#anyway no one perceive this lol thank you

[angelhummel]

*throwing this at my followers and running away*

I Found Myself A Cheerleader

another pezberry fic by me :)

Rating: E

Word count: 8220

Summary: Santana catches Rachel in a compromising position.

Canon divergence, assuming Santana moved to NY and enrolled in classes at NYADA much sooner. Set around mid s4

(Kurt and Tina are mentioned by name but not shown. Brittany, Finn, Brody, Puck, Jesse, and Cassie are referenced but not by name)

read on ao3

~~~

Santana strode down the hallway to her apartment, slowly rolling her head, then her shoulders as she walked. These dance classes were kicking her ass worse than she’d imagined. It was just because she was out of practice, she told herself. A few more weeks and she’d be back to her old self. Things would get easier. Then she could start dancing circles around everyone else in class and make them even more jealous of her than they surely already were.

The thought made her smile as she reached her door. Both roomies were out at the moment and wouldn’t be home til later. She was trying to decide how to spend her few short peaceful hours as she fumbled through her dance bag for her keys.

Maybe do some cool down yoga to help her unwind. Take a nice hot bath afterwards. Hell, maybe even rub one out while thinking about her new dance instructor with the perfect hot older bitch attitude and the abs to die for.

Santana finally made contact with her keys, pulling them out and unlocking the door, letting herself inside. She turned to slide the door shut, freezing on the spot when she heard a noise from further inside the apartment.

“Hello?” she called out tentatively, quickly adjusting her keys so they were sticking out between her fingers, her hand clenched in a tight fist around them. Just in case. She forced herself to step forward, inching closer towards the curtains that made up their three bedrooms. “Kurt? Rach? Who’s there?” She cringed at herself for immediately turning into the dumb first kill girl in every horror movie ever.

She was overreacting, she thought. It was probably just some mutated subway rat the size of her arm that wandered its way in and decided to make a nest out of Berry’s homeschooled chic sweaters.

Actually, she wasn’t sure if that was the best or worst case scenario.

The curtain to Rachel’s room fluttered, and Santana steeled herself to face down whatever was in there. She crept over to it, reaching for the edge to yank it back.

“Hey, it’s just - ME!” Rachel shrieked the last part as the curtain flew open and all she could register was Santana’s fist at eye level before she flinched away and clenched her eyes shut.

“Jesus fuck, Berry, you nearly gave me a heart attack!” Santana groaned, dropping her bag to the ground and tossing her keys on top of it. “Why the fuck didn’t you answer me? I could’ve seriously mangled your face.”

“I - I was about to, I just…” Rachel trailed off, gesturing vaguely to her room behind her. “I, um, was busy with something… Didn’t want you barging in.”

“Right, yeah, glad we avoided that,” Santana shot back, rolling her eyes. “What are you even doing home?”

“My last class was canceled. What about you? I thought you were still taking those extra evening lessons?”

“No, all my instructors thought I was spreading my awesomeness too thin so I’m just taking the regular courses now,” she replied. She looked back at Rachel, actually taking in her appearance now that her little adrenaline rush had passed and her heart rate was returning to normal.

Rachel’s hair was pulled back into a messy bun - heavy emphasis on the mess. Her cheeks were noticeably flushed, she was avoiding eye contact with Santana. And she seemed to be clutching onto the edge of her robe for dear life, keeping it shut tight all the way up to her neck.

A lightbulb went off in Santana’s head.

“What?” Rachel asked, her voice small as she chanced a glance up to Santana’s face. Just to see a knowing smirk quirking at the corner of her lips.

“Oh, nothing…” Santana shrugged. “I just get it, okay? Empty apartment, you thought it would be the perfect time for a little self care. No shame in it.”

“I’m not sure I know what you mean,” Rachel replied with a puzzled frown.

“Jesus, fine, you need me to spell it out for you?” Santana asked, crossing her arms over her chest as she stared at Rachel. “Self care? Masturbation? Nothing to be ashamed of, seriously. A little self exploration is totally healthy. Especially for someone as sexually repressed as you.”

Rachel’s cheeks got redder and redder the more Santana spoke. “Okay, you’ve made it clear that you have completely misread this situation!”

“Really? Your hair is a mess, your face is red, you’ve got that robe wrapped around you so tight it’s probably cutting off your circulation… And there’s no guy in sight,” she added, craning her neck to get a better look into Rachel’s room like she had to be sure. “So unless you’ve got Invisi-Billy in your bed, it looks like you did this to yourself.”

“I -” Rachel shut her mouth as quickly as she’d opened it, biting her lip as she fidgeted on the spot. Santana arched an eyebrow, wondering if she was going to say anything else. “Fine, you know what? You’re right. You caught me,” Rachel finally conceded. “I thought I would have the apartment to myself for an hour or so, so I thought I’d engage in a little self pleasure. Are you happy?”

“No, not really.”

“Well that makes two of us!” Rachel snapped. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, you can go take your shower, or whatever it is you do after class, and I will get dressed, and we will pretend like none of this ever happened.”

“Heard that one before,” Santana muttered, letting out a noise of surprise as Rachel actually tried shoving her out of her room. “Jeez, Berry, it’s not worth manhandling me over. Seriously, it’s not that big a d-” Santana cut herself off, her gaze dropping down to where Rachel’s robe fell open. Not like she was trying to get a peek or anything. And even if she had been, she would’ve been out of luck. Because instead of bare skin, Santana caught a glimpse of an all too familiar red, black, and white fabric.

Her eyes went wide, and Rachel blushed impossibly darker as she scrambled to fully cover herself back up.

“Berry, please tell me that’s not what I think it is,” Santana said, reaching out to grab the collar of Rachel’s robe. Yanking it open to reveal the bright red WMHS logo across her chest. “What in the Invasion of the Body Snatchers is going on here?!” She took a step back, staring at Rachel in disbelief.

“Okay, listen, it’s not whatever jealousy or psychosexual reasoning I’m sure you think it is, okay?” she asked. She kept her head down, her gaze fixed firmly on the floor as she spoke. Far too embarrassed to even try and meet Santana’s eyes again.

“Well..?”

Rachel took a deep breath before continuing. “Tina sent me a picture earlier. Apparently she just joined the Cheerios,” she told Santana. “And I realized that meant I was the only glee girl that was never on the squad. And I remember you mentioning you brought your uniform with you, to have a reminder of your past life at McKinley. So I thought I’d try it on for a second and see how I would’ve looked, were I ever a member of the team. I was planning on putting it back before you ever even realized it was gone. It was just a little harmless dress up, that’s all.”

“Dress up? I mean if that’s your kink, fine, but you at least could’ve asked me first.”

“Santana!” Rachel whined, her head snapping up to look at her friend with wide, desperate eyes. “Is there any possible way we can move forward from this point without you making fun of me?”

“Hey, come on, who’s making fun of you? It’s just a little good natured ribbing. Friends do that, right?”

“Well it doesn’t feel good natured,” Rachel pouted. “I think I might actually die of embarrassment right now...”

“Oh, come on, me thinking you were finger blasting yourself in an empty apartment was way more embarrassing.” Rachel’s cheeks lit up again, and Santana just laughed when she turned on the spot to go back into her room. “Okay, okay, I won’t talk about that either! But seriously, it’s not that embarrassing. Either of those things. But especially not wanting to try on the uniform. I mean, the Cheerios were pretty much the only group you weren’t a part of in high school, right?”

Rachel stood in her room with her back to Santana, one hand on the curtain like she was ready to close it, but not moving to do so just yet. She nodded.

“Right, so, no big deal that you wanted to see what you’d look like on the squad,” Santana continued. “Seriously, Rach, it’s not a big deal, okay? This isn’t actually high school. I’m not gonna run off and tell all the cool kids what happened so we can laugh about it in a glee club meeting later. I mean, I guess I could go tell Humdrum Hummel, but he’d probably end up giving me a long speech about how I shouldn’t make you feel ashamed of your body or whatever the fuck.”

“That’s probably true…” Rachel replied, a barely there smile on her lips. She let go of the curtain, hesitating a moment before turning back around to face Santana. “Would you, um… Oh, it still feels so embarrassing. Wouldyoutakeapictureofme?” she asked in a rush, anxiously biting her lip again.

“Oh, uh, sure,” Santana replied, surprised at the request. She’d still been expecting Rachel to shoo her out so she could get changed. She didn’t even think she’d get to see the full getup on Rachel. Not that she was dying to or anything. No, obviously nothing like that. But she’d be lying to herself if she said she wasn’t at least a little curious to see how Rachel looked in her old uniform.

Rachel smiled when Santana agreed, pulling her into her bedroom and closing the curtain behind them. “We’ll take the pictures in front of the curtain - it makes a good neutral backdrop. Let’s see… Lighting, we need lighting,” Rachel muttered to herself, going around her room to set everything up.

Santana should’ve known that all Rachel’s embarrassment would melt away when it came to being photographed. But she let the other woman do her thing, until Rachel was handing Santana her phone, already in camera mode.

Rachel took her bun down, her hair cascading down over her shoulders as she walked back around in front of Santana. Santana’s gaze shifted to Rachel’s hands to watch her undo the tie on her robe, shedding it to reveal the full look.

Santana’s throat went dry. The uniform was custom made to fit her exact measurements, which made it the tiniest bit tight on Rachel. But that wasn’t something Santana was going to complain about. She glanced down, realizing Rachel had also put on sneakers to complete the ensemble.

Santana let herself indulge a little, her eyes slowly making their way up Rachel’s toned, tanned legs. It was always a mystery to Santana, how someone so short could have legs that seemed to go on for so long. Those schoolgirl skirts and flouncy little dresses Rachel always wore to school were bad enough. But the Cheerio skirt on her was positively lethal. Santana barely even glanced at the hints of skin peeking through the fabric slats of the skirt before she noticed Rachel’s hands clasped in front of her body, fidgeting together.

“So… What do you think?” she asked. Santana snapped herself out of her daze to realize Rachel was waiting for a verbal response. Seemingly nervous and… shy? That was a new one.

“You -” Santana started, her voice coming out breathier than she expected. She cleared her throat and tried again. “You look good.”

“Really?” Rachel asked, instantly relaxing at the compliment. “Thank you… I was worried I’d look silly. You really don’t think I look silly?”

“God, no, Rach. You look seriously hot right now.”

The blush from before came creeping back into Rachel’s cheeks as she smiled at Santana’s praise.

“Okay, okay, picture time!” Rachel clapped. She backed up to the curtain, facing Santana with her hands on her hips and a bright grin on her face.

Santana smiled to herself, snapping a couple of pictures of Rachel like that. “Very cute,” she commented. “But you have to give me a real cheerleader pose.” She watched as Rachel gave it some thought, then switched poses. Drawing a knee up and balancing on one foot, raising her arms up over her head in a big V. “Ooh, much better. Shake them pompoms, girl,” she teased.

“But we don’t have any - oh.” Rachel giggled, but held her position as Santana took more pictures. “You’re so bad…”

“You love me for it,” Santana said. She lowered the phone, so Rachel dropped her pose. “So, uh, who are the pictures for?” she asked curiously, feeling like she needed a distraction to keep herself from leering at Rachel any more than she already was. Talking about either of the two guys Rachel was somehow still juggling seemed like a good way to bring her down.

“No one,” Rachel replied quickly. “I mean, it isn’t like that. I just wanted them for my own benefit. And I suppose I’ll send one to Tina, since she inadvertently started this. Of course I’ll have to show Kurt - he’ll get a kick out of it.”

“You can send them to me,” Santana said with a slight shrug, hoping that would somehow make it seem like a casual and not at all weird thing to suggest.

“Really? You’d want me to send them to you?” Rachel asked. Her expression shifted from confusion to mischievous as a smirk slowly spread across her face. “Why? Something for your spank bank?” she asked, trying her hand at teasing Santana like Santana had just been doing to her.

Santana didn’t respond, feeling a lump forming in her throat with the way Rachel was staring at her right now.

“Oh my gosh, I was kidding!”

“Shut it, Berry,” was the only comeback Santana could muster.

“Santana, I had no idea you felt this way about me,” Rachel teased, twirling back and forth on the spot and making her borrowed skirt flare out with each move. “It’s nice to know you think I’m so attractive.”

“Berry, if you keep talking, I’m going to throw your phone out the window.”

“Aw, come on, San. What did you just tell me? Something about how this is all totally normal and it’s good to have a healthy sexual appetite -”

“Okay, I warned you.” Santana marched to the other side of the room, Rachel’s phone clutched tight in hand, heading over to the closest window.

“No!” Rachel exclaimed, chasing after Santana and snatching her phone back. “Those windows don’t even open, you know?”

“No, but I bet they break,” Santana replied flatly.

“God, Santana, is that really still how it is with you? You can dish it out but you still can’t take it?” Rachel asked, crossing her arms over her chest and arching an eyebrow at the other woman.

Santana didn’t answer at first, just looked Rachel up and down again to take in her full appearance. She let out a short laugh, shaking her head.

“What?”

“Nothing, nothing… You’re just really embodying the whole cheer captain HBIC thing right now. It’s impressive, really.”

“Well I am an actress. It’s what I do,” Rachel replied, distracted from tormenting Santana now that she was being complimented again.

“True… But you’re missing something.”

“What?”

Santana turned to Rachel’s vanity, grabbing a brush and hair tie and waving them in front of her face. “The high pony, duh. You went to all this trouble to try the uniform on, you might as well rock the whole look. Otherwise it won’t be as authentic or whatever.”

She sat back on Rachel’s bed, making herself comfortable against the pillows at the headboard and gesturing for Rachel to come sit in front of her.

