#Their relationship beyond that is up to you

[blushhbambi]

clark kent/superman and cutie news anchor gf 😭😭

LITTLE THINGS ABOUT CLARK + NEWSANCHOR!READERᝰ.ᐟ

domestic fluff, kisses n cuddles, established relationship, clark being a dork... . ༉‧₊˚.

౨ৎ⊹ ࣪ ˖﹒rushed mornings of both of you getting ready for work, fixing his tie and straightening his glasses while he zips up your dress, trying to sneak in a few last kisses before you're both off.

sometimes he'll keep the news on at work just to see you presenting or interviewing, he's not even focused on what you're talking about let alone his own work. only thinking about getting to go home to you later and whether he should cook you a warm dinner or treat you to a movie night (spoiler he'll do both) .

one time you presented one of his articles on tv and he was beyond giddy. getting teased by his colleagues as his ears flush hot red and he swivelled in his chair all flustered and proud.

"yeah that's my girl..", he'll smile with pride while sheepishly scratching the back of his neck.

and my god do his parents love you, like girl get ready be ON those daily calls. his mama's accent will be honey thick as she tells you stories from when he was younger and, somehow, clumsier, or she's got you rushing to note down a classic southern recipe. or his daddy's rambling on about how he saw you on the morning news, giving you a silly dad joke about how you should come down to report on the local country bustle.

clark is a country boy through and through, don't you dare think he'll be any less of a gentleman just because you're dating. he's still soft and well mannered as ever, never forgetting a please or thank you, pulling out your chair at dinner first, making sure you walk on the inside of the pavement while his hand stays on the small of your back.

your little apartment's filled to the brim with books and scribbled notes, you always have to make sure to replace his chewed pens, and when he finds a new book he'll read a few pages to you before bed while you curl into his side. late night dinners will be sweet and quiet, he cooks and you clean that's just how it always is.

sometimes you're both still in work mode. this means a couple hours of sleep and surviving off of coffee while he's hunched over his desk trying to finish an article before his deadline and you're muttering your morning presentation to yourself, pacing behind him.

on the occasion you're too exhausted from work, clark will buy your favourite take out and let you lay ontop of him lazily while you rabble about how long the day was having to report on this new superman guy. he'll hide his wince and distract you with long kisses while his big hands trail down your skin or brush through your hair as he whispers sweet compliments into your ears. . ༉‧₊˚.

© written by blushhbambi— do not steal or claim as ur own ᝰ.ᐟ

[mishappeningss]

Has she had any public relationships? Like her own wag 😭

she’s never really had official public relationships during her career—while she keeps her love life private, it’s widely known that she’s had a few discreet relationships!

here’s a few list of people that speculate that there’s “a bit of something” going on between them — the subtle hints, the secrets smiles, the ifykyk moments

more about driver!yn

Aaron Taylor Johnson — The McLaren super-fan showing up to a different team?

Aaron had always been an open book when it comes to F1 — a McLaren supporter who regularly sported their colors and showed up at their races. Everyone knew where his loyalty lay, and that never seemed to change. That is, until lately.

Fans started noticing something at recent races, especially the last few European GPs. Aaron, who’d once been firmly planted in the McLaren paddock, was now frequently seen lingering just a little longer near the Mercedes garage.

The way his eyes tracked her through the chaos of the pit lane, how he subtly moved closer before she left for the anthems — it was impossible to ignore.

At Silverstone, one of the sport’s most beloved venues, Aaron was seen giving YN a quiet, reassuring smile just moments before she got into her car for the race start.

The moment was fleeting but electric — a brief hand touch, a soft word whispered, both stepping back quietly as if aware of the cameras but unwilling to hide what’s there.

For fans, it was really fascinating to see: Aaron, the McLaren loyalist, showing up repeatedly at the Mercedes events, seemingly more interested in supporting YN than the papayas.

The whispers grew louder after a candid photo surfaced of Aaron and YN sharing a late night conversation in the paddock, framed by the soft glow of the track lights.

Though neither spoke publicly about what’s really going on, the subtle hand gestures — a hand on the small of the back, a quick glance that lingered a bit too long — told a story fans were eager to read between the lines.

Isabela Merced — “If you know, you know” energy

Isabela’s connection with YN felt like a burst of sunlight in the high pressure and high stakes of F1.

She’s known for her vibrant personality and effortless charm, Isabela became a fixture in YN’s life in recent seasons, appearing at race weekends, and casual outings that fans eagerly tried to decode.

The two share an easy warmth — the kind that feels both genuine and electric. Whether it’s Isabela’s playful teasing on her stories or their shared laughter caught in the paddock, fans have noticed the undeniable chemistry that goes beyond mere friendship.

At Monaco, YN was seen wrapping her arm around Isabela’s waist during a quiet moment away from the crowds, their smiles soft and knowing. The way they leaned into each other, sharing whispered jokes and stolen glances, had fans buzzing with “if you know, you know” excitement.

Their connection feels like a secret language spoken through glances and touches, and while they keep their private life mostly away from the spotlight, fans have become experts at spotting the little hints.

In interviews, YN has praised Isabela’s career, crediting her as a calming presence amid the storm of racing life. Meanwhile, Isabela’s social media is filled with subtle nods of affection that keep fans speculating.

Zayn Malik — Silent support speaks volumes

Their first notable public moment came during the British Grand Prix, when Zayn was captured leaning close to YN in the paddock, whispering encouragement just before she climbed into her car. The intimacy of that exchange, though brief, was impossible to overlook — fans quickly dubbed it one of the most tender moments of the season.

Since then, the pair have been glimpsed sharing quiet dinners in London, attending exclusive studio sessions where music and motorsport worlds collided, and exchanging subtle public gestures that hint at a deep connection.

Despite their preference for privacy, the vibe between them is undeniable. Fans pore over every social media post, every candid shot, every soft smile — reading between the lines and imagining the beautiful story unfolding behind closed doors.

Zayn’s support feels like a calm anchor to YN’s fiery racing spirit, and though they keep things mostly out of the spotlight, when they do share moments, it’s electric.

soooo, out of these three, who do we think actually had a little something with our driver?

[pellucid-constellations]

An Azriel drabble request if you please (and thank you!): a day court mate who is getting homesick and Azriel winds up surprising them with a date to watch a sunrise.

Pairing: Azriel x Dawn Court!Reader

Word count: 650

Warnings: None this is so fluffy with sweet Az

a/n: Omg I had to write this one because it was such a sweet thought and I LOVE how it turned out 🥹 I tweaked it a little to do Dawn Court!! Thank you for the request :) I'm having a little drabble spree on my blog!!

____________________________________________

The touch on your back was methodical and soothing as it passed along your spine. Bedding pressed against your cheek and temple, creating indents that would be thoughtlessly remedied as soon as you brought yourself to detach from the mattress.

You were usually the first one to wake. Hailing from Dawn, your body seemed to be on an earlier clock than the rest of the Night Court, but you never minded. It gave you time to enjoy the break of day and reminisce about home. It was sometimes lonely, but you would never say.

Azriel hadn't needed you to say it outright.

Another pass of his palm along your back, and he woke you fully, bringing the touch up to brush your hair away from the lines created by uneven sheets. You squinted slightly, expecting sun through the curtains where there was none, and brought confusion to Azriel's state of dress.

"Do you have to leave?" you asked, all groggy and disheveled.

Azriel's smile was soft in response. "No, my love. I want to take you somewhere."

You'd been mated for a year at most—resided in Night for only a few months. The beginning of your relationship was played out across the continent, and he had been generous to offer to live in Dawn many times. But you knew his role in Rhysand's court was far too important, and yours in Dawn was nothing of the sort.

"What time is it?" you grumbled, rubbing your eye with a harsh knuckle.

"Just before dawn."

"Before?"

"Yes," Azriel chuckled, pulling your hand from your face to kiss the joints. "Get dressed for me? Warm. With layers."

He didn't give you a chance to ask further questions. After you had stumbled around the room and dressed, you met him on the balcony, where he then tucked you in close and shot into the sky with a small yelp lingering in the air. You were still unused to flying, and although he tried to ease you into it, there was only so much he could do.

You flew with your face shoved into his neck, as you always did, and the way his chest shook alerted you to the small laughs he was letting out. Still half asleep, you didn't have it in you to argue with his meanness. Not that you would really argue to begin with.

When you landed, it was in the middle of nowhere and also so familiar. Trees blanketed the mountainside, alight with frost and fallen nettles, but it was beyond the mountain that was most captivating. There was nothing to obstruct the array of colors surrounding you, the new dawn heralding warmth and the feeling of being understood.

You whipped your head back to look upon Azriel. He was already staring at you.

"It's like we're in the sunrise," you mused, bouncing lightly on your toes. "I've never seen anything like this."

Azriel's lips met the top of your head as you turned towards the sky. "I've been looking for the best place. It took me a few months."

You breathed out a disbelieving laugh. "I had no idea you were looking. Azriel, I—"

"You came all this way for me. I wanted to make you feel at home. At least a little."

The pinks and even-toned yellows swirled behind his head, mingling with the clouds that seemed to evaporate in the colors. The warmth of the rising sun paled in comparison to the kindling in your chest, and you reached up to bring his neck down. When you kissed him, it felt aflame, the tender bringing of day seeping beyond your closed lids.

With his hands on your waist, he spoke against your lips. "Do you like it?"

"I love it. I always watch from the window."

"I know you do," he admitted, a smile against yours. "You watch the sunrise, and I watch you."

[minsparrow]

CAREFUL › jannik sinner.

› 18+, minors dni. smut, fem!reader, r wears a dress, fingering, semi-public setting (empty public restroom), fwb, jannik calls r "carissima" (dearest). › while i was writing this i imagined it to be tennis player!reader who has a sorta frenemy relationship + fwb with jannik. however none of this is explicitly stated beyond their fwb situation. › 882 words. — ‶it's always good to be careful, especially when your rendezvous with jannik end in a bathroom stall.″

navigation. inbox.

"jesus, careful." you whisper the words out as your back hits the door to the handicap stall, making it rattle in a way that echoes throughout the empty bathroom. jannik laughs but doesn't acknowledge your words.

one of his hands still has a tight grip on your waist and the other is trailing up your thigh, bunching your skirt up around your hips. he leans in closer to you, his lips brushing against your neck. he places a gentle kiss below your ear before speaking. "this dress is beautiful. my favorite in your closet, i think." 

"you say that about every single one." you don't add the obvious – that he says that every single time he gets you alone after a fancy dinner or a night out, always pressed between him and the nearest surface. "no, no. it's this one." you could laugh, but then his hand leaves your waist to dance across the inside of your thigh. the faint touch, the feeling of him being so close yet so far, leaves you dizzy. like always.

"jan–."

"patience." you roll your eyes. patience, something even jannik doesn't have. he couldn't wait to get you back to his hotel, and instead backed you into a bathroom stall. 

you're about to speak, comment on his hypocrisy, when his fingers drag along your panties, turning your words into a breathy moan. jannik chuckles, two fingers pressing against the wet stain on the cotton. "you love to complain, but this says otherwise, no?"

"will you stop feeding your ego and get to what we're in here for?" he raises an eyebrow, but he still hooks those same two fingers in the waistband to pull them down just enough to give him access. but he hesitates.

"please?" jannik's eyes flicker from your panties to your pleading eyes, a teasing grin growing on his face. "you're being nice. that's unusual."

"maybe i just want you to get this over with." he hums, pushing the pads of his fingers into the flesh of your thigh while his other hand slides along your folds. you whimper, sensitive from his teasing and the time between now and your last rendezvous. a few weeks at least.

your head tips back against the door, eyes fluttering shut as his thumb presses gently against your clit. a few of your fingers hook onto the collar of his suit jacket as you begin to lose your breath, while his own gather your wetness. "you love spending time with me, carissima."

once again, he steals your words, this time as he slowly pushes in a single finger. one of his ridiculously long, thick, fingers. "oh, fuck." he crooks his finger, pushing against your sweet spot, the one he always manages to reach like no one else. something he'd gloat about if you told him, especially if you added that no other hookup has been able to make you come. but you'll be taking that to the grave.

you can feel his eyes scan your face for every little sign of pleasure – the quick rise and fall of your chest as you pant, the way your hand twitches around his jacket collar, and the scrunch of your nose as you squeeze your eyes shut. "does that feel good?" he has the audacity to ask that as he adds a second finger, thrusting them in and out so slowly that it's like he's mocking you. your response is a quiet moan, then another a bit louder when he decides to pick up the pace. "you're so loud, carissima."

his free hand presses against your open mouth, making you open your eyes. he smiles at you like the devil, because he knows what he's doing. it only makes you louder, it always does, the way he makes it obvious what you're doing is wrong but doesn't put a stop to it. of course, it doesn't help that he decides that it's the perfect time to curl his fingers again; adding to the overwhelming pleasure building inside of you. "do you think you can take another?" he pulls his hand away from your mouth to let you do anything other than mumble.

"yes, jan, please." you let out a little cry as he adds a third finger, and he covers your mouth once again. his laughter can be heard over your heavy breathing. "please. when did you get so nice?" you squirm as his thumb circles your clit again, teasing because he likes to make you wait. you moan from the feeling, his floaty touches pushing you so you're almost there; on the brink of pleasure. you just need more.

he chuckles. "that's why, no? i touch you and you get all sweet on me." jannik's thumb turns heavy, applying more pressure onto your clit as he keeps thrusting his fingers inside of you. it's too much. you don't get to ask or tell him, but he knows because you let out a throaty whine, your thighs trap in his hand when you squeeze them together, and you clench around his fingers. then you shudder, breathing heavy as you drop your weight against the door. it rattles again.

"careful." you roll your eyes, letting out a quiet scoff as he replicates your tone from earlier. all he does is grin.

i'm always open for a chat! 😊

[sharkfinsoap]

I posted this to tumblr over a year ago.

What’s funny (and admittedly kinda sad) was at the time, I only half-believed that third panel. It was more of me trying to convince myself to believe that notion. And, in some ways, it really did help to put it out there. When I saw others resonate with the post in solidarity or support, it helped speed up my peace with my own hair.

All my life, my relationship with my hair has been somewhat tumultuous.

I always suspected that my mom wanted a living doll more than to raise a human person. She liked the idea of having me more than the reality, and it translated through how she dressed me, especially with my hair. She was obsessed with it and showed it off like a prized poodle, putting it in model-esque ‘dos way beyond my age.

My hair is thick and wavy, and I have a pretty sensitive scalp. As a child, it was heavy, itchy, and in the way of my ability to run around and be an animalistic, grass-stained little rascal. I wasn’t allowed to cut it, so my default style was having it pulled back into a low ponytail.

Needless to say, cutting my hair to a more masculine style in adolescence devastated my mom and made the rest of my family uncomfortable. It was a complete betrayal and seen as me throwing away something valuable about me. I felt like an instant downgrade that made me go from beautiful girl to ugly fake-boy, and the idea that I was uglier by my own choice followed me for years.

When I learned that going on T increased my odds of male pattern baldness as I aged, I feared it like the Reaper. I began to obsess over my hairline, watching it for any changes.

By my mid twenties, I’d been on T for several years. It was around that time when I fully grew into my adult hairline with an average widow’s peak. I thought that this was the beginning of the end, and became insanely insecure about it. Combined with my round forehead and small brow bone that would have served me well if I were more feminine presenting, I felt like a goofy-looking bug-eyed dome.

Now I’m in my early-mid thirties, and…

Nothing’s changed. Not really.

If I had to split hairs (no pun intended), I’d say that at most, my hair is a little thinner than it used to be. Otherwise, my hairline hasn’t budged.

But should that REALLY matter?

The older I get, the more grateful I am that I made it this far in life. My values keep developing and changing, and I can feel it translating into my body as well.

“I want to be desirable” is turning into “I want to be healthy”.

“I want to be better than everyone else” is turning into “I want to be happy”.

And with every passing year, the terror of being stalked by potential hair loss has lost its power. At this point, if it comes for me, I think I’ll finally be able to say “you took a long time to get here, and I’m sorry it took me so long to be ready to accept you.”

On balding.

