littleskeletonprincessss

[littleskeletonprincessss]

THE LAST LINE

╭﹐✦˚₊· 𖤐 * sugar and steel ⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ ╮ imagine: you’re trying not to fall for the man funding your favorite bad habits. he’s not trying at all. ╰﹒♡₊˚๑ *✧﹒✦ ࣪ ˖ ┊

✧✧✧

the first time he paid, it was for dinner.

just dinner.

it had been a nice place, though. being trapped in a booth with him, velvet seating, warm lighting, the sound and view of the ocean just to your left, and schlatt's handsome visage of broad chest and crisp white shirt, tied already undone. he snatched up the bill when it was sent down. 

“got it covered,” he’d said, casual. effortless.

“you don't have to do that,” you murmured, a little too soft, a little too late.

he just shrugged. “i was always taught that the gentleman should pay. blame my ma if you have a problem."

✧

the second time, he called it an accident.

a "little" deposit to your account that your bank notified you about—you thought it might have been a crazy glitch that might have you investigated for fraud.

you called him, stressing about it, crying into the mic of your earbuds, pacing your apartment in socks with one slipper missing.

“you sent me two grand, schlatt.”

on the other end, he was silent for a beat.

then—“and?”

“and? are you trying to buy me off or something?”

he chuckled. low, unbothered. “what would i be buying, sweetheart?”

you went quiet. he let the silence stretch.

“look,” he added, voice softer now. “you needed it, right?”

“…no.”

"sweetheart."

"...maybe."

“then don’t worry about it.” a pause. “unless you’d rather pay me back. i hear gratitude works wonders.”

“you’re unbelievable.”

“yeah,” he said. “and now your rent’s covered.”

✧

“i’m not yours,” you told him once, when the air between you got a little too heavy. when his voice dipped low and his eyes got that look.

he didn’t argue.

just smiled, all teeth and slow drawl. “nah, not yet.”

✧

you told yourself it was a fluke.

told yourself you weren’t the kind of girl who took handouts. weren’t the kind of girl who let a man like that—moneyed, smug, irritatingly charming—swoop in and fix things.

but that’s before he started showing up.

not just with money. with answers. with groceries when you were out of milk. with the contact info for a mechanic who wouldn’t screw you over. with hands that never wandered unless you asked, but lingered like a promise.

✧

he didn’t push.

not once.

but god, he knew what he was doing.

"you got a bad habit of biting your lip when you're stressed," he said once, watching you fold laundry in his living room. "you want something? ask for it."

you didn’t.

but when you went home that night, you found a box with the shoes you had returned the other day.

✧

his couch is warm. the drink is gone. and now he’s closer.

he leans in, forearm against the backrest behind you, the space between you carved thinner by the second.

“you ever gonna admit it?” he asks, voice low.

“admit what?”

“that you're finally okay with being called mine."

“…schlatt.” you roll your eyes, but your heart is skipping.

“spit it out, sweetheart.”

you swallow. “this doesn’t mean anything.”

he hums, noncommittal. tips his head, eyes dragging across your face like he’s memorizing it. “no?”

“no,” you whisper, palms still pressed to his chest. his heart’s beating steady under your hand. yours feels louder.

“then why’re you shaking?”

your fingers curl in the fabric of his shirt. “i’m not.”

he raises a brow. one hand lifts, knuckles grazing your jaw—barely. like he’s not quite touching you, just warning that he could. “baby,” he murmurs, “you’re trembling.”

you try to move off of him.

he doesn’t completely stop you. he just tightens his hold—but it's just enough to keep you straddled against him.

“you want out,” he says lowly, “say the word.”

you don’t.

you’re still looking at his mouth.

“that’s what i thought,” he says, almost smug. but there’s a rasp in it now, something deeper, something needing.

his fingers slide under the hem of your dress, just enough to rest on bare skin. your breath stutters.

"this okay?"

you nod.

“nah.” his voice dips. “words, sweetheart.”

“yes,” you whisper. “it’s okay.”

he smiles like he’s won something. and maybe he has.

but he doesn’t rush.

he just leans up, mouth brushing your jaw, your cheek, just shy of your lips.

