#Should i just note down his school life /j

[sunstruck-traveller]

Leaving the chasm after having camped there for the night, Aether and Paimon are now headed to Liyue harbour; due to Paimon suggesting they should check in with the Katheryne there and also grab some of Liyue's specialty meals there.

The sun was quite warm today.

[crushribbons]

thanks, peg J

summary: Dr. Michael Robinavitch needs help building a shelf.

cw: 2.7k words, fluff, my actual husband is an actual doctor i should probably know more/anything about how hospitals work, vague age gap (reader/oc is in her 30's), vague to graphic depictions of injury/illness, fem!OC/reader.

a/n: paging dr. daddy :) <3

(gif cred)

She pulled her stethoscope off her neck. “Oof. Sounds like a ball of a Friday night. Is it from Ikea?”

“The Ivar,” Robby specified with a nod and shrug. He looked back down at the patient list from their shift, which couldn’t have been ending at a more merciful time. The last man she had examined had spat on her. And what else should she expect?; she’d diagnosed his pain as a small kidney stone passing through his urethra and written a prescription that would all but eliminate the discomfort. If that wasn’t deserving of a loogie to the face, she didn’t know what else would be. Robby let out a sigh that sounded exactly like the exhaustion tugging her eyelids down. 

Nurse Dana swept by them, her fleece jacket already three-quarters of the way on. “Don’t take too long on those autographs, kids, or night shift will just let you keep right on rolling.” 

A raspy little laugh slipped past Dr. Robby’s lips and the corners of his eyes crinkled the way they always did on the rare occasions someone could tug a genuine smile out of him. Suddenly, she wasn’t sure if the lack of breakfast and the bag of Ritz crackers she’d scarfed down for lunch were the only things making her light-headed. 

“Yes, ma’am,” he called after Dana. The charge nurse raised her hand without turning around and wiggled her fingers at them while darting out the double doors that led to the waiting room and exit before anyone could stop her. Robby turned back to the doctor next to him and handed her the clipboard he’d just finished signing about two hundred times. 

Her hand grazed his, and the level of attention she paid to how warm and rough his fingers felt made her grit her jaw in frustration. It was her first year as an attending, how could she be letting something as ridiculous as a workplace crush get to her? She realized it had been a while since she’d spoken, and that Robby was pulling his own coat and backpack from underneath his desk. 

“Need any help chasing down the million nuts and bolts that are guaranteed to burst out of the little bag when you open it?” she offered jokingly. Robby’s eyes flicked to her too fast. She felt her hairline heat up, worried she’d overstepped. 

None of the attendings did anything outside of work together; the work hours were long enough to get their fill of each other without feeling the need to add alcohol or food to the mix. Some of the students and residents would occasionally hit bars after their shifts, and though she had no desire to join them, it made her miss the relative lack of responsibility of med school. Dr. Robinavitch, in particular, never broached the topic of his personal life at work, so she tried to do the same. There were too many patients to see and too much to accomplish to bother checking if the attractive ER chief with the puppy-dog eyes had plans for the weekend. No matter how much she wanted to.

He let out another chuckle, though this one was without humor. "Don't tell me you got nothing better to do than that," he said. "On a Friday night."

"I'm, uh, still finding my way around Pittsburgh." It was true. Her residency in California had spoiled her, and she found the stark greyness of Pennsylvania off-putting. She rarely ventured from her apartment for anything other than work and necessary grocery shopping.

He regarded her for a few seconds. His gaze felt heavier than it should have, as if she had some symptom that didn't line up with her lab results. She remembered what Dr. Santos had muttered to her on her first day at the Pitt when she'd caught the new doctor staring a little too long at Robby typing his notes.

"I know. He's crazy hot, right?" Trinity had pinched her elbow and embarrassment had made her stutter nonsensically. Then, to top off the humiliation, Trinity had started swaying her shoulders side to side and singing under her breath, "I will be your father figure, put your tiny hand in mine..." The younger woman was known for being abrasive, but, shit, she was a perceptive little fucker, too.

"I'd be a fool to turn down help wrangling Ivar. Ikea furniture is my Achilles heel," Robby was saying when she snapped back to the present. He seemed hesitant. He couldn't tell whether she'd been joking or not, and, frankly, she couldn't either. "But I couldn't ask you to–"

"You'd be doing me a favor," she cut in quickly. He would, in more ways than one. "If I sit on my couch with my cat for one more weekend, I think they're gonna start letting me collect Social Security."

A genuine laugh! Her stomach flipped upside down at the sight and the sound. Both were warm and inviting and made her want to kiss each of the individual lines on his weathered face. "Then by all means, please."

Oh, wait. Was this happening? Was it, actually? Nerves gnawed at her while she finished handing off the patient list to the night shift. What was it? A date? A friend helping another friend put a shelf together? A coworker helping another, older and more senior coworker who intimidated the hell out of her put a shelf together?

As Robby departed through the same double doors Dana had dashed through, he turned and pointed significantly at his phone, and she pulled hers from her pocket to see that he had texted her his address. Nothing else, just the address, dashed out in Robby’s usual efficient and minimalistic tone. He hadn’t even included the city and zip, but he didn’t need to. Living further than 15 minutes away from the hospital seemed like something a less dedicated physician might consider, but she knew that Robby didn’t really live at the address he’d sent her, anyway. He lived in all the exam rooms and hallways surrounding her, their sanitized scent pricking at her nose one last time before she stepped into the waiting room and the few remaining rays of sunlight waiting to greet her outside.

The door opened on her second knock, or, more accurately, before she could even finish it. Goddammit. She should have taken more time to consider what an off-duty Dr. Robby might look like. 

“Hey,” he said, a genial smile lighting up his tired face.

“H–mm, hi,” she replied. She tried to hide a swallow.

Robby stood aside and let her pass through the front door of the aged but charming brownstone. The long hallway was lined with dark wooden panels that creaked when she walked over them. She tried not to feel him following behind her, the scent of some musky shampoo or body wash drifting off him. She also showered directly after a shift. Too much hospital.

A line of hooks held various jackets and sling bags, and a haphazard pile of worn sneakers sat beneath them. “I gotta get a rack for those, or something,” Robby muttered from behind her, noticing her sightline.

“You should see mine. The floor of my closet is a nightmare.”

She walked into the living room and couldn’t help the grin that spread across her face. It was sparsely but cozily finished, an overstuffed couch and matching loveseat positioned atop a plush rug that hugged her feet taking up most of the space. And, of course, a veritable disaster of boards, planks, plastic bags, and ripped cardboard in the middle of all of it.

“Yikes.”

“Thank you, again, for helping me with this,” he said, and came to stand beside her. “Why is it that I can perform a trach in my sleep, but the assembly of Swedish furniture is my downfall?” He scratched the back of his neck, the white t-shirt he was wearing showing off far too much of what was usually hidden beneath a few layers of thermals, scrubs, and hoodies. Her hairline started to feel hot again. 

She cleared her throat and made her way over to the pile of shelf. “For what med school costs, they really should be teaching us the essentials like this stuff, too!” He didn’t respond, making her look up at him. He was watching her again, with that sort-of-absent-but-always-thoughtful x-ray vision. She wished he’d stop.

“You really got none of the cynicism and all of the optimism out of your residency, didn’t you?”

She flushed and looked back down at the ground, unsure if he was making fun of her. “It being basically on the ocean didn’t hurt. Lots to be optimistic about in northern Cali, it’s so beautiful.”

Robby shook his Midwest-born-and-bred head. “Damn hippy.” His voice was gruff, but his dark eyes were sparkling and she felt some of the tension in her shoulders dissipate in a giggle. He crossed the room and through an arch that led to the kitchen. “I ordered some Chinese for dinner, hope that’s alright,” he called back to her.

The tension returned tenfold and her heart began doing somersaults in her chest. Dinner? This included dinner now? Sure, it was time for dinner, but she hadn’t wanted to be so presumptuous as to suggest adding food to this friendly favor she was performing. Robby returned laden with white paper takeout boxes and a handful of napkins and chopsticks. “Like lo mein?” he asked. She nodded.

“Yes, but you really didn’t have to get anything for me! That’s so nice,” she gushed, trying to reign in the attraction to this man and behave as if he was just any other rugged, kind, intelligent guy she might come in contact with. She was so screwed. 

He pressed the box of lo mein into her hand with a pair of chopsticks. “It’s the least I can do to thank you for helping with this,” he shrugged. “Hopefully, you still have an appetite after that bike accident from this morning.” The memory of the young man’s torso torn open and spilling out onto the operating table sent a nauseous wave from her head to her stomach, but she quickly compartmentalized it, as she’d learned to do long ago.

“Why do people even buy motorcycles,” she muttered rhetorically.

“Uh, because they love visiting you so very much,” he returned with a wink that made her miss her mouth with the chopsticks.

Two hours later, the shelf was only two-feet tall and missing three of the nine screws it had required so far.

“Peg L, peg L, peg L,” Robby said through gritted teeth, “where the fuck is peg L?”

She held the instructions centimeters away from her face, hoping the proximity would illuminate its solutions somehow. “Peg L goes into plank K. We just placed plank H.” He stopped running his hands along the carpet to search for the missing peg L and looked up at her with a speck of encroaching insanity peeking through. 

“I’m out of order?”

“Miiiike,” she laugh-groaned. “Did you already use peg G? We need J right now!” When he didn’t answer, she glanced up from the “simple” instruction packet. A sleepy kind of flush appeared on his face, and he pulled the reading glasses off to massage the bridge of his nose and–hide it? Then, he sighed.

“God, no one’s called me just…Mike in forever.” It was a complete sentence, a complete statement, a complete story, and he was done talking about it, but it made a million questions bubble up in the back of her throat. She ignored them.

“You’re at work too much,” she almost whispered. Why she was no longer scared of stepping over some professional, coworker boundary, she wasn’t sure. Maybe it was the way he had accepted her help with such a domestic task, or the fact that they were seeing each other in something other than scrubs for the first time (the loose, perfectly worn-in jeans he was wearing would surely be appearing in her dreams that night), or maybe it was because their legs had been pressed together for the last half hour as they tried to decipher the mysteries of Ivar. Whatever it was, Robby–Mike, felt it, too. He stared into her eyes before averting them to the floor and mumbling,

“Yeah. I know.” He put the glasses back on. “So, peg J.”

“C’mere, ya little Swedish asshole,” she agreed, and they resumed pawing around the rug to try and find the screws that, as predicted, had spilled from the package as soon as Robby had ripped it. She tried to avoid brushing against his hand as well as she could, until her fingers bumped into a tiny piece of metal, and she snatched the screw from the ground. Carefully consulting the instructions, she looked from the page, to the screw, to the page, before shouting, “Oh my God, I found it!” 

His hands were cradling either side of her face in a second, and then he was kissing her. The part of her brain that handled compartmentalization clocked in at lightning speed and swept all her confusion into the bin so she could focus on nothing except his beard scratching her, his warm hands cupping her jaw. Well, well before she had gotten her fill of him, he pulled back and blurted, “Awesome! Good job, let’s put it in.” He plucked the screw out of her hand like the conversation had just been on pause, scooting over on his knees to the feeble half-shelf.

She sat in complete shock until Robby, without turning to face her, said, “I shouldn’t have done that. I’m sorry.”

“Mike.”

“You just looked–and I, it’s been…I’m really sorry.”

“Mike.”

He was attempting to twist the screw into place with his fingers so he didn’t have to come get the screwdriver from beside her. “I overstepped. It won’t happen again. If you want to take it to HR…”

That was enough to jumpstart her brain again, and she burst into laughter, forcing him to finally spin around.

“HR? Really?” She made a phone out of her pinky, fist, and thumb and held it to her ear. ���Hello, Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center Department of Human Resources? Yes, I’d like to file a report against one of your doctors.” She was having a hard time stifling her laughter. “Dr. Michael Robinavitch. Yes, the hottie from the ER, that’s correct. He really laid one on me—"

It was Robby's turn to cut her off, and he did so by rolling his eyes and snatching the instructions out of her other hand. "Hey!" She dove after them but decided instead to drag him in by the collar of his shirt for another kiss. They both held each other tightly, Robby's hands wandering, respectfully, under the hem of her shirt. When she tugged a handful of his hair, he grunted in annoyance.

"Watch it. Don't have much of that left."

"You've got a lot for an old man." She regretted it as soon as she said it, even though he had already alluded to it. His head dropped and apologies bubbled up and out of her lips, assurances that that's not how she'd meant it, that he was the most attractive man she'd met at the Pitt, but he waved them off.

His glasses were sliding down his nose again. He cleared his throat and pushed them back up. "Are you okay with it, then? I mean, I know I'm not..." Her heart ached when he trailed off, nervously scratching the back of his neck again.

"Very ok," she whispered. She reached for his hand and took it. He was fiddling with a screw that she plucked out and tossed to the side. "I'm 31, you know, Senior Elder Doctor Robinavitch."

Robby smiled, clearly in spite of himself. He tucked a piece of hair that had fallen into her eyes behind her ear. For a minute, they just sat and looked at each other, matching each other's lazy smiles. "That's it. Didn't want to have to do this, but you're fired."

"Okay now I want to take this to HR."

masterlist

[3n-vi-ous]

little things about the obey me cast

lucifer

The Mom Purse™

has everything you could possibly ever need in his bag (which he carries around everywhere)

probably enchanted it to hold more than its meant to

always has to have some kind of non-water drink- usually hot tea or coffee

will never admit to it but he loves those super sugary iced drinks that barely have any coffee in them

very little spice tolerance. keeps a straight face because his brothers will jump on it SO fast

wears gel liner and mascara (would be a super pretty crier because of it)

mammon

talks to himself out loud when he's alone. will have whole conversations

eats SO much junk food but somehow stays in good shape (insane metabolism + actually works out at the gym with beel when he has the time)

chronic over exaggerator

incredible spice tolerance, will totally make fun of lucifer should he find out about his lack thereof

doesn't know how to say no (as seen in the game)

sleeps with socks on because the bed sheets are bad sensory

leviathan

once watched human world brain rot for shits and giggles and now he cant get it out of his head

wants to test if cocomelon works on mammon (spoiler alert: it does)

squeaks when he does a big stretch

could absolutely wreck somebody's shit but never thinks to in actual situations

not shy, just socially inept and bitter. he chooses not to interact

reads the devildom version of ao3 near religiously

satan

HAS to sit cross legged or some non-conventional way

doesn't matter what he's sitting on. its happening

totally the type to sit on a couch or armchair upside down with his head hanging off

doesn't like acidic food/drinks, it makes his teeth feel weird

would watch wendigoon if introduced. i think he'd love video essays (mystery flesh pit, anyone?)

writes personal notes in glittery gel pen

asmodeus

has a perfectly organized pencil pouch for school

once got swarmed by devildom geese. worst day of his life

steals his brothers' clothes ('i have to show you how to style these things correctly!')

would never stoop so low as to go to the casino, but is better at poker than mammon

will lie with the straightest face

eats finger foods with a fork because he doesnt like grease on his hands

beelzebub

comically easy to scare

takes really bad notes, even when he pays attention

has won several fangol games for his team

weirdly good art. mostly does chibi style doodles inspired by whatever anime Leviathan last made him watch

would cover for any of his brothers if they committed a crime (if they would even get persecuted- they are political figures)

if obey me was a musical, beel would be the one asking why everybody is singing

very smell sensitive, dislikes strong hand soaps, deodorants, etc

belphagor

always has snacks on him, in his bag, in the attic, etc

this came around because of beel, ofc

additionally, always wearing cargo pants of some kind when he's not in pjs. loves pockets

can do some sick knife tricks

not too far from canon, but falls asleep in weird places. often falls asleep sitting up, and if it's the only quiet place he can find he will absolutely pass out in a closet

would bring his brothers to the back of spencer's for the lols

diavolo

takes very large steps, mostly due to his height, and is very hard to keep up with

adrenaline junky. what with his inherent power, it just really gets him going to feel like he's in danger

can't say a tongue twister to save his life

likes party games like cards against humanity

hums to himself a lot, stims with the vibrations

the only one who can reliably tell when asmo is lying

loves lucifer for his dog and his dog alone /j silly

sometimes convinces barbatos to teach him how to cook. knows how to make some simple stuff

barbatos

probably cracks his joints really loud

can beat you up but thinks he's above it

has his own fandom of people who've got the hots for him

lucid dreams all the time

has an in depth skincare routine. shares tips with asmo

probably watches people sleep sometimes

i think it'd be cute if he sewed or crocheted or something in his free time

mephistopheles

has really expensive cologne

very low alcohol tolerance. also only likes fruity drinks

rolls his eyes SO much for literally no reason. he's just a brat

his devilgram is full of pictures of his horses

never learned to drive. always either on horseback or is driven by a personal driver

secretly loves white girl music

great with kids, pretends to hate him but he loves his brother

would totally get bullied on roblox

simeon

smells like lavender

once swore in front of luke and damn near died of shame

paces a lot when he's in thought

gets very in the zone when he's writing, hates being interrupted

absolutely wakes up november 1st and decorates for christmas. its not even a religious thing, he just likes the aesthetic

probably wears a really fancy watch he got from lucifer or diavolo

i mean this is kind of already canon but simeon would fall for someone he finds worth it

luke

knows all the swear words. will never say a thing

needs a nightlight to sleep but would rather die than tell somebody

likes to sit on simeon's lap and show him devildom brain rot because simeon doesn't understand what he's looking at

cant pronounce 'comfortable'

got simeon and solomon to get him a pet fish after he saw henry 2.0

the best at hide and seek, will not be found by anybody short of barbatos

if he were to have a discord server it would be all bots because he likes to play with them

solomon

sleepwalker

has scared the ever living shit out of simeon and luke in the middle of the night cause he's standing there dead asleep in the kitchen

cant stand silence. usually playing music or talking out loud when alone

gestures a lot when speaking

would probably kick a vending machine if his food got stuck

it'd be really funny if he ever got hit by a bus

his room is a MESS. only cleans it for luke (he likes to hang out in there) or possibly mc

[roniii-ii]

Robert "Bob" Floyd x Reader; Heart Flutters

Fandom- Top Gun: Maverick

Pairing- Bob x fem!reader

Summary- You’re one of the assigned pilots for the Uranium mission. You’re good at what you do, even if you can be a “little much” towards other people. Little do you know, a certain speckled WSO has already taken a liking to you.

Notes- Hehe I love Bob and I love Lewis so here we are 😎 And once more, I’m giving a thanks to @/geminiwritten for help! She helped with the dogfight training scene cause I have barely any technical knowledge and she saved my ass. I appreciate it so much!!

Warnings- Mainly takes place in Bob’s POV (will be clarified when it switches), italics, Google translated Spanish cause of Fanboy so it’s possibly incorrect, a little spicy towards the end, implied smut, not proofread we die like Goose

Word Count- 9146

– – – – –

Your callsign: Demon

Robert Floyd had always considered himself to be a calm man. Could he get nervous in certain situations? Of course. He was just a normal guy like anyone else. Okay, sure, maybe he wasn’t the most normal. He was one of the most highly regarded WSOs in active duty, being a top graduate of Top Gun. He was fast on his feet – or in the air – and he was good at what he did. He was reliable. And for the most part, he was calm.

And he was anything but calm the moment you strut your way into his life.

It was nice to be noticed for once. See, the whole reason his callsign was just one of his several nicknames was according to his classmates in flight school, he just wasn’t remarkable enough. Yes, that was something one of his former pilots legitimately said to him, directly to his face. So “nothing stood out” and they just called him Bob. Not even Floyd. Just Bob. And it stuck.