[bewitched-hours]

Silly Idea

Daisy x Guest 1337 x Eldritch/Cryptid!Reader

Ah yes one of my favourite ship dynamics, the established couple and the thing they found in the wood

How tf they managed is beyond me, maybe you were always there in their life but was just on the sidelines. First it started off with "Romantic gifts" addressed to both of them. And by that I mean a whole magnolia tree which clearly looks like it was torn out with bare hands just perched innocently on their front lawn. Next it was when people who were rather discriminatory to Guest somehow disappeared or left them alone. Double weird. Welp they don't find out till Daisy walks in on you keeping watch over Charlotte( imagine a big fluffy cat and Charlotte is just sleeping on it, my turn when dawg). And to your sadness you scared them both( wow I can't believe a sleep paralysis demon can be scary) But after a few seconds of bracing to be well killed or eaten, nothing happens. Instead you very, very gently lower Charlotte down and give her back( not without a lil pat tho) before leaving. Okay they either are very sleep deprived or that just happened. But after a while of this very confusing relationship with this thing. Guest 1337 finally decides to try and strike a conversation with you( fully expecting nothing) but gains whiplash when you reply back nearly perfectly( if not for the obvious growl and accent of your voice). And well after a bit they just accepted the fact you're sticking around. And well it ends with Guest,Daisy,Charlotte and you having a nice cuddle( turns out all that fluff also works as an amazing bed, and your purrs double down as white noise)

YES YES YES- MEOW- (Ignore me being a dumbass and basically opening myself to being called a degenerate-)

Reader gets They/Them~

It was no secret that you were a cryptid.

You just looked like a mix of a sleep paralysis demon and a cat if most were honest after seeing you.

Black but fully fluffy fur, a tail long and flexible enough to coil around your victims like a giant snake and two red eyes flashing from your face. It'd be a mystery if you had a mouth if it weren't for the sightings of you munching away on some of your victims.

And yet... You did it more for the attention of your chosen mates!

Something about them had simply captured your heart. Maybe it was their gentleness, the feeling of family, who knows...

But you tried to win them over without scaring them. You weren't just some creature, you had the same amount of intelligence they had. Maybe even more.

But the fact you knew better didn't stop you from doing worse.

You weren't choosing victims just because they were mean to your mates, you knew they could handle themselves in the face of 'bullies', as Charlotte once called them. Sweet child, you wanted to protect her like your mates did and yet that option was currently out of reach...

But no, you chose your victims based on how far they were willing to take their hatred for your beloveds.

The ones that were more likely to pop up later again and again, all to discriminate against the ones you loved... Those were your victims.

You figured out eventually that flowers were sometimes considered romantic but with your form... Yeah, picking flowers would be impossible and there wasn't even a guarantee they'd be in top condition all the way through.

Instead, you managed to grab a magnolia tree to leave on their lawn to enjoy. Maybe they liked gardening!

They were so confused when they found the tree. It was clearly ripped out of the ground, it was clearly done by brute force, but it's far too big for anyone to pull off... It managed to unsettle them...

But when you were first spotted by Charlotte?

Oh, she loved you immediately. You figured she would be afraid considering you were much larger than both of her parents and had menacing claws and teeth but all she saw was a giant cat and she was won over.

With that, you'd make regular visits on some nights to watch over her and talk with her in a rough but understandable voice as you'd tell her about life in the woods. You didn't tell her of the creatures that roam or the things you had done for survival but... She deserved to be spared such details...

You had accidentally taken a massive step closer to the family you always wanted but it still seemed so far away... You might be able to live with such slow process but with your lifespan, who knows how long you could continue to wait for progress?

Turns out, you didn't have to worry that long! Though it might've not been such a good thing...

You had been listening to Charlotte babble about the most random topics and entertaining her as she played with your face and stretched it a bit. You felt guilty about even thinking to stop her with how happy she seemed but you failed to pick up on the approaching footsteps before the door opened and you and Charlotte both looked at Daisy in the doorway.

Daisy was absolutely terrified and you were in utter shock as you felt your heart drop.

You couldn't even find your voice again as chaos broke out. Charlotte trying to advocate for you as she sat on your neck fluff and watching as even Guest came rushing in to tell Charlotte to get away from you.

It hurt but... You could understand why they were acting this way.

They didn't even know what to do as they didn't want to approach you so you did the only thing you could think of.

You reached up to gently grab Charlotte and lower her down as carefully as you could before nuzzling her cheek with a slight purr as if to thank her before you quickly but silently disappeared out the window and left the three of them with mixed emotions.

For a while, you stepped back on showing your affections, even outright ignoring Charlotte when she tried to ask you to join her again to play but you weren't subtle in showing that you were sorry about having to ignore her.

This was stupid. You were stupid. It was all so stupid...

You should've never indulged the kid in the first place before getting through her parents but you did anyways and your gifts now ranged between apologetic messages and more romantic gestures.

Charlotte seemed so heartbroken and it was probably why Guest decided to wait for you tonight.

You were just placing down another tree you found that looked pretty so you thought it would be a good apology gift. But you were left little time to explain when the door suddenly opened in front of you and the man stepped out with a seemingly nervous face.

You looked like a deer in headlights as your mind screamed at you to just talk until...

"You've... Been taking care of Charlotte a lot..." He muttered, carefully moving closer to you in an attempt to not alarm you which made your ears flutter with anticipation.

"Of course, she's adorable!" Your growled voice and strange accent almost made him jump in shock but technically he did remember his daughter talking about your voice before...

"Such a sweetheart, you two are great parents." You quickly toned it down a bit and sat up to be at eye level with him as you smiled softly.

Guest rubbed at his temple for a moment while chuckling. "Well, I'll be damned... You're much more intelligent than we gave you credit for..."

Somehow, you weren't even offended at this. "That's because most cryptids keep to the woods." You chuckled along, before feeling your face flush at his next question.

"Then how is it that you kept coming here every night?" Well, be glad your face was covered in fur or he would've seen you grow 50 shades of red. It was now or never...

"I have been meaning to... Court you both as mates..." You muttered with a bashful look as you watched the gears turn in his head. By the time he figured it out he was looking a little embarrassed himself.

"I'll uhm- I'll just get Daisy real quick..." He muttered as he went back inside and you took deep breaths to prepare yourself. It was now or never, now or never, now or-

In the morning, you were all cuddled up by the couch and watching the news in comfortable silence.

You did it... You've found your perfect family and you were allowed an escape from the woods...

Life felt perfect...

Anything you'd like to request/ask? Check out my pinned post first and I'll be happy to write up whatever you want!

[mangostarjam]

these halls are a home — haikyuu, ushijima wakatoshi x f!reader, established relationship, angst with a happy ending, high school sweethearts, use of "my love" as a pet name, misunderstandings, 1.9k words

written for the hq club room's summer fic exchange! this is my gift to @hiraethwa hehe i hope you like it!

Ushijima Wakatoshi watches your smile dim, a fading dawn.

That's been happening more and more often lately, even as you shuffle forward, dwarfed in one of his sweaters, sleeves bunched up around your wrists. You wrap your arms around his middle in a squeeze so quick he isn't even sure he felt anything at all.

"See you later," you mumble. You step back and turn away before Ushijima has a chance to drop a kiss on your forehead, to leave a trace of himself behind. "Have a safe flight."

You disappear into the depths of the apartment and Ushijima stares. The genkan feels empty, barren. An echoing maw of shadows deepening like this growing crack in your relationship.

It wasn't always like this, but — he doesn't have time. He has a flight to catch.

The thing is, you knew what you signed up for — or, at least, you told him you understood. Ushijima considers the fact that maybe you didn't quite get it — that there'd be away games, and training camps, and league exhibition matches in other countries. He wants to be with you, to be there for you, but he also needs to play volleyball.

It's been a month (two months?) of this widening distance. No time at all, in the grand scheme of your relationship, but the vibrancy of his life has faded so drastically without you.

His teammates are no help. Locker room talk is full of plans to party, to hook up with beautiful people. They know about you, and they offer advice, sometimes, about trials they've gone through trying to hold onto partners through thick and thin. Warnings about wandering eyes and lonely beds. Ushijima listens to the advice, but mostly he listens to you.

Your texts lately have been short and to the point. Ushijima is so used to coming back to his phone and scrolling through your messages, but there's barely anything to catch up on nowadays. It's like you've run dry, an empty well, a husk of your former self.

It makes his heart ache in his chest. He admits — he's not much of a conversationalist. He's relied on you to do much of the heavy lifting, to hold his hand through awkward emotional processing as he learned about things beyond academics and volleyball.

You've always been a guiding light for him. The sun rising over the horizon, touching everything with its glow. His life has expanded and grown because of you showing him the way. Ushijima knows this.

He knows he doesn't want to lose you.

Ushijima brings back a bag full of interesting snacks and ingredients local to the area of his away game. You aren't there to greet him at the airport — a headache, you said.

You aren't there to greet him at the genkan either — his gruff "I'm home" is met with silence, the words swallowed by the shadowy hallway.

"My love?" He sets his bags aside and slides his feet into house slippers. Are you perhaps taking a nap? Are you sick with worse than a headache?

The living room is empty and cold. Even the trinkets and artwork collected during your travels together look faded on their shelves, on the walls. It's strange and unsettling, to come into his home feeling like an outsider, like he's wandering the halls of a memory.

The kitchen shows the first signs of occupancy — an unwashed mug sits by the sink. Ushijima runs his thumb along the rim, presses his fingers into the warmth seeping through the ceramic.

It was filled and drained recently, then. Where are you?

Ushijima turns towards the bedroom and spots it. Another mug.

It takes a moment, but he recognizes the feeling abruptly — fear washes cold and icy down his spine, locks him in place, a statue in his own kitchen.

Why would there be another mug?

"Oh! Welcome home," your voice jolts him out of his stricken stillness, warms him down to his bones. Ushijima turns and — there you are, pulling earphones out and setting them aside.

That's why you hadn't heard him enter. Right?

"How was your flight? How was your game?" you ask. Ushijima watches, somehow lost as you scoop up the wayward mug and set it by the sink.

It's not unusual for you to nurse multiple mugs — sometimes you switch up your midday beverages, seeking other flavors in an effort to stay hydrated. What's throwing him off is that… that was his mug.

Why would you use his mug?

"Everything was fine," he replies. "I brought back snacks."

Ushijima waits for your face to light up, to see that burst of excitement that fills your entire being. You nod and cover your mouth with your palm as you yawn. "Oops, sorry, Toshi, baby," you say, "I'm gonna go nap."

"My love," he grabs your wrist before you can brush past him, but he's careful to be gentle, to rest his thumb along your fluttering pulse. "Is everything alright? Will you tell me, if I've done something to upset you?"

He knows he's frowning. The crease between his eyebrows feels tense. Normally this is when you'd reach up to get his face to relax, to ease the tension in his muscles.

You sigh and pull your arm free. "Of course, baby," you murmur, "I just really need a nap right now."

"I can nap with you," he offers. You like snuggling into his broad chest. You enjoy having his arms around your body.

Right?

"It's fine," you shake your head, "go ahead and get cleaned up. I know you want to shower off the travel dust."

What he wants —

He wants to see you smile again. A real, wholehearted smile, the kind you can't keep off your face because there's too much joy to tuck inside.

Ushijima goes to the bathroom and turns on the water. Maybe you're really feeling unwell, and you don't want him to catch your germs. That would also explain the lack of a welcome home kiss.

He shuffles off his clothes and folds them neatly in a pile to add to the laundry hamper later. Memories swirl through his mind's eye — flashes of you, laughing, teasing him, grinning at something he said — you, doubled over in tears of mirth, gasping for air and holding onto his hand for dear life.

Ushijima trusts you. It's been years since he gave you the second button on his school blazer, the day before graduation. The custom made no sense to him, but he wanted to make you a promise. It's been years since cherry blossoms swirled through the air, a pink cloud of first love that became a forever love as you followed him around the world in pursuit of your dreams together.

He steps under the spray of the shower just as he hears the front door creak open and shut. There's a low voice, too deep to be yours, and then a giggle he'd recognize anywhere.

In spite of the warm water and the steam slowly filling the bathroom, Ushijima feels it again — that cold trickle of fear gripping his insides.

He trusts you.

He does.

But he can't — he doesn't want to lose you. If there's someone else — if there's another person who's becoming privy to your secret smiles, the soft fond ones — if someone else is learning that comforting lull of your heartbeat just before you fall asleep, the soothing rhythm easing something deep in his soul —

Ushijima steps out of the shower and towels off mechanically. Pulls on clean clothes. Brushes his teeth.

It feels a bit like he's getting ready for a match. The cold, frozen fear is gone now, replaced by the live wire thrum of adrenaline and cool, logical reasoning guiding his actions. He needs to talk to you, to apologize if he's made you feel unloved somehow.

He's not great with words, but he'll try his best, if it's for you.

Ushijima opens the door and you throw your arms around his middle.

"Oof."

He doesn't budge at the force, but he catches you automatically, thick arms wrapping securely around your body. You sigh and press your face into his chest, breathing deep like he's your personal oxygen tank.

"Your flight landed early," you say, but it comes out muffled in his chest.

"It did."

This does not feel like he's done anything wrong. This feels like you still love him, and that he has possibly misunderstood something major.

"D'you know what day it is, Wakatoshi?"

You peel yourself free just enough to tip your face up to look at him, and —

He has to blink. Your teasing grin feels too bright, too sudden. Like the sun has suddenly crept into this hallway, illuminating the wooden floorboards in a gentle, warm light.

"It is Tuesday."

You laugh, stifling your giggles in his chest. Ushijima's stomach swoops with something light and fluttery.

"It is Tuesday," you concede. You're still grinning. "It's also the anniversary for the day you confessed to me!"

"You are incorrect," Ushijima frowns, but it's thoughtful this time. You reach up to cup his cheek in your hand, sweeping your thumb along the soft skin. "I gave you the button from my school jacket in the spring."

"Yeah, but that wasn't a confession," you roll your eyes, but you smile to take the sting out of it. "Today's the anniversary for the day you tried my cooking for the first time and said I'd make a fine wife. We made that Hayashi rice dish in class, remember?"

"That was an observation."

"I practiced so many times to make that dish perfectly for you. But… hearing you say that… that was when I realized I had a chance with you." Your smile grows shy, and Ushijima can't help but squeeze you a little tighter. He feels like he might float away. "I've been trying to time everything for your arrival, but then you got back early and nearly ruined my surprise! Do you know how hard it was for me to plan all this? Even before you left, I was busy doing research and juggling a million calendars."

"There's a surprise?"

You snort. "Yes, silly. Of course I was going to plan something for this super special anniversary," you pat his chest with a grin. "If we're taking a trip down memory lane, don't you think we're missing some key players?"

Ushijima blinks. There's a loud, undisguised cough from the living room, and then a grunt and hushed whispers and low laughter. He spares a glance in that direction, but he can't see anything down this hall. Something like gratitude settles in his chest.

"Will we be re-enacting these memories?" he asks. He can't stop looking at you, glowing in his arms. It's like something fundamental has shifted back into place, re-centered his world. "Is that why you were drinking out of my mug earlier? Were you getting into your role?"

You huff fondly, your smile softening into that secret smile you reserve just for him. "No, that was just me missing you enough to pretend you were here drinking out of your own mug. It kept me company."

Ushijima doesn't understand why, but he suddenly wants to crush you to him, to never let you go.

"Are you ready for your surprise? Everyone's waiting," you say.

"I'm ready," he promises, reaching to take your hand in his. "It will be good to see them all. But — my love."

"Hm?" You pause, granting him that soft smile again, the one that makes him feel like dawn is cracking open his ribcage to spill light into his entire world.

"Even if we do not re-enact the scene exactly, I want you to know. Out of everyone, I would choose you to be my wife."

[sapphoagapova]

sweats… skips shadley …. Lip n tongue piercinfs…. Reader faceriding hhim n when he gets the memo that reader’s afraid of putting their full weight on him he just . Yanks them down with or without warning . This is further into their relationship cuz i js know his ass gets bold when hes comfortable . Many other things in my head but this is the one that comes outta those thoughts. One of which being just simply domming him when ur fresh into the relation of the ship and playing into those sweet suppressed kinks that he’s hiding cuz hes shy and probably still nervous . SHAKES im normal

Hhhhiiii i saw ur post from one hour ago ^_^ ^_^ ^_^ — leopard anon (perchance) 🐾⚡️

#CONTAINS: Face-sitting, blowjobs, multiple orgasms, possibly OOC, first time writing smut, so it could potentially be bad!! #SYNOPSIS: You and Skips lounge on the porch, the smoke curling lazily between your lips as the night wraps around you both. You’ve been together for a while now, and with every flirtatious glance and lingering touch, the thought of finally taking him to bed grows harder to ignore. #AUTHORSNOTE: This is my first time writing smut, so this could be bad, and it isn't exactly what Anon wanted, but! Hey! More Skips Shadley content! Word count: 6k words.

