#they started to collect dust at this point

[helloalycia]

𝐂𝐎𝐎𝐋𝐄𝐒𝐓 𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐎𝐍 𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑 [𝐅𝐈𝐕𝐄] — 𝐍𝐀𝐓𝐀𝐋𝐈𝐄 𝐒𝐂𝐀𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐂𝐂𝐈𝐎

one / two / three / four / six / masterlist / wattpad

summary: you and Natalie are brought closer together – because of Mari and Shauna’s beef out of all things.

warning/s: mentions of violence.

author's note: the mari and shauna beef was so stupid, but i was totally on mari’s side bc shauna pissed me off sm 😭 anyway, enjoy lol, one part left after this!

It was hard to believe we'd ever make it out of winter, and yet we did. The air got warmer, the days felt longer, the leaves were returning. Spring had sprung and everything didn't seem so bad right now.

Camp was thriving, as well as it could given the circumstances. We had a system and everybody stuck to their chores and we weren't starving anymore. Berries were back on bushes, animals were returning to be hunted – Akilah had even started an animal pen. It was unreal in a way.

But I didn't question it, merely played along until rescue came. If rescue came.

One particularly sunny day, the first day that truly felt like winter was far behind us, I grabbed my hatchet and got ready to leave camp to go and collect some firewood as I always did. I'd just reached the perimeter when I heard footsteps behind me, catching up.

"Leaving without me?" It was Natalie, a smirk on her lips as she fell into step with me.

"Didn't realise we had plans," I responded with a knowing look.

She laughed. "Yeah, well I need to check some traps and thought I'd join you. You mind?"

I spread my arms out. "Wood is everywhere, so I don't have a destination."

Rolling her eyes, she scoffed. "You're terrible."

"And yet you're still here."

We ventured into a familiar trail, one that led us all the way to the lake if we'd continued upon it. But she took some detours, aiming to find the traps she'd set out yesterday. As we walked, the forest felt lighter, brighter, as if it had finally stopped holding its breath for so long.

Natalie stopped to check a trap, so I lingered nearby, using the hatchet to break off some branches for the fire. It had rained the night before, so everything was still a little damp, but nothing a bit of drying-out couldn't fix.

As I stood up, wood in hand, Natalie rejoined my side, humming thoughtfully.

"What?" I asked, noticing the way she eyed the branches.

She shrugged, eyes flickering to mine. "Oh, nothing. Just interesting choice is all."

I tried not to smile. "Interesting choice? Seriously?"

"I'm just saying, if you wanted to make a shitty fire, that's the wood you'd choose," she pointed out nonchalantly.

"Wow. Wood snob much?"

"More like wood enthusiast," she corrected, and I blinked before tossing a loose branch at her.

She dodged it effortlessly, a laugh bubbling from her lips as she saw her efforts to annoy me had succeeded.

"I see your trap has produced no result," I pointed out.

She waved a hand as we continued walking. "Win some, you lose some."

"Hmm." I shot her a playful glare, which she ignored.

We checked a few more traps, with two of them snapping up some small rabbits, and I collected some more wood which Natalie decided to rate every time. It was stupid, pointless chatter and yet I appreciated it, always enjoying the one-on-one moments I got with her.

Ever since becoming our leader, she'd been sidetracked with the petty problems of the girls or the politics of how everything worked. Sometimes, it was nice to just hang out with her and not worry about survival.

And yes, maybe I liked her too.

"Okay, I think I've got enough," I said as we circled back to camp, arms full of wood.

She smiled widely, amused, before dusting a leaf off my shoulder. "I think you picked the forest clean, dummy."

"And yet you're still not impressed," I said sarcastically.

She laughed wholeheartedly, and I could swear the forest was alive in that moment. "I'm always impressed."

I rolled my eyes, knowing she was pulling my leg, before the two of us made our way back to camp.

"Hey, you think it's weird?" she asked as we walked, shoes crunching over sticks and leaves.

"What?"

She shrugged, glancing around. "That it's nice out. Like actually nice."

"I think that's just you spending time with me."

She shoved me in the arm, almost making me drop my wood which I probably deserved.

"I'm serious," she said like I hadn't almost toppled over sideways.

I straightened up, huffing. "Yeah, I know... it is nice out."

"Feels... fake," she added thoughtfully. "Like we're being lulled into a daydream. Forgetting how bad it was."

"I don't think we'll forget," I said quietly, glancing at her. She met my gaze halfway, listening. "Best not to think about it. Let's just be glad we're not trudging through snow under grey skies."

She exhaled softly, nodding. "Very true." Then she added, "I can't wait to wash the day off."

I glanced at her. "You can go to the lake now if you want? I don't mind taking the rabbits back."

"Nah, I need to get my stuff anyway," she said with a wave of her hand.

We walked back to camp, hearing the commotion before we saw it. I recognised Mari and Shauna's shouting voices instantly, exchanging a fed up look with Natalie.

Since we'd moved camps, Mari and Shauna had been clashing a lot, bickering or getting into stupid arguments over the dumbest things. It was probably what brought Natalie and I closer, since she had to manage them as the leader and I was constantly pulling Mari away from yet another argument.

"Fuck's sake," Natalie muttered under her breath before we stepped into camp. "C'mon."

Mari and Shauna were shouting in each other's faces by the campfire, and some of the other girls merely watched, used to their disagreements by now and never wanting to get involved.

"Okay, that's enough, both of you!" Natalie said with a raised voice, stepping between them and pushing them apart.

"What the hell is going on?" I asked Mari, furrowing my brows.

She scoffed dramatically, crossing her arms and shooting Shauna a glare. "Just Shauna being a bitch."

Shauna laughed bitterly, not an ounce of softness in her anymore. "How fucking ironic coming from–"

"Stop!" Natalie silenced her, not wanting to hear it.

I sighed, not getting anything from Mari and instead looking to Shauna. "Shauna, what is it? What happened?"

Shauna's glare was soon directed at me, and she was too far gone to accept my patience. "Why are you getting involved?"

I exhaled, trying to maintain my composure. "Because I'm one of the many people here sick of both of your shit."

"Well, fuck off then!" she snapped, before smacking the pile of wood out of my hands, knocking them to the ground harshly.

I barely got chance to register it before Mari shoved her back roughly, shouting, "Hey, back off!"

"Guys, would you cut it–" Nat started, struggling to keep them apart.

Shauna cut her off when she swung her fist, aiming for Mari but landing a hit on Natalie's face instead. My eyes widened as Shauna and Mari both fell silent, surprised.

"Fucking hell, Shauna!" I scolded, before stepping forward to check on Natalie, steadying her stance. "Nat–”

"I'm fine," Natalie said in a clipped tone, ushering me off and clenching her jaw.

"Natalie–" Mari started apologetically, but was cut off.

"No," Natalie interrupted, seething as she didn't look at either of them. "I'm sick of both of your shit. Just– go. Both of you."

Mari sighed, a hint of guilt in her expression as she glanced at me. I shook my head slowly, motioning in the opposite direction. She left, followed by an embarrassed and irritated Shauna who stormed off to her hut.

Natalie breathed out sharply before looking down at the branches on the ground. She bent down to pick it up, but I caught her arm before she could.

"Leave it," I told her, eyes scanning her face with concern. "How's your cheek?"

She tried to tug her wrist from my hand. "I'm fine."

"Stop saying that, let me see," I said firmly, squeezing her wrist for emphasis.

Thankfully, she stopped and looked at me.

"Nat," I said, softer.

She pursed her lips, frustrated, but let me grasp her chin and turn her face slightly to get a better look. I scrunched my nose up in sympathy as I saw redness appearing on her cheekbone, her left eye glassy with tears. It was already starting to swell and I couldn't imagine it being painless.

"Is it bad?" she muttered.

"It's gonna bruise," I admitted, letting go.

She blinked, wincing slightly, no longer hiding her pain.

I frowned. "Ice would be great right about now."

"So would strangling them both."

A halfhearted chuckle escaped my lips. "Yeah, I don't blame you." My eyes wandered over her figure, sympathetic, before I unclipped the two dead rabbits from her belt.

"What are you–”

"You said you wanted to bathe, so go," I reminded her. "I'll sort this."

"And leave those two to beat each other up?" she asked rhetorically. "No, thanks."

I rolled my eyes playfully. "I'll keep them away from each other. Just go."

She put her hands on her hips, sighing deeply. With a quirked brow, she checked, "You sure?"

"Very, now go," I assured her, already steering her away by her shoulders with my free hand.

She cracked a small smile, eyes twinkling. "Okay, okay, I'm going. Thanks, Y/N." 

I returned her smile, nodding as I watched her head to her hut to grab her things. Once she was out of sight, I looked down to the mess on the ground and wondered how we'd fix this mess between Mari and Shauna. It was starting to seriously get out of hand.

—

After adding some more wood to the campfire and having some smoked meat for lunch, I deemed it long enough for Mari to have cooled off to go and check on her.

She was with Akilah in the animal pen, the two of them sat together as some chickens roamed around. When they spotted me approaching, their conversation paused.

I quirked a brow as I looked to Mari, who scrunched her face with regret.

"How's Nat?" she asked as I took a seat beside them both.

I nodded sarcastically. "Fine to say she just got decked in the face."

A frown pulled at her lips. "I didn't mean for that to happen."

I sighed, unable to keep my sarcasm up for long. "I know."

"You should lay off Shauna," Akilah warned her, a rabbit in her hands as she stroked its fur. "It's not worth the fights. And she's clearly still angry at the world. She could've hurt you, Mar."

"Akilah's right," I agreed.

Mari groaned, leaning back on her hands. "I know, but she's got it out for me, I swear!"

I gave her a knowing look. "Just keep your distance? Please?"

Her eyes flickered to mine, dissatisfied, but she nodded.

"Good," I said with a small smile, before shoving her slightly. "Idiot."

I stayed to help Akilah feed the animals before planning to go to my hut to freshen up, and that's when I realised Natalie still wasn't back.

"Hey, Misty," I called, catching her as she walked past. "Is Nat back from the lake?"

Misty shook her head. "Not that I've seen. Why? You need me to get her?" I opened my mouth to respond, but she quickly added, "I can bring her back if you–"

"No, no, it's okay," I interrupted with a forced smile. "It's all good. I've got it."

Misty was especially clingy with Natalie lately, and I only knew this because Natalie sometimes ranted about how annoying she could be. The last thing she needed right now was more Misty.

"Thanks," I added with a nod, before walking away.

Hoping Natalie was okay, I grabbed a bottle of water and some smoked meat we had leftover from lunch before trekking to the lake. If she hadn't come back, then she hadn't eaten either.

When I reached the lake, I spotted Natalie with ease since she was the only one there. She was sat on the rocky shore in her shorts and a sports bra, leaning on one hand as she had a rolled up wet shirt pressed to her cheek. I approached her, sidestepping her discarded old clothes, and tried not to smile.

"You moving here now?" I teased.

She glanced over at me before scoffing. "I wish. At least I'm not a glorified babysitter here."

Snickering, I moved to take a seat beside her and nodded to her face. "How is it?"

She winced slightly as she moved the wet shirt from her cheek, showing me the damage – it was red and slightly swollen along her cheekbone.

"Hurts more than I'm letting on," she admitted, "but that's embarrassing. So, if anyone asks, I'm fine."

I laughed quietly, eyes flickering back to hers. "Seriously? You still tryna be all tough?"

"Duh."

Rolling my eyes lightheartedly, I looked ahead at the water for a moment.

"Have they ripped each other's heads off in my absence?" she asked, pressing the wet shirt to her cheek again – her version of an ice pack, it seemed.

"No. Mari promised to back off."

Another scoff, making me glance at her. And then she controlled her expression, adding, "Sorry. I know you're close."

"It's fine," I said dismissively. "Mari has that effect on people sometimes, I'm well aware. But Shauna... well, she's being a pain in the ass."

Natalie groaned quietly. "There's enough things to worry about without petty girl fights on top of it all."

I hummed in agreement, leaning back on my hands. We enjoyed a few minutes of peace before she sighed regretfully.

"I should head back, shouldn't I?" She lowered the shirt from her cheek. "I can't avoid it forever."

I glanced at her, shrugging. "I won't tell anyone you're hiding. And a little bit longer away won't hurt anyone."

She quirked a brow, making me laugh.

"What?" I said with a playful look. "You weren't wrong when you said you were a glorified babysitter."

Rolling her eyes, a smile ghosted her lips. "Thanks. But I should go back."

I knew she was right. As much as it shouldn't have been a big deal that she was taking a moment for herself, it would be if something went wrong and she wasn't there.

"Suit yourself," I said, before pushing myself off the rocky ground and dusting myself off. "Let's go."

I held out a hand and yanked her up, and we both reluctantly headed back to the camp.

Luckily for both of us, Shauna and Mari kept away from each other for the rest of the evening. At dinner, Mari was surprisingly behaved, and even went out of her way to apologise to Natalie for earlier which was especially mature of her.

I couldn't speak for Shauna, who seemed to have a vendetta against everyone lately, but Mari was taking ownership of it which I was glad for. Hopefully it would mean less bickering between her and Shauna now, which would also mean less stress for Natalie and I. A win-win. 

Still, it didn't take away from the fact that Natalie had gotten hurt as a result of their petty fights. And the next morning at breakfast when Natalie's cheek was now heavily bruised, it was a real reminder of how violent Shauna had been, and how it had actually been aimed at Mari.

I found Natalie sat by herself – probably for the peace and quiet – drinking some water and finishing her breakfast.

"Hey," I greeted, joining her. "Sleep well?"

She shrugged, still tired. "Alright. You?"

I shrugged too, before my eyes focused on her cheek which now had a purple bruise blooming across it. "Looks bad, Nat."

"Looks worse than it feels," she assured, a dry smile on her face.

I tilted my head, studying it. "I don't know, it looks pretty brutal."

She tried to brush my comment off as she said, "Shauna's got a pretty solid right hook."

I sighed, shaking my head as I looked out to the others who were eating by the fire. "I can't believe she'd swing like that."

"I tried talking to her, but she just brushed me off," Natalie mumbled. "Violence shouldn't be a thing between us. Not like that."

I knew what she meant, flashbacks of the hunt that took place in winter coming to mind. Almost losing Natalie. Actually losing Javi. But this was different – that was for survival and this was just Shauna being a bitch.

"Well, if she doesn't want a fight, she should back off," I said lightly, hiding my frustration for her as I glanced back at Natalie.

Natalie snorted with amusement. "You're not fighting Shauna, Y/N."

I scoffed. "I could."

She grinned. "You wouldn't."

I rolled my eyes. "Okay, maybe not. But only because I know it would make your life difficult."

She laughed at this, nudging her knee into mine. "Lucky me."

I tried to hide my smile as I looked at her, admiring the dimples in her cheek as she laughed at my dismay. Despite how hard living out here was, she still managed to look stunning to me, or maybe that was just my delusion because I liked her more than I should've.

Either way, my heart was fluttering in my chest at the sight.

—

Things died down between Mari and Shauna shortly after that, at least for a while.

It meant that focusing on survival was my biggest priority once more, but strangely enough, things were going well. We had enough food and water, our camp was oddly thriving and we even invented some games to pass time and entertain ourselves. It was almost too good, and for a moment, it was like everyone had forgotten we were stranded in the first place.

The days were getting brighter, the sun staying out for longer as we approached summer, so we were all enjoying a longer dinner as we basked in the pink-purple sunset skies.

Mari and Akilah were talking about something or the other as I sat with them, half listening. Really, my attention was on Natalie across camp. She was sat with Taissa, Van and Lottie as they shared a conversation over dinner. She didn't look any different than she usually did, but I couldn't stop stealing glances at her.

Tonight, she was wearing jeans and a t-shirt, a bandana pulling her hair back, blonde hair grown out into her natural brunette colour. Nothing different at all, but I couldn't stop staring at the sparkle in her eyes whenever she spoke or her bashful smile as she realised she'd laughed too loud at something the others had said. Maybe I was checking her out a little too much, but there wasn't much else to do, was there?

"...and you're too busy ogling Natalie to fuckin' listen," Mari finished, and I looked to her when I realised she was talking to me.

"I– what?"

Akilah covered her mouth to prevent her laughter as Mari smirked.

"You're checking Nat out, aren't you?" she asked knowingly. "Fuck, I knew you had a thing for her."

Feeling my cheeks heat up, I scoffed defensively. "What? No I don't! And I wasn't. I was just spacing out, geez."