“I suppose you make a good point,” Rachel said, joining her on the bed. She settled in between Santana’s legs, her back facing Santana’s front.

Santana took her time in gently brushing through Rachel’s hair and gathering it all up at the crown of her head. Thankful for the fact that Rachel’s back was to her at the moment. She just needed to calm herself down. Stop her mind from racing to dangerous places.

Really, she didn’t know what came over her all of a sudden. Santana was in college. In New York. Santana was a grown adult now.

So why was she feeling butterflies like this was some stupid high school crush?

It was just the uniform, Santana told herself. Obviously it dredged up feelings for her ex and memories of everything they got up to in high school. But even as Santana tried her damnedest to redirect her feelings to a more appropriate place, all she could think about was Rachel. All the times she subtly (or so she thought) checked her out during glee practice, or a group trip to Breadstix or the Lima Bean. She thought about when Rachel showed up to class in her Britney costume, and how it seemed to jumpstart Santana’s whole sexual identity crisis. Even before that, in sophomore year Santana would often find herself staring at Rachel’s legs in those ridiculously short skirts during dance rehearsals before she was even totally aware of what she was doing.

Okay, the little trip down memory lane certainly wasn’t helping. Suddenly all Santana wanted was to get away from Rachel and really calm down. Whatever was going on with her right now, she didn’t need to add it onto the already strained and beyond complicated relationship she had with Rachel.

She wrapped the elastic around the ponytail and tightened it - possibly a little too hard, given the way Rachel hummed in response - and sat back against the headboard. The most distance between them that Santana could manage right now, given the fact that Rachel was practically sitting in her lap.

Rachel turned halfway around to look at Santana, and Santana was sure by the look on her face that she didn’t have the same tumultuous thoughts swirling around in her own head.

Of course she didn’t.

“So… How do I look now?” Rachel asked with a hopeful smile.

“Awesome…” Santana whispered. And then, without thinking, reached up with one slightly trembling hand to try and sweep Rachel’s bangs to the side. “You should wear your hair like this more often… You always have so much hair in your face, like, all the time. Someone could start to think you’re hiding behind it.”

“Maybe I am…” Rachel murmured. “I always thought that pulling my hair back would only serve to highlight my… beak.”

Santana’s hand dropped back down to her side, as her stomach started to twist itself into knots. Of course while she was inappropriately thirsting over Rachel, Rachel was just going through every insult Santana had ever hurled at her in high school.

Because when were they ever on the same page?

“Well that’s rude. And it’s just not true… Who said that?” Santana asked quietly.

“Oh, just some mean girl I knew back in high school…”

“Yeah, well… she’s not here anymore,” Santana whispered. She took a deep breath, forcing herself not to break eye contact with Rachel as she spoke. “Look, Berry, if you tell anyone I said this, then I’m throwing you out the window instead. But you’re hot, okay? Like seriously hot. You’d have to be blind not to see that.”

Rachel blushed - they’d both been doing plenty of that this afternoon, Santana thought - and smiled at the praise.

“Thank you…” she replied softly, her gaze downcast as she played with a loose thread on the comforter. “I was being flippant earlier, but it really does mean a lot that you see me that way now…”

“Not just now…”

Rachel froze, looking up to meet Santana’s eyes again. “Santana…”

Santana shook her head slightly, needing to snap herself out of this little bubble she’d created for herself and come back to reality. “You, um - We can take some more pictures now that your hair is -”

Rachel lunged forward, cutting Santana off with a kiss. Eager but not forceful, almost like she was expecting Santana to push her away.

Santana didn’t push. But she was too stunned to react. Before she really processed what was happening, Rachel broke the kiss herself.

“Oh my gosh…” Rachel whispered, her hand coming up to gently touch over her own lips. Looking as stunned as Santana felt, like she couldn’t believe what she’d just done. “I-I’m sorry, I don’t know what came over me… That was very impulsive and I know I should’ve asked for permission first or - or given you a warning but I -”

Santana interrupted her with a kiss of her own. Gentler this time, just a way to wordlessly tell her it was okay, that she didn’t have to work herself into a lather over this.

Trying to convince herself of the same thing.

Rachel looked much more calm when they broke apart this time. She turned around completely, sitting on her knees and facing Santana fully.

“Well… this is certainly new for us.”

“No shit,” Santana replied. Doing her best to hide just how affected she was by the kisses.

Rachel wasn’t thrown by her attitude.

“New is good,” Rachel continued softly, looking into Santana’s eyes. “I mean, if someone told me three years ago that not only would you and I be living together, we’d be genuine friends on top of that, I would’ve thought they were lying. But our relationship has progressed leaps and bounds over the years and, well, here we are now… Who knows? Maybe this was the obvious next step for us?”

Santana just stared at Rachel, her brain still struggling to process their kisses, never mind whatever monologue Rachel was busting out to try and justify what they’d done. All she could do was nod her head once she realized Rachel’s speech sort of required a response.

“Obvious” was the furthest thing from her mind right now.

“We don’t have to have it all figured out right now…” Rachel said softly. “I know it’s a lot, and you don’t seem to want to discuss it at the moment, which is completely fine by me… I don’t know what this means for us. All I know is that I really want to kiss you again…”

“Rach?”

“Yes?”

“Do you ever shut up?”

Rachel opened her mouth to answer, but Santana didn’t give her the chance. She pulled Rachel close again, taking whatever response she was formulating and turning it into a soft, muffled moan as their lips met once more.

No longer hesitant, no longer worried about being rejected, they let themselves indulge. Giving in to their desires, and letting the spark between them ignite into a full blown flame.

Santana’s arms wound tight around Rachel, and Rachel pressed closer against the other woman. Shifting so her legs were bracketing Santana’s, and she was sitting in her lap.

When Santana pulled away this time, it was to start trailing kisses along Rachel’s jawline instead. Her hand crept up Rachel’s back, up to the ponytail she’d styled just minutes earlier, getting a firm grip and using it to tilt Rachel’s head back, exposing her neck and giving Santana plenty of new territory to explore.

And explore she did.

Spurred on by Rachel’s soft little hums of pleasure, Santana let her lips wander over every exposed inch of Rachel’s skin she could reach. Paying special attention to each and every noise falling from Rachel’s lips, every shift of her body, making sure she knew what kind of reaction she got from every spot she kissed.

A kiss just below Rachel’s ear earned a sharp gasp in response.

Santana’s lips brushing over the curve between her neck and shoulder pulled a soft whine from Rachel.

An open mouthed kiss to Rachel’s pulse point - Rachel’s body jolted in Santana’s arms, a low moan escaping her lips.

“There we go…” Santana purred, a self-satisfied smirk on her face as she went back in for more. Kissing over the same spot, as Rachel’s grip tightened on Santana’s shoulders. Darting her tongue out to lick over it, making Rachel squirm in her lap. Sinking her teeth in and starting to suck at her skin, causing Rachel to cry out in pleasure.

“Santana…” Rachel breathed, her eyes clenched shut as Santana teased the oh so sensitive spot on her neck.

Santana just hummed in response, not wanting to let up until she knew she’d left her mark. She looped Rachel’s ponytail around her hand, getting a better grip and yanking her head back further, earning another moan from Rachel.

“Santana, please…”

That got Santana to stop. She kissed over the faint purple hickey she’d managed to leave, before looking up at Rachel through her lashes.

“Please what?”

Santana’s grip loosened on Rachel’s hair, so Rachel had enough room to tilt her head forward again. She just stared at Santana with heavy lidded eyes, her lips still parted but no more words coming out.

“Oh, now you’re speechless?” Santana asked, a teasing lilt to her voice. It was slight, but apparently enough to make Rachel blush. “Suddenly you’re shy about making demands?”

“Asking for a solo that I know I deserve isn’t exactly the same as… this,” Rachel whispered.

Santana chuckled at that, shaking her head as she looked up at Rachel. “Is that it? Think you haven’t done enough to deserve a little pleasure?”

Santana wrapped both arms securely around Rachel again, holding her tight as she sat up. Switching their positions, she laid Rachel back on the bed, their legs slotting together as Santana settled herself over Rachel. She leaned in closer, like she was going in for another kiss, but swerved at the last second and brought her lips up to Rachel’s ear instead.

“You want me to make you work for it, Berry?” she asked in a hushed whisper.

Rachel whined softly, shook her head.

“Well you have to tell me what you do want…”

“I - I want you…” she breathed. Santana tried to pull back enough to look down at Rachel, but the other woman tightened her arms around Santana’s body, keeping her in place. “I want you to - to stop teasing me, and kiss me, and - and touch me.”

“Better…” Santana whispered. Still attempting nonchalance to hide the way her heart jolted in her chest at the request from Rachel.

She rewarded Rachel’s bluntness with more kisses and nips to her neck, still making sure to focus on the spots that got the best reactions. Keeping herself balanced with one arm on the mattress, her other hand came up between them to touch Rachel. Running over the stiff material of the uniform, hesitating just a moment before cupping Rachel’s breast.

Santana knew from experience that it was difficult to get any real gratification from over-the-uniform touches, but Rachel still gasped at Santana’s actions. So she kept it at that for a few moments, sucking another mark into Rachel’s neck as she toyed with her. Squeezing gently, then a little harder, rubbing her thumb over her nipple, trying to see if any of it was working for her.

Just when she was about to ask if Rachel wanted to get the top out of the way, she had her answer.

Rachel’s hand came down to the wrong side of the uniform, fumbling for the zipper that wasn’t there.

“Please get this stupid thing off of me,” she said with a frustrated huff, pouting up at Santana.

“Fuck, you’re such a brat…” Santana muttered, reaching up to the right side and quickly tugging the zipper open. Easily ridding Rachel of the uniform top, and leaving her naked from the waist up.

Santana’s eyes roamed over Rachel’s half naked body, drinking in this new sight before glancing back up to meet Rachel’s eyes. Feeling like Rachel was waiting for her approval.

“Still hot, though,” Santana whispered. She moved down a little, kissing all over where she couldn’t reach before. Letting her lips lead the exploration over Rachel’s collarbones, her chest, the space between her breasts. Her hand slowly wandered up Rachel’s side, enjoying the bare skin underneath, but paused just short of groping her again.

“We can stop if you want to…” she told Rachel. Needing more than Rachel’s reserved silence before she was comfortable going further.

Rachel shook her head quickly. “Please don’t stop…”

Santana felt a sense of relief flood through her body, just knowing Rachel was into this. Into her.

She smiled, and leaned up to press a soft kiss to Rachel’s lips as her hand met her breast again. Repeating the same actions she’d done over the uniform top, for a much more enthusiastic Rachel this time around.

Santana kissed back down Rachel’s body, circling her nipple with her tongue before taking it into her mouth and sucking gently.

“Ohh…” Rachel moaned, reaching up to thread her fingers through Santana’s hair and hold her in place.

Not that Santana planned on moving any time soon.

She was enjoying Rachel’s reactions far too much. All the breathy moans, the little mewls of pleasure, the way her body trembled underneath her, how she tugged at Santana’s hair when Santana got the tiniest bit rough with a pinch or a nip.

And how, before long, Rachel started to weakly grind against Santana’s leg that was situated between both of hers. She thought she felt the slightest damp patch rubbing against her thigh.

“Have you soaked through two layers already?” she asked, licking her lips as she looked up at Rachel. “Or did you decide to go completely commando under my uniform, pervert?”

“Why don’t you see for yourself?” Rachel whispered, parting her legs in invitation.

Santana happily accepted.

She slid a hand down Rachel’s stomach, bypassing the skirt part of the uniform, and let it disappear beneath the waistband of the bright red spankies.

Rachel whimpered as Santana’s fingers brushed over her sensitive clit, and easily glided down lower over her slick folds.

“Fuck, how are you this wet already?” Santana asked in a low, husky voice, keeping her eyes on Rachel’s face as her fingers teased Rachel with practiced, expert movements.

She could tell Rachel was wearing her own underwear as well, because she wasn’t immediately met with the less comfortable fabric of the Cheerio panties. She could also feel a wet spot against the back of her hand letting her know that, yeah, Rachel had already soaked through two layers of clothing.

That was doing wonders for her confidence.

“Is this all from a few hickeys and a little second base action? Makes sense, it’s probably the most time anyone’s ever spent on your pleasure…” she murmured, kissing over one of the marks she’d left behind earlier.

Maybe it was the lingering mean streak in her that begged Santana to tease Rachel even in this situation. But the way Rachel was moaning and basically humping her hand, Santana was sure she could say anything right now and Rachel wouldn’t give a fuck, as long as Santana kept working her clit the way she was.

“Or maybe you started getting turned on when I was taking your picture…” she continued, biting over Rachel’s pulse point and making her cry out. “I know how much you love that…” She licked over the spot to soothe it, pressing a soft kiss there as well. “Too bad I can’t get to your phone now, or I’d have to take some pictures of you like this…”

Rachel let out another soft whimper, absently nodding her head along with Santana’s words.

Santana had thought Rachel didn’t care what she was saying, but maybe she was wrong.

She was starting to think Rachel was getting off on it.

“No, I know what it was…” she purred, slowing her movements down and just idly circling her index finger over Rachel’s clit to draw things out and keep teasing her. “I bet you started getting turned on because I walked in on you doing something risqué. Caught in the act, and all that. You seem like the type of person who needs a healthy little dose of humiliation to get themselves going. Fuck, if that’s the case, you must’ve been this soaked 24/7 in high school…” she chuckled. “That could explain a lot…”

Rachel whined, her face completely flushed pink again. Santana wondered if it was caused more by her words or her actions. Whichever it was, she wasn’t stopping either one.