The porch was worn but warm, still holding the heat of the day in its wood like a secret it hadn’t decided to let go of. The faded boards creaked gently beneath shifting weight, soft as an old sigh. Cracks in the paint curled like brittle paper left too long in the sun, the remnants of once-bold colour now ghosted over by time. Somewhere in the yard, wind stirred the tall grass just enough to remind you the world was still moving—that beyond this quiet frame, time hadn’t stopped. A lone cicada buzzed and fell silent again. The trees swayed lazily, casting shadows that reached but never quite touched the porch. But up here, in this in-between space of light and hush, everything felt paused—like the breath before a question, the stillness before someone speaks, the moment that asks you to stay just a little longer.

A flame bloomed in Skips’ cupped hands, briefly lighting up the shadows clinging to his face. The joint caught with a low, satisfying sizzle, the sound barely rising above the hum of the night. He took a slow, measured hit—eyes half-lidded, mouth barely parting as the smoke filled his lungs—and held it there for a beat before exhaling in a soft stream that curled into the air like fog. Without a word, he passed it to you, fingers brushing yours for the briefest moment. The ember glowed faintly in the dark, a small orange pulse between two fingertips, casting flickering light on chipped nail polish and the silver ring he always wore. Crickets chirped lazily in the background, and the scent of weed and woodsmoke mixed in the thick summer air.

You were curled up with Skips in a blanket pile, sunk into the worn wooden stairs of the porch like the two of you had always belonged there. The world was quiet in that fuzzy, slowed-down way it gets when the high hits just right. The joint sat snug between your lips as you took a deep breath, the ember glowing brighter for a moment before you let the smoke roll out, slow and sweet. It drifted into the warm night air, catching the porch light like fog in a dream. You let your head fall gently onto Skips’ shoulder, your cheek brushing against the fabric of his hoodie, worn soft from too many washes.

"You know, I'm fucking glad someone in this house smokes—it's been real lonely since Sam moved to another state," you mumbled, your voice heavy and honest, your words stretching out like syrup. "And I'm real glad the 420 wasn't bullshit." You waved the joint for emphasis, the ember leaving a lazy streak of light in the dark. Skips didn’t say anything at first—he didn’t know who Sam was, only that you talked about them a lot, someone from 'thiscord,' some far-off corner of your phone—but he understood the tone, the soft ache behind it.

He leaned into your head, his own weight warm and grounding against yours. “I mean,” he murmured, “I did put that on my handle to look cool before actually smoking weed.”

That made you huff a laugh, short and real, and the smoke slipped out with it. The porch creaked beneath you both like it was laughing too. Somewhere in the distance, a car passed, headlights casting brief shadows across the yard before disappearing. Time felt far away. All that mattered was the warm spot your bodies made on the porch, the joint flickering like a tiny star between you, and the shared quiet that said more than either of you needed to.

"So, you manifested it?" you grinned, the corner of your mouth tugging up as you raised a teasing brow, the joint lazily held between your fingers like a wand mid-spell. The smoke drifted past your face, catching in your lashes, softening everything.

Skips shrugged, trying to look casual, but the porch light betrayed him. A faint yellow blush bloomed across his cheeks, warm against the usual stillness of his face. He scratched the back of his neck, his eyes flicking away just for a second. “Probably,” he muttered, lips tugging into something that wasn’t quite a smile, but close. “I got curious.”

“Well, it does bring the satisfaction,” you murmured, tapping ash from the joint with a practiced flick before taking another hit. The smoke curled around your words, lazy and warm. You sat up, peeling yourself away from Skips’ shoulder—much to his quiet disappointment. The place where your head had rested felt oddly empty now, like the heat had been sucked out of it.

You leaned back on your hands, spine arched, chin tilted toward the stars. The porch light threw a faint glow over your features, but your eyes were far away—glassy with more than just the high. There was a story flickering there, pulling you somewhere else entirely.

“Sam and I used to smoke like this all the time,” you said, your voice softer now, but with that hazy fondness only old friendships carry. You passed the joint back to Skips. “Back in our college apartment, we’d roll up, blast some weird SoundCloud artist no one had ever heard of, and just… lose hours. Talked mad shit. Laughed until we cried.”

Skips blinked slowly, the image already forming in his mind. You always painted things in colours that stuck.

“And we had this really stupid tradition—whenever we hooked up with someone and never talked to them again, we’d steal their belts.”

Skips turned to you, brows slightly raised. “You stole them?”

You grinned, impish and unapologetic. “We called it the ‘Belt Wall.’ Had like ten at one point. All different styles. It was like a shrine to bad decisions.”

He let out a breathy laugh, shaking his head. “That’s… honestly kind of impressive.”

“What can I say? I’m quite good in bed,” you bragged, a sly grin curling at your lips. You didn’t look at him when you said it, but you could feel his attention shift.

Skips raised a brow, head tilted slightly. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you repeated, dragging out the word with playful confidence. “I got into all sorts of kinks.”

He hummed, a low, amused sound in his throat. Not disbelief, not judgement—just curiosity tucked inside something unreadable. It made your stomach tighten, just a little.

Admittedly—well, not admittedly, since you hadn’t said it out loud—you’d been eyeing him for a while now. Not just in passing glances or harmless daydreams, but in that slow-burning, aching kind of way. The kind where his hoodie smelt too good, his voice stuck to your skin, and every accidental touch sparked something dangerous and warm. The kind where you wondered, quietly, desperately, what it would be like to finally take him to bed.

Sure, you were dating. The label was there. You kissed, you cuddled, you shared joints and stupid inside jokes and blanket piles on creaking porches—but you hadn’t done it yet. Not that you were rushing, but the question hovered. Lingered. Grew louder in moments like this.

You wondered what he liked. What made his breath hitch. What made him shy. What he’d let you do if you asked nicely—or not-so-nicely. You wondered what he wouldn’t like. If he’d trust you enough to say so. If he’d blush when you leaned close and whispered things only meant for dim rooms and locked doors.

Your gaze slid to him, sharp but playful. “What about you?” you asked, voice a little softer, a little slower. “You into anything?”

Skips choked a little on his own breath—subtle, but enough that you noticed. He cleared his throat, scratched the back of his neck, and then finally glanced at you with a lopsided smile that was all nerves and not enough confidence to cover them up.

“I mean… maybe,” he mumbled, not quite meeting your gaze. “Kinda depends who’s asking.”

You smiled wide, shameless. “Someone who’s been hoping you’d end up in their bed.”

That definitely made him blush. He looked down at his lap, a low laugh escaping him, flustered and warm. “You can’t just say shit like that while I’m high,” he muttered.

But he didn’t say no. And that flicker in his eyes? That wasn’t hesitation—it was permission.

You licked your lips slowly, deliberately, eyes lingering on his mouth—the way it twisted nervously, how he chewed at the inside of his cheek like he didn’t know what to do with your attention. The way his gaze flicked anywhere but yours only made you want him more. There was something about the way he got shy that stirred something deep in your chest. You wanted to pull every sound out of him, every hidden thought, every quiet little please.

“Come on,” you said, tilting your head, your voice dipping low and velvety as you leaned in just a little. “What are you into?”

He shifted beside you, pulling the blanket a little higher like it would shield him. “Why’re you asking like that?” he muttered, clearly flustered, eyes still not on you.

You just smiled, slow and indulgent. “I’ll go first, if it helps.” He didn’t respond, but you caught the way his shoulder tensed slightly, like he was bracing for something.

You let the words slip out, soft and intimate. “I really like body worship,” you said, watching him closely. “Giving, receiving. Slow, drawn out. Making someone feel like they’re sacred.”

That earned a reaction—barely a flicker in his expression, but it was there. His jaw shifted. His hands twitched. You could practically feel him trying not to react.

He cleared his throat, mumbling, “That’s pretty vanilla.”

You raised an eyebrow, unfazed. “Mm. I can be kinkier.” You shrugged like it was no big deal, but your eyes stayed locked on him, steady and inviting. “Come on. What’s yours?”

He hesitated, a long pause stretching out between you like something fragile and waiting. Then, finally, his voice came out—barely above a whisper.

“I think I like… being told what to do,” he said, not meeting your eyes, cheeks already flushed. “Not like, super hardcore stuff. Just… being guided. Pushed around a little.”

That made your breath hitch, just slightly. It was subtle, but it rippled through your chest like a shiver, sparked by the quiet confession he'd barely managed to get out. He hadn’t even looked at you when he said it—had barely whispered it like the words themselves were fragile—but they hit you like a brick.

You leaned in, slow and deliberate, your voice low enough that only he could hear, like you were handing him a secret in the dark. “You like being taken care of,” you murmured, letting the words linger in the space between you. Your smile deepened, soft and dangerous all at once. “And maybe… a little controlled?”

Skips made a sound—barely a groan, more like a breath catching on the edge of embarrassment—and dropped his face into his hands. His ears were burning red now, and his shoulders curled up like he could hide inside the blanket between you. “Why are you saying it like that—”

“Because you’re cute when you’re squirming,” you teased, nudging his knee with yours, tone playful but with just enough gravity to make your meaning clear. You didn’t need to push harder than that—he was already unraveling, just from this.

He didn’t answer immediately, just let out a breathy laugh into his hands, muffled and helpless. But he didn’t pull away. Didn’t shift back. If anything, his body leaned a little closer to yours, like he didn’t want to admit how much the tension was affecting him—but couldn’t help but give in to it anyway.

You watched him for a second, just breathing him in—the nervous fidgeting, the flushed skin, the way his knee brushed yours and didn’t move. He was trying so hard to hold on to his composure, and he was failing in the prettiest way.

You reached up, slowly, gently curling your fingers around his wrists—his skin warm under your touch, pulse fluttering beneath your thumb. He froze for a moment but didn’t resist, letting you guide his hands away from his face like you were peeling back the last layer of hesitation between you. And there he was. His cheeks were flushed—soft, warm, unmistakably golden under the porch light, like the glow had settled into his skin. His eyes flicked up to meet yours, wide and uncertain, but so full of something you’d both been pretending not to notice for weeks now. Maybe longer. You stared at him for a beat, mouth parting, breath catching at the sight of him—so shy, so exposed, and still not pulling away.

“…You’re really pretty,” you whispered. It slipped out like breath, like instinct, like the truth had been on your tongue for too long and finally decided to fall out on its own.

His eyes widened just slightly, like the words stunned him. Like they struck some small, hidden place inside him that didn’t know how to handle softness. His lips parted in surprise, and he opened his mouth to say something—but nothing came out. He looked at you like you’d cracked something open in him. Like no one had said it quite like that before. Or maybe no one had said it and meant it. The air around you was thick now, tense but tender, full of things that didn’t need to be said. You could hear both of your breathing. You could feel the way your knees touched, the way the heat between you had slowly gone from playful to something that throbbed at the base of your spine.

You didn’t move. You didn’t need to. Because Skips did.

He leaned in—tentative at first, still testing the gravity between you, still not totally convinced this was real. His hand found your thigh, warm and trembling just slightly, grounding himself. His other hand hovered by your cheek, fingers twitching with hesitation before brushing against your jaw with the gentlest touch, like you might vanish if he grabbed too tightly. Then he kissed you. Soft. Sweet. Careful, like a question asked in the dark. Like a secret shared between two people who’d been tiptoeing toward each other for far too long.

You didn’t hesitate. You kissed him back with everything you’d been holding back—slow, full, sure. His lips were warm and plush, a little unsure, but they moved with yours like he’d thought about this before. Dreamed about it. Maybe even replayed it in his head late at night, just like you had.

His hand tightened slightly on your thigh, and you shifted closer, your hand sliding up his arm to rest against his chest. You could feel his heart beating fast, matching your own, both of you caught in something that wasn’t just a kiss—it was everything you hadn’t said finally collapsing into touch. Your fingers moved without thought, instinct taking over as your hand slid up the side of his neck and into his hair—dark, soft, slightly messy from the way he kept nervously running his hands through it all night. You buried your fingers there, gently at first, but then you gripped tighter, tugging just enough to test him.

That was when he groaned—quiet, caught off guard, and pressed right against your mouth. The sound vibrated into you like a shiver, low and breathy, full of surprise and need. It wasn’t loud, but it was honest. His lips faltered against yours for a heartbeat, like the sensation short-circuited something in him, and then he kissed you harder, leaning into your body, like he wanted to melt into your skin. You swallowed the noise he made, greedy for more.

The kiss deepened—slow, but messier now, less careful. He was still shy, still flushed, but your touch seemed to pull something out of him. Something he didn’t know how to name. Like your fingers in his hair unlocked a door he hadn’t meant to open just yet. You tugged again, just slightly, watching how his breath hitched, how his hands tightened on your thighs as though to anchor himself.

And god, that sound.

He eased you back with a gentle press, and the moment your body gave way, darkness swept over you like a velvet tide. You barely registered the shift—only the plush give of something soft cradling your spine. Still, you hadn’t let go of him. Not yet. It felt too good, too overwhelming, like a fever you didn’t want to break.

You whimpered when he pulled away from your mouth, but he didn’t go far—only dipped lower, lips grazing your neck with heat and hunger. The sound you made was involuntary, a breathy moan that escaped before you could stop it. Still, the pause gave your eyes a moment to wander, adjusting to the dim glow bleeding through strands of shadow.

You recognized it now—this realm, this oddly intimate bubble of space. The same pocket dimension where you first crossed paths with him under the alias xxxshadowlord420xxx. Only now, the void had been furnished with personality: band posters clung to the dark walls like relics from a forgotten era—emo names only the most online would remember. A dented CD rack leaned drunkenly in the corner, stuffed to the brim. An old computer hummed in the corner, its desktop a cluttered mosaic of downloads and chaotic nostalgia. The place reeked of teenage angst and digital sanctuary. An emo bedroom, unmistakably his.

And yet, even with your back against what might’ve been a mattress and your gaze trailing across the cluttered shrine of who he was, your hands remained hooked around him, refusing to let go.

“Fuck…” you breathed, the word slipping out in a shaken whisper as his teeth sank into your skin. A sharp sting bloomed beneath the surface, and your fingers instinctively tangled in his shadowy hair. Sensing your jolt, he eased the pressure, his lips softening as he pressed a gentle kiss to the same spot, a quiet apology written in heat and tenderness. The contrast—the bite and then the balm—made your pulse thrum in your throat, your body caught somewhere between ache and surrender.

Your fingers trailed languidly through the silken strands of his raven locks, each tooth releasing from the tender flesh of his scalp as your hand began its retreat. The air felt cool and foreign against your dampened fingertips as they descended, a whisper of sensation lingering in their wake. Gently, almost reverently, your palm cupped the growing heat of his arousal, the hard length of him twitching against your touch like a brand of living steel. His breath, once ragged and desperate, began to slow and steady as he buried his face into the crook of your shoulder, the warmth of your skin and the scent of your essence seeming to soothe the ragged edges of his hunger. The room fell silent save for the soft, shuddering inhales and exhales that ghosted over your collarbone, a haunting melody of sated desire and lingering need.

In a flurry of eager hands and rustling fabric, you and Skips worked to divest him of his shirt, the garment falling away to reveal his toned, gray-skinned torso. Your eyes widened slightly as they fell upon the glint of metal adorning his nipples - a pair of intricate, circular barbells that caught the dim light, their surface a darker shade of gray than his natural skin tone. A smirk played at the corners of your mouth, a teasing glint sparkling in your eyes as you took in the sight of the piercings.

"Spicy…" You murmured, your voice laced with playful mischief. A pretty blush crept across Skips' cheeks, the rare display of color on his pallid skin only serving to make him look more alluring. He ducked his head, trying to hide the way his ears burned, but you could see the pleased smile tugging at his lips beneath his unkempt hair. It seemed your approval meant more to him than he let on, his body language betraying a hint of the vulnerability hidden beneath his usual aloof exterior.