Mari laughed loudly, looking to Akilah. "You hearing this bullshit?"

"I'm hearing it," Akilah agreed with an amused smile.

I rolled my eyes, avoiding their gazes. "Okay, fuck you both because you're not right at all."

"Whatever you say," Mari sang with a grin.

Well, this wasn't good. Whenever Mari fixated on anything that included teasing someone else, she never dropped it. And in a place where we had zero gossip or entertainment, she definitely wouldn't let this go.

Later that evening, as the stars came out and everybody was calling it a day, I went to our shared hut. As I stepped inside, pushing into the fabric we used as a door, Mari stepped in the way, a smirk on her lips.

"Okay, what now?" I asked with a suspicious look.

"You tired?" she asked with amusement. "Coming to turn in for the night?"

I blinked, furrowing my brows. "Yes..." As I tried to sidestep her to get to my makeshift bed, she stepped in my way again. I gave her a look. "Mari."

"Why don't you ask Nat if she's free tonight? She has her own hut, you know."

"Mari!" I felt my cheeks growing warm again. "Move."

"No way." She laughed, not budging, even when I tried to shove her out the way. "This is too good."

"Fuck, Mari, I'm tired," I told her disapprovingly. "This isn't funny."

"Kinda is."

"Where the hell is Akilah?" I groaned, massaging the bridge of my nose.

"With Lottie, won't be back for a while." She shrugged. "You should go. I'm sure Natalie will be happy to see you."

I narrowed my eyes at her games. "Mar, I swear to God–“

She shoved me out the hut before I could finish, making me catch myself as I stumbled back.

"Mari!" I shouted, and tried to let myself back in, but she had a firm grip on both sides of the curtain, stopping me from pushing through. "This is very immature!"

Her laughter echoed from inside as she held the fabric in place, even when I tried to shove her back.

"Er... you good out here?" Natalie's voice made me jump, and I straightened up when I saw her poking her head out of her own hut.

Clearing my throat, flustered, I nodded. "Yes. All good. Sorry to disturb you."

I refrained from glaring at Mari through the curtain as I heard her giggling on the other side.

"It's fine, you didn't," Natalie reassured me with a slight smile before stepping outside. "What are you two doing?"

I sighed, moving to sit by the fire. "Just Mari being a pain in my ass. She won't let me in. Thinks it's funny."

Natalie's brow lifted with mild confusion, then she sat beside me. "Right. You need somewhere to sleep?"

"It's fine, I'll stay out here if she's gonna be annoying."

She scoffed playfully. "Shut up. You can sleep in my hut tonight if you want. Being in charge is a lonely life. No roomies."

I tried not to smile, though part of me wanted to strangle Mari as she'd said something similar moments ago, though she was taking the piss whereas Natalie was being considerate.

"It's okay, but thank you," I responded, shooting her a grateful look.

She nodded, before pulling her knees up to her chest and leaning on them casually. After a moment, she said, "So, what was it? Lover's quarrel?"

I raised my brows, unsure if I'd heard her correctly. "What?"

"With Mari," she clarified, glancing at me. "She kicked you out because of... what? Relationship problems?"

I stared at her, realising she was dead serious. "Sorry, what? You–" I looked at the fire, trying not to laugh. "You think– me and Mari– a relationship–" I couldn't help it as I looked to her with disbelief. "What?"

Her eyes widened at my reaction, pink creeping up her neck. "Wait, you're not– aren't you guys dating?"

"Ew!" I exclaimed, laughing. "No way! I can't even–" At the mere thought of being seen like that with Mari, I feigned vomiting to show my disgust.

Natalie seemed speechless as she shook her head. "But– but– you're both so close! I've seen you!"

I looked to her with a mixture of disbelief and repulsion. "Seen what?!"

She stammered, "Y'know– you– you share hut and–"

"With Akilah!" I reminded her, eyebrows raised.

"Yes, but even before then," she quickly explained, "she used to sleep next to you in the cabin sometimes–"

"Because she had nightmares!"

"–and you guys are always around each other, laughing and shit–"

"For god's sake, Natalie, Mari is Y/BF/N's cousin!" I stopped her, unable to hear more of it, the thought making me nauseous. "We practically grew up together, she's like my baby sister!"

Natalie seemed genuinely surprised as she met my eyes. "You're what? They're cousins?"

"Yes, idiot! The fact that you thought–" I shuddered once more, feeling disgusted.

She looked at the fire, realisation crossing her expression. Her cheeks were pink as she couldn't meet my gaze. "Fuck, I– I'm sorry, I– God, that makes sense."

I glanced at her. "Seriously? All this time you thought that?"

She swallowed uncomfortably. "Well, yeah. I thought it was a Van and Tai situation but you were just secretive about it."

"God, no." I scrunched my face up, both disgusted and amazed that she'd believed that this whole time.

I'd thought Mari being Y/BF/N's cousin was common knowledge, but clearly not. It was easy to see why Natalie thought more of our closeness, but still. Gross.

"Sorry," she repeated, horrified at her assumption.

"It's fine," I said, pulling a face. "We're just– I don't know. Like siblings. That's all."

She breathed out slowly, nodding. "Right. Good."

I glanced at her questioningly. "Good? What, you homophobic now?"

Her eyes widened as she looked to me, panic settling in again. "What? I– no! I just–"

I pursed my lips to contain my laughter. "Relax. I'm kidding."

She straightened up, embarrassed. "I just meant good as in– well–" She closed her eyes, wincing. "Never mind."

A smile ghosted my lips as I raised a brow. "No, go on."

"Good as in you're like siblings," she filled in quickly. "That you have each other."

I scoffed quietly, shaking my head. "God, I can't believe you thought... fuck."

She chewed her lip, rubbing the back of her neck uncomfortably. "My bad."

"Yeah, your bad," I agreed, giving her a look.

She exhaled, blue eyes flickering to mine apologetically, and then she looked down. The truth settled and I caught her smiling to herself slightly.

"What now?" I asked, waiting for her to make yet another wild assumption.

She looked up. "Hmm?"

I rolled my eyes lightheartedly. "You're smiling like a weirdo."

"Just funny," she said quietly, before looking to the fire. Her smile didn't fade.

I huffed but looked back to the fire too. She was so weird.

"Okay, other than that giant misunderstanding," she spoke after a moment, "you can still sleep in my hut if you want. Or I can order Mari to grow the fuck up and let you in. S'up to you."

I pretended to think. "Hmm, the latter sounds tempting."

She shrugged. "Leader perks."

My smile widened as I gave her a sideways glance. "I'd love to see that. But I think I can handle her. I'll sort it."

She nodded, respecting me, before sitting with me for a little longer. I couldn't help but shudder again.

"Me and Mari... ew."

"Everyone makes mistakes," she said defensively.

"Clearly."

She shoved me harshly, making me laugh. When I looked at her, the pink was spreading up her cheeks and to the tips of her ears. My heart soared.

[vii0so]

[ BSD 124 Spoilers ]

Thoughts, Theories and Analysis

This was typed and meant to be posted the same week the update came out but instead it's been collecting dust in my drafts because I've been busy and haven't had time to continue it. I remember wanting to go more in depth on topics.

Anyway, since the update will be out tomorrow, I'm posting it. Be aware, I haven't checked what I wrote, so if it looks like a point was abruptly stopped or something doesn't make sense it's because of that.

-

Firstly and most importantly, it's not over, nothing ever is with this story. The only thing over is Ueda's suffering and guilt.

This part, Ame-no-Gozen, may be over (or maybe not) but just because a pawn has been captured doesn't mean it's checkmate. Fyodor is still out there, the battle isn't over.

Secondly, Akutagawa did die...I'll explain.

Akutagawa's head was crushed and so he died. In the last chapter I assumed he wouldn't stay dead, just like all the others killed by Ame-No-Gozen who turned into bubbles. Surprisingly, this wasn't exactly the case. Akutagawa never even got to become bubbles.

In one part, Atsushi says the following:

Basically, once the space breaks, all the people trapped inside (the people killed by ame-no-gozen who turned into bubbles, as well as Atsushi and Ueda) will be free and therefore alive.

This is great and I expected it...but something I didn't expect was that on top of breaking the space itself, he also travels back in time to before Akutagawa's death to save him.

The time travel wasn't the unexpected part, the director literally explained that Atsushi could move between past and present in that space, so it was bound to happen.

But if Akutagawa was going to bubble anyway, then once the space was broken he'd be fine again...so why travel to before his "death"?

Also, side note, this may just be me, but I find it interesting that the time travel was shown to us in the form of a static screen...actually, the more I stare at it, the more it looks like scribbling out a scene in pen, which makes more sense too:

Anyway, before I try to answer the "why travel to before his "death"?" let's think about the "what does this mean?".

Time travel is finicky and all authors, stories, and plot conditions make time travel have different outcomes and effects.

There are many ways time travel may work, here are a few:

Creates an alternate timeline, erasing the previous one. -1 +1

Creates an alternate timeline and the time traveler ceases to exist in the previous one but the timeline continues to exist. -0 +1

Rare case that only works under specific narrative conditions: The time traveler was always meant to go back in time and change stuff, therefore the timeline remains the same. -0

The amount of time traveled also makes a difference to the timeline; luckily, in Atsushi's case, it was only minutes.

One common factor about time travel (except in a few rare cases) is the fact that:

Time travel creates alternate / branching timelines.

Let's backtrack a bit:

In an old post of mine, back when we found out Atsushi was the "bookmark" and I tried explaining what that meant, I said this:

Well let's start simple: "What's a bookmark?" It's an indication of where you left off in a story. In a game, you could think of it as a [save] point.

The bookmark would be the only way to progress in a story. The only thing telling you where the 'present' is. Time is divided in three: Past -> Present -> Future Q. Where is Atsushi? A. The present No matter wether he could time travel, or we read chapter 1 again, he will always be experiencing it 'currently'/in 'present time'.

At the time, I myself wasn't sure how to explain it properly and tried to explain my thoughts as best as possible. Surprisingly, I was technically right!

To paraphrase and add a bit:

Atsushi, as the bookmark, represents the present. Time travel is possible because no matter where in time Atsushi is it'll count as present time, just like a bookmark in a book, he marks what page we're on.

Now...I don't know how many of you reading this have ever read any Gamebooks like 'choose your own adventure' or played any Visual Novels with choices and different routes and endings, but I'll be using them as a way to further explain, so I'll try to explain a bit about them.

In a Gamebook, while reading, you are given choices, for example:

In an attempt to find out where the sound came from, you run towards the hall. Just as you enter, you see a lady running down the left corridor, screaming about a ghost. As you're about to follow her, you see a ghost floating down the corridor on your right, towards the garden. Who do you want to follow?

If you want to follow the ghost, flip to page 56

If you want to follow the screaming lady, flip to page 82

You then go to the page, read until another choice appears and eventually reach one of the endings of the book.

A Visual Novel (VN) has the same concept as a Gamebook but is a video game with pictures and music, along with words. Some are more like plays (more dialogue and inner thoughts) while others are more like novels (more descriptions, paragraphs and only necessary dialogue).

One thing in common with both VNs and Gamebooks is the way the reader/player always has to make choices that lead to different situations and/or endings. They're interactive, with branching routes, bad and good endings.

Another thing they have in common is a bookmark.

A Gamebook is an actual book and therefore a bookmark can work with it easily; just put it between the pages to save your place. You choose to follow the ghost and flip to page 56? Ok, the bookmark is now on page 56. You want to go back and follow the screaming lady instead? Sure, the bookmark is now on page 82 as if you never followed the ghost. We control the bookmark to mark where we're up to, what the 'present time' in the story is to us.

In VNs it's slightly different. A choice appears that may branch the timeline? You have to save that instance to a save slot. A few dialogue boxes later you realise you should have picked the other option? You load your save from its save slot and travel back to the option again, like nothing in the other timeline happened, erased.

Both of these examples are great. Visual Novels loading and overwriting save files, therefore erasing that timeline (even if the possibility of it still existed in the branches) and Gamebooks that use a bookmark to mark the present timeline, choice after choice, and jump between them.

Now, when it comes to Atsushi as the bookmark, the similarities can help us understand how time travel was used in this context, and so, we can figure out what happened to the previous timeline.

Placing the bookmark back (loading a save) makes it so anything that happened after that, never happened. Therefore the new timeline becomes the only timeline and the old timeline is erased, overwritten, and ceases to exist.

Even without the bookmark deep dive, just considering the scribbled out effect to show the time travel, it lets us imagine the previous timeline being scribbled out, erased and rewritten.

So yes, in the old (now erased) timeline, Akutagawa died. But that him has now ceased to exist and this him is the only existence.

Also, while the previous timeline was erased, it doesn't change the fact that this is now a different timeline, where Akutagawa never saw the Dazai hallucination as he was never in a near death state by Ame-no-Gozen before being killed. I'm actually a little upset by this...like, don't get me wrong, I'm glad he's alive, but his near death hallucination experience felt like a needed moment of weakness (in a positive he-finally-shed-a-tear way) and weird form of acceptance, and now, the current him never got that.

I guess it makes sense though...if you're only reason to live is to seek acknowledgement by proving yourself through fighting and basically wanting to be told you've fought enough, that your effort wasn't for nothing, that your life had meaning, then why live past it and not accept your death when it's right there? If he lived past that, do you think he'd have the same resolve to live and fight? The reset meant never getting what he wanted, and that was the only way to keep him going.

Also, I think I saw someone mention how Atsushi saw Akutagawa's Dazai hallucination and that's why he Thanos-snapped the timeline. I get that it was probably just a headcanon, but I'm just going to mention it here in case anyone was genuinely confused: Atsushi did not see anything.

Even if Atsushi could magically see other people's hallucinations, there just wasn't enough time. Atsushi looked out onto reality, saw Akutagawa for a second, witnessed his death, and then shouted his name, no indication or enough time for him to see anything.

Anyway, let's quickly talk about where the new timeline starts:

On the left we have the erased timeline (Chapter 123.5) and on the right we have the new timeline (Chapter 124). Both panels are of the same moment.

Akutagawa's left arm still bubbled, it's just that at that moment in the new timeline, Atsushi suddenly appeared from the dead and took Akutagawa's full attention instead.

That's the first difference in the timeline.

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

So why travel to before his "death"? idk (maybe I knew while writing this all in the start but I didn't write any note for myself)

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

I was initially briefly confused by this. Was the Ame-no-Gozen we knew actually Tsuki-no-Gozen or was the sword used to remove Ame-no-Gozen's life force Tsuki-no-Gozen?

The answer: The sword used to remove Ame-no-Gozen's life fore: Tsuki-no-Gozen.

It pulled out Fukuchi, who was Ame-no-Gozen's life force, essentially killing it. We can even see Ueda holding the sword and the difference being clearly shown.

[lostintransist]

The Promised Ending

Death Falls On The Land; The Queue Must Be Followed | Part 1 | AO3

A/N: Story is fully written and will update on Fridays. *sorry this one is a day late, yesterday was a rough one.

The outdoor barn lights flicking on caused you to pause.

You should be asleep. On a normal Friday you would be. You had a fucking early morning. You fed the team every Saturday morning. They liked it and seemed to do better work when they ate from your table. Jeremiah was sitting with Phil while you ran in to grab some sweats since you were both going to sleep out in the barn with him.

The grunting, combined with the thunk of something solid hitting something that gives, is what drew you to the window. Only shifting shadows reply to your inquiries. There are men standing in the light, distinct in form but not clear due to the darkness of the night.

It isn’t until the voice drifts in through the window, like a barn owl landing on a fence, that you lock in and start to move.

���Told you Graves, if you didn’t kill Makarov you would die by our hands. We’ve come to collect what’s owed.”

The proper British accent surprised you. The lack of snarling from Phil, no posturing or telling them to fuck off, scared you though. Flesh damaging flesh came again. Only a small whimper answered your aching heart.

Phillip-fucking-Graves wasn’t fighting back! You might actually kill him if you can save his ass first.

You grabbed a shovel you had propped up next to the front door the night before and forgot to put away as you dart off the porch.

The first man went down unaware. Blunt force to the side of the head does that to a man. His back had been to the house, too bad for him. There isn’t a moment to sneer at his stupid fucking mohawk. No moon tonight. Only the barn light casting shadows.

The second man you didn’t see until he snaked a limb around your throat. The darkness of his skin hid him in the darkness that covered the moon. He wrenched the shovel from your hand. More’s the pity for him then, he couldn’t recover his hand fast enough to keep your elbow from connecting from his cheek. It let out a satisfying crunch.

