#i wrote a paper on this in college once it was one of my favorite assignments

[ophernelia]

you’re so right about your post to what i said it just rubs me the wrong way because some simmers i see on here already barely have other sims that don’t resemble whiteness and yes it’s your game do whatever you please but it’s weird asf for you to take a sim … a premade sim and change their skin color completely it’s just annoying if we barely have representation as is why change it you know.

Yeah, I get what you mean. It's a lot stuff that I've seen that's real iffy, but it's not like I can go uninstall the game off their pc lol. It is worth mentioning and discussing though! In some cases, I think it can be helpful too. Maybe people aren't thinking about the social connotations that doing that has. Even with the color correction, there's so much cc out there that people don't even know about. So, that may be new for them too. I try to give a bit of grace.

What a lot of people don't understand is that having a diverse game matters even if it is your own personal one. All types of media we consume have an impact on our world view and that also includes video games like the Sims. While, things like cowplants and aliens may not impact you significantly, its the subtle things like the beauty standards we set within our games. It may not be an outward statement of "only slim black haired sims are beautiful!", but to constantly use that archetype of like an "it girl" in your game is reinforcing some (probably subconscious) beliefs. It may not be intentional or intended to be harmful either! But sometimes we have to investigate where those feelings come from. It's worth the introspection.

There's also a level of nuance there that has to be considered though. A lot of us make sims who look like us! (Whether we intend to or not lol) I have so many sims that are my exact archetype and it's not even done purposefully lol! But regardless, diversity matters. It's good to include and to safeguard. It benefits each of us!

[xxsabitoxx]

Tutoring Session

College Math Tutor Sanemi x Female College Student Reader

Warnings: raw sex, edging, praising, hair pulling, creampies

A/N: hit me like a freight train, I’ve been dying to write this idea for literal months and I just couldn’t figure out who to write it about… obviously Sanemi was the clear choice. I blame @peachdues tbh

WORD COUNT: 2.5k | NOT MY ART!! Credit to the artist!! if anyone knows them please let me know so I can properly credit them!

"There you go, that's right." Sanemi smiled as you solved the equation correctly, watching your hands tremble as you wrote the numbers. "Took you long enough, sweetheart." He added as you whined, the grip he had on your hair was the only thing really keeping your head from falling forward in frustration. "Let's try the next one."

All the while, the dull head of cock was gliding between slick folds. This was his idea of tutoring you, tormenting you with the promise of shoving his cock inside of you, but only after you finished your work. Sanemi had you stuck, literally and figuratively at this point.

Your knees were aching from where they were digging into the hardwood flooring of his apartment, and your body bent over his coffee table with all your math equations spread out before you. Nothing was on either of you from the waist down, Sanemi's knees keeping your legs from squeezing shut in protest."How would you solve this equation, sweetheart. Show me."

You let out a shrill whine as he caught on your entrance for what felt like the thousandth time that evening. You were soaking wet and he hadn't so much as pressed into you. Your hands trembled as you lifted your pencil again, reading over the numbers and letters with blurry vision as you tried to recall the first step.

One squeeze from his hand on your waist and you were focusing again, pushing the pencil to the paper as you wrote out your first line. Sanemi hummed in approval, pumping his cock slowly before sliding his leaking tip between your drenched folds.

If you got this one right, he'd get inside of you, you'd have to work through the rest as his hips slowly rocked in and out of you. It was his favorite part of tutoring you, he could edge you for hours on end but it didn’t compare to the warmth your cunt enveloped him in once he pushed inside. It was addicting, he’d never stop tutoring you just for this reason. 

“You have to carry that one over, remember?” he hummed as he looked over your shoulder, watching your handwriting get increasingly sloppier as you erased your first mistake. Sanemi’s eyes glanced over the other sheets of paper, you had started off so strong, then you could see exactly when he got you into this position, the shakiness of your hand was present. 