And it seemed that being on the sidelines was what was going to happen again. No one was paying him any mind until a woman walked in with two men behind her. He had glanced up to quickly assess before going back to the peanuts he’d gotten. And when she looked at him, he looked up and saw all of his fellow aviators looking at him. He immediately felt a little intimidated, but took a bit of a breath before introducing himself. He found out the woman was Natasha “Phoenix” Trace, his new pilot. And when she told him to join them for pool, he happily accepted. He was a little giddy to be included, but he kept that giddiness in for the time being.

And then, Jake spoke up with that tone that already had begun to grate on Bob’s nerves. “Jesus, they’re really calling everyone in. They even made a call to hell for a Demon.”

“Nice one, Seresin. Like I haven't heard that one a million times before in my entire career.” Bob looked up from his discussion with Mickey and he immediately found himself entranced.

You walked in with nothing but utter confidence. You even had a smirk on your face to show that confidence. And it was so similar to Jake’s that he should have been annoyed. But he wasn’t. He wasn’t sure what it was, but your confidence didn’t seem to be worn to put others down like Jake’s seemed to be. It was worn because you were proud of how good you were.

“You’re drooling, man.” Mickey teased. And Bob looked at him like he was crazy.

“Shut up…” That only served to make Mickey start giggling like a kid who just got candy. Bob rolled his eyes a little, but he couldn’t lie, it was amusing hearing him giggle like that.

It seemed you knew a few of the aviators, Natasha included. She actually pulled you over to where he and Mickey were and he immediately straightened up a little bit.

You greeted Mickey comfortably, doing a quick little handshake with him before your eyes turned to him and Mickey walked off to join Reuben again. You were intense, even though you were smaller than him. Granted he was 6 foot, so that wasn’t a huge surprise. But he felt small under your eye. You were sizing him up.

“This is Robert Floyd. My new wizzo.” Natasha introduced.

“J-Just Bob is fine, really. No one calls me Robert.” He cursed himself for stuttering. He was a damn WSO in the Navy, why was he stuttering right now?

“What’s your callsign?” You asked, coming across as completely neutral and not giving a reaction. And he dreaded that question every time someone asked it. And it showed because he visibly grimaced a little

“Just- Just…Bob.”

You looked at him for a few seconds longer before holding your hand out to him and giving him your own name. “And you can just call me Demon.” He was a little surprised at yet another minimal reaction to his callsign, but took your hand regardless and shook it.

“Demon, huh? How’d you get a callsign like that?” He asked, smiling nervously.

“Guess you’ll just have to wait and see when I’m in the air, huh, pretty boy?” And just like that, you walked away from him, leaving Bob wide eyed and blinking like he’d heard you wrong. Pretty boy?! What the hell was that? No one had ever called him that before and he wasn’t sure how to feel about it.

“You’ll get used to it. She’s just kind of like that. Kinda like Hangman, just a thousand times more tolerable in my opinion.” Natasha reassured him. He just nodded, not trusting his voice at the moment. That one comment had made his heart flutter more than he was readily willing to admit.

Everything would be fine. He just had to get through this mission and he would  head back to Lemoore. He wouldn’t have to deal with this forever.

– – – – –

Training with Captain Mitchell, aka Maverick, was more intense than Bob had thought. He’d have to kick Reuben’s ass for making the stakes 200 pushups if they failed. Sure, he was fit. He had to be. But that didn’t make his shoulders and arms ache any less.

He glanced around the room, seeing the way everyone seemed to have a bit of bruised egos from losing against Maverick. Except Jake, apparently. Bob wished he had that kind of confidence, even if it would have been false most of the time.

He saw you getting ready for your chance in dogfight training. You were focused and had just picked up your helmet when he decided to speak.

“Hey, Demon.” You glanced his way and he couldn’t help but offer an awkward smile. “Good luck. And be careful, okay?”

You stared at him and let out a scoff. “I don’t need you to tell me that, pretty boy. I can handle myself in the air just fine.” And just like that, you were gone, awkwardly being followed out by Reuben and Mickey to go up again. You had snapped at him. At the bar, you had acted indifferent. Earlier, when they’d first met Maverick, he’d glanced behind him and you’d even offered a small smile of acknowledgement when your eyes met. Your words, while few, had bite to them. And damn, did that bite have a bit of a sting to them.

He was left stunned and turned back towards Natasha, sitting next to her. “I didn’t- what did I do?”

His pilot sighed. “I wouldn’t worry too much, Bob. She’s…kinda always been that way.”

“Yeah. In need of an attitude adjustment.” Jake said from one side of the room. Bob saw Bradley shoot Jake a look that basically screamed ‘that’s ironic coming from you’.

Natasha shot him a glare and lowered her voice so Jake would stop eavesdropping. “Just try and think of it from our perspective, as women. We’ve had to bust our asses off probably two or three times harder than any of you boys. It’s possible it came off as patronizing.”

That filled Bob with major guilt. He hadn’t meant for it to come off that way! He knew better. He didn’t understand how hard you and Natasha probably had to work to get where you are, but he’d seen it happen with other women in this field, the blatant disrespect. And it always grated on his nerves when it happened. Because to him, if a pilot or WSO was good, it didn’t matter what the person’s gender was. If they were good at their job, that’s what mattered when, you know. Working.

“Well, that’s the exact opposite of what I wanted. I was just trying to wish her luck.”

“Explain that when she gets back. We’ve known each other for less than 24 hours but I can already tell you had good intentions, Bob. I wouldn’t stress it too much.”

Natasha's words did little to ease his stress, though. He felt terrible if that was the case. Patronizing you? He would never purposefully do that. He’d do it to Mickey out of a playful rivalry between WSOs and because they were already friends. And he’d done it earlier in the day when Jake had been asking for help during training. And it felt good to stand up for himself, even if it was in a very basically inconsequential way. But you were different. Several people here were different

For example, Bradley just seemed to be trying to keep his head down and work at this mission despite everyone. All the other pilots hadn’t really talked to him much. And Natasha? Well they’d quickly become friends and had deep running respect for one another already.

But you? He couldn’t place his finger on it. You were confident, but not annoyingly so. You held yourself to a high standard and you did your best to not let anyone demean any of it. And the way you’d looked at him last night. And the smile you’d given him this morning. It was like you were seeing him. Through his awkward and even slightly anxious exterior. He had spoken only a handful of words to you and it felt like you could see through everything.

And there was that heart flutter again at just the thought of someone seeing him like that. He took it as more of a nervous thing. He just wasn’t used to being noticed. Yeah, that was it.

“Guys, they’re airborne.” Javy said, sitting by the radio and turning it up so everyone could listen to the progress of this round of training. And Bob just prayed that he hadn’t annoyed you enough to shake your focus.

– – – – –

You

You were strapped into your single seater, the jet humming beneath you. It seemed as eager and alive as you were to be in the air. And every condition was perfect. It was sunny, with little cloud coverage. And you knew that out there, somewhere, Maverick was in the air. Just waiting to make you look like a fool.

That wouldn’t happen if you could help it.

You reached over and flipped your radio switch. “Dagger one-one check.”

“Dagger one-two check.” Reuben’s voice came over the radio

Then, Mickey’s voice crackled over the comms, sounding as cheerful as ever. “And I’m still here and still looking sexy.”

You rolled your eyes, shaking your head. “Let’s keep it that way, Fanboy.”

“Aww you think I’m sexy, Demon? I’m flattered.”

You bristled at his comment and were about to snap back at him when Maverick’s voice came through the comms, cool and collected. “Bandit airborne. Come and find me, kids.” Like he knew he was going to win. He reminded you a lot of Hangman. And it ticked you off a little.

Okay, it ticked you off a lot.

You glanced around and you swear you saw Mickey dancing a little in the back of his and Reuben’s jet out of excitement. “Do you guys hear that? He sounds like he’s smiling.”

“Let’s wipe it off his face, boys.”

You split off from them – not abandoning, purely tactical – climbing high and starting to bank right. This allowed Maverick to see you, immediately drawing his attention and allowing your wingmen to slip under the radar. You knew Maverick’s game. Fast, flashy. It reminded you again of Jake.

“Keep your eyes sharp, guys. He’s gonna try to split us.”

The radio crackled to life after about 30 seconds. “Got a visual.” Reuben sounded completely focused. “High six o’clock, coming in hot.”

A mere second later was when you spotted him, just past the sun’s rays. Typical Maverick. He dove between your aircrafts, trying to bait one of you. You could hear Mickey shriek and throw in a couple Spanish words you could only assume was some colorful language.

“Santa mierda – was that move even legal?!”

Reuben was already rolling to go after him. “I got him–”

“No!” You barked out. “Stay tight, Payback. He’s trying to get us to give chase. And I’m not gonna let that happen.”

You throttle up and sweep left, wide and deliberate to cause Maverick to pick. He circles back towards Reuben and Mickey, just like you’d predicted. And this time, you’re already there, sliding up behind him. Just outside of lock range.

Maverick jinks right and you follow immediately.

He snaps into a vertical climb and you invert, mirroring him and staying on him, your drag trailing just enough to make him think you’re losing your grip on the situation.

“Fanboy, flare on my mark.” You mutter.

“Copy.”

Maverick dives down, directly into the trap you set up. You yank back hard, nose up and engine screaming. “Now, Fanboy, flares!”

Fanboy lets loose a burst of flares on Mav’s six and, like clockwork, he rolls, overcorrecting himself.

And you’re on him in a second. Too close.

He dips low, trying to hug the terrain. But you stay glued to him and ride his wash.

“C’mon, c’mon, c’mon…” You repeatedly whisper to yourself.

He tries to shake you – hard G turn, a hard left, a reverse roll. And you hang onto him like you’re his shadow.

Then? It opens. A sliver of sky, his tail dead center in your sights.

Beep.

Tone.

Lock.

You squeeze the trigger.

And your HUD lights up SPLASH in bold green across your vision.

You grin, panting a little and your heart beating out of your chest.

“Splash one. Bandit is down.” You say, your voice steady.

There’s silence, the only sound in your ears being the static of comms and your pulse roaring in your ears.

Then…

“You gotta be kidding me.” Mickey sounds breathless and in awe.

And you hear Reuben whoop. “Holy shit, Demon! You nailed him!”

Even Maverick sounds a little amused. “Well done, Demon. A clean kill while protecting your wingman. I can see how you got your callsign.”

“Is that praise from the Maverick I’m hearing?’

“Don’t get cocky now, kid.” Maverick said. “Let’s see you do it twice.”

You let out a small, genuine laugh. “I’d be glad to go against you again anytime, sir.”

– – – – –

When you got back on the ground and out of your jet, you were almost immediately wrapped up into a hug by Mickey. You barked out a laugh as he twirled you around before letting your feet hit the tarmac again. And Rueben pat your back as you walked back to the rec room. When you entered, you were immediately surrounded by almost everyone.

They were congratulating you on being the only person to out maneuver and beat Maverick. And Natasha immediately pulled you into a hug. You held onto your flight helmet and hugged her back. “Demon, that was amazing.” She said as you pulled away and you flipped the imaginary hair over your shoulder.

“I just assessed him.”

She shook her head. “You’re just humble.”

You smiled before spotting Bob over her shoulder. He was fidgeting with the zipper of his flight suit nervously like he was waiting his turn to speak.

“Demon? Could I talk to you really quickly?” He asked and you nodded, schooling your expression back into a neutral one. You both stepped off to the side as everyone else moved to Rueben and Mickey to congratulate them as well. “I really just wanted to apologize for earlier? If you felt patronized, I never meant for it to come across like that. Because I certainly don’t understand how you feel in this field as a woman but I’ve seen the way other women are treated and it literally makes my skin crawl because you’re obviously amazing and good at what you do so what does it matter that you’re a woman and-”

“Hey- breathe, Floyd.” You gently interrupted him, getting a little worried that he wasn’t taking in enough oxygen. He stopped and looked at you, his ears going red.

“I…was rambling.” You nodded and saw the flush move to his face. “God- I-I’m sorry, I just- when you snapped earlier, I felt really bad and I wanted you to know that I wasn’t trying to assume you couldn’t handle yourself.”

You sighed and finally gave him a smile. “It’s okay, really. I’m sorry I snapped. It wasn’t fair to you. Looking back on it, I know you were just trying to be nice, it’s just…” you sighed softly. “I’ve dealt with plenty of men in the past who aren’t as kind as you were trying to be. I guess it was just a kneejerk reaction.”

“Well, I can promise you. I would never do that. I think if I did, my ma would throttle me.” Bob seemed to shudder at that and it made you laugh. And caused him to smile.

“Well, I believe you. Thank you for clarifying it with me, Robert.”

You watched as the flush that was starting to fade flared up again. And you could see it went down his neck a little. “Uh, l-like I said, just Bob is okay.”

You looked at him before smirking playfully and gently pushed at his chest with your helmet. “I think I like Robert.”

He cleared his throat and glanced around. “Uh…your helmet is cool..! I like the colors.” You could tell he was trying to change the subject, so you decided to give him a reprieve and talk about the choices you had made when designing it. The vibrant pinks and reds and purples and the font choice.

Well, a reprieve for now. Seeing the wizzo getting that flustered was a little amusing. You liked seeing that.

– – – – –

Bob

Well that was beyond terrifying. Javy had gone into G-LOC when practicing the climb for Coffin Corner. It had been close, but luckily, Maverick had been able to wake him up just in time before colliding with the ground. And luckily, he was fine. He’d probably get evaluated once they landed, but he was alive and that’s what mattered. They were counting their blessings.

“That was close.” Natasha said as she became level with Maverick’s plane. Bob could only nod in agreement.

“Too close.” And that’s when everything seemed to go to shit. “Bird strike! Bird strike!” Maverick called, but it was too late. The bird had flown straight into the left engine of the plane and a fire ignited. Bob’s anxiety immediately spiked, but he reigned himself in. He needed to try and help Natasha however he could.

“Phoenix, left engine’s on fire!” Granted, he sounded much more panicked than he intended but at least Natasha seemed to have a level head.

She pulled the throttle and immediately raised their jet further into the air, working to try and extinguish the fire so they could land safely. “Throttling back. Shutting off fuel to the left engine. Extinguishing fire.” She flicked up the cover over one of the buttons and pressed it.

And the fire went out, but Bob’s panic rose when alarms kept beeping and his system displayed more problems. “Right engine is out!”

“It’s still spinning. Try to restart it.” They both flicked a couple of their switches, trying to regain control over the situation.

Bob barely heard Maverick come in over comms over his own pulse, Natasha, and the alarms. “Phoenix, it’s on fire! Don’t start–”

“Throttling up.” And Natasha tried taking them even higher into the air, but it didn’t work. They started spiraling towards the ground. And Bob was feeling the panic start to rise more. 

“We’re on fire! Phoenix, we’re on fire!”

“Damn it!” The alarms were blaring even louder. They were almost distracting. “Extinguishing right engine.”

“Phoenix, Bob! Punch out! Punch out!” Maverick’s voice sounded a bit panicked while still trying to remain calm for their sakes, but Bob was so focused on all of his system in the back, red flashing brightly everywhere amongst the green.

“Warning lights everywhere! Hydraulic failure!”

He saw Natasha briefly looking behind her towards him before turning back around. She moved the control stick around frantically, but it did nothing. “I can’t control it!”

“We’re going down, Phoenix! We’re going in! We’re going in!” Bob was freaked out and they were losing altitude fast. How had this happened?

“You can’t save it. Eject, eject!” Maverick’s voice was calmer than he expected this time. But his clear and concise voice seemed to break Natasha out of her panic.

“Eject, eject, eject!” Natasha’s voice finally got Bob to snap out of it too. He reached down and yanked on the ejection handle, shooting out of their jet. And a few seconds later, Natasha followed. They were alive. That’s what mattered.

– – – – –

They both were laying in the same hospital room. They’d had countless scans and x-rays at this point, Bob had lost count. He was just thankful both he and Natasha seemed to have walked away with nothing more than a few bruises and would probably be sore in the morning. But the hospital wanted to observe them over night just in case.

Most everyone had come by to check in on them. Bradley hadn’t, but he’d texted Natasha, letting her know that Maverick had informed him of their condition and that he was glad they were okay. Even Jake had stopped by with Javy to make sure they were okay. Bob was a bit surprised by that, but he didn’t mind. He was actually glad to see Jake had still been worried. And that Javy was feeling better after his G-LOC scare.

The only other person who hadn’t stopped by was you. And he seriously wondered why. He and Natasha had been laying there, just talking about anything to keep their minds off of having to be stuck in the hospital when the door opened.

“Lieutenant, it is 10 minutes until visiting hours are over.” The nurse was saying.

“Well, then I still have 10 minutes and you have no right to deny me seeing my friends. I’ll leave when the 10 minutes are up.” You said as you strode into the hospital room, moving immediately to Natasha. The nurse huffed, seemingly irritated with you, but she left the room. Bob watched as you leaned down and hugged Natasha carefully. “How are you?”

“Lucky. No injuries except a couple bruises from a bit of a rougher landing.” Natasha said and you heaved a sigh of relief.

“Thank god. I was so worried listening in. It was bad enough hearing Maverick panic trying to get Coyote awake. But hearing you guys panicking was terrifying.” You said. Bob felt his heart flutter again. You were worried for them. Terrified even. In the past couple weeks, you and him had gotten a little closer. He’d classify you guys as friends. It turned out you were a bit of a reader like he was and it was nice to geek out a little over series you both had read.

He watched as Natasha’s voice turned a little hushed. He couldn’t hear what she said, but she was smirking. And he watched as you rolled your eyes. Before moving to him.

“How are you feeling, pretty boy?” You asked. This had become a constant. If it wasn’t you calling him Robert, it was pretty boy. And every time, without fail, it made him flush.

“I’m fine. I came in feeling a bit nauseous and with a bit of a headache. So they were worried I had a concussion or whiplash. But I’m good on both fronts so I’ll be cleared to fly by tomorrow morning.” He explained and you nodded.

You stood there for a moment before you just moved forward and hugged him. It wasn’t dramatic or tight. It was a simple hug. But he froze and his eyes went wide. You’d never hugged him before. You were really only physically affectionate with Natasha. And technically with the other aviators, like Mickey, it was forced affection that you put up with.

“I’m glad you’re okay…” You whispered as his arms slowly wrapped around you to return the hug.

“You don’t have to worry, Demon. I’m just fine.” He whispered back. You pulled away – much too soon in his opinion – and gave him a small smile. 

“I’ll see you guys tomorrow on base. I should go before that nurse tears my head off.” He chuckled a little and nodded as you walked back to the door. Before you left though, you gave him one final look. “I’m really glad you’re okay, Robert. Glad both of you are. Goodnight.” And you left.

There was his heart fluttering again. Just how genuine you sounded and the look on your face made his heart skip beats. And the way you called him Robert had his face flushing. He could hear Natasha chuckling as she laid in her hospital bed.

“What are you chuckling at?”

“Oh nothing, Robert.” She teased and he just rolled his eyes at her. He didn’t miss the fact that he didn’t get flustered when she called him Robert. It felt more like a sister purposefully trying to irritate her brother, but he chose to ignore the glaringly obvious.

Maybe there was something there.

But that thought was quickly squashed. He didn’t have time to think like that. They were going to be flying for this mission in less than a week. They needed to be ready.

– – – – –

This was it. They were going on this mission. Maverick was team leader, Bradley was with them. And he, Mickey, Reuben, and Natasha were the Foxtrot teams he’d chosen. They were actually doing this. 

When glancing around, he’d seen the way Jake was obviously tense at being denied the role he’d wanted, being placed on reserves. He could tell his ego and pride were bruised. And if he hadn’t known you very well, he would’ve thought you just seemed indifferent.

Except he did know you. You both knew one another well by this point. As annoying as some of the people here could be, he loved and cared for every single person of this squadron. He saw the way your right hand gripped your left wrist tighter behind your back. And the way your jaw clenched and unclenched slightly. And the slightly downcast look in your eyes before your attention was forward again as if you weren’t phased. You were disappointed, but resigned to having been placed on reserve. And it made his chest ache a little to see just how upset you were, even if you only allowed your body to show it for a split second. He’d noticed you.