“Fuck!”

You felt a touch bad, but not so much that it stopped you from slipping from his grasp. Phil hung from arms of a massive fucker, bleeding from his nose and one eye already swollen shut. His knees dragged in the dirt, caking his socks in dust. A skull stared at you from above a broken man. His arms, thick as tree limbs, snaked around Phil’s, clasped together over the back of his neck. A broad, bearded man threw a punch. He connected, a meteor meeting the atmosphere, against Phil’s ribs. He did nothing more than weakly whine.

All the commotion caused the men in the light to turn.

“Price,” the skull growled out the word.

Beard turned, staring down at you. His eyes flickered behind you, likely categorizing the damage you had done.

“This isn’t your business.” He spoke as he moved, a man self assured that if he could dig his fingers into the sky he could rip night into day.

More accents that were far from home.

“It’s on my land, that makes it my fucking business,” you snarl up at him. You couldn’t fight god, but men? You had been fighting men since your first damn breath.

Phil lifted his head, drawn by the sound of your voice.

“Not here. Kill me but not in front of her,” he started to struggle, his body wiggling weakly. “Please!”

Breaking eye contact you snap at him, “Phillip Alder Graves, shut the fuck up. If anyone gets to kill you, it’s me.”

Swinging back around you point up into the beard. Why the hell were all these men so fucking tall? What did they feed them over in England?

The eyebrows rising all around you gave you an opening.

“I have two plus decades of feelings I need to work through as I tan his hide. Phillip Graves is my problem to deal with. If you have issues with him your going to gave to get in line and do so off my goddamn property.” Your chest is heaving as your words run out.

“What do you think, Ghost?” The man before you angles his voice to his companion, his eyes never leaving yours.

“Never heard him beg before,” is the slowly spoken reply.

“Soap?”

A barrage of backwards sounding words from behind your shoulder startled you. Your eye twitched and half your face scrunched, but you didn’t dare look away from the man who wrangled the others like a foreman.

“English, MacTavish!” The skull gave an annoyed reprimand.

“He’s okay dying, but not in front of them.” The mists of Scotland could shimmer into existence in the blanket heat of Texas off an accent like that.

“Gaz,” Beard said the word like the dinging of a house bell.

“She’s got fucking sharp elbows.”

“Keep you’re hands up next time then, huh?” Soap/MacTavish ribbed Gaz.

“Seems that death would be too easy an ending for him. Graves begs for nothing but not to scar someone else? Someone who hates him? I say leave him, he is no prophet Daniel.”

Only an hour in a lion’s den with you when he had first arrived and the man would have been right. Now though? You could sharpen your anger against Phil’s flesh only so many times until the parting of his skin stopped staunching your own bleeding.

“Found him dangling less than an hour ago, noose in the rafters. Sometimes the best punishment is to leave things as they are,” you shift back on your heels. Sliding your hands into your pockets you tilt your chin to the dark bruises ringing Phillip’s neck. “He’s never going back out where your lot play. Leave him here. Bodies rot fast under the harsh Texas sun.”

The posturing seems to work. Thank god.

Tension eases from the air, the safety engaged and the gun disassembled with the relaxing bearded man’s shoulders. Skull face dropped a softly muttering Phil, still babbling with his broken voice to kill him but not in front of you.

Sliding into the darkness like the things spoken only of indoors and with a full moon’s blessing, the men that had come to square away a debt left the weight of the damned below the ink dark sky for you to deal with.

Well. Goddamn. I did not expect this to happen. Please understand that even narrators can be shocked at the feathers that can tip the scales. Sometimes kindness comes in a form that stings at first of pain.

Masterlist | Taglist

@idleviewer

[marimayscarlett]

Bought myself new boots because they reminded me of Richard's a bit and today is the first time they'll see the outside world 🌧️☔☁️ And because I irrationally love layering stuff which doesn't fit together, Sehnsucht Shirt on top it is 🖤

[kaisollisto]

“How long have you been here?” She prods, bumping her gently with her foot still keeping the couple of inches of distance between them. The storm had passed 20 minutes ago and Ava had insisted on exploring as much as she could before nightfall.

“Does it matter? There’s no use dwelling on the passage of time.” Beatrice can feel bitterness lingering on her tongue. It feels like rejection, it feels like Ava has peeled back the layers of Beatrice, glanced at her and decided no thanks. They’re sat on a lumpy rock, Beatrice can feel how worn it is and wonders when she started feeling the same.

Ava pauses, before bringing her gaze from the space below them to Beatrice’s eyes. “It does to me.” Ava has a soft look in her eyes that makes Beatrice want to lash out. She looks away, she doesn’t need this, whatever it may be, whatever Ava chooses to wrap under the word ‘care’.

She takes a deep breath, hoping to still her emotions of misplaced anger. It’s not like Beatrice to get emotional, but after years of isolation, she supposes it’s bound to happen. “Days, years, maybe decades, it’s been a long time.” Beatrice gazes deeply into the horizon, how many times had she wished for this, someone to share the sunset with?

Ava hums and Beatrice turns to look at her. Her face turns to the direction of where Beatrice was once looking, admiring the view. Ava’s face is illuminated by the setting sun, she doesn’t have any blemishes or bumps on her skin. Ava is probably what humans would consider perfect. Beatrice doesn’t know what to think of her, doesn’t want to dwell on it either. She knows better than anyone what that could mean for her.

“For a such a shitty planet you’ve got a nice view.” Ava quips, Beatrice isn’t quite sure what she wants her to say. So she breathes, she closes her eyes gripping the rough stone beneath them and exhales.

“Yeah,” she can feel something rise in her. It balloons from the tips of her toes and forces it’s way up her throat. It curdles on her tongue bitter tasting, everything tastes bitter to Beatrice now. She swallows hard, wallowing in the silence procured between them.

“So, you’re like a MILF or something?” Ava jokes, Beatrice misses the uneasy expression on Ava’s face when she chokes and the smile that follows.

She hacks up spit from her lungs and feels the pressure in her throat loosen, “What?” Beatrice breathes raggedly as she clears her airway. “What could have led you to believe that?”

Ava has the nerve to look sheepishly as she shrugs her shoulders to her ears, “I mean DSP9 is basically your child? And you’re, uh,” Ava flushes as she frantically waves her arms between the two of them. “Yanno, um, h- attractive for your, um species? Race? You’re just pleasing to the eye, at least my eye. But not just pleasing! You’re like plenty smart! Living here on this desolate planet with so little you must be very fit, and survival-y.” Ava trails off blushing a profuse red.

Beatrice would be more concerned if her translator wasn’t struggling to decipher the speed of her words.

[2-kamikou-1]

its beginning to get difficult to work on this gift.

[kitchensinksurrealism]

spent an hour making a list related to That Fandom, followed by an hour listening to the haunting vibe playlist, followed by an hour reading the fanfic we wrote about my band and crying actual tears bc it's the peak of comedy, followed by an hour thinking about all the things I've ever created that will never be seen by anyone either bc I don't know how to show them to people or bc people just think they're bad but either way I'll never know the true answer, and now it's 10.30pm and I've basically experienced the full spectrum of emotions: autism, existential crisis, silly, and the feeling of being unseen

[cvntybrat]

౨ৎ @ichigf's gooner megumi has been plaguing my mind, and i NEED to write abt gooner choso ASAPPPP

goon!

choso was aching. his throbbing cock were straining against his sweats, waiting to be set free from its confines. and oh–his balls felt so heavy, waiting to be emptied. he just couldn't help it. it wasn't his anyways, it was your's.

it was one of the hottest days of the week, but the way your cute little tank top which showed off your cleavage and the shorts that you decided to pair it with, which just hugged your curves so perfectly–and the smile you innocently gave him when you walked back into your room–god, choso has half the mind to just whip out his aching cock out in the middle of the kitchen.

the minute he opens his door to his room, the door is slammed shut behind him. his cheeks were dusted a light shade of pink as he kept thinking about you and the smile you gave him. you just make him so fucking hard and so fucking horny all the damn time, he's surprised you haven't noticed his hard on every time you walked into the same room as him.

at first, he told himself that it was okay to find his roommate hot and attractive, that maybe rubbing one out to the thought of you was normal–i mean it's a normal guy thing right? but then, when you started getting more comfortable, everything you did just made him so incredibly hard.

you used the shower last? just the thought of you in there, naked and so vulnerable, he had to rub one out in the shower.

you're on the phone talking to one of your friends? your voice in itself was enough to get him so fucking horny.

you laughed at something he said? not only is he pumping the base of his cock with his left hand and his right hand rubbing the tip of the angry mushroom head–he's at the point of overstimulating himself. he'd already came twice, but your laugh would echo in his head, a laugh that he made elicited from you and knowing you're down the hall–it just gets him going all over again.

choso has had his fair share of porn, but porn isn't even the first thing that comes to his mind anymore. just the thought of you and his imagination is all that he needs. not only that, he would cum so hard, your name escaping his mouth like a desperate prayer.

there was a time where you went out to a club for a friend's birthday and you walked out of your room in such a short skimpy dress that hugged your figure like it was made for you. when you left, you sent him a quick 360 video, with the text,

be honest, when i turn around can u see my panties? i feel like i look like a prostitute 😭 this should b fine right?

choso saved that video and as he watched it on loop, his hands were already sliding down, freeing his achingly hard cock. he never went fast, each stroke was slow and calculated. his cock was slicked with lube, his eyebrows furrowed together as he watched your video over and over again. moaning your name in the most whiniest voice, begging to cum as if you were there. the first time he cums, he closes his eyes, coming down from his high–but the second he opens them again to see your video, his cock is already twitching for more. and just from that video alone, he was at the brink of shooting blanks.

even though this is such an ongoing thing–something that happens way too often, he would rather cut his dick off than to never see you again if you were to find out how much of a goon he was. it was criminal how many times he'd jacked off to the thought of you.

and as much as he didn't want to admit it, choso would jack off to the thought of you so often, his hidden album on his phone is just a collection of pictures of you that you had sent him, posted on your instagram story, even pictures of you that you reposted from your friend's story. anything with that had to do with you, he needed to have it.

choso is a fucking goon for you.

notes: credits to ichigf for the inspiration and whatever ungodly thing i have now for jjk goons

⋆cvntybrat 2025. DO NOT repost, copy, translate or steal any of my works.

[sjyuns]

MY LOSER BOYFRIEND — LEE HEESEUNG

loser!heeseung x fem!reader established relationship in which everyone questions your taste in men, but there's nothing you love more than a hot loser boyfriend who's deeply obsessed with ramyeon, keyboards, and you (especially you) mikaela's i love hee i need him in my life | collection

I WANNA BE YOURS — how he confessed (how you forced him to)

loser!heeseung who thinks he's super cool and nonchalant with the way he strategically chooses to sit next to you in class as if you can't see him spasm every time you lean in to talk to him, sweaty palms of his leaving obvious marks on the table.

It's cute, you think, so cute.

You can hear him catch his breath, as if it was a sin to breathe every moment you were near and you wonder if he knows that he's got you wrapped around his finger.

Heeseung thinks he's getting it all wrong, even though the obvious signs you've been hinting at of liking him couldn't be any clearer. He feels hot all around because you’re so hot and he's such a loser — there's no way on earth that you'd ever like him or even consider him when you have people lining up just to see you.

As cringey as it sounds he akins it to a tier list like those in ranked games; him a mere bronze level loser while you were in an unreachable challengers tier. He'd need at least 10,000 hours of gameplay and upgrades to ever be able to even touch you.

So, when you have him cornered in your grasps, questioning him if he liked you, Lee Heeseung is nothing but nerves, spouting out complex analogies about how much he liked you.

"It's like laning phase dominance," he starts, and he's so nervous looking at you to the point that he wants to look away but he can't because his body feels out of his control (and you look so pretty today just as you did yesterday). "I'm playing mid lane with my champion I really want to win but my enemy's playing a better champion than I am but I really want to dominate the mid lane so b—"

You cut him off with a kiss, his pouty lips too inviting not to. Heeseung freaks out and he wants to pinch himself to see if this isn't one of his late night put-him-to-sleep scenarios about him bagging you.

"So am I the mid-lane in that analogy?" you ask, teasing him as your lips separate from his.

"No, I mean—" Heeseung panics and he thinks he's losing you over a stupid League of Legends playing tactic. "Yes, technically but you're nothing like a lane physically you're so much prettier and—"

"You think I'm pretty, Hee?" He melts, cheeks dusted a rosy red as he tries to catch a breath, eyes darting around in innocence.

"Yeah, I do actually."

DOMESTICITY — living with him

loser boyfriend!heeseung who walks around the house in loose sweatpants and a sleeveless shirt not knowing what it does to you and your heart.

"Hee," you call and he comes running immediately, going so far as to abandon his game for you.

"Yes, baby?" he answers and he knows from the look on your face that you're hungry so he cooks for you. It's anything but special yet it warms your heart, how he's nothing but willing to do anything for you.

You remember the first time you complimented him on his cooking, the ramyeon in your bowl gone after no more than five slurps and Heeseung's beaming, almost glowing at your satisfied expression.

"I told you babe," he grins, long fringe hovering over the crinkles of his eyes, "shin is so good with the egg cloud but you should never ever put egg inside neoguri. I've tried it and the seafood broth covers the beauty of it."

"Hee," you call and he stops to look at you, bambi eyes glistening under the studio lights of your shared apartment, "you're spiraling again."

"Sorry baby," he gives you a sheepish grin, "I'm just so excited that you like my ramyeon. I've always wanted to make it for you."

"I guess you're my ramyeon slave now," you grin, "because I'm eating this even in my grave."

JEALOUSY, JEALOUSY — when he gets jealous

hot loser boyfriend!heeseung feels green venom boiling in him when you get approached by idiots who can't seem to grasp the fact that you're taken, even when he's standing right beside you.

His grip on you tightening as you leaning closer into him, kindly rejecting the boy standing in front of you. "I have a boyfriend," you tell him, looking over to Heeseung who can't help but give the poor boy death glares.

And you really don't think you should be salivating at how hot your boyfriend looks when he's mad in such a situation but you find yourself doing just that, staring at him in adoration as he wraps his arms around you possessively, not wanting to let you go.

"I can't believe that guy, how can one have such low IQ," he grumbles, placing a chaste kiss on the crown of your head, brows still furrowed in frustration.

"Right," you answer, totally unaware of what Heeseung had just said, mind focused on your boyfriend's face and you wonder how Heeseung has never been asked out before because he's so pretty: like an angel from heaven.

"Right, and the audacity? I was here first and you're literally my girlfriend, if he wants a girlfriend he can take a pick from the other less pretty ones, how — baby, are you listening to me?"

You hum, looking up at him with eyes of innocence and he folds, instantly. Pent up anger vanishing into thin air as you envelope him with happiness. "You look so hot right now," you tell him, and he gives you a slight look of concern.

"Baby, how's jealousy hot?" Heeseung almost laughs at your words, unable to wrap his head around what you found hot about him.

"Well, because you said that I'm yours." You point out and he ponders.

"I mean yeah, isn't that a fact. You're my girlfriend." He states, like it's always going to be this way, "just like how my keyboards are my keyboards and not anyone else's. I mean no two people can have one thing."

"Hee, you're so ruining the moment," you whine and he flashes you the goofiest grin.

You love your hot loser boyfriend and the best part is that he loves you more.

© SJYUNS

[edenarchives]

♯┆𝐒𝐏𝐎𝐈𝐋𝐄𝐃 .ᐟ — 𝐍𝐀𝐍𝐀𝐌�� 𝐊𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐎

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: A joke profile on a sugar daddy site turns serious when @TimeIsMoney starts paying—and praising—you. What begins as harmless fun spirals into obsession after one night in his hotel suite leaves you aching, ruined, and wanting more.

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: daddy kink, age gap, sugar baby stuff, praise, rough sex, oral (f receiving), creampie, money kink, dirty talk, power dynamics, he’s obsessed, reader gets absolutely ruined, aftercare, light choking, finger fucking, reader gets called good girl a lot

𝐖𝐂: 4,000

PART 2

It starts as a joke.