“Mm, but honestly, I think I was right the very first time…” Santana said, her hand slipping a little lower as she started to sink two fingers into Rachel’s leaking entrance.

Rachel gasped, her legs involuntarily coming closer together. Santana had to nudge them apart again with her own leg to keep Rachel open for her.

“I think I walked in at the start of a very elaborate masturbation session. I think this game of dress up was just the first step.”

She thrust her fingers in with slow, shallow motions, just letting them fill Rachel a little at a time. Delving deeper and deeper, bit by bit, until they were buried as deep inside as they could get. She held still a moment, her thumb finding Rachel’s clit and working it as she started to pump her fingers in and out.

“I know how much you like to put on a show, Berry, even if you’re the only audience member,” she whispered in her ear, listening to the short, ragged breaths that Rachel took as she rode Santana’s fingers. “And the way your mirror and vanity are both facing the bed, well, you would’ve had the best seat in the house, wouldn’t you? Looking like Cheerio royalty, sitting on the edge of your bed with your legs spread, fingering yourself, with the best view from all angles… I bet you would’ve gotten yourself off in no time.”

“Shut… up!” was all Rachel could muster in response. She shoved a hand into her underwear alongside Santana’s, starting to rub her clit while Santana fingered her.

Rachel’s orgasm hit almost immediately, and her back arched off the bed as she came with a loud, lyrical moan.

Santana worked her through it, fingering Rachel until she was spent and stilled her own hand. She pressed a few soft kisses along Rachel’s neck and shoulder as she slowly pulled her fingers out, and pulled them free from the confines of Rachel’s underwear.

“Even your sex noises are annoyingly musical…” Santana muttered.

“I-” Rachel stopped, staring up at Santana as Santana popped her fingers into her mouth and sucked them clean.

“You..?” Santana asked, but Rachel didn’t respond. Just grabbed her by the hair and pulled her in for another heated kiss. Surprising Santana by immediately licking into her mouth, chasing the taste of herself on Santana’s tongue.

The kiss was as quick as it was dirty, and Rachel pulled back far too soon for Santana’s liking. She laid back on the bed, her eyes closed and her lips parted as she let out a content sigh.

Santana laid there as well, watching Rachel for a few moments as she awaited her next move. When she couldn’t be sure one was even coming, Santana started to feel awkward. She turned onto her back, staring blankly up at the ceiling.

Was that it? One and done? She honestly wasn’t expecting Rachel to pay her back, but at least acknowledging her presence post orgasm would be nice.

Santana rolled her eyes, resigning herself to her long overdue shower, and pretending like this never happened once she left the confines of Rachel’s room.

She sat up to leave, but a gentle hand on her arm made her pause.

“Where are you going?” Rachel asked, her brows knitted together ever so slightly as she looked up at Santana with those deep brown doe eyes of hers.

“Shower. Figured you’d want some privacy to change.”

“But I haven’t even - I mean, you didn’t let me…” Rachel trailed off, pouting a little as she pushed herself up onto her elbows. “Are we done?”

“You tell me,” Santana replied with a shrug. Her icy attitude creeping back in now that there was the slightest possibility of Rachel rejecting her again.

“I… I don’t want to be,” she whispered, sitting up fully now and frowning at Santana. “I just needed a moment to catch my breath. I’ve never - Well, it’s been - That was the best orgasm I’ve had in a while,” she admitted. “I didn’t know it was possible to have such a strong reaction from a little fondling and dirty talk.”

“Yeah, well, it’s safe to say I’m the hottest partner you’ve ever had,” Santana replied airily, flipping her hair back over her shoulder. “That probably helped.”

“I most definitely agree with you there…” Rachel said with a shy little smile. “Which would make it all the more disappointing if you were to leave without letting me reciprocate. I mean, you’re still fully dressed, and I was so caught up in what you were doing to me that I was barely in my right mind to do anything back.”

“Well I guess if this is where you want to start worrying about equality and fairness, you won’t hear me complaining,” Santana smirked.

Rachel reached out to tangle her fingers in Santana’s hair, pulling her into a kiss. She eased Santana back on the bed, and Santana went willingly, letting Rachel crawl on top of her and take the reins for a while.

Rachel made short work of Santana’s dancewear, getting her out of her tank top and shorts, then her sports bra, and finally her underwear. Leaving Santana completely naked, while Rachel still sported the remaining vestiges of the Cheerio uniform.

She sat back on her heels, slowly running her hands along Santana’s smooth, toned legs, admiring the view in front of her.

Whether in uniform, dancewear, street clothes, or nothing at all, Santana was every bit as gorgeous as Rachel always knew she was. She used to envy her for it - hate her for it - but those thoughts were so far away from Rachel’s mind at this moment that they might as well have belonged to someone else.

How could Rachel hate her now? How could she be jealous? When Santana was naked in her bed, baring herself completely for her, and her alone. It was everyone else that should be jealous of Rachel now. Because Santana was hers.

At least for the moment.

A slight smirk tugged at Rachel’s lips as her gaze settled on Santana’s opening, seeing her skin already glistening with wetness.

“And you were making fun of me earlier?” Rachel teased, reaching out to run a finger agonizingly slowly over Santana’s folds. Santana shuddered lightly at the touch, then watched in awe as Rachel immediately brought her finger up to her lips and swirled her tongue around it. “Mm, looks like somebody is a bit of a hypocrite…”

“Take it as a compliment, Berry…” Santana muttered, wrapping her legs around Rachel to try and pull her closer. Rachel giggled - actually fucking giggled - and gently pushed Santana’s legs back down to the bed.

“You took your sweet time earlier, I think it’s only fair you give me the same courtesy,” she murmured. She carefully settled herself over Santana, pecking her on the lips once before starting the journey lower, trailing kisses down the column of Santana’s throat.

She must’ve wanted to repay everything Santana did to her, Santana thought, because it wasn’t long before Rachel was latching onto her neck and sucking a mark, in almost the exact same spot Santana left one on her.

Santana reached up to grab onto Rachel’s ponytail again and hold her in place. Her other hand found Rachel’s, bringing it up to her breast so Rachel could give her a different kind of pleasure at the same time. Rachel didn’t protest being moved like this, no doubt too concerned with her budding hickey to say anything. She just let Santana guide her, and started teasing her nipple like she wanted.

Rachel didn’t pull away from her neck for what seemed like ages, and Santana knew there had to be a nasty looking mark left in her wake. But Rachel seemed proud of it judging by the self satisfied little smile on her face.

Rachel gently blew over the wet patch of skin, and Santana shivered.

“Felt like marking your territory, huh?”

“Maybe…” Rachel smiled, before kissing her way lower.

Santana figured none of Rachel’s past fucks were into nipple play, because when Rachel got to second base, she could tell Rachel was mimicking what Santana had done to her. Which wasn’t really a bad thing. Santana knew what she was doing, so Rachel copying her just made it seem like Rachel knew what she was doing.

So it was oh so upsetting when Rachel pulled away far too quickly for Santana’s liking, and started kissing lower down her body instead.

“Oh, you’re -” Santana cut herself off, licking her lips as she watched Rachel.

“Is that okay?” Rachel asked softly, stopping to look up at Santana with her mouth just a few inches shy of Santana’s pussy.

“Fuck, yeah, more than okay…” Santana replied with an eager nod. “I just - didn’t think you’d go for muff diving right away.”

Rachel wrinkled her nose up at the phrase, but pressed a soft kiss to Santana’s hipbone. “I’ll admit it’s something I’ve always been curious about…” she murmured. She dropped another kiss to Santana’s lower abdomen, then moved down to kiss along her inner thighs. “It’s an act that I certainly wouldn’t mind adding to my sexual repertoire…” she added in between kisses.

“Mm, you make it sound so sexy…” Santana purred, her words dripping with sarcasm.

“As sexy as ‘muff diving’?” Rachel shot back.

“Why don’t you put that mouth to good use and eat me already?” Santana asked, still holding onto Rachel’s ponytail and bucking her hips up slightly.

Rachel retaliated by grabbing onto Santana’s thighs, keeping her spread open and pressed down against the bed at the same time. She leaned in closer, hesitating at the last second like she had to steel her nerves, before just going for it.

Santana moaned at the initial contact, holding tight to Rachel’s hair but letting her go at her own pace. Which, Santana quickly found out, was much more erratic and scattershot now that she really didn’t know what she was doing.

“Fuck, Rach, it’s not a competition,” she breathed, gently tugging on Rachel’s hair to get her to back up a little. “It’s been a while for me, too. I just wanna enjoy the ride, okay?”

“I - Sorry…” Rachel whispered, licking over her lips and avoiding Santana’s gaze. “Do you, um… Any advice?” she asked sheepishly.

“You can start by taking your time…” she replied softly. “Just try to remember how it felt whenever you were on the receiving end of it, and try and mimic what felt good to you.”

Rachel remained quiet, still not looking up at Santana, or attempting to resume her oral work.

Fuck, Santana thought, getting enough information in Rachel’s silence to fill in the gaps of her sex life. Or at least enough to realize that Rachel’s sex life was nothing but gaps. With the guys she’d been with, Santana knew it couldn’t be good, but goddamn. It was way past the point of being even a little comical to her now.

Though Santana didn’t think she could be the best teacher. All her experience with guys was just lesson after lesson on what she definitely didn’t want. With her ex, they got to figure things out together. And in the limited hookups she’d had since moving to the city, there were only women who seemed way more experienced than her.

She took a deep breath, gently running her fingers through Rachel’s bangs to sweep them back out of her face.

“Just think about whatever feels good when you touch yourself, and turn it around on me. But with tongue,” she said. “I mean, use your fingers, too. Don’t let me limit your creativity. Just slow it down a little. And don’t just focus on the clit the whole time, either. That’s like, a total rookie mistake.”

“O-okay…” Rachel nodded. “Sorry for being such a drama queen about all this…” she added quietly, pressing a conciliatory kiss to Santana’s hip.

“Like I’d expect anything less…” Santana murmured. “But don’t worry, I plan on giving you lots of opportunities to practice until you’ve totally perfected your technique.”

Rachel cracked a smile at that, ducking her head bashfully and leaving a few more kisses in her wake as she traveled back to Santana’s center. She started again, working much more slowly this time, taking her time to just savor everything about the experience.

Santana let out a soft hum in satisfaction, going back to holding onto the base of Rachel’s ponytail, guiding her a little but mostly letting her explore on her own. She spread her legs wider for Rachel, folding her other arm behind her head so she could prop herself up and enjoy the view.

“Mm, better already, baby…” she breathed. “Just nice and slow for now. You can build up to more…”

Rachel hummed in response, sending a shiver up Santana’s spine.

Santana didn’t offer too many instructions after that, but wasn’t shy about praising Rachel either. She let her know what felt good, encouraged her to keep going, even told her how hot she looked.

Of course Rachel ate it all up.

But she had to back off after a while just to catch her breath. Feeling light headed, like she’d somehow been forgetting to breathe this entire time. “Still doing a good job?” she asked, tracing her index finger over Santana, following all the same paths her tongue had taken.

“Better than good…” Santana whispered, her hand sliding down to cradle Rachel’s jaw, her thumb brushing over her bottom lip that was slick and shiny from her juices. She raised her hand up to suck it clean and taste herself.

Rachel smiled proudly at that, her attention shifting downward again as she slowly started to push two fingers inside of Santana. Santana moaned, clenched tight around her, before relaxing into it. Rachel watched as Santana’s hips rolled with her movements, fucking herself deeper and deeper onto Rachel’s fingers.

She brought her other hand up to spread Santana open further, making it easier to get to her clit. She swirled her tongue around it, sucking gently, as her fingers started moving faster in and out of Santana.

“Fuck, baby, just like that…” Santana moaned, her hand tight in Rachel’s hair to keep her in place now. Rocking her hips up to press herself harder against Rachel’s tongue, and down again to fuck herself on her fingers. “I’m close…”

It only took a few more moments for Santana to chase down her orgasm, crying out as she came and spilled out all over Rachel.

Rachel didn’t stop. She just doubled down, working her fingers at a rapid pace inside Santana and eagerly lapping at her cunt until she got Santana to cum again.

“Fuck!” Santana cried, pulling Rachel in suffocatingly close and riding her tongue and fingers until her second orgasm subsided. She had to push Rachel back after that, her sensitive pussy desperate for a reprieve.

Rachel popped up from between her legs, a smile on her face as she crawled up the bed to lay down beside Santana. “Still good?” she asked.

Santana turned her head to look at Rachel, just to see most of the lower half of her face shining with her juices. She let out a breathless laugh, leaning closer to plant a sloppy kiss on Rachel’s lips - trying to taste herself more than she was actually trying to kiss Rachel. “You’re a fucking mess…” she mumbled, falling back against the pillows. “You must’ve really been dying to experiment like this.”

“I was. Eager, I mean…” Rachel whispered, keeping her eyes on Santana’s as she spoke. “But not just for an experiment, or experience points. That was nice, of course, but… Well, I couldn’t see myself doing this with just anyone. And you certainly aren’t just anyone.”

“Damn straight,” Santana smirked.

Rachel laughed.

“Imagine if we knew three years ago that we would end up here…” Rachel sighed. “We could’ve saved ourselves a lot of fighting.”

“Nah, I think we needed the build up,” Santana replied. “It was three years of very elaborate, drawn out foreplay.”

“Maybe you’re right…” Rachel chuckled. “Just promise me it won’t take three more years of arguments and insults before we have sex again.”

“Oh, I promise.”