He was making sure all his tactical gear was on and held his helmet in his hands. He took a deep breath as he gazed into his helmet at the picture he kept taped in there. It was of him, his four sisters, and his mother. He always kept it in his helmet, kept them close. Kept them tucked away to keep them safe. It was a reminder for him of what he was flying and fighting for. And more of a reason to fight to come home.

There was a small knock and turned his head, seeing you standing there. You were also in full flight gear, ready to be standing by in case you were needed.

“Hey.”

“Hey.” He shut his locker and walked over to you, both of you starting to walk through the halls to get up on deck. You caught sight of the picture in his helmet and looked at him as you both walked.

“That your family?” He nodded a little, glancing at you. “You’re the only boy?”

Bob chuckled a little. “The middle child too. But I love my sisters and my mom. They all mean the world to me. They’re what I fight for day in and day out.”

“That’s good.” You both walked in silence until you got on deck, seeing the flight crew bustling around to get ready to launch the team into the sky. He took a deep breath and gripped his helmet a little tighter. He knew the danger of this mission. He knew just how at risk they all were, they all did. But even so, at that moment, he couldn’t help but think back to the disappointed look on her face he’d seen. He was thinking of her over himself.

“Demon, listen. I’m sure Maverick choosing Rooster wasn’t-”

“I know why he didn’t choose me.” You said simply and Bob just looked at you, giving you the space to keep talking. “I fly too much like him and like Hangman. I take too many risks. Bradshaw is more level headed when he flies. He’s not as much of a rogue missile.”

He was glad you at least hadn’t taken it personally. It still sucked to see you downtrodden, but you weren’t bitter about it. He nodded and took a deep breath. “I should get to Phoenix.”

You nodded and he turned to leave. And he barely heard you call his name over the sounds of everyone on the flight deck. But he had heard you. He could pick your voice out in a crowd easily, he admitted that to himself. He turned towards you and before he could react, your arms were wrapped around him, arms draped around his shoulders and your helmet bumping some of the padding of his gear on his back.

He was completely taken aback at first, since he wasn’t used to you hugging him. The only other time you had was when he was in the hospital and you were just happy he was mostly unscathed. This was different. You were hugging him properly, like your life depended on it. Like his life depended on it. And in a way, it did. And so he did what felt natural and right.

He let his arms wrap around your waist, helmet in one hand and his free one on your back to pull you in just a little closer against him. Just in case. He didn’t want to think like that, but he wanted to really hug you. Just in case…

And you leaned up so you could whisper in his ear, over the sounds of radios and people and jets.

“Be careful and come back safe, okay, Robert?”

He felt the heat from hearing his full name on your lips creep up the back of his neck and his heart flutter in his chest at your low and calm voice. But you weren’t saying it with the usual teasing bite. You weren’t trying to fluster him, even though you’d succeeded. Because he could hear it.

It was barely there, it was almost non-existent. But he’d heard it. The quiet tremble when you said his name and the slight shakiness when you let out a soft breath. You were worried. He was sure for the others, and maybe you’d expressed that to them already. But right now, you were worried for him. It made his heart flutter again. But he also felt that deep ache in his chest.

He leaned down to talk to you so you could properly hear him without having to shout. “I will do everything in my power to come home.” His voice was low. He wasn’t promising a sincerity of his return. But he was promising to try. And that was enough.

He felt your arms tighten around him for a second before you were pulling away. And if he was finally being fully honest with himself when it came to you? He didn’t want to let you go. But he did. He had a job to do.

He slipped his helmet on as you did the same, both of you getting ready to head to your respective jets. And you made a move that didn’t just make his heart flutter. It felt like it stopped beating.

You readjusted his glasses for him. A simple act. Inconsequential to most and something he easily could have done himself. But this was you. The steadfast Demon, who tolerated affection from few and willingly accepted it from even fewer. And yet here he was, stunned and pink in the face as he let you do this simple task for him.

“Good luck. And be careful, okay?”

He broke through his flustered daze and couldn’t help but smile at your choice of words. The words he’d said to you before dogfight training that had ticked you off. And so he decided to play into it.

“I don’t need you to tell me that, Demon. I can handle myself in the air just fine.” He threw your words back to you, but it wasn’t snappy or angry. It was playful and it made you smile. Something he didn’t realize he’d needed to see before he saw it. You both nodded to one another before parting ways.

Bob climbed into the back of his and Natasha’s jet, starting to strap himself in and get himself ready.

“What was that about?” Natasha called over some of the noise.

“She was just wishing me luck.” Natasha nodded as she was also strapping in and gave one of the flight deck crew a thumbs up and Bob did the same to his own crew member.

“Let’s do this, Bob.”

Bob took a deep breath and glanced around, nodding. “Let’s do this.”

– – – – –

They’d done it. By some grace of God, they had done it. Definitely not perfectly, not without major scares, but they had done it. The mission was successful, Maverick and Bradley had made it back to the carrier safe and sound. And the entire squadron was back on North Island and had gone to The Hard Deck. Maverick had opted to go back to his place and Bradley actually went with him. The tension between the two that everyone had seen had finally broken when they’d been downed apparently. And thank goodness cause it was getting intense and they both needed that time together. Bob remembered hearing Natasha make a side comment about it being nice to see a smile on Bradley’s face. And he had to agree.

The entire squadron was given a few days reprieve after the mission. They all were exhausted and needed time to destress. So most of their days were spent at The Hard Deck, drinking and enjoying their time together without the stress of an impending mission. But soon enough, they were called back to base. 

They were all sitting in a conference room, in their khaki uniforms, waiting for Cyclone to come and speak to them. And by proxy, decide their fates of where they went. Everyone had everything put together. Every insignia and ribbon and hair in place. And then there was Mickey. He was put together sure, but he was rubbing his temples.

“I have the worst fucking headache…”

Everyone else just snickered at him. “Maybe you shouldn’t have drank so much last night, Fanboy.” Javy stated and Mickey waved him off.

“And I thought I was bad.” Maverick stated and Bradley scoffed.

“You can be, old man.” And the entire group let out a soft laugh.

“What do you think is gonna happen next?” Reuben asked and the whole group went a little quiet.

“What else? We’ll probably be sent back to where we were stationed before this whole thing.” Natasha said. Always the pragmatist. And that made the group go silent. They’d all gotten so accustomed to one another, becoming a stable team, that the thought of parting ways filled each of them with a little bit of dread. Bob even noticed the way Jake shifted, like the idea didn’t thrill him.

And Bob felt his own dread. He didn’t want to leave. As much as he’d liked living in Lemoore, he wasn’t noticed there like he was here. These people, the people he’d come to love like a second family over the past few weeks. These people saw him. They recognized him for what he was and who he was. They included him in their plans without having to remember he even existed. Not to mention, he and Natasha were like two peas in a pod. They could practically read each other's minds.

And you. He’d finally started to admit to himself that maybe, maybe there was something there. That all his little heart flutters meant something and the way your gazes would lock for just a second longer than was normal. The times you all would go out to The Hard Deck and you’d laugh with him as you drank and he’d drive you back to the barracks to make sure you were okay. He glanced over at you and your side profile. He could see it in the way the muscle of your jaw was tense. You didn’t want to leave either.

He loved Lemoore. But he loved this place so much more.

The door opened and they all immediately stood up at attention as Cyclone and Warlock entered the conference room. “You all may be seated.” The admiral spoke and they all took their seats again. Everyone was quiet and tense, but they didn’t speak. “I wanted to start off by thanking all of you. You all have done exceptionally well and I am very pleased to see all of you returned home safe and sound.

There was a quiet murmur of a chorus of “thank you sir” that came from all the aviators as they sat there. Bob noticed your leg had started bouncing and your hand tapped the fabric of the seat you sat in. He moved without much thought, still looking forward as his hand came closer to yours under the protection of the table. His pinkie gently brushed yours and you stopped fidgeting. You went tense for a moment before he felt your pinkie link with his. As if it was a quiet promise. And he felt his heart skip a beat.

“Now I’m sure you’re wondering where you’re going next.” Cyclone’s words cut through the comfort and everyone fell utterly silent. It sounded like no one was even breathing as they all awaited the worst but hoped for the best. “While normally, you’d be sent back to your former deployments, I’ve spoken with higher ups and your former commanding officers. And if you all would like, I am offering you all the ability to remain stationed here in North Island as a permanent special squadron with Captain Mitchell as your commanding officer. If he’ll take the position.”

Everyone looked between one another with pure hope and excitement. They all turned their gaze to Maverick, looking at him with that same hopeful look. All like kids hoping their dad would say yes about going to get ice cream.

“May I have a little bit of time to think about it, sir?” That confused everyone. Why would he need time to think about it?

“Of course, captain.”

Only about 15 seconds passed before Maverick was smiling. “I’ll do it.” And everyone else smiled happily at one another. Bob swore he saw a hint of a smile on Cyclone’s face. Maybe. He also was coming up on the time he needed to get his annual eye check, so maybe his prescription just wasn’t as good anymore.

“Wonderful. There’s some paperwork you’ll all need to fill out but after that, you’ll be an official special ops unit.”

Everyone thanked him profusely. But all Bob could think about was how your pinkie had never unlinked from his. And seeing you smiling so wide. He knew now. He wanted to always see you smiling like that. He wanted to be the reason you smiled like that. He was in love with you and he wasn’t denying those flutters anymore.

– – – – –

“Fanboy, I’m so doomed.” Upon being approved for the specialty squadron, the entirety of the Daggers decided to move out of the base barracks and find apartments around town. Some of them doubled up, like Rueben and Mickey had done. But others had opted for small, single apartments.

Bob was currently moving into his apartment, with Mickey helping to carry the last of the boxes up from Bob’s truck, when Bob proclaimed his own doom.

“Huh? What are you talking about?”

“I…” Bob sighed as he set the box he was carrying on the floor and turned to him. He set his hands on his hips, much like his own mother would when attempting to parent him and his sisters, and stared Mickey down. “You have to swear to secrecy. No blabbing. Because if this gets around to Hangman, I think I might combust or kill someone. And I haven’t decided which one it’ll be yet.”

Mickey slowly set his box down, confused. “Okay..? I’m sworn, man. What’s going on?” He sounded serious as he shoved his hands into the pockets of his shorts and Bob sighed.

“I…think I might have feelings for Demon…” He did have feelings for you. He didn’t think, he knew. But he didn’t want to sound like he was desperate or anything. It’s not like he hadn’t stopped thinking about the way he had almost been holding your hand, not at all! Plus, it was already a gamble telling Mickey any of this since he did get so easily overexcited.

And he was already dreading his decision with the smirk he saw coming onto his fellow WSO’s face. “Oh I owe Phoenix money.” 

“What?” That took Bob by surprise.

“Dude. You realize you aren’t subtle, right?” Bob’s cheeks already felt pink when Mickey continued. “The way you got so guilty after accidentally making her upset, the way you get flustered whenever she calls you pretty boy or Robert, how you got defensive over her when Hangman blatantly insulted her before we had the beach day-”

“Okay- I wasn’t just defending her, I was defending Phoenix too!”

Mickey rose an eyebrow. “Semantics, my friend.” Bob just groaned. “The other night, the way that you were watching her at The Hard Deck in case she needed help. Oh. And let’s not forget, we all saw that hug between you two before the mission.”

Bob’s neck started to feel hot now just remembering the hug. How tightly you’d held onto him and the way you’d whispered in his ear- No! Focus, Robert. He could not be thinking about that right now. 

“Listen, Bobby. I think you should go for it.”

Bob’s head shot up and he felt like he was bright red. “No, Fanboy, that’s why I’m doomed. She’s way out of my league! I don’t even stand a snowball’s chance, not of her liking me back. And now I have to work with her day in and day out.”

Mickey looked at him. “Dude. Demon and I have known each other for a while, being deployed in the same places. I have never seen her so affectionate and playful with anyone. Not even with Phoenix. She’s super closed off, man.”

Bob looked at Mickey as he sat on the floor. He hadn’t built any of his furniture yet, so the floor was his best option. Mickey sat opposite of him. Their knees were up, with Mickey resting his arms on his knees and Bob hugged his own to his chest.

“I just don’t know. She’s just so amazing and I’m just…me.” He said quietly.

“Yeah, you’re you!” Mickey said, gesturing to him. “You’re an amazing guy. Not to mention, you go out of your way to respect everyone. She would be insanely lucky to be with a guy like you. Cause believe me. She deserves to have a guy who treats her right but doesn’t demean her. Who doesn’t talk down to her.” His voice was more serious now. And Bob registered that seriousness. Mickey was someone who was always playful. So when he was serious? He meant it.

“What should I do?” He asked. “I don’t even know how I’m supposed to ask her out.”

Mickey smiled and moved to sit directly next to Bob. “Maybe go to her place. She’s one of the ones who got an apartment for herself, so you shouldn’t be interrupted. Just be yourself and be honest.”

Bob looked over at him and smiled. “Okay. Thanks, Fanboy.” He said. Mickey grinned and threw an arm around his shoulders.

“No problem, Bobby! What are friends for?”

– – – – –

You

You had finally finished moving into your apartment. You actually lived in the same building as Natasha and Bradley, they were just on the floor below you. So you weren’t entirely alone, which was a bit of a comfort.

You were busy attempting to build your coffee table – Bradley had been sweet enough to help put your couch and your bookshelf together for you. And you weren’t expecting anyone, especially since no one had texted you specifically. They all had talked in their squadron group chat – the less formal one that didn’t have Maverick in it – about going out to The Hard Deck, but you’d opted out, as well as Bob had. You wanted to get more unpacking done and Bob had said he didn’t feel like being super social, which you totally got.

Jake threw in a comment along the lines of “you guys are both the same level of boring, you’d be perfect for each other.” You and Bob ignored it.

Though, Jake wasn’t wrong. You’d been thinking a lot recently. Ever since that dogfight training where he’d gone out of his way to apologize to you, you really noticed him for the first time. And when he and Natasha had to eject, it terrified her. Of course, for Natasha because she was probably your closest friend amongst the Dagger squad.

But the thought of both of them getting hurt made you feel sick to your stomach. It was then, when you saw Bob in the hospital, that you realized something. Bob meant something to you, more than just a simple, deeper connection. And that scared you.

You were startled out of your thoughts on Bob when there was a knock on your door. You raised an eyebrow and stretched, your back popping from being hunched over the instructions. You quickly fixed the cropped hoodie and sweatpants you were wearing before opening the door and your eyebrows raising.

“Pretty boy.” Bob was standing there with a bit of an awkward smile, and the trademark blush that always came with the nickname. You didn’t think you’d ever get used to seeing him in civilian clothes. A pair of faded jeans, tucked over cowboy boots, dogtags resting over a t-shirt and an old jacket of his that still seemed to have Montana dust stuck to it, even years later. You crossed your arms and leaned against the doorframe. “I thought you didn’t feel up to being social.”

Bob rubbed the back of his neck and smiled shyly. “Sorry, I should’ve texted you. Is now a bad time?”

“Nah, I’m just busy trying to decipher the instructions for my coffee table.” He laughed a little and you couldn’t help the smile that came to your face. “Come in.” You stepped to the side and he came in, looking around.

“It’s looking great so far.” He complimented as you went into the kitchen.

“Thanks. Bradshaw came up and built my bookshelf and my couch for me while I did some unpacking. I promised him I’d take him to lunch for it and I swear, he did it so fast.” You said, hearing Bob laugh again. God, his laugh was so cute. “Did you want any water?”

“Sure!” You grabbed a couple bottles of water from the fridge and came back out into the living room, seeing him looking through some of the stuff on your book shelf.

“I don’t have my glasses unpacked yet, so I hope a water bottle is alright.” He turned to you and gave you that charming smile. One that made your heart flutter.

“Oh I don’t mind. Thanks.” He said, catching the one you tossed to him. You both sat down on your couch and you stretched your limbs again. “Has it been that rough with building this coffee table?” He sounded like he was teasing you a little. You gave him a flat look and he smiled a little awkwardly.

“I’m not used to this stuff. Organizing? Sure. Building shit? I’m figuring it out.” You said and he chuckled softly. You both fell into silence. But to you, the silence was nice. And it gave you time to admire the man that was Bob Floyd.

And God was he an infuriatingly hot man. Because he wasn’t showy about it. He didn’t lead with the fact that he was hot. He led with the fact that he was kind and respectful and well mannered and put together. He was hot and respectful, it felt like a dream. And God, you thought he was hot after a flight. In his flight suit, starting to take pieces of it off and his hair messy from his helmet, glasses ever so slightly askew.

“Demon?” You snapped out of it and focused when he spoke. You looked at him and realized he was just staring at his boot. “Could I talk to you about something? It’s important.”

“Course. Shoot.” You took a sip from your water bottle and leaned back on the couch, watching him. He was fidgeting with the label of the water bottle in his hands as he sighed.

“Listen. I’m not always the best with my words. But…this past month has been life changing for me in a lot of ways. Back in Lemoore, I was content, but I wasn’t seen. I came here and everyone has made me feel seen. Especially you.” He looked at you and you felt your heart skip a beat.

“Even if we started off a little rocky, I’ve grown to care a lot for you. And you mean a whole hell of a lot to me. Things have seemed small, but they weren’t small to me. I didn’t think I’d grow to care so much about you in this way and yet here I am.” His hands were shaking, so he set his water bottle down on the floor and clasped them together as he sat there.

You were just watching him, your heart racing. You just wanted him to say it already.

“Look. I’m just gonna say it. I am not the best with words. I get nervous and I know I ramble and I know that can be annoying. And I know I’m super quiet and a little awkward and I know I’m definitely not someone like Hangman, but-”

That was it. He was starting to ramble and your patience, famously short, had reached its limit. You stood up and stood in front of him. He looked up at you, those beautiful blue eyes practically shining behind his aviator glasses.

“Shut the hell up.” Before he could even react, your hands grabbed his dogtags and pulled him closer, leaning down and kissing him. You felt the way he tensed under you, frozen out of shock. His hands were up, hovering over your hips – you could practically feel the heat emanating from them. And he finally responded.

He kissed you back and his hands carefully grabbed your hips, like he wasn’t sure where his hands were meant to go. And it was so endearing to you. You kept one hand gripping his dogtags as your other hand rested against the back of his neck. You felt the way he shivered at your touch and you had to try as hard as you could not to smirk.

It started simple before you took the initiative to deepen the kiss, adding your tongue to the kiss. You felt the way he melted and almost nervously let his tongue brush yours. And the sound he made. It was practically a whimper that came from the back of his throat. Now you were smirking.

He slowly grew a little more confident, his hands gripping your hips a little tighter and trying to pull you closer and into his lap. However, you weren’t going to let him take control so easily.

You took the hand from his neck and rested it on the cushion of the couch behind him to steady yourself as you pulled away from the kiss. He was panting, his breath shaky as he looked up at you. And here you were thinking he couldn’t get any hotter.

His hair was a little messier and the edges on the lenses of his glasses were fogged up from the natural heat that occurred between you two. His lips were kiss swollen and his face was a bright red. And those pretty blue eyes of his were unfocused, his pupils dilated. He tried to lean up to kiss you again, but you weren’t letting him. Your hand that was wrapped around his dogtags pushed against his chest, pressing his back to the back of the couch. You heard his breath hitch as he looked up at you.

“Listen here. You are literally the most perfect man I have ever met.” His eyes widened a little as you spoke. “I care about you, Robert. I have for a long time now. You make me feel things that I didn’t think were actually possible. I do not want a Hangman. Trust me. In my past squadrons and even in my dating life, I’ve had Hangmans. I don’t want someone like him.

