moments to know what’s real.

What’s real is here. What’s real is you two.

And it’s always been that way.

Back in the motel room, the door clicked shut behind you with a soft thud. The dim light from the lamp on the nightstand cast long shadows across the room, the only sound the faint hum of the old air conditioning. The weight of the night pressed in on you— quiet, comfortable, and full of possibilities you weren’t ready to voice just yet.

Dean kicked off his boots and tossed his jacket onto the chair by the door, then turned to face you. There was something different in his eyes now, something deeper, as if the last few hours had opened up a door neither of you could walk away from.

You stood by the bed, your heart thumping in your chest, but your feet seemed glued to the floor, unsure of what came next. His gaze flickered down to your hand, still resting in his from the diner, then back up to your face. That smile— always so effortless, so charming— pulled at the corner of his lips.

“You good?” he asked, voice soft, but with that low, steady warmth you knew so well.

“Yeah,” you whispered, your words barely escaping as your breath hitched. Your heart was racing, but you felt rooted to the spot, unsure if you should make the first move or wait for him to pull you in again.

Dean’s eyes never left yours as he slowly closed the distance between you, his movements slow, deliberate. You could feel the space between you getting smaller, the air in the room suddenly feeling thicker, charged with that same electricity you couldn’t ignore.

When he finally reached you, his hand came up to gently tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. His touch was soft, but there was no mistaking the heat in his fingers, the way they lingered just a little longer than necessary, as if he was trying to memorize the feel of your skin.

You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding, eyes fluttering shut for a second, just to take in the moment. He was so close now. Close enough that you could feel the warmth radiating off of him, close enough that the faint scent of the leather jacket he had left behind filled your senses.

Dean’s lips brushed against yours with a familiarity that made your heart skip a beat. This wasn’t the first time— far from it— but each time felt like it was. Every kiss was still a little bit like a spark, each one lighting a new fire. And tonight, there was something different. Something deeper, even though you’d been here before.

His fingers trailed down your arm again, slow and deliberate, like he was memorizing every inch of your skin as if he couldn’t get enough of it. You shifted beneath him, feeling the tension of the moment settle between your legs, but it wasn’t rushed. It never was with him.

“You know what you do to me, right?” Dean’s voice was low, rougher now, but laced with that familiar tenderness. He didn’t need to say it, not really. You could feel it in every touch, every lingering kiss.

You nodded, your lips parting as you leaned up to meet him halfway, pressing your body closer to his. You’d been here before, but that didn’t mean it ever lost its power. It was still just as electrifying, just as sweet.

His hands moved to the waistband of your jeans, pausing for just a moment as his eyes locked onto yours, searching for any hesitation. But there was none. You didn’t need words; your body told him everything. Your jeans met the floor with a slight thud.

With a deep, almost frustrated sigh, Dean pushed your jeans down just enough to slide his hand under them, his fingers skating over the curve of your hip. It was familiar, comforting even, but the way he touched you now felt different. There was a slowness, an intentional care in every movement. Like he wanted to savor you this time.

His lips met yours again, but this kiss was slower, more languid, as if he was taking his time, soaking in the moment. He kissed you like he was letting his feelings pour into every movement, every press of his lips, until the rest of the world disappeared.

“You make me forget everything else, you know that?” Dean’s breath was hot against your ear, his hands expertly undressing you, but it was still slow. As if he was enjoying the feel of your skin more than the outcome of it. You could tell that this wasn’t about rushing, about getting to the end. This was about being with you, right here, right now.

You breathed his name again, a plea more than a whisper, and Dean, ever the attentive lover, responded immediately, his lips trailing down your neck, to your chest, as his hand wandered over you, knowing exactly where to touch to make your breath hitch.

But this time, it wasn’t about the heat of the moment— it was about the slow, delicious build of something bigger. His lips left a trail of soft, lingering kisses across your skin as his hand gently slid down your side, his touch grounding you to the bed. His body moved against yours with that familiar rhythm, but tonight, it felt like it meant more. Like you meant more.

He paused for just a moment, looking at you with those eyes—dark and soft all at once. “I love you, ‘s fucking much. I wanna make you feel so good, baby.” His voice was thick with something deep, something serious, and it made your chest tighten with emotion.

You nodded, pulling him back to you, pressing your lips to his with a fierce intensity. It wasn’t just the physical connection anymore. This was something that went deeper, something stronger than before. And you wanted it. You wanted him.

Dean groaned as you tangled your fingers in his hair, pulling him closer as he moved between your legs. You moan, as he skillfully worked his fingers in you, slowly climbing on top of you— as your head hit the not-so-soft pillows on the bed. You could feel the thrum of his heartbeat against yours, steady and strong.

“Dean…” The word came out like a breath, your fingers gripping his shoulders as you tugged him back up, wanting his lips on yours again. He smirked, just slightly, but there was nothing playful in the way his eyes held yours. It was all raw, all real.

“Easy,” he whispered, voice gruff but gentle as his thumb traced over your lip. “Atta girl, doing so good for me.. Don’t worry bout’ it, we can take your time.”

You nodded, your eyes heavy with desire but filled with trust. “I need you, De..” Your voice was soft, but there was a definite edge to it. The words felt like they had weight, like they meant something. Something more than just this moment.

He exhaled deeply, eyes darkening as his hand slid to your waist, guiding you beneath him as he moved down on you, slipping your panties fully off. The space between you was so minimal now that it felt like you were one.

His mouth lightly sucked on your needy clit, his thick fingers still working their magic inside you. You couldn’t help but let out an almost pornographic moan. You were so close, he could tell.

“Mhm, honey.. let it out, cum on my face,” he whispered against your needy pussy. The stubble on his jaw teasing you even more, as he practically buried his face in your wetness.

Oh, you were a goner. “Dean— fuck, I’m gonna—“ You didn’t even finish your sentence as the orgasm came rushing through you. As dean still worked, still slurping up your juices in his mouth like his life depended on it.

He finally let his face out of between your thighs, kissing you gently— letting you taste yourself on his tongue.

“You’re incredible,” Dean muttered, his voice raw as he pressed his forehead against yours, breathing deeply. “Never forget that.”

You met his gaze, your chest tight with emotion. “I won’t. Not with you.”

Dean’s lips found yours in a deep kiss, and as he slowly pulled back, his hand moved to your waist, gently coaxing your hips up against his. His jeans came off, so did the shirt — the sound of the zipper loud in the quiet of the room, and you felt a rush of heat flood your body again. He was so close, and yet, there was still something in the way he touched you that made everything feel like it was building to something more.

“Don’t tease me,” you whispered, your voice a little breathless, but there was a hint of playfulness too—something you knew he’d pick up on.

He smirked, his lips brushing your jaw as his body settled between your legs. “Me? Tease?” His voice was a teasing mockery of innocence, but there was nothing innocent in the way he touched you, nothing at all.

“Oh, yeah, and this? Off.” He gestured to your shirt, earning a chuckle from you. He skillfully pulled the shirt off of you, unclasping your bra with ease, gently touching up on your breasts.

Dean’s eyes never left yours, that fire still burning in them, but there was a softness there too, a tenderness that made your chest tighten. “You’re so fucking beautiful,” he murmured, the words slipping from his lips like a prayer. His lips moved to your neck again.

You looked at him wide-eyed, as he pressed his lips back onto yours briefly, before sliding one hand down his boxers, pulling his hard cock out of its confinements, already leaking with pre-cum. You never get tired of seeing it, really.

There’s a hunger in his gaze, but it’s a hunger you recognize—one that’s been building between you two, one that isn’t just about tonight. It’s deeper, quieter, but oh so real.

“Y’ ready for me?..” he murmured, and you could only respond with a soft ‘mhm’ sound, too turned on to make any proper sentence.

You’re not just the next moment in line for him— you’re everything. His hand on your skin, his body pressed to yours, it’s all proof of the quiet trust that’s been growing between you since day one.

You can feel the way his chest rises and falls with each breath, as he slowly pushes inside of you, his heart beating steady against yours. It’s like he’s giving you all of him, in this simple, quiet way, and you know you have his heart just as much as he has yours

“That’s it— Jesus, sweetheart. You’re still so fucking tight, can’t believe it’” he chuckles slowly, and you whimper when he finally gives all of himself for you. And he waits for your permission to start moving.

“De.. okay— you can move.” You manage to say breathlessly after a little bit. Nothing can prepare you for that moment, though. As he slowly moves in and out you swear you see stars. And gosh, the sounds that fill the room, it’s so goddamn good, you think before biting down the moan.

“Mhm, yeah.. So fuckin’ perfect, angel, you’re doing so well for me.” He almost whimpered. Goddamn you, Dean — And your filthy mouth.

His lips found yours again, and the kiss was deeper this time— full of assurance, of trust, of a promise that nothing could tear apart. You could feel how much he believed in the two of you, in the bond you shared.

His hands roamed your body, confident and firm, like he knew exactly where to touch to make you lose your breath. Every movement was purposeful, a teasing promise of what was to come.

“De— m’ so close, please” you managed to whimper through the moans, trying to keep up with his pace with your hips.

His lips lingered along your neck, kissing and nipping at your skin, his breath hot against your ear. “I know baby, me too. You can come, sweetness, m’ right there with you.” he murmured, his voice a hushed growl that sent shivers down your spine.