“you gonna keep pretending you don’t want this?” he asks, right against your skin.

you shiver. “you’re so full of yourself.”

“maybe,” he murmurs, mouth at your ear, “but you want to be full of me too. don’t you?”

[littleskeletonprincessss]

DO YOU STILL TAKE SMUTTY REQS FOR SWAGGER!?

Lol id love to hear it and im not saying it won't get done, but im not saying it would be any time soon 😅 my motivation to write comes and goes more than a McDonald's Drive through

[littleskeletonprincessss]

Baby schaltt is 2 years younger than me and I still feel like he's older

Schlatt is so older guy coded. I CANNOT believe he's so young, he was made to be at least 10 years older than he is. Idk how to explain it but ik all you age gap lovers will understand what I mean.

[littleskeletonprincessss]

SwaggerSouls FIRST TIME

I've written about NSFW Swagger before (it's on my Masterlist somewhere if you want it, i'm too lazy to link it you're lucky you're getting this post <3) but this one is going to focus more on your first time with each other.

Swagger has had sex before, but he's not one to rush into things. He's only slept once or twice with a few girls, his high school girlfriend and a couple of college relationships, but other than that there hadn't been much more experience for him.

Your first time together happened almost a year into dating. Don't get me wrong, there wouldn't have been NOTHING, there'd been plenty of physical intimacy, wandering hands both under and over clothes, and you'd slept over plenty of times before, but you'd never crossed that threshold.

It started out kind of awkward. You both wanted to make it as perfect as possible so despite knowing better deep down, you turned to your friends for advice.

"Make sure to shave, they'll like that." "Don't eat dinner first, you'll be bloated and gassy." "Don't forget to eat first, otherwise your stomach will be growling the whole time." "Have romantic music playing." "Have sexy music playing." "Don't play music."

So on top of already being nervous and excited, you both tried to remember everything you'd been told, and it SHOWED.

You'd try kissing and just bump noses or teeth together, and not in a good way. He insisted on undressing you and his shaky fingers couldn't unfasten your bra. You tried to shift on top of him and ended up moving wrong and falling against him. You somehow both bumped your heads against the headboard at the same time.

Everything going wrong started to get to you which made you want to cry and he was getting frustrated for the same reason.

After sitting in silence for a minute and looking at each other. slowly and quietly you took turns holding back laughter.

"This is ridiculous."

"Why are we overthinking this so much."

Once you got over your initial nerves things went much better.

Suddenly the cliche of your bodies molding together into one became true.

You were covered in goosebumps and his skin was hot - chest pressed tight against chest his arms wrapped around you

His lips pressed against every inch of skin available to him - all of it.

Each thrust somehow found a new spot to reach inside you. Had your nails not scratched evidence into his back you would have thought a feeling like this couldn't be real.

Moments were spent simply looking at each other, silent messages shared between the two of you.

It wasn't rushed. You took your time with each other to make sure it lasted as long as you could make it. You spent the night learning, memorizing each others bodies.

Lots of 'I love you's were exchanged. Lots of laughs were shared. In between orgasms memories were made. You could have gone forever, and probably would have had the alarm not gone off signaling the start of the new day.

You hadn't needed to be nervous. This was the person you were going to share your life with. You knew each other was it, and maybe that's why it'd felt different any other time either of you had experienced anything. Maybe that's why this time had felt so raw, and why every time going forward felt like the first time all over again.

Anyway I thought this was going to be spicer than it was but oops I might have ruined it with that end. Anyway thank you for reading I love you.

[littleskeletonprincessss]

"My big fat dad dick" SWAGGER WHAT NOW I HAVE THOUGHTS

[littleskeletonprincessss]

This broke me and I want to cry at work but also I loved this

Somethin’ Stupid

Pairing: Jschlatt (Jay) x fem!reader

Word count: ~1.5k

Warnings: Emotional repression, heavy yearning, late-night vulnerability, missed signals, slow burn, mutual pining, self-sabotage, fear of ruining friendship, bad timing, almost-confessions, soft resolution, Schlatt being hopelessly in love and awful at handling it, fluff

Summary: You fell first. He fell harder. Neither of you noticed the other was falling—until it was almost too late to say anything at all.