“I want someone like you. Someone who would never try to tell me not to do something I’m passionate about or doubt me. Someone who will treat me with the kind of respect that I crave every fucking day of my life.” You looked down at him, bringing your hand from the cushion next to his head to rest against his cheek. “I want a Bob in my life. I want you.”

Bob was wide eyed as he listened to your confession. But he was starting to smile. That beautiful, amazing, hot smile. “I was rambling, huh?”

You smirked a little and nodded. “You were. Sorry for the interruption. I’m a little impatient.” You felt his thumbs caressing your hips through the sweatpants you were wearing.

“Really? I never would’ve been able to guess.” He teased. You rose an eyebrow and pushed at his chest again, pressing him to the couch – just to hear that sweet little hitch of his breath.

“Oh. You have no idea just how impatient I can be, pretty boy.” You said, watching as his pupils dilated again, staring up at you.

“I’d be willing to find out.” He breathed out and you smirked. You backed away, but pulled him up by his dogtags. And you dragged him towards your bedroom, both of you smiling at each other like love sick idiots.

And both of your hearts fluttering in tandem with one another.

END

[grieferkisser]

╰ㅤ₊ㅤ๋࣭ㅤreader x gr13f3r　 old friend　᠀

ꔛ word count: 834 or smth⠀╱⠀established friendship (?) 。

(¬_¬")⠀⠀⠀note ⠀╱⠀kms yall ive been soo unmotivated + school be kicking my ass,, plus not been on my best recently. request for anon hope u dislike it!!/J no but actually sorry this is shit,, I like making griefer a nervous mess that’s cute..anyways byee

When his dad had said, “We’re going to visit an old friend,” Griefer thought they’d end up at some elderly guy’s house, maybe some high school buddy his dad hadn’t seen in years. What he didn’t expect was to walk in and see… you.

He stood there, staring at you, frozen for a couple of seconds. And then he realized you were staring right back, which somehow made it worse. Awkward. But he couldn’t look away. Those eyes… you’d changed a lot since he’d last seen you. The quiet kid he remembered was gone, and in their place was someone he barely recognized but felt he’d known forever.

Your mom was still as sweet as ever, just like he remembered, chatting away with his dad like they’d never stopped. Even when you all sat down in the living room, they kept on, talking and laughing like they had endless stories to catch up on. Occasionally, your mom would ask Griefer a question or two, and he’d stammer out a reply, nerves on edge. And when his dad and your mom got up to make some tea, leaving the two of you alone in the room, the silence grew thick. It felt impossible to start a conversation—it was never this hard before.

Memories flooded back. You two had met when you were just six years old. He’d liked you right from the start; you were a good friend, someone he could count on to sit with at school, to meet up with after class. He remembered the way you’d climb trees together, daring each other to go higher. He remembered how you’d get quiet and a little shy whenever he brought his friends around. He remembered you almost getting expelled together on the first day of high school.

But what he remembered most was not wanting to let you go the day you left. You’d both cried, clinging to each other as you got in the car to leave town, and he could still feel the ache from that day, the hollow feeling that settled in his chest. You hadn’t told him why you were leaving, but he knew you were going to miss him just as much as he was going to miss you.

It had taken him a long time to get used to you being gone. And now here you were, right in front of him again. Taking a deep breath, he finally blurted out, “S0? H0W’VE Y0U BEEN..?”

The words tumbled out awkwardly, and he immediately cursed himself. Was that too casual? Should he have said something else? Something deeper? But his internal ranting stopped the moment you answered with a simple, “Fine.”

"Fine?" he thought. Was that a “fine!” with excitement, or just a flat “fine”? Damn, he was overthinking every little thing, and he hated it. But then the conversation found its rhythm, and soon, he was laughing with you again like no time had passed at all. He forgot how easy it was to talk to you, how natural it felt. He told you about his life—maybe not the whole Venomshank thing, and he left out the endless hours gaming—but he filled you in on enough to say he was “doing fine.” And he listened to your stories, dropping little jokes here and there just to make you laugh. God, he’d missed that laugh, the way it lifted at the edges, the way your smile always seemed to reach your eyes, making them light up.

Before he knew it, hours had passed. Time flew by with you, and he barely realized he had to leave until your mom was gently ushering everyone out the door. But, luck was on his side: she’d arranged to meet again next week.

Later, as he sat on the stairs that led to your house, you sat beside him, still smiling from the day. “IT’S B33N- UH, G00D T4LKING TO Y0U, Y’KN0W? W3 SH0ULD S33 EACH 0TH3R MOR3 0FT3N.”

You chuckled, giving him a playful look. “You missed me, huh? I missed you, too.” He felt his throat go dry at that, coughing to hide his embarrassment as he looked away.

“Y34H… 1 DID. M1SS3D MY FR13ND.”

...

When Griefer finally got back home after the long drive, he went straight to his room, kicked off his shoes, jacket, and shirt, and crashed onto his bed. He lay there, staring up at the ceiling, replaying the day in his mind. He’d had so much fun, laughed more than he had in months. He’d missed that—missed you. Maybe he’d forgotten just how much he’d liked you back then.

As his thoughts drifted into more dangerous, cheesy territory, he rolled over, burying his face in his pillow, kicking his feet a little like an embarrassed kid. The feeling was undeniable, and it made his heart beat a little faster. He missed you—he really missed you.

And he knew it, especially from the way his heart skipped a beat every time he pictured your smile.

[blueberrykizz]

Let me be Selfish (chapter 2)

Bob Reynold x fem! Reader

Part 1

Summary: After years of being apart and moving to Manhattan, New York City from Sarasota Springs, Florida and in a new relationship, you see a familiar face on the news.

Notes: Since we don't really know how old Bob is supposed to be l'm gonna say in this story he's like 28 and reader is like 26-27 just she's only a little bit younger then him but she's out of college and a teacher for second grade.

Warnings: cheating sort of? (Not on Bob), Arguing (not with bob), toxic relationship (again not with Bob), swearing, brings up teen pregnancy (in a small part of a conversation), Bob talks about his drug use,

!THIS IS NOT PROOF READ! So I'm sorry if it's shit

───────────୨ৎ────────────

I gently pulled away as I looked down and sighed “Bob, I-I should go.” I said as I grabbed my coffee before I felt Bobs hand grab my wrist. As he looked up at me with pleading eyes.

“(Reader) please….j-just stay for a moment.” Bobs eyes were looking up at me as I looked at him for a moment before nodding my head.

I sat back down a little further from Bob as he let go of my wrist before he sighed and rubbed his eyes, as he looked ashamed, “I was stupid, okay? I didn’t want to leave you but, (reader) y-you knew what you wanted in life. Graduate high school, go for college for early children’s education…get married, have a family.” I looked up at Bob as he sounded like he was going to cry

“Bob…we were teenagers, the whole marriage and family thing was way down in the future for me back then.” I sigh as Bob nods his head

“Ya but you talked about it, and it scared the shit out of me, I dropped out of high school and I was smoking, and you were….God you were on the road to success, and I remember your parents getting on me about how I was holding you back, and if I made us teen parents, they’d kill me.” He laughed softly as I looked up at him

I laugh a little in response as Bob continues “I was sacred that because of me…you would never get out of Sarasota springs, like you wanted. And I was starting to get addicted to drugs and meth. I remember at your graduation I was out of it, I regret that so much now.” Bob nearly cried as I looked down

I tap my cup as I sighed “Ya…because we got in an argument, I was so pissed off.” I sigh as Bob nods his head, “That was when you told me it was either weed or you. That was before you found out I was also doing meth and all that” Bob said ashamed

I felt my eyes water “And y-you picked drugs…I remember because it was after the graduation at the graduation party and I couldn’t find you anywhere until I went to the front to see you buying from someone still high.” I sniffed as Bob looked up at me,

“If I could take it all back I would, I hated myself…still do because of that moment. I hated myself so much, after it happened I went home packed a bag a left” Bob eyes were watery as I looked down.

“I went to your house the next day…snuck in through your window. Your mom was home and she had just called my parents to see if you were at my place, she was worried and was asking all the neighbors where you were. I thought maybe you were just ignoring her and was in your room like you always did, but when I got there….and didn’t see you I cried, saw you left you room in a mess like you were in a hurry, the pictures you had of us on your wall on the ground and the pictures frame of me and you from the beach broken on the floor.” I felt a tear run down my face

“I remember laying in your bed because I missed you, took one of your shirts because it smelled like you…then I put all those pictures back into your memory box, i kept the picture that was in the frame. I still have the picture and your shirt.” I laugh softly as I wipe my face as Bob looked at me with wide eyes.

We sat there in silence Bob looked at me as I looked around the park seeing family’s playing, friends laughing, couples chatting. I didn’t say anything as a tear feel down my face and before I could wipe it away I felt another hand wipe it.

I looked back at Bob as he smiled gently at me, “I’m sorry for how I was when I was younger, I was stupid and dumb. I would understand if you actually hated me.” He spoke softly and embarrassed

I shake my head before gently scooting closer to him before resting my head on his shoulder, “I could never hate you Bob…I loved you to much to ever hate you even years later.” I sighed

I felt Bob become tense before I took his hand making small circles with my thumb just like I did when we were younger, Bob soon relaxed before thinking he kissed my head, “I still really want to be selfish.” He said quietly as if a whisper to himself

───────────୨ৎ────────────

We sat like that for hours, people watching in that park together spoke softly to each other about random things, it was nice and gentle. I wish it lasted longer.

Bob had gotten a call and told me he had to head back as I nodded my head telling I should probably head back home as well to finish up grading homework from my students.

When leaving the park Bob was going one way and I was going the other way, we looked at each other not saying much as Bob held my hand still he looked at me with softness as I stared up at him, almost as if we didn’t have to talk to understand each other.

A moment passed before I finally took breath “I-I should get going.” I said softly as bob nods still hesitant to let me go, as if he was scared that if he let go he’ll lose me. But soon he finally let go tucked his hand in his pocket and said his goodbye when he was about to turn away I acted without thinking and kissed his cheek before pulling away seeing the lipgloss it left behind

“Get home safe Bob, text me.” I looked up at him with a smile before turning around and heading home, I looked back for a moment expecting Bob to be gone but he was still standing in that spot looking at me.

───────────୨ৎ────────────

On my walk home I had much to think about, how I felt about Bob, what I should do about Nick. It was a lot.

When I finally got to my apartment and closed the door I walked into the kitchen to get some water where I found Nick making pasta, “Hey hon, thought I make dinner tonight.” Nick said happily before going to kiss my cheek.

I hum in response as I drinked my water before telling him I was going to grade.

Nick didn’t say anything for a moment, before I turning to me, “I don’t like you working at home, in fact I don’t understand why you work? (Reader) I make more than enough for the both of us.” Nick said as I rolled my eyes as Nick went on and on like he always did when I worked at home.

I finally cut him off “Well we’re not married, nor live together so…gotta pay my rent somehow Nick.” I said slightly annoyed as I sat down and began grading as Nick let out a sigh “Well we could get married.”

I froze for a moment “What?” I said as Nick chucked softly “I’m just saying it would make perfect sense, and you won’t have to work anymore, rely on me. Of course when we get married…you’ll have to stop being friends with certain people I don’t like…they’re just bad examples and people I already don’t like you being around.”

Nick spoke so casually about wanting to basically control my life like he wasn’t already. Nick came over with the food and he gave me my plate before sitting across from me.

“Nick I enjoyed my job, and I enjoy being with my friends.” I say softly not in the mood to argue with Nick. As he sighs “You don’t know what you’ll enjoy or like in a couple of years, and I just want what’s best for you, that’s all I want for you. I mean why take care of other people’s kids when we could have our own one day for you to take care of.” Nick said as he took a bit of his food

An image instantly came to mind of me having nicks kids and I instantly felt sick and lost my appetite,

“Well what if I don’t want that?” I looked up at Nick as he rolled his eyes “Well then (reader) you’re just being selfish.” I could tell Nick was getting a little bit annoyed with me since I didn’t immediately obliged

I sigh “Then I’m selfish, because I don’t see myself ever wanting that life…with you.” I mumble the last part

Nick bit the inside of his cheek as he shook his head “You’re being ridiculous, (reader) I just want what’s best for us, and I don’t really appreciate this conversation after I let you go out with a friend almost all day.” Nick was irritated as I looked at him in shock,

“Let me? Nick I’m a grown woman. I can do whatever I damn please and be around whoever I want.” I raised my voice was irritated as I looked up at Nick.

He was about to say something before my phone buzzed, and before I could reach it Nick instantly picked it up to read the text.

New message

Bobby: “I just got back home, wanted to tell you I thought about you and our conversation on my way back, I miss being around you. Anyways hope you take my advice have a good night sweet dreams.”

Nick read the text out loud before slamming my phone down “What the fuck!” Nick raised his voice “You told me you were going out with some friends, and instead you went out with…who the hell is this guy?!” Nick clenched his hand around my phone as I sighed

“He’s an old friend, and I didn’t tell you it was a guy because this is how you’ll react.” I dropped my fork looking at Nick

He shook his head “Damn right, and what was this conversation and advice, huh?! The guy probably wants to get your pants, with the whole ‘I miss being around you’ and ‘sweet dreams’ bullshit.”

I sighed “I don’t want to argue okay? Can we just leave it?” I spoke softly hoping that it would calm Nick down

But instead he got up threw my phone back at me got his coat and keys “I need to get a drink, after finding out my girlfriend is just a liar and a whore!” Nick yelled at me before leaving and slamming the door

I sat there in silence not knowing what to do tears ran down my face, my phone buzzed again it was from Bob, it was a yellow heart emoji, I laughed to myself a little.

───────────୨ৎ────────────

Two days went by and Nick never came back, I didn’t expect him to. I already had a plan in my head if he ever did, I would break up with him.

I had packed his stuff already in a couple of boxes, just a few clothes he left and his bathroom supplies, along with some decor he insisted I put up even though it didn’t match at all.

I was currently at my school in my classroom, my students were at lunch, I was planning my next weeks lesson when I heard a knock on the classroom door, expecting one of mu students I didn’t fully looked up “What do you need sweetie.” I said before looking up to see Bob.

“Bob! Oh, sorry I thought you were one of the students.” I instantly stood up and fixed my skirt that went to my feet. As he smiled down at me, “Hey…I was in the area…I remember you told me the school you worked at, thought I’d come by say hi and you texted me earlier saying you had forgotten your lunch so….I bring gifts.” Bob lifted the togo bag with a shy smile

I invited Bob in as I got one of the kids seats for him to sit with me and my desk as he brought out the subs I caught a glimpse of the receipt ‘Delmar’s’ I looked up at Bob “You didn’t. Bob you went to Queens just for the subs.” I laughed gently as Bob shrugged as his cheeks went pink

“I thought I hid it well with a different bag, but you told this was the best deli place ever….thought I would bring you something you actually enjoy.” Bob smiled as I looked up at him

He handed me the sub as I laughed softly to myself “You got my order right.” I said as I unwrapped the food as Bob looked at me

“I just got it like you use to back in high school. The guy gave me a hard time started going of on me in Spanish some guy had to help translate what he said to me guess the owner knew him, his name was Peter or something, but I explained that the order was for you and the man instantly stoped and made the order.” Bob shrugged as I laughed

“Mr. Delmar, good man I helped him raise money for a new shop after his last one caught on fire, he has a cute cat too.” I smiled before taking a bit of my sub as it instantly hit the spot

Bob chuckled softly at my reaction before he took a bite of his own and looked at me with wide eyes “This is amazing.” I nod my head as we ate in silence before I went to my desk drawer and got a small bag of chips as we ate.

───────────୨ৎ────────────

Bob stayed for a while as he looked around my classroom and saw all the pictures the kids drew nearly half of them was the new Avenger’s most didn’t have Bob only a couple and that was because the kids would copy the pictures from the news.

Bob listened to me talk about my students and how much I had to use his friends as a way to connect with my students to have them listen. I told him about my lessons plans and everything I would think he would find boring but instead he gave me his full attention and helped me come up with new ideas for crafts to make with the kids.

We talked for what felt like eternity as he told me all about the Avengers and how Bucky was in someway the mom of the group and always had to make sure Walker was behaving himself, and how at dinner Yelena would have her guinea pig eat at the table with them so if it ever got silent you would just hear her guinea pig munching on it food.

We laughed over so many things is was nice and comfortable. But when the silence hit, me and Bob just looked at each other enjoying each other company in silence.

We didn’t talk as Bob ate some chips as I finished some emails. Bob didn’t interrupt he sat patiently waiting for me to finish, he went on his phone for a moment before laying it on the desk and continued to look around my classroom and got a close look at the kids drawing some being about the kids family’s, their friends, the avengers, and me. He smiled at the drawings as he looked over them,

I sent the email before I got up to stand next Bob as he looked around, we stood in silence before he spoke up, “You’re students seem to love you.” I smile at his words as I looked up at him, “ya some of kids parents actually appreciate how much I do for the students.” I smile as Bob nods his head before looking down at me

He was about to say something when the bell rang indicating lunch was over, I sighed before grabbing my eyes to the classroom “Well I have to go get my student…I’m happy you came over Bob.” I say as Bob nods his head before going to wrap up his leftover sub and walk out with me

“Of course, couldn’t have you go hungry, you’re educating the brains of our future.” He smiled and chuckled a little as I playfully rolled my eyes as we walked out, “Well I should go get them…text me when you get home, be safe.” I wave at Bob as he nods giving me a small wave before turning to leave to the front office.

As I walked the other way I had an idea, I turned around to face Bob who was already looking at me before I gave him a smile “Hey Bob? Is there a chance…I don’t know…but if the team, the avengers could…could come to school and meet the kids? I’m sure the kids here would be thrilled.” I smiled as Bob looked hesitant before nods “I-I’ll talk to them about it.” He gave me a smile as nod “Thank you, I would appreciate it, just let me know.” I smile before giving him a wave as he turned around to leave as I turned back towards the playground.

───────────୨ৎ────────────

When the school day ended and my students were all picked up, I finally checked my phone as Bob texted me a while ago telling me he was back at the tower before sending me a picture of Yelena and her guinea pig eating together at the table.

I laughed to myself as I texted him back

(Reader): Omg you weren’t lying lmao that’s so cute.

I smiled to myself as I sent the message before getting up with my coffee mug to head to the teachers lounge to get a refill as I saw some of coworkers in there chatting.

I quietly went to the corner where the coffee maker was before the lounge went quiet as they looked at me. Before my colleague Jason and Sarah spoke up, “Someone had a surprise guest come by for lunch who just so happens to be part of the new avengers.” They smiled as I rolled my eyes at the

“He’s my friend and Bob is not part of the new avengers…he just lives with them…and is their when they have press talks in the background.” I say as I add sugar to my coffee

As Jason leaned against the counter next to me “Ya sure. Anyways dose Nick know?” Jason wanted to know all drama and details as Sarah liked to stay silent and listen,

I shake my head before I whisper to them, “Well me and Nick… aren’t really on speaking terms right now, and I could honestly care less if it bothers him or not.” I smile as Jason and Sarah looked at each other with wide eyes as I smile at them with a shrug before leaning against the counter sipping my coffee

Jason shakes his head “Oh naughty, naughty.” He laughed as I smiled at me as Sarah looked at me “So are you and Nick…over?” She asked as I sighed “Well we will be, once he gets over this stupid tantrum of his, I’ll tell him I’m over it, I already have his stuff packed.” Sarah looked at Jason then at me

“I’m just so done with his bullshit.” I sigh as Sarah nods with Jason, they were one of my few friends that actually said I should leave Nick.

They gave me a soft smile as Sarah pat my back “Well we’re on side with this, I mean from what you’ve told me and Jason, Nick seems like a selfish dick.” Jason nods in agreement with her as I gave them both a soft smile and thank you before fixing my hair “Well I should finish up grading my kid’s math assignment.” I smile before leave the teacher lounge.