As you both reached your climax, you can’t help but smile. After the world-shifting intensity of the moment, you both lay there, tangled up in sheets and each other. Dean shifted just enough to pull you close, his chest rising and falling with a steady rhythm against yours, as though he was grounding himself in the softness of your presence.

His fingers brushed gently through your hair, the touch so tender it was almost as if he was trying to memorize every strand, every curve of you. The warmth between you didn’t need words; it was enough to feel him there, still connected to you in every possible way.

“Are you okay?” Dean’s voice was low, but it carried that softness you’d only hear when the walls were down and he wasn’t trying to hide anything. There was a genuine worry in his tone, an unwavering need to make sure you were feeling just as safe and cared for as he felt.

You nodded against his chest, your hand resting over his heart, feeling the steady beat that reminded you of the calm after the storm. “I’m perfect,” you whispered, your voice still a little breathless, but full of warmth.

Dean chuckled softly, the sound low and comforting, like it always was when he felt content. “Good. ‘Cause I’ve got you, and I’m not going anywhere,” he murmured, pulling you closer, his arm draping over you protectively as if making sure you stayed there, safe in his arms.

He pressed a gentle kiss to the top of your head, the gesture soft and caring, his way of showing that there was more to him than just the physical connection. It was always about the little things—the way his touch lingered, the way his eyes softened when he looked at you, like you were the only person in the world that mattered.

There was no rush to get up, no need to fill the space with words that didn’t need to be said. You both understood each other in the quiet.

Dean’s thumb brushed against your hand in a rhythm that made you feel grounded, like he was telling you he was there in ways that didn’t need to be explained. Slowly, you let your eyes flutter closed, wrapped in the softness of his care, feeling safer than you had ever felt.

He kissed your forehead again, his voice barely above a whisper. “We’re good, you and me. Always gonna be good.”

And in that moment, with the faintest smile tugging at your lips, you knew he meant every word. The world outside the room didn’t matter, not when you had this—this peace, this love, this feeling of being completely and utterly cared for.

taglist; @lieutenantchaos ⊹ ࣪ ˖

tysm for reading pooks! more works incoming @ library. ⊹₊⟡⋆

#༊*·˚ wvyik #sofia writes ✎#dean winchester x female!reader #dean winchester fanfiction #dean winchester x you #dean winchester x reader #supernatural #dean winchester smut #dean winchester fluff #jensen ackles x reader #smut #spn fanfic #supernatural fanfiction

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mistyshane30 · 1 day ago

Text

You Were Never Mine to Lose (Chapter 5)

Synopsis: A beach day turns into playful chaos—volleyball, sun-kissed laughter, and unexpected moments that leave you more breathless than the game itself. But as the night falls over Malibu, you can’t shake the feeling that something about today feels different.

Word count: 5.8k

Warnings: Mild sexual tension, Mentions of alcohol consumption, Mild language, Physical injury

Another day in Malibu.

You wake up earlier than expected, the dull throb of a hangover making its presence known behind your eyes. With a groan, you bury your face into the pillow, regretting those extra drinks from last night. The taste of alcohol lingers faintly, and your body feels sluggish. Still, despite the headache, there’s a small silver lining—you and Agatha are finally on good terms again. The tension that had loomed over the past couple of days seems to have lifted, if only slightly.

After mustering enough willpower to leave the comfort of your bed, you go through your usual morning routine—splashing cold water on your face, brushing your teeth, and throwing on something light while heading down for breakfast. The smell of coffee helps, though your appetite isn’t quite there yet. You settle for something small and hydrating, scrolling through your phone absentmindedly as you eat.

As you scroll through your phone, a notification from the group chat grabs your attention.

Coven Group Chat

Jen: "Since our beach day didn’t happen the other day, it’s happening THIS morning. No excuses."

You take a sip of your drink, already knowing where this is going. Before you can type a response, another message pops up.

Jen: "Also, two-piece bikinis ONLY. It’s for the photos. No cover-ups during the shoot, ladies 😘."

Your eyebrows shoot up. Again?

The reactions roll in almost immediately.

Alice: "Excuse me, dictatorship much? What if I wanna wear a T-shirt and shorts like a respectable citizen?"

Lilia: "I have a one-piece, does that count???"

Wanda: "Ugh, fine. But if anyone forces me to take off my sarong, I’m leaving the country."

Jen: "Wanda, we both know you have a whole collection of bikinis that you pretend not to own. Just wear one."

Wanda: "Blocked."

You chuckle at the ongoing banter, but before you can chime in, another message pops up.

Agatha: "Does anyone have sunscreen? I forgot to bring one."

You smirk, fingers flying across your screen.

You: "Tsk, tsk. Governor Harkness forgetting sunscreen? Tragic. And here I thought you were supposed to be responsible."

Agatha: "Oh, shut up. Just let me borrow some."

You: "Say please. 😌"

Agatha: "No."

You: "Then burn. ☀️🔥"

Agatha: "I hope a seagull steals your sunglasses."

Alice: "LMAOOO not the seagull curse 💀."

Jen: "Enough flirting, you two."

Your eyes widen slightly, and before you can protest, Wanda adds—

Wanda: "Yeah, just get married already."

You: "HELLO??? BLOCKED. REPORTED. UNSENT."

Agatha: "Literally gagging. You’re all insufferable."

Lilia: "Just admit it, you two are so divorced-coded."

Agatha: "Can’t be divorced if we were never married."

Alice: "Enemies to lovers arc when?"

You groan, deciding to ignore the chat before it gets worse. Jen finally swoops in to wrap things up.

Jen: "ANYWAY. Cabana. One hour. No latecomers."

Before you close the chat, you sigh and type—

You: "Fine, Agatha, I’ll let you borrow mine. But if you don’t return it, I’m suing."

Agatha: "Yeah, yeah. Put it in my tab."

You shake your head with a small smirk.

With that, you set your phone down and stretch, finally dragging yourself toward your luggage. Time to pick out something to wear.

Rummaging through your packed clothes, your eyes land on a deep purple wrap-around string bikini top with matching string bikini bottoms. The color is rich, the design tasteful yet undeniably bold. You hesitate for only a moment before deciding, Screw it. If we’re doing this again, I might as well go all in.

You slip into the bikini, adjusting the ties securely before layering a sheer black kimono over it. The delicate fabric flows with every movement, adding an effortless elegance to the look. To complete the ensemble, you grab your Bvlgari Serpenti BV40009U 33F Gold Sunglasses, a wide-brimmed beach hat for extra sun protection, and a pair of comfortable beach sandals.

Before heading out, you toss a few essentials into your tote bag—your phone, a towel, and, of course, the sunscreen Agatha so carelessly forgot.

With one final glance in the mirror, a smirk tugs at your lips.

You look hotter than the sun.

As you step onto the warm sand, the salty ocean breeze greets you, tousling your hair beneath your wide-brimmed hat. The sun is already climbing higher, casting a golden glow over the beach. Your sunglasses shield your eyes as you scan the shoreline, searching for the group.

Your gaze lands on a cabana near the water, where Jen, Lilia, and Alice lounge comfortably. They’re deep in conversation, laughing about something when Alice suddenly notices you approaching. Her eyes widen as she nudges Jen and Lilia with her elbow.

“Oh. My. God,” Alice gasps dramatically, sitting up straighter. “Would you look at that? Malibu’s about to catch fire.”

Jen turns her head, following Alice’s gaze, and when she sees you, she lets out a low whistle. “Damn, Y/N,” she grins, taking a sip from her coconut drink. “If I wasn’t getting married, I’d smash. No hesitation.”

Lilia laughs, adjusting her sun hat. “Same. I mean, I’m already questioning things.”

You roll your eyes but smirk as you reach them, tossing your tote bag onto a lounge chair. “Wow, what an honor,” you tease, adjusting your sheer black kimono. “Should I be flattered or slightly concerned?”

“Definitely flattered,” Jen winks. “We’re just appreciating the art, babe.”

Alice nods approvingly. “You look hotter than the sun right now. We might have to keep you under the shade before someone faints.”

You chuckle and glance at them. “Oh please, you guys look stunning yourselves,” you say, gesturing to their beach outfits.

Jen twirls her sunglasses between her fingers. “Yeah, yeah, but we’re used to it,” she says playfully. “Now, where’s the rest of the gang? Especially Agatha? I need to see if she actually followed the two-piece dress code.”

Lilia grins. “Or if she’s going full ‘governor mode’ with a whole-ass wetsuit.”

You snicker at the thought and glance toward the resort path, wondering when the two will show up.

You sat on one of the cabana chairs across from Lilia, stretching out your legs as the sun warmed your skin. The soft sound of waves crashing mixed with the faint chatter from nearby beachgoers, creating a relaxing atmosphere. Lilia adjusted her sunhat, sipping on her iced drink before looking over at you with a smirk.

"So... feeling refreshed after last night’s little adventure?" she teased, wiggling her brows.

You rolled your eyes but couldn't help the amused scoff that left your lips. "If by refreshed you mean mildly hungover, then yeah, sure."

Alice chuckled, leaning back on her chair. "At least you didn’t have to carry Wanda back to the villa. That girl gets way too affectionate when she’s tipsy. I think she tried to marry Jen at some point."