You leaned back against the headboard, taking a moment to fully appreciate Skips' newly exposed form. Your gaze drifted over the tantalizing sight of his nipple piercings, the glint of metal a delicious contrast to his smooth, gray skin. You followed the line of his happy trail, the narrow path of hair that disappeared beneath the waistband of his trousers, drawing your eye downwards. Your breath caught slightly as your attention was caught by the growing bulge at his crotch, his arousal evident and impressive even through the fabric.

As you drank in every detail of Skips' appearance, you saw his expression shift, a becoming blush staining his fair skin. He ducked his head shyly, trying to hide the way his ears burned beneath the tousled fall of his hair. "Please, don't look at me like that..." Skips murmured, his usual bravado deserting him in the face of your blatant admiration. There was a rare vulnerability in his eyes as he peeked up at you from beneath sooty lashes, a hint of the man beneath the "cool" facade. It was clear your gaze affected him deeply, igniting a warmth within him that had little to do with lust.

"I can't help it, you're breathtaking," you murmured, your voice low and heavy with admiration. As if drawn by an invisible force, your hand began to explore the expanse of Skips' chest, your fingers trailing up to gently pinch and roll his pierced nipple between them. The action elicited a sharp gasp from Skips, his breath escaping him in a shuddering pant as your lips began their own sensual journey across his skin.

You peppered his neck with tender kisses, your mouth mapping the column of his throat with a reverence that made Skips' pulse jump beneath your lips. You traced the line of his collarbone with the tip of your tongue before dipping lower, your kisses trailing downwards until you reached his other nipple. Skips arched into your touch with a low, drawn-out moan, the sound rumbling from his chest like distant thunder. His skin was hot and smooth beneath your mouth, the metal of his piercing cool in contrast. You lingered there for a moment, laving the sensitive bud with attention until Skips was writhing on top of you, his body thrumming with pleasure and need.

As your teasing touches and tender kisses inflamed Skips' desire, you felt him begin to move against you with increasing urgency. He ground his hips into your thigh, the rough denim of his jeans creating a delicious friction that made him gasp and shudder. His movements grew more insistent, almost desperate, as he rutted against you like a dog in heat. The evidence of his arousal was unmistakable, the hard, thick line of his cock straining against the confines of his trousers as he sought more of that maddening pressure.

At the same time, Skips' fingers tightened in your hair, gripping the strands with a fervor that bordered on pain. He used the grip to pull you closer, to crush your lips more firmly against his chest, demanding more of your touch. His breath came in hot, ragged pants, the sound of his increasingly labored breathing filling your ears as he lost himself in the haze of sensation.

As your lips and fingers retreated from Skips' now-tender nipples, a sound of protest escaped him - a needy whine that caught in his throat, his body arching upwards as if to chase your touch. You could feel the frustration radiating off him, his skin prickling with goosebumps and his muscles coiled tight with tension. But there was no time to linger on his discomfort, not when the evidence of his arousal was so prominent, so urgently demanding attention.

With a shared look of playful conspirator, you and Skips set to work divesting him of the last of his clothing. Your deft fingers made quick work of his belt, the leather strap slipping free of its loops with a soft clink. At the same time, Skips' own hands fumbled with his zipper, the metal teeth parting ways with a hiss as he wrenched the denim open. Together, you both tugged and wriggled, Skips lifting his hips to aid in the process as he shimmied out of the constrictive jeans. The tight fabric resisted for a moment before giving way, the dark denim sliding down his legs to pool around his ankles. Soft giggles escaped your lips at the slightly comedic moment.

You leaned in, your lips brushing against the damp fabric of Skips' boxers, feeling the intense heat radiating from his straining erection. "Penumbra..." he gasped, his voice thick with need as you lavished his most sensitive area with gentle kisses. Your eyes flicked up to meet his, and he found himself drowning in the depths of your gaze - a swirling mix of love and lust that made his heart clench and his cock throb with anticipation.

Unable to resist any longer, you peeled his boxers down, freeing his impressive length from its cotton prison. It sprang up, slapping against his stomach, the thick shaft flushed a deep, angry red and leaking with desire. Before Skips could even process the sudden exposure, you had already wrapped your lips around his cock, your mouth engulfing his aching flesh in a warm, slick embrace.

A guttural moan tore from Skips' throat, his head leaning back as his hips jerked upwards, driving himself deeper into your mouth. His fingers tightened in your hair, gripping the strands with a desperate intensity as he fought the urge to thrust, to fuck your face with wild abandon.

Heeding Skips' desperate plea, you took him a few tantalizing inches deeper, your lips stretching to accommodate his generous girth. You could feel the thick, pulsing heat of him throbbing against your tongue as you began to bob your head, taking him in and then pulling back, setting a steady rhythm. The musky, slightly bitter taste of his arousal flooded your senses, a heady elixir that made your head swim and your core clench with desire.

Your fingers gripped the base of his shaft, pumping in time with the movement of your mouth, stroking the velvety skin that was so hard and yet so sensitive. You could feel every ridge, every vein, the unique map of his desire etched into the hot flesh beneath your fingertips. Skips' breath grew harsher, his chest rising and falling more rapidly as you worked him with lips and tongue and hand, stoking the flames of his lust ever higher.

"oooooh, fuck! Penumbra!" he let out a needy groan. "I'm—I'm about to erupt—!"

Skips' hips began to move with increasing urgency, no longer able to hold back as he fucked into the warm, welcoming haven of your mouth. His grip on your hair turned almost punishing as he set a relentless pace, his cock driving in and out, in and out, the thick length plunging past your lips and hitting the back of your throat with each powerful thrust. You could feel the tension coiling tighter and tighter in his body, his muscles drawn taut like a bowstring ready to snap.

With a roar that was equal parts pleasure and agony, Skips slammed his hips forward one final time, burying himself to the hilt in the clutch of your throat. At the same moment, his cock jerked and pulsed, the thick shaft throbbing as it unleashed a torrent of hot, bitter seed directly down your gullet. You had only a split second to prepare before the first spurt of his release flooded your mouth, the sheer volume of it catching you off guard.

You tried your best to swallow it down, to gulp and swallow and breathe through your nose as Skips emptied himself into you, his cum shooting out in seemingly endless ropes of thick, viscous fluid. But it was too much, too fast, and you found coughing out his essences, pulling back.

"Oh—Oh, my god—I am so sorry—" He gently held your shoulders as you continued to cough out, "Are you okay?"

“No—” you choked on your own breath, coughing once before forcing a laugh. “—It’s fine! Never been better.” Your voice wavered just enough to betray you, even as that lovesick grin stretched across your face. It looked dreamy—almost dazed—like someone high on affection and denial all at once.

“God, you look insane.” He laughed, breathless and amused. You laughed too, cheeks warm as you tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear, trying to compose yourself.

“Uhm…” You glanced away for a moment, your eyes flickering toward the floor before returning to him. “Wanna keep going?”

“Re—Really?” His eyes widened slightly, lips parted in quiet surprise. “A—Are you sure?”

“Yeah…” you murmured, fingertips drifting gently across his bare chest, feeling the heat of his skin and the thrum of his heartbeat beneath it. “I still have some stamina…”

His hand found yours, holding it in place for a second longer. “Well… I do wanna make you feel good this time…”

You smiled softly. “Yeah?”

He nodded, voice low. “Yeah…”

“Uhm… so what do you wanna do to me?” you asked, shifting where you sat, trying to sound casual despite the heat creeping up your neck.

“Oh! Uhm…” He fumbled for words, eyes darting away before returning to you with hesitant boldness. “I was hoping you’d…”

You leaned in slightly, your voice low and teasing. “I’d…?”

His breath hitched. “Sit on my face.”

The moment hung suspended—his face blooming a bright, embarrassed yellow, like someone caught in a dream he didn’t expect to say out loud. His ears twitched. Yours probably burned.

You looked him up and down, biting your lip as if already tasting the thought. A soft giggle escaped you before your hands slid to his shoulders, pulling him down onto the mattress with ease. The room shifted with your movements, and in seconds, you were on top—straddling him, your thighs framing his hips, confidence glinting in your eyes like a dare.

You leaned down and crashed your mouth against his, lips dragging with a greedy, open-mouthed hunger. Your tongue lapped at his, not so much a kiss as a claim—fast, wet, and messy. His breath hitched sharply beneath you as your teeth scraped his bottom lip, and you swallowed the sound he made. Hands gripped, clutched, pulled—neither of you caring about finesse, just the heat, the urgency, the ache of wanting more.

You quickly slipped your shorts down your legs, kicking them off to the side. You were left in nothing but your damp panties, the flimsy fabric clinging to your aching sex, a testament to your own arousal. His hands were already reaching for you, his fingers slipping beneath the elastic of your panties with a sense of urgency. "Eager…" You teased yet obeyed his desire.

you hooked your thumbs into the waistband of your drenched panties and shimmied out of them, the flimsy fabric sliding down your legs to pool on the bed beside you. Baring yourself fully to Skips' heated gaze, you swung your leg over to straddle his face, your dripping sex now hovering mere inches above his lips.

Skips' eyes darkened with lust as he took in the glorious sight of your naked, glistening folds, the heady aroma of your arousal filling his nostrils. His hands gripped your thighs, long fingers splaying over the smooth skin as he held you steady, positioning you exactly where he wanted you.

You bit your lip, a thrill of anticipation and a flicker of nervousness dancing in your eyes as you gazed down at Skips' dark, intense gaze. "Ready?" you whispered, your voice breathy and laden with desire.

Skips eagerly nodded, his eyes blazing with a feral hunger that made your pulse jump. He didn't wait for you to lower yourself to him, but instead, he surprised you with a sudden, forceful tug on your thighs. Skips demonstrated an astonishing strength as he easily pulled you down, your dripping sex slamming against his waiting mouth with a lewd, obscene sound. His lips parted instantly, his tongue delving between your folds to lap at your dripping essence with a desperate, almost starving fervor.

"Oh!" you gasped, your back arching as a jolt of pleasure shot through you. Skips' tongue was relentless, stroking and delving, teasing your sensitive flesh with a skill that left you breathless. He seemed determined to taste every drop of your arousal, to drink his fill of your nectar until he was sated. Your hesitation melted away as he feasted on your sex, his mouth and tongue and lips working in tandem to stoke the flames of your desire ever higher. The sensation of his mouth on your aching, needy body was almost too much to bear, the intensity of it stealing your breath and making your head spin.

Your fingers tangled almost desperately in Skips' long, silky hair, gripping the dark strands as if your life depended on it. Broken gasps and wanton moans spilled from your lips, interspersed with breathless pleas and curses. "Fuck, Skips..." you panted, your voice ragged and raw with desire. "Fuck, yes, just like that..."

Skips needed no further encouragement. He doubled his efforts, plunging his tongue deep into your dripping channel with a newfound fervor. He fucked your cunt with a wild abandon, his tongue pumping in and out, stroking your most sensitive spots with a skill that left you seeing stars. The obscene sound of his mouth working over your sex filled the room, punctuated by your increasingly high-pitched cries of ecstasy.

At the same time, Skips' hands roamed your body, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of your ass, kneading and squeezing, urging you to grind yourself against his face. His thumbs brushed over your clit, circling and teasing the swollen nub, sending jolts of electricity zinging up your spine.

You ground your dripping sex against Skips' face with wild abandon, your hips undulating in a primal dance as old as time itself. Your chest heaved with each ragged, desperate breath, the rise and fall of your breasts matching the relentless rhythm of Skips' tongue plunging into your aching core. You bit your lip hard enough to leave a mark, your teeth sinking into the tender flesh as you struggled to muffle the wanton moans and cries that threatened to spill from your throat.

Your fingers tightened their grip on Skips' hair, fisting the silky strands as you held his face flush against your dripping folds. You could feel the scrape of his stubble against your inner thighs, the slight abrasion a delicious contrast to the slick slide of his tongue as it fucked your cunt with a wild, almost punishing fervor. Your body moved of its own accord, grinding and rolling, chasing the pleasure that only Skips could give you. 

You could feel your thighs beginning to tremble and quake beneath Skips' skilled ministrations, the muscles fluttering and tensing as your climax approached. Skips, ever attuned to your body's every reaction, could sense your impending release long before you had to utter a word. His obsidian eyes flicked up to meet yours, blazing with a dark, triumphant intensity as he redoubled his efforts, spurred on by the knowledge that he had brought you to the brink of ecstasy.

With a low, approving growl that vibrated through you, Skips plunged his tongue even deeper into your dripping cunt. He fucked your channel with a wild, almost feral intensity, his tongue pumping in and out, stroking your most sensitive spots with a breathtaking skill that left you seeing stars. At the same time, his lips sealed around your clit, suckling the swollen nub with a hunger that bordered on desperation. He teased the underside with the tip of his tongue, flicking and circling, before closing his lips and suckling harder, determined to drink down every last drop of your release.

"Fuck! Skiiippsss!" You cried out, your voice dissolving into a drawn-out, keening wail as your orgasm crashed over you like a tidal wave. Your body convulsed, back arching sharply as pleasure exploded through every nerve ending, setting your skin ablaze and your heart pounding. Skips' fingers dug into the flesh of your ass, holding you in place as he relentlessly worked you through your climax, his tongue never pausing in its relentless assault on your spasming sex.

Warm, molten heat flooded your core as your walls clenched and fluttered around Skips' plundering muscle, gripping it like a velvet vise. Your thighs trembled violently, quaking and jerking as you rode out the intense waves of your release. Broken sobs and gasps tumbled from your lips, punctuated by the shameless grinding of your hips, your body instinctively seeking to prolong the mind-blowing ecstasy that Skips had unleashed within you.

Skips drank down your essence greedily, his lips and tongue and chin slick with your dripping arousal. He seemed determined to taste every last drop, to swallow down your pleasure until he was drunk on it, addicted to the flavor of your desire.

With your legs still trembling from the aftershocks of your intense climax, you forced yourself to unstraddle Skips' face. You collapsed onto the bed beside him, your chest heaving as you fought to catch your breath, your skin glistening with a sheen of perspiration. You turned your head to the side, your eyes widening as you took in the debauched sight of Skips' face—his chin and lips slick with your dripping arousal, his obsidian eyes glazed and unfocused from the thorough tongue-lashing he had just given you.

"Holy fuck..." you breathed, your voice ragged and raw from your cries of ecstasy. Skips' chest rose and fell rapidly beside you, his own breathing labored from the exertion of his enthusiastic ministrations. A few stray strands of his long, dark hair clung to his face, plastered there by the slick evidence of your shared passion. The sight of him, the raw, primal intensity etched into every line and curve of his cum-drunk features, sent a fresh shiver of desire rippling through your sated body. You knew you should say something more, something profound or poetic, but all you could manage was a breathless, awestruck… "Hi…"

Skips let out a low, boyish giggle, his voice still thick with leftover heat. “Hey…”

You turned your head slightly toward him. “That was…” you exhaled, your lips curving into a hazy smile, “really nice. Amazing, even… You were really good.” Your voice came out soft, awestruck, like you were still floating somewhere between reality and whatever place he had just taken you to.

Skips leaned in and kissed you, and instantly, you tasted yourself on his lips—a lingering reminder of everything that had just happened. But this time, it wasn’t rushed or frantic. It wasn’t driven by need. How could it be, when you’d already had him, already reached that high together. No—this kiss was different. It was slow, tender. His lips moved against yours like he was savoring you now, not devouring. It was soft. Loving. Like he was kissing you not just because he could—but because he wanted to stay in this moment just a little longer.

“I’ll get you a towel,” he murmured, voice low and still a little breathless. He sat up from the bed, muscles shifting under his skin as he reached over to a nearby drawer. He pulled out a towel, but before handing it to you, he brought one corner to his mouth, wiping the slick from his lips—your slick—from earlier. The motion was unhurried, almost casual, but something about it felt intimate… Reverent. Like he wasn’t trying to erase what happened, just tidy the edges of something already perfect.

He walked over to you, the towel still warm in his hands, and knelt between your legs with a gentleness that contrasted the intensity from before. Carefully, he wiped the glistening mess from your thighs—your release still slick against your skin. His touch was tender, almost reverent, as if he didn’t want to make you flinch or break the moment’s quiet. Once he was done, he leaned in, giving you a soft, lingering peck on the lips—not rushed, not demanding, just a quiet kiss that said everything without needing a single word.