A/N: IT WONT LET ME REPLY TO THE SUBMISSION BUT THIS IS FOR 🐠 ANON!!! I might be stealing some more songs from that list for inspo but I knew I ABSOLUTELYYYYY needed to do somethin stupid first.

You always end up here.

Half-drunk on the living room floor, back pressed against the couch, your cheek resting against the scratchy fabric, listening to Jay ramble about something half-relevant while an old record hums in the corner.

Tonight, it’s Sinatra. Of course it is. Something about the way he croons makes the air feel heavier than usual. Like the room is holding its breath. Like you are.

Jay’s on the couch behind you, sprawled sideways, a half-finished beer perched on the windowsill and one arm slung over his forehead.

Your legs are tangled in a throw blanket. You’ve been nursing a glass of red wine for the last hour. You’re not even tipsy anymore, just tired. Slow. Warm in that way that makes you too honest.

You don’t look at him when you speak.

“Do you ever think we missed it?”

His voice is soft, a little hoarse from laughing earlier. “Missed what?”

“I don’t know. A moment. A chance. Something we didn’t notice at the time.”

He shifts. You hear the fabric of the couch sigh beneath him.

“You mean like… us?”

Your throat catches.

You swallow. “Do you?”

There’s a pause. Too long. The kind that makes your stomach curl.

Then he laughs. It’s not mocking, but it’s distant.

“Nah,” he says. “We’re good.”

You nod, eyes fixed on the dark window across the room.

“Yeah,” you say. “We’re good.”

⸻

You fell in love with him two falls ago. Somewhere between long walks back from corner bodegas and laughing until you cried over diner pancakes at 2 a.m.

He wasn’t trying to be anything. He was just himself. Stupid and tall and warm and sharp where it mattered. A little reckless, a little tired. A little too good at making you feel like the center of the universe when you were with him.

He made you forget to be careful.

That’s where you messed up.

⸻

He calls you “dude” when he doesn’t want to say your name. You figured that out months ago.

It started after a night where your hand brushed his and neither of you moved away. He made a joke. You laughed. But something had shifted.

He said “dude” three times in the next five minutes.

You didn’t bring it up.

Neither did he.

⸻

Sometimes he touches you like it’s accidental. Like his fingers didn’t mean to brush your wrist. Like his knee didn’t mean to knock into yours when you both reached for the remote.

You let it happen every time.

You don’t want to know if it means nothing.

⸻

You’re sitting on his kitchen counter one night in February. He’s cooking something half-frozen and awful. The overhead light flickers.

“You ever think we should’ve hooked up just to get it out of the way?” he asks, casually, like he’s asking if you want hot sauce.

You go still.

He’s not looking at you. He’s stirring something.

You laugh. “You’d never survive.”

That makes him glance at you, grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “What, you think you’d ruin me?”

“I know I would.”

He nods once slowly and lets out a dry laugh. “Yeah. That’s what I’m afraid of.”

He says it like a joke.

He says it like it doesn’t mean anything.

But your cheeks burn for the rest of the night.

⸻

There’s a girl on his Instagram story the next weekend. Someone you don’t know. Someone with rings on every finger and a high laugh that cuts through the room even with the volume low.

You don’t ask.

He doesn’t bring it up.

But he notices when your replies start coming slower. When you stop double-texting. When you say “I’m tired” instead of “come over.”

He doesn’t ask either.

And that’s the worst part.

⸻

You dream about kissing him sometimes. It’s never dramatic. Never fireworks or slow fades.

Just quiet. Familiar. A moment in the kitchen or in the passenger seat of his car.

Once, in the dream, he kissed you and whispered “finally.”

You woke up crying.

⸻

You go out together one night in late March. Some rooftop thing his friend dragged him to. You come because you said yes before thinking about it.

He’s in a black t-shirt. Hair slicked back. Beer in hand. Talking to people you don’t know.

You’re wearing lipstick for the first time in weeks.

He notices.

Doesn’t say anything.

But you catch him glancing. Once. Twice.

Later, some guy you don’t care about asks for your number.