Jen, lounging beside Alice, grinned. "Hey, don’t blame her. I am a catch, after all. But too bad, I’m off the market."

The conversation flowed easily between you, filled with laughter and teasing as you all waited. The cabana provided some shade, but the heat was already creeping in, making you glad you had worn something breezy.

After some time, you heard approaching footsteps behind you. Before you could turn around, a hand lightly touched your shoulder.

"Morning," a familiar voice spoke.

You glanced up, finding Agatha standing beside you, the sun casting a glow over her figure. She was wearing a nautical blue and white floral O-ring swimsuit—a triangle halter top that accentuated her collarbones, high-waist bikini bottoms with sexy cutouts on both sides and a sarong. The effortless confidence she carried made you momentarily forget how to function.

Agatha glanced around before asking, "Where's Wanda?"

Lilia stretched her arms. "No clue. Probably on her way, maybe getting lost in the resort again."

Jen laughed. "Or flirting with the bartender from last night."

As they spoke, your gaze involuntarily traveled back to Agatha, taking in the way the bikini fit her perfectly. You quickly snapped out of it when Agatha turned toward you, arching an eyebrow as if she had caught you staring. Panicking slightly, you averted your gaze and cleared your throat.

"Uh, nice bikini," you muttered, intending to sound casual. Instead, it came out as more of a teasing remark. "Did you finally give up on covering up all the time?"

Agatha smirked, tapping your shoulder. "Don’t get used to it."

Before you could respond, she tilted her head. "By the way, you did bring the sunscreen, right?"

You reached into your tote bag with a smirk, pulling out the sunscreen. "Obviously. Someone has to be responsible."

Agatha shrugged, taking the bottle from you. "Not all of us have our lives together."

Alice snickered. "That’s a first. I thought governors had to be prepared for everything."

"I am," Agatha said, unscrewing the cap. "Just not for the sun apparently."

She walked over to sit beside Alice, squeezing sunscreen onto her palm before rubbing it over her arms, neck, and shoulders. You tried not to watch, but behind your sunglasses, it was impossible not to. Your gaze drifted lower as she smoothed the lotion over her legs, taking her time to make sure she was fully covered.

You swallowed, suddenly feeling like the sun got a little hotter.

A few minutes later, Agatha stood and walked back toward you, holding out the bottle. "Here, thanks."

You shook your head. "Keep it. I have another one anyway."

She hesitated for a second before giving you a small nod. "Appreciate it."

With that, she returned to her seat, and you exhaled, willing yourself to think of something—anything—other than how good she looked.

And just like that, the wait for Wanda continued.

After a few more minutes, Wanda finally arrived, slightly out of breath. You smirked, crossing your arms. "Wow, look who decided to join us. Got lost on the way or just fashionably late?"

Wanda huffed, flipping her damp hair over her shoulder. "I have a very valid reason."

Lilia raised a brow. "Oh, this should be good."

"I forgot my sunscreen and had to beg the front desk for one," Wanda admitted with a sheepish grin.

Jen rolled her eyes but waved a dismissive hand. "Whatever, you’re here now. That’s what matters. And since you made it, we can finally get this beach volleyball match going."

Alice gestured toward the net in front of the cabana. "That’s why it’s here. You didn’t think it was just for the aesthetic, did you?"

Wanda groaned. "Do we really have to? What if we just... tan and drink cocktails instead?"

"Nope!" Jen clapped her hands together. "Teams are set. Wanda, Lilia, and Alice versus me, Agatha, and Y/N. Let’s do this!"

With that, everyone stretched, tying their hair up in preparation. Sand shifted underfoot as each team took their respective sides, a competitive glint in their eyes.

Lilia stepped up first, tossing the ball in the air before serving it with a sharp hit over the net. You shifted into position, eyes locked on the ball.

Game on.

The game quickly heated up, each team refusing to back down. The ball flew back and forth over the net, sand kicking up with every swift movement. Sweat glistened under the sun as everyone gave it their all.

At one intense moment, Wanda spiked the ball hard, aiming straight for your team’s side. Agatha leaped up to block it, and at the same time, you lunged forward to do the exact same thing. Neither of you noticed the other’s movement until it was too late.

Bodies collided mid-air, and before you knew it, you were tumbling onto the sand. Hard.

You landed on your back with a thud, the impact jarring your head slightly. Agatha, having lost her balance in the chaos, fell right on top of you.

For a moment, everything stilled.

Your eyes snapped shut as you winced, a dull ache forming at the back of your head. The weight pressing down on you wasn’t helping either.

“Hey, are you okay?” Agatha’s voice was close—too close.

You blinked your eyes open, only to find yourself staring directly into hers. The proximity sent a jolt through your system, and for a brief second, neither of you moved. You swore you heard her breath hitch.

Then Jen’s voice cut through the moment. “Damn, that was a fall! You guys alright?”

Agatha blinked rapidly before pushing herself up, standing first. She hesitated for a split second before offering you her hand. You took it, letting her help you up before you both walked back to the cabana to sit down.

The rest of the group quickly followed.

Jen gestured toward Wanda and Alice. “Go grab some ice packs for Y/N’s head.”

They hurried off, returning a few minutes later with an ice pack, which they handed to you. You pressed it against the sore spot, sighing in relief. “Thanks.”

Agatha, sitting beside you, looked more worried than the others. Or maybe you were just imagining it. You had a tendency to overthink things when it came to her.

“You sure it’s not that bad?” she asked, voice quieter now.

You forced a small smile. “It’s bearable. I’ll live.”

The group let out relieved sighs, making sure you weren’t feeling dizzy or nauseous. You reassured them that it was just a bump.

After a few minutes of resting, you stretched and stood up. “I think I could really use some relaxation after that.”

Jen perked up. “Speaking of relaxation—we’re hitting the spa after lunch.”

Excited murmurs spread through the group, and you couldn’t help but grin. Wanda, however, groaned. “Can we eat first? I’m starving.”

Jen chuckled. “Yeah, yeah. But first—group photo for memory’s sake.”

“Oh, come on,” Wanda whined. “Can’t we just take a picture of the food instead?”

Lilia smirked. “Nope. You’re in it, Maximoff. No excuses.”

Alice playfully nudged you. “You better not make a weird face in this one. Last time, you looked like you were mid-sneeze.”

You rolled your eyes. “That was one time.”

Agatha adjusted her sunglasses and deadpanned, “And yet, it haunts me to this day.”

Groans and laughs mixed together, but everyone still posed anyway. Even if they wouldn’t admit it, this was a moment they wanted to remember.

Lunch at Nobu Malibu was nothing short of a spectacle—the sun shining down on the ocean, the faint sound of waves in the background, and a table full of laughter, teasing, and incredible food. The best part? You were all still in your bikinis, completely unfazed by the upscale setting.

Agatha sat directly across from you, eating her sushi with a grace that somehow made even a simple act like that look elegant. She sipped her wine slowly, the deep red of the liquid contrasting with the soft pink tint on her lips. You swore you could feel her gaze lingering when you weren’t looking, but every time you glanced up, she seemed entirely focused on her meal. Maybe it was just your imagination. Or maybe that fall during volleyball really did something to your head. Yeah. You probably needed an MRI, ASAP.

Deciding to ignore whatever weird feeling was creeping up inside you, you turned to the group, changing the topic. "So, about that volleyball game… I gotta say, Wanda, that spike was lethal. Almost took my head off."

Wanda smirked, twirling her chopsticks between her fingers. "Hey, all's fair in beach volleyball."

You turned to Alice next. "And Alice, your blocking was insane. It was like trying to get past a damn wall."

Alice grinned, giving a mock bow. "Years of dealing with my annoying brothers. Had to learn defense somehow."

"And Lilia, I don’t know how you kept diving for those saves, but respect," you continued. "You were all over the place."

Lilia flipped her hair dramatically. "What can I say? Some people were born to be effortlessly athletic."

You rolled your eyes before shifting your attention to Jen. "And then there’s our fearless leader, practically coaching us like this was the Olympics."

Jen laughed, raising her glass. "Hey, I take my team sports seriously. Someone had to keep you and Agatha from killing each other."

That earned a round of laughter from the group, and you smirked before turning your attention to Agatha. "Speaking of which—Mrs. Governor over here played like she had a national championship on the line. I swear, even I, her own teammate, was getting taken out in the crossfire."

The table erupted into laughter again, heads shaking in agreement.

Agatha, however, wasn’t one to take a hit without throwing one back. She leaned forward slightly, placing her glass down with an amused smirk. "Not my fault you kept getting in the way," she shot back. "I clearly had the ball if you hadn’t decided to throw yourself into my path like a human obstacle."

You scoffed. "Excuse me? I almost had the ball if you had just let me hit it instead of charging forward when your station was literally behind me." You pointed at her accusingly. "You were supposed to cover my back, not bulldoze into me."

Agatha raised a brow, her smirk widening. "Oh, so now you’re blaming me for your bad positioning?"

Your mouth dropped open as the group "Ooooh’d" in unison. "Bad positioning?! I was right where I was supposed to be! You were the one breaking formation!"

"Formation?" Agatha let out a laugh. "What is this, a military operation?"