"I think I love you."

I hope you enjoy!! I literally forgot about his tongue-piercing and I cried when I found out.

[batsandbirdbrains]

oooh ok angstier take on the ask you got about dick knowing more stuff and the others assuming bruce trained him more:

Dick was a professional athlete before he even came to the manor. He had skills and training, and he would have easily been able to keep up his athleticism at the manor, which makes his transition into becoming Robin incredibly smooth. He was also taught by the members of the circus how to do cool shit that even Batman can’t do. He can contort himself into odd shapes to get out of traps, he has near perfect aim with batarangs, he can fly, he can balance himself while walking upside down on a tightrope, he’s great at making people feel relaxed or entertained, he can speak a plethora of languages, and he’s great with math/physics.

So when Dick becomes Robin, it isn’t exactly a mentor/mentee relationship that Bruce and Dick have. It’s more of a “I’ll teach you this if you teach me that.” They’re partners, not a hero and sidekick. Then along the way, Dick gets a little more training from the Justice League. He gets some pointers from Selina. Hell, even Talia gives him a few tips (under the guise of mocking criticism). Then he becomes Renegade, and he trains under Slade and Wintergreen and Lady Shiva. Dick is almost ridiculously overskilled. Bruce treats his as a close friend/colleague in the field.

Then Dick gets shot, and Bruce loses the trust he had in Dick’s ability to do the job. He’s reminded that at the end of the day, no matter how skilled Dick is, he’s still a kid. He tries to take away Robin, and ends up losing Dick along the way.

But then Jason comes along, and sure he’s smart and resourceful, but he’s also skinny, malnourished, and he thinks of Robin as magic. Like I’m not saying his mindset was wrong necessarily, but Dick was a professional athlete and treated Robin like a job, because before Robin he actually had a job (as a Flying Grayson). Anyways, there’s a huge learning gap for Jason, and Bruce is starting to realize that while Dick may have been able to pick up on moves/training easily, that didn’t mean everyone else would. So he slows down the training and tries to figure out what to teach Jason. He focuses most on how to escape traps, how to fight, and how to fly. Bruce is really starting to realize the difference between Dick and Jason, because he hadn’t realized how many things Dick just innately knew how to do without Bruce’s help, and Bruce has no idea how the hell he’s supposed to teach Jason things he barely knows how to do. He never figures it out, either, because Jason dies.

Bruce is reluctant to take in Tim as Robin, but does so once the boy promises to keep up with the training before going out in the field. Bruce is relentless, bordering on cruel, with the training he gives Tim. He can’t give Tim the skills Dick has, but he can make Tim hone his own skills until they’re perfect. He thinks it works, too. Until Tim is captured by Joker. Until Dick is sitting on the floor beside a corpse, hands bloodied, horrified by what he’s done. Until Bruce has to resuscitate a monster to save his son.

Tim leaves, and then comes along Steph. He’s even harsher with her than he was Tim, because he cannot lose another kid. He loses her anyway.

When Damian comes, he has skill and knowledge, but Bruce refuses to give him any more training beyond what Damian already has. He doesn’t want to encourage Damian’s….bloodthirsty tendencies. But when Bruce comes back from the timestream, Damian is mirror image of Dick’s Robin. Somehow, he had cultivated the skills and expertise that Dick has, and then some.

Bruce doesn’t really understand the gravity of the situation until one night, when Dick has to use a gun and knife instead of his escrima, and pulls off increasingly impressive trick shots and acrobatic forms while taking down goons non-lethally. He can see the tension in Jason, Tim, and Steph, but he doesn’t really understand it until they get back to the cave, and suddenly he has them yelling at him and Dick. Jason is quite possibly the loudest, saying that it’s bullshit that Bruce blames him for dying when Bruce clearly gave Dick better training and about how Dick is the favorite. Tim chimes in about how Dick was spoiled and it isn’t fair that Bruce is so hard on the rest of them when he hadn’t put as much effort into training them. Steph is quiet since her first exclamation of “Holy fuck!” but he can see her ,out of the corner of his eye, staring at Dick with furrowed brows. And Dick? He’s upset, because half of the shit that was taught to him was taught to him by his first family, by the circus, by the people he had lost all at once, and fuck them for thinking Bruce “spoiled” him. He’s also upset because a good portion of the skills he had just displayed were taught to him against his will when he was Renegade.

Idk how this would really end but I imagine they’re all upset and then Bruce voices his confusion, Dick probably storms out, and the others are starting to realize they have the wrong idea.

I want this to be when Dick finally loses it. Because people enough of as family clearly know fuck all about him, and they’re calling him spoiled when he’s had to work for everything he has literally his entire life.

But him losing it isn’t loud. It isn’t shouting or yelling or arguing. It’s cold, quiet fury. It’s a blank expression on his face.

But when they start insulting Damian too?

Dick throws one of his weapons so hard across the cave it breaks a glass display case of one of their old uniforms. It silences everyone. They’ve all turned to stare at him, finally noticing the anger rolling off of him in waves.

“You’re the ones acting like spoiled little shits,” he tells them, his voice low. “We’re supposed to be detectives. You’re doing a shit job at showing it.”

No one speaks, the air is tense, they don’t even feel like they can’t take a full breath.

“Come on, Damian,” Dick says, holding out his hand. “Let’s go.”

The two of them storm out, Damian clinging to Dick’s hand, then turning to glare at the others before he faces forward again and presses close to Dick’s side.

[ptej1980]

Sorry not sorry…

Well it looks like I stirred up a hornets nest with my last post, and now all the toddlers are having a tantrum and throwing their toys out of their cots.

Like I have always said…my blog my opinion…if you don’t like it scroll on by, block, ignore. Whatever. But ( and I am speaking to all the anon asks) if you are going to throw your tantrums go and play in your own sandpits with the other sub fandom trolls. I know there are not as many friends to play with…but honestly no one wants to hear it.

So just one more time minions in the back. Luke and 🐜 are not a couple. Jake and Nic are not a couple. There is a lot of evidence to support this. I believe (so do many others) that Luke and Nicola are married and have a child, and again there is evidence to support this.

Facts!!!

We have never seen any true real chemistry between either couple like we have with Lukola in real life. Neither couple have claimed each other, the tabloids and SM trash have done it for you.

Luke has not tagged, posted ( except 1 PR hidden pic) or shared any mention of 🐜 in the supposed 18 months of dating. Actually has gone to great lengths in scrubbing any mention of her from his SM presence and Wiki. The events this year that she has just started popping up at are always in your face forced PR that has ended up hurting Luke more than helping, but still she gets rolled out, why? She is not allowed to post him or even herself at these events, not even a story post from Wimbledon? Don’t you think it is Odd? One tiny little in the vicinity post of a concert 18 months after they were supposed to have started dating?

Ooooh must be love sounds like the perfect relationship NOT! What it sounds like is someone being forced into a contract to do something they do not want to do. Whichever way you look at it. 🐜 gets trolled, Luke losing followers, even though she is getting her name out there. People still are not liking her.

Nic and JD…well something else entirely. He I think has always been a friend and she over the years has been shipped with gay men. The tabloids thought she was dating Laurie Krystan for ages. If people are blind to the facts that JD is a queer man well that is on them. He in this whole situation has actually come out of it quite well, with publicity, followers and his whole army of supporters. I have no hate for him, as I think he was a key distraction for Lukola when they needed it most.

Luke and Nic have been flirting and showing signs since they met. No shade to Jade at all, but I think that the distance and long time separated plus the connection between Lukola, plus I am pretty sure she also started dating her co-star from the musical she was in, were factors to them breaking up.

What everyone, not just us, but cast, crew, media, saw from Lukola during season 3 the WT, SAGs and beyond it has become clear that they were more than just friends. I mean their hug at the SAGs went viral, was shared over 700k times and had more than 6million views…For a HUG!. It came from their own mouths, they slipped up several times in interviews. The unhinged behaviour, touch’s, looks, ring, Polaroid, audio book. Omg the list goes on. There is so much evidence for Lukola and BN and not a scrap of crumbs for 🐜

And you know 🐜 will probably show up in NYC…as much as we will hate it. The fandom is already being baited as 🐜 has followed 6 new NYC based dance studios but am I bothered? NO. Does it worry me that sienna has posted about NY, ummm no.

In the end what we see and what we have seen between Luke and Nic and there adjacents is enough to give me confidence. For whatever reason they seem to be sticking around, and nothing makes sense. I will be Lukola till the day I day. Well until either of them come out with a statement to contrary and somehow I can not see that happening.

What I predict is that we will know before season 4 because I think it was written in to bridgerton as it came out in an article recently about “Penelope’s children”.

Stay sturdy. All in time will reveal! And do not worry about any adjacent noise, it is what it is..just noise and distraction.

💛🐝 Peta Xxx

[wangxianficfinder]

Fic Finder

July 15th

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1. Hi you find a new fic for me. I remember reading it only last week. Its a WIP, There were only two chapters at that time. It started off with sect leaders talking that Wei wuxian is found is dongying and then flashback to lwj arriving to Burial Mounds saying he has a broad road for wwx. Something along that line. I forgot to book mark and I searched over and over. I couldn't find it now. @sunshinesnow

The first fic is The song beyond silence by aurora strands. I found it myself already . It's a locked fic . Tats why I couldn't find it later, from another unlogged device

FOUND!🔒The Song beyond Silence by Aurora_Strands (M, 24k, WIP, WangXian, Golden Core Transfer Fix-It, Golden Core Reveal, BAMF WWX, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, POV Alternating, Confessions)

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2. Hello! There was this wangxian fic though I don’t remember what happens though and there was a side story where xxc and sl were married and xxc was a doctor. I believe the wangxian were also involved with the hospital bc either one was being treated. XXC was an eye doctor and treating A-Qing and eventually adopts her. There was also a younger xy who becomes infatuated by xxc, and later xxc and sl reveal they have an open relationship. XY wasn’t a bad guy in the fic too and at first he pretended like he didn’t like the softness and intimacy though he gradually accepted love given to him. Thank you so much for all your hard work!

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3. hello! thanks for all your help finding fics! i'm looking for a story I read on ao3 where emperor lwj has to pick a consort so there's a big contest between a bunch of eligible people. the last test is a maze with puzzles/escape rooms and wwx gets grabbed and shoved in there with no warning since he's not officially a candidate. wwx gets past the puzzles very quickly and I think someone may have tried to kill him while he was inside. when wwx stumbles out, lwj chooses him to marry but wwx has to duel someone right there in the throne room for some reason before wangxian can be together. I think it has either omega wwx or female wwx.

FOUND? 🔒 The Imperial Jewel by Serinah (E, 39k, WangXian, Emperor and his concubine, Dubious Consent,bExtreme at first, gets better, A/B/O, omega wwx,bAlpha LWJ, Concubine WWX, Emperor LWJ, Oblivious Wwx, wwx’s pov, Mutual Pining, Angst and Feels, Deviates From Canon, WWX has a golden core, but still practices dark arts, WWX exchanges his life for the Wens’, other differences, UST, S/D, undrenegotiated kink, Orgasm Denial, Multiple Orgasms,bOther kinks, WWX likes spanking, Smut and Feels, fucking while pining, noncon, for the beginning of the first scene, It Gets Better, starts smutty, gets plotty, ends lovely, Feels, Power Imbalance, Public Sex)

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4. Hello! I’m looking for a fic I’ve misplaced where wwx time travels back to the thirteen years when he was dead. It’s from Sizhui’s perspective and WWX has him and jingyi go steal his journals from LWJ’s floor. LWJ and WWX talk before WWX goes back to his time (wwx Huns wangxian to prove it’s him) and WWX tells him to wait for him a little longer. I can go into more detail, I remember everything about it but the title lol. Thank you!

FOUND? Less Than Two Years by maniafic, wenqing (maniafic) (T, 5k, WangXian, Time Travel, Post-Canon, but also canon divergent in an alternate universe though, Minor Angst, mostly wwx confusing the kids)

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5. Hey! I hope you're well! I'm searching for this fic, All i remember is its not Wangxian, and i guess WWX killed Jin Guangshan or something, giving a warning. then for years wen remnants lived peacefully. but WWX grow old and bcz of previous injuries he was having problem in standing or picking up A-yuan. in the end A-yuan takes over the Burial mounds and yiling after WWX's death @let-it-be-rainbow

FOUND? Yiling Patriarch, The Bloodthirsty Monster by HeloSoph (G, 7k, WWX & Wen remnants, BAMF WWX, YLLZ WWX, WWX Gets a Happy Ending, Character Death, Happy Ending, Violence, Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Sad and Sweet)

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6. hello! i've read this fic quite a while ago so hopefully this explanation makes sense? modern au wangxian where they go to wwx's side of the family for jy!'s birthday(if im not wrong??) and while they are there, wwx gets bashed (kind of) from madam yu and other relatives. also, wwx is an artist/painter and gifted jyl a painting and the other relatives suddenly want to commission from him

FOUND? ❤️ the best of you by sysrae (E, 42k, WangXian, Modern, College/University, Angst with a Happy Ending, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Mutual Pining, JC’s expressive love language is yelling, Getting Together, slightly undernegotiated kink, but in a very soft and consensual way, Nightmares, the mortifying ordeal of wanting your boyfriend to top you, Panic Attacks, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, JFM and YZY’s A+ parenting, sad childhood backstories and the unlocking thereof, Dysfunctional Family, sometimes love is telling your partner they can safeword out of being at a family gathering, Mental Health Issues, therapy is good actually, JC is a ball of Issues, the most tender of railings, Reference to animal attacks/animal cruelty, descriptions of past violence, Mojo’s post)

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7. Hi! Okay so I’m

Looking for a fic that I’m pretty sure is roughly about 40 chapters long. And I remember some key scenes but pretty much it’s set after the canon events but Wei ying comes back in his original body and is slowly regaining all the injuries his body had at the time of death. He’s in charge of the Jiang sect bc Jiang Cheng is helping Jin Ling run his sect.

I remember there being a disease and a tidal wave? And Mo Xuanyu being a ghost and had used a ritual to bring Wei ying back but was under the impression that Wei ying still had his core. Causing the injuries coming back. @lexgetdowntobusiness

FOUND? 🔒 Twelve Moons and a Fortnight by stiltonbasket (M, 290k, WangXian, Post-Canon Fix-It, Love Letters, Family Feels, ft. the yunmeng bros being bros, and the junior ducklings being precious, a-qing lives, Romantic Comedy, Case Fic, Politics, gratuitious social reform, as expected when wwx is left in charge of a government without supervision, Yunmeng Jiang Sect, Slow Burn, the burn is very fast actually wwx is just clueless, (slaps fic) this bad boy can fit so much worldbuilding in it, Sect Leader WWX, Accidental Baby Acquisition, Happy Ending, Russian Translation Available, [podfic] Twelve Moons and a Fortnight by stiltonbasket by daisydiversions)

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8. Hello, how are you? Hope you're well?

I'm looking for a fic in which Wei Wuxian, a woman, is given to Lan Zhan after the Sunshot campaign to be imprisoned. She was quite beaten up (had been with the Jin previously) and I remember that she had hidden the Yin Tiger Snulet in her matted hair

FOUND? prized above gold by Deisderium (M, 9k, WangXian, WIP, Dragon LWJ, Fox WWX, warprize WWX, YLLZ WWX, Post-Sunshot Campaign, Cisswap)

FOUND?🔒flowers from ash by hauntedotamatone (E, 27k, WIP, Female WangXian, Canon Divergence, Post-Sunshot Campaign, Rule 63, Captivity, Hurt/Comfort, Recovery, Bathing/Washing, Past Character Death, Protective LWJ, Cunnilingus, Sharing a Bed, Grief/Mourning, WangXian Get a Happy Ending, Canon-Typical Violence, Past Child Abuse, Getting Together, Touch-Starved WWX, Misogyny, they are both a little unhinged here, canon typical extended flashbacks, Genius WWX, Non-Penetrative Sex) I think 8 is probably this one, I remember the tiger tally detail from here.