“And hey, since you were so fond of the dress up idea, I’m sure I can dig up some old plaid skirts for you to wear next time…”

“Don’t push your luck, Berry.”

[sesamenom]

you said we could bother you... ever consider transfem maglor?

hm, I don't really have much in the way of gender/orientation headcanons for most elves, but I feel like if anything I see him more as the "I have bigger problems and also a sword" brand of agender, if that makes sense?

[wickmitz]

How do you think about Frepper? I'm neutral about this ship, but the fans Frepper attitude towards confuses me, Ivy and Freckle have only been dating for a week and know each other superficially, but everyone already thinks that by the end of the comic they will get married, I think differently, I think that in the end they will break up with each other because they are too different personalities, I literally can't imagine that both of them will be happy with each other in marriage, Ivy is assertive and active, on the other hand Freckle is passive and just agrees with Ivy, this is not a guarantee of a healthy relationship where a partner completely dominates the other, plus to all that, I will not forget how their relationship started, Ivy just decided that they were dating, and without asking Freckle's permission, she just KISSED him, again without his permission, Frepper fans think that it's cute, but when I saw it, I thought "what the hell did I just see?", in general, it's strange for me that Frepper fans are okay with such things, of course later Freckle shows attraction to Ivy, showing that he likes her in some way too, but I still won't forget how their relationship started and how Freckle used to try to escape from Ivy when she squeezed his hand tightly and forced him to her …

I'm not against Frepper, but I don't understand his fans who don't see these issues and who treat other points of view on their relationship (like mine) as … um, as nonconformity? Fans from reddit are just obsessed with Frepper, I don't know about other networks but that's how it is on reddit, I think there are people who have my opinion but are afraid to say it because of fans, of course, I met Frepper fans there who normally accept such an opinion, but still there is a feeling that such a opinion cannot be told

Simply put, Ivy and Freckle are a couple that will eventually break up with each other unless there's an event between them in the comic that changes my opinion of this couple, but that's how I feel about Freckle for now. I didn't plan to express my opinion, but it happened that way, I hope you don't mind it

first and foremost, i don’t mind seeing someone express their opinion in my inbox! you and anyone else are free to do so, even if i may disagree. this blog’s entire existence was made for me to share my opinions ( and love! ) for lackadaisy, as well as engaging with other fans, because what else is the point of a fandom blog? and as far as i’m aware, this is unpopular opinion central! most of my thoughts aren’t exactly the ones with the most voice behind them i’ve found, so i welcome all manner of different views. every fan is entitled to their own perspectives and opinions, and should be allowed to share them as they please! but with that disclaimer out of the way, i’m more than willing to discuss frepper in its entirety.

for me, there’s little confusion i carry where it concerns this ship’s popularity amongst the fandom. freckle and ivy, if we are to strip them down to their bare essentials, are a rather stereotypically ‘cute’ relationship : people enjoy opposites ( see zibwick or vikdecai for example ) and there’s an endearing quality found in puppy love dynamics. seeing ivy wear the pants and drag a shy freckle around by his ankle makes for quality content in a way! think the ‘excuse me, but he asked for no pickles!’ meme … ivy and freckle very much fit that sort of mold, and it helps that most fans are too scared to ship them with other characters in the cast too, due to what they perceive to be a lack of options. thus, frepper is an extremely ‘safe’ ship! you cannot get in trouble for enjoying something that is not only canon, but is relatively adorable ; and so i don’t believe a lot of the fans are actually thinking too deeply about the likely endgame of it all. most don’t! it’s fun to ship, and that’s all they really need i think. it’s also very easy to dismiss ivy’s forwardness as a quirk of being a young girl who’s of her temperament, recklessly boycrazy although still carrying sweet intent. this behavior is easier to hand wave when neither ivy or freckle are experienced at the dating scene as well … freckle due to his extremely religious upbringing and hermit nature, and ivy because of viktor’s constant meddling, which would hold her back more than you’d think. with that said, i don’t think any of this is excessively complicated. some shippers are rather simple minded and do not care for details and characterization all too deeply. enjoying dynamics is, at its core, supposed to be fun -- which makes simple ships like frepper prime targets for a very vocal and tight knit fanbase. there are other things i could speculate about why these two may hit so pleasantly for others, like how there’s an underlying queer theme to it ( what with ivy being the pursuer and freckle the shy, blushing flower ) or that it’s tropey enough to hit the right spots for others … though it all boils back to mere speculation. perhaps they still have time to escape this gangster lifestyle and live happily ever after? and that appeals to the lackadaisy fans who still want some sort of happy ending? it’s all a combination of frepper being easy, i think, and containing two young cats who still haven’t done anything particularly ‘unforgivable’ yet action wise. this is a ship you can root for without an ounce of worry in your heart, and so on and so forth.

but although i understand why others are so vocal about them, i don’t exactly agree with fanon’s views either! while i heavily enjoy frepper, i enjoy them as they are, and that includes their looming flaws and inevitable tragedy. they are bound to break each other’s hearts a lot on their current path ; even if they were entirely perfect for one another, this lifestyle isn’t kind to anyone, meaning if they don’t separate, they could always be forced apart via bullets and such anyway. they are young and woefully inexperienced in a manner of things, the last thing they need is the stress of a rumrunner life driving their every action, you know? i know people see them getting out together, and that is likely on the table! i do see that in many ways, but i’m also of the opinion that ivy and freckle will diverge onto different paths at some point and temporarily call it quits. from where the comic currently stands and given my view on ivy’s arc, i see her growing disillusioned with where she is and the honor and fun she saw within it as a royal spectator will fade ; she will become wary, fearful, and her resilience will die … meanwhile freckle will embrace it, similar to his cousin, fully understanding what it is and what he’s getting into ( like rocky, again ) but being unable to leave his refuge. i know lots of people think freckle will leave the lackadaisy first, but given his old concepts and former title as one of mitzi’s ‘trouble boys’, i think he will become lost in the sauce for a myriad of reasons. frankly i enjoy that twist on their relationship! since i believe ivy’s character development will revolve around maturing, changing as time stretches forward, because her character is ever growing, what with her entire schtick being the fact she’s everything a 1920s girl was during those times. she embodies that unladylike youth and manipulative sweetness, so i’d imagine a lot of her path is falling from such naive thrill seeking and stumbling upon a harsh reality. she will mature, and the very thing that should make their relationship stronger will be what divides them indefinitely. everything they have is founded on this bloody, varnished soaked ground after all … they are young adults who are experiencing what closeness feels like outside of family or platonic friends for the first time, so naturally they will overindulge in their own amateur games ; find respite in the boogie and kiss like couples do on the silver screen, laugh about it, talk about everything and nothing at all … relish in each other’s warmth and stupidly loyal protection. i’m sure frepper will grow closer before any falling out, because as it stands, it’s one of the few things they have in such a scary situation that feels comforting and kind. they will impact each other in the fundamental ways first relationships do and, to move towards your biggest gripe, do things they’ll regret or allow things to happen to them that they’re not entirely okay with.

ivy is very forceful with freckle initially, albeit in her typical saturated way ; and i can see why that would be hard to parse! especially when freckle spends a majority of their first scenes together squirming away and hiding, trying to duck her affections and bolt for it. there is a lot of boundary crossing between them! but not in a necessarily malicious way … like most things with frepper, this circles back to their mutual inexperience and how, in a lot of ways, this is their first ‘serious’ romantic relationship ever. and it’s rather common for such firsts to involve gray areas, since neither party is entirely sure of what their own boundaries are just yet! while freckle did appear frightened by ivy at first, it’s important to note that tracy’s mentioned him having a flight response whenever girls flirt with him … he is prone to run away instinctively, which if you consider his extremely religious upbringing, isn’t exactly a surprise. nina would no doubt look down upon freckle engaging with girls his age due to what most girls his age are currently doing in the roaring 20s they’re living in. sneaking out and engaging in illegal activities, dancing in a way that would disgust most of the more traditional and older generation, casually engaging in any manner of sexual activity before marriage, etc etc. and this isn’t even listing freckle’s cagey nature due to an incident we know was bad enough to send rocky packing for years, and fundamentally changed freckle himself at such a young and impressionable age. he is … very troubled! and rather scared of himself and the world around him … at this stage in life, freckle is perpetually unable to make any progress towards anything he may want, and so i have little problem myself with ivy mostly taking the lead. when left to his own devices and allowed to choose outside of influence, freckle did in fact sneak out of his mother’s house to go to the lackadaisy, surely well aware that ivy’s intention had been romantically inclined. so, to me, he has always liked her ; perhaps found her cute, in a shallow way, saw her eccentric behavior as endearing and frightening in equal measure, and while he’s still wading into this whirlwind pool unsteady and shaken, he -- wouldn’t mind it if ivy pushed a little more, or moved him around to her ( and what she perceives to be, their ) liking. perhaps this dynamic is familiar enough to him that it becomes comforting, since rocky was very much the same way in their adolescence. tugging freckle around and pulling his tail for whatever rocky wanted them to do, with little care for whatever his baby cousin desired at the time, ignoring his protests and chasing him ; nobody’s at fault here either, kids are extremely self absorbed and this is a flaw they’ll usually mature past, and while ivy and freckle are adults during the comic, i don’t think ivy’s outgrown this linear view on things just yet. she is extremely entitled! she is used to being the apple of everyone’s eye at the speakeasy due to her jazz baby status as atlas may’s goddaughter, and this gangster connection excites and awes the ladies she attends classes with at her university too. ivy pepper is used to getting her way and this has only fueled her determined attitude, her ‘pull it up by the bootstraps’ mindset, and in many ways, this is something of a flaw for her. it’s not bad to be confident and headstrong, although when you add that into a dangerous mix of rumrunning and gunslinging, it may become a problem rather quickly. but i digress! point is, ivy and freckle are hardly at fault for the awkward way they handled the start of their relationship, when it’s so new and fresh to them both.

neither of them have boundaries at this moment, as they either have no clue what those are or simply haven’t realized they should set them. so, in turn, there are things that the other may do that could cause their partner discomfort … and it’s mostly done out of obliviousness and good intentions and your classic dose of intense affection. doesn’t mean it isn’t messed up to a degree, but i think it’s rather realistic, and is a hard truth that comes with many first relationships of that sort. sometimes you don’t know how to say ‘no,’ or you agree and regret agreeing later, or perhaps you simply don’t understand there’s certain things you aren’t ready for or genuinely just don’t like. again, it’s a very muddied area, and the two of them are vaguely navigating what is mostly foreign to them. they’re bound to mess up! so i ivy some slack here, and applaud tracy on the realistic writing more than anything usually. young love also happens to be a great device to use for inexperienced characters finding themselves, through the good and bad of their relationship, and frepper is all about that. maybe freckle will inevitably bring up how he feels like he would’ve preferred it had ivy asked him out properly, or gave him time to court her in a traditional fashion … and she will be surprised ( and a little wounded ) by this, since she had never considered it before … too used to her way of things to realize there’s another path they could take. i think this aspect of the relationship is important, and i can understand wishing that more frepper shippers would view it as such, or comment on it's morally gray nature without just calling it ‘cute’ and leaving it at that.

tldr : they will most certainly break up at some point, maybe even multiple times! tracy has said before that they both have some serious maturing to do if their relationship is to be long lasting, and i doubt that maturing will happen to them both at once … since they have different things to work on emotionally. but they will probably strongarm some major personal development within each other, as well as love one another with a fierceless abandon that most kids do. i could see them getting married, i could see them not, but i agree that if they were to be wed happily, they’d have significant hurdles to overcome. but personally, frepper is something i adore mostly due to the impact they’re bound to cause each other, and even if they are to separate and find someone new and more fitting, they’ll always remember one another -- perhaps fondly, and sadly, and with some anger. a time they’d like to forget, but a person they’d like to remember … which is my cup of tea overall! they much more interest me as they presently are anyway, where i can fiddle around with their budding romance and friendship bonding. and as lackadaisy grows in popularity, i do hope there’s more frepper fans who see their complexity and flaws and explore them with all of it in mind.

anyway! i hope this was coherent, and that it was obvious that i agreed with you for the most part. i haven’t really talked about frepper before with anyone so many of these thoughts sort of burst out of me! and i feel like i have more to elaborate upon, but for the sake of simplicity i kept this short. oh well! surely this is enjoyable and informative regardless.

[eternal-reverie]

got the posting anxiety bad tonight

[thefrogdalorian]

Having of those moments where I wish to yeet the like button into the sun or maybe make it so there was setting you could turn on so that people can only reblog posts (even better with the minimum requirement of adding at least one tag)!!

It's kind of absurd that one of my fics is getting close to 500 notes while simultaneously being one I've had the least actual human interactions come from. Like...... come on, that's now how it should be AT ALL!

Don't get me wrong, I'm so thrilled people are clearly finding it and I guess enjoying it(??) but just having endless likes without people letting me know what they enjoyed about it or even if they liked it kind of makes me sad. That's not why I want to share my writing here!

I love having those little human connections with others. I don't ever want my writing to feel transactional. I would love to talk to more people about things I've written. It's truly one of the best feelings and I would hate to lose that, the more I write or the more notes my fics get. Please don't be shy!! I get the social anxiety, but there is no reason to be. I am truly just a Din Djarin obsessed loser.

Anyway, whine over. I don't want to focus on the negatives here and I appreciate every single person who has ever left a positive interaction with something I've written. You are truly a light!

[taegularities]

please dont leave</3

love you all to bits 🤍

[lukeskqwalker]

my line of thinking is that if i post enough untamed stuff then i'll either a) make more mdzs friends or b) lose followers and both are a lowkey a plus so

[polydamnory]

When you get this, you have to answer with 5 things you like about yourself, publicly, then send this ask to 10 of your followers. (not forced, but positivity is cool <3 <3)

Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck okay

1. I’m really proud of how my art journey is coming along. I feel like it’s been pretty slow but just looking at some of the things I made before I started college compared to what I’ve made now that I’ve been out for over a year I can really see the progress!