The playful bickering continued, both of you leaning into the argument like you were in your own little world. The group watched in amusement as your voices overlapped, neither of you willing to back down. It was just like always—sharp remarks, teasing comebacks, and an underlying tension neither of you were willing to address.

Before the back-and-forth could escalate further, a waiter arrived at the table, placing a beautifully plated dessert in the center. The interruption pulled you both out of the moment, and you took the chance to get one last jab in.

"See? Even the waiter thinks we need to cool off," you teased, sitting back with a smug expression.

Agatha rolled her eyes, choosing not to respond, and instead picked up her wine glass again. But the way she exhaled through her nose—almost like a quiet laugh—didn’t go unnoticed.

The group, of course, wasn’t about to let this go. Jen smirked, shaking her head. "It’s funny how you two were all chummy last night, and now here you are, back to fighting like an old married couple."

Wanda grinned. "Yep. Classic."

You and Agatha both scoffed at the same time. "Please," you both muttered in unison.

That only made the group laugh harder.

Shrugging off their comments, you focused on the dessert in front of you, pretending not to notice the way Agatha’s lips quirked up slightly as she took another sip of her wine.

Yeah. Definitely an MRI.

After lunch, you and the group headed to the exclusive spa that Jen had raved about. Still in your bikinis—because why not?—you followed her inside, immediately greeted by the calming aroma of scented candles. The spacious reception area exuded tranquility, with soft instrumental music playing in the background and a hint of eucalyptus in the air.

Jen approached the receptionist, confirming the reservation while the rest of you took in the serene ambiance.

“This place is fancy as hell,” Wanda murmured, eyeing the luxurious decor.

“Right? I feel relaxed just standing here,” Lilia added, stretching her arms over her head.

The receptionist, a polished-looking woman with a warm smile, gestured for you all to follow her. “Welcome, ladies. We have your private area prepared. Let me show you to the locker room, where you can store your belongings and change into spa robes and sandals.”

She led you through a softly lit hallway to the locker room, where wooden lockers lined the walls, each with a neatly folded plush robe inside. As you placed your belongings inside, you couldn’t help but steal glances at Agatha, who was undoing the knot of her sarong. She caught your gaze briefly, but you quickly looked away, pretending to be focused on tying the sash of your robe.

With everyone changed, the receptionist guided you to your private spa space. As you stepped in, the setting was breathtaking—private cabanas with sheer curtains swayed in the breeze, lounge beds surrounded a tranquil Zen Garden with delicate water features, and a collection of heated massage tables were set up under a shaded pavilion. Private hot spring pools shimmered in the sunlight, and cozy hot tubs nestled in secluded corners offered a stunning oceanfront view.

“Holy shit,” Alice breathed out. “This is paradise.”

Jen grinned. “Told you it was worth it.”

The receptionist gestured toward a small refreshment table adorned with complementary drinks and a charcuterie board. “Please make yourselves comfortable. If you need anything, just ring the service bell.”

As she left, the group decided on their treatments.

“I’m getting the stone massage,” Jen announced. “I need every single one of my muscles realigned.”

“Same here,” Lilia agreed. “I’m practically made of knots at this point.”

Wanda hummed thoughtfully. “I think I’ll go for the Thai hot oil massage.”

“Me too,” you chimed in. “I need some serious tension release after that volleyball game.”

Alice turned to Agatha. “What about you?”

Agatha shrugged, already eyeing the steaming hot tub. “I think I’ll just soak for a while.”

Alice smirked. “Hot tub it is, then.”

With decisions made, everyone dispersed to their chosen relaxation spots. You watched as Agatha casually undid her robe, revealing her bikini again before stepping into the hot tub. She sank into the bubbling water with a content sigh, choosing a seat that directly faced where you stood.

Alice followed suit, settling in with her back turned toward you, chatting idly with Agatha. Your eyes, however, lingered on the governor a second too long.

She must have sensed it because her gaze flickered toward you. The moment your eyes met, you quickly looked away, pretending to adjust your robe as if you hadn’t just been blatantly staring. Your heart thumped slightly, but you ignored it.

Shaking off whatever weird feeling was creeping up, you removed your robe and laid down on the heated massage table. The masseuse approached, her voice soft as she asked if you were comfortable before beginning.

As soon as her hands started kneading your muscles, a deep sigh escaped you. The combination of the warm table and skilled hands working out the tension in your body sent you into a state of bliss. The distant sound of waves crashing, soft conversations from your friends, and the occasional hum of relaxation surrounded you.

You felt your limbs grow heavier, your breathing slowing. Somewhere in the back of your mind, you thought about Agatha, about the way she had been watching you—or maybe that was just in your head. Either way, the warmth of the massage lulled you deeper into relaxation, and before you knew it, your thoughts faded into nothingness as sleep overtook you.

You wake up, groggy and disoriented, unsure of how long you’ve been asleep. The warmth from the massage table still lingers against your skin, and for a moment, you just lay there, letting the soft hum of ocean waves and faint instrumental music from the spa speakers ground you.

Turning your head to the side, you find Wanda beside you, still fast asleep. Her face is buried in the cushioned table, her arms hanging lazily off the sides. A small snore escapes her lips, making you stifle a chuckle. Classic Wanda.

Slowly, you push yourself up into a sitting position, stretching out your stiff muscles. Your eyes wander across the spa space, taking in the serene atmosphere. The scent of essential oils and scented candles still lingers in the air, making it feel like you’re wrapped in a cocoon of tranquility.

Your gaze instinctively searches for Agatha. But she’s nowhere to be found.

Alice, on the other hand, is sitting comfortably in a massage chair, her head tilted back, face covered in a thick mud mask with two cucumber slices placed neatly over her closed eyes. She looks ridiculously peaceful, and you briefly consider taking a picture as blackmail material for later. You smirk to yourself but let her be.

Jen and Lilia are stretched out on their respective massage tables, talking in hushed voices. Jen glances over at you and smirks. “Look who finally decided to wake up.”

You run a hand through your hair and groan lightly. “How long was I out?”

Lilia checks the time on her smartwatch. “I’d say… at least an hour.”

You blink in surprise. “An hour?”

Jen chuckles. “Yup. Out cold. The masseuse even had to check if you were still breathing.”

You scoff. “Very funny.”

Lilia shrugs playfully. “Can you blame us? You looked like you melted into that table.”

You roll your eyes, but your mind drifts back to Agatha. She was here earlier, wasn’t she? You remember her sitting in the hot tub with Alice. But now she’s gone.

Trying to sound nonchalant, you ask, “Where’s Agatha?”

Jen raises a brow, an amused glint in her eyes, but she doesn’t comment on the specific way you asked that question. Instead, she nods toward the spa’s exit. “She left about fifteen minutes ago. Said she needed some fresh air.”

“Fresh air?” you echo, frowning slightly.

Lilia props herself up on her elbows. “Yeah, she just got up and walked off. Seemed kinda… I don’t know. Lost in thought?”

You hum in response, feeling an odd pull in your chest. Agatha, lost in thought? That’s not surprising, but still… something about it makes you curious.

Before you can dwell on it too much, Wanda stirs beside you, groaning dramatically. “Ugh… did I die?” she mumbles sleepily.

You laugh, pushing her shoulder lightly. “If you did, you’re still haunting us.”

She cracks one eye open. “Damn. Guess I’ll have to try harder next time.”

The group chuckles at her dramatics, and for a moment, the thought of Agatha slips to the back of your mind. But it lingers, faint and persistent, like an unfinished conversation waiting to be revisited.

You reach for a bottle of champagne on the small table beside you and pour yourself a glass, taking a slow sip. The coolness of the drink soothes your throat, but your mind is still elsewhere. Absentmindedly, you grab another glass and pour a second serving, an idea forming in your head.

“Where exactly did Agatha go?” you ask, already standing up and wrapping yourself in the plush spa robe.

Jen exchanges a knowing glance with Lilia before answering, “Probably the sauna. It’s outside, past the garden area.”

You nod. “Got it.”

With the second glass in hand, you step away from the group and make your way toward the sauna section, the warm wooden scent hitting you as you push open the door leading outside.

After a few minutes of walking, you finally find the sauna section. The warm, steamy air seeps through the wooden door frames as you approach. You start knocking on each private sauna room, waiting for a response. On the third try, you hear a familiar voice.

"Occupied," Agatha calls out, sounding completely uninterested.

You smirk to yourself. "It’s me."

There’s a brief silence before the door creaks open slightly, revealing Agatha’s flushed face, strands of her damp hair sticking to her forehead. She raises an eyebrow but steps aside to let you in. You walk inside and settle onto the wooden bench, handing her the extra glass of champagne you brought. She takes it with a nod of thanks, her fingers brushing lightly against yours as she does.

"Champagne in a sauna? How luxurious," she muses before taking a slow sip.

You sip your own drink, then glance at her with an amused grin. "First the hot tub, now the sauna. Are you trying to give yourself heat stroke?"

Agatha scoffs, tilting her head slightly. "I can handle a little heat. Unlike someone who melted into a massage table for an hour."

You roll your eyes. "It was relaxing. Sue me."

The familiar banter carries on, teasing remarks and quick-witted comebacks exchanged between sips of champagne. Agatha smirks after a particularly sharp remark from you, shaking her head as she leans back against the wooden bench. "You're impossible," she mutters, though there’s no real bite in her words.

