Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

🍂 Ficlet Menu 🍂

🤍 S'mores (Sweet + pure. Rated G)

• Gloves: Meet-cute, Regency Era.

• Patchwork: Self-image, hurt/comfort.

• Bonfire: Pining, First kiss, Human AU.

• Scarecrow: Meet-cute, Roommates AU, Human AU.

• Makeup: Pining, Roommates AU, Human AU.

🧡 Cider (Sweet + a touch of spice. Rated T)

• Pumpkin: Sleepy cuddles, domestic fluff.

Chapter Text

Sally closed the ornate wood door behind her and leaned against it with a heavy sigh.

Finally, darkness and isolation.

All night, the only thing on anyone's lips was Mister Skellington. How desirable he was. How striking his countenance was. How grand his manor was. Sally was half-inclined to start plucking out strands of her own hair to serve as better entertainment, but she decided to slip away from the ballroom before resorting to that.

She couldn't see the contents of the place she'd taken refuge in but heard (quite clearly) the rustle of clothing from the other side of the room.

"It appears we have stumbled across the same hiding place," she let her voice carry into the darkness.

An amused huff of a laugh reached her ears. "So it does, madam."

A gentleman, then. In that case, it would be improper to—

"Was the party not to your liking?"

Sally's hand relaxed from the door handle. "The grounds are splendid, but the conversation was… lacking."

"We are in agreement once again."

A smile tugged at her lips and she turned, fiddling with her gloves. "Have you the ability to percieve objects in total darkness? If so, I believe I am at a disadvantage, sir."

The voice hummed. "Need I nocturnal vision to appreciate a lady who speaks her mind?"

Sally laughed. "Good sir, if you are able to see at present, come near so we might be properly introduced." She gasped as a large hand captured her small one. "You have mastered the art of throwing a voice," she noted as he dusted her fingers against a hard mouth.

"I have mastered many things," he replied, "But not the art of hosting."

"Hosting?" Sally breathed. "You— you are—"

"You, my dear," he whispered, "Need only call me Jack."

Chapter Text

They had only been married for a few hours, and Sally was already reconsidering things.

She couldn't help it; Ruby and Jack looked so right together, like a true royal couple, instead of a king and his patchwork subject. She was tall and poised and graceful like him, with all the symmetrical curves and coloring of a real woman.

"Whatever is the matter, dearest?"

Sally pick at the stitching on her wrist. She didn't meet his gaze; instead her eyes found the floor. "I'm not…" she trailed off, then bit her lip.

His long fingers found her fabric ones and gently led her hand away from the thread. It broke her heart that his habit of ceasing her self-harm was as common as her accomplishing the task; he was so kind, even when consumed with excitement for another realm. "Not…?" He pressed, voice soft and expression lightly curious.

Her hand tightened around his as a makeshift shield for her confession. Perhaps if she held on hard enough he wouldn't leave. "I don't… look like Ruby," she finally admitted, voice drenched in doubt. "She's worthy of you; she's so beautiful and, and, and queen-like. Her dresses are flowy, her skin is all the same shade, her hair is prettily tied." Her head tilted down. "Just look at me. I'm—I'm—"

Jack's fingers found her chin and tilted it up gently. "Perfect," he finished for her. "You're perfect, Sally. And you're my wife— not her. I don't want anyone else to hold that title."

"But she's—"

"I couldn't tell you a single detail about what she looked like," Jack soothed. "You know who I was focused on?" He nuzzled his forehead against hers. "You, dearest. Only you. Always you."

Despite everything, his words still managed to bring a smile to her face.

Chapter Text

Far past the pumpkin patch and the welcome center, the bonfire at the fall festival roared and crackled, sending sparks and smoke into the October night sky. The aroma of spiced cider and smoldering wood filtered through the air past the party goers and benches.

Sally stared out at the festivities from the safety of the treeline, shivering from the autumn chill. She was used to being excluded from these sorts of gatherings; going unmissed didn't bother her nearly as much as it used to. There was really only one person's opinion she cared about, and she'd lost sight of him a half hour ago.

She wrapped her arms around herself to try and quell the cold, but it wasn't until she felt the weight of a warm jacket fall around her shoulders that she stopped shivering.

"Boo," the jacket's owner whispered, leaning back to grin at her.

Sally couldn't help the smile that spread on her face or the blush that rose to her cheeks. "Jack."

"Brought you something." He pressed a hot paper cup of cocoa into her hands, dark eyes finding hers.

"Thank you…" Sally replied softly, chest exploding into butterflies at the touch of his long fingers against hers and the scent of his jacket encompassing her. She took a sip of the drink and hummed happily.

Jack chuckled and moved his fingers close to her mouth. "May I?"