2. I like my hair (I fucking better cause holy shit has it gotten so long mf out here becoming a real life Rapunzel)

3. I like my taste in music - it wasn’t just a phase, mom! It’s been 10 years and I’m still listening to MCR. Also weirdly music from the 60s lol

4. I like the weird little sounds I make I guess??? Idk these are hard. When I get startled (which is way too often) or laugh I keep end up making these weird little bird squawk types noises lol. I hated them for so long but one of my best friends (who has dubbed them my [insert real name] noises) thinks they’re so funny they’re making a legit sound board out of them 😂

5. And finally I like how fucking BRAVE I’ve been this past week and a half! I killed a spider yesterday by myself and only cried a little bit! Progress! /j but seriously I actually managed to handle it by myself and despite being a fully grown adult who SHOULD be able to handle a bug, this is difficult for me lol

Why was this so hard lol this took me too long to come up with

[nereidprinc3ss]

whiny and spoiled

in which reader is being a brat but spencer just can't help himself from taking off her clothes and going down on her anyway!

18+ (smut) warnings/tags: MUNCH!SPENCE (aka canon compliant!) oral fem receiving (duh lol) reader referred to as a girl, bratty reader, idk if this is soft dom spencer or if this is just pure unadulterated munch spencer who will eat pussy at the drop of a hat, overstimulation kinda, sexy and hot, will make u bust a/n: requests are tentatively open in that i may not complete them but i will surely consider them!! thank you guys for all the positive feedback, it's so motivating and i love that you seem to like my stuff so much! please lmk if you like this and what you'd like to see more of in the future! so many ideas and WIPs

You’re lounging on Spencer’s bed when he gets home, fiddling with one of his Rubik’s cubes and kicking your feet in the air absent-mindedly. 

You look up as he opens the bedroom door and gestures for you to remove your headphones, looking a little bemused at the scene in front of him. 

“How was work?” you ask, eyes tracking him as he shrugs off his bag and comes to kiss you in greeting. 

“It was fine,” he dismisses, hands braced on the mattress as he leans over you, looking you up and down. “Why are you wearing boots in bed?” 

“Because I didn’t feel like dealing with the laces.” 

“Take them off, please. You have no idea how much bacteria and filth you’re introducing to the place I sleep.” 

“Probably no more than I do with my hands,” you shrug, shaking the Rubiks cube in his face for added emphasis. He plucks it from your hand and sets it on the bedside table. 

“I’m asking politely,” Spencer says, raising his eyebrows slightly and standing up straight, probably wondering if this is the thing you’re going to push him on tonight. You chew your lip, cocking your head as you regard him. 

“I want to keep them on. They’re my good luck charm. People leave the scary girl wearing the stompy boots alone.” 

He circles to the foot of the bed. 

“Are you saying you want to scare me away?” 

“No. But I don’t need the boots to scare you,” you tease. 

You squeal when he grabs your ankles and pulls you down the bed, beginning to unlace one of your shoes. 

“Do these actually intimidate people?” he asks absent-mindedly, focused on loosening the laces. 

“I mean... I don’t know. Maybe some people,” you splutter after a moment, slightly flustered. 

“Hm. I guess I don’t find you all that scary to begin with,” Spencer admits, tugging the first boot off and tossing it to the ground before getting to work on the second one.  

“Shut up. I’m totally scary.” 

But you’re losing your steel as he looks down at you, eyes raking over your body. There is a hungry sort of sparkle in his eyes now—one that has become familiar and sends a thrill through you. 

“Maybe to people who don’t know you very well.” 

Your eyes narrow. 

“Don’t patronize me.” 

The second boot is removed and joins the other on the floor. His hands begin running up and down the front of your legs. You shiver.  

“I’m not patronizing you, honey. I’m just being honest.” The movement of his hands ceases as he seems to consider something. “Do you want me to be scared of you?” 

You swallow, eyes darting over his face and looming frame, wishing he would keep touching you. 

“No,” you find yourself saying. “But fear is respect. Everybody likes being respected.” 

“I don’t know if I agree that fear and respect are the same,” he muses, smiling ever so slightly, “but I respect you very much.” He resumes moving his hands, higher this time, over your thighs and under your skirt. “I just can’t imagine such a sweet girl being perceived as intimidating.” 

“I am not sweet,” you mutter, distracted by the way his hands skim so lightly over your skin—flipping your skirt over your stomach.  

“Right. You’re terrifying,” he amends gently, hooking his fingers in the waistband of your tights. “Up.” You lift your hips, allowing him to tug the sheer fabric down your legs and carefully off your feet. “The pink underwear are really scary,” he teases, snapping the fabric against your hip. 

“Shut up,” you repeat breathlessly, face heating. “You’re the one that got them for me.” 

“I did, didn’t I? They look good on you.” Finally, he looks up from the pink lace to your eyes. “Can I take them off?” 

“You don’t always have to ask, you know,” you breathe. Sometimes, the answer is obvious enough. 

“I like hearing you say yes.” 

You flush, because what he really means is that he likes when you get desperate. 

“Yes, you can take them off.” 

A smile flickers over his face as he slides the underwear down and off, making sure to take his sweet time. Every brush of his thumb on your calf, every delicate pass over your ankle gives you anticipatory chills.  

“Before I’m dead?” you ask, slightly strained. He tsks, tossing them on the bed. 

“Someone should do something about that attitude of yours.” 

“My attitude is your fault.” 

“Because I like giving you what you want? Sue me.” 

“Spencer,” you grit. 

He slings your ankles over his shoulders. 

“See? You’re not scary. You’re just whiny and spoiled.” 

And before you can defend yourself, or at least make a sufficiently withering reply, he’s leaning down, licking a broad stripe between your legs that for once renders you speechless. Any comment on the tip of your tongue dies as the tip of his becomes all you can think about, melting into a content moan while you rake your fingers through his hair. He sucks lightly on your clit until you’re rolling your hips and then he releases, moving to press kisses to your inner thighs. “Are you going to be nice now?” 

“Mhm,” you promise, wanting only for him to keep pleasuring you in that mind-numbing way of his. 

“Are you just saying that?” 

Another kiss. 

“No! Mean it,” you whimper. 

“Good girl,” he says, rubbing your outer thigh.  

The next kiss is planted on your clit, before he’s taking it into his mouth again and leaving you a whiny mess. You throw your head back and your eyes flutter shut, melting into the bed and not bothering to hold back your sounds. 

“Fuck.” Your voice is small, a gasp as he begins to flick his tongue over the bud, each brush against the sensitive spot making your hips stutter. He rubs your leg soothingly but doesn’t let up—you look back down to watch as best you can through your hazy, half-lidded eyes. “I love you,” you murmur. 

He laughs against you and the vibrations only make you feel higher, whining and bucking slightly when he begins to lap at your slick entrance—kitten licks so light they’re torturous. 

Spencer obviously has a goal in mind; there’s no hesitation and the teasing is minimal. He just wants to make you feel good. And it’s working. The man eats pussy like he’s in love with it.  

His name is rolling off your tongue when he kicks into full gear, firm, fast circles around your clit that make you dizzy and hot.  

“Oh, my god—” you cut yourself off with a languid, shameless moan, rolling your head to the side but keeping your eyes glued on him. He groans in approval as your hands card through his hair, moving one hand to slide affectionately up and down your stomach as the muscles there tense and flex.  

“Fucking obscene,” he mutters, pausing for another filthy, wet kiss to your cunt. “Taste so good, angel girl.” 

“Mm... wanna cum,” you beg, rolling your hips and hoping he’ll get the message. 

“You will.” Spencer takes a long, luxurious lick as if to prove his point, pulling a desperate mewl from your parted lips. “Because you always get exactly what you want, don't you?” 

“Mhm,” you agree, eyes screwing shut, but the reply quickly devolves into a stream of little ah’s that are so sweet Spencer has trouble reconciling their sanctity with their pornographic nature. And the way you unconsciously, innocently begin to pull him closer, trying to press yourself further into his mouth—well, it’s like he said; fucking obscene.  

Sometimes Spencer likes to tease you at this point, to pull away and say sweet and dirty things that always bring forth your most adorable, embarrassed, desperate whimpers. But you taste so good, and you are whiny and spoiled, and you make such pretty noises when you’re all soft and needy like this and he can’t bear to pull away. Not when you deserve to cum. And it’s thoughts like these that are the reason you’re a spoiled princess, he muses peripherally. Because he’s fucking whipped for you. 

“That’s so good,” you exhale, “just like that, please—fuck!” 

He knows you’re going to cum, and there are many things he could do, many things he could say to fuck you over for his own enjoyment, but now he wants more than just about anything he’s ever wanted to work you apart and taste you cumming on his tongue. So he keeps running a reassuring hand over your stomach, trying to remind you to breathe as you approach your peak. 

You finish, a slow wave of ecstasy washing over you, chanting his name as your hips sporadically roll and stutter into his face, and he’s making out with your soaked, messy pussy in a way that would never lead one to believe he’s ever been shy or squeamish or hesitant in any way.  

“Spencer,” you yelp, incandescent warmth radiating in soft waves from your core and slowing your movements as your hips twitch in an attempt to escape the continual onslaught of his mouth. 

“You can take it for a minute, honey,” 

A defeated, half-pleasure half-pain whine lets him know he’s won as he continues to kiss your throbbing cunt, but soon small, weak moans are slipping unbidden past the barrier of your lips. You realize he’s going to make you cum again and there’s nothing you can do about it but tighten your hold in his hair, groan, and ride his tongue as he eats you for all that you’re worth. 

The second orgasm is softer, blurrier, and equally perfect as the first. It threatens the already tenuous hold you have on your consciousness, strand after strand snapping until you’re barely hanging on. 

“Spencer,” you repeat, slurring as you try to shut your legs. “Please, can’t, baby.” 

“You could,” he says, sitting up and closing your useless legs for you, massaging the weak muscles. “You’ve done more.” 

“Mm-mm,” you disagree, chest rising and falling as your breathing slows. “Don’t wanna.” 

“That’s okay, angel. I’m not gonna force you.” 

You sigh, obviously satisfied. “That felt really good.” 

“I bet it did,” he chuckles, finally moving to lay down next to you. Immediately you curl up to him, and he smooths your skirt back down before tracing soothing patterns on the leg you’ve slung over him. “You’re so cute.” 

“Don’t go spreading it around.” 

“Never,” he promises, mocking but in good nature. The two of you lay in comfortable silence for a few moments, as you consider his decidedly unsatisfying answer. 

“You’re not even a little scared of me?” 

He smoothes your hair away from your eyes. 

“No, honey, I’m not. But I’m sure other people find you utterly terrifying.” 

You open your eyes to regard him ruefully, before they narrow again. 

“You have a little something...” you begin, gesturing to your mouth. He snorts. 

“Oh, do I?” 

[joosthead]

SMUT PROMPT 2 PLZZZ

just too soft for all of it || j.k. f!reader

₊˚⊹⋆ prompt(s): 2S) crying crying during sex that leads to a pause or early end to comfort and take care of whatever emotions bubbled over & 3F)  gently pushing their hair behind their ear to see their face better

₊˚⊹⋆ reader: f!reader, no pronouns, reader gets referred to as his “favourite girl” one time. notfamous!reader lol also does not speak dutch

₊˚⊹⋆ word count: 4.4k

₊˚⊹⋆ cw: smut (fingering, piv), a good amount of negative self thought (i may have gone overboard—feeling inadequate as a partner, reader is very hard on themself and quite sensitive), mentions of anxiety/stress/being overwhelmed, a very fluffy and healthy joost :( aur i love him anyways, pls heed the prompt cuz that in itself is a content warning teehee, 🧀🧀🧀alert i can’t lie!!, a variety of dutch terms of endearment i'm not sure i’m using right but it’s for the sake of no y/n

₊˚⊹⋆ track of the fic: "sweet nothing" by taylor swift

₊˚⊹⋆ junote: i resonate heavy with this 🙃🙃 had the worst last few weeks of this uni year but i’m FREE!!!! thanks for requesting this, i combined this with a few other asks stated above! happy first juno joost fic to meee yippeee

rpf ahead—don't like it, don't read it!! you've been warned. please do not repost this on any other platform.

18+ only — explicit rpf content ahead, minors dni.

To say the utter least—it had been a hard few weeks for you. 

The whims of life carried you away like a tsunami to your normal routine—work and classes and friends and family and life, life that you couldn’t ignore or get away from like you wanted to do, nothing to do except doing it. And you’d been doing it, just fine for the most part, but one thing led to another, and the last week was a whirlwind of commitments, obligations, your procrastinating on all of them, somehow. You got yourself into a mess of your own making. 

It certainly didn’t help that your boyfriend, Joost, was away for his own life: a festival performance in Canada, one in Belgium, one in the Netherlands but not one you could attend easily with all of the work you had for yourself. After that, he worked on the new album in Germany, putting the final touches on his 9th project, filming new content and preparing for his upcoming tour. 

He left around the beginning of when your life started getting busier. If you added it up—23 days you hadn’t seen him in person, but it’s not like you were counting (you were counting, and sad the entire time about his absence.). It felt like the same amount of time you hadn’t even seen or talked to him, through the phone, on Facetime, even texting each other.