"And yet, here you are. Stuck with me," you quip, taking another sip of your drink.

Agatha exhales a quiet chuckle, swirling the champagne in her glass before taking a slow, deliberate sip. But eventually, the playful exchange fades into a comfortable silence. The heat of the sauna wraps around you both, heavy and soothing. You close your eyes, letting it seep into your muscles, easing away the tension of the day. You take another slow sip, savoring the bubbles as they tingle against your tongue, the warmth of the alcohol mixing with the heat of the room.

When you finally open your eyes again, you catch Agatha staring at you.

She looks away immediately, feigning disinterest as she takes another sip of her drink. But the way she avoided your gaze felt… deliberate. Like she had been caught doing something she wasn’t supposed to.

Is there something on my face? you wonder. Or am I just imagining things? There was something about her look that you couldn’t quite place. Something unreadable. It left you confused, but you shrug it off and finish your champagne, setting the glass down beside you.

As soon as you close your eyes again, you swear you can feel her gaze on you once more. Or maybe… maybe you’re just going crazy.

A few minutes pass, and just as you’re about to fully relax, you feel a gentle pat on your thigh. The unexpected touch makes your breath hitch. You open your eyes, finding Agatha leaning in slightly—close, but not too close. Her voice is low, almost intimate in the quiet space.

"I’m heading out," she says.

For a second, you don’t respond. You’re still caught off guard by the warmth of her touch, even though it was fleeting. You blink, quickly regaining composure as she pulls away and stands up. You grab your glass and rise to your feet as well, following her out of the sauna.

When you both return, the group is fully awake now. Alice has wiped off her mud mask, and Wanda is sitting up, chatting with Jen and Lilia while they sip on cocktails. The spa’s atmosphere is dim now, the sun lowering on the horizon, painting the space in deep shades of amber. You realize just how much time you’ve spent here.

The group enjoys a few more drinks together, the conversation flowing easily as laughter fills the air. Lilia leans back with a content sigh, swirling the last of her drink in her glass. "I swear, I could stay here forever."

Jen chuckles, stretching her arms. "As tempting as that sounds, we’ve got another packed day tomorrow."

Wanda groans dramatically. "Ugh, do we have to wake up early? Because I feel like I need twelve hours of sleep after today."

"Try not to be late tomorrow, okay?" you tease, giving her a pointed look over your drink.

Wanda scoffs, rolling her eyes. "No promises."

Alice laughs, nudging her. "If we have to drag you out of bed, we will."

Agatha, who had been mostly quiet, glances at you before finishing her drink. "I’d pay to see that."

With one last round of chuckles, you all finally decide it’s time to leave. You head back to the locker room, changing out of your robes and gathering your belongings. As you step outside, the cool evening breeze hits your skin, a refreshing contrast to the sauna’s heat.

The group lingers for a moment, standing in the glow of the resort’s lights, the sound of the ocean faint in the background.

"Alright, see you all tomorrow," Jen says, smiling warmly. "And get some rest!"

With that, everyone parts ways, heading back to their respective villas, the night settling in over the resort.

After returning to your villa, you let out a deep sigh, feeling the exhaustion settle in after the long day. The first thing you do is take a shower, letting the warm water soothe your muscles. As the steam fills the bathroom, you try to shake off the lingering thoughts that have been swirling in your mind—especially the ones about Agatha.

Once you’re freshened up, you throw on a comfortable robe and sit down for a quiet dinner. The villa is peaceful, the distant sound of ocean waves creating a soft background hum. You eat slowly, scrolling through your phone absentmindedly, checking a few messages and liking a couple of posts before setting it aside. But even as you try to focus on your meal, your thoughts keep drifting.

After dinner, you settle at your desk and open your laptop, clicking through emails from your secretary regarding work updates. There’s a report that needs your review, and a couple of inquiries from investors. You skim through them, typing out quick responses, but your heart isn’t really in it. You’re just going through the motions, trying to distract yourself.

Once you’re done, you shut the laptop and lean back in your chair, rubbing your temples. The day should have worn you out enough to knock you out instantly, yet sleep feels impossible. You grab your phone, scrolling through social media again—anything to occupy your mind. But no matter how many posts you see, nothing really registers.

Eventually, you sigh and place your phone down on the nightstand. You turn off the lights, nestling into bed, and close your eyes.

And yet… you can’t sleep.

You know exactly why.

Agatha.

There was something about her today. Something that made you feel... off. The way she looked at you, the way her eyes lingered just a little too long. Or maybe you were imagining it. Maybe it was nothing. Maybe it was just you, overanalyzing things like you always do.

You groan quietly, turning onto your side.

Stop thinking about her. Just sleep.

You try to distract yourself, thinking about anything else—puppies, flowers, what you’ll eat for breakfast tomorrow. But your mind keeps drifting back to Agatha. Her voice, her teasing, the way she looked at you in the sauna… the way her breath hitched when your eyes locked after that fall during the volleyball game. The way you could sense her eyes on you at Nobu, lingering, watching, even as she sipped her wine—those moments weren’t nothing. Were they?

You let out a frustrated sigh, pulling the covers over your head. It’s going to be a long night.

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#agatha harkness x reader #agatha harkness x fem!reader #agatha harkness x you #agatha x reader #agatha x you #kathryn hahn x reader #agatha all along #agatha harkness #agatha harkness smut

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peter-pumpkin-eater · 2 days ago

Text

Hello my little distraction

Caleb x gn!reader

summary: caleb's busy and you're bored. this is set BE ((before explosion))

warnings: none, fluff

word count: 1,094

_______________________

It’s been 40 minutes since you last bothered Caleb and your fingers were itching to fix it. He was in his room upstairs working on reports, something important no doubt. He had sent you off last time you wondered in his room and gone on a rant about how you know the claw machines are rigged because how else had you left last time with nothing to your name. It was the machine. Not you, obviously.

But now you were back, creeping on the threshold of his door way. Caleb had moved from his desk to his bed, papers and books in an organised disarray. You just stood there for a moment, watching him and weighing the pros and cons of breaking the tranquility, but before you could do anything Caleb's voice filled the silence.

“Hello my little distraction.” His lips were curved into a smirk when he lifted his head. His eyes crinkled at the edges. With the peace broken you happily shuffled into the room and crawled onto the clean patch of bed, lifting your legs underneath you.

“How much more you gotta do?” Your fingers fiddled with the book in front of you, edges of the pages bending slightly.

Caleb spun his pen around his finger before placing it on the bed, his eyes flicking between yours. No doubt trying to see if there was a reason for the interruption that was important. Like wanting dinner. It’s usually wanting dinner. “Almost done. Promise.”

A defeated and largely exaggerated sigh left you, making your shoulders sag and lean sideways falling over on the bed.

“Hungry?” he asked, tilting his head to look at you better as you slide now laying on the bed, legs still tangled under you. He’s sure that can't be too comfortable.

“Bored.” you pouted, turning your face into the donna. It smelt like Caleb. Warm, safe and like home. His body wash lingerd. A body wash you’ve stolen under the guise of having run out and just haven't had time to buy more.

“Bored.” he echoed. You can hear the smile in his voice. Know it well enough. Papers shifting, and being moved to the bedside table could be heard and the mattress bends under his weight as he slides closer to you. Peeking up at him you see, as expected, a soft smile on his face.

“Anything you want to do?”

“No.”

“Mmm.” caleb hums. His right hand moving the fallen hair from your face before slowly threading through it, untangling knots along the way. Your eyes slowly fall shut. A pleased sound from the back of your throat worms it way out.

“That. that’s what i wanna do” your muffled voice pushes past the soft fabric squished into your cheek.

Caleb chuckles. You can feel the sound burry itself deep in your chest.. “Oh really now? Sometimes I think you’re just using me for my head scratching abilities” he teases, but continues to run his fingers gently through your hair.

“I am.” you turn your face from the doona, seeing him already looking at you. “So chop chop.” you smirk, twisting your legs from where they were tangled up and now fully stretching out. Feeling the muscles in your calves flex and pull before curling them up, pressing them against Caleb's legs, almost cocooning him.

“Just like a cat.”

“A cute cat”

“A stinky cat. Seriously. When was the last time you showered?” he leans down a little, sniffing the air and scrunching his nose. The hint of a smirk on his lips.

“I’ll bite you.” you huffed, unable to hide the smile from your own face.

“Feisty kitty cat.”

A comfortable silence filled the room as Caleb finger combed out your hair. You had let your eyes fall shut again, letting the feeling of it wash over you. Caleb was always willing to play with your hair. Whether it be from you shyly walking up to him with your hair brush, eyes big and pleading. To making sure it was dry before going to bed. The sound of the hair dryer and both your laughs filling the small bathroom space. Caleb was always willing to do anything you asked of him. Sure sometimes he would tease you about it, or hum and haw before ‘giving’ in. He always enjoys seeing the puff of your cheeks and the way your eyebrows draw together when he makes you work a little for it, but that was all in the fun of it.

By now the golden light of the sun bathed the room in his soft glow. Your soft breathing mixed with his the only sound. He wasn’t sure if you’d fallen asleep but it wouldn't be the first time.

“Hey, pip?” he whispered, just in case.

A grunt could be heard while you shifted your head slightly. Bleary eyes peeking up at him. “What.”