Wine bottles rattle as Nobara kicks the recycling bin closed with the heel of her foot, the sound of glass clinking against cheap plastic barely audible over the laughter echoing through your tiny, overstuffed apartment. Maki flops onto the couch beside you, stretching out like a cat, her legs hooked over the armrest and one arm draped across her eyes. The air smells like takeout and wine, sweet and familiar, the kind of scent that clings to memories. Finals are looming like storm clouds, rent is due in a week, and the textbooks on the kitchen table are collecting more dust than notes. The weight of it all sits heavy in the background, but for now, there’s laughter—loud and warm and so completely alive it makes you forget that you’re broke. That you’re stressed. That everything feels impossible sometimes.

“I’m telling you,” Nobara says as she refills her glass, the wine sloshing close to the rim. “Sugar daddies are the answer. Tuition? Handled. Rent? Done. Textbooks? Bought by some old man who just wants to stare at your feet and be told he’s a good little pay pig.”

You nearly choke on your drink, laughing as you wave her off. “Yeah, okay. Sure.”

But Maki’s already pulling your laptop closer, pushing aside the half-eaten box of noodles and flicking the screen to wake it. “Come on, let’s just look. You never know.”

The three of you huddle close as the website loads, the layout exactly as tacky as you’d expect. It takes ten minutes to craft a profile that’s both over-the-top and strangely believable. You use a slightly sultry selfie from last month—nothing too scandalous, just a little cleavage and a coy smile. The bio is ridiculous: College student. Lit major. Broke but charming. Let’s make a deal. You don’t use your real name. The username you pick @YourSweetestSin is half a joke, half something that makes you snort. By the time the profile is live, you’re all laughing so hard your stomach hurts. It’s stupid. It’s harmless. You never intend to take it seriously.

But you don’t delete the profile either. Not that night. Not the next day.

The first message comes two days later while you’re curled in bed, laptop balanced on your thighs, half-focused on an essay you’re bullshitting at the last possible second. The ping startles you, the notification bouncing in the corner of your screen.

@TimeIsMoney: Hello.

That’s it. No gross pickup line. No emojis. No sleazy GIFs. Just a greeting. Curious, you click the profile, expecting a troll or someone who looks like he just escaped from a retirement home. But there’s no picture. Just a clean profile with a short bio: Professional. Discreet. Generous. It makes you snort. “Sure,” you mutter under your breath. But you reply anyway. For the bit. For the laugh. You can’t wait to show the girls.

Except it doesn’t end there. He writes back. You respond. The next message comes within the hour. Then another. And another. Each one short, to the point, polite in a way that disarms you. He asks how your classes are going. What books you’re reading. He doesn’t flirt. He compliments you, but not in a way that makes your skin crawl. It’s strange. It’s addictive. You start checking the app more often. You start replying faster. There’s something comforting about the consistency of it, about the way he always answers. Predictable. Reliable. And that’s something you didn’t realize you were craving until now.

Then, on the fifth night

I want to see you.

The message appears while you’re lying on your stomach, feet kicking behind you, chin resting in your palm. You read it three times. Your heart skips a beat, your stomach flips, and your first instinct is to laugh. This is the part where you bail, right? Where you screenshot it and send it to Nobara with a “can you believe this guy?” But instead, you’re walking to the mirror, pulling your hair over one shoulder, angling your phone just right. You pick your best push-up bra—the black one that hugs you perfectly—and snap a photo. You send it. Doll eyes. Slight pout. Your lips parting like you’ve done this a thousand times.

The response is immediate.

Good girl.

Then, a second later, another notification.

You’ve received $500.

You sit up. Blink. Refresh the app. But it’s there. Sitting in your account, waiting to be transferred. Your jaw drops. Then you scream. Then you laugh. Hard. You’re breathless. You don’t tell Nobara or Maki. Not this time.

From that moment on, it’s a blur. More messages. More requests. Nothing below the waist, not yet. Just photos. A little more skin each time. He never demands. He always asks. And he always pays.

Take off your bra. $500.

Show me your nipples. $700.

Each time, the money lands in your account within seconds. And each time, you find yourself a little wetter. A little more flushed. A little more eager to read the next message. You don’t just do it for the money anymore. You do it because his praise makes your stomach flutter. Because you feel seen. Desired. Wanted. Powerful.

Then comes the night he asks to call you. Your hands tremble as you answer. His voice is everything you didn’t expect. Calm. Smooth. Deep enough to settle in your bones and echo. He doesn’t flirt. He doesn’t tease. He tells you exactly what he wants. Exactly how he wants to hear you fall apart. You’re already naked when the call starts. The toy he told you to buy is buzzing between your thighs before he even finishes the first sentence. His voice doesn’t falter. He talks you through it like he’s done it a hundred times. You come so hard you see white. He pays you $1,000.

You don’t bother pretending anymore. You wait for his messages. You ache when he disappears for too long. You’re careful not to get too attached, but it’s hard not to wonder. Not to imagine what he looks like. How he might taste. How it would feel to have those hands on your skin instead of just your imagination. So when the next message comes, you already know how you’ll answer.

I want you meet you

When and where?

The hotel he books is far nicer than anywhere you’ve ever been. Just stepping into the lobby makes you feel like an imposter. Crystal chandeliers, velvet furniture, a floral arrangement so big it probably has its own budget. Your heels click across the marble as you walk toward the elevators, your trench coat clutched tight around your body, hiding the lace beneath. You keep your head down. Pretend you belong. The nerves bubbling in your stomach are loud enough, sharp enough to echo.

He said he’d meet you in the room. Top floor. Private. You know the number by heart. You’ve read it over and over again on the message thread. Your fingers hover over the keypad outside the suite door. You press it before you can talk yourself out of it.

The door swings open almost immediately. And there he is.

Nanami Kento.

He doesn’t look how you pictured. He’s younger. Broader. Tall enough that you tilt your chin up to meet his gaze. Blonde hair, glasses, expensive-looking suit. He smells like cedar and something clean and expensive. His jaw is sharp. His expression unreadable. But his eyes, they roam your body like he knows exactly what’s under your coat.

“Come in,” he says, stepping aside.

You move past him into the room. The suite is massive. Soft lighting, a king-sized bed with crisp white sheets, a view of the city skyline that stretches beyond floor-to-ceiling windows. You hear the door close behind you. The lock clicks.

“I wasn’t sure you’d come,” he says.

Your voice barely works. “I wasn’t sure either.”

“Are you nervous?”

You nod.

“Good.” He steps closer. “It means this matters.”

Then he touches you.

It’s not a grab. Not even a full reach. Just the brush of his fingers down your arm, slow and steady, his touch so light it makes your skin prickle. He looks at you like he’s reading you, analyzing every twitch, every flutter of your lashes. His fingers find the belt of your coat. He doesn’t tug. He doesn’t ask. He just looks at you.

You nod.

He undoes the knot slowly, methodically, like he’s unwrapping a gift he doesn’t want to damage. The coat falls open. His breath catches.

The lingerie is sheer black lace, delicate enough to feel sinful. You chose it for him. You’ve sent him pictures in it before. But the way he’s looking at you now—it makes your knees weak.

“Beautiful,” he says. It’s quiet. Like he’s talking to himself.

He slips the coat from your shoulders. It falls in a soft thud at your feet.

“Get on the bed.”

You crawl onto the bed, your knees sinking into the mattress, your heartbeat thudding loud in your ears. The sheets are soft beneath your hands, cool against your flushed skin, and you feel him watching you. Not just looking—watching. The heat of his gaze crawls along your spine as you settle on your back, your legs folding to the side, thighs tight with anticipation. He doesn’t move right away. He just stands there, drinking you in like you’re art, like you’re something to be studied.

Then he begins to undress.

Each movement is precise, deliberate. He removes his watch first, setting it on the nightstand with a soft click. Then he unbuttons his shirt, one button at a time, his fingers steady and sure. You watch his chest slowly come into view—firm, broad, sculpted in a way that makes your breath catch. His shoulders are wide, his waist trim, his skin smooth and golden under the low light. When he slides the shirt off and starts on his belt, your thighs press together involuntarily. The buckle clinks. The zipper lowers. And then he steps out of his slacks, revealing long legs, tight black briefs, and the hard line of his cock already straining against the fabric.

He climbs onto the bed with the kind of calm confidence that makes your stomach flip. He doesn’t pounce. Doesn’t rush. He kneels between your legs and runs his hands up your thighs, spreading them slowly, pushing them apart with the patience of someone who knows exactly what you need and intends to give it to you—on his terms. The cool air kisses your heat, and you realize how wet you already are, your arousal sticking to the inside of your thighs. He hums low in his throat as his fingers hook into your panties and begins sliding them down, inch by inch.

“You’ve been thinking about this,” he says softly. “I can feel it. You’re soaked.”

You whimper, arching slightly as he tosses the lace aside. He doesn’t tease. Doesn’t make you wait. He leans down, his broad shoulders pushing your thighs wider, and when his mouth finally touches you, you gasp—loud, sharp, uncontrollable. His tongue strokes through your folds with slow, deliberate pressure, tasting you like he has all night. His lips close around your clit, sucking gently, and your back bows off the bed.

“Fuck—Nanami,” you breathe, fingers flying into his hair.

He groans against your pussy, the sound vibrating through you. He eats you like he means it, like it’s his mission. His tongue moves with skill, pressure alternating between soft flicks and firm, devastating licks. One of his hands slides under your ass, lifting your hips, tilting you up so he can go deeper. The other moves between your legs, and when two fingers slide inside you, you cry out.

Your walls clench around him, tight and wet, your body already shaking. He curls his fingers just right and your thighs twitch in response, your breath catching. He doesn’t stop. Doesn’t let up. He watches you from below, eyes dark and steady, like he’s memorizing every twitch, every moan, every desperate roll of your hips. You’re spiraling. Unraveling.

It hits fast. Hard. Your orgasm crashes over you before you can warn him, a wave of heat and light that rips through your body and leaves you sobbing his name. Your hips buck, your legs tremble, your fingers claw at the sheets—but he holds you down, mouth still on you, tongue relentless.

When he finally pulls back, his chin is wet, his lips slick with you. He looks pleased. Controlled. Like he could keep going. Like he wants to.

“That’s one,” he murmurs, dragging his fingers from your cunt and bringing them to his mouth. He sucks them clean slowly, and you moan again, helpless, already throbbing with the need for more.

He leans over you and kisses you—slow, deep, messy—and you taste yourself on his lips. He rolls his hips against yours, his cock hot and hard against your thigh. Your hands slide down, tugging at the waistband of his briefs, and he lets you peel them down.

He’s thick. Long. Veins running along the shaft, the head flushed and already leaking.

“You want this?” he asks, voice low, rough.

“Yes,” you whisper. “Please.”

He lines himself up and pushes in slowly. Inch by inch. Stretching you wide, filling you so deep you can feel it in your stomach. Your jaw drops, a choked moan escaping as your nails sink into his back.

“Oh my god,” you gasp.

“Too much?” he breathes, pausing halfway.

“No—don’t stop. Please. Keep going.”

He groans, sliding in the rest of the way, bottoming out. He stays there, buried to the hilt, letting you adjust, his forehead pressed to yours.

“You’re so tight,” he murmurs. “So perfect around me.”

Then he moves.

Slow at first. Deep. His hips roll into yours, grinding with each thrust. It’s overwhelming, every drag of his cock hitting that spot inside you that makes your toes curl. You cling to him, moaning into his shoulder, and he presses kisses to your neck, your jaw, your lips.

“You’re doing so good,” he whispers. “Taking me so well. My good girl.”

The praise makes your walls flutter. Your body is already on edge again, hips rolling up to meet his, chasing more.

And then you remember—

“I thought you were gonna fuck me stupid,” you pant.

He stills.

His head lifts. His eyes meet yours.

“I was trying to be gentle,” he says, his voice suddenly darker. “But if you’re going to act like a cock-drunk little slut—”

He pulls out and flips you over in one smooth motion, dragging your hips up, pushing your chest into the mattress. He thrusts back into you hard, deep, and you scream into the sheets.

“—then I’ll fuck you like one”

He doesn’t hold back now. His pace is punishing, hips slamming into yours with the kind of strength that makes the bed creak beneath you. Each thrust drives his cock deeper, harder, making you cry out with every stroke. Your hands fist the sheets, knuckles white, as your body rocks forward from the force of him. He grabs your hips tighter, pulling you back onto him, forcing every inch of him inside like he’s claiming you, ruining you. Your thoughts are gone, scattered, every one of them drowned beneath the sound of skin meeting skin and the filthy things he’s growling into your ear.

“This what you wanted?” he pants, his voice a low growl. “To be fucked like a desperate little whore? You like it like this—don’t you?”

You try to answer, but all that leaves your mouth is a broken moan, high-pitched and needy. Your legs are shaking, your pussy clenching so tightly around him that you feel every twitch of his cock. You’re drooling onto the sheets, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes from how good it feels, from how deep he’s inside you.

He reaches down and grabs your hair, pulling your head back until your spine arches, your back flush to his chest. His hand slides down, fingers finding your clit with practiced ease. He rubs slow, tight circles, the pressure just right. Your body locks up.

“Oh my god—Nanami—fuck—”

“I want you to cum again,” he hisses into your ear. “Cum for me while I’m buried in this tight little pussy. Let me feel you fall apart.”

You do.

It hits harder than the first time, your body convulsing around him, thighs trembling, a sob of pleasure ripping from your throat as your orgasm tears through you. You clench around him so hard it makes him grunt, his rhythm faltering for the first time. He curses under his breath, fucking you through it, prolonging your high until you’re left a shaking, overstimulated mess.

“God, you’re fucking perfect,” he growls.

You collapse forward, cheek pressed to the sheets, too wrecked to hold yourself up anymore. But he doesn’t stop. He slows down, but he keeps moving, long deep strokes that fill you again and again. One hand stays on your hip while the other presses between your shoulder blades, holding you down. You’re gasping, moaning brokenly, your cunt so sensitive you’re already on the edge again.

“Please—please, I can’t—”

“Yes, you can,” he growls. “You’re gonna give me one more.”

His cock drags along your walls, thick and pulsing, hitting every spot that makes your vision blur. Your body is on fire. Nerves raw. Everything tightens again, too soon, too fast.

“Cum,” he demands, and the command alone pushes you over the edge.

You scream his name as your third orgasm slams into you, thighs quaking, fingers clawing at the mattress as you fall apart. Your pussy clenches so hard around him that his rhythm shatters. He groans, deep and guttural, thrusts stuttering as he slams into you one final time and spills inside you with a growl.

You can feel it—his cum flooding your pussy, hot and thick, filling you up as his body presses down on yours. His breath is hot against your back. His weight grounding.

He stays like that for a moment, both of you panting, your bodies tangled in heat and sweat. Then he pulls out slowly, gently, and you whimper at the loss. You feel the slick of his release drip down your thigh.

You’re boneless. Floating. Barely able to lift your head.

He pulls you into his arms, rolls you over, kisses your forehead. His hands are soft again, soothing, trailing along your back in lazy circles.

“You did so good,” he murmurs. “So fucking good.”

He holds you until your breathing slows. Until the ache in your muscles fades into something warm and satisfied. Until the world stops spinning quite so fast.

Then he rises. Dresses slowly. Smooths his hair back into place. He leans down to press one last kiss to your lips.

“The room is yours until tomorrow night,” he whispers. “Order whatever you want. Rest. Recover.”

You blink up at him, dazed. “Where are you going?”

He smiles. “I need to get ready for work on Monday.”

And then he’s gone.

The silence after he leaves is loud. You lie there for a while, naked in the sheets that smell like him, your body sore and aching in the best possible way. Everything feels distant. Fuzzy. Like your skin is still buzzing with the echo of his hands, his voice, the way he looked at you like he owned every inch of you. You eventually drag yourself out of bed, your legs unsteady, and pad to the bathroom. The tub is huge, the kind of thing you’d only ever seen in movies, and you don’t think twice before running the water, pouring in a generous stream of lavender bubble bath from the bottle on the counter. You sink into the warmth with a soft moan, letting the water ease the tightness in your thighs, the soreness in your hips. Every shift of your body reminds you of what just happened—of how thoroughly he fucked you, how deeply he filled you, how completely he took you apart.

You stay in the bath until the water starts to cool, then dry off and wrap yourself in one of the fluffy white robes hanging by the door. You pour yourself a glass of champagne from the bottle chilling by the window and collapse onto the bed again, legs curled under you, robe slipping off one shoulder. You stare at the city lights outside the window, the skyline glowing and endless. You feel expensive. Adored. Used and treasured at the same time. The kind of full you didn’t know you were craving.

Your phone buzzes on the nightstand.

You grab it lazily, still smiling.

Nanami has sent you $10,000.