───────────୨ৎ────────────

When I finally got home I put my bag and leftover sub on the kitchen table beside immediately going to my bedroom and flopping on the bed, kicking off my shoes before I texted Bob I was back home.

I laid on my bed staring up at the ceiling as I let out a sigh before my phone buzzed with Bob sending a thumbs up and yellow heart emoji before he sent a text.

Bobby: “Glad to know, get some rest and enjoy the rest of your leftovers sub, i already ate mine ten out of ten going again.”

I smiled at his text before resting my phone on my chest. I smiled to myself I felt like a teenager girl again crushing on a boy who just texted her.

“God damn it Bob.” I say before I rest my head on my pillow and eventually close my eyes.

───────────୨ৎ────────────

A/n: okay Bob is such a cutie also did y’all get my reference heh, I know I’m amazing. Anyways Taylor swift definitely came to mind when writing about Bob and reader when they were in high school. Also next chapter wouldn’t come out right away I’m still writing here and there into it, and because it’s my finals week I’m not gonna post a new chapter to the series this week, okay much love byeee!!!

[pagesfromthevoid]

Sources of Strength | j. s. | 3

Jake Seresin x school counselor!reader

Word Count: 2.7k

Warnings: Language, but nothing else?

Author’s Note: Two pretty idiots who kind of hate each other but don't actually.

Masterlist | Talk to Me! | Coffee?

“The big thing you gotta keep in mind,” Jake says as he wraps up the tour for the high schoolers. His eyes linger on Aaron, the kid from earlier, for a moment before he looks at everyone else. “Are your sources of strength. What keeps you goin’. Who keeps you goin’. You keep those in mind, you remind yourself every chance you get, and you’re gonna do fine.”

Rooster is leaning over to whisper something to her, and she looks up at him as if considering if he’s right or not. Jake can’t determine if she decides her choice, either. When the kids are dismissed to go explore the visitor’s center museum, he saunters over to the two of them and gives her the same polite smile he gave her that morning.

“Don’t you two look cozy,” he comments, looking between her and Rooster. 

“One of these days,” Rooster warns, rolling his eyes. “This is where we leave you though, unfortunately. I don’t know about Bagman here, but I have actual work to get done.”

“Jokes on you,” Jake taunts, rolling his toothpick behind his teeth. He catches her watching, and for some reason, he damn near swallows the thing. “I’m technically off the rest of the day.”

Rooster flicks him off before offering his hand to the counselor, who takes it with a laugh. Then he’s walking off, slipping his sunglasses back on. Jake reaches for his own, but realizes he has no idea where he put them. For a minute, he pats himself down then gives in. She’s watching him with an amused smirk on her face, like she knows something he doesn’t, and he touches his head to check if he’s an idiot. 

He’s not.

Shit. Not another pair.

“That was great advice,” she offers, crossing her arms over her chest. She’s about to walk towards the museum, and Jake finds himself following her. “The sources of strength stuff. I like that a lot, actually.”

“It was the only advice I got at the academy that I actually listened to,” he admits with a chuckle, taking the toothpick out of his mouth as he falls into step with her. “You know, because I have such an issue with authority and all.”

“Oh, so we can add ‘oppositional defiance’ to the list of theories then?” She asks, looking up at him. But she’s got a smirk on her face –not a I’m going to ruin your night smirk but a playful one.

Jake thinks she’s finally flirting with him. 

“You can stop addin’ anything to that list,” he counters, narrowing his eyes at her with his own smirk. He opens the door to the museum for her, and she brushes past him. Just enough. Just barely there. But he can feel her, and he thinks for a second he may let this woman ruin his life.

“But it’s so fun,” she points out, sitting down on one of the benches towards the front of the museum. She’s got her eyes on the students, and Jake knows he should probably not distract her from them, but he really wants her to look at him again. “Especially because it clearly gets under your skin –I heard you couldn’t stop talking about me the other night.”

“Oh yeah –couldn’t stop complaining about how much of an asshole you are.”

“Takes one to know one, I guess.”

“Damn.”

She stares at her phone for a little while, staring at the last message from her friend outside the Hard Deck. For the better part of fifteen minutes, she’s been debating if she’s going to give Jake back his sunglasses. That she definitely didn’t mean to steal but definitely didn’t actively give back either. He handed them to her, and he never asked for them back –though he definitely looked for them, she watched, it was funny –so mistakes happen.

At the time, it made sense –give her an excuse to see him again. Maybe apologize; maybe see him do that thing with the toothpick again…But now that she’s staring at the messages from Bremerton, realizing that she might have a tiny crush on someone nicknamed Hangman…she doesn’t want to go inside. She doesn’t want to risk getting her feelings hurt; it’s never really been in her wheelhouse to handle her own shit. There’s a reason she went into a field to help other people, after all.

Another text pops in while she tries to talk herself out of doing this.

Bob says don’t sleep with him unless you want to get hurt, but Bob doesn’t know that you’re the best at humbling assholes <3

That earns a laugh, boosting her confidence enough to get out of her little Honda Fit. It feels a little out of place at the Hard Deck –there’s a dumb amount of pick up trucks and somehow she just knows one of them belongs to Jake –but she tries to ignore that fact as she pulls open the door to the bar. 

It’s early on a Friday, but there’s still plenty of people milling about. All in service uniforms, which makes her came-straight-from-school look feel just as out of place as her car. All staring at her like she’s encroached on a space that she is not invited to. She shifts between legs, wishing she had just gone home and taken off these stupid heels she wore today.

“Just can’t get enough of me, huh?”

She snaps her attention to the dart board, where Jake leans against the wall with two of his friends. Vaguely, she knows one of them as Javy, but she doesn’t recognize the other one. Jake does, in fact, have that damn toothpick in his mouth. Smirking like he did that first night they met –not like he did on Wednesday, when she thought maybe he isn’t so bad. But like he knows he’s the shit and is going to make it her problem. 

Javy leans over and whispers something in Jake’s ear, and the blonde spins that stupid toothpick again, looking directly at her. She can just make out the words, and she knows they’re whispering about her being here, specifically looking for Jake, after verbally abusing him a week ago.

Six years of school and she never remembers the age old saying, “When people show you who they are, believe them the first time.” She should have known better than to think this guy is anything more than an asshole with a pretty face. Just because he wasn’t the worst while he was at work doesn’t mean he’s not the worst off base. The “I’m gonna catch that” smirk and the overconfidence that radiates off him should have been her first and only warning.

“Well, sweetheart?” He asks, stepping toward her as she gets closer. He even has the audacity to put his hand on her hip.

She steps away from him, rolling her eyes. 

“I thought I’d bring you your sunglasses,” she says, but her tone is flat. The aviators sit between her fingers, waiting for him to take them.

The mask he wears slips a little, like he’s confused by her response, but it's back up just as fast. “Knew you must’ve taken them, honey. Bet you’ve been wearin’ too.”

“Aviators are a bit overrated,” she points out, looking up at him now.

He catches the double meaning, shaking his head as he reaches for his sunglasses. He slips them on, raising his brows suggestively. “I don’t know, sweetheart –don’t think you’d be here if they were.”

“You’re doing that thing again,” she comments, completely dismissing the flirting, motioning up and down towards him.

“And what thing would that be, beautiful?” He leans closer to her, and she knows he’s doing this because he thinks he has to put on a show for his airplane buddies. 

“That thing where you overcompensate for your imposter syndrome by being an asshole.”

There’s silence for a beat. Two. They’re staring each other down, and even though Jake’s eyes are hidden behind the dark lenses of his glasses, she knows he’s looking at her with more than a little anger and even some hurt. But Javy and his friend break the silence, bursting out laughing at the misery of their friend. Jake yanks his glasses off, and she confirms that she was right: 

He’s definitely pissed and he’s definitely hurt.

She did her own thing again.

“What is your problem?” He demands, pointing down at her.

“I…,” she tries to explain, but there’s nothing coming out of her mouth. How does she explain that she thought hey, maybe you don’t suck, Jake; Maybe I think I misjudged you; Maybe you don’t need to be a fucking peacock to get my attention? 

She could just say that, she supposes, but the words still don’t form on her tongue. Jake is waiting; she can see his jaw clenched, barely holding back whatever insult he has on his tongue.

“I’m an asshole,” she blurts out. And that is…not exactly what she should have said, but it's what came out. And it’s not…wrong.

Jake is about to argue with her –because obviously he’s going to argue with whatever lame excuse she comes up with –but stops short, confused. “You –what?” 

“I’m…an asshole,” she repeats, but she refuses to look at him. “That’s it. That’s my problem, okay?”

His brows furrow and he stares at her for a long time. Just staring, like he’s trying to make sense of what the hell she’s saying. Which is a fair reaction on his part, honestly. 

“Can we –can we just go outside and talk?” She asks, finally meeting his gaze. 

He hesitates a moment, glancing between her and his friends. But then he nods, motioning for her to lead the way out the back door. 

She half wishes he hadn’t agreed because now she needs to actually use her words. Jake is trying to play it cool —be nonchalant about it all —but his mask of overconfidence has cracked entirely and she feels like, well, an asshole. 

“I don’t get you,” he finally says, motioning to her. 

She opens her mouth to say something —it was going to be mean, so she bites her tongue. “I…I don’t get me either, honestly.”

“This really isn’t funny,” he argues, frowning deeply now. 

“I’m not…oh my god, I’m not joking,” she groans, running her hands over her face. “I don’t know how to tell you I’m sorry without somehow making an ass of myself, okay? Like, I felt bad last week for calling you out on your shit. You didn’t even do anything that bad except talk to your friends about finding someone to go home with. Which, like, Jesus. It’s a bar. It’s not that deep.”

Jake has the respect to at least cringe at his behavior, which upon reflection she knows wasn’t even that bad. “You heard all that?”

“You’re not exactly quiet, Jake,” she reminds him, leaning back against the wall. “I got annoyed that you thought, for some reason, I would be an easy target to take home. Like, do I look easy?”

There’s a quirk in his lips —like he wants to smile but he’s stopping himself. “No, no —you most certainly do not.”

“You’re trying so hard not to laugh at me,” she points out, half glaring at him. “You can’t say I don’t look easy then try not to laugh at the same time.”

“I’m not laughin’ at you,” he promises, putting his hands up in defense. “I’m just —you didn’t hear what we were sayin’ if you think we were talking about finding someone easy.”

“Excuse me?” 

Jake leans against the side of the railing, putting his hands into his pockets. “Bob showed us a picture of you when he mentioned you’d be joinin’ us. I told him I’d get you to go out with me, made a shitty joke that he wouldn’t be the only one findin’ himself a teacher.”

“I’m not a teacher —,”

“Yeah, learned that when you started diagnosing me with behavioral disorders,” he cut her off, giving her a pointed look. “What you heard was Coyote talkin’ about not goin’ for someone who looked like she could kick my ass.”

She feels her face flush, eyeing him closely. “And yet you still did?”

“What is it you said last week?” He asks, pushing himself off the railing. It’s two strides and he’s in front of her. One hand presses against the wall above her head. Not caging her in, but close enough that she can smell his cologne. “That I think any attention is good attention? You hit the nail on the head there, honey.”

“At least you’re self aware,” she manages to get out, but she’s trying to regain any self control and dignity she has left. “I also said the person you are and the person you pretend to be are different. I was right.”

“Oh, yeah?” He asks, leaning down closer. 

“I saw who you are on Wednesday,” she explains. With a shaking hand —well, she thinks she’s shaking, but if Jake notices, he doesn’t say it —she touches just below his rib cage. Just lightly, just barely. “When there’s not an audience or a threat to his ego, I saw him. When he was talking to my students. When he was talking about his sources of strength. I saw you. And I actually kind of liked him.”

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah.”

“Then what happened tonight?” His other hand has moved to her hip. Just like her touch on his chest, it’s just lightly there. Barrel. 

“I told you,” she reminds him, looking up to meet his eyes. “You were acting out, trying to get attention from your buddies and from me, but I had already come in ready to give it freely. Didn’t even give me a chance.”

“I was just —,” he cuts himself off, pushing off the wall and away from her. Her drops back to her side. “Have I mentioned that you can read me like a goddamn book?”

“Is that good or bad?”

“No idea,” he admits with a heavy sigh, running his hand through his hair. “Why did you actually come out tonight?”

“I wanted to apologize,” she says, shrugging as she looks over at the beach. She grins and looks back up at him. “And return your glasses. I definitely took them by accident, but may have had them when you were looking for them too.”

“I damn well knew it,” he accuses, and he’s stepping into her space again. He’s grinning though, and it’s the same kind of grin he had on Wednesday. A little more shy than he probably would ever want to be told, but she likes it. “I don’t have an excuse today. I wanted to flirt with you. Thought after Wednesday, we were on the same page.”

“I was on the same page with the Jake I met on Wednesday,” she points out. “Not Hangman, though.”

He nods some, running a hand over his jaw. “I’ll be honest, you’re gonna be disappointed if you think I’m gonna change just because you’re pretty. You can read me like a book but there’s a lot between the lines you can’t erase.”

“Just be real with me,” she asks, and he looks down at her with questions in his eyes. “No, like actually be real —you don’t need to act all peacocky to get my attention. Believe me, you have it.”

That makes him smirk, and she reaches up to tug him down by the front of his shirt. There’s no fight from Jake as he puts his hands back on her hips. There’s a tension between them, and it’s hard to not fall into his gravitational pull. But as he leans down, she pulls back slightly with a playful smirk. 

“Oh, no —I don’t kiss before the first date.”

Jake’s eyes narrow, but he’s returning the smirk as he squeezes her hips just a little too hard —in the best way. “I don’t remember askin’ you on a date.”

“You didn’t,” she teases, pulling away from him, walking back inside as she calls over her shoulder. “But you probably should.”

But he’s pulling her back, hand on her wrist as he brings her back into his hold. He leans them back against the wall with a grin. “Let me take you out, beautiful.”

“I’ll have to check my calendar.”

“I think you’re free tomorrow.”

“Would you look at that —I am.”

-------

Taglist: @theladybiers

[cherryblooom]

Enchanted — OP81 [introduction]

Summary: After being forced of moving mid-year of school, the least thing you expected was getting a crush in a cute boy who loves karting and actually being corresponded. I mean, you have always wanted to have a romance like the books but forgot all the struggles and challenges that comes with it.

Pairing: Teen!Oscar Piastri x Teen!Reader

navigation series masterlist

Warnings: period shaming, bullying, reader has some questionable thoughts and self-contempt, animal abuse (no details). mostly narration.

Author note: This is my very first work ever, please be nice and reblog if you liked it!

Everything felt very surreal. You can feel your eyes stinging, fighting not to let out those tears that you had been holding in since before you left the house.

There wasn't much traffic, but you weren't sure if that was a good thing or if you just wanted to delay the impossible. You knew it was necessary but couldn't help feeling guilty for your parents for having to move across the country and leave everything they knew behind. Your father had lived his entire life working and building his company from scratch and thanks to endless nights, you and your mother were just beginning to see the fruits of his hard work, of course, before all the shitshow happened. Your parents had done everything they could to make you understand that their anger was not your fault and not directed towards you, it was actually the opposite, but you couldn't help feeling resentful and like a freaking failure.

You played with the apps on your phone in a failed attempt to distract yourself but couldn't help to grimace when you opened the Instagram app and saw your now private profile. You followed some famous people but you only had 10 followers as all the others were deleted by your mother.

''I'm sorry for making you move and leave everything behind. Dad, the company...''

''Honey, no. Stop it!'' your father replied after lowering the volume of the radio while your mother, who was in the passenger seat next to him, turned around with a look of concern. ''We already talked about it, you're not guilty of what happened and we're not angry at you. We should have protected you and been there for you but we realized it too late but I promise you that we are going to leave all this in the past and although you don't want to believe it now, we love you and we always will.'' She was right, you couldn't believe her. Your mind was going down a somewhat dark path and you were sure that if your mother had even the slightest idea of what was going on in your head, she wouldn't hesitate to send you to a psychologist. ''Plus, you will love the new house! It has a beautiful patio and a pool where you can practice in case you want to join the swimming team at your new school.’’ She told you slightly excited, trying to pass on the feeling to you but you didn't have the heart to tell her that it wouldn't be possible, so you just nodded and looked out the window again.

You could feel your mother's gaze on you, perhaps waiting for an answer or even a smile but you didn't have the energy to do it or even fake it.

You had become what they call a ''bookworm''. Despite having access to technology and internet, you had developed a great love and appreciation for physical books and the smell of a new book excited you more than what is perhaps ''normal'' but thanks to the fact that apparently not many people shared the sentiment, the library was empty most of the time (at least the one located in the junior wing of the school, you didn't know about the one in the senior wing, but you have heard that it has like three floors and a private cafeteria).

You were reading one of your favorite books again and even though you practically knew the story by heart, you couldn’t stop laughing and feeling your heart flutter at the thought of how it would feel to be loved like that. Would you ever be able to find someone who would love and admire you just for being you? Just for existing? You had a love/hate thing for romance books. You read about how the characters were loved, cared for, how they could let go and turn their brains off to just…be. Exist. You knew you had just turned 14 and that according to your parents and the logical part of your brain, you have a whole life waiting ahead of you, but you can’t imagine that someone could love you like that. You couldn’t even make friends, how the hell are you going out to dates? No idea, but you didn’t want to think about it and fall down that rabbit hole. You turned the page, excited as you were only about 10 pages away from your favorite part but decided to leave it for later to read in the comfort of your room.

The alarm distracted you from your book and with it, you knew that you only had 10 minutes left of lunch (you weren't a big fan of the cafeteria, lots of people and noise so the library was always a good choice) and that you had to go to the biology lab, not forgetting to stop by your locker to look for the essay that you have to hand in today. When you reached for your backpack, you felt a strange tug in your stomach that you didn't know how to describe, you had never felt anything like it before, so you were quite confused, but you ignored it since you knew you didn't have much time left.

Then you saw him. A boy your age was entering the library but you turned around facing away from him, so he was unable see you. You barely saw him for a few seconds but boy, was he cute. Is this what you always read about? You didn't even know the boy's name, but you noticed his short brown hair, his rosy cheeks and how tall he was. Was this your first crush? It’s dumb! You watched him for a few seconds but apparently that was enough to make you fantasize what it would be like to talk to him or what his name would be, if he was nice or a jerk like the rest of the boys in your class (which would be a bummer). All of the other girls in your class have no problem talking to boys or making friends in general but here you are, covering your face with your hair so the cute boy you saw for two seconds doesn’t notice your presence.

You walked out of the library with your coat hanging on your backpack, it wasn’t cold so you didn’t need it at the moment. You had 5 minutes before Biology started so you headed to your locker and you always walked close to the walls, that way you drew as little attention as possible. Apparently, old habits die hard. Up until now, you had done a pretty good job of being a regular girl and not drawing attention to yourself. The girls in your class dangerously reminded you of the girl responsible for you having to move and change schools mid-year and the boys in your class are jerks, is the best way you can describe them. There was no way you wanted to run into any of them. You wake up, go to school, go home, do your homework and then go to bed. Same routine, every day. You watched on social media as your other classmates went out, had fun, went to the mall, bought makeup and clothes, posted photos and videos in groups, laughing, and as much as you wished you didn't care, you felt envious. Why can't you be like that? Why do you have to be the little weirdo who always goes unnoticed, and no one pays attention to?

You had to take one more turn to get to your locker when you heard giggles behind you. You turned your head slightly and saw two boys who were a grade above pointing at you and laughing; your chest started to hurt and you felt like there wasn't enough air to breathe. Anxiety, you felt anxious. You ran to your locker as the laughter intensified behind you and you just knew that you were the reason for it. Suddenly, you felt that same tug at the bottom of your belly.