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9. Hello. Looking for a fic where jiang cheng joined the siege in order to save wei wuxian. They all thought wei wuxian died but he is currently in lotus pier. Thank you @passerby15

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10. hii i'm looking for a fic i don't think it's super long, probably not more than like five chapters. basically wangxian have sex and i think it was during the sunshot campaign bc they were in tents? and there's a misunderstanding and lwj thinks he raped wwx (idk if he was drunk and didn't remember or what), leaves wwx in shame and then jc finds out about it bc he comes into the tent i think and wwx is in tears and incomprehensible bc he thinks lwj abandoned him, so jc assumes the same, i think jyl finds out and maybe even the wens too? and then it just spirals. i think lxc and nmj also get involved and lxc has to punish lwj? but i don't think it ends up actually happening, i think they clear it up before hes actually punished. tysm for all your hard work!

FOUND? The Teapot Plot by ToxicAngel13 (M, 51k, Misunderstandings, protective Jiang siblings, Golden Core Reveal, Golden Core Transfer Fix-It, Idiots in Love, Post-Sunshot Campaign, Pre-Burial Mounds, Potential for M-Preg, Fix-It, Emotional Hurt/Comfort)

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11. hello. i need help finding a fanfic on ao3. it's about wei wuxian, lan yuan but he's a kid and jiang cheng. it's in the modern setting, jiang cheng teaches lan yuan to swim and wei wuxian watches them. from what i remember, wei wuxian and jiang cheng were swimmers and wei wuxian drowned and was afraid to swim again after that. thank you for what you do!!! @laura-101s

FOUND? the water is wide by detectorist (T, 5k, JC & WWX, WangXian, JC & LSZ, Modern, Established Relationship, Family History, Reunions, Light Angst, Mention of Death/Drowning, Panic Attacks, Family is complicated, it's about the SIBLINGS, Yunmeng Brothers Reconciliation, well…..sort of. they'll get there, the 'JC is great with kids actually' agenda)

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12. Hello, you are my last hope. I'm looking for a fic where omega WWX gets pregnant by LWJ in the demon slaughter cave but keeps it a secret. Wen Ning ends up giving Jiang cheng his Core and WWX gives birth to a little girl and gives her to the defan Wen family to protect while he goes and fight in the war. Nie Husaing and Jiang yanli helps WWX hide and protect his daughter and Xue Yang is a teenager who becomes WWX disciple and is looked after by yanli. WWX still does demonic cultivation. I hope that's enough detail. Thank you for all your hard work. X

FOUND? 🧡 Don’t Wanna Fall by nekojita (M, 111k, WangXian, Mpreg, A/B/O, Fix-it, Lots of pining, Angst with a happy ending, Canon Divergence, Child thief WN)

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13. Hi there

I'm looking for a fic it's modern a/B/o and Wei wuxian gets pregnant as a teenager and runs away to be with lan Zhan and they have lan yuan/suizhe. Jiang jeng becomes obsessed with wei wuxian as he thinks wei wuxian should have married him and is angry wei wuxian left the family and starts stalking him. Lan suizie and jing ling date which is how the families connect. Thank you for all your hard work

FOUND? Should be the deleted "Meant to be (but not the way I wanted)"

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14. Hi, I'm looking for a specific fic once again!

I didn't get to finish it and now I can't find it anymore.

It was a WangXian modern setting fic, where WWX went over to LWJ's house after a bad day or smth and LWJ noticed WWX wasn't feeling well. I remember WWX asking if LWJ's uncle is home and as he wasn't and wouldn't be for a while they got a bit spicy and at the very least kissed a lot.

I can't for the life of me remember what the fic was called so if anyone knows anything please do tell! TwT @pancakeshitdifferentat4am

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15. Hi there! I'm looking for a time travel fic where wwx goes back in time and iirc lwj goes back in time with him and the only scene I can remember is wwx sneaking into gusu (to presumably get the yin iron?) and then he leaves something like 'update your wards you idiots' painted on a rock or something in the back fields because he broke through them so easily. oh and he also sets the rabbits free from the cave.

FOUND? 🔒 Here With Me by iamwish (T, 58k, WangXian, Time Travel Fix-It, wwx turns this into a no war!au, Canon-Typical Violence, Period-Typical Homophobia, Bad Parent YZY, POV WWX, POV LWJ, POV JC, Somebody Lives/Not Everyone Dies, WWX Has PTSD, and also depression sometimes, Unreliable Narrator, (all of them))

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16. Hello! I'm looking for a fic where WWX turns the tiger tally into a bunny charm, is that ringing a bell for anyone? I think the reasoning is that he's expected to turn over the tiger tally to the Jin as part of a peace treaty and can't let its power into JGS's hands. Possibly time travel was involved, it is 3:52 AM and the thought of this fic wouldn't leave my mind until I'd at least tried to see if anyone else had heard of this. Anywho, thanks for reading this request!

NOT FOUND! Devotion of Love by SaiaiSaiko (M, 47k, WangXian, 3Zun, LSZ & WWX, WWX Lives, NMJ Lives, MXY Lives, Servant WWX, WWX in MXY's Body, Sentient Burial Mounds, Healer WWX, BAMF WWX, LWJ & WWX Adopt LSZ, POV Alternating, Canon-Typical Violence, Petty LWJ, Petty WWX, Self-Harm, Canonical Self-Harm, Song: Inquiry, LWJ Plays Inquiry, WWX answers Inquiry, Golden Core Reveal, Family Fluff, Family Dynamics, Good Sibling JC, Good Person JGY, The Yin Tiger Seal, Domestic Fluff) I'm pretty sure it's not actually this, but WWX is forced to reforge the tally at the end and shapes it into mating bunnies

FOUND! Grave dirt by esama (T, 92k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Necromancy, Demonic Cultivation, farming, Found Family, Pre-Slash, canon-typical corpse desecration, Questionable approach to cutivation, Cultivation Sect Politics, Fix-It of Sorts, canon typical genocide mention, Burial Mounds, Yílíng Wèi Sect) Wei Ying reforges the yin tiger seal into the Luminous Rabbit Seal in Grave Dirt (he forges it in chapter 12, and we learn its name in chapter 13)

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17. hiiii im looking for this modern au fic where lwj gets stood up by a kid at his uni as a joke, and then wwx comes in to replace the date and exposes that person for his cruel prank or smth like that??? @ashxi-wx

FOUND? Blooming Days by Atsushiis (G, 7k, WangXian, LWJ & LXC, LWJ & MM, Modern, College/University, Meet-Cute, First Dates, First Kiss, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, LWJ Has Feelings, Let LWJ talk about his feelings agenda, Romance, Falling In Love, Wangxian are softer than a baby bunny, gratuitous handholding, Give LWJ hugs agenda, LWJ Protection Squad)

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18. I come to you on bended knee to ask if you have any recollection of a fic where the Wens of the burial mounds are put on trial and WWX is there, holding A-Yuan on his lap, and the presence of a child and the elderly are enough to shame some of the sects gathered there to judge. I believe there are also some excellent, witty lines from WWX, but that's fairly par for the course for our lil chaos gremlin. My thanks to you for reading this message, may your day treat you well.

FOUND? An Old Cardboard Produce Box for a Cradle by julomaiboulomai, mischiefseven (T, 25k, WangXian, Accidental Baby Acquisition, Canon Divergence, Sentient Burial Mounds, Golden Core Reveal, Everyone Lives) sounds a lot like An Old Cardboard Produce Box for a Cradle. Wei Ying is put on trial at Koi Tower in chapter 3. Lan Zhan dramatically arrives with the Wens and Wei Ying's daughter, and the sects are ashamed when they see A-Yuan and the elderly Wens.

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19. I was wondering if you could help me find a fic I can remember but cannot figure out the tags for? It's a fic where WWX isn't there to fight the wens and everything is awful and it turns out that 1. JC somehow wished WWX put of existance? Or dead? Or something (he might not have really meant it? I cannot remember) and 2. LWJ somehow managed to pull him in to the current timeline anyway.

It is not much to go on and I am drawing a blank.

FOUND! The Way It Wasn’t by KouriArashi (T, 72k, WangXian, XiYao, Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Fix-It, (eventually haha), Slow Build, Family Feels, Moral Ambiguity, Eventual Happy Ending)

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20. Lan Xiaoion and Lan Zhan find Weiying with a small child (a-Yuan) and perhaps pregnant. Lan Xiaoion tries to tell Lan Zhan the situation, but Lan Zhan finds out that the children are his. Post-war Weiying and an omega @lluyvernno

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[hexagon-club]

The category of "social construct" conflates several related but separate concepts into one single thing. There is "socially constituted", which is to say things that exist only as an idea that humans share with one another. In other words, it is a thing that would stop existing if humans stopped agreeing that it existed. This isn't necessarily to say that socially constituted things aren't real, sometimes they are, countries are socially constituted and they are still real. But if tomorrow we all decided to agree that distinct nation-states don't exist, they would immediately stop existing.

Then there are things that are "socially charged", that is to say something that does exist in a material sense, but that has social importance to humans beyond what logically follows from its actual physical properties. Money is an excellent example of this, we exchange money for things that have a much higher use value but an equivalent exchange value because we have collectively agreed to treat money as having exchange value even though that value is assigned somewhat arbitrarily. Money wouldn't stop existing if we stopped believing in it, but its social value would stop existing.

And finally, there are things that are "socially chunked". That is to say things that exist on some sort continuos spectrum that is divided up into discrete categories by humans. A textbook example of this is colour, a typical human can distinguish between about a million different colours. But outside of very specific scenarios it isn't useful to describe colours in that level of granular detail, so we chunk them together into broader categories. English speakers generally recognise 11 top level categories (red, orange, yellow, green, blue, purple, pink, brown, white, grey, black), and how many sub categories they recognise is typically dependent on how detailed they want to be. Part of the problem with things that are socially chunked is that you can get into these "paradox of the heap" scenarios where people refuse to agree on what the exact boundary between these categories are (is this a bluish green or a greenish blue? type scenarios) but for ease of communication we still kind of need these categories.

Of the many things that make gender discourse so toxic, one of the big ones is that people equivocate between these three concepts. And it's often not clear which of the three concepts they are referring to when they call things a social construct. "Gender" as it was traditionally understood by feminists is the set of rules and expectations society places upon you based on your sex. The more old school term for this that feminists used to use is "sex roles" but that fell out of use, I think largely because the word "sex" ended up being conflated with the word "coitus". This is an example of something that is socially charged, being either male or female is a product of material reality, but a lot of the social expectations we have for people based on their sex are not inevitable consequences of that reality, they exist only because we collectively agree that they exist. And the feminist critique of gender is that these social expectations are not just some random thing, they are a deliberate tactic employed by the male sex class to maintain control over the female sex class. So despite being socially constructed, the idea is still tied to a particular material reality. It's not some sort of personal inner feeling, it's a social relationship between an oppressor class and an oppressed class that is defined by the material difference between those two classes. And because gender is tied to sex, and there are only two sexes, there can also be only two genders.

The problem is that tumblr jumps between this old school definition and newer ones that equate "gender" with one of the other two concepts. A lot of people on this site have got the idea in their heads that sex either exists "on a spectrum", which would make it socially chunked (this isn't true, I don't have time to explain in detail but here's a youtube video that does a good job of debunking that idea https://youtu.be/XN2-YEgUMg0?si=dJYG44mdFcf09C33) or that it is made up entirely and if we agree that what it is has changed then the thing itself has changed, which is to say sometimes people seem to think that human biology itself is socially constituted.

The old feminist definition of "gender" isn't really compatible with transgenderism. Because gender as it was traditionally defined was dependent on a certain set of physical properties being present. Namely being either male or female. But people have got the idea in their head that gender isn't a system of social control so much as a set of arbitrary aesthetics and behaviours that anyone can voluntarily opt into or out of. So, a man who acts in a way stereotypically associated with people of the female sex becomes female in some sort of metaphysical sense. Though even that is very inconsistent, as tumblr loves insinuating that gender non-conforming women are actually men even if those women insist that they are in fact women, but there is also a whole community of "gender non-conforming transmacs" on this site, who present in a way that is very stereotypical of the female sex, yet they still claim to be men even though they are female.

What I'm trying to say is that having productive discourse about these topics is impossible because people refuse to define their terms. They use vague language and constantly jump between contradictory definitions depending on what point they are making. And arbitrarily make categories wider or narrower depending on what is useful to support whatever their current argument is.

I think this is a big reason why radfems on this site tend to be very blunt in their communication style. And why they are such sticklers for insisting on precise definitions. Because people play dumb and pretend they don't know what you are talking about if you don't do this.

You can't call yourself a Marxist and be ideologically opposed to trans people, those are incompatible modes of thought.

gender identity theory is incompatible with the Marxist scientific method.

believing your thoughts determine your reality is a product of subjective idealism. Marxism is not idealism but dialectical materialism, there is an objective reality and objective material conditions from which human consciousness stems. we exist as material, physical beings rather than immaterial conscious spirits. subjective consciousness is subordinate to and dependent upon the material world.

the correct Marxist position is not "i feel i'm a woman therefore i am a woman" but "i am objectively female, and this makes me a woman".

[wendichester]

hi how are you? can I request reader who used to suffer with self harm issues and has light scars on her upper thigh x Sam and newly started in a relationship with him, and whenever they get heated with kissing and stuff she suddenly stops because she’s scared of him seeing (also he never would’ve expected because she wears short skirts all the time and she seems like a very happy person)

-💌

⋆⭒˚.⋆ if you let me in,

pairing. sam winchester x reader ( female )

wordcount. 606 genre. comforting angst

warnings. discussions and implications of past self-harm ( non-graphic ), emotional vulnerability, insecurity about scars, fear of rejection, soft!sam, gentle physical intimacy ( kissing, light undressing ), strong themes of trust, comfort, and emotional safety

notes. i just want you to know--you are not broken. you are still here. still healing. still loving, even with the weight of the past behind you. that is brave beyond words. your softness is a strength. your heart is worth protecting. and anyone lucky enough to get close to you should hold it with the same gentleness you give to others 🩷

It’s always the same kind of moment. That sweet, breathless lull between kisses—clothes rucked up, fingers ghosting over skin, the world narrowed down to just him.

Sam’s mouth is warm against yours, hand at your waist, and you swear he could ruin you with nothing more than the way he whispers your name. You’re both lying on your side, tangled on his bed, bodies close, your thigh hooked over his hip—until you remember.

And then it’s like slamming the brakes.

You pull away. Fast. Too fast.

Your breathing stutters. Sam blinks down at you, dazed but instantly concerned, his big hands already gentling, pulling back.

“Hey,” he murmurs, eyes searching yours. “Did I do something wrong?”

You shake your head quickly. “No. No, it’s not you. I just—uh. I’m sorry.”

Sam sits up a little, propped on his elbow. “You okay?”

You nod. “Yeah. Just... I need a minute.”

But his eyes are already scanning your face, reading you like a damn book. You hate how good he is at it. How kind.

You tug your skirt down, suddenly all too aware of the sliver of thigh exposed—the same thigh you always cover, without thinking. The one that used to be a map of hurting and silence. It’s faded now, barely visible in some light. But you know they’re there.

And now, with him this close, with everything soft and good and new between you—you’re terrified. Not of Sam. But of that moment. The one where he sees and doesn’t look at you the same.

You don’t realize you’re quiet too long until he reaches for your hand.

“Whatever it is,” he says softly, thumb stroking your knuckles, “you don’t have to hide it from me.”

You meet his eyes, scared and open all at once. “I just… I’ve got these scars. On my leg.”

He nods slowly, waiting.

You swallow. “From… before. From when things weren’t okay. It was years ago. I haven’t done it in forever. But they’re still there. And I didn’t want you to see and think something’s wrong with me. Or worse—pity me.”

Sam's expression doesn’t change much, but something shifts. His brow softens. His jaw relaxes. He leans in, presses a kiss to your forehead like he needs you to feel what he’s about to say.

“There is nothing wrong with you.”

You want to believe him so badly it aches.

“I didn’t know,” he continues gently. “But that doesn’t change anything. Not how I feel about you. Not how I look at you. Not one goddamn thing.”

Tears prick at the corners of your eyes. You sniff, embarrassed. “I wear short skirts and act like I’ve got everything together. It’s dumb, I guess.”

Sam shakes his head, brushing your cheek with the backs of his fingers. “That’s not dumb. That’s brave. That’s you choosing joy even when it used to be hard to find.”