You stare.

You’re up in a flash, jumping on the bed like a maniac, the robe falling off as you laugh and squeal and spin yourself dizzy. You don’t even care. You roll across the mattress, kick your legs in the air, and scream into a pillow. Then you check again—just to be sure. It’s still there. Ten. Thousand. Dollars.

You sink back against the pillows, grinning like a fool, and take a long, slow sip of champagne.

This is the best night of your life.

The weekend melts away in a blur of room service and luxury. You spend hours soaking in the tub, order dessert with every meal, and sleep tangled in hotel sheets that smell like him. You keep your phone close, reading and rereading every message he sends. He doesn’t disappear. He checks in constantly. Tells you how proud he is. How badly he wants you again. How he’s counting the hours until next time.

By Monday morning, you’re still sore. Still giddy. You barely hear your alarm over the buzz of your phone. You get ready for class with your phone in your hand the entire time, texting back between sips of coffee.

I need you again this weekend. Same hotel. I want you on your knees when I walk in.

I can still feel you. Still smell you. I’m not done with you.

You’re practically floating when you meet up with Nobara and Maki in the courtyard.

“You’re glowing,” Maki says. “Who are you texting?”

Nobara leans in to peek. You pull your phone away with a smirk.

“No one.”

“She’s lying,” Maki says. “It’s totally a sugar daddy. Look at her.” She jokes.

You laugh. Shrug. Say nothing.

Because they’re right. And you’re not giving up your secret that easy. The three of you head to class, sliding into your usual seats as you pull out your laptop. You open a blank doc, fingers still dancing over your phone under the table.

I want your pussy on my mouth the second I see you again.

You bite your lip, cheeks hot, and set your phone face-down as the door opens.

Footsteps. A soft clearing of a throat.

You look up and freeze.

Nanami Kento walks to the front of the classroom, calm and collected, setting his briefcase on the podium like he’s done it a hundred times. He’s in a fitted suit, glasses perched on his nose, hair neat and perfect.

He adjusts his tie. Opens his laptop. Looks up.

His eyes meet yours.

He doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t falter. Just offers the faintest flicker of a smile.

“Good morning, everyone,” he says smoothly. “Welcome to Ethics in Literature.

Your stomach drops through the floor.

Holy. Fucking. Shit.

[solxamber]

How to Handle Your Diva || Vil Schoenheit

You’re the unofficial Vil Schoenheit handler, a role you assumed when you started dating him. Whether it’s calming his temper or redirecting his wrath, you’ve become the only one capable of keeping poor midguided souls from biting the dust.

aka the 7 times you save someone from getting poisoned or worse.

Instance 1: Chaos Duo

The serene backdrop of NRC’s gardens frames Vil Schoenheit like a painting come to life. Dressed in flowing silks and adorned with the perfect balance of sunlight and shadow, he’s mid-pose when—

“Yo, Vil! Say cheese!”

Ace and Deuce leap into the frame, pulling the most exaggerated faces imaginable. Deuce’s eyes are practically crossed, and Ace looks like he’s mid-sneeze. The photographer audibly chokes on his spit.

Vil freezes. The air goes cold. The birds stop singing. Somewhere in the distance, a withering rose drops a petal.

“What,” Vil says, so quiet it’s terrifying, “was that?”

“It was Ace’s idea!” Deuce blurts immediately, shoving Ace under the metaphorical bus.

“Thanks a lot, traitor!” Ace snaps back.

Vil’s eyes narrow. “You,” he hisses, voice dripping with venom, “have the audacity to ruin my shoot?”

By the time you arrive, the photographer is hiding behind a bush, and Ace and Deuce are sweating under Vil’s glare. The two freshmen look like they’re seconds away from turning into frogs—or corpses.

“Vil, sweetie,” you interrupt, stepping between them and the storm cloud forming above his head, “what’s going on?”

“These plebeians,” Vil says, gesturing at Ace and Deuce like they’re bacteria under a microscope, “thought it would be funny to sabotage my art!”

“They’re idiots,” you agree, shooting the freshmen a glare. “But let’s think about this. What if... this makes your shoot even better?”

Vil arches a perfectly sculpted brow. “Better?”

“Yeah!” you say, channeling all your persuasive powers. “When people see this, they’ll notice how your beauty shines even in the presence of—” you gesture vaguely at Ace and Deuce, “—mediocrity.”

“Mediocrity?” Ace repeats indignantly.

“Shut up,” you snap before turning back to Vil. “Think about it. They’ll see your grace, your poise, and how you completely outshine everyone around you. It’s contrast, Vil. Art loves contrast.”

Vil strokes his chin, considering. “You may have a point...”

“Totally! And, like, who would take them seriously anyway? Look at Deuce’s face. He looks like a confused pigeon.”

“Hey!” Deuce protests, but Ace is already nodding.

“Yeah, yeah! Vil, this just makes you look even cooler! Like, people will see this and be like, ‘Wow, he’s untouchable, even next to these losers.’”

Vil finally exhales, his wrath ebbing. “Very well,” he says, smoothing his silks. “I’ll allow it. But only because the juxtaposition highlights my perfection.”

Ace and Deuce sag in relief, clearly missing the word “juxtaposition.”

Later, Trey finds you in the hallway. “I heard what happened,” he says, looking both exasperated and grateful. “Thank you for stopping Vil from poisoning them. Again.”

You shrug. “All in a day’s work.”

Instance 2: Just Leona.

The group is gathered in the cafeteria, the usual buzz of conversation swirling around. Vil sits at the head of the table, eating his meticulously prepared salad—a work of art with perfect symmetry, vibrant greens, and an edible flower garnish.

Leona slouches in his chair nearby, tearing into a steak with all the grace of a feral lion. He pauses mid-bite, glances at Vil's plate, and snorts loud enough to turn heads.

"What's that, Schoenheit? Rabbit food?"

The air grows thick. Vil’s fork stops mid-air, his gaze snapping to Leona like a hawk spotting prey. "Excuse me?" he says, in that icy tone that sends chills down spines.

Leona smirks, undeterred. "You heard me. All those leaves and petals—looks like something I’d feed to the herbivores back home."

There’s a collective oh no from everyone nearby. Jack visibly stiffens, eyes darting between the two like he’s watching a live-action disaster. You’re pretty sure Grim just whispered, “This is gonna be good,” from somewhere behind you.

"It’s called maintaining one’s figure," Vil snaps, placing his fork down with calculated grace. “You wouldn’t understand, considering your diet seems to consist entirely of undercooked meat and mediocrity.”

Leona leans back, looking as smug as a cat in a sunbeam. “At least I eat like a king. Meanwhile, you’re over there grazing like the royal gardener.”

The tension escalates. Vil’s hand twitches toward his fork, and you’re suddenly very sure he’s planning to plant it somewhere deeply unfortunate on Leona.

Time to intervene.

“Vil,” you cut in smoothly, leaning closer to him, “can I just say, you look amazing today? Honestly, I don’t think anyone else could pull off a salad with such elegance.”

Vil blinks, momentarily startled, before his lips curve into a faintly smug smile. “Well,” he says, primly dabbing at his mouth with a napkin, “I do have a certain flair for refinement. It’s not something just anyone can achieve.”

“No, it’s not,” you say firmly, throwing Leona a warning glance. “And anyone who doesn’t see that is clearly just... jealous.”

Leona snorts again but doesn’t push further, clearly uninterested in escalating now that Vil’s focus is on being praised rather than plotting homicide.

Jack gives you a subtle, grateful nod, visibly relieved that he won’t have to referee another dorm-versus-dorm war.

As Vil returns to his salad with renewed dignity, you sit back with a sigh, silently adding prevented cafeteria murder to your list of daily accomplishments.

Instance 3: Theatre Club Madness

It starts, as all things do, with Floyd and his unique brand of chaos. This time, it’s a priceless antique vase from Pomefiore’s lounge that met its tragic end because Floyd “wanted to see if it could fly.”

Spoiler: it couldn’t.

Vil, who witnessed the entire ordeal, was seconds away from summoning a storm of consequences when Floyd, in a rare flash of survival instinct, promised to repay the debt.

“I’ll help with your little drama thing,” Floyd had said with a grin too wide to trust.

That promise didn’t even make it a full day.

By the time Azul appears in Ramshackle, wringing his hands, you already know something’s gone terribly wrong.

“Vil asked Floyd to star in some action scenes for his theater production,” Azul says, clearly on edge. “But Floyd... Well, he’s Floyd.”

You sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose. “Let me guess. He skipped?”

“Skipped, vanished, and laughed about it,” Azul confirms. “Vil is furious. I fear he might—”

“Poison the Lounge’s water?” you finish for him.

Azul nods gravely.

Which is how you find yourself in Pomefiore’s theater, holding a script titled The Tragic Tale of Honor and Glory and wearing an outfit that feels heavier than your life choices.

Vil sits in the audience, arms crossed, as you nervously adjust the overly ornate shoulder pads. “Darling, I adore you,” he says smoothly, “but if you ruin my vision, we will have words.”

“Right,” you mutter. “No pressure or anything.”

Rook, of course, is thrilled. “What a magnifique turn of events! A real-life romance brought to life on stage!” he says, twirling a prop sword before handing it to you.

You glance at the script and immediately regret every decision that’s led you here. Floyd’s role isn’t just action-heavy—it’s absurd. You’re supposed to fend off imaginary enemies, deliver heartfelt speeches, and somehow “leap gracefully” across a prop chasm.

“Are we sure this isn’t a punishment?” you whisper to Rook.

“Every great artist suffers for their craft!” he replies, as unhinged as ever.

Rehearsals are... an experience. Vil critiques your sword stance, your dramatic pauses, and even the way you hold the fake shield. “You’re not a barbarian,” he snaps at one point. “This is a knightly role. Show some dignity!”

The only thing keeping you sane is the occasional glimpse of Vil’s smile when you nail a scene. He’s still your Vil—meticulous, demanding, and, beneath it all, proud of you.

By the end of the day, you’re exhausted, but no one’s been poisoned, and Vil is satisfied.

“Darling,” he says as you collapse into a chair, “you might just be a natural.”

You groan in response, but secretly, you’re glad. If starring in a play keeps the peace and earns you a proud smile from your perfectionist boyfriend, it’s worth every ridiculous leap and over-the-top speech.

You're not letting Floyd off the hook though, he now owes you a blood debt.

Instance 4: Runway Disaster

It happens in slow motion. Kalim, with his usual sunshine energy, bounds over to greet Vil during a fitting for his latest custom runway outfit. In one hand, he holds a crystal goblet of bright red juice.

“Kalim, no—” Jamil tries to intervene, but he’s too late.

One excited gesture later, the goblet tilts. The juice spills. And Vil’s pristine white couture ensemble is suddenly dyed a tragic, splotchy crimson.

For a moment, the room is deathly silent. Kalim freezes, his smile faltering as Vil’s expression shifts from shock to something that resembles a villainous Disney queen summoning her final form.

“Oh no,” Jamil mutters, stepping back like a man who knows better than to get involved in an impending disaster.

Vil’s fingers twitch, and actual poison gas starts to swirl faintly around him.

“You…” he begins, voice deadly calm, eyes narrowed at Kalim, who looks like he’s considering whether running or apologizing is the better survival tactic.

Before Vil can unleash his fury (or toxins), you jump in, grabbing his arm like a brave but foolish hero.

“Wait! Think of the headlines,” you blurt. “The great Vil Schoenheit doesn’t panic when disaster strikes. He innovates. He adapts. He turns accidents into opportunities!”

Vil pauses, glancing at you with an arched brow. “Go on.”

“This isn’t a catastrophe—it’s a creative challenge,” you say, channeling your best salesperson energy. “You can redesign the outfit on the fly, show off your genius in real time, and prove why you’re the best.”

Jamil, who’s still lurking near the door, lets out a faint groan. “Don’t drag me into this—”

“Perfect!” you cut him off, pointing dramatically. “Jamil, help us. You’re good with details. Kalim, you’re... great at handing over fabric?”

“I am?” Kalim perks up, always happy to help, even when he’s the source of the problem.

Vil exhales sharply but lowers his hands, the faint poison clouds dissipating. He turns to you, his lips twitching upward in something resembling reluctant approval. “At least someone here recognizes talent when they see it.”

Half an hour later, Jamil is threading needles with the speed of a man who just wants this ordeal to end, Kalim is cheerfully sorting through fabric swatches, and Vil is in full designer mode, issuing commands and adjusting details.

You’re stuck holding a pin cushion and occasionally offering words of encouragement, but hey, no one’s been poisoned, and Vil’s outfit is somehow looking even better than before.

When it’s finished, Vil studies the revamped ensemble with a critical eye, then turns to you.

“Not bad,” he says, which, coming from Vil, is practically a standing ovation.

Kalim beams. “This was fun! Let’s spill juice more often!”

Jamil groans audibly, and Vil rolls his eyes, muttering something about how his brilliance is wasted on “uncultured chaos.” But when he glances at you, there’s a soft glimmer of gratitude.

Maybe you won’t have to stop a literal poison attack every day, but you’re definitely earning your stripes as the official Vil Schoenheit Disaster Manager™.

Instance 5: Epel, why?

Epel’s first mistake is thinking he can sneak a greasy burger into the Pomefiore lounge. His second mistake is sitting right in front of Vil to eat it.

The moment Vil spots the offensive food item, his entire posture stiffens. Slowly, he sets down the teacup he was holding, a faint air of menace radiating from him.

“Epel,” Vil says, voice dangerously calm, “are you seriously eating... that in my presence?”

Epel freezes mid-bite, the burger hovering inches from his mouth. “Uh, I mean... it’s just a quick snack—”

“It’s processed garbage,” Vil snaps, his tone sharp enough to cut diamonds. “Do you even know what’s in it? Chemicals, preservatives, and enough grease to clog your arteries by the time you’re twenty-five!”

You can almost see the poison aura starting to swirl, and your instincts kick in. There’s only one way to de-escalate this. Compliments. Lots of them.

“You know, Vil,” you interject brightly, sidling closer to him, “I’ve been meaning to tell you how absolutely flawless your skin looks today. Did you do something different? A new serum, maybe?”

Vil blinks, momentarily thrown off. “I did switch to a more concentrated vitamin C serum this morning.”

“Wow,” you gush, “it’s really working. You’re practically glowing! Honestly, you look like you just stepped off the cover of a magazine.”

Vil preens slightly, his focus shifting from Epel to himself. Epel catches your subtle hand signal—Run, you fool, run while you still can!—and starts to edge toward the door, burger clutched tightly in his hands.

Rook, who has been lurking silently nearby as usual, suddenly claps his hands together, eyes sparkling. “Ah, mon cher ami, how touching! Such devotion, such cleverness, to save our dear Epel from the wrath of Monsieur Vil! Truly, a love as radiant as the sun itself!”

Vil narrows his eyes at Rook, then at you, clearly aware of what you’ve just pulled. For a second, you think he might ignore your distraction entirely and summon some ancient Pomefiore curse to turn Epel into a cautionary tale.

But then he sighs and shakes his head. “You’re insufferable,” he mutters, though there’s a faint, reluctant smile on his lips.

Later, as Rook waxes poetic about your “unwavering dedication,” Vil leans in close and murmurs, “I hope you know that if it were anyone else, I wouldn’t have let this slide.”

“I know,” you say, grinning.

“And you owe me a handmade, organic, non-processed dinner tonight,” he adds, though his tone is more affectionate than demanding.

Fair enough. You’ve just saved Epel from doom and earned yourself a little more of Vil’s soft spot in the process. Not a bad trade-off.

Instance 6: Housewarden meeting

It all starts when Idia mutters the fatal words under his breath at the housewarden meeting.

“Skincare’s just a corporate scam for gullible people, anyway.”

The air goes still. A deathly quiet spreads across the room, save for the faint thump of a pen dropping somewhere in the background. You look up in horror, eyes darting to Vil, who has frozen mid-reading. Slowly, methodically, Vil sets the paper down with the poise of a storm brewing on the horizon.

“Excuse me?” Vil’s voice is icy, his gaze locking onto Idia with the precision of a predator that has just spotted its prey.

Idia, realizing his monumental mistake, turns pale. His flaming hair flickers nervously. “Uh—uh—wait, no, I didn’t mean—uh, you know, for other people, not you! Definitely not you, You’re obviously an exception—uh, outlier—uh—uhhhhh...”

You can see it in Vil’s eyes: hexes. Hexes upon hexes. Idia’s social credit is about to go into the negatives, and it’s up to you to stop this trainwreck before it derails completely.