''Oh no, no, no, please don't...'' you whispered almost on the verge of tears. You felt something hit your head and then fall to the ground. You wanted to die when you looked down and saw a sanitary pad that someone had thrown at your head which made the laughter louder.

''Oh no, the weirdo is bleeding out! I hope she has another skirt because yikes.''

''Hey! You're staining the floor, how fucking disgusting!''

''If I was the janitor, I'd make her clean it up. How disgusting.''

''Hey, honestly, how did you not notice? Didn't you feel your vagina wet or smelly or shit? Fuck, I have to get my book, but my locker is next to hers, imagine if it smells. That will be so gross!''

''In case you prefer to put things inside rather than a pad, weirdo'' Someone had thrown two tampons at your head, one of which had gotten tangled in your curls. At this point, you were already sobbing, not being able to hold back the tears and humiliated, all the while you were still turning your back on everyone with the locker open, with fear and shame eating you away.

Suddenly, you felt someone's presence which brought you out of the little dazed status.

''Honey, come on, I'm going to take you to the infirmary. Come on, you're okay, let's go.'' You could tell by the softness of the voice that it was a woman. She was the school's duty nurse. Apparently, someone was kind enough to call her while the others were scoffing. You let yourself be guide towards the infirmary and could distantly hear the nurse demanding them to stop laughing. At this point, you didn't care anymore, you just wanted to get to your bed and cry, that's all.

5 Months Later

You were in the south courtyard of the school, the farthest of all, with your third sketchbook finishing what would be your second attempt at drawing your mother. It would soon be her birthday and although you had already bought her a gift at the mall, you wanted to give her something that only you could do. Besides, she was the number 1 fan of your drawings and she bragged to her friends that her daughter was a great artist. Sometimes it embarrassed you but at the same time you felt good knowing that you had someone on your side, supporting you. With each stroke, you felt your confidence increase and, you had even opened an Instagram’s account for your drawings, and you felt good knowing that there were people who recognized your talent and encouraged you to continue learning, even if they were strangers. Maybe you were not totally alone.

You felt stuck. You couldn’t draw the hands, and with each attempt you only felt like you were screwing up more. Before you got more frustrated, you decided to take a break and continue in the comfort of your bed after eating. When you were about to start packing your things, your notebook fell open right on the last page that always made you blush. The boy from the library, who you now know also plays on the school soccer team (not that you’re stalking him at all) was looking back at you in an unfinished drawing in your sketchbook. You had only seen him passing by the halls and you couldn’t admit out loud that you unconsciously tried to match your schedule with his, like when he had his sports class. Oscar, that was his name, and you knew it thanks to the fact that he was apparently the star in the games and his name was always shouted by the people in the audience. Apart from seeing him in sports class, you didn't get the chance to see him much since he was in a grade above yours.

It was Tuesday, 3:40 PM according to the alarm you had set. School had ended 10 minutes ago but the alarm reminded you that in 5 minutes the soccer practice, Oscar's soccer practice, would start. Pathetic? Yes, but it wasn't a crime to want to appreciate your crush from afar, right?

Before you could leave the courtyard, you saw out of the corner of your eye a cardboard box which was dirty and you swore that it moved for a second. It looked like trash, but it couldn't be since the school has a zero-tolerance policy regarding that and you can literally end up suspended for throwing trash outside the trash bin. They were really strict about that. You approached it with some caution and jumped a little in shock when you saw that it did move and that it wasn't part of your imagination. Your heart stopped when you heard a small sound...a kitten? You approached more confidently, and your heart skipped a beat when you saw that the box didn't have any holes in it and was in fact sealed with many pieces of tape.

In a hurry, you threw your backpack on the floor and took out your scissors to cut the tape. You could feel the adrenaline and fear of what you might find inside if it turned out to be exactly what you thought but still, you carefully but firmly cut the tape. If they turned out to be kittens, you were going to start crying. You took a deep breath and opened it, feeling your eyes water. There were 4 kittens that looked like they couldn't be more than a few weeks old. One was completely white; another was almost completely black but with a few white spots while the last two were a combination of orange and white. One of the orange kittens, unlike its siblings, wasn't meowing and was just lying there barely breathing. You felt your heart break. They looked cold and hungry, so tiny and defenseless. You have always been a cat person, kittens being your weak point. Quickly, you grabbed your backpack, hooking it on your shoulders so you could carry the box without dropping it and you couldn’t run but did your best to walk fast. When you got to the school gate, you called your mom to come pick you up telling her about the box you found and that you wanted to take them to the vet. Your mom knew there was no way you were going to leave them abandoned after finding them so after 10 minutes you were already on your way to the vet with four beautiful kittens with you.

---------

Your Instagram account dedicated to your drawings has gained 1,000 followers, which was a great achievement for you, but you decided to take that opportunity to post that you had 3 kittens up for adoption. It destroyed you knowing that you couldn't keep the 4 kittens, but your parents had already let you keep Cotton (cliche because the kitten was completely white, you knew it, but you didn't care).

You were appalled while looking at your notifications. Oscar. Yes, that Oscar was messaging you and after checking a little more you realized that he had been following you for a while and you hadn't even noticed. You could feel your cheeks turning red, but you took a breath and remembered that he was only doing that because he wanted to adopt a kitten, you were of zero importance.

my_cherryblossom

Liked by Oscar_piastri and 57 others

A few weeks ago I found a box sealed with tape that contained 4 kittens inside. It's obvious that the intention of whoever put them there was for them not to survive but I found them just in time. Sadly, I can only keep one, which is why I am giving up the other 3 for adoption! They are so cute and playful.

If you're interested, write me.

P.S. These kittens are my life so if you give me weird vibes, I won't give you one lol

view all 10 comments

---------------

Radio Check: As mentioned above, this is just the first part of what I hope will be a series telling Oscar x Reade's story. If you'd like to be tagged, let me know! Please Reblog and like!

[min1check]

Leto! Joker x Side Chick! Reader part 2

1033 words dw im writing the smut part and again barely proofread so im sorry if u find mistakes

pt 1

description: you work at one of joker’s clubs and he begins to take interest in you… pt 2

I got my window fixed and a new bowl thankfully. If it was just me living there at the apartment I wouldn’t care about the bowl but I was preparing for my family to come and live with me. 

But for some reason I began looking for Mr. J more and more. But he stopped coming to the club. I didn’t know why. Maybe he got tired of me?

Actually I’m stupid. That’s a good thing. He cheated on Harley…

…with me. 

That goes against all and every girl code out there. What am I doing with my life? I need to focus on school and work. 

The night I got home was when I started receiving gifts from him. Sometimes it was flowers, sometimes it was cash, sometimes it was even food. Every night I felt guilty. 

One day, Joker finally showed up to the club, with Harley. The feeling I felt so strongly in my heart was guilt. (And jealousy but i’ll never admit that) 

I placed down the drinks they usually ordered. 

“Sorry hun! Puddin wants to try something different today.” Harley spoke to me. 

I smiled back. 

“What would Mr. and Mrs. J want today?” I smiled. 

“Hmm… Doll what should I get today?” He turned to Harley.

I froze up at the nickname. I should’ve known that nickname wasn’t just for me. It was mad fucking embarrassing. It didn’t just feel embarrassing it made me feel disgusting and fucking nasty. 

I could feel my face getting red from anger and embarrassment. 

It looked like Mr. J could sense how I felt as he had the same grin on his face. It made me realize that being with him was dangerous for my mind and body. Yet there was something about him that was unexplainably alluring. 

“Oooo~ I really liked the green thing we had last time!” Harley smiled ever so sweetly. 

I went back to reality. 

“We’ll have the absinthe.” The Joker looked at me up and down with a grin. 

I’m a fool. 

“Yes I’ll get that for you right away.” I smiled and walked off. 

I’m so fucking stupid. 

“Wow, that was fast, Miss Waiter!” Harley exclaimed. 

“Thank you Mrs. J.” I tried my best to sound like I was laughing genuinely. 

Joker just grinned at me like usual. 

I couldn’t tell you about what I remembered about my shift except for that part. I got home quickly that night. On my table was a note with an address

written. 

I quickly gathered all the random presents Joker left for me and put it in a box neatly. 

It wasn’t right of me to let myself be a mistress. I needed to stop this. I couldn’t let myself catch even bigger feelings either. Why was I jealous of Harley even though he was already hers? It’s not right of me to think of such a thing. I’m not about to be a homewrecker. 

But what if he reacted badly to me saying no? He’s literally batshit crazy. He wouldn't hesitate to blow my head off. I still have a lot of things to live for. Maybe I should just stay home. 

But if he gave me this note tonight then he wants me to come tonight. Right?

So what if I had a slight smile currently? He’s hot and i like being wanted, that's all. 

I googled how far the address was and it was actually pretty close. I quickly arrived at the address. I knocked on the door and was met with a shirtless Joker. 

I touched my mouth to make sure I wasn’t drooling. 

“Hi I’m sorry but I can’t accept this Mr. J.” I said quietly while trying to avoid looking at his man tities and his ripped ass chest. 

There was no grin on his face but more like a scowl. It shook me to my very core. I was too used to his devilish grin. (It was kinda hot though…) 

“Doll you’re breaking my heart! Those gifts were just for you!” His usual grin appeared on his face again. It 

His use of the same pet name for Harley and me was repulsive. Yet it made my heart twist and turn. 

“Give these gifts to your actual girlfriend Mr.

J. I don’t want to disturb your relationship and I need to focus on school and work.” I couldn’t bear to look at him so I focused my attention on the ground. 

He put the box of gifts I held in my hands down on the floor. 

“Aww~ Are you jealous Princess? Harley is my girlfriend, yes. But you’re the only one that’s in this smalllll tinyyyy heart.” He put my hand onto his chest. 

Would he kill me if I squeezed it a bit? 

“…” I didn’t want to retort back and get my head blown off. But this whole thing we had was morally wrong. And I knew if I fell in even more love with him I could never escape those feelings. I don’t want to die. 

“Mr. J we can’t- I can’t do this. You already have a girlfriend and I need to focus on-“ 

I was cut off by him shushing me with his finger. 

“You can’t but I definitely can. Who said anyone needed to know about us, Doll?” He held me in his arms. 

“But Mr. J…” I was conflicted. 

My life or him? 

“C’mon Princess~ be with me. I’ll make sure you never worry again.” He said like he knew exactly what I was thinking. 

He kissed me…

And I kissed back. 

He’s probably done this to so many other girls but my body, heart, and mind couldn’t escape him. 

Maybe a few more days wouldn’t hurt. 

I spent the night with him. When I woke up he had already left. There was a note left next to me with his number on it. 

I felt lonely. 

My knees literally buckled with every step I took. It was really bad. I thought I was gonna fall multiple times. Thankfully I was able to get into my apartment and I slept for a little longer. Yet it felt cold without the warmth of Mr. J. 

[merakiui]

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.

[thoughtsfromlayla]

26 Ways of Taking You: J for Joyride

Summary: You meet an absolute dream boat after coming out of the theaters with your friends. He promises you the ride of your life.

Notes: ~ 1.6k words, best read if listening to Joyride by Kesha tbh, I don't know how the positioning works but I just make it work ok, it's diabolical

Warnings/Tags: MDNI - 18+, Biker!Dream x Fem!Reader, unprotected sex on said bike, while going at dangerous speeds down the highway, fingering, p in v, cummies!, use of pet name (princess)

Main Masterlist || Series Masterlist

I for Incubus ⇆ K for Kleptomaniac

Every decade or so, Morpheus loves to visit the waking world to see what the mortals are up to. The 80s are starting to look promising and he watches with a careful eye as a group of young college students come barging out of the cinema with half-eaten bags of popcorn and giggles tumbling out of their mouths. 

You should have known better, just looking at him from across the theater parking lot would’ve told you that he was trouble. His fresh leather jacket, the large sleek beauty of a motorcycle, and the way he drew the smoke out of that cigarette were everything you needed to know. 

But sweet, naive, little you. Daddy’s good girl and high school valedictorian turned perfect college student. But every good girl needs a release, an adrenaline rush to feel something, and against the betterment of your judgment you find yourself in front of him. 

“Want a ride?” Morpheus asks as you basically skip over to him. 

“I love joyrides,” you say with a suppressed smile. 

You don’t bother to wait for his response, already finding yourself straddling the front seat of his ride. Your shorter-than-appropriate skirt flares around your thighs as you part your legs, something that Morpheus eyes with a knowing smile. 

His warmth encompasses your back as he straddles in behind you. The smell of nicotine envelopes your senses and you’re left dizzy. Morpheus revs the engine once and the bike comes to life underneath you. You watch as your mystery rider flicks the burnt-out nicotine stick to some unknown shadow in the parking lot before kicking the stand that parked the bike. 

His arms come around you as he grabs onto the handles and before you can blink, you’re already out of the theater parking lot and onto the open road.

A thrilled squeal leaves your lips as the wind caresses every strand of your hair, the chill filling your clothes and lifting your skirt as you leave your worries behind you. Morpheus chuckles slowly in your ear as he turns onto the interstate. 

The late night leaves the two of you alone on the interstate, the only thing between you and eternal darkness is the occasional old street lamp. The faster the bike goes, the further you slide against Morpheus’ front, the loud hum of the bike shaking your core unintentionally making you wet. Your teeth sink into your lips as you realize the buzzing sensation was slowly starting to turn you on and the adrenaline certainly didn’t help. 

But Morpheus knew.

He feels the way your body starts to pant against him and your head falls back against his shoulder as your eyes roll to the back of your head. He lowers his head, pressing his lips to your ear and exhales hotly. He can see his breath for a moment in the cold weather before it’s quickly whisked away at high speeds. More importantly, he can see the goosebumps that rise over your neck and exposed chest when he does so. 

“You like joyrides?” He asks slowly in your ear, repeating what you said to him earlier in the night. 

You nod against his chest and he chuckles again. Like a mist over a morning horizon, you feel one of his hands ghost over the curve of your hips and he groans as he feels his cock begin to harden against the plumpness of your ass. 

You squirm in your seat, having nowhere else to go other than forward, but why would you do that when it was so cold going 90 on the interstate? You feel his hands grip tighter on your hips and they follow the natural path down your thighs to your pulsing heat, completely ignoring your skirt. 

“I’ll give you a good time tonight,” Morpheus promises in your ear, his fingers toy at the seams of your underwear. “Want that, princess?”

“Oh, my god, yes,” you practically moan out to him. 

The first run of his fingers between your walls has you gasping. He loops his finger around your clit ever so gently, just enough for you to grab onto his wrist in a silent plea, but nothing more. Morpheus revels in the way you try to take control, how you try to move his fingers in the way you need him, but he never lets you. 

His fingers tease at your arousal and presses two fingers against you, feeling the way you try to clench around him without his fingers in you. Your arousal was drenching his fingers in a thick slickness as he pressed his palm onto your clit. 

“F-fuck…” You whine, jerking your hips forward to chase the fleeting moment. 

“Such dirty words,” Morpheus scolds but they fall on deaf ears. 

He palms at you again, and when he decides that he needs to feel you clench around him does he inserts his fingers. The first one went in easily, your body practically sucking it into your greedy cunt. He groans into your ears, a low reverting sound that can barely be heard over the roar of the engine. 

Morpheus gives a few experimental pumps before he uses your wetness to add another one of his fingers. Your nails dig into his wrist, imprinting angry, red, crescent shapes into his skin but neither of you gave a shit. His fingers spread you apart with the intention of fitting something much larger later. 

You're losing yourself to the pleasure in how he pumps his fingers in you, the promise of his cock is close as you feel his hardness pressing into your lower back. Morpheus’ fingers curl in a way that has your moans echo across the interstate. 

Morpheus watches closely as your pleasure starts to overtake you, pushing the bike harder across the road as your cunt begins to grip his fingers with a vice. Just before it consumes you, he takes out his fingers, the digits drying immediately in the high winds. 

“What is wrong with you?!” You turn your head when you realize that he denied you your orgasm. 

“Your pretty little cunt is going to cum on this dick before it cums on anything else. Got that, princess?” He asks in a low growl. 

Morpheus gives a sly smile when you nod at him with wide eyes. His hands leave you to unbutton his pants, unzipping himself out of the shrinking confinement of his jeans. Under his instructions, he guides you carefully so that you are turned towards him. 

Your heart is in your throat as the bike doesn’t slow, but you manage to swivel in the limited space until you’re chest to chest with him. Your legs dangle over his thighs as he leans closer to you. Morpheus invades your space like a ghost, the smell of nicotine follows him wherever he goes. 

When he smashes his lips onto you, you can taste the addiction hot and heavy on his tongue. Your hands grab at his leather jacket, knuckles turning white as he pushes you down onto your back. You’re sure you’re going to fall and your future is going to look like nothing except road kill. But, Morpheus holds onto you, he’s determined to keep the bike upright while giving you the ride of your life. 

He slips into you easily, your only indication a sharp gasp as you throw your head back and come in contact with the fuel tank. Your legs wrap around his slim waist and you give an experimental roll of your hips.  

Morpheus watches from above you as you fuck yourself on him, your mouth agape and gasping, your hair a beautiful mess in the wind. His hands roam between the valley of your breasts, feeling your heartbeat’s erratic pumping as you moan out in ecstasy. Your back arches higher and higher as you use him to chase your own pleasure. 

The engine revs harder as he feels your sopping cunt clench around his cock, a gritted groan leaves him and he shuts his eyes to regain what little composure he had left. 

You’re back at grabbing at him, wanting to taste him on your tongue again and he happily obliges. Morpheus moves his hips subtly to meet your desperate humps.

“Please?” You ask when you pull away for a moment. 

“Yeah, princess, whatever you want,” He agrees before his lips are on yours again. 

Morpheus’ hands are back on you again, his palm cupping around a perk nipple that has you smiling into the sloppy makeout session. And when you pull away to take a breath, he doesn’t have the will to leave your skin.

He continues as far as he can, leaving bite marks down the center of your neck, inhaling the dizzying scent of your perfume and movie theater popcorn. 

“I said, please,” You repeat, gasping and needy. 

“I heard you,” he says in that low voice of his. 

His hands once again travel down until his finger is tapping impatiently on your engorged clit. A whine from your lips was all it took for him to press down on the nerve, circling it slowly in tandem with the movement of your hips. 

Your eyes roll to the back of your head, your mouth agape again with nothing but whimpers and prayers on your lips. The heat warms your body and the cold is long forgotten, the sensation of unearthly pleasure easy to lose yourself in. 

Your orgasm comes slowly, shimmering just below the surface before it becomes a raging boil of ecstasy.

“Please, please, please. I’m gunna—” With gasping breath, you pussy clenches and spasms around his cock as you unravel yourself on his bike. Morpheus slams his mouth over yours again, wanting to taste your orgasmic moans on his tongue. His own orgasm follows soon after, the slickness of your release enough to push him over the edge. 

You’re a hundred miles away from your home, and it’s with a daunting realization that you just let a stranger cum in you.

Your dad’s going to be pissed. 

Wasn't that beautiful, I thought it was beautiful. What's that? How did Dream drive and have a heavy make-out session while driving?

... ... ... ... Go stand in the corner and don't ask plot hole related questions.

Also, I want to say that Dream stood in front of a mirror and applied/smudged eyeliner before going to the waking world, maybe accidentally stabbing himself in the eye with the pencil or something idk.

Thanks for reading and your support as always!