Your voice cracks. “I didn’t want this to ruin the moment.”

“Sweetheart,” he murmurs, pulling you into his arms, “the only thing ruining this moment is you thinking I’d ever see you as anything but beautiful.”

You bury your face in his chest. His flannel smells like warmth and safety. His arms are a damn fortress.

He doesn’t rush. Doesn’t push. Just holds you until your breathing slows, his thumb rubbing soft circles over your spine.

And when you finally look up, he smiles.

“Whenever you’re ready,” he whispers, “I’ll be right here. I’ve got you.”

You kiss him slow this time. Not to prove anything. Just to feel.

Just to remind yourself that maybe—just maybe—this love gets to be soft and safe and yours.

ꔛ. all works ; writing guidelines ; support my work .ᐟ

[snzficsaturn]

The local flirt (A) still trying to score despite having a sneezy day.

Maybe it was a bet from one of their wingmen?

Or maybe it’s their own hubris making them think that no matter what, they’re the sexiest creature alive.

So, A enters a bar, scans around and picks someone to shoot their shot. They approach B with confidence (fake or not), pickup lines up their sleeves.

“Hey, baby-“ they begin, voice thick with congestion. “Come hh-h-here ofte-?!“ they sneeze, one so sudden, they sneeze on (what would’ve hopefully been) their future hookup.

A immediately wants to back out, mortified, already turning their back. No way this’ll work… they think to themself.

But to their surprise, B is more than into it. B coos out the sweetest blessing that just makes A melt. B expresses concern, passes them a napkin or maybe even pulls out tissues and before the two know it, conversations lead to more.

What more? Up to you.

Be it one crazy kink-exploring night or a beautiful, care-filled relationship, it’s above and beyond what A was originally going for and changes them in some way.

[shaunamilfman]

wicked and weary [5]

pairing: Jackie Taylor x f!reader x Shauna Shipman Summary: The aftermath of a night from hell. Only, someone's come knocking. There are already too many bodies. What's one more? note: minors dni Masterlist

The feeling of Shauna's chest rising and falling with each breath is a comfort you're not about to take for granted. After the month you've had, those fingers of hers scratching at your scalp are enough to guarantee your loyalty if she doesn't already have it. It isn't like it's a great hardship for Shauna. 

She has a thing for hair: touching it, pulling it, and twirling it around her fingers aimlessly if you let her. It's harder to keep your hands out of your hair than just about anything else. It's why it made you and Jackie so jealous the first time Shauna tried to cut a chunk of hair off of one of your victims. Tried, being the keyword. She hadn't been dumb enough to attempt it again after being iced out for so long. 

So you have to settle for letting her mess with yours. A small price to pay, all things considered. 

You're not sure how you ended up taking Jackie's spot somewhere between her falling asleep on Shauna and you waking up on her, but Jackie doesn't seem to mind. She's lying comfortably on her side against the two of you, still managing to steal most of the blanket. 

Her apparent acceptance of the whole thing probably has more to do with the arm wrapped around you than anything else. It's like she's holding the two of you down, making sure there's no way you can slip out of bed without her knowing. 

Not that you even wanted to. You want to keep Jackie right where you can see her at all times. Safe from whoever killed Lottie, safe from the police, safe from the tree branch she walked into last night. Right now your bed is the best place to do that. 

It's best practice to let Jackie think that she came up with the idea herself lest she try to actually leave the room by herself. You think she needs a chaperone for the next few days. Or a bodyguard, maybe. Whatever you call the two of you not letting her out of your sight at all. Obsessive? Perhaps. Out of line? Not in your relationship. 

If you thought that Jackie wouldn't manage to gnaw her way out of the ropes, you might just tie her up to keep her here. That was more a Shauna plan than your own—whispered in your ear in the dead of night only to be offended at the sound of your muffled laughter. Shauna might still go for it, and you aren't entirely sure that you would try and stop her. Beyond the obvious benefits of Jackie looking good tied up, it would be a fairly simple solution to a broad problem. 

But then it would bring Misty Quigley to your dorm, who comes knocking if Jackie so much as misses a single class. If you weren't so sure she was obsessed with Jackie, you might think she was the one writing those damn notes, but you can't imagine her threatening Jackie. You? Sure. But not Jackie. 

Plus, Jackie informed you that Misty has excellent handwriting. Probably practiced in the long hours she spends sitting in her room waiting for her next daily allotted Jackie time. At least, that's how you picture it. She doesn't really seem to have other friends, even this far into college. You feel a little bad for her at times. If she wasn't so obsessed with your girlfriend, you think you might like her more. 

As it was, she's a threat. Frankly, she was lucky the three of you promised not to kill so close to home anymore, or she would've been dealt with already by you or Shauna. Maybe even both. 

The thought brings a pain to your chest as it reminds you of Lottie. Poor Lottie, whose funeral was tomorrow. Not her real one, but they were already bringing her body back to Wiskayok, and none of you are able to leave. So you decided to throw one yourself. Or Tai did, and the rest of you just agreed over a fairly tense phone call. You assume the rest agreed, of course; you don't know for sure. She called you first. 

Tai was unsure how Jackie was going to react to it. The news of who exactly had found Lottie’s body has already spread around campus, as that kind of thing was known to do. You wish that those losers had better things to do than to gossip about something that horrible. It’s not like you would’ve cared had it been anyone else, likely even joining in, but you’re known to be hypocritical from time to time. Murder usually does that to a person.

Truthfully, you aren’t sure how Jackie’s going to react to it either. It’s why you haven’t told her yet. She was asleep when you answered the phone call this morning and still asleep when you had slipped back into bed.

The whole thing was likely more of an excuse to get drunk and commiserate together, but you feel like you have to go. Jackie could skip it if she really wants to. You aren’t about to tell her how she should grieve her friend.

What else can you do when you've failed Lottie so totally? 

You can't help but wonder if you were grilling Tai for information while Lottie was walking back to her death. Maybe if you'd found something to implicate Lottie instead, then she would still be alive. You try not to focus too hard on that line of reasoning before you start to obsess over it. 

That wouldn't be any help to anyone. What you need to do is find whatever sick fuck killed her, but it's so hard to motivate yourself to get out of bed. Grief, guilt, fear. Nothing like the fear you thought you knew back home. It was more real when it wasn't directed at you. More crushing that way. 

The thought of something happening to either Jackie or Shauna was terrifying, and it makes you angrier than you think you’ve ever been just trying to imagine it.

Jackie’s watching you now, eyes open just enough to stare back at you as you turn your head toward her. Shauna makes a low noise of protest at the movement, shifting her hand just enough to allow it before she goes right back to what she was doing. Jackie smiles, shifting closer to the two of you.

You want to reach for her, but your arm is crushed between the two of them. She only smiles wider when you try to squirm your way out of it, shaking her head with the slightest movement as she holds on tighter.

“Jackie,” you complain, voice barely above a whisper.

“Nope,” Jackie says, popping the p. She kisses Shauna’s shoulder through her shirt when she huffs out a laugh. That’s fine with you. She can keep you trapped as long as she likes as long as it keeps that look on her face last night from ever appearing again. If you ever see her looking like that again, it would be too soon.

“You’re going to try to hold me down with your noodle arms?” Jackie scoffs, pinching your hip through your shorts.

“She’s not wrong,” Shauna adds, always eager to jump in and pick sides in a conflict. You’re just lucky that she seems to prefer taking your side if it allows her to poke fun at Jackie. She never has quite gotten over that jealousy of hers when it comes to Jackie, even if she lets it out in healthier—for Shauna—ways.

“You’re ganging up on me?” Jackie gasps in betrayal. She likes it, you know she does. A girl as playful as Jackie always is enjoys having it turned on her from time to time, even as she pouts over at you. Shauna doesn’t bother to turn her head to check Jackie’s expression, already knowing what she would find. You, however, are unlucky enough to already be looking in her direction.

Closing your eyes and burying your face into Shauna’s chest doesn’t help to erase the sight of it. That face of hers has to be illegal in several states. If it wasn’t, you would have to get Tai to work on the legislation whenever she got around to finishing law school. At this rate, you might all be dead by then.

Except for Shauna. You’re sure she’s going to outlive the rest of you by miles. Only the good die young, right? You and Jackie aren’t exactly good either, but you still think you have miles to go before catching up with Shauna. She’s so dreamy.

Shauna grumbles as she shifts beneath you, complaining about how hot the two of you are making her. You try to push up on your elbows, willing to allow Shauna breathing room if not Jackie, but no sooner do you start to move than Shauna’s hooking her knee over the back of your leg. You collapse back with a huff of laughter, propping your chin up on her chest. Her cheeks are beautifully flushed, avoiding eye contact with you that only leads to catching Jackie’s attention.

Jackie coos, pinching Shauna’s cheeks between her thumb and index finger. Still smiling even as Shauna swats her hand away, leaning closer to pepper kisses along her jaw in apology. As if sensing your impending complaint, Jackie squeezes your hip before slipping her hand beneath the hem of your shirt. Not to entice, not today, but just to touch. Just to feel your skin beneath her fingertips.

You’re about to join in on Jackie’s fun, edging your way up toward reaching Shauna’s neck, when there’s a knock on the door. You hesitate to even call it a knock when it was more like a slam, like someone pounding their fist on the door, but you can’t think of another word to describe it.

Jackie’s out of the bed before you can stop her, too close to the edge for you or Shauna to react fast enough to grab her before she can. You stumble after her, hitting the floor with a rush of air from your lungs on account of Shauna’s leg still wrapped around you. Even then you manage to reach the door only seconds after Jackie in your rush to catch her.

But she’s not opening the door. She’s staring at something on the floor with wide eyes. Jackie glances back at you before leaning down to pick it up. It’s a piece of paper, obviously slipped beneath the crack in the door. You’re not liking this already. The color drains from Jackie’s face as she reads it, but you’re too concerned to care about being right.

She flips the paper over so that you can read it.

Tell them what you did, or I’ll have to show them.

You barely read the words before you’re pushing past her and out the door, running down the hall after the sound of retreating footsteps. Whoever it is wasn’t quick enough to get far enough down the hall to lose you, so you follow after. 

The benefit of all those years of conditioning for soccer is finally catching up to you. Running down the hallways after them is almost a breeze at this point, even though you haven’t done much running that wasn’t chasing in the last few years.

Whoever it is is clearly a practiced runner, but not one who was practiced at running away from someone else. They make stupid mistakes as you charge after them down the hall, losing precious ground but taking the corners too wide. They obviously didn't know the layout of the building that well, a rookie mistake as far as you're concerned. Their mistakes are your gain right now. 

Unfortunately, it also serves to make them desperate. It shows itself as you round a corner only to meet a fist swinging itself at your face. You barely manage to duck out of the way, staying low as you charge forward and wrap your arms around their waist. Her center of gravity is lower than you're expecting it to be, but you still manage to take her down hard. 

It was definitely a her. You can feel that much. The two of you scramble to get on top of one another, rolling around on the floor as you fight for purchase. If you weren't so mad you would probably be embarrassed at the whole thing, knowing how ridiculous the two of you must look on the floor. As much as you would like for Jackie or Shauna to be here to help you, you're sort of glad they aren't here to witness you flailing around like this.

You manage to get a good few hits in before a foot catches you squarely in the stomach. For a moment you forget how to breathe, wheezing as you let go of her cloak to hold yourself up as you struggle to catch your breath. Whoever it was has a strong right foot. It gives her time to get herself back to her feet, but not enough time to avoid falling flat on her face again when you grab at her ankle.

You crawl after her, but she drags herself away fast enough that you find yourself holding nothing but her shoe. It’s nondescript. Some cheap sneakers that she probably got from a discount store. You’re so angry that you throw the shoe after her, hitting her squarely in the back. 

There’s barely a second to bask in managing to land a hit on her before she’s falling down the stairs. She must have hit every single stair on the way down, but you can hear footsteps pounding down the hallway on the floor below before you manage to get back onto your feet.

You don’t bother to follow her down the stairs, knowing you’ve already lost her. There’s one plus to the situation: you managed to make it out with nothing more than bruised pride. Probably also a bruise. You stumble back toward your dorm room, waving briefly at someone who’s sticking their head out the door.

Where were all those nosy girls when you needed them?

**

Jackie looks up hopefully when you walk in the room, teary-eyed and all. You jerk your head side to side, and she just nods, slumping back against the wall as she crumples the note in her hands. You can’t help but feel like you’re disappointing them, even though Jackie clearly doesn’t seem to blame you for it.

You blame yourself, though. Something Shauna seems to get as she looks up from sharpening her knife to pin you with a stare. It’s not the accusatory glare you’re expecting, the kind you’re always on the receiving end of when you fuck up enough to upset Jackie. It’s commiserating. An understanding you aren’t expecting from her given how clearly pissed she is.

The whole situation is upsetting. Stressful. So you try not to be too affected by the vision that is Shauna staring you down while actively sharpening her knife. A knife that hasn’t seen the light of day in months. Not out of a lack of desire to do so, but just out of circumstances. But circumstances have changed now. Not only indicating Jackie in the killings but also coming back to send that note. Practically bragging about it all.

You can’t blame her for turning back to what she knows. It’s necessary now, if it hasn’t been the whole time. Killing this close to home was a risk, but that woman wasn’t giving you another option. 

Tell them what you did. 

What you did, singular.

You almost can’t believe that someone thinks that Jackie could have singlehandedly pulled off all of those murders. Not that Jackie wasn’t capable of it—the things that woman can do with a knife are second only to Shauna—but it just wasn’t possible if you really thought about it. Several of the murders would have been impossible to do at the same time. That was the whole point of setting up both Travis and Jeff in the first place.

More evidence that Tai was innocent in the whole thing. Whoever’s doing this clearly didn’t think it through. What you still can’t understand is why. They’re not reporting her to the police or even threatening to, so it couldn’t be some bleeding-heart morality issue. Especially given her own murders. It wasn’t even pride, acting like she was somehow better than you. That you’re glad for. Those murders are sloppy. 

It was all about Jackie. The whole thing seems like some kind of fucked-up revenge plan, but you can’t think of anything Jackie could have done to someone to deserve it. Except murder their loved ones, but even then they would go to the police, right? Not threaten to steal her girlfriends? That didn’t even make sense.

It reeked of impulsivity.

Are you and Shuana just supposed to skip into her arms afterward? She doesn’t even know you well enough to know that you’re involved with the murders she’s pinned on Jackie. How well could she really know Shauna to not think she was involved somehow? Even after you get past the obvious personality flaws that practically scream serial killer, there’s still the simple fact that Jackie does not do anything without Shauna. And vice versa. You’re a prime example of that.

Still, the familiarity of the handwriting haunted you. You’ve seen it before, even if you’re having trouble placing exactly where. Jackie’s counting on you to know, and all you can do is draw blanks. It’s frustrating, more so with your earlier failure. It feels like that’s all you’ve managed to do lately. Fail Lottie. Fail Jackie. At the rate you’re going Shauna’s probably next, and isn’t that just terrifying?

“Come here,” you say, holding your arms out. 

Jackie’s arms are still curled protectively around her, but she seems to consider it. There are still remnants of tears running down her face, leaving little tracks that you want to wipe away. Jackie should never cry. It just wasn’t right.

Her steps are silent as she collapses into your chest, burying her head into your neck and just breathing in the scent of you. She slips a hand up the back of your shirt, fingers splayed across your back as she holds you close. You rub her hip through her panties, your thumb tracing across the initials lying just beneath. The motion works its magic as she fully slumps into you with a soft huff of air.

Shuana’s knife clatters against the desk as she sets it down, backing the chair out with a squeal of protest from the floor as she joins the two of you. She presses up against Jackie’s back, who’s suddenly very interested in being pinned between the two of you. You notice the second she makes that realization, the corners of her lips quirking up into something smug.

She deserves to be smug after the last few days she’s had.

You just wish that it could last.

…

You’re just going out to think. Or, at least, that’s what you tell yourself as you slip out of bed after they’ve fallen asleep. 

It was a long day. That’s the kind of thing you have to deal with when someone slips a threatening note under your door at 8 AM after you were out all night waiting for your girlfriend to get back from being questioned by the police for murder. It was sort of hard to relax and do normal college student things after that, but somehow you managed. Mostly due to Jackie’s maniacal need to pretend that everything was normal and just how it should be. Even Shauna was hesitant to break that facade, probably sensing how close to an impending nervous breakdown Jackie is.