“Vil, darling,” you say quickly, sliding up beside him and placing a calming hand on his arm, “why waste your brilliance on people who clearly don’t understand skincare? They’re the ones missing out. Why not show them how effective it really is instead?”

Vil’s brow raises, his attention turning to you. “Show them?”

You nod earnestly. “Absolutely. A real-world demonstration. I’ll be your model. You can prove to the entire campus how flawless your methods are by working your magic on me.”

Idia, still rooted to his chair, looks at you with wide, desperate eyes, mouthing, Thank you, oh my god.

Vil considers this for a moment, the dangerous glint in his eyes dimming slightly. “Hm. That does have potential. It’s true that nothing speaks louder than results...” He narrows his gaze at you. “But don’t think this will be easy. You’re going to follow my instructions exactly.”

“Of course,” you say, internally praying you don’t end up with a ten-step skincare routine involving rare herbs and unicorn tears.

Three hours later, you’re sitting in Vil’s dorm room with half your face slathered in a gold-infused sheet mask, while he critiques the lighting for your before-and-after photos. Idia has not only escaped with his life but is actively hiding in Ignihyde, no doubt sobbing into his console for letting this happen.

The next morning, Ortho drops off a neatly wrapped package with a note:

"Thank you for keeping Big Brother from turning into a toad. This is our thank you. Please use it wisely. - Ortho"

Inside is a supply of snacks that Vil would never allow, soda and a very generous gift card.

At least your skin has never looked better

Instance 7: Fashion Show Debate

It happens during the final stages of Vil’s meticulously planned fashion show rehearsal in Pomefiore’s grand hall. The decorators are frantically running around, while Vil oversees every detail with the precision of a hawk. It’s flawless—until Sebek’s voice booms through the air like a thunderclap.

“FASHION IS A POINTLESS PURSUIT WHEN COMPARED TO THE NOBLE ART OF SWORDSMANSHIP!”

Every head swivels toward Sebek, who stands tall, arms crossed, utterly convinced of his own wisdom. He continues, undeterred by the growing silence. “Who cares what you wear when you’re on the battlefield?! True strength lies not in silks and satins, but in the heart of a warrior!”

Vil freezes mid-step, his clipboard trembling in his hand. Slowly, he turns, and you swear you see the faintest shimmer of poison green pooling in his eyes. His glare could cut through steel.

“Excuse me?” Vil says, each syllable sharp and measured.

Sebek, being Sebek, barrels on, entirely oblivious to the danger he’s wading into. “Clothing is irrelevant when facing an opponent of true skill! A warrior’s resolve is their most valuable armor!”

Lilia, lounging nearby, starts wheezing with laughter, clearly finding the whole ordeal the height of entertainment. “Oh, this is delightful. Do go on, Sebek!”

You, however, sense disaster brewing. The tension in Vil’s jaw could snap diamonds, and Sebek’s volume seems to be increasing with every word. If this isn’t diffused soon, you’re going to witness Sebek walking the runway in a cursed tutu and heels.

Thinking quickly, you stride over to Sebek and place a firm hand over his mouth. “Sebek, remember the gargoyle incident?” you say in a low voice.

Sebek freezes, his face going pale. You lean in closer for effect.

“You know,” you continue casually, “the time you spent twenty minutes praising a gargoyle in the castle courtyard because you thought it was Malleus in the dark? Magnificent presence were your exact words, I believe?”

Sebek’s eyes widen in pure panic.

“When you finally realized your mistake,” you add, voice dripping with mock sympathy, “you begged me to swear on my life that I wouldn’t tell Malleus. Do you think he’d laugh? I think he’d laugh.”

Sebek emits a muffled noise beneath your hand, his entire posture deflating. He waves his arms frantically in surrender. You let go, and he turns stiffly to Vil, bowing his head. “My apologies. I spoke out of turn.”

Vil raises a perfectly arched eyebrow but seems satisfied with the reluctant apology. “As you should be. Now, be silent, or I’ll personally ensure you end in heels forever.”

Crisis averted, you glance at Lilia, who gives you an approving wink. Sebek, meanwhile, retreats to the shadows, muttering under his breath about unfair tactics and treacherous secrets.

As the models resume their walk, Vil brushes past you with a quiet, “Good work, darling. Though I’ll admit, I wouldn’t have minded seeing him in heels.”

It’s one of those rare, quiet evenings where the world outside seems to hum in stillness. You’re sprawled on the bed, scrolling aimlessly through your phone, savoring the precious downtime. The soft creak of the floorboards is your only warning before Vil’s hands are gently pulling you into his arms.

Startled, you set your phone aside and look up at him. “What’s up?”

Vil doesn’t answer immediately. He sits on the edge of the bed, arms encircling you as if shielding you from the entire universe. His expression is unusually soft, his gaze tracing over your features like he’s memorizing every detail.

“I’ve been thinking,” he says at last, his voice quieter than you’re used to. “You do so much for me. More than I deserve sometimes.”

You blink, caught off guard. “What are you talking about? You deserve the world, Vil.”

A faint smile tugs at his lips, but there’s something vulnerable in the way he looks away for a moment. “I know I’m... a little demanding.”

You snort, which earns you a mock glare. “Okay, fine, maybe a little more than a little." You laugh “But it’s not like I mind.”

“You should. Most people would,” he counters, but his tone is softer now, his hand brushing a strand of hair from your face. “You’ve been working so hard to keep up with me, to make me happy, even when I’m being a diva.”

That makes you laugh, and the sound seems to melt the last of his hesitation. You cup his cheek, thumb brushing lightly against his flawless skin. “Vil, it’s not hard work. It’s a labor of love.”

His eyes widen just a fraction, and then his smile blooms—gentle, radiant, and so genuinely Vil. He leans forward, resting his forehead against yours. “You’re impossible,” he murmurs, but the affection in his voice betrays him.

“And yet you love me anyway,” you quip, grinning.

Vil huffs a laugh, his arms tightening around you as he pulls you into a proper embrace. “Hopelessly.”

You stay like that for a while, wrapped in the warmth of each other, the world outside forgotten. It’s just you and Vil, caught in a moment that feels like love personified—sweet, steady, and infinite.

(this is kinda a spiritual successor to the how to tame your dragon malleus fic)

Masterlist

[plutoslastwords]

I would love one of baby Norris most viral moments that would be iconic

who is this diva?

lando norris x daughter!reader

summary: lando is apprehensive about posting his daughter online, but when he does, the world loves it. a collection of small moments that the fans adore.

w/c: 1.4k

warnings: none!

a/n: maddie's active era???????

~~~

A hotshot F1 driver having an unexpected kid right in the peak of his career was practically gold dust for Formula One fans. As soon as word got out that you were born, the super keen fans were already in every comment section in any relation to Lando begging to see a picture of his newborn.

Ever the protective dad, Lando refused. He wanted to keep you private, you were the most precious thing in his world, he wanted to keep you to himself, keep you safe away from the prying eyes of the fans. 

He was also struggling with learning how to be a single dad. He was still young himself, and now he was in charge of an entire person, it wasn’t the easiest thing in the world. He was beyond lucky to have his family and friends there to help him, but looking after you still took a lot of his time, delaying the process of actually introducing you to the world.

At one point he thought that it would be a good idea to show you to the world by bringing you to a race, meaning that he wouldn’t have to make a whole instagram post about it. His mom, however, quickly shut that idea down, ‘The paddock is no place for a 6 week old, Lando.’

He knew that at one point he would have to make a post acknowledging your existence, but there always seemed to be something holding him back.

It wasn’t until your 4 month birthday that he finally posted you onto his instagram. It was a simple picture of you in a little bear onesie, next to a big ‘4’ balloon which you’re looking at with a lot of distaste. In spite of this, it came with the caption, “We all love the number 4 in this house!!”

The most immediately explodes. It quickly becomes his most liked post, hell probably the most liked post in the entirety of F1. This is what he was scared of, he hated how much attention that you were getting, you were still a baby, and now north of 5 million people knew who you were. 

After that, he didn’t post you again. His comments were still filled with people asking where you were, how you were doing, what your name was. He ignored all of them, trying to keep you as private as possible, but he should’ve known that that was impossible from the get go. He was an F1 driver, it wasn’t going to be a piece of cake to hide an entire child from his fanbase. He was scared of even leaving the house anymore, in fear that the paparazzi would follow and people would get more pictures of you.

The first picture of you got leaked a few weeks before your first birthday. He should’ve been expecting it, he’d brought you to your first race. You were sat in the private hospitality with his family, going in through the back entrance so that no one would see you, but someone had obviously found their way into the suite, and snapped a picture, posting it, and quickly seeing hundreds of thousands of views.

It made Lando feel sick to his stomach that he couldn’t protect your privacy. He got in contact with some lawyers, who managed to get the picture taken down, you were a minor after all, people weren’t allowed to take photos of you, but he knew that this wouldn’t stop people taking pictures of you.

After your first birthday (which involved a lot of tears from him) he decided that the only way to stop people trying to find and post so much about you was to take matters into his own hands.

It wasn’t everyday, or even every week for that matter, but he started implementing pictures of you into his usual posting schedule. Sometimes, it would be a picture of you within a photo dump from a race weekend, maybe a story of you in your pushchair whilst the two of you were out on a walk. 

It worked as he hoped, people were less eager to get sneaky pictures of you, and he was able to feed them pictures of his own choice. In some way it was actually quite nice to get to share you with the world, you were his favourite thing on the planet.

You soon began to gain your own fanbase, people grasping onto every picture that Lando posted of you, commenting about just how adorable you were. Some of their favourites included:

A picture of you on Lando’s ski trip with Max F and Pietra, all wrapped up in a baby moncler jacket, sat down in the snow with the biggest grin on your face. 

A picture of you in Ibiza on summer break, wrapped up in a little towel as you built a sand… castle? Sculpture? It wasn’t clear. 

But their favourites were the videos that Lando posted. 

‘Who’s cap have you got on, baby?’ 

You giggle in the background, crawling around on the floor, with a blue cap that’s much too big for you covering half of your face. ‘Calos!!!!’

‘Carlos?’

‘Calos!!!!’ You squeal

‘Why not daddy’s cap, angel?’

‘Calos!!!!’ You screech, suddenly charging as quick as you can forward, but since you have a Williams cap covering your face you’re about to go right into a table.

‘Oh shi-’ The video hears Lando say, before it cuts out as he rushes to stop you from giving yourself a concussion.

–

You’re a bit older in this one, on the plane home after Lando had just won a race.

‘How was the weekend, baby? Good?’

‘Good, daddy!!!!’ You beam, as he holds you in the lap, holding the phone in selfie mode so that you’re both on the video.

‘Yeah, what was your favourite part?’

You think long and hard about this one, ‘Leo!!’ You eventually squeal. Charles and Alexandra had brought the little dog with them that weekend, and you had gotten the chance to meet him. You were immediately enamoured, refusing to leave the Ferrari garage so that you could cuddle with the dog.

‘What about Daddy winning? Was that not good?’ He tries

You shake your head, stubbornly, ‘Leo!!! You win all the time!’ You retort, going back to colouring in your animal colouring book.

Lando shows that to the camera for a second, before returning to his face, and he gives them an exasperated look, then kissing you on the forehead and ending the video.

–

In the fan’s favourite video, it’s not Lando filming, but you. The camera is far too close to your face, too little to understand how to properly film a video.

You’re giggling and running around the house, before stopping to show the camera your toys.

‘This is rabbit!! She likes strawberries, like me!’ You show the camera a light grey, slightly tattered rabbit that Lando had gifted you when you were first born. 

‘This is panda, she likes broccoli, but I don't…’ You say that you love strawberries so much because rabbit does as well, so Lando decided to tell you that your panda likes broccoli, in an attempt to get you to eat the vegetable, but it did not work. 

‘Oh this is my car! It looks like my daddy’s car but it’s better!’ You show the camera a mini Mclaren, perfect sized for you, you’re about to get in it when a voice appears from the background of the recording.

‘Baby, have you seen my phone?’

You pause, ‘No?’

‘No? Why’s it a question, angel?’ He says suspiciously, coming into the room, appearing in the background of the frame. ‘Oh are we filming videos here?’ He coos, lifting you into his arms and taking the phone from you, turning off the video.

You both go off and do other things for a while, but he finds the video again just before he goes to bed, he watches it back, silenting swooning about how sweet you are. He decides to post it, thinking that it would be sweet for everyone to see how cute you are.

The world goes wild over the sweet, domestic video, it’s all Lando sees on his timeline for at least two weeks. But he’s not angry, he’s so happy that he gets to share your happiness with the world.

~~~

a/n: thank you for reading :D

[prettieinpink]

CREATING AN INTENTIONAL WARDROBE

I. SETTING GOALS

IDENTIFY YOUR STYLE. You don’t have to look through the list of different aesthetics, nor do you have to name it, but at least have a way in which you could explain it in a sentence. 

If you’re someone who is a bit on the fence with their fashion identity, I would start with a ‘base’ aesthetic that you like then start building your own on top of it over time. Think boho, streetwear, y2k, classy etc. 

CONSIDER YOUR LIFESTYLE. I don’t think its a great idea to go buy a fancy dress for a hypothetical event which may not ever happen. You have to think about what you’re doing on a daily basis, and which staples will be worn to their full extent. 

If you’re a very active person, I would invest into activewear or clothes that resemble it. If you’re someone who’s attending university, I would invest into casual cute basics but also smart staples for networking events. 

So in a way, don’t buy clothes for your fantasy self or events. I do understand that wearing clothes that our higher self would wear can close the gap between us and the, however material things don’t mean anything when it comes to that. 

SET A GOAL. Your goal can be anything when it comes to fashion. You could also have multiple goals. Here are some ideas for goals which may speak to you!

Investing into high quality pieces

Having less but wearing them more. 

Increased confidence

Developing personal style

Having a versatile collection

Comfortable yet stylish. 

There is a lot more goals that you may have came up with by yourself, but this is just to get you started. I recommend just having one goal and really honing down into it, is a lot better in this aspect. 

II. INSPIRATION + PLANNING

CREATE YOUR DREAM WARDROBE, whether digitally or physically. Pinterest is a great place to start, and you can create collages now. Or, you may choose to create a beauty binder which consists of outfits that you like. 

One thing I will add on to this, is to add in people who look like you or just don’t show their faces at all. Attractive and fit people can make most outfits look good, and you may be influenced by that, even if it's not going to be flattering on you (considering colours, shape, texture etc). 

LOOK AT THE CONSISTENCY, which colours were you drawn to the most, did you favour any patterns, are there any pieces which showed up repeatedly? Look for any consistency throughout the outfits. 

TAKE NOTES !

Colours: Did you lean towards lighter/darker colours, were there any colours that showed up repeatedly, patterns that you gravitated to?

Silhouettes: Were the clothes flowy and light, or fitted and shaped the body? 

Minimalism: Were the clothes simple and straight to the point, or were they maximalist and boasting personality? 

Alignment: Does the outfits match the lifestyle that you have and the one that you want? 

Staples: What articles of clothing showed up repeatedly? 

You don’t have to write it down, however I would make a mental note of all these details in your dream wardrobe.

III. DEALING WITH YOUR CURRENT WARDROBE 

LIMIT AS MUCH WASTE AS YOU CAN. More of a disclaimer, than a tip, but you don’t have to throw away everything just to replace everything. A lot of clothes that are in good condition can either be upcycled or have another purpose. 

SORT CLOTHES INTO THREE PILES. Keep, potential or donate. Keep are clothes that align with all of your goals, potential are clothes that are almost there and may need some tweaking and donating is for clothes that you feel misaligned with. 

That being said, don’t keep clothes that you know will collect dust in your closet if you have no intention of repurposing them. You could give them away to your friends, a facebook buy nothing group, if it's really good quality and in good condition then consider reselling it on depop or vinted. It's still wasteful when you’re not using it. 

Before deciding anything, actually wear them instead of evaluating them on a hanger. Hangers can make clothes look worse or better depending, but the only way to find out if you like it, is to try it on. 

IDENTIFY WHAT'S MISSING. From the clothes that you have left, see if there’s anything in your dream wardrobe that you don’t have in your closet. I’m not a big fan of ‘filling gaps’ in closets, so I would avoid purchasing statement pieces to fill that gap, just focus on staples that, considering your lifestyle, will wear. 

Make a list of all of these items, and try to eliminate any pieces of clothing which wouldn’t be staples in your life. 