“You better hurry, it's getting harder to not push right in.” He grinned, tugging your hair just a little harder as you whimpered. The head of his cock had caught on your entrance again, but this time he kept it in place. He could feel you constricting, clenching around nothing at all and begging to suck him into the wet warmth of your sex. “S-Sanemi… sir please…” 

Your voice came out in a broken hiccup, making his cock twitch in interest as you moved down the line of your equation. “You know the rules, sweetheart. You don’t get my cock until I’m satisfied with the amount of work you successfully completed.” His knees were aching too, but he could withstand it just to see you struggle. Your hair was soft in his grasp, but the mewls you made were even softer when he tugged on the strands. 

You felt tears burning your eyes, frustration towards math mixing with the frustration of not being able to alleviate the ache between your sticky thighs. Within an hour of his tutoring, Sanemi had rendered you to an embarrassing, sticky mess. Your slick was covering his thighs as well as his pubic bone, and of course his cock. “Carry that one.” 

Shakily, you erased, whining as you corrected your mistake. “Don’t move your hips or I’ll return to grinding my cock against you.” You stilled, you hadn’t even realized you were trying to force your hips back on his length. “I’m…mmm I’m s-sorry sir.” You hiccupped, you could feel your heartbeat in your clit at this point, and it was driving you insane.  “Don’t apologize, solve the problem.” 

You focused to the best of your abilities again, tears leaking down your cheeks and spotting the paper below you as the pressure built. Between the ache between your legs and the pressure of his dull cock head pressing into your awaiting entrance, you were certain you would crack under his gaze. You could feel it burning just over your shoulder, certain it was accompanied by rosy cheeks and fucked out eyes, making even swollen lips from where he chewed them. 

Your entire body jerked forward, head nearly falling forward along with it before Sanemi tugged again. “Keep your mind out of the gutter, sweetheart.” Your face was burning, he was one to talk considering the position he had you in right now.

“You are two lines away from getting my cock shoved in you, I’d smarten up and focus.” Your heart lurched, the promise in his tone was undeniable. Solve this equation and you’d get what you wanted. 

You scribbled the next line, earning a hum of approval from Sanemi as you moved to piece everything together and solve the equation. You waited with bated breath, looking everything over to confirm you were correct before shakily writing your answer.

After a beat of silence, Sanemi thrusted his hips forward, plunging his cock deep into your cunt. A loud cry of his name left your lips followed by a string of curses. The sting of being stretched so suddenly had you shivering, your pencil dropping from your hand as you tried to ground yourself. 

“Atta girl, you take me so–ha–so good.” Your cunt was fluttering around him, your hips trying to pull away just enough to ease the pressure on your cervix. The room was filled with your breathing before Sanemi finally panted “next”. You wanted to cry, frustrated and in need of relief and yet you were being forced to start your next round equations. “S-sanemi please…” 

“You heard me, sweetheart. Start the next problem.” He had regained a little bit of composure, pressing his hips flush against your own as he maneuvered his body lower. You could feel the heat radiating off of him as his front met your back, and yet again you were trying to run away from the one thing you had been begging for. “Turn the page over, we have four more to do.” His breath was hot against your ear, causing your body to involuntary shudder in response. 

You did as you were told, inhaling deeply as he returned to his original position. Once the paper was flipped and your pencil was back in your hand, Sanemi let go of the grip he had on your hair so both hands could hold your waist. He didn’t care if you struggled now, if anything he wanted to see you visibly falling apart.

You started slowly, moaning softly as Sanemi pulled out half way before slamming into you again. This paper would be a damn mess by the time you were done. That was Sanemi’s intention, after all, he liked to keep your ruined sheets of math as a reward once he was done. Your body shook with the force of his hips slamming into your own, the pencil dragging across the paper in sloppy mess as you began solving the next equation. 