So you let her have the day, knowing that what you need has to wait for the night. You feel guilty as you silently grab the knife off of Shauna’s desk, slipping it into your jacket pocket. You slip the door shut behind you, taking a moment to slip on your shoes. It gets you a few weird looks from other girls in the hallway, but you’re more than used to it. Most of these girls have filed noise complaints about the three of you at least once, so it’s not anything that you’re not used to.

You just didn’t want to risk one of them waking up while you were putting your shoes on. Stupid, maybe, but your girlfriends are killers. The only reason you’ve managed to sneak past them is that they trust you so much they’d never think of it. And here you are, breaking that trust. It’s not that serious. Everyone takes a walk near midnight a few times to help clear their heads.

The knife in the pocket of your hoodie and the destination already set in your mind undermine that sentiment, but you can feel that itch under your skin. It’s undeniable as you walk down the hallways, tracing the same path you ran earlier that day. It might have been yesterday by now, but the point was the same.

That itch never existed before you met them. Maybe it never would have if they hadn’t intervened, brutalizing their way into your life in the most violent way possible. You don’t like that line of thought. It means never having met them, so it isn’t worth considering. Regardless, it exists now. That desire to hurt people, even to kill.

The high of it is like nothing you’ve ever known. The comedown is just as thrilling. Blood-soaked hands touching you, slipping beneath clothing like it never even provided an obstacle. Better than even the killing was reveling in the aftermath with the two of them. Basking in the destruction you caused. In the fear.

You’ve limited yourself to petty murders since then in the interest of safety. There was always a threat of getting caught back then, a prevalent and all-consuming risk that something could come between you. Something that could separate you by force. It was safer to frame it as a home invasion gone wrong. Kill some random guy you never met and take a few of his things on the way out only to dump them in a dumpster a town over on your way home.

Things that couldn’t be tied back to you.

As much as you tell yourself that you’re okay with it, as much as you try to force it, at the end of the day it feels disappointing. It doesn’t take the edge off. It barely even scratches the itch. It’s like slapping at it: it’s soothing for a moment, but it comes right back with a vengeance, and you’re a little sorer because of it.

You’re deep in this line of thought when you realize where you are. Or, rather, who you’re following. Melissa hardly seems to notice you walking behind her in the dark, just far back enough that she wouldn’t be able to make out your silhouette in this light. The campus was far too dark, a result of the budget cuts that went to funding the football stadium instead. You guess that was the lamp money.

It provides a perfect cover to watch her as she strolls through campus at night unafraid. You’re not sure if it’s bravery or if she’s really just that naive. You think it might be both. Melissa was always braver than people give her credit for, if only they bothered to dig slightly beneath the surface. Jackie and Shauna never have, and they certainly wouldn’t now that you’ve befriended her. Too jealous for their own good, those two.

They laughed it off when you suggested it could be her. Even Jackie hadn’t taken you seriously, and she still had Sarah Michelle Gellar in her top five suspects. 

Melissa’s spot on the suspect list was never all that serious, according to Jackie, and Shauna just laughed in your face. But they don’t know her like you did. They’ve never even bothered to try and see beneath the surface. You do think it’s something she may be capable of, but what you can’t figure out is how Jackie plays into it.

Threatening Shauna, you might have understood. Not accepted. No, you would’ve come down just as hard, but at least that would’ve made sense. Shauna was abrasive and in your face. You didn’t want to say that she was asking for this kind of thing, but between the two of them, she was definitely the one more likely to invite this sort of thing.

Judging simply on a surface level, Jackie was nice to everyone. She never has a bad word to say to someone’s face and usually played good cop to Shuana’s perpetual bad cop.

You don’t deserve them. That’s what that first note read. The more you think about it, the more you start to wonder if it was actually about Jackie at all. Deserve was an interesting choice of words. Deserve was the kind of word you used to cover up jealousy. They didn’t deserve what they had because it should be mine.

If she just wanted to hurt Jackie, she could have just killed her by now. You hate to even think it, but she’s had plenty of opportunities to do so. She managed to get close enough to Jackie to slip a note into her textbook. If it was about revenge, that was her golden opportunity. So her motivation must be something else.

Them. You and Shauna? Who would want the two of you badly enough to kill for it besides Jackie? It’s not like Shauna was a social butterfly, so you aren’t even sure how this mystery woman would have met her in the first place to want her so badly. You’re barely let out of your room as it is, fighting with Jackie for every inch of space you’ve had to forcefully carve for yourself through the years.

You just can’t decide where you met her. Unless you didn’t meet her. It was entirely possible it was some random stalker that got obsessed with you after seeing you on the news back then and again now. But you didn’t think so. They know just a little too much to not be entrenched in your life somehow, some way.

Where, where, where? The question of the hour.

Luckily, it doesn’t really matter anymore. You’ve got your mind set on what’s coming next. You’re not sure what it is about Melissa that has you so set on her guilt, but you can’t let the thought go. You should let it go. It’s not the first time you’ve accused one of your friends of being a killer, and you’re already going zero for one. You should wait, you know you should, but you can’t.

If you don’t take a chance and you’re wrong, you’re not sure what could happen. It’s not like you’ve never killed innocent people before. Anything that allows you to protect the two of them. And lately, just for fun. It’s something that you can live with if everything went wrong. You like Melissa, but not that much.

You were useless in that chase and even more useless in that police station the night before. Someone’s been threatening your girlfriend, and you’ve been doing jack shit about it. It’s time for that to change. You can’t just keep sitting around and feeling powerless. That’s not who you are. You aren’t that scared girl who ran away from them in the woods anymore.

This is how you take your power back: you take out the threat all by yourself. Afterward you can slip back into bed and treat yourself by cuddling up to your girlfriends, knowing that everything will be just fine after. 

You steel yourself for what you have to do, gripping the knife tight enough that your knuckles start to go white. You speed up behind her, starting to cut through some of that careful distance you’ve been maintaining all this time. Exactly what you’re going to do when you catch up to her you aren’t sure, but you know that knife in your pocket is going to come into play.

Without the mask, you almost feel naked doing this so publicly, but you just have to wait for the drunken witnesses stumbling down the street back to their sorority house to get far enough away that you can strike, and it’ll all be over.

The worst part is you don’t even know where she’s going. Why would you? You never really pay all that much attention to Melissa beyond the occasional lunch and the study sessions she drags you along to. Begs for your help was more accurate, but you’re trying to be generous. No need to degrade her memory now that you’re about to kill her. You could give her that.

You carry a childish hope that you’ll watch her do something suspicious enough that you can justify what you’re about to do to her. You’ve killed a lot of people in your life, but you’ve never killed a friend before. There’s a first time for everything, but it’s a line you never thought you would have to cross. Willingly or otherwise.

Then your question is finally answered as she walks up the steps to a familiar building. It’s another set of dorms across campus from yours, but you know exactly where she’s going. You silently come to a stop, hand still gripping the handle of the knife hard enough that you can feel every individual groove beneath your fingers. 

You got so deep into your own head that you managed to miss your chance tonight. You could have cursed yourself if it wouldn’t have been a colossal waste of time on top of your already wasted night. That’s all you’ve been doing lately. Wasting time.

You watch her throw her arms around Gen as she walks out to greet her, hugging her hard enough to take her off her feet as she twirls her in a circle. The two of them laugh, too caught up in one another to notice you as you step out of the shadows to get a closer look. She walks into Gen’s dorm building before you turn on your feet and head back home.

Melissa was dating Gen.

Her big secret was the most obvious fucking thing on the planet. Truthfully, you hadn’t even realized it was a secret. It’s something you ruminate on the entire way back to your dorm, grateful to have something to finally overpower that intense dread and hopelessness that’s been plaguing you lately.

Man, did you need a laugh tonight. Even if it means that you’re back to the drawing board again. Rather, Jackie’s creepy murder board. Unfortunately, it seems like you’ll have to go all in on that. You hate when she’s right: she never lets you forget those kinds of things.

[brights-place]

⋮ ⌗ ┆𝐂𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐃𝐢𝐚𝐦𝐨𝐧𝐝‼ ִֶָ𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ🌹་༘࿐

Happily Ever After — MASTERLIST

A/N: SORRY THAT THIS TOOK SO LONG SMHHH

Summary: Once upon a High School, in a land beyond imagination, comes the tale of Ever After High. A High School for the next generation of fairytales. Where spellbinding students are destined (or not) to follow in the footsteps of their fairytale parents.

Yet the most important part of it all is who they seem to fall for in their fairytale, so what happens when the twisted wonderland boys fall for the fairytale characters who they want to spend forever after with?

So what are the relationships like?

゛ ⸝⸝.ᐟ⋆𝐂𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐃𝐢𝐚𝐦𝐨𝐧𝐝 𝐱 𝐁𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐞 𝐋𝐨𝐜𝐤𝐬! 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫⟡ ݁₊ .

It was a picture-perfect afternoon the kind where the sunlight glimmered like spun gold and the breeze smelled of blooming jasmine and distant daydreams.

[Name] stood in front of her full-length mirror, carefully examining every detail of her outfit. The satin ribbon in her hair was tied in a perfect bow, the pale blue skirt flared just right at her knees, and her Mary Janes gleamed with a glossy finish. Her hair was styled as it framed her face in soft waves, bouncing every time she moved. She twirled once, admiring the way her reflection seemed to glow. Everything had to be perfect. After all, this wasn't just any outing. Today was her first real date with Cater after he asked her out.

They'd hung out before, of course between school events, Heartslabyul parties, and the occasional feature on her Magicam, they were no strangers to spending time together but this was different. Cater had texted her earlier that week, asking if she'd be free for "something cute, casual, and maybe a teensy bit romantic," which [Name] had replied with three exclamation marks and a bear sticker.

When [Name] arrived at the Heartslabyul courtyard, Cater was already waiting by the central fountain, lounging against the white stone edge like something out of a trendy photo shoot. The late afternoon sun hit his orange hair just right, giving it a sun-kissed glow. He wore a crisp white button-down with tiny card suit patches stitched along the collar, a playful nod to his dorm. His usual wide grin appeared the moment he spotted her. His green eyes lit up as he did a dramatic spin, holding up his phone as if framing her in a Magicam shot.

"OMG, [Name], you look like you just waltzed out of a fairytale chapter! You look totes cute lets snap a pic!" [Name] blushed lightly as she gripped onto her dress "You think so? I wanted it to feel... y'know. Just right." "Nailed it," he said with a wink.

They left campus together, strolling down a winding cobbled street that led into the older part of town. Twinkling fairy lights crisscrossed overhead, already beginning to glow as the sun dipped lower. [Name] clutched her pastel purse with both hands, trying not to show how excited she was to be walking side-by-side with him, away from the noise and drama of school and away from the various struggles of overblots.

Cater, ever the social butterfly, kept up an easy stream of chatter about Magicam trends, classmates' latest scandals, and which color palette he was thinking about for his next nail design.

Eventually, they reached their destination: a hidden teahouse tucked between two art galleries, painted a soft mint green and covered in climbing roses. Inside, it was pure whimsy. The tables looked like stacked storybooks, teacups hung from the ceiling like ornaments, and the whole place smelled of chamomile and lavender sugar. [Name] gasped, practically sparkling in awe.

"Cater, this is... this is just right!" she breathed. "I heard of this cute place and wanted to check it out for some pics plus thought you'd like its whole vibe" he said, offering her his hand as they stepped toward a window seat with plush cushions and soft lighting. "And don't worry, this one's off the grid. No cameras, no audience. Just us."

They ordered three magical blends of tea from scalding-sands. The first was a smoky violet tea; the second, a green blend with sparkles and the last, a rosewater concoction that [Name] immediately wrinkled her nose at.

Her lips placed around the rim of the cup drinking the smoky violet tea as she blinked, "Too strong" she grumbled picking up the rosewater tea blend sipping it "Too sweet" "Too sweet? Color me shocked," Cater teased, leaning forward, chin in hand, eyes twinkling.

"Just because I'm all sugar and bows doesn't mean I'll drink perfume," she replied, poking his arm with her spoon. She grumbled, picking up the green blend of tea sniffing it and drinking it as she smiled nodding her head "Now that is just right!" Cater grinned a fang slightly showing as he stared at [Name].

The conversation flowed like a breeze. [Name] found herself talking about her mom the real Goldilocks, her MirrorCast episodes, her endless need to prove she was princess-worthy even when the title wasn't hers. Cater listened, nodding thoughtfully, not interrupting or making a joke. It surprised her. Most people just wanted the gossip but Cater he didn't want that. He wanted her.

"Y'know," he said after a moment, swirling the last sip of lavender tea in his cup, "I think you're trying way too hard to be someone you already are. Like, you're chasing perfection when you're already iconic. You don't need a crown to sparkle, babe."

[Name] blinked, her heart catching on his words. For all his slang and silliness, Cater had a way of seeing people. Really seeing them. "Thanks, Cater. That means more than I can say," she murmured.

She blinked and slowly looked to Cater as he took some photos of their small date. [Name] paused as she reached her hand out and pushed the camera down "Maybe... let it be just us Cater" "You know you can call me cay cay" Cater teased as [Name] frowned slightly at Cater.

Caters lips pursed, and stared at [Name] his green eyes glinting for a moment. "I want to know you cater, really know you. I mean you listened to me the whole time. Why not I do the same?" Cater lost the glint in his eyes for a second his mind going blank as if he's lost in thought as [Name], she looked worriedly towards Cater as he let out a soft smile and muttered a quiet 'okay' making her smile.

The two talked for a while chatting endlessly, [Name] finding what cater truly liked, what he liked to do, even if it was small enough information she was glad he was opening up.

Later, they wandered into a park illuminated by strings of fairy lights. A giant heart-shaped swing waited in a secluded corner. Cater dragged her toward it with gleeful energy, the kind that made her laugh and stumble into him. They sat close, her shoulder tucked against his, his arm draped lightly over her back.

"Okay, okay, I lied earlier," he whispered, holding up his phone. "Just one pic? Come on~! just us. No hashtags. No posts. Just proof that this wasn't a dream."

She leaned in, face flushed, eyes shining with something tender and unspoken. The camera clicked. In that photo, [Name] wasn't trying to be royalty or chasing a fantasy. She was simply a girl and cater was a boy who thought she was just right to be with.

Headcannons

- Cater and [Name] are an actual threat when it comes to coordinated couple aesthetics. Every school event? Coordinated outfits. Every seasonal selfie? Matching filters. It's so aggressively on-brand that even Duchess Swan gets jealous.

- [Name] runs Just Right, and Cater is her unofficial PR manager. He hypes her posts, helps edit thumbnails, and occasionally appears in her videos as a special guest

- The pair totally has a segment called "Cater & [Name]s Just Right Gossip Tea," where they rate outfits and decode student drama

- [Name{ insists on keeping their PDA online tasteful and "golden-approved," but Cater? He sneakily posts the candid pics like her sneezing mid-vlog or sleeping on his shoulder with captions like, "Caught my sleepy princess 💛💤 #TooCute."

- [Name] has intense standards, and Cater lowkey thrives off teasing her about it "[Name], that's your sixth mirror today." "The last five were crooked, Cater. CROOKED"

- [Name] doesn't always pick up on social cues, and Cater masks his real feelings behind emojis and slang.

- Though this leads to some misunderstandings early on but over time, they find a system: [Name] keeps a "Feelings Journal," where she writes things she might have done wrong, and Cater responds with little audio messages or tries to open up when she asks him how he feels about situations.

- Cater gets overwhelmed around the holidays because of his complicated family stuff, and [Name] picks up on it without him saying a word. She throws him an party in the woods  just them, tea, and bear-shaped lanterns.

- When [Name] spirals about not being a real princess, Cater looks her dead in the eye and says, "You don't need a crown, Goldie. You run this school already. You're the queen of attention and I'm your loyal hype prince."

- [Name] keeps "accidentally" stealing Cater's Magicam accessories like his pastel pop-socket or his glitter bear phone charm. She says they were "just lying around," but always has them perfectly cleaned and reorganized by color in her locker.

- Cater starts "accidentally" leaving them behind for her to find. He even starts buying duplicates just for her. She never notices... or pretends not to.