“Just making sure you haven't fallen asleep. Don’t need you stinking my bed.” His voice was still hushed. Not really wanting to break the tired spell from the room.

You turned your head back into the sheets, rubbing your tired face into them and taking a deep inhale. Letting Caleb's scent flood your lungs and become your life source for a moment. You stayed like that for a minute and Caleb was sure you actually fell asleep that time. As he lets his hand still in your hair you finally speak up, turning your head and then body to lay on your back. His hand falling from your head.

“I’m a joy to be around, you know. Don’t be so mean.”

“Hmm. Isn’t that what your teachers use to say about you?” He pokes the tip of your nose, letting his finger slide and curve as his knuckle runs down your cheek.

You stretch your arms in the air above you, fingers spreading out and curling before dropping him on your stomach. “Yup!” you made sure to pop the ‘P’, head lolling to the side to look at Caleb. “I’m a joy and excel in my studies. I make fast friends and dont cause a fuss in the class.” You list off, head bouncing from side to side. “So honestly, you should be lucky to be around me.”

Caleb lets his eyes wander around your face as you talk, a small smile ghosting his lips. Just taking in the sight before him. A sight he never gets tired of seeing.A sight he knows well. A sight that greets him most nights when he closes his eyes. “I am.” He said truthfully.

#caleb x mc #caleb x you #lads caleb #love and deepspace caleb #love and deepspace x reader #caleb x reader #love and deepspace

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y2karasu · 3 days ago

Text

Rant to me, I like the sound // I like your voice, I like your mouth

- Karasu Tabito x Fem!Reader • Word count: 1.1k -

content warnings: voice kink, guided masturbation (kinda), phone sex, established relationship

Karasu sighs as he walks into his hotel room. He smiles slightly at the intricate folding of the blanket left by the cleaning staff. He takes his phone out, snapping a picture before sending it to you. Away games were hard for him; for someone who was once so put off by relationships he had come to find himself rather insatiable when it came to you.

The way your eyes crinkle when you laugh at one of his shitty jokes, how you always know he’s had a bad day when he’s just walked through the door, your pretty pretty voice and the way it cradles his name so gently when he has you pressed into the sheets of your shared bed.

His phone pings, bringing him out of his thoughts. Wide grin on his face when he sees you’ve messaged him back.

-> auuughhh so cute >o<

He smiles at the message, sitting on the edge of the mattress before responding.

<- Not as cute as you, princess.

Another one right after.

<- Miss you

He waits patiently for a response when he sees you’ve read it; frowning as the minutes tick past and you don’t say anything. He shakes off the feeling, stepping into the bathroom to shower as he waits for you. A low groan leaves him as the ache from his practice is washed down the drain, hand scrubbing at his hair before he’s pulled from the moment by his phone going off.

Karasu would be— should be embarrassed by how quickly he gets out after that, but he can’t find it in himself to care. Rinsing the soap from his skin before drying off quickly. He doesn’t even bother getting dressed, towel slung low on his waist as he picks his phone up from where it was resting on the bedside table.

-> are you back at the hotel?

<- Yeah, just got done showering. Did you wanna call?

-> perfect

-> maybe later

He frowns at this, an anxious feeling building creeping in his belly at how you brush him off. Just as he goes to type what was probably (definitely) a message a tad too desperate; his phone pings again.

-> put your earbuds in

-> attachment: one voice memo

Karasu chuckles, shaking off his earlier insecurities. He loves how well you know him; that he’d rather hear your voice telling him about your day than read your messages. He gets up from the bed, grabbing his earbuds before settling into the mattress. It’s softer than the one you share; but somehow still not as comfortable without you resting next to him. He presses play, a smile already on his face.

“Hi, baby.”

He stiffens at the tone, breath hitches as he listens to you shuffle around.

“I miss you so much, you know,” you sigh into the microphone, “it’s just not the same without you here.”

His cock stiffens at the sultry sound of your voice, mind racing.

“I want you to do what I say, okay, baby?”

His head falls back into the pillows, a low groan leaving his lips. He nods despite the fact that you can’t see him. Fist clenching as his cock twitches in anticipation.

“I bet you’re hard already, aren’t you?” You tease, “You’re so easy, baby. I love that about you. Love knowing you can get off just from my voice.”

There’s more shuffling on the other side before he hears a familiar sound; a whine followed by the slick sound of your cunt.

“Take your cock out,” you instruct.

Karasu quickly yanks his towel open, squeezing at the base of his cock.

“Spit on it, baby. Just like I would.”

A loud moan falls from his lips, precum leaking steadily out of his reddened tip before he follows your instruction. Stroking himself slowly to lubricate himself.

“Want you to tease the tip, can you do that? I know how much you like when I do that, handsome. When I put my lips around it to taste you.”

Karasu nods, large hand palming over his cock. His hips buck up into the touch; pleasure searing through his veins so harshly he’s not sure if he’ll last. He thinks about you looking up at him; the way you smile as you trace the tip of his cock with your tongue before sliding him into your mouth.

“Does that feel good, baby?”

“Yes,” he moans, whines slipping steadily past parted lips, “fuck— so good.”

“I miss you so much,” you whine, and— fuck, Karasu can hear the way your fingers pick up their pace. The wet sounds of you fucking yourself open while you whimper.

“Miss everything about you,” your voice is breathy now; an air of desperation slipping off your tongue, “miss feeling your fingers inside me. The way they— oh! The way they fuck me open.”

All restraint is lost on Karasu at this, fist fucking quickly onto his cock as he hears the way you’re falling apart for him. Lust boiling in his belly over the fact that he has you like this; even miles apart.

“Miss your tongue,” you must’ve adjusted the phone closer to your cunt; because the wet sounds of your fingers take over the speakers.

He pictures you on the bed you share, head thrown back as you desperately rut into your too small fingers. Karasu thinks about coming home to you; your legs over his shoulders while he licks the mess between your thighs. The way your hands grip his hair when his nose presses against your clit while he fucks you with his tongue.

“But, Tabito.”

Fuck; you’re not playing fair. The sound of his name falling from your lips has him calling your own out loudly; hips bucking up to meet the thrusts of his hand as he imagines you on top of him. The way your tits bounce in his face. How whiny you get when he takes your nipple into his mouth. The coy look you give him when your legs are too tired, how your pretty eyes roll back when he tucks his legs up to pound up into you.

“Tabito!” You cry out, “Miss your cock the most. The way you stuff me full; when you make me take it over and over until I’m— fuck! I’m cumming, I’m cumming, I’m—

Karasu falls apart with you; moaning unabashedly as rope after rope of cum falls onto his heaving abdomen. He whines your name; picturing your smile; your laugh; your—

“Tabito,” you sigh; satiated, “wish I was there to lick the cum off of your stomach.”

His cock twitches where it rests on his abdomen; and he huffs out a laugh at the pout in your voice.

“I love you,” you sigh, “come home soon.”

“I love you too,” he whispers into the silence of the room.

He picks his phone up from where he’d tossed it to the side earlier, gripping his cock once more before taking a picture. Laughing to himself when your contact photo comes up as you call.

“Hi, princess.”

#cottoncalicoes #writing.bllk #tabito karasu x reader #karasu x reader #karasu tabito x reader #bllk x reader #blue lock x reader

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gilbertscurls · 2 days ago

Text

just friends (until we’re not) — matt sturniolo

ONE ── just friends

part two

You didn’t want to make a big deal out of it. That was your first mistake.

It wasn’t supposed to mean anything, not really. You and Matt had been best friends forever, and Valentine’s Day had never been your thing. It was just another day, just another excuse for people to buy overpriced chocolates and awkwardly confess their feelings. You had never really cared for it.

But this year was different.

This year, you found yourself hesitating before sending a text. You had already typed it out, deleted it, typed it again, and stared at your phone like it held the answers to the universe. It was just Matt. Your Matt. The same Matt who once got his foot stuck in a trash can in fifth grade. The same Matt who always split his fries with you without asking. The same Matt who never let you walk home alone, no matter how late it was.

So why did this feel so terrifying?

You took a deep breath, steadied your fingers, and finally sent the message.

You: Hey, wanna hang out today?

It took approximately three seconds for the typing bubbles to appear.

Matt: Obviously. Your place or mine?

You rolled your eyes. Classic Matt. Always acting like it was that easy. Like this wasn’t a potential turning point in your entire relationship.

You: Yours. Be there in 20.

Your heart was pounding, and you hated it. You were supposed to be cool about this. Chill. Unaffected. Not some lovesick idiot who had spent an embarrassing amount of time debating whether to wear the sweater he once complimented or something more casual. (You picked the sweater. Obviously.)

By the time you arrived at Matt’s place, you had given yourself at least three pep talks. This wasn’t a date. This was just another day hanging out with your best friend. Nothing more, nothing less.

And then Matt opened the door, and all of your internal speeches flew out the window.

Because he was standing there, barefoot, in a hoodie that looked way too soft, his hair a little messy like he had just run his hands through it, and he was smiling at you like he was genuinely happy to see you. Like this was the best part of his day.

You suddenly forgot how to function.

"Hey," he said, stepping aside to let you in.

"Hey," you managed to say, pretending like your entire body hadn’t just short-circuited.