Voice memos in the bathroom at work, always apologizing for how rushed you had to be; leaving him on delivered for hours as you studied, or had an event you needed to be at, or had a person you needed to talk to, someone else who needed your time more than Joost needed yours, and it was too much. All of it was too much. Too much for you to handle easily, every second taken by someone else. 

You felt like a terrible partner, not being able to speak to him as much as you wanted. Seeing all of his messages, the reassurance that he understands how busy you are and that in the end, you'll always make time for each other…his ability to be such a good partner held up next to your perceived inadequacy made you even more stressed. 

In the end, it’ll all work out—today, Joost flew back home, though you still had a number of commitments and assignments to get to and couldn’t pick him up from the airport. Your mutual friend picked him up, and you bit your nails at every update given; willing the time to go slower so you could tidy up more, work on that one last piece of paperwork so you wouldn’t have to worry about it, make sure everything is perfect so Joost can have a good welcome back.

In the nick of time, you were able to get everything done, but it still felt as if there was something missing, like you'd be hit with a missed deadline in the midst of your time back together, and it would all come crumbling down. 

As you opened the door, right as your friend pulled up to your street, you tried to put it aside, and you did—for now. Late afternoon and you stand at the top of your townhouse steps, watching in nervous excitement as Joost unloads his luggage from the trunk. Your friend closes the trunk and waves at you.

You wave back, but your eyes are on Joost as he gathers the two suitcases and starts rolling them to you in a sort of disorganized frenzy, just as excited as you are; you would come forward and help, but it’s cute to watch him, clumsy and stumbling over his long pants and tote bag and everything—your Joost, finally back with you. 

He wears a heavy black jacket, sunglasses, a black cap that he takes off and shakes his hair out of; the sun shines off him, and you can't help but smile at the sight. His hair grew out a little, the darker blonde roots growing in. Those jeans are ones you’ve never seen before, new glasses, new clunky boots that look greatly uncomfortable but perfectly his style. Evidence of the time passed, and for some strange reason, it brings a pang to your chest that you try to ignore as you come down the steps of your house. 

“Come here, come here, come here, baby, I missed you,” Joost exclaims, arms open and leaving his bags behind him to come meet you halfway, laughing. 

You say as you hug him around his neck, his arms around your waist and squeezing you tight, “I’m so sorry I couldn’t pick—” 

“Don’t worry about it, I know you were busy.” 

You nod as he moves his arms around your neck and you go around his waist, Joost pecking your cheek several times and making you laugh. “I still feel bad I couldn’t pick you up.”

“Never feel bad, you’d still be the best even if you left me on the side of the road.” You give him and his compliment a weak smile as you pull away. 

—

The first time you get a moment to yourself in a month: Joost’s head lays in your lap as you both watch some cartoon on the couch together after eating. 

You cleaned most of yesterday and some of today; you cooked most of last night since you knew you had more time, preparing Joost’s favorite meal—it was the best you could reasonably do, considering all of the other obligations you had in these last two days. 

As he ate, you pushed around your own food; would’ve made it fresh, could've had a nice table setting for dinner, should’ve prepared more for all of this. You still gave him a sheepish smile as you watched him happily eat the microwaved meal you warmed up for him, no indication at all that he’s disappointed or unhappy like you are with yourself. You shouldn’t feel like this, but you do. It’s getting increasingly difficult to shake. 

The colors and lines dance across the TV, spouting raunchy jokes that you can half understand with the few years of Dutch you have under your belt; the air conditioner is on, and you can finally rest. Joost is changed out of his airport outfit and into some shorts and a shirt. He’s home, and you did the best you could do, and now he’s in your arms again. 

You don’t even mean to, but you sigh, perhaps louder than usual, because Joost looks up at you from your lap, brushes a lock of your hair out of your eyes, says, “You’re the best, you know?” 

It catches you off guard enough that you shake your head almost instinctively, not fast enough to hide…whatever feeling this is you’re feeling. “I don’t feel like it, Joosty.” 

“You don’t?” He gets up from your lap, sitting next to you, and brings his face close to yours. “You should, because you are.” 

Your noses are brushing, and even in the midst of your racing thoughts, you can't help but smile at him. His face grows into a smile, and you come forward and kiss him, deeply; you know it takes him by surprise, how he takes a little to kiss back, like trying to learn each other again. Nonetheless, he kisses back, holding your face in his hands, grinning into it—he's so pleased, so content, you know it by how sweetly he holds you. 

The TV becomes background noise to you, the air conditioner no use with how hot you feel when you move to sit atop him in his lap, one of his hands on the small of your back, the other on your ass as you grind down on him, licking into his mouth. 

“You're so tense,” Joost says when you pull away, thumbs rubbing into your back where there are sure to be knots in your muscles. 

You roll your eyes. “Can you blame me?” you snicker and he smiles. 

“I’ll relieve some tension for you, then.” 

Nothing but a few layers of clothes separate you—he smells so good, tastes so good, feels so good that you pull away, run your hands underneath his shirt, feeling his warm body, his stomach. You move to take it off of him, and he’s a step ahead of you, taking it off himself and attaching his lips to yours again, like a magnet. 

“You’re not wasting any time,” he says as you rest your hands on his chest and kiss down his stubble covered jaw to his neck, on top of Lola Bunny and back up again. 

“I need you, Joost,” you breathe in between kisses, and he pulls back and groans which makes you giggle, “What is that supposed to mean?” 

“You can't just say that, oh my god,” Joost whines, looking up at you pathetically, pupils blown and lips swollen from yours. “That’s so hot,” he laughs, and it makes you laugh too, how ridiculous he is. “Fuck, I love you.” He comes back in for one more kiss before he shifts so you can lay down on the couch, and he's on top of you, kissing again. He helps you shimmy down your shorts, your underwear, and in no time—his hand is between your legs.

“I would have taken it slow but—I’m too excited,” he breathes. You palm his hard cock through his shorts, coaxing a sigh out of him. Joost hovers above, leaning on one elbow and using the other hand to run his fingers through your slit, wetting them with how aroused you are. Involuntarily, your legs twitch, your breath catches in your mouth, and Joost gives you a soft laugh. “You’re so sensitive, schat.” Fingers still touching you so gently, he noses at your cheek—you’re a hairpin trigger, how reactive you are to him. “Has it been that long?” 

Breathless, you nod as he presses his thumb to your clit, petting at it. “Too long, I was waiting for you.”

“I could say the same for you.” 

You sit up, pushing up against him, still kissing like you can’t bear to be separated from him, but he pulls back from you—brings two fingers to his mouth, wetting them with his spit, and the sight brings your heart to your stomach with how arousing it is. 

Sure, Joost sends videos; yes, you have…homemade…videos of your own between the two of you; his deep voice through the speaker in your late night Facetimes, talking you through it or his incessant compliments when you send him some pictures of your own. 

Nothing compares to the real thing—the smell of his cologne on his collar even after he’s taken a shower; his blonde hair in your eyes as he kisses you; holding onto his strong arms as he fingers you, the wet sound music to your ears though normally, it would make you sheepish at how filthy this all is.  

Sometimes it makes you laugh that the random guy you met with a Crazy Frog tattoo on his forearm is now your boyfriend, but it feels so serious now more than ever. You realize now how much you’ve missed him, and how much you’ve pushed down that feeling in favor of everything else. 

Joost crooks his fingers inside of you and you moan into his mouth, which he smiles at. “You like it?” he asks, both of you knowing the answer. He knows you so well, inside and out. Knows that spot inside of you that renders you unable to speak, how to hit it just right like it’s muscle memory to fuck you with his fingers. He rubs your clit at the same time, using his spit and your wetness to do so, and God—you wish never leaving this spot was an option. 

Your climax fast approaches you; Joost kissing at the side of your lips, your chin because you’re too lost in your pleasure to kiss back. With a few more pumps of his fingers, he brings you there, a choked moan tumbling from your mouth as you cum, almost falling into him as he takes you through the last waves of your orgasm. “Thank you,” you breathe, pressing a deep kiss to his lips again now that you have the ability to. 

“Thanking me? Nothing to thank me for,” he says, but you shake your head.

“I disagree,” you say quietly, palming over his erection once more now that you’ve gathered yourself. “I have everything to thank you for,” you think, but can’t say out loud. You move so you can be on your knees on the ground in between his legs. It’s been quite a bit, enough so that the program on the TV is completely different now, the AC has turned off—he’s still so hard, still hasn’t been taken care of.

You're about to lower his shorts, take him into your mouth, but Joost takes your hand and says, “Can we skip it? I wanna be inside of you, lieverd.” 

Almost a whisper, you reply, “Whatever you want,” nodding, and he cocks his head to the side in confusion.

“You’re so quiet today. Is anything wrong?” He can read you like a book, the furrowing of your brow at his suggestion an easy giveaway. 

“Nothing’s the matter,” you lie, but he still looks disbelieving. “I just wanted to give you something back.”

“This is something back and more, baby. Lie down.” 

You do, too tired to argue for your side—the side that wants to give Joost everything you have and more, pay him back for the time you’ve been so absent, so distracted from your relationship and all the things Joost had been doing in the time away. It’s not as if you don’t want to lie down and have him fuck you—it’s just that you feel that you haven’t earned it yet. 

Your body language gives you away—“Still so tense, lieverd,” he says, squeezing your shoulder as you adjust, legs on either side of his thighs. “You sure you want to do this?” 

“Of course I do,” you purr, because of course you do, reaching into his briefs—Joost Klein branded, of course—and pulling his cock out, jerking it a few times and making him groan with the sensation. “You're so sensitive,” you quote him from earlier. “Has it been that long, schat?” 

The pet name makes his cock twitch; a month away, hard work on his album and music videos, content and marketing, coming back home to his favourite girl gazing at him starry-eyed with a hand around his dick and ready to take him inside. If you peered into his mind, this is what he’d be thinking. No thoughts match your worried thinking about how you may or may not have let him down—you didn’t. That would be impossible, at least to him. 

“Much too long.” 

You rest your head on a throw pillow that Joost has laid for you, and he lines himself up with your entrance. Fingertips on his stomach, you stop him for a few seconds from coming forward, and you wrap your hand around his shaft, swiping it through your slit a few times, collecting your wetness and his pre-cum on the head of his cock.

Loudly, he swears in Dutch, and the latter half sounds more like a strangled whisper than any real word. “You…fuck, my god…you are evil,” he laughs, even though he’s now rubbing the head of it against your clit, making you mewl. 

“You ready for me?” he asks, and you nod, licking your lips, trying to control your breathing. Your initial apprehension is long gone, though it could creep back every second—who cares? You’re finally together again. “You’re so wet,” Joost breathes as he eases the head of his cock into you. The stretch is something to get used to after so long away, but he gives time for you to adjust—seems like he might need it more than you do, how he sucks a breath in through gritted teeth, the snail’s pace he's going at. “I might cum right now.” 

“You promise?” you tease, watching the slow slide of his cock inside of you, watching just like he is. 

“I might have to promise with how this is going.” 

“You can do it,” you giggle and then moan because he's managed to fit half of his length into you. “I believe in you.” 

“Yay,” Joost smiles as he bottoms out in you, then gives you a kiss. “We did it!”

He holds his hand up for a high-five and you laugh—”I’m not high-fiving you while you're inside me.” 

“When has that ever stopped you before?”  

Rolling your eyes, you give him the high-five he so desperately wants and he beams at you with a toothy grin. “Never, I guess.” 

“Never,” Joost repeats, and then straightens up. You look up at him through your eyelashes—his mullet is mussed from the tangles of your fingers through his hair, his chest moving steadily up and down with the exertion of this all.  He moves your legs so your left ankle rests on his shoulder, the right wrapped around his hips. 

His hand creeps up your shirt, and you do the rest, exposing your tits to him. Joost is normally so clumsy, so heavy-handed—what a contrast that he can be so calm dragging his fingertips around your nipple, making it pebble in the cold.

He cups your cheek after you moan, then runs his tattooed knuckles down it, slips his thumb between your lips and hooks it on your teeth momentarily—you chase  it, but he continues down your chest and to your belly until his thumb is finally back on your clit and circling it slowly. 

The drag of his cock out of you is wonderful, so wonderful it makes you shudder when he does it, combined with his terribly slow treatment of your clit.

“My baby, did you miss me?” Joost says softly, kissing at your calf, your ankle as he sinks back into you. The sensation robs you of a response, a sigh tumbling out of your mouth before you can stop it, but he takes it as a response enough.  The smile on his face—the beauty mark under his lip, those deep dimples so prominent—you could never tire of it. “I missed you more, schatje.”

It feels so good, it feels like heaven being with him again. He comes back from such a busy time in his life, where you’ve done little, and all he has is praise and warmth and affection for you—fingers you within an inch of your life and doesn’t even ask for anything in return, just takes care of you in the way you need most. 

You know that he benefits from this just as much as you do—this isn’t so one-sided. But your brain is so frazzled from this last month, the nerve endings fried and in want of a fuck up to cling to like they have been whenever you’ve made a mistake at work, in class, in your relationship. 

Joost interrupts your thoughts: “I was so happy to see you on the steps, I could’ve sprinted to you if I wasn’t wearing those damn shoes.”

All of the times that you forgot to reply to Joost, getting a text saying your name and a sad face right after; the times where you were too distracted to give him your full attention and could only hum your acknowledgement to him, having to be reminded about what he said later; that one time just a few days ago you fell asleep on call with him in the middle of him excitedly speaking about a breakthrough with a bridge on the most important song of the album. 

The pleasure you felt earlier is now overshadowed by your racing thoughts. 