IV. BEING INTENTIONALLY FASHIONABLE

CREATE YOUR OWN COLOUR PALETTE, I dislike the colour theory for people or colour seasons, just because you may not feel confident in the colours that are ‘best suited’ for you. However, I do love the idea of having your own personal palette that you gravitate towards. 

I would recommend having 1 dark colour, 1 neutral colour and 2-3 accent or statement colours (depending on your style). My current palette is navy, grey, pastel pink, pastel blue and pastel yellow. 

This does not mean you only buy clothes in that colour, it just means that its easier to curate your wardrobe with pieces that you love and do wear. I do wear colours outside of my palette, but I do favour those colours when looking for new clothes. 

AVOID ULTRA FAST FASHION. I’m talking about SHEIN, temu, alibaba or aliexpress. I know the cheap prices seem enticing, but their clothes will fall apart after some time and it's just not sustainable in the long term. Save your money and buy from places which you know will last. 

Other fashion stores are fast fashion (just not to the extent of the ones listed above), so I would still be very intentional about what I’m buying from them. Reminder, expensive does not equate to being sustainable. 

AVOID MICROTRENDS. If you do feel that a trend speaks to you, then go for it, but otherwise I would not give in. You’re buying clothes that are misaligned to you, so you waste money, and then when that trend inevitably dies out, you have a reason to throw it out. It's an endless cycle, don’t give in. 

One trend which I will never give into, has to be baggy jeans. Baggy jeans are really unflattering on my curves, no matter the waist. While they’ve definitely had a decline recently, when I was in year 7, it seemed that was all that everyone was wearing but I just couldn’t get into it. 

LEARN HOW TO TAILOR CLOTHES. It is not a given that all clothes regardless of your size, will fit right. Just because something doesn’t fit you properly, doesn’t mean you have to throw it away or put it back on the rack. 

Personally, I’ve lost a bit of weight over my high school years, so a lot of clothes that used to fit me, become a bit loose on my body. I found it unflattering, so I learnt how to do the basics of hand sewing to make clothes fit me the best. 

Learning how to tailor could also help in upcycling clothes that have potential. There’s a lot of basic clothes out there, which just need subtle changes to elevate the whole article. Plus, you’re saving money!

HAVE A SIGNATURE ELEMENT. Something personal to you that expresses yourself without having to say anything. It could be a certain type of jewellery, a bag, a colour, pattern etc. Its just something nice, but not essential for those who are constantly experimenting.

V. SHOPPING MINDFULLY

KEEP IN MIND YOUR PALETTE. For me, being experimental with so many colours ends up with too many fashion failures. I do buy outside of that palette, but only if I know for a fact that I will wear it (not just once) and I do feel like it aligns with me regardless of the colour. 

Even with that, I’m still very likely to put back anything which is not my palette. As much as I do like experimenting, I find security knowing that I do like my clothes and I will wear them.

PURCHASE INTENTIONALLY. Even if something fits your palette, it may not be something that you will wear or style. Always ask yourself questions when shopping, and if you’re not all in, I would put it back. 

Does it tick all of your boxes according to your dream wardrobe? Do you see yourself wearing it next year? (trends, body changes, lifestyle changes), can you style it with the wardrobe you have now? 

CREATE A WISHLIST. Create a list of all the clothes that you want, regardless of any questions or palette. However, these clothes will have to sit on that list for at least a month. If you still find yourself wanting it, then you can permit yourself to purchase it. If not, you’ve just avoided a regretful purchase. 

If you would like to shop in person, I would still create a list when I go out then only purchase items that resemble what’s on my list.

VI. MAINTENANCE 

REGULARLY CLEAN. If you have a shelving system, at least bi-monthly I would take out all of my clothes and wipe down all surfaces in my closet. If you have a hanging rack instead, I would still wipe it down because of dust accumulation. 

ORGANISE. Whatever system works best for you, keeps your clothes easily identifiable at a glance and it's neat, I would use it. Utilise hangers and baskets to help your wardrobe if needed.

Learn how to fold your clothes nicely yet easy to pick out what you want. Its such a small thing, but I do believe it will improve the quality of daily life as you don’t have to scavenge for what you want.

DECLUTTER BIANNUALLY. Whatever time of the year works best for you, then do it. Turn your wardrobe upside down to see if there’s anything that misaligns with you. Overtime as you declutter, you should be donating less stuff if you’re practicing intentional shopping habits.  WASH YOUR CLOTHES AS INSTRUCTED. Washing your clothes properly will extend their lifespan, unfortunately, just throwing them all in the wash isn’t actually beneficial. Read the care labels on each of your clothes and use them.

[sevlawless]

Hello! I hope u r doing well and that u have a lovely rest of ur day <3

I was wondering if you had any tips to start web weaving, I've been meaning to get into it but i have the brain capacity of a fucking fly so I have no idea what the fuck I'm doing. 😭

hi! and i am thank u, i hope u are too <3 unrelated but i just found that the hag who hit me in my car accident has to pay for EVERYTHING LMFAO so i'm on cloud nine atm 🤩 ANYWAYS

ur so real i absolutely get it !! i honestly just try to figure out what i want the overall theme to be before i start looking for quotes/pieces of media if that makes sense? it just makes it a bit easier on myself to figure out what kind of things i want to use and what won't fit yk

in most cases pinterest is my best friend and i just look for similar quotes AND/OR i go through my spotify and see if i have any songs that could fit as well

it really isn't all that hard once u start doing it but it's important to persevere through it <3 and honestly sometimes i find quotes that don't fit for the exact web weaving i'm doing atm but could work for another one!

[agreeewrites]

Seducing A Scrooge | Jegulus

“Oh, my sweet girl. What has that madman done to you now?” Regulus cooed, crossing the room to you.

feat. poly!jegulus x reader

SUMMARY: Regulus is having a hard time getting into the Christmas spirit this year, so you and James devise a plot to spread some holiday cheer.

CW: MDNI 18+, smut with zero plot, established relationship, being tied up with Christmas decorations, group sex, praise kink, mix of sweetness and rough-ish stuff, lots of spit swapping, switch!reg and softdom!james

divider by @issysh3ll

“Jamie, this might be overkill,” you mumbled through the ribbon between your teeth.

“Nonsense.” He stuck a present bow to the top of your head. “Unless your uncomfortable,” he amended, wiggling his fingers between the tinsel and your skin to ensure it wasn't wrapped to tightly around you.

You shook your head, your thighs clenching together when he adjusted your position by lifting you by your festive bondage.

“Ah, just impatient?” James teased, setting you a bit more upright against the headboard. He skimmed his cool fingers over his work, the tinsel and lights wrapped around your body in complicated twists and knots, digging into your soft flesh and leaving a dusting of glitter over your skin. “We'll unwrap you soon enough, love,” he hummed, leaning in to give you a quick kiss.

“How much longer will he be?” You whined, not in a hurry to be released, but already desperate for your lovers to touch you. James’ slow, deliberate ministrations while tying you up had set your body on fire, which he refused to quell before Regulus could play with you himself.

“Not much longer. Do you need anything while we wait?” He kissed down your neck, illuminated pink by the LED’s, featherlight and teasing. The tight ball of arousal in your stomach tightened further, your clit damn near aching clenched between your thighs.

You let out a soft whimper when he grazed his teeth over your pulse point. “An orgasm?” You ventured, and he chuckled against your skin.

“Sorry, darling. Watching you squirm is far too enjoyable to cut short.” He gave you one last peck on the cheek before rolling off the bed. He waved his wand to light the fireplace and start up some soft Christmas instrumentals on your muggle record player.

If Regulus heard “Jingle Bells” immediately upon entering the cabin, he'd turn straight around.

Your boyfriend, who was tempermental on a good day, seemed to have descended into full Scrooge this holiday season.

You and James had tried everything to infect him with the holiday spirit, from decorating your shared flat floor to ceiling in the gorgeous, vintage-holiday style he preferred, to going on romantic walks to see the lights, all bundled up in heavy coats and scarves. You'd even planned an elaborate date night to see the Nutcracker ballet, with coordinated outfits and a fancy dinner, but he was clearly only indulging your efforts, not actually enjoying the festivities himself.

So, you and James concocted a last ditch effort to raise his spirits, festive or otherwise. And now here you were, done up like a slutty Christmas tree.

Both of your ears perked at the sound of a bell chiming, enchanted to ring whenever one of the three of you arrived home.

James gave you a salacious grin. “Stay here,” he said, pressing a quick kiss to your temple before darting out to meet Regulus at the front door.

“Like I have a choice,” you grumbled yourself, shifting slightly and feeling the slick collecting between your legs.

“Welcome home, love,” James said, his voice warm and gentle, and you heard Regulus murmur something in response. Your muscles bunched with tension, and you bit down on the ribbon to stifle any sounds you might make.

“I should have known better than trying to go to the fucking shops two weeks before Christmas,” he grumbled, dropping his things on the dining room table. “Absolute insanity.”

“I can imagine,” James chuckled, and you could hear his arms wrap around Regulus, his coat crinkling against the taller boys chest. “Glad you're home,” James said softly, and your heart swelled.

After a few moments of quiet, you heard Regulus speak again. “Where's y/n? I bought her something.”

You sucked in a breath.

“A Christmas present?” James teased, and Regulus scoffed.

“No, just a regular present.” He rummaged through some bags, and withdrew something that sounded like clothing.

James gave a low whistle, and heat scorched your skin. “Oh, Reg. She'll love that,” he gushed.

“I thought so. Where is she? Over at Remus'?”

“Bedroom,” James replied, casual as could be.

The next second, James was opening the bedroom door and Regulus strode in, a gorgeous, red velvet dress in his hands. He froze when his eyes finally landed on you, widening a fraction before his beautiful face split into a wicked smirk.

“Oh, my sweet girl. What has that madman done to you now?” He cooed, laying the dress on the chair before crossing the room to you.

“It was her idea,” James chuckled, leaning against the doorway.

“Not entirely!” You mumbled around the ribbon, and Regulus’ smile widened.

Regulus’ fingers traced the tinsel over your thighs, over your soaked apex, and up to catch your chin, tilting your face towards him. “This true, darling? Did you two conspire against me?”

Your eyes widened, fixed on his dilating pupils, blackness overtaking the soft green irises. There was something about Regulus that never failed to make your brain shut off, and you found yourself struggling to formulate a response.

“Well, what a lovely little pair of trickster elves you are.” He leaned down and brushed his lips against yours, more a caress than a kiss, leaving your skin tingling in his wake. “And what a pretty Christmas decoration you make.” Regulus pulled back, admiring James’ work, and the way your curves strained against it.

“She was so good while I tied her up. Barely moved a muscle,” James praised, easing himself onto the bed beside you and running hand over your thigh, the muscles jumping at his delicate touch.

Your pussy was practically thrumming with anticipation, their words only amplifying your needy state.

“That so?” Regulus removed his shoes and coat, revealing the tight, black turtleneck and expensive jeans underneath.

You nodded, trying hard not to squirm as James started kneading your flesh with his big hands, slowly inching closer to your center.

“Although,” James hummed, his hand pausing. You held back a strangled whine, your hips flinching closer to his fingers. “She did start to get a little impatient towards the end. Even asked me to get her off before you got home.”

You glared daggers at James, earning a sly smirk.

Regulus tsked. “Jamie, be a dear and hold her still for me.”

Without another word, James stripped his clothing, revealing his tanned, muscular torso and matching cock, already at attention, before climbing into bed. He arranged you both so he was sitting behind you, your head leaned against his chest. His hands settled on your hips, squeezing gently in reassurance as Regulus approached.

“Did James tying you up make you that desperate?” He asked, and you nodded, your heart racing. “You like being at our mercy? Ours to treat however we please?” He dragged the tips of his fingers over your skin, making you shiver against James and forget your words.

“Yes or no, lovey,” James encouraged, his lips against the shell of your ear.

“Yes,” you whimpered.

“Undo her legs,” Regulus ordered.

Excitement washed through you, and James was quick to literally tear the tinsel off of you, throwing it onto the floor beside the bed while Regulus carefully unwound the lights. Then James tucked his hands under your knees, pulling your legs apart and back towards him, exposing your sodden cunt to the warm air of the room, and the sticky mess you made along your inner thighs.

The stretch felt exquisite after an hour of being locked in place, and a soft moan spilled from your lips.

“Seems our little love really likes to be tied up,” Regulus mused, kneeling on the edge of the bed and shirking his sweater. “Drooling all over my expensive duvet,” he chastised, though his words dripped with approval.

“To be fair, I didn't make it easy on her,” James said, pressing affectionate kisses along your shoulder and neck.

“I'm sure you didn't. You're as insatiable as she is.”

James chuckled, the rumble making your tits bounce, and Regulus’ eyes darkened further. James caught his expression and dragged his hands up your body, cupping your tits, framed by a harness of lights, in his long fingers.

“So fucking pretty,” he hummed, grazing his thumbs over the hardened peaks, making your back bow as pleasure zapped through you.

“Like a piece of art,” Regulus added, lowering his face between your legs, his black curls tickling your thighs.

You fought against the ribbon in your mouth, attempting to dislodge it. James hooked a finger into the knot and unraveled it, freeing you instantly.

“Please, Reggie, please, please touch me,” you whined, knowing how much he loved to hear you beg.

“What do you think, Jamie?” Regulus asked, dragging the tip of his nose along your sensitive skin, breathing you in.

“I think she might combust if you don't,” James snickered, pinching and rolling one of your nipples between his thumb and pointer finger. You arched off of him, cursing under your breath as your pussy throbbed.

“Well, we can't have that,” Regulus hummed, his breath ghosting over your slick lips before his tongue laved through you, turning your thoughts to static.

He licked up and down your pussy, skirting around your clit in a wide arc. You melted onto James' embrace, his fingers plucking at your nipples while he mouthed at your throat, sucking marks across your skin.

“Reggie,” you whined, your fingers itching to thread through his hair, to reach back and hold James, but unable to do anything it grip the tinsel that binds them.

You felt Regulus smile against you, and he finally sealed his lips to your clit, nursing softly. You nearly come undone then and there, lifting off James with a cry as sparks flash behind your eyelids.

“So sensitive,” James said, snaking one of his arms around your waist to hold you in place. “He makin’ you feel good, lovey?”

“So f-fucking good,” you moaned, throwing your head back against James shoulder.

“You taste delicious, amour,” Regulus hummed, lapping at the pool of moisture collecting at your entrance. “Sweet as honey.” Regulus sat up briefly, catching James’ chin and kissing him, licking into his mouth. You watched their tongues dance, spit and your slick mixing in their sloppy exchange, James cock pulsing with excitement against your lower back.

Regulus pulled away after a few moments, a string of spit connecting their lips before he lowered himself back between your legs.

“C'mere.” James grabbed your jaw and angled your head towards him, capturing your lips in a simmering, languid kiss, the taste of you and Regulus lingering on his tongue. His licked at your lower lip, sucking it between his teeth to nibble on the tender flesh.

You moaned into his mouth, Regulus’ tongue doing something that made your brain short circuit, pushing you that much closer to your peak.

Regulus made a low hum in his throat. James broke the kiss to look down at him between your legs, his lips swollen and shiny with spit, eyes blown wide with affection.

“Gonna come for him, sweet thing? Shit—you’re trembling, love. Doing so good, Reggie.” James carded his fingers through Regulus' hair, and he leaned into his touch, practically purring with contentment against your sex.

It was so tender, so indulgent, you felt like you were glowing brighter than the Christmas lights, the most delicious heat spilling through you.

Regulus increased his tempo, so eager to make you come on his tongue while James held you together, soothing and loving on you both through the rising tide.

“Oh, god…f-fuck, m’gonna come. Yes, yes, yes!” You cried out as your orgasm rocked through you, electric pleasure frying your fragile nerves, making you twitch and convulse in James’ arms.

“Atta girl. Worth the wait, hm?" James praised, holding you tightly as your body shuddered through it, Regulus lapping up every drop he’d wrung from you, prolonging your release.

“Beautiful, amour,” Regulus purred when you finally settled, peppering kisses up your stomach to kiss you, his face damp from your release, cheeks flushed and eyes bright. He turned to kiss James, who dragged his tongue up Regulus' cheek to taste you.

“Switch with me,” James murmured to Regulus, sliding out from under you.

You trembled as you sat up, your body still recovering from that slow burn release, your muscles fatigued from the bondage. Regulus slipped behind you, quickly undoing the tinsel that held your arms so you could move a little more freely.