“Oh fuck… fuck… fuck fuck…” You cried, pencil nearly ripping the paper as Sanemi’s hips rolled perfectly into you. The bulbous head of his cock grazed that one particular spot perfectly, making your back arch in response to the sensation. “Focus.” But his tone was hoarse, weak even as your slick arousal began to collect around the base of his cock. It's not like he could even focus on the math, eyes zeroing in on where your cunt sucked him in. 

“Solve this one right and I’ll fill you up, you’d love that wouldn’t ya?” You nodded, blabbering out a yes as your hand shakily wrote two more numbers in the first line of the problem. You weren’t going to get that far, but you’d damn near try your hardest. Sanemi’s hips were picking up their pace, falling into a brutal rhythm that was making it hard for you to properly see the numbers on your paper. The coffee table was creaking in protest with each snap of his hips. 

It was dizzying, feeling him split you open over and over as your velvety walls tried to clamp down and slow his speed. You were soaking wet, a warm gush of your arousal causing slick squelching noises to fill the small living room. “Finish the first line, sweetheart.” He could feel the sweat beading down his temple, as much as he loved to tease you, your cunt was almost too overwhelming for him.

He could fight off his inevitable release for a little while, but at the pace in which you were writing the problem out, he was certain he’d lose the battle. You were shaking as you finished the first line, eyes blurry as you tried to move the equation through your mind. You were too far gone already, cheeks burning hot as drool slipped past your parted lips. You could feel the embarrassment pushing you down, head falling forward now that Sanemi didn’t have a fistful of your hair to keep you upright. 

“C’mon, Sweet–ha–heart fucking finish the problem.'' The last half came out in a low and desperate tone, you could feel Sanemi’s cock twitching violently as it embedded itself in your velvety heat. “I-I’m trying…” you pleaded softly, tears flowing freely as you lifted your head. “I.. you’re too rough… oh fuck sir, don't stop.” you mewled, back arching as your hips shot back to meet his thrusts. Sanemi couldn’t say no to that, not when you were suffocating him. 

“Finish.” he restated, nails digging into the plush skin of your hips as his brows creased. He would have to pound some fucking sense into you… or maybe himself. Your pencil was scraping against the paper again as you worked through the equation, at this point Sanemi didn’t even care if you fucked it up and got the answer wrong, he just wanted to see a final result. 

Though, that suddenly wasn’t enough for him anymore.

A spike of arousal had one hand leaving your hips just to sneak around your front and find your clit. A sharp gasp tore from your mouth as white hot pleasure blurred your vision once more. Your neglected clit was far too sensitive for the immediate fast and rough circles Sanemi’s fingers were giving you. That and the fact that his hands were calloused, rougher than your own and creating more friction than you ever could.

“Oh fuck… I’m gonna…” you choked on your own words, the pencil led snapping as the heat in your abdomen grew hotter. Your release was sneaking up on you thanks to the addition of his fingers. “You’re already gonna cum?” Sanemi’s tone was mocking, as if his own cock wasn’t swelling with his own impending release. You let out a garbled response that sounded somewhat similar to a “yes”, no longer able to write now that your pencil had broken. 

Sanemi noticed, of course, his ego inflating like a balloon as he looked at the ruined paper and the ruined pencil. “You’re lucky that didn’t…” he inhaled, jaw clenching as he tried to stave off his release for a little longer. “You’re lucky you didn’t snap the whole pencil.” You just shook your head, cheek turning to press against the paper covered table. Your hands twitched as they found the edge, grabbing on tightly to try and ground yourself once more. 

“Don’t hold out on me, sweetheart… you’ll still get my cum for trying.” A loud whimper followed his promise, no longer able to control the noises you made as Sanemi’s hips continued to piston into your sopping cunt. It hit you then, your orgasm just barely teetering over the edge as you babbled out a jumble of curses and pleas to stop. Not that you actually wanted him too, Sanemi had learned that your cries only meant you were getting overwhelmed in the best way possible. 

“Come for me, sweetheart. Ruin me.” 

You could feel the cord snap, your orgasm washing over you as his hips and fingers never faltered. You were positive you moaned his name