Jay is on the other side of the deck. He doesn’t see it.

You think about telling him.

You don’t.

⸻

You’re in his apartment again in April.

He puts a record on without asking. Sinatra again. He’s halfway through an edit and says he just wants background noise.

But you know better.

He always puts this record on when he wants to feel something but doesn’t know how to ask for it.

You sit on the floor with your knees pulled to your chest.

“You’re quiet,” he says.

“I’m thinking.”

“Don’t hurt yourself.”

You smile faintly. “I won’t.”

A beat.

Then: “Jay.”

He hums in reply.

You open your mouth.

Then close it.

He looks at you.

“What?”

You shake your head. “Nothing.”

He watches you for a second. Then goes back to his screen.

The song keeps playing.

You almost said it.

⸻

You don’t talk for the rest of the night.

You sit in the glow of his desk lamp while he finishes editing. The light paints him in soft gold, jaw set, fingers moving with that twitchy rhythm he gets when he’s trying not to think too hard.

You say you’re tired. He offers you the couch.

You curl up in his hoodie, the one that smells like him. The one he pretends not to notice you borrow every time.

The apartment goes quiet except for the low, steady scratch of the record looping back.

And then you hear it.

His footsteps. Bare feet against wood floors.

You keep your eyes closed.

You feel him standing there.

You feel him hesitate.

Then retreat.

The door to his room clicks shut like a sigh.

And you cry. Just a little.

Just enough to feel it.

⸻

You stop texting first.

He doesn’t say anything about it.

But you know he notices. He always notices.

You still see him. Still hang out. Still fall asleep on opposite ends of the couch like nothing’s changed.

But everything’s changed.

He doesn’t ask who’s texting you when your phone buzzes. Doesn’t knock his knee into yours under the table. Doesn’t ask you to stay when you say you should go.

You wonder if this is what letting go looks like.

You wonder if he’s doing it too.

⸻

Your friends ask if you’re okay.

You say yeah. Of course. You’re just tired. Just busy.

You lie with your teeth clenched and your throat full.

You stopped waiting for him to say it. That’s what hurts the most.

Not that he didn’t love you.

But that he never wanted to.

⸻

It’s raining the night it happens.

Of course it is.

You didn’t plan to go to his place. You’d both been quiet for weeks. Distant in that way where the silences feel sharp.

But he texts.

you up?

And you don’t think. You just go.

When he opens the door, he looks wrecked. Not sad, not sick, just raw. Like he hasn’t slept right in days. Like he’s been trying not to say something for too long and it’s burning a hole in his throat.

“You okay?” you ask.

He steps aside.

You follow him in.

⸻

You sit on the bed. Same spot you always sit. You pick at a loose thread in the comforter.

Jay sits across from you on the floor, back against the wall, knees drawn up.

He’s quiet for a long time.

Then:

“I miss you,” he says.

Your stomach flips.

“I’m right here.”

He shakes his head. “No. You’re not. Not like before.”

You look away.

“I know it’s my fault,” he says. “I pulled away. I thought I was protecting something. But I think I just killed it slower.”

You don’t speak.

“I didn’t want to ruin it,” he murmurs. “But I ruined it anyway.”

You blink hard. Your throat aches.

Jay’s voice is quiet. “I’m in love with you.”

It breaks.

Not loudly. Not with ceremony.

Just a soft unraveling, like a thread finally giving way.

You press your palms to your eyes.

“Jesus,” you whisper. “You’re late.”

He lifts his head.

“I’ve been in love with you for so long it started to feel like part of my routine.”

Jay laughs—cracked, breathless. “You’re joking.”

“I’m not.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Why didn’t you?”

He looks down at his hands.

You walk over before you can stop yourself.

Sit on the floor in front of him.

Your knees knock.

He looks up.

You lean in.

And kiss him.

It’s not perfect. Your teeth knock. His hand trembles when it lands on your jaw.

But it’s real.

It’s quiet.

It’s long overdue.

⸻

You fall asleep beside him that night, curled into his side, still in your jeans.

His arm stays around your waist like he’s afraid to let go.

⸻

In the morning, everything feels different.

But not bad.