You moaned in relief as you sagged against him, stretching your arms overhead. He took one of your hands, massaging each finger gently before kissing your knuckles.

You nearly forgot about James, so fixated on Regulus’ attentive touch, until James lifted your hips, shifting you higher onto Regulus’ chest.

“Jamie, what are you—oh fuck,” Regulus loosed a strangled moan, and you felt his half-hard cock slap against your sensitive cunt, suddenly freed from his pants.

James shimmied Regulus’ jeans down his legs, tossing them aside before settling back between your thighs. Gingerly, you removed James’ glasses and set them on the end table before smoothing his curls out of his eyes.

Regulus wrapped his arms around you, one holding your hip, the other cradling your throat. Not applying pressure, just feeling your pulse, your breath, under his fingers. He kissed along your cheek, licking at the shell of your ear.

“You know how much you mean to me?” He murmured, skimming your jaw with his thumb so you looked at him.

“Enough that you'll tolerate our festive shenanigans?” You grinned, pecking his cheek.

“Even more than that,” he hummed, pressing a loose, light as air kiss to your lips. Suddenly, his hips jerked, his teeth nearly knocking into yours. “Fucking hell, Potter—” James’ name fractured into a low groan, and you felt James nose brush your sex as he took Regulus into his mouth.

“Oh-oh,” you moaned when James lifted off Regulus to lick up your slit, his tongue dragging between the two of you. He pressed Regulus’ shaft against your slit, rocking between your slick folds as he began thrusting against James’ mouth, the combined friction making your eyes cross.

“Merlin, so f-fucking good, babe. So wet and warm,” Regulus moaned into the side of your neck, his lips latching onto your skin and sucking.

You weren't sure who he was talking to, but both you and James preened at the approval, James emboldened in his efforts to feast on you both simultaneously.

If anyone could pull off such a sexual feat, it was James Fleamont Potter.

You tightened your grip on James’ hair and reached your other hand up to hold Regulus, sliding your fingers into the damp curls at his nape. The contact kept you grounded while James worked to send your body to the moon.

“I wish you two could see this,” James said after coming up for air, breathless and starry-eyed. “So fuckin’ hot seeing you both dripping.”

Regulus made a whimpering sound in his throat, his hips canting up with a little more insistence.

“Jamie, want him inside me,” you begged, rocking your hips in time with Regulus’ movements.

“Fuck, please, amour,” Regulus' added, and James gave a smug grin, his plan having come to perfect fruition.

It never failed to amaze you how quickly the always-cool Regulus Black would fall apart under your or James' touch. How quickly you could work his Royal Highness into brainless, desperate putty.

Not that you were in any position to talk, James was the only one of you who could keep a level head during sex. Which was why he often was the one to take the lead once you got into it.

You watched James grip Regulus’ cock, stroking him a few times. “Lift your hips, lovey,” he said, and Regulus lifted you for him, gripping your hips . James lined the two of you up, and with a nod, Regulus speared you slowly onto his length.

Your eyes rolled back in your head, his cockhead grazing every delicious inch of your channel before bumping against your cervix, the feeling of fullness wonderfully intense.

Regulus moaned, a string of mumbled french spilling from his lips as your pussy sucked him deeper, soft and pulsing around his rigidity.

“Such a good girl,” James praised, practically drooling from his front row seat. “Taking him so well.” He leaned forward, licking a stripe from Regulus' base to your clit, and you both cried out as a new height of pleasure crescendoed, clinging to one another. You felt Regulus’ cock throb inside of you, his body trembling with the effort of holding still.

“James—” Regulus hissed through his teeth when James did it again, torturing you both.

“Fine, fine. Can you blame me? Prettiest sight I've ever fucking seen,” he said, sitting up and holding his arms out to you. “Come here, darling. Let me help you.”

Regulus eased you up onto your knees and you wrapped your arms around James, his strong arms embracing your waist as you buried your face into his neck. He smelled of sex and his spruce body wash, so very James, and you melted onto his arms, knowing he could bear your weight with ease.

You felt James nod his head, hold tightening, and Regulus snapped his hips upwards, knocking the air from your lungs.

“Oh fuck!” You cried as Regulus pounded up into you, his cock ruthlessly filling you over and over again while James kept you steady. All the sweetness cast aside in desperation.

“Good girl, that's it. Just hold onto me and take it,” James purred, reaching one of his hands down to grope your ass, delivering a stinging slap to the jiggling fat.

“Feel so fucking good,” Regulus growled, his grip on your hips hard enough to bruise. “Petite putain d'allumeuse.”

“Jamie,” you whined, struggling to vocalize the thoughts spilling from your mind while Regulus used your cunt like his personal fleshlight.

“What, lovey?” He cooed, smoothing your hair from your face.

Your mouth hung open, beautifully pink and wet. Begging to be filled.

He grazed his thumb over your lip. “You want something to suck, precious?” He dipped his thumb into your mouth and you eagerly sucked it, eyes fluttering closed. “Ah, thought so.” He stared adoringly down at you, letting you nurse for a moment before removing his hand.

“Lean forward, love,” Regulus directed, his voice rough with exertion, and James stepped off the bed, letting you fall forward off of Regulus' cock. A low growl rumbled through Regulus' as he sat up behind you, his hands gripping your ass and spreading your cheeks. “Seven fucking saints, you're gorgeous.” He dragged his tongue through your sloppy cunt before straightening, lining up his cock once more before filling you back up, hitting a new, toe-curling angle deep inside of you.

“Mmph, Reggie,” you moaned, rocking back against his hips. “So b-big.”

Regulus grabbed the remaining restraints around your torso, forcing you up onto your hands, head forward where you were greeted by James’ pretty cock, flushed pink and dripping pearls. “Open, amour,” he ordered, but your jaw was already dropping, tongue out as you looked up at James through your lashes.

James spit on your tongue, slapping his cock head against it before easing himself into the wet warmth of your mouth. “Fuuuuuuck, love,” he groaned, head falling back on his shoulders as you started to suck him, Regulus’ thrusts forcing you further down James’ shaft. Regulus was manhandling you like a puppet, using the harness of tinsel to slide you up and down his cock.

You head completely emptied then, your body taking over as they fucked you from both ends, dominating every inch of you: mind, body, and soul. The pleasure was overwhelming, winding through every inch of you until it felt like you were cracking apart, your soul spilling out for them to take.

You heard them kissing above you, moaning and growling into each other's mouths like dueling animals, pummeling you between them.

You reached a hand between your legs, your clit begging for stimulation, and you began to rub tight circles over it, moaning around James’ length as your orgasm barreled closer.

“Close, hm?” Regulus purred in your ear, his front pressing against your back, and you nodded around James’ cock, gagging on a particularly deep thrust.

“Merlin, me too,” James groaned, fisting your hair as he fucked your face, sweat gleaming on his muscular chest, his dark hair a wild mess. “Gonna come down that hot little throat—fuck!”

A jet of cum blasted against your tonsils, his cock bucking against your tongue as his orgasm washed over him, his handsome face screwed up in ecstasy.

You greedily swallowed it all, sucking him until he was trembling and crying out, his body going limp as you overstimulated him.

“Your turn,” Regulus growled, speeding up his thrusts until you collapsed onto the bed, a screaming, shaking mess as he forced an orgasm out of you, the brutality of it knocking your soul from your body, splitting your mind in half as the room fell away and you ascended.

Distantly, you felt Regulus come too, his cry broken and loud enough to vibrate your ears as he fucked his spend into your quivering channel.

He collapsed onto you, breathing raged and skin sweaty. Slowly, your brain pieced itself back together, your muscles turned to goo, your skin tingling and sensitive as James rubbed small, soothing circles over your back.

“So good, lovey. You did so well,” you heard James murmur, pressing kisses to your and Regulus’ faces while he undid the last of your bondage.

Regulus curled around you, burying his face into you back of your neck. “I take it all back, I fucking love Christmas,” he mumbled, reaching out to tug James into the cuddle.

“I knew it,” James grinned, pulling your head onto his chest and wrapping an arm around you both, your legs tangled together. He twined his fingers with Regulus’ hand on your hip, guiding them to rest over his thundering heart.

“I think you just love pussy,” you teased, lazily grinding your ass against Regulus.

“That too,” he huffed a laugh, nipping at your earlobe.

“Well, I love you both,” James pressed a kiss to your forehead and brought Regulus’ knuckles to his lips.

“Love you,” you hummed, kissing James’ chest.

“Je t'aime,” Regulus shifted up to kiss James before dropping a kiss to your temple. “And thank you for showing me the true meaning of Christmas.”

“Pussy?” James asked.

“Pussy,” Regulus affirmed, and you snorted a laugh.

Thanks for reading!

[jungkooklover777]

clark kent x (actress!reader) celebrity!gf

clark kent with a celebrity gf is like witnessing an aurora borealis in real time.

the day y'all decided to go public, it broke the internet.

people were talking about you guys nonstop. mostly good things as not everyone can be satisfied. it got to the point where you had to mute your notifications and resist the urge to post something else.

“it’s gonna be okay.” clark murmurs as he sets your phone aside. “just don't think about it too much.”

you snort. “easy for you to say.”

he squints playfully and furrows his eyebrows in a faux scowl and it makes you smile and lean into his warmth.

sighing, you decide it'll be a problem for your pr team. (you gave them a raise and bonus afterwards)

obviously this stunt doesn’t go unnoticed by interviewers and talk show hosts. they take this absolute power move and ask about your blossoming relationship respectfully.

“he's, he's very nice and endearing.” you nod with a wide smile on your lips. “it’s hard not to notice him so when i did, i found myself wanting to see him all the time.”

clark visibly blushes and gushes but all in the safety of his living room, where there are no cameras panning for a shot of his reaction. he has the dopiest grin on his face and it matches yours.

you gave the people crumbs like this but that's more than enough. they'll milk it forever.

ihearty/n: i waited 3 and a half years... WHITE MAN DID IT IN 1 WEEK 🥀🥀🥀🥀💔💔💔💔

sillyg00se: She looks so happy 🥹 I hope we always get to see her like this

lilist☆r: the new tomdaya… dare i say better

jacob: Bros in the big leagues now 😭🙏🏽 Rookie of the year type shi

WonderWomanIsMyGoat: There's a celebrity couple everyone cares about, this is mine 💯

D1y/nglazerrr: wait why he kindaaa 🌚🌚

saddler✨: isn't he the guy that interviews superman?! that's so cool wth!!

“wait, what do some of these mean?” clark asks with a seriously confused expression on his face.

oh that's right, he's not all the way caught up on the new lingo. clark kent dating a celebrity gal means to be caught up online about what’s being said about him. he’s happy for the most part but there are some comments that leave him thinking you could do better.

he shouldn’t be taking chatter online seriously, but it’s kind of hard not to feel a little doubtful when he reads things like [i was fully expecting her to pop out with dylan o’brien i’m ngl] and [nooo i really wanted her and brenton thwaites together 😭] and don’t even get him started on the [if she likes it, i love it] like what does that even mean?! what, is he not good enough for the people?

of course you’re there to dust his worries away. “you’re the one i come home to.” you murmur as you kiss his forehead, his worry lines instantly relaxing. he sighs heavily, the doubts in his mind exiting his body once your hands tilt his face up. your gaze pours into him and when he sees himself in the reflection, he questions why he was even so uptight about what you two have in the first place.

being with a celebrity does come with its own perks though. he got familiar with what the internet calls “edits” of you but now he’s got himself quite the number of hashtags and edits. he’s already made a small fan club.

people fawning over him is definitely a new sight but it also boosts his confidence. it helps when you have some saved in a collection too.

clark kent dating a celebrity means there’s a little bit of you immersed everywhere. you’re a muse to many and are mentioned in songs. famous artists drop your name in their lyrics and allude to clever metaphors and phrases, never in a vulgar way.

he’ll be at a grocery store and hear a line with your name and perk up at the speaker instantly. he makes a mental note to listen to the entire song later.

many actors also speak out about collaborating with you on a project. when asked about celebrity crushes, your name is dropped quite a few times.

“i was mesmerized by her, to be honest. still am.” an actor confessed. clark smirks to himself. “yeah, get in line buddy.” he mumbles.

clark kent dating celebrity!reader means to always be bombarded with questions about you. he’s become somewhat of a celebrity himself at the daily planet.

“what’s she like?” steve asked with an excited look. clark eyes him wearily before saying, “don’t you have something to do?”.

cat’s not too far behind when she pipes up. “do you think you can get me her autograph?”

and here comes “ladies man” jimmy, “can you set me up an interview with her?”.

he gets the people what they want but he feels so bad. “you don’t have to do this.” he says, sheepish. “you can still cancel.” you just kiss his cheek, leaving a pretty lipstick mark on it. “i think my boyfriend deserves some clout.” he snickers quietly and when the elevator doors open, he holds your hand.

clark kent gets real nervous real easily when he's the center of attention, contrary to superman.

your costars chat him up while you're giving a short little red carpet interview with someone and they obviously dig him. what's not to like?

clark thinks they're pretty cool as well. they're really funny and welcome, plus they love you. he doesn’t get jealous, feeling secure enough in his relationship to know you only have eyes for him. even if your male costars are attractive and quite the catch, he knows they only see you as an incredible scene partner and dear friend.

promoting movies means red carpets and interviews and endless marketing but he'll brave through it all for you.

after all, his happiness lies in your success.

and when the pictures of you and him together looking glammed up come out, you break the internet again.

floods of comments stating how good you look, how great you both look together, and how cute of a couple you make.

you’re walking along the carpet when someone asks if they can ask him a couple of questions. evidently, clark’s surprised, his eyes wide in curiosity and nervousness. you lean in and tell him, “i’ll just be up ahead, don’t worry.”.

he’s in front of a microphone and camera now. “i think she’s great at what she does. she’s always working hard and wanting to improve.” he says before taking a quick glance at you. he relaxes when and finds you smiling wide, laughing. “she’s always had a passion for acting and knows what makes a good film so, to me, her success has been forthcoming.”

fans go crazy over his statement and behavior, dubbing him “white boy of the month” and in some instances, “white boy of the year”. they gush over how he looks when he looks at you, the way he looks at you, the way you always seem to lighten up and smile more around him.

“see, they love you.” you tell him as you read the comments. his cheeks are tinged a rosy hue and he shyly laughs, pushing his glasses up as he looks down. you put the phone down and kiss him, your fingers run through his unruly curls as his flex across the plane of your body.

clark kent thinks a rule of dating a celebrity includes looking good all the time, having some things like a comb and breath mint on standby because you never know when the paps come crawling.

you tell him that’s nonsense, he doesn’t have to look good all the time because unlike celebrities, the paparazzi can’t really harass civilians because that’s just a lawsuit waiting to happen.

besides, clark wouldn’t fret over his image anyway. he thinks it’s exhausting having to please everyone everywhere all the time.

you don’t have a headache with paparazzi bc they’re on the verge of being banned (thank you superman!) and you don’t care to be a people pleaser, either. that doesn’t mean you won’t put in an effort to look presentable when stepping out of the house, but constantly worrying about your appearance tends to take on some serious mental strain.

your boyfriend looks good all the time, he doesn't even have to try! it's as easy as existing because there's not one bad angle on this guy!

clark kent’s parents are always asking about you.

“did she eat yet?”

“oh, make sure she’s being fed well, clark.”

“poor thing, she must be so tired of having to be on her feet all day long.”

whenever you can, you make it a point to visit them with clark.

they loved watching your show and even binged it in a few days. “john don’t really care for television but he was hooked from the first episode!” ma giggles happily as you take a bite of their homemade cherry pie.

as you and clark leave, they bag you some leftover pie with a note on the bag.

“come back soon, okay?” she asks as you hug her and she pats your back lovingly. “oh, we will. promise.” you say as you link your pinky with hers.

clark watches as you hug pa, he says something that makes you smile and you hug him once more.

he loves watching his parents fawn over you and you shyly and happily accepting it. he loves watching you be adored by hundreds of thousands of people as you take in the glory teary-eyed. clark kent loves it when you do what you do.

you’re not a celebrity when you come home to him. you’re not a famous person when you’re around him. you’re not an academy award winning actress when you talk to his friends and family. to him and them, you’re just y/n; a kind spirited person who’s compassion and resilience are their defining traits.

celebrity or not, he loves you— every part.

happy reading! ʕ•ᴥ•ʔ ♡ © 2025 @jungkooklover777