♡ Yours, Layla

Main Masterlist || Series Masterlist

I for Incubus ⇆ K for Kleptomaniac

[miraclewoozi]

hi j!! congratulations on 500!! can’t think of anyone who deserves it more than you :) hope you’re having a lovely day! just wanted to send in a request:

❛ don’t be a stranger, okay? ❜ from the fluff list with woozi?

it’s no pressure though! thank you so much <33 mwah

LEE JIHOON, YOUR EMOTIONAL SUPPORT I.T GUY. - l.jh

pair : jihoon x gn!reader prompt : “ don’t be a stranger, okay? ” wc : 2.3k heads up : coworker!jihoon. fluff. kinda silly.  notes : HI BESTIE thank u sm for sending this in!!!! i hope you like it.<3 notes 2.0 : everyone deserves an emotional support IT guy, in my unprofessional opinion. i also think that 100% of those should be woozi.

You knew Jihoon was leaving. You’ve had a lot of time to prepare for this: he told you before he even handed in his resignation that he had accepted a job offer elsewhere. But despite trying everything in your power (including, but not limited to, bribery, begging and three whole days of the cold shoulder), his decision didn’t change. When you gave him a full lecture about abandonment and betrayal, and the fact that nobody else in your work’s IT department comes close to solving some of the shit that happens with your computer…

He had the audacity to fucking laugh. 

In your moment of desperation. Your hour of need. Practically begging on your knees (all right, he was stood next to your desk while you were looking up at him from your office chair) for him not to leave you high and dry like this, he patted you on the shoulder and chuckled as he told you that you’d be fine. As if this wasn’t actually, literally, the end of the world. 

Asshole. 

And okay, whatever, maybe Jihoon isn’t ‘just’ the only person on the tech team who understands that you’ve been followed by a curse when it comes to computers since you were in middle school. Maybe he isn’t just so good at his job that him leaving has the potential to ruin your ability to do yours.

Maybe... it’s a little bit deeper than that.

You first met nearly five years ago, when he was brand new. In his first week, he came stumbling into your office, bleary eyed and coffee in hand, at 8:15 on a Monday morning to try and ‘fix’ your PC. After about 6 seconds of fumbling, your screens came to life and he flushed as he told you that a cable on one of your monitors had just come loose. Ever since, you’ve been totally taken with him: with his frowny concentrating face, his pretty, nimble fingers, his quietly delivered jokes. The way he always goes pink when the older ladies in your office coo over him and how he splutters when they tease you for practically being work-married, by now.

Not least because he’s a very nice guy, and you find him so easy to talk to, and now? Now he's leaving you. 

The guy who brings you snacks on days you have to work through your lunch breaks. The guy who comes by just to make sure you’re not about to dive out of a second floor window on a Wednesday afternoon. One of the special few people you choose to hang out with outside of work. He’s the man who meets you for coffee some weekends and lets you complain about the fact that the next closest person in your department to you in age could still be your mother, while he complains to you about bossy executives who escalate their IT jobs to a ‘critical incident’ after just five minutes. Jihoon is the guy who has brought you a silly gift to decorate your desk with every birthday and Christmas since you met. The guy who picks you up (with breakfast) when your car is in the shop getting work done. 

He even pretended to be your boyfriend one year when Johnny from accounting started to make moves on you during the annual Christmas function. (Perhaps him posessively keeping a hand on your thigh every minute you were sat down next to each other made it the best night of your life.)

All this to say… he gets you. He always has. Your weird little friendship with him works, and even though you still get butterflies every time you see him, you’ve never felt so comfortable with a colleague before. You can ignore your little crush when you start thinking about your devastation over him being gone soon. Your feelings have no part to play in Jihoon being someone you trust, someone who helps you immeasurably: someone who makes your working life a little more bearable. 

What on Earth are you going to do without him?

His last day has rolled around faster than you know what to do with, and at 3:30 on Friday afternoon, like clockwork, his head appears around your office door. An apologetic smile replaces the cheeky one he usually wears when he shows up, and you narrow your eyes at him before telling him to go away.

“Charming as ever,” he laughs, sliding into your office anyway and making a beeline for you, waving at the people who glance up and greet him. He leans against your desk and you sit back finally, crossing your arms. 

“I’m busy,” you lie, frowning at your screen. You finished everything you needed to do about ten minutes ago, but you’re not about to let him — or anyone, for that matter — know so. You’ve worked hard to master the art of looking occupied and you’re deploying every tactic you know: there’s no way you’re going to get five more projects added to your to-do list this close to home-time. “Traitor.”

“Last thing on a Friday? Like hell you are,” Jihoon chuckles, leaning down and looking at your screen too, speaking quietly enough to ensure no one around you can to hear him. 

“Blow my cover and I’ll slash your tyres,” you playfully threaten under your breath. “I’ve already rejected a meeting request this afternoon.”

“Well, aren’t you a team player,” he quips, rolling his eyes before he sits back upright and says louder, “I won’t keep you long. I just wanted to drop this off.”

He places a small brown bag on top of a neatly stacked pile of paperwork on the left hand side of your desk and gestures for you to look inside. When you do, you know your attempt at a stoic gaze starts to soften and you look up at him again with a saddened pout. 

“Hey,” you say quietly. “You can’t do this to me, I’m fragile enough already.”

It’s just a muffin, for crying out loud. He’s been bringing you these from the bakery across the street every week, for as many weeks as you can remember. But something about him doing it on his last day makes your heart beat out a funny little pattern and you bite the inside of your lip as he shakes his head. 

His hair is tied low today with a few pieces left out to frame his face: it softens him, giving him a bit of a curtain to hide behind, but you can still see his cheeks flush as he glances away from you. You slip your hand into the bag and pull the muffin out, setting it on your desk and peeling the paper back. 

“I’m really gonna miss you,” Jihoon says, momentarily stopping you as you rummage through your desk drawer for the cutlery set you keep wrapped up in there. You just wanted a knife so you could cut it in two. You just wanted to share this last little treat with him.

There are a million ways you could respond. Last-ditch attempts at telling him to retract his notice to leave. Advise that it’s his own fault. Pretend like you’re not going to be miserable here without him. To name but a few. 

But the fact that he’s picked up, and started to play with, the little fidget cube you keep by your pen holder for particularly boring Teams calls tells you that he isn’t saying it in the way he does when you’re taking a week off to go on vacation.

His thumbs rhythmically play with the little clicking buttons on one side and you pull the blunt knife free from the plastic bag hidden beneath your favourite notebook. Instead of teasing him, you cut the muffin equally and pick up one piece, holding it out to him.

“I’m gonna miss you too.”

He eyes you to make sure you’re certain before he takes the slice out of your hand and holds it in his fingers. You pick up the other piece and extend it towards him, bumping the two halves together in a mock ‘cheers’ for the time you’ve spent together. 

You take bites from the muffin in unison and you know the zesty lemon flavour spills onto his tongue at the same time as it does yours. Soft hums come from the both of you and Jihoon tilts his head back for emphasis, too, sighing contentedly after he swallows. 

“Don’t be a stranger, okay?” You ask of him, laying the paper bag down flat and putting your own piece on top of it. “I mean it. You better not forget about me.”

“As if I ever could,” he says.

“You might, if there’s someone at your new job more pitiful than I am,” you counter. “You’ll have a replacement ‘me’ quicker than you can blink.”

Jihoon laughs, setting what’s left of his half of the muffin down too and dusting the crumbs off his fingers into the trash can at your side. 

“Trust me,” he starts, folding his arms. The subtle flex of his muscle makes the shirt he’s wearing tighten around his biceps and you glance down at them, at how his sleeves are pushed up to the elbows and his long, delicate fingers lay over the neatly folded cotton. “My eyes are up here. Trust me — I don’t want a 'replacement you'.”

You know your eyes go wide as he calls you up for staring and you look at his face immediately, at the coy smile he’s wearing, at the way the tips of his ears — just visible through the way his hair separates — are dusted pink. You just nod. He takes another bite, savours, and swallows it before talking again.

“So, I actually… kind of lied? There’s another reason I came down here, uh—”

You know this catches the attention of your office’s resident blabbermouth by the way her eyebrows pick up from a few desks in front of you and you tap his hip with the back of your hand, darting your eyes towards the door quickly to hush him. Jihoon catches your drift, nods, and stands up; you lock your computer and lead him out. When you’re in the hallway, door secured (and checked) behind you, he turns to face you again, leaning one shoulder against the wall.

“Okay. Shoot.”

“Okay,” Jihoon nods, tilting his head forwards for a second to gather his thoughts before he shakes his hair out of his eyes and looks back up at you. “I-… I know HR have this whole thing about, like… internal… relationships, and- and stuff? So I didn’t ever… you know—”

You hold your breath, clasping your hands behind you in the hopes he doesn’t see how they start twitching. His own, you realise, are deep in the pockets of his slacks. For the same reason?

“I wanted to. Trust me. For— shit, for so long, but I didn’t know if you’d go for it, and I really didn’t want to have, like… anyway — uh-…”

The blush that was formerly only given away by its presence on his ears has migrated to his cheeks now, and is starting to spread dangerously towards his temples and down his neck. He keeps glancing everywhere around your head, as if he’s chasing pixies in the air with his eyes. It's adorable, but...

“And… I guess what I wanted to say, is—”

“Yes,” you say before he can finish. He’s never been the most outgoing but you’ve still never seen Jihoon fall over his words like this before; you’re starting to feel agonised by how long it’s taking him to get to the point. 

(Especially when said point is what you’ve been waiting a small lifetime for.)

“I didn’t even ask—”

“You didn’t have to,” you laugh. He breaks into a chuckle as well. His shoulders relax. He exhales through his pretty, pursed lips. 

“Are you busy tomorrow night?” He asks, finally, thumb tapping against his forearm. 

“Free as a bird, actually.”

“I’ll pick you up at 7?” 

“I’ll be waiting.”

He lifts one hand to pinch at the bridge of his nose, still laughing, screwing up his eyes and his nose in a way that makes him look entirely too kissable. You have to forcibly remind yourself that there’s nothing you can do about that right now, though, that someone could walk through that door any second and technically, he still works here until 5:30pm today.

Tomorrow night? Well. That’ll be a different story.

“I’ll let you go back to clicking through your emails,” he says then, pushing off from the wall. “Text me later?”

“Keep your voice down,” you grin, settling your hand back on the doorknob. “Yeah. I'll see you tomorrow.”

Jihoon bites his bottom lip as he nods and starts to back away, ultimately beginning on the walk back to his own department. You, however, need to let yourself calm down before you can so much as think about going back into your office: you fan your face with your hands and take a couple of deep breaths first, and only when you’re sure that there are no visible signs of glee left on your face do you re-enter, walking as nonchalantly to your desk as you can and pretending like every middle-aged, bespectacled set of eyes aren’t waiting for you to spill the gossip. 

You don’t need to spill anything, though. Pressed to the bottom of your keyboard, clear as day, — he must have done this as soon as you stood up — is a bright yellow Post-It. His immediately recognisable — but almost illegible — handwriting in the thick, black felt-tipped pens he always uses decorates the note, accompanied by a signature smiley face in the top corner. 

The ink is dry. The paper is a little curled. He wrote this before he came to find you, the giddy voice in your brain tells you. The words he’s written down only heighten that feeling. 

He gets you. He always has.

Don’t be a stranger, okay? Miss you already. - J.

thank u so much for reading, i hope you enjoyed it! as always, likes, reblogs, comments & feedback are so so appreciated.&lt;3

[lia1512]

An Angel's Share

Part 1

---

You had always believed in angels and demons. Not in the Sunday school way, with white wings and halos versus pitchforks and horns, but in the sense that there were forces in the world beyond human comprehension. Good and evil, perhaps, but more complex than that—beings with their own motivations, histories, and peculiar bureaucracies.

What you hadn't expected was to be sharing your flat with one.

It had started with a plant. A stunning monstera deliciosa with leaves so glossy they reflected light like polished jade. You'd found it outside your door one morning with a note that simply read: "It's not dying. Just dramatic." No signature, no explanation.

You'd taken it in, of course. Who wouldn't? The plant was magnificent.

Three days later, you caught someone breaking into your flat. Not through the door or windows, but seemingly materializing near your monstera, bending over it with a spray bottle and muttering what sounded suspiciously like threats.

That was how you met Anthony J. Crowley.

---

"I wasn't breaking in," he insisted for the third time, sprawled across your sofa like he owned it. His sunglasses remained firmly in place despite the dim evening light of your living room. "Can't break into a place when you've been invited."

You crossed your arms, still clutching the heavy vase you'd grabbed as a makeshift weapon. "I never invited you."

"The plant did." He gestured vaguely toward the monstera. "It's mine."

"The note said—"

"That it's dramatic, yes. They all are. Slightest change in humidity and they're drooping leaves like it's the apocalypse. Which, believe me, I know what that looks like."

You set the vase down carefully, studying the strange man. His suit was impeccably tailored, flame-red hair styled with precision that suggested both care and an attempt to appear careless. There was something both mesmerizing and unsettling about him—like watching a dangerous animal through safety glass.

"So you're... what? A plant enthusiast who breaks into people's homes to water your former plants?"

A smile quirked at the corner of his mouth. "Something like that."

"I should call the police."

"You won't."

"And why's that?"

"Because," he said, removing his sunglasses and revealing eyes that sent a jolt of primal fear through your system, "we both know I'm not human. And humans do so love mysteries."

His pupils were vertical slits in pools of amber. Snake eyes.

That was the beginning.

---

The thing about living with a demon—even part-time—was that it upset all the natural rhythms of life.

Crowley didn't need to sleep, though he enjoyed it. He didn't need to eat, though occasionally he would join you for a meal, picking at whatever you'd prepared with curious detachment. He didn't seem to need anything humans required, yet he surrounded himself with human inventions, human comforts, human aesthetics.

"Why plants?" you asked him one evening, a month after his first appearance. He'd taken to visiting regularly, ostensibly to check on his monstera but increasingly to lounge around your flat, drinking your wine and telling outrageous stories about historical events that couldn't possibly be true. Except the way he told them, with such specific, bizarre details—they had to be.

"They're honest," he replied, misting the monstera with a practiced flick of his wrist. "No pretense. No free will to muck things up. They just try to survive and grow toward the light. Simple."

"And you threaten them."

"Motivation," he corrected. "Fear is a powerful motivator."

You studied him over the rim of your wineglass. "Is that a demon thing? Using fear?"

His serpentine eyes slid to you, unblinking. "It's an everyone thing. Humans, demons, angels—even the Almighty. Especially the Almighty."

There was something in his voice—a bitterness, ancient and unhealed. You had the sudden, foolish urge to reach out and touch his hand, to offer comfort to this being who had existed since before time was cataloged in human terms.

Instead, you asked, "How old are you, Crowley?"

His smile was thin. "Older than your language has words for."

"That's not an answer."

"No," he agreed, "but it's what you get." He stood suddenly, prowling around your small living room. "I was there when the stars were hung. Helped with some of them, actually. Alpha Centauri—that was one of mine."

The way he said it—casual, dismissive almost—made you believe him completely.

"What's it like?" you asked softly. "Living so long?"

He stopped his pacing, staring out your window at the London skyline. "Lonely," he said finally. "Even with—" He cut himself off, shoulders tensing.

"Even with what?"

"Nothing." He turned, all sharp angles and sudden movement. "Fancy a drive? I've got the Bentley downstairs."

And just like that, the moment of vulnerability was gone, replaced by his usual chaotic energy. You knew better than to push.

"Let me get my coat."

---

The Bentley was a beautiful machine, maintained in pristine condition. It purred beneath you as Crowley weaved through London traffic at speeds that should have been impossible, yet somehow never quite colliding with anything.

"Is this demonic intervention?" you asked, gripping the door handle as he took a corner at what felt like ninety degrees.

"Nah," he grinned, the wind from the open window ruffling his hair. "Just excellent driving."

You didn't believe him, but the exhilaration of the speed was too intoxicating to care. The night air rushed past, carrying away the lingering questions and tensions from earlier. This was Crowley at his most elemental—movement, freedom, just enough danger to keep things interesting.

He drove without destination, until the city lights thinned and you found yourselves on country roads, beneath a canopy of stars. Finally, he pulled over at a viewpoint overlooking rolling hills, the distant glow of a small village nestled in the valley below.

"I come here sometimes," he said, turning off the engine. "When the world gets too loud."

You stepped out of the car, the cool night air raising goosebumps on your skin. The stars here were brilliant, unobscured by London's light pollution. You wondered which ones he had helped create.

"It's beautiful," you murmured.

Crowley made a noncommittal sound, coming to stand beside you. He wasn't wearing his sunglasses now; in the darkness, his eyes gleamed like embers.

"Why me?" you asked suddenly.

"Hmm?"

"Why my flat? Why leave your plant with me? Why... any of this?" You gestured between you.

He was quiet for so long you thought he might not answer. When he did, his voice was unusually soft.

"You noticed things. Most humans don't. They see what they expect to see, believe what's comfortable. But you—" he turned to face you fully, "—you've always seen the world a bit sideways. It's interesting."

"So I'm what, an entertaining human pet project?"

His lips twitched. "Something like that."

But there was more to it than that, you sensed. Something he wasn't saying.

"You're lonely," you realized aloud. "Even amongst your own kind."

His face shuttered. "Demons don't get lonely."

"Liar."

The word hung between you, dangerous and true. For a moment, you thought you'd gone too far. His eyes narrowed, a flash of something ancient and not quite human crossing his features. Then he laughed—a sharp, surprised sound.

"You really aren't afraid of me, are you?"

You considered this. "Should I be?"

"Probably."

"But you won't hurt me."

He stepped closer, his presence suddenly overwhelming. "I'm a demon, love. Hurting is what we do."

"And yet," you said, holding your ground, "here we are, stargazing. Very demonic."

Something shifted in his expression—surprise, perhaps, or reluctant amusement. Whatever retort he'd been preparing died on his lips. Instead, he glanced upward, at the vast expanse above you.

"That one," he said, pointing to a particularly bright star. "That was one of mine."

And just like that, the tension dissolved, replaced by stories of creation and the early days of the universe, told in Crowley's sardonic, irreverent way. You listened, enraptured, as he described nebulae swirling into existence and the first light breaking through the void.

It was nearly dawn when he finally drove you home.

---

Life developed a new rhythm after that night. Crowley came and went as he pleased, sometimes disappearing for days, sometimes sprawling on your sofa for hours on end, telling you about historical disasters he'd witnessed or ridiculous demonic assignments he'd been given over the centuries.

"Gluing coins to sidewalks," he explained once, "caused far more frustration than you'd expect. Pure evil, that is."

You learned he had a best friend—an angel named Aziraphale who owned a bookshop in Soho. The way Crowley spoke about him was different from how he spoke about anything else—fond exasperation mixed with something deeper, something that made you wonder about the nature of six-thousand-year friendships between hereditary enemies.

"You should meet him," Crowley said one rainy Tuesday afternoon, three months into your strange arrangement. "Angel's been asking about you."

You nearly dropped your tea. "You've told him about me?"

Crowley shrugged, attempting nonchalance. "Mentioned you. In passing."

"The human whose flat you regularly break into?"

"I don't break in," he protested automatically. "You gave me a key."

"After I caught you materializing in my living room for the fifth time!"

He waved a dismissive hand. "Details."

But you were stuck on the first revelation. "Why would you tell an angel about me?"

Crowley shifted uncomfortably, suddenly very interested in adjusting his sunglasses. "Like I said, just came up in conversation."

You narrowed your eyes, sensing there was more to it. Before you could press further, however, the doorbell rang.

Crowley froze, then muttered something that sounded suspiciously like a curse in a language that had been dead for millennia.

"Expecting someone?" you asked.

"Not... exactly." He ran a hand through his hair, an unusually nervous gesture.

The doorbell rang again, followed by a polite knock.

With a puzzled frown, you went to answer it. On your doorstep stood a man who looked like a university professor from a bygone era—bow tie, waistcoat, and a coat that had probably been fashionable sometime during Queen Victoria's reign. He beamed at you with such genuine warmth that you felt instantly at ease.