“I wrote a song about you, you know?” Joost says, his voice so gentle. I was only going to let you know when the album came out, but I can’t keep a secret.” Rocking against you, his pelvis rubs against your clit and it makes you cling to his shoulders. “The voice memo I sent you earlier—it was my first draft, just me. Did you like it?” 

“You…you wrote a song about me?” 

Only now do you remember the voice memo Joost sent you in the morning when you were still cleaning, the one that you saw and made a fleeting mental note to reply to later on, which you promptly forgot as you vacuumed, dusted, folded. 

Such misplaced priorities, and now you're paying the sad price.

“Joost,” you say, eyebrows screwing up, that all too familiar pulling feeling behind your nose and eyes—you realize quickly that all of the emotions bottled up inside of you from the past month have come out with vengeance at the new knowledge of Joost’s song about you. The knowledge wouldn’t have been new if you just paid more attention. 

You try to hold it back, pushing down the feelings again, but it just won’t work. All of it spilling over at the worst possible time, tears streaming down your face before you even know it. You fail to wipe the wetness from your cheeks—Joost stops his movements, asks in a panicked and concerned voice, “Oh my—are you crying, schat?”

Attempting to pull it together once more, you cover your face with your hands and shake your head silently, but your already sniffly nose sells you out. Your shoulders shake with your crying. Too far gone now. 

“I wanted—“ you sniffle, and he hands you a tissue from the side table for you to blow your nose into as he stumbles out and off of you. “I wanted to be with you tonight, but I just—so much—I never—I never listened to your memo, I couldn’t, I had to finish so much before you got here and I couldn’t and I feel so bad, like, you wrote a song about me and I didn’t even have the time to listen—” 

“Shh, shh, shh, shh,” Joost coos, brushing your hair out of your eyes as you sob. “Baby, please.” His expression is so concerned, eyebrows furrowed as he pats your back. “Wait, shit,” he says, getting up from the couch and looking down at his still bare bottom half. “Let me put everything back on, I’m sorry schatje, give me—“ In a hurry, he puts his underwear and shorts back on, tripping over himself and almost falling over. “I just can’t do this naked, I’m sorry.” 

That brings a laugh out of you and a laugh out of him, and you start explaining as he sits back down next to you, rubbing your arm. “I don’t—I don’t deserve you.” You shake your head, wiping your eyes with the backs of your hands. “I should’ve listened to what you sent me, I should’ve been there more.” 

“Bro,” he deadpans, beckoning you to come and sit on his lap. 

You do, still trying to get the tears out of your eyes as you settle into his arms. “Shut up, don’t call me bro while I’m crying,” you laugh, voice weak but lighthearted.

“Bro. I will do it again.” Joost gives you a second to let it out more, to breathe as he smooths his hands back and forth on your back. “You did everything perfectly, lieverd. Perfectly. We were both so busy, and you still made time to call me and text me. I would have been lost without you, I know for certain.” 

You shake your head. “I forgot to reply and pick up your texts so many times, Joost, I felt like such a bad person for doing so.” 

“You did? I didn’t notice. All I cared about was that you replied.  You’re not a bad person at all,” Joost says, and the sweetness of his words just make you want to cry more. “I appreciate more from you the effort that you put into everything, into what we have. Not what you couldn’t or didn’t do.” 

“You’re so nice,” you whisper, sniffling. You can’t think of a better compliment with how overwhelmed you are, so you kiss him, instead, and he kisses back. Even with this, you can tell how gentle Joost is holding your cracked pieces back together. 

“I’m nice?” he asks, smiling. “Best compliment I’ve ever gotten.” For a little, you both sit there in the silence together. “How about this—tomorrow, we can have a day to ourselves. You can lounge and study by the pool, and I’ll be your little butler or whoever and we can just relax for a bit, hm? Order food, drink, smoke, whatever.” Pausing, he grins. “We can even listen to the whole album, if you want.”

“You finished it?” you ask, sitting up more and incredulous. That’s complete news to you.

“This morning, right before I flew back here,” Joost says, nodding proudly. “I also texted you, but duty calls, no?” 

“You texted me?” He texted you? And you missed it?!?!? Again, the new information makes you cry, and he holds you tight as you do. “You should be mad that I didn’t see it,” you say in between dry heaves into his shoulder. “I’m so proud of you.” 

“I could never be mad at you, lieverd, and I’m sorry I made you cry again,” he says, rubbing your back, petting your hair. “I just wanted to let you know when I did it—it was just a timestamp, that doesn’t mean you needed to know right that second.” 

“But I wanted to know.” 

“You know now, and I know how proud you are of me. That’s enough, that’s even more than what I wanted.” You trust him and his words so fully, every passing second with him is another way to help you feel better. “I love you,” Joost says your name so seriously, a punctuation to his love letter. “I mean it.” 

“I love you too.” You kiss him, deeply, moments passing that you use to thank everything you can that he’s so good with your worries, your anxieties. “I’ll take you up on that offer for tomorrow, Joost,” you say, finally calmed down enough. Your eyes are incredibly bleary—you didn’t know that was possible. But at least you aren’t actively crying anymore. “Thank you for everything.” 

“Thank you for giving me something more to look forward to, schat. Now—let’s go run a bath together and listen to my song for you.” 

[moonreader1010]

Pac- what are you known for/famous for 💋

Note- 1. The pictures used do not belong to me. All rights go to the owner. (2) This is a general reading for entertainment purposes so take what resonates.

Pile 1. Pile 2

Pile 3^

Pile 1- He said, "You bad, Nicki, " I said, "Thanks, sir" (thanks, sir)

Stay in some fresh prints, Ashley Banks, sir (banks, sir)

Call me A.I., sir, I'm The Answer (Answer)

I'm in the playoffs, sir, I advance, sir (advance, sir)

okay so I feel like there is soo much masculine energy (not to be confused with being a male) . It’s more like your energy is veryy dominant and assertive. This is how people perceive you. You are this untouchable personality to other’s. You are perceived like a perfect leader who can deal with literally anything that’s thrown at them. You are also known as someone who is very stable. And people know you as someone who can control anything. Due to this, there could be many people who come to you for support. You might have a rags to riches story (or might have this in the future) and this will influence greatly what you are known for. This will be your trademark like you will be known as someone who went ahead and built their own empire. You will be also known for you financial success. You are also known as someone who is very wise and compassionate.

Channeled/above mentioned song- sir by Nicki Minaj ft. Future

Pile 2: "Ayo, just last week I told 'em to pick a side (side)

I bust shots, don't duck if it don't apply ('ply)

Bae out in Paris, he told me to pick a ride (ride)

Sike, made you look, I still didn't pick a guy

I'm the trophy of the game, everybody tryna win me (win me)"

What’s with so much earth energy?? Lol. Anyway, before I even started shuffling the Cards I felt like you have a lot of jealousy surrounding you. Especially by women. Like you just get hated for no reason at all. So yeah. You could be known for being praised or being awarded a lot. Like it’s not even necessary that you actually get praised or awarded. There could be someone else getting the same things as you but no one would bat an eye but when you get those exact same things than everybody is protesting and being all jealous and bitter. And you know, when it comes to you then people only notice your success and achievements but they literally refuse to acknowledge the actual efforts that you were putting behind the scenes to get all that. They are almost blind when it comes to your efforts. Due to this, they could see you as someone who just gets stuff and gets a lot of opportunities. They might start rumours to ruin your reputation too. Despite this I can tell that you are known as someone who is fun. Like you know how to enjoy yourself. This makes these haters sooo mad omg keep it up. You could also be someone who speaks the absolute truth. You don’t really care who you are speaking against because for you if something is wrong then it’s f*cking wrong. You could also be known for your financial decisions like investments and stuff. And also the way you notice every detail.

Channeled/above mentioned song- hard white by Nicki Minaj

Pile 3- I don't want no drama

I just wanna be your diamond, babe

Guaranteed to be a problem

Every time I get around you, babe

I just want you to need me

You are known as someone who has been through a big event and that event has totally changed you. You could be someone who USED to compromise or let anyone walk over you but now you know your worth and won’t let anyone play with you or you heart. You are known as someone who is very difficult to approach as you keep your heart safe and hidden. Karma could have a lot of significance for you. You are known as a very balanced person. You are also known as someone who can’t tolerate injustice. You are known as someone who is dangerous and people shouldn’t message with you. People see you as someone who is very very brave. And they might see you as someone who is still looking for the right people to let in. You might have been overkind at some point in your life and people took advantage of that. I just wanna give you a hug so bad. But now you people think thrice before even considering using you or your kindness. You are also known as someone who is very independent.

Channeled/above mentioned song- favourite by Nicki Minaj

[moonstruckme]

Hey! love your writing so so much!! im just here to request a little drabble with one of the marauders boys (or all three cus the more the merrier lol) where the reader's stomach hurts and is bloated (maybe on period idk) but she is hesitant for him to cuddle or touch her stomach cus she is insecure of it <3 thanks so much, keep up your amazing writing

Thank you gorgeous <3

cw: period pains, insecurity around stomach

Sirius Black x fem!reader ♡ 526 words

“Baby.” Sirius is pouting. It feels a bit unfair, considering you’re the one in pain. “You’re being terribly selfish.” 

“Stop.” You shift away from his hand, trying to creep around your side, and hold in a low pained sound at the movement. 

“Stop holding out on me,” he shoots back. His voice is equal parts fond and teasing, wheedling in the way he knows is most likely to get to you. 

This is basically routine by now, and one of your least favorites of all the routines you’ve developed with your boyfriend. Your period will come, and in those first couple of days when you feel the grossest and most pathetic you’ve ever been, one part of you wants Sirius to hold you while the other part wants him nowhere near you. Predictably, Sirius sides with the first part. He always wins.

“I just wanna help, gorgeous.” He lets his voice drop into a more genuine register, leaning down to smear a kiss across your temple. “I know it’s not much, but I can at least give you a good cuddle, yeah?” 

Truthfully, that’s all there is left to do. Sirius isn’t giving himself enough credit. Because of him, your craving for chocolate cake has been sated, you’ve been delivered pain relievers as soon as you’re allowed to have them, and there’s a warm bag of rice resting low on your abdomen. Even now, his hand is massaging gently at the muscles of your lower back, keeping the worst of your cramps at bay. 

You sigh, pulling your knees a bit tighter to your chest. You feel unfit to be perceived right now. You can hardly think about your boyfriend looking at your bloated stomach, much less touching it. 

“I just feel so gross,” you say. 

“Well, that’s just sacrilege.” Sirius lifts his head, looking down on you in mock horror. “And you’re the loveliest thing I know, so it’s blatantly untrue to boot. No one is allowed to talk about my girl like that, even you, got it?” 

It’s not his words that get you so much as his tone, so totally scandalized that it tugs a laugh from inside your chest. Sirius grins, but the muscles in your abdomen spasm in protest, and he winces when the pain shows in your face. 

“Fuck, I’m sorry,” he coos, dark brows bunched compassionately as he presses another kiss to your hairline. “I’m sorry, baby. You gonna let me kiss it better?” 

You give him a look which you hope conveys great reluctance, but Sirius’ eyes light anyway. 

“C’mere, honey.” He doesn’t give you a chance to change your mind, lifting your shirt to touch his lips delicately to your stomach before sidling up to you and wrapping his arms around your middle. “That’s better, isn’t it?” 

It is. Pretty much instantly, actually, but you don’t have to admit that. Sirius burrows his face into the crook of your neck and shoulder, nipping playfully at your skin. You think he knows anyway. 

“Stubborn thing,” he says. “Fine, you can be excused because you’re poorly. You always get your way in the end, don’t you?” 

No, that’s him. 

[oozedninjas]

Hi there!!! 🙏Can i please ask for our fav bay boys with a crush/(s/o) that won't stop complimenting them? Like reader compliments leo's eyes, donnie's brains, raph's strength, and mikey's outfit type of thing??? Thank you, have a lovely day!! ❤️

2007 cause they're so close to my heart! / Ninja Turtles are in his mid to late twenties / MDNI

Leo

A cocky smirk graces his face when you laud his abilities. He revels in the compliments — keep them flowing. Get more imaginative; you've got this for him, baby, right? You're phenomenal. But the moment it's about him as an individual, his magnetic eyes, the way he perceives things, etc., that's when he softens. Leo tends to measure his self-worth in terms of how much he contributes to the team and the family. Having someone affirm that he's valued for who he is would fill him with so much joy his plastron would feel like tightening.

Raph

Compliments about his strength and appearance go straight to his ego. To reach his heart, I think what needs praising is his strong sense of loyalty and commitment. That'll melt him. Raph would scratch the back of his neck, unsure where to direct his gaze. Heat rises in his nape and cheeks.

Donnie

Any kind of compliment is well-received. Whether it's about his brains, his eyes, or his tech, Donatello adores knowing he impresses you and encourages you to think highly of him by offering more of what you have recently complimented him on. Do you like his tech? Look! A new T-watch, just for you. Love his eyes? He would make eye contact more often; and so on.

Mikey

If you compliment one (1) outfit, he'll make a whole runway only for you. And I imagine it would be like that cute scene in Toy Story where Ken shows Barbie his closet, lol. But anyway, he's happy that you like him and will continue to do his best to keep you thinking highly of him!

[arcanesea]

sparks fly

PAIRING: yang jeongin x reader GENRE: best friends to lovers, jeongin has a f!fans that annoys reader lol WC: 1.1k WARNING: profanity, jeongin is a little mean:[

"Special delivery from your 'secret admirer'." You said, making an air quote after slamming the coffee cup with a little too much force. You took your seat across Jeongin, huffing.

He looked inside the cup, pushing it in your direction, "You drink first, it might be poisoned."