Eyes wide, she nodded, skin igniting when he brushed his thumb over her lips to wipe away the chocolate stains. She still fooled herself into thinking it was platonic— until he licked his thumb, eyes never leaving hers.

"I think you missed a spot," Sally told him dazedly, eyes fixed on the shape of his mouth stretching into a smirk.

Jack tasted better than any seasonal drink.

Chapter Text

Sally approached her new apartment with a box of belongings in her hands and a nervous energy thrumming under her skin. She balanced the cardboard on a hip and pressed the doorbell with her free hand.

"Come in!" An excited voice called from inside the apartment.

With a steadying breath, she did just that.

The ad hadn't been blowing things out of proportion. Garlands and trees and pumpkins and scarecrows crowded around each other in a cacophony of visual noise, each decoration trying to outshine the last with vibrancy and splendor. The apartment felt like another realm; it was entirely too much in a somewhat comforting way, like a bookstore with overstuffed shelves.

In a flurry of movement and words, her roommate emerged from one of the rooms (or perhaps from one of the decorations, it was a bit hard to tell where the doorways were), introducing himself in a rush.

He was so tall and thin and moved so fast that it took Sally's gaze a moment to catch up with the man, but when it did it was met with a pair of deep brown eyes with dark circles rimming the edges. He smiled, drawing Sally's attention to the crooked row of bottom teeth and dimples on either side of his cheeks.

He was a living breathing visual contrast, all sharp lines and radiating warmth, deep shadows stark against pale skin, a smile as wide as he was tall.

She blinked. "I'm— I'm sorry?"

"I'm Jack," he told her, a bit more slowly than before. "You must be Sally. It's a pleasure to finally meet you. Allow me." He reached forward and lifted the box from her hands easily.

Sally knew mixing romance and roommates was a bad idea, but maybe—just this once—she'd make an exception.

Chapter Text

Sally sat statue-still, eyes closed and hands folded in her lap, as tiny brushes touched her skin. The smell of the teal paint that covered her face wasn't very pleasant, but it was a small price to pay to have her roommate this close to her.

"You look positively horrifying, Sally!" Jack declared as he set the eyeshadow brush down. He laughed awkwardly and addended his statement: "At my workplace, insults are compliments. I suppose I should've told you that beforehand. You look lovely with costume makeup; I had no doubt you would."

Sally was well aware of the minutiae of Halloween Town's odd ways— Jack talked about the place incessantly— but hearing lovely leave his lips still warmed her cheeks. "May I open my eyes now?"

"Not yet."

Sally held her breath as she felt his arms close around her on the desk chair to slowly spin her around. She wanted to freeze the moment and stick it in a snowglobe like the ones that lined the mantle, waiting to be shaken up whenever she craved his touch.

"Alright, Sally. Go ahead."

Her eyes widened as soon as they adjusted. She still looked like herself, give or take a couple hundred years of decay, but she was covered in faux stitching as well. Jack was in the mirror too, crouched a bit so his head could hover behind hers. His hands had resumed their place on either side of the armrests of the chair, solid reminders of his proximity. She bit her lip as she came to slow terms with her new appearance.

"Do you not like it?"

"No, no, it's not that, it's just…" she let out a little laugh. "I am a bit horrifying, aren't I?"

Jack met her eyes in the mirror and grinned. "Terribly so."

Chapter Text

Jack woke, as he did every morning, with his arms wrapped around Sally's soft body and his legs tucked flush against hers.

Her fabric always felt novel to his bones somehow: softer than bat fur with ridges of stitches that interrupted the pale blue cloth. He loved to trace each seam, catalogue them in his mind, a never-ending research project to map out every last detail of his dear wife.

The smell of her hair pressed into his nasal bones made their arrangement all the more pleasing; the auburn yarn held only the best scents from their town. Notes of allspice and cinnamon were the strongest, and if he breathed in deeply enough he could even find an undercurrent of pumpkin.

Jack's ribs ached with a comforting burden he'd grown familiar with during his first few years of marriage— a heavy, warm sensation of wanting to spend the rest of his days serving the inhuman being in his arms.

His hands closed around her more tightly, his arms buried her closer into his chest, his skull nestled into the gentle slope where her neck met her shoulder. It was impossible for Sally to die, and yet he felt an intense desire to protect her.

She let out a sweet little noise at the attention, and suddenly Jack's bones felt hot for a completely different reason.

"Is my Queen free for an audience at present?" His tongue dragged along the stitching on her neck, and he felt her shiver against him.

"Who would ask at this hour?" She teased, looking over her shoulder.

"A humble commoner looking to please you," Jack replied, gaze boring into hers, "Highness."

Jack left the bedroom, as he did every morning, with lipstick prints all over his skull and his wife spent in the master bed.