"Hello! You must be the lovely human Crowley has been so secretive about. I'm Aziraphale." He extended his hand, and when you took it, you felt a curious sensation—like sunshine breaking through clouds.

An angel. An actual angel was standing on your doorstep.

"He's here, isn't he?" Aziraphale peered past you, into the flat. "Ah, Crowley! There you are, my dear. I thought we might all have lunch together."

Crowley appeared at your shoulder, radiating annoyance that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Angel, we talked about this. Boundaries."

"Did we? I don't recall agreeing to anything." Aziraphale smiled serenely, then turned his attention back to you. "I've heard so much about you. Well, not really, because he's been terribly tight-lipped, which is how I knew you must be special."

"Special?" you echoed, glancing between them.

"Ignore him," Crowley said quickly. "He's being ridiculous."

"I am doing no such thing," Aziraphale protested mildly. "I'm simply making conversation." He turned those kind eyes back to you. "Crowley doesn't usually take an interest in humans unless they're... extraordinary in some way."

There was something in his tone—a gentle prompting, as if he were trying to communicate more than his words conveyed. Before you could decipher it, Crowley made a strangled noise.

"Right! Lunch. Weren't we going to lunch, angel? The Ritz? Your favorite." He was practically pushing both of you out the door now, a faint flush creeping up his neck.

You caught Aziraphale's eye, and the angel gave you a knowing smile.

---

Lunch with an angel and a demon was an experience unlike any other. Aziraphale ate with such genuine pleasure that watching him was an entertainment in itself. Crowley, meanwhile, barely touched his food, preferring to nurse a series of expensive wines and watch Aziraphale with fond exasperation.

And they bickered. Oh, how they bickered—about everything from 14th-century fashion to whether ducks had ears. It was the comfortable argument of beings who had been having the same disagreements for thousands of years and enjoyed them too much to ever resolve them.

"So," Aziraphale said, delicately dabbing his lips with a napkin after demolishing a perfect crème brûlée, "how did you two meet?"

"Plant-sitting," you answered, just as Crowley said, "Coincidence."

Aziraphale raised an eyebrow. "Coincidence? You?"

"It happens," Crowley muttered defensively.

"Not to you, my dear. Not for the past six thousand years."

You leaned forward, intrigued. "What does that mean?"

"It means," Aziraphale said with the air of someone revealing a great truth, "that our friend here doesn't believe in coincidences. Everything is part of the 'Great Plan' or the 'Ineffable Plan' or some plan or other."

"That's rich, coming from you," Crowley retorted. "Mr. 'God-Works-In-Mysterious-Ways.'"

"Well, She does."

"That's just what you say when you can't explain something."

You watched them, fascinated by the layers of history evident in their interaction. "How long have you two known each other again?"

"Since the Beginning," Aziraphale answered, his eyes twinkling. "Garden of Eden. He was the serpent, you know."

"The serpent?" you repeated, looking at Crowley with new understanding. "As in, the apple and—"

"Knowledge of good and evil, yes," Crowley confirmed with a hint of pride. "First temptation. Bit of an overreaction from Upstairs, if you ask me."

"He's never forgiven God for the whole 'banishment from paradise' business," Aziraphale stage-whispered to you.

"Would you?" Crowley countered. "Created humans with curiosity, then put the one thing they shouldn't touch right in the middle of the garden with a big 'Don't Touch' sign? It was entrapment."

The conversation flowed from there to theology, philosophy, and the nature of free will. You found yourself engaged in the most stimulating discussion you'd had in years, offering perspectives that sometimes made both immortal beings pause and reconsider their ancient positions.

As the meal concluded, you realized something unexpected—both Crowley and Aziraphale had been watching you with growing approval throughout the conversation, exchanging glances laden with unspoken communication.

When Aziraphale excused himself to examine the restaurant's wine collection more closely, you turned to Crowley.

"What was that about?"

"What was what about?" he replied, the picture of innocence—which, on a demon, looked highly suspicious.

"Those looks between you two. Like you were having a silent conversation about me."

Crowley hesitated, then sighed. "Angel wanted to meet you. To... approve."

"Approve?" You blinked. "Of what?"

He shifted uncomfortably. "Of you. Us. This..." he gestured vaguely between you, "...arrangement."

"Our friendship needs angelic approval?"

"No," he said quickly. "But Aziraphale is... important to me. The only constant I've had for six millennia. His opinion matters."

The admission seemed to cost him something, vulnerability flashing briefly across his features before being masked by his usual sardonic expression.

"And?" you prompted softly. "Did I pass?"

A small, genuine smile curved his lips. "With flying colors, apparently. He hasn't stopped beaming since you started debating the ethics of the Flood."

Something warm unfurled in your chest—pride, perhaps, or simply happiness at having been accepted into this strange, celestial friendship. Before you could respond, Aziraphale returned, practically glowing with contentment.

"My dear," he said to you, "you simply must come to the bookshop sometime. I have several first editions I think would interest you, based on our conversation."

"I'd like that," you replied honestly.

Aziraphale beamed, then turned to Crowley. "You've found a clever one this time."

"Shut up," Crowley muttered, but there was no heat in it.

---

[wystiix]

talk to me, please

❥ pairing: venti x gn!reader ❥ synopsis: Venti anxiously waits for a text from you to the point where he overthinks and nearly spirals into madness—will you please just fucking reply already? ❥ cw: crack, attempt at humour (kms), fluff maybe?? not proof-read so some stuff may not make sense lmao ❥ additional tags: lowkey kinda revolves around texting, venti's perspective, no pronouns for reader, modern setting, venti is a humanities major cuz i said so, does this count as socmed??? idk someone tell me i need to sleep it's 2am ❥ word count: 955 ❥ notes: bonjour hi hello kumusta. my foot is fucking asleep and my leg feels numb and my back hurts and i'm tired an it's 2am i have school i need to stop. okay so for context i was texting this girl and she wasn't replying so i went crazy, and then i thought "wait i could write a fic about this" and here we are. it was actually kinda fun writing this HAHAHAHAHA but i had to rush it cuz i have other stuff to do so uh it may be a bit quick. (see end notes after reading cuz i said so /j)

The clock ticked. It had been three hours. Venti stared at his phone, impatiently waiting for you just please, please, please reply.

Try to distract yourself, one may say, and mark these fucking words, he did.

He tried everything. From listening to music to doing the dishes, to cleaning his room. Oh, but that was not all.

For the past few hours, he reorganised his notes, desk and playlist, walked at least twenty laps around his dorm, ate all his snacks from the pantry like a fatass, cleaned up his closet and planned what he was going to wear a week from now, learned a new song on his guitar and even counted every single one of his ceiling and wall tiles.

There were exactly 146 tiles in his dorm. That number now forever haunts him.

Practically exhausted from being way too productive than he usually was, he slumped down on his bed and opened the app he used to text you. There was still no reply.

Venti buried his face into his pillow, letting out a groan of frustration.

It was incredibly frustrating and it nearly drove him crazy. Were you seriously that busy? Normally you would respond within a span of seconds, a few to thirty minutes at the latest. But fucking three hours?

He couldn’t let this opportunity slip away. You both had been talking for over a week—he couldn’t afford to mess this up. 

But what if you suddenly lost interest? Oh, it felt far too early for that. Was he finally going to have that Mitski experience? Was he going to be those depressed poets who poured their hearts out through their ink on the paper when a single minor inconvenience happened to them? 

You were killing him. And it was not softly. Venti felt as if his heart was shattering into a million pieces.

Was this his destiny, his punishment for choosing to pursue such a depressing major in humanities?

How cruel the universe is.

He sighed in defeat, opening his notes app to write and exude a poetic, Shakespearean ballad about this before his phone suddenly buzzed.

Ding! You have received a new message from [Name]!

Holy shit has his fingers never moved so quickly before in his entire life, clicking on the notification faster than he could blink. Your sudden message almost gave him a heart attack, for fuck’s sake.

So much for living and breathing Shakespeare.

Oh, how his heart fluttered. A simple message, yet it had him forget about his lament just a few seconds prior and he found himself swooning, practically glazing your message as if it was the most fascinating piece of literature he had ever laid eyes on.

Venti paused, rereading your message 25 million times, unsure how to reply. Should he respond right away, or would that be too eager? He didn’t want to come off as desperate, but three hours of waiting had been excruciating. Perhaps he should wait a minute or two… No, that would be too long!

God he wanted to punch himself in the face for clicking that notification too fast, now he has to think of a response on the spot or else he’d look like an asshole.

He started to type out a response.

k, i see.

He paused, immediately deleting the message with a shake of his head. Too dry, he has to sound interested. I understand! Would you like to shift the conversation to a less taxing topic? Delete. Too formal. LMAOOO dw dw, what was it about anyway? Delete. ahh hope the essay didn’t stress u out too much!! Delete. i’m madly in love with u Delete. Had he sent that he would find the nearest cliff and leap off.

Venti sighed, lying on his back and staring at the ceiling. Why was this so complicated? He wanted to sound interested, but not desperate; casual, but not indifferent. He ended up typing something simple and hitting send before he could second-guess himself again. Sometimes, being simple is the ultimate sophistication.

He fought the urge to chuck his phone across the room. Shit, was that too casual? How long were you going to reply this time?

There were immediate blinking dots.

The tension in his chest eased as he found himself giggling at your comment. He realised the way he was acting earlier was ridiculous, maybe this wasn’t so bad.

Venti felt the weight lift off his shoulders. The conversation was back on track, and he could breathe easy again. Just as he was about to put down his phone, the blinking dots appeared again, and he immediately reverted his attention back to it.

Another message.

What.

What the fuck. Was this real?

He put his phone face down, allowing everything to sink in.

What the fuck. Coffee? Tomorrow? With you? Did you just ask him out? Was this real? Was he real? Were you real?

The anxiety that lingered within slowly ebbed away as he stared at the ceiling tiles—the same tiles that haunted him earlier. However, they now seemed oddly comforting.

“Holy shit.”

Gods above, was this a blessing? Maybe his love life wasn’t so hopeless after all.

Venti’s gaze drifted to his closet, where he noticed that same outfit he intended to wear a week from now. A cozy, soft-beige sweater with a hint of cream peeked out from behind a row of neatly hung clothes, gently draping over a pair of charcoal chinos.

He grinned like an idiot, giggling and kicking his feet like a little child who just received their favourite toy. A string of “oh my god, oh my god” repeated endlessly in his head like a loop.

And for once, the silence didn’t feel so heavy.

❥ notes: hi so yes. yes i did what he did here. yes i counted my tiles, but it was my bathroom tiles instead. there are like 121 tiles in the bathroom, including the hidden ones. in this fic i just added the average number of tiles to that number which was like 25 tiles??? lowkey idk i just estimated. and yes i did plan my outfit a week from now, which is for church. yes i cleaned my room. yes i walked more than ten laps around my living room. i was restless. yes i was productive as hell. lmfao by the time i was done with the fic she replied to me so yay!! win!! also pls get the "you were killing him and it's not softly" reference i hope someone at least gets it or else i'm gonna cry myself to sleep. yeah anyways im gonna sleep gn <3

[cringelordofchaos]

sean may seem chill or calm or whatever but he. he cares about things and love things so deeply. you don't get it I don't get it he doesn't get kt. shut jp I should ne asleep.

about music. about his friends. IK THIS SOUNDS SO DUMB AND EGERYONE IS THINKING "none of this is deep u idiot" IM IK. IK.BUT LILE. HE FEELS SO STRONGLY. he cares so much. and he couldn't live without some of them.

a FUCKING mop. he cares abkut a mop. who he talks to. has extensive conversations about. and who he decided to name Mr Broom.

music. music being his ONLY passion in love apparently.. which means EVERYTHING to him. he just casually drops that at one point and refused to elaborate. the only thing that helped him push through. that helped him escape the pain he's forced in. bc it's clear his familie:s neglect hurts him way more than be lets on.

his friends. although he is fine with being alone, actively sometimes decides to be alone (staying in the Music club room after school, choosing to walk to home instead of taking up the offer from the others to drive him there)(tho both of those can be explained by his family issues) , he cares abt his friends a lot, all the small things they do for him. and dare I say has no idea how to respond to just. Kindness. Ppl making small sacrifices on their part to love him. like when jake told him he could have his laptop (GAH THIS IS WHY I HATE GEBDERED PRONOUNS U CANT TELL WHAT IM TRYING TO SAY). and then he literally cried. well he didn't burst into tears but he showed sm emotions like. idk u can kinda tell he isn't shown kindness like that too often ??? IDK WGAT IM KN ABT. But j feel like he's not used to others going out of their way for him. like again it all tracks back to his parents and how they barely pay attention to him.

but itd only make sense for him to care sssssoo much for the people in his life. some of the genuine connections he has that he can't have back home. RosyClozy also said he has friends outside the club APPARENTLY which I NEED TO SEE. I NEED YO SEE SO NADLY. I want to know them. How much do they matter to him ?? PLS PLS PLS ROSY. PLS. bc I've always seen him as somewhat more reserved? wait let me elaborate.

like. Again it seems hes ok with being alone. though this might be because he's USED to being alone or his emotions not getting enough attention from his parents . he doesn't seem like he'd open up about his emotions all that much . like the way he doesn't rly smile when he's by himself or when his smile drops when he says goodbye to Milly and she can't see him anymore in ep 7 - sort of as if his smile is a bit of a mask, a facade even . again like I've said earlier I think it's bc he's used to his emotional state not being paid attention to much as a child (that is assuming his parents have been fighting for that long.) So I don't think he's SUPER open abt his emotions. but does open up on occasion when he's empathizing with someone like when daisy was struggling w her family issues. Letting others know they're not alone, and he understands what they're going through. something his parents might not do for each other that often ?? but he's so understanding. and patient. and gah.

and ep9-10. I understand the whole club was sad and upset bc Jake said a bunch of shit behind their backs. so sean also being upset isn't that special or worth noting. I DISAGREE ACTUALLY. all the choosing between sides Jake has to do, the pressure Jake feels between two (groups of) people he carries about, what if Sean could relate to that aspect in any way? did he ever feel pressured to choose between his parents sides of the argument? not just that. but the mere aspect of Jake betraying them, and Sean knowing they'll have to separate. they have to leave him, because he's hurt them all. but HE was the one to confide in daisy and tell her Abt everything that went down. bc I think he couldn't let Jake go. why? Again so sry to keep mentioning this but I think it tracks back to his parents. maybe despite his parents making his life a pain, having to indulge in escapism constantly in order to experience joy, and them consistently not noticing him to a worrying degree, him directly saying he has family issues, maybe be still cares about them deep down. daisy told him he's lucky, bc Soon he'll be able to escape from it all (soon being a year.) he won't have to deal with his family any longer. I don't remember how he reacts to that but I feel like that's what DAISY wants, SHE would want to immediately distance herself from her moms and all the pressure they put on her ASAP, maybe Sean doesn't? maybe Sean is scared of them separating from each other? Also they need to probably. Gah idk what I'm saying anymore.

maybe be wants things to work out, even if they seem like they couldn't or even shouldn't. when jake betrayed them all, he still wanted SOMETHING to be done about it, even if he didn't directly confront Jake himself. he wasn't ready tu fully let go. bc he might have an anxious idea of love or connection .?? itd make sense for someone with parents who argue w each other a lot. like, idk. Idk idk idk. he doesn't want to let go of Jake, which could perhaps translate into some other feelings - not wanting his parents to let go of each other. and also, in s2, there might be an arc of him being a bit scared of being emotionally separated from daisy ???? bc she'll start going to detention - therefore she won't be able to hang out with him every day after school. not to mention how much more arguments she'll have with her parents over her head girl title... who knows how that'll change things. GAH idk. Sidenote but I hope they don't do a stupid love triangle between Jake and daisy and him in s2. I mean, seeing as Jake directly confronted himabt it in ep11, it seems like it isn't going to be the case, which is cool 👍 (I don't hate love triangles in general but I just don't think it'd support Sean's or daisy's characters that much. MAYBE it'd be a decent arc for Jake, MAUBE.)

Um . I got distracted. But the point is, he cares about so many things sm.

all the while his parents don't care Abt him wgatsoevr. or don't show him enough love. Because they're so focused on the hate for each other . despite that, Sean cares about the little things in his life he's connected to due to his emotions and self being largely Ignored by his family. I'm not sure if he could live without these things kn his life. Though idk I haven't watched tmf in over a year LOL

[cripplecharacters]

hello! do you have any advice on writing disabled characters in historical setting? specifically characters, whose diagnosis hadn't been discovered yet (for example I have a character with pots but they live before 1982)

Hi,

I love historical fiction, and know this can be a little tricky, because of course disability of various kinds has always existed and conditions are real before they’re named.

But you have options!

The most important thing, I would say, is describing the aspects of the condition and your character’s feelings and behavior around it (how they manage it, what they notice about it). You can also describe other people’s responses to how they feel and act.

You should definitely describe how your character feels about their condition. Do they wish there were others like them to talk to, do they actually already have a community of people similar to them, or do they wish no one else has what they have? Do they wonder if anyone they know is like them, or think they must be alone? Maybe they feel like their condition not a big deal at all and just an inconvenience, or maybe they feel really hindered by it and it greatly upsets them, or maybe they’re somewhere in between and sometimes get really frustrated and sometimes they feel it’s just a thing that happens.

And of course the answers to all of these will be different depending on your time period—someone with POTS in 1795 will manage their symptoms differently than someone with POTS in 1968, and the same goes for all conditions. But for POTS specifically, without naming it:

For the symptoms you can describe your character noticing that whenever they stand or sit up they feel their heart race and they feel dizzy or faint. They might not know why, but they’ll know how their body reacts.

You can describe what they avoid doing because they’ve noticed it makes them feel worse—maybe they take showers that are less hot, or go out as little as possible when it’s very hot/humid out, or maybe they don’t drink alcohol or coffee. Maybe it’s bad enough they can’t do some sort of work that is expected of them at their home, or their job, or school.

You can describe what they do because it makes them feel better—maybe they drink a lot of water, maybe they buy socks a size smaller because they noticed it makes them feel a little better, maybe they always give themselves an extra half hour to get anything done so they can stand or sit up more slowly. Maybe they take over someone else’s specific work because they can manage that better and trade with them.

As to other character’s reactions, some characters may be positive and always offer your character their arm when they’re standing so they can worry less about fainting. Some might be pretty neutral and just ask them why they never go grab a beer with them. Some might be negative and roll their eyes whenever your character needs extra time or to sit down for a bit.

People with POTS and similar conditions will recognize themselves in your character’s actions and reactions, and it’s very possible that people who have friends or family or people they know with POTS or anything similar will think “oh that’s kind of like what John Doe has.” And even if they don’t, they’ll still have read a realistic and respectful story about someone with a disability.

This goes for any disability, not just POTS. Just swap out the symptoms and ways to manage it and characters’ reactions accordingly.

Something you can choose to do, but you don’t have to do, is add a note at some point (but probably either at the end or the beginning of the story) that your character has what today we would know as POTS.

For an example I’ve seen in real life (not POTS related but about disability in general), I read a book set in the early 20th century in an institution, The Degenerates by J. Albert Mann. Since it’s a different time period, characters are referred to by terms we don’t use anymore at all or not in the same way, and many characters have conditions that we know about today but were not known at all at that time. What the author did was describe the characters’ actions (and thoughts, if they were the POV character), as well as how others reacted to them. At the end there was an appendix describing what each character might have been diagnosed with today, if anything at all (since not all people ended up at asylums because of an actual condition and some were just poor or Othered in some other way).

Thank you for your thoughtful question! I feel like I rarely see characters in historical fiction who have basically any disabilities, but thank you for wanting to create some :)

Good luck!

— Mod Sparrow