You followed him into the living room, where he had already set up a movie, blankets thrown haphazardly across the couch. There was an open bag of your favorite chips on the table, and you could smell the faint hint of popcorn in the air.

"You did all this already?" you asked, raising an eyebrow.

Matt shrugged, flopping onto the couch like it was no big deal. "Yeah, figured we’d just chill."

You sat down beside him, trying not to overthink the way your knee brushed against his. "You’re not secretly taking this whole Valentine’s Day thing seriously, are you?"

He scoffed, grabbing a handful of popcorn. "Please. You know me. I don’t do all that corny love stuff."

"Right," you said, ignoring the way your stomach twisted at his words. "Me neither."

The movie started, and for a while, everything felt normal. Easy. You laughed at the same stupid jokes, stole food off each other’s plates, and bickered about whether or not pineapple belonged on pizza.

But at some point, the space between you got smaller.

You weren’t sure when it happened, exactly. Maybe it was when you leaned against him, just slightly. Maybe it was when he draped a blanket over both of you without thinking. Maybe it was when your head rested against his shoulder, and he didn’t move away.

Whatever it was, you could feel the shift in the air. It was almost electric, this quiet tension crackling between you. And yet, neither of you did anything about it.

Because that was the problem, wasn’t it?

You were best friends.

You didn’t risk that. You didn’t just throw something like that away for a crush that could ruin everything.

Except… what if it wasn’t just a crush?

What if it was more?

The thought sent a shiver down your spine, and you weren’t sure if it was from fear or something else entirely.

Then, as if the universe itself was trying to mock you, a particularly cheesy romantic scene played out on the screen. The classic best-friends-to-lovers confession. The longing gazes. The almost-kiss.

You could feel Matt tense beside you. You didn’t dare look at him.

"God, that’s so unrealistic," you blurted out, desperate to break the silence. "No one actually does that in real life."

Matt let out a short laugh. "Yeah. Right. Totally."

But his voice was different.

Softer.

Like maybe he didn’t think it was so unrealistic after all.

Your heart was racing now, every nerve in your body on high alert. The moment felt heavy, charged with something unspoken.

And then Matt shifted slightly, his head tilting toward you, and you could feel his gaze on you. You swallowed hard, keeping your eyes locked on the screen.

Say something. Say anything.

But before you could, Matt let out a breath, forcing himself to relax against the couch. "So, uh… want more popcorn?"

And just like that, the moment passed.

You nodded quickly, forcing a smile. "Yeah. Sure."

Matt got up, stretching as he walked toward the kitchen. And if he clenched his fists the whole way there, trying to shake off the way his heart was hammering in his chest, well… that was his problem.

Because, on the inside, he was jumping up and down, doing the cha-cha, and singing I'm in love, I'm in love, I'm in love in his head.

And that?

That was a much bigger problem.

tag list: @stuwniolo, @sturnobsessedwh0re, @matts-myloverboy, @imjusthereforthesturniolosmut, @lizzymacdonald06, @asherrisrandom, @sturniolowhore69, @faith5drpepper, @emely9274, @psychologyloverfr, @lovetaylorrussellgrr, @conspiracy-ash, @helpimateenagerinlove, @ghostlythinggoingaround, @sturmatt, @chris-hallelujah, @goingtojohnkramershouseee, @wurlibydominicfike, @straw8berry, @shadowthesim, @courta13, @frankdelreyy

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ghostgirl-22 · 7 hours ago

Note

feminization and crying art cause Ik he’s a crybaby twink

Yes!!

Art always gets emotional when Patrick gets a girlfriend and he doesn’t have one. He acts like he doesn’t care but sometimes he cries, sometimes he pouts but he is always so dramatic when he has to do things alone because Patrick’s got a new girl. He goes crazy when Patrick gets Tashi.

CW: 18+ NSFW, what it says on the tin. D/s if you squint. Not proofread is the standard so you know… feel free to comment or message for egregious errors.

——-

It’s not enough that Art was on the verge of tears on the court. Patrick catches him properly crying after he mops the floor with him and wins Tashi’s number. He’s in the bathroom of their hotel room, eyes red rimmed, eyelashes webbed, cheeks stained with tears and flushed so beautifully it’s like he’s purposely applied blush to them. He takes sobbing breaths. His lips are pink and plump like he’s got on lipstick, they’re wet with tears as his nose runs freely. His eyes narrow when he looks up at Patrick, humiliated all over again. It’s the prettiest he’s ever looked. Patrick can’t take his eyes off of him.

“You won okay. Can you get the fuck out?” He snaps, can barely throw any heat behind it. He’s too weepy. Patrick gets this weird idea in his head. He’s just left Tashi. He fingers her little black panties in his pocket and approaches him.

“Aww Art don’t be mad at me,” Patrick says gently. Walks up so he’s directly in front of where Art sits on the toilet lid and tangles his fingers into soft blonde curls.

“Oh please Patrick, I don’t give a fuck.” Art says and it seems like he wants to mean it, while trying to worm his way away from Patrick’s touch.

“That’s not what it felt like when you kissed me last night, man,” Patrick says and Art goes still.

“That was… that was…”

Patrick straddles his legs, crotch in line with Arts face, shutting him up again. Patrick’s getting hard, not hiding it. Art always acts like it’s the end of the world when he can’t have Patrick all to himself but he’s never quite fallen apart like this. And not even 24 hours ago he was pressed against Patrick’s lips, letting Patrick lick his way in. After much too long Art looks away from Patrick’s now prominent bulge. “Get the fuck away from me.” No heat behind that either.

Patrick settles on his lap, Art’s breath hitches. Patrick runs a hand over his warm wet cheek, thumb lingering at the corner of his lips, they twitch involuntarily. “Don’t waste these pretty tears. She’s not gonna replace you sweetheart. You’re still my girl.”

“What are you doing?” Art whispers.

“What are you doing?” Patrick answers.

“I’m not—I want her. I’m not a girl.”

“Yeah? You don’t wanna be one of my girls?” Patrick is so close he’s watching the blush spread. “You don’t wanna let me feel you up under your little skirt. Feel how wet you get for me in your lacy all white panties cause you’re such a good girl, Art. You don’t want to be mine?” He brushes his thumb over Art’s pink lips.

Art takes a stuttering breath. “Shut. Up.” He whispers. But he’s shifting under Patrick’s weight. His shorts rising up his thighs as he gets hard, exposing more vulnerable pale skin for Patrick to fixate on.

“Come on, Princess. Angel. Sweetheart.” Patrick sighs in his ear. “Put your hand in my pocket.” Art looks at him, curious, before slipping his hand inside, knuckles grazing the length of Patrick’s cock without meaning to. He pulls out Tashi’s panties.

“I just finished eating her out.” Patrick continues softly in his ear. “You want me to taste your cunt next, baby?”

“Oh my god,” Art breathes, “fuck you.” But he’s gripping the panties so tight.

Patrick grins, before pressing their lips together. Art kisses Patrick like he’s greedy. Like he needs it. Nothing like last night, it’s fierce, forceful, hungry. Patrick’s mildly stunned when Art bites his lip, he pulls back and Art’s eyes are glittering with tears as his chest heaves. Patrick grins at him, tasting the trickle of blood just a moment before Art catches his breath smashes their mouths together again. Patrick’s got his hands all over Art’s lithe form, his hips bucking up in search of friction. Art is sniffling the whole time as if Patrick can possibly be anymore aroused.

“Come on baby, lemme kiss your cunt,” Patrick stands up and pulls him into the bedroom. He follows, easy. Patrick pushes him down on the bed, crawls between his thighs. His mouth is practically watering as he fills it. Losing himself in the smell, the taste, the feel of him. Art’s knees drawn up on either side. He’s thrusting his cock down Patrick’s throat. Moaning. Sniffling. Patrick’s almost gagging on it, grinding hard against the bed. He could do this for hours. He could do it all fucking night, but his mouth fills with heated liquid just a few minutes later. This aching cry spilling from Art’s lips at the same time and Patrick’s shivering while he swallows on it. Doesn’t want to waste even a little bit.

When he’s done sits up and jerks himself off. “Such a pretty little girl,” he sighs. It’s nonsense, Patrick knows it but it’s got him so hard. Art’s watching him like he’s fascinated. His skin is all glowy his eyes wet, legs open, shirt lifted, shorts halfway down with lacy black panties stuffed hastily in the pocket, his cock still purplepink and softening on pelvis tummy. Patrick sits up on his knees as his balls seize up and he’s suddenly covering Art with sticky spurts of white, like he’s claiming him. “Mm my girl.” He hums, “all fucking mine. Gonna fuck you next time sweetie. Gina fuck you so hard.”

“You’re so fucking gross,” Art whispers. Taking a breath as Patrick crawls up the length of his body.

“I know,” Patrick grins and Art pulls him in for a kiss.

#challengers fic #challengers smut #artrick #artrick smut #art donaldson smut #patrick zweig smut #patrick x art #art donaldson x patrick zweig

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nereidprinc3ss · 1 day ago

Text

you’re my best friend

in which spencer reid has to teach your young son how to make friends nicely after a day at the park gone awry

fluff!! warnings/tags: fem!reader, husband!spencer yum, boy dad spencer enters the nereidprinc3ss cinematic universe!!!! yayyy!! but you still have a baby daughter as well, Spencer would 100% give his children old people names I'm sorry, gentle parenting Spencer my beloved a/n: I really miss spring its my favorite season so I found this draft that feels very springy and it makes me very happy also.. the name... like queen... also this is old so its probably not winning a pulitzer

The sun beats down just shy of hot on the sheath of fresh grass where you and Spencer are comforting your crying son—the ground beneath your blanket is a lush, verdant carpet, still cool with springtime rain but not wet.