He makes you coffee without asking how you take it. You scroll through your phone like you’re not watching him from the corner of your eye.

He kisses your forehead, and it feels easy. Familiar.

Like this is what it was always supposed to be.

Divider by @uzmacchiato

[littleskeletonprincessss]

DO I want to write this?

Does anyone want to write a schlatt fic about ex husband! Schlatt falling back in love with his ex wife! Reader (or just getting along with her) but also they have kid(s) together and he's always been the kind to be like "Hey don't talk to your mom like that) even after you divorced. Idk he just seems like the type that he'd be a good ex-husband? Maybe take it further and mommy and daddy are sneaking around and sleeping together again.

I have this idea but I dont want to write it 😂

[littleskeletonprincessss]

I had a dream schlatts username was jspussy 😭

[littleskeletonprincessss]

Seems like somewhere Schlatt would go

[littleskeletonprincessss]

Full caption : tag someone who deserves a little Bibble today

My first thought: *tag ted*

[littleskeletonprincessss]

My first call at work today was being yelled at and ive wanted to cry all day so here's some shitty comfort fluff for swagger

He let's you sit and bitch because he knows most of what you need is to just rant about it. Doesn't say anything during it, just sits and listens (and sometimes laughs to himself about how passionate your getting about it - he thinks it's cute).

After you get it all out he orders dinner. Something comforting and warm and tells you to go change into something comfy (sweats and one of his shirts, usually) and then you sit on the couch with the TV playing and the cats cuddling in your lap while you lean into him and his arm is across the back of the couch.

He believes the best thing is to just let it go and takes your mind off of it. (Not like that you sickos) (okay sometimes like that)

[littleskeletonprincessss]

Mother's Day HC - Ted Nivison x reader / Schlatt x reader

Happy mothers day to every kind of mother! ❤️ You're so appreciated for everything you do.

Ted's the type to take your gaggle of kids to the dollar store a week before to pick out Mother's Day gifts. Anything they pick up he's buying, even the toilet plunger picked by your toddler and the bath pouf your baby had grabbed to chew on. Mother's day morning means breakfast in bed for mama, all the kids playing downstairs while mom and dad get some snuggles in upstairs.

Schlatt forgets it's Mother's Day until he picks your son up from kindergarten , macaroni necklace and glittery card clutched in his grubby hands, and then he's on Amazon as soon as they get home.

OR

Schlatts calendar has a lineup of marks, counting off the days until they circled Mother's Day. He has a dinner reservation for the night before at the restaurant you celebrated your anniversaries at, a diamond bracelet being engraved at the jewelers, a rose order being prepared, the whole 9 yards. Sunday is spent with your kids doing family stuff, but Saturday is a day for him to thank you for being the mother of his children (and maybe seduce you to try for another one).

[littleskeletonprincessss]

This made me fall in love with schlatt all over again

i’m a hard believer in the idea that Schlatt uses the most sugary sweet pet names for his partner- like???

warnings: slight D/s dynamic??? || dom!Schlatt x spoiled brat sub!reader || fem!reader

────୨ৎ────

“g’mornin, toots” as he kisses you on your forehead.

“angel, don’t break your fuckin’ wrist, let me open the damn thing.” he’ll gently scold you for not asking him to open the jar you’ve been struggling with.

“c’mere, sugar.” as he pulls you into his lap while he’s editing.

“oh, babydoll. look at you.” his mouth slightly opened in awe as you try on the new dress he bought you.

“don’t give me that look, dollface.” as you pout in result to him telling you ‘no’ for the first time in forever (he really said ‘not right now, but same thing)

“princess, hold my hand the street is fuckin’ insane” as you two cross the street downtown, he has to make sure his baby is safe

[littleskeletonprincessss]

Unpopular opinion: I'm glad Ted's mustache is gone 😤

[littleskeletonprincessss]

I read this to the tune of ch ch ch chia

I'M NOT OKAY

T-T-Tummy...

He has a trail...

[littleskeletonprincessss]

Ted: do you like my outfit?

*is wearing basically the same outfit schlatt has worn, just different colors"

Schlatt: yeah you look good

[littleskeletonprincessss]

Teddy hello!? 😍