You flip the ungracious finger in front of his face. Throwing a mocking smile. His so-called secret admirer (who lives directly across your dorm) has been making some inquiries over the last couple of weeks. Coffee, bottled beverages, cookies, even sandwiches, only for Jeongin. She waited in front of your door every morning, requesting you to deliver the goods to Jeongin.

When asked why she didn't do it herself, she claims that she doesn't have the courage yet. Along with that, she also asks you to play matchmaker. You would've agreed if she's not actually acting so annoying, asking for a selfie or even a photo of Jeongin with the stuff she sends.

"What if he thought this was all from me?" you ask one day, holding the tuna sandwich in your hand. Jeongin hates tuna, he prefers chicken sandwiches or plain bacon.

"Why? Do you plan on tricking him into believing that?" she asks back, confused. "You're just friends, right? You always said so, Jeongin does too."

Right… Friends…

Today was probably your tipping point because she's in a hurry, and you don't have class until later in the afternoon so you planned to sleep in a little bit. But persistent as ever, she knocks violently at your door, waking your roommates who had the day off, basically pissing the both of you and now you're just cranky.

"Did she annoy you?" Jeongin asked. He swirls the cup in a figure-8 motion, trying to assess your mood this morning.

"You think?" you respond. You took out your laptop, trying not to be a pile of negative energy. "I don't get it why she's so persistent, it's not like you're going to date her anyways, right?" you ask Jeongin without looking in his direction. Truth is, you're afraid that he might've said that you're wrong.

"Well since she seems to be perceived in a bad way by my best friend? Yeah, I think I'll pass," he answers. Your heart sank at the word best friend, but that's just the way you are. His hands leave the cup, tousling your hair.

"It's not like that, it's just… she's hell-bent on sending you this stuff, through me, like I'm some goddamn owl." You press on your keyboards violently. "And I'm still nice for actually giving it to you. I could've eaten them all by myself!" You exclaim. You had, in fact, thought about that. But that would make you look so bad, that even your roommates vote against doing so in case of karma.

"Are you not going to drink it?" you ask, eyeing the coffee. "I haven't eaten anything and I feel I could eat someone right now."

"I'll get you a new one," he said, standing up from his seat. "Sandwich?"

"Tuna," you answered, offering him a smile. "Thanks, you're the best!"

He grabs the coffee cup with him and walks inside the cafeteria to order a sandwich. He looked around the room when his eyes caught a glimpse of the so-called secret admirer. Well, he found that bit by himself, taking notes from the description you gave him along the time. His eyes met hers and he dropped the coffee cup on the bin. Not even taking a sip from it.

Jeongin hesitates a bit before actually approaching her. She didn't notice him at first until one of her friends whispered in her ear, pointing at him. He leans on the table, throwing a vile smirk. Luckily the cafeteria is so bustling with people that no one even notices the scene.

"Listen," Jeongin said. "I appreciate your effort, but you need to quit."

"Why? Did your little friend say something bad about me?" She dared herself to ask. Jeongin clicks his tongue, unimpressed. "Am I wrong to try? You're single anyways."

"Wow, you really got some attitude," he responds with a smile. "I can't tolerate an ungrateful person," he expels, surprising her. He's not one to talk shit about someone else, but when they mess with you, they're looking for a fight with him too (even when you're capable of picking fights by yourself, it makes him feel much better if you don't have to).

"You need to apologize, or you don't have to. Either way, this stops now." Jeongin said, "I'll pay you back if you want. Let's not waste each other's energy on something impossible to achieve, and that means the possibility of you and me together."

Without waiting for her response, Jeongin walked out and took his place in front of you. Handing you the tuna sandwich.

"You don't have to do that, you know," you said, opening the paper wrap and thanking him. You saw him approaching her table earlier when you went in to wash your hands. From afar, you can see his cynical face contrasting her shocked expression. You don't even want to interrupt, letting him do what he feels like doing. You trust him enough to not do something stupid or say something harmful. Counting on him to stay on course, which he did, just the cold-hard truth is all that comes out of his mouth.

"What?" he asks back, eyebrows knitting together. Then it sets on his face, "Oh… Well." He shrugs nonchalantly.

"Why did you even grant her wishes? I thought you liked me."

You choked on your sandwich at his careless statement, grabbing your bottle before chugging the water inside, leaving him laughing.

"Excuse me? How did you even come up with that?" you ask. Though you act cool, your insides are trembling with fear.

"Well, because I like you, I just thought the feelings were mutual." He bites into his sandwich, looking at you with your jaw slightly dropped. "Was it not mutual?" he asks again when you didn't respond for a few minutes.

"Is this seriously how you're gonna confess to me? are you tricking me into confessing first? That's such a dick move, you know." You gulp your water again, trying to drown the nervousness.

"Well, what do you want me to do? Going down on one knee is definitely too early, right?" he asks, trying to play innocent. He puts down his sandwich, looking at you, seriously this time. "I like you," he started. "That should be enough confession, right?"

His eyes turned the shape of a crescent moon, a genuine smile on his face.

"Fine," you admit defeat, putting down your own sandwich before ripping the bands of friendzone by saying; "I like you too."

look who's posting double due to technical error:/

[madockisser]

Could you write an analysis about *the* dress Cardan commissioned for Jude to wear at Dain's coronation? I'd love to read your thoughts on why he did it and the dress itself! 💖

jude’s coronation dress, and why cardan sent it analysis

hi! yes! thank you for the ask!

ah yes 🚬 the infamous coronation dress.

firstly let’s start w the how.

madoc is the grand general and very influential yaddah yaddah, it makes sense for him to share the same seamstress as the greenbriar family. this seamstress is also tight w dain, so cardan having access to her makes sense.

i’d assume he’d sketched out the deign he wanted and just gave it to the seamstress. but me personally, i’d die if he personally chose out the colors thinking, “this would suit my future wife’s color palette fs!”

as for what it looks like:

it’s ombre, and described as dark indigo at the bottom, to pale blue, then white at the top. there is a silhouette of trees that that start at the bottom and move upwards. there are gems sewn on that resemble stars in the night sky. i WISH the actually shape of the dress was designed, just for the visual ig lol

when locke sees the dress, he says jude is beautiful, like a winter night.

now the design (my fav little detail that ppl seem to forget) is actually a view jude can see from her balcony/window!!!

so, perceive that how you want, but me personally, i def think cardan was obsessed w her enough to 1 know where her balcony is(from locke ig) and 2 watch her from it (just a hc but 👅👅👅)

as for the why. i think deep down cardan had started to realize that even he wasn’t a complete monster asshat that wanted to kill jude for making him want to kiss her so bad, and he started to want to almost apologize, but w out showing weakness. so he sent that dress anonymously.

i mean, we already know that by this point he knows he desires her, and he knows that he doesn’t want to hurt her and see her humiliated.

i think it’s mostly sweet bc from his pov, he knew that jude would assume the dress was from locke, but he sent it anyway. or maybe, since locke was going to declare himself as taryns man at the coronation, that jude would have to guess she had some other secret admirer waiting for her once she finished w locke.

he also knew that taryn was screwing her over w locke, and i think he could really relate to that (lockes an asshole) and didn’t want to see her humiliated. (both are canon so it makes sense)

so he sent her an extravagant dress, like the ones liriope wore, to spare jude from the embarrassment of having her twin steal her man.

another reason i think he did this was for protection. it’s mentioned directly after the dresses come that they must be careful at dains coronation so this is pretty plausible.

i recall the commission for judes original dress being red and covered w madocs crest. but the fact that she is a human, and wearing the crest of a noble household, would make her seem like a slave to the other courtiers at the coronation.

so commissioning a grand dress, one worthy of the high courts gentry, would make it seem as though were one of the high courts courtiers, and would make those that want to hurt her probably hesitate to do so, bc why does this human girl have this expensive ass dress? they’d think that she must be important or atleast well cared for.

another detail abt the dress is that nicasia knew cardan sent it. now she says this in qon, so we don’t actually know when she found out that cardan sent it. she could’ve known in tcp, maybe she caught cardan sending it off or making the sketch? or maybe she found the sketch and then later saw jude wearing that dress? she could’ve found out in twk, or when jude was in exile, etc. we may never know.

but i still think it’s sorta bittersweet that nicasia knew that cardan loved her.

anyway, cardan is on top as always🫦 thank you for the ask! 🫶🫶🫶 and feel free to add on!

[zeewritez]

The Sailor and The Samurai - I

Mizu x Femme Shipmate/Pirate Reader

Hi my lovelies! I haven't updated in so long and I'm sorry but college has been kicking my ass. (Why tf am I studying biochemistry - because I hate myself). Anyways, I hope to update my other stories soon (I've had chapters for months now, they just need to be edited lol). So for now, here's a little BES fic because I'm in love with this show :)

(Notes: Reader's father is Irish in the fic but she will not be described physically except for having super long curly hair because I like projecting my hair goals onto stories, also I will be using he/him pronouns for Mizu since they are currently being perceived as a man.)

Part 2 now out

Y/n woke up with a splitting headache from the rum she had the previous night. She made a note to self to not attempt to out drink her father, even if he was pushing 60. Rolling out of her cot, she slipped on a blouse and trousers she had acquired from a crew mate at some point. They barely fit, but it was far better than the dresses and corsets she wore whenever they docked back home.

She walked onto the deck just in time to watch over the vast ocean as they approached the isolated island of Japan. She'd been there many times in her career but had only ever been to the ports to assist with loading goods when the crew needed it. Today, there was no need. Instead, she watched with mild curiosity from the crow's nest as crates were loaded onto The Banshee.

The cargo seemed standard: silks, swords, exotic fish. The things nobles in England dreweld over. Yet the passengers were anything but standard. Y/n could barely believe her eyes when the infamous Abijah Fowler was brought on board with guards on each side of him. He was brought to the detention cell, which would have otherwise been used when her father was tired of a crewmate's drunken antics.

Y/n was so taken aback by Fowler's presence she nearly missed the passenger behind him: a young man, a few years older than y/n herself, clad in Japanese garb and yellow glasses. It seemed odd to her, as it was rather overcast outside but she didn't give it a second thought. What she was truly curious about was why Abijah Fowler was on their vessel.

As the ship took sail, she climbed down from the nest and made her way to the detention cell with a curious, if not mischievous, grin.

"I never thought you'd be joining us for London," she teased as she stood outside of his cel, as though dangling her freedom like a carrot. She did not like Fowler one bit, but she found him almost as amusing as she found him vile. Entertainment was hard to come by at sea, so who could really blame her?

"Well I for one am always happy to see you," he said, grabbing her hand through the bars and kissing her knuckles. She rolled her eyes as she pulled her hand back from him.

"What brings you back to the isle?" she asked. "My father doesn't even enjoy England, and he's still in good standing, legally speaking."

"Perhaps he's a better Irishman then me," Fowler said with a shrug. "What does it matter to you?"

The girl looked up in faux innocence. "Oh, I'm just curious."

"Well, why don't you hunt down the samurai that's on board and he can let you know why I'm going back to London," Fowler finally told her. "You've picked up quite a bit of Japanese, haven't ya?"

"Alright, I'll see you around then," she said as she turned to leave.

"You have your mother's rear!" He shouted out, as though y/n had forgotten why she had disliked the man so much. She said a silent prayer thanking the heavens he wasn't roaming freely as she roamed the ship looking for the mysterious man with glasses, which was simple enough.

He stood on the poop deck, staring out onto the ocean, as anyone who has ever treaded water has. The waters had a way of commanding one's attention.

"Hello good sir," the young woman greeted she climbed the stairs, stopping to curtsey out of habit. She'd managed to have some resemblance of good manners despite being raised at sea by a captain with a drinking habit.

The young man stared at her, which was a common response from many men upon seeing her for the first time, regardless of national origin. In fact, Englishmen seemed most taken aback by her appearance. Her hair was long and unkempt, falling down her back in ringlets instead of being pinned into an updo of a proper lady. Her shirt nearly fell from her shoulders and around her neck was a long, beaded necklace that seemed to trail down between her breasts. Y/n giggled at the man's reaction, having expected nothing less.

"Oh, I'm sorry," he spoke casting his eyes away from her eyes out of embarrassment, then down to her strange necklace, then back up to her eyes.

"Don't worry about it," she said, leaning against the Banshee's railing. "It is lovely to make your acquaintance, may I ask your name?"

"Mizu," he answered, finally less taken aback by the strange woman. "And you are?*

"Y/n," she said, reaching out her hand limply, again out of habit more than anything else. Mizu looked at her with pure confusion, almost fear. Y/n giggled again, this time to hide her embarrassment. "It is expected to kiss a lady's hand where we're going."

Mizu nodded and cautiously took the girl's hand, which was smaller then her own, and cool to the touch from the ocean winds. He kissed it with the gentleness most men she encountered lacked.

"You'll make a proper gentleman," y/n remarked as she retrieved her hand once again and placed it under her head. She scanned Mizu as had her. Admittedly he was rather dashing. So much so she'd forgotten what she was originally there to ask him. Fowler was the last thing on her mind. "What's with the spectacles?" she asked.

"My eyes are unnatural back home," he told her.

"Is that so?" Y/n asked rhetorically. Perhaps without thought for personal space, she leaned forward and took the yellow frames from the man's face. She was greeted with eyes that would put the sea herself to shame. "You needn't wear these anymore, your eyes are beautiful." The young sailor folded the glasses and handed them back to the blue eyed man.

A small smile graced Mizu's face at the first genuine compliment he'd heard in regard to his eyes. He looked over the beautiful yet foreign face of the woman in front of him. The journey to London was certainly something to look forward to now.