All of this pleasantry is lost on your son Oliver. He’s too focused on the scraped knee he sustained when he got pushed over on the wood chips. Marianne, your baby girl, is gurgling happily in her little bassinet next to you. Whoever said raising girls was harder had obviously never met the Reid siblings. Oliver is a drama queen—something you suspect he inherited from his father.

“See? All better,” your husband is saying, wedding band glinting as gold as the curls that fall to his eyes as he smooths a bandaid over Oli’s wound. Seeing him like this never gets old.

Oli’s crying chokes to a confused halt.

“It still hurts,” he complains.

“I’m sorry, buddy. But you shouldn’t’ve pushed.”

“I wanted to be her f-friend,” Oli says, his sweet little bow lips (all Spencer) beginning to pout again.

Your husband wipes Oliver’s already teary cheeks gently. “I know, but she didn’t know that. Not everybody likes to be pushed, even when you’re playing, because it’s kinda mean, isn’t it?”

“I was not being mean.”

“Do you push all your friends?”

“Sometimes,” Oliver says stormily. Spencer gives him a knowing look.

“Are you sure you didn’t push her just because she’s a girl?”

Little shoulders raise and drop heavily. Guilty.

“I know it’s sometimes hard to make friends with girls, but they generally don’t like being pushed. Not anymore than boys do. Maybe even less.”

“Then how do I make friends with them?”

Spencer considers this.

“Well… how do you usually make friends?”

“I ask if they wanna play.”

“Sounds like you already know how to make friends with girls, then. That’s all you have to do.”

“How did you be friends with mommy?” Oli asks, bunching the blanket in his little hand. You smile to yourself.

Spencer’s eyes flash up to you for only a second, his lips parted in what only you would recognize to be amusement.

“I was super nice to her. Me and mommy are really good friends, right?”

Oliver nods dutifully.

“Do you know why?”

A shake of his little curly head, this time.

“Because when you’re nice to someone, it usually makes them want to be your friend. Not always. But you have a much better chance that way. If I pushed mommy the first time we met, I don’t think we’d be here today.”

Your lips flatten to zip in a laugh. To Oliver, this is a very serious matter. To you, too. It’s important that he grows up to treat people well.

“Why not?”

Spencer dodges the question smoothly.

“Why don’t you try going to apologize to her? She might not want to talk to you, and that’s okay. But if you say you’re sorry, maybe you guys can play nicely together.”

This determines the already willful Oliver, who pushes up clumsily before running down the knoll on his short legs and approaching the swing set where his earlier assailant now plays alone. He stops far enough away that he can make a break for it if she gets a fixing to push him again. Smart boy.

You and Spencer observe the interaction carefully, and while you can’t hear what’s being said, things seem to go well. Soon they’re making their way to the little kid’s playground in tandem.

“Super nice, huh?”

“I really wanted to be your friend,” Spencer counters, scooting closer to Marianne’s bassinet. “Hi, angel,” he coos, demeanor instantly softening as he strokes her soft cheek. You can’t help smiling. The look in his eyes is truly something to behold. “God, I’m never gonna get over how much she looks like you.”

You preen and try to hide it. “You can’t possibly know that yet. Her skeletal structure is far from fully developed.”

“Uh oh,” Spencer says to Marianne, offering her a quarter of a strawberry from a Tupperware. “Mommy is starting to sound like me. Is that scary, or what?”

Marianne cackles and burbles and takes the fruit with her little clutching fingers, only missing her mouth the first time she tries to eat it.

“You’re so good at this,” you murmur thoughtlessly. The moment Oliver was born he’d been a natural. Earlier, even. You saw it in his eyes the second you tearfully told him you were pregnant. He’s a man of many gifts—and that extends to the way he parents.

His gaze turns to you, still just as soft, but more knowing, on you. It’s comforting, to be known and seen and loved like that.

“Couldn’t do it without you.”

“Corny,” you tease.

He shuffles on his knees to be closer to you. “Biologically factual.”

Your eyes flutter shut as he pulls you into him with an arm and presses a firm kiss to your head.

“Have I told you how much I appreciate you recently?” He murmurs into the quiet dark against your temple, shielded from the spring sun.

You’re melting in his hold, the way you always do. “Mhm.”

“Good. There’s nobody I’d rather be super nice to.”

You breathe him in—feel the rush of happy chemicals flood your brain.

“What if I pushed you?”

“You wouldn’t do that,” he asserts, pulling back and framing your face between his hands.

“But if I did.”

He regards you with narrowed eyes.

“Why? Am I in trouble?”

“Maybe.” But you say it too coyly. The corner of his mouth twitches.

“I’d forgive you,” Spencer murmurs, leaning in to press a kiss to your lips. “But if you want to be my friend, you can just ask, lovely.”

One more quick peck, and he’s situating himself to lay his head in your lap once more. You slide his sunglasses on for him once he’s settled, and he catches your hand, kissing your knuckles. Your lips twist.

“You make it so hard to want to push you. I need you to be mean.”

He laughs.

“Too bad. I like being nice to you.”

#spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fic #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x self insert #spencer reid fluff #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds fic #criminal minds fanfic

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softxsuki · 2 days ago

Note

Hellooo!! For your valentines letter event, can I please request Sabo, one piece, with fem!reader? Any pet name is okay except for baby/bae/babe etc. As for the relationship I just want it to be mutual pining where the reader is a pirate (straw hats or unspecified, i don't mind) and because he is in the revolutionary army, it's not often they see eachother. For the tone it's comfort from being so far away and adoration, he's just too afraid to actually confess when he can't physically be with reader. I'd prefer angst with comfort :). Location is long distance. Other info: they've known each other since they were children, and Sabo has just always had feelings for reader + she has always had feelings for him too, which they always got teased for by Ace and Luffy🙈 I hope this is specific enough! Thank you so much in advance!!! I'm gonna be giggling and kicking my feet as I wait in patience 🫡

Adoring Letter from Sabo to His Crush

This event is now CLOSED, but you can view the masterlist for the other letters here.

Warnings: long distance love, forbidden love??? Idk man

Note: HI! Fed my soul by requesting something for one piece, thank you! I took this as him not directly confessing to her, but kinda hinting at it…hopefully I got that right, bc girl I would have made Y/N jump into a row boat and row her way to Sabo’s side if he actually confessed heheh.

It was a beautiful day on the Thousand Sunny, the sun was shining, the waves were calm, and the crew was absorbed in their own activities for the day.

You glanced out at the waves, leaning your head on the deck rails, sighing. You missed Sabo…

“Y/N, you have a letter from Sabo, he had one of the news coo birds drop it off,” Nami grins, a knowing smirk on her face. “Perhaps a love letter~?” She teases.

Of course she knew how you felt about the second in command of the Revolutionary Army.

“Stop it…it’s not like that,” you grumble, taking the envelope from her.

Though the mention of Sabo makes Luffy’s ears raise and he runs over in excitement.

“A letter from Sabo! I wanna read it too! Y/N let me read it!!” He whines, his rubber arms stretching out towards you, in which you gently push them away.

“No…he wrote this for me,” you could feel your cheeks reddening, as Luffy and Nami began teasing you again.

It takes a while to shoo them away, going back to your shared cabin with Nami and Robin which was thankfully empty as you open the letter to begin reading it;

Y/N,

Hey lovely. Hope Luffy and the rest of the crew are doing a great job taking care of you over there. Can’t have you getting hurt now can we?

Since we reunited a few months ago, I couldn’t help but think of you and miss you…though I shouldn’t.

You’re great, you know that? Beautiful, caring, hilarious, I realized in that moment, when all my memories came back to me how much I missed those moments. How much I missed you. So many years have passed, all time I missed without you, and yet…distance continues to grow between us even now that you’re in my mind.

I want- no…i can’t. I hope one day things are different. When this world is safe again, when my job here is over. But I can’t ask you to wait for me, just know that you’re in my heart. Always. No matter how much ocean lies between us, you’ll always have my heart. So be happy and be free, and know that I’ll always be here to support you.

Yours,

Sabo.

The letter was short, but weighed heavily on your heart.

Idiot, you thought to yourself.

As if you could just forget him and move on. You’d wait for him for as long as you’d need to. At least now you knew he felt something towards you, yet pushed you away just because he couldn’t be by your side. How stupid.

“I’d rather call you mine, then not be yours, despite the distance. It’s not like we’ll never see each other again,” you huff to yourself, getting a pen and paper ready.

Maybe this letter will get lost at sea, or hopefully it’ll make its way back to Sabo. You hold his letter to your heart as you begin writing one yourself, pouring out your heart to the man it belonged to. It always belonged to him.

Posted: 2/14/2025

#one piece x reader #op x reader #sabo x reader #one piece x y/n #one piece x you #one piece drabble #op x you #op x y/n #op drabble #sabo x you #sabo x y/n #sabo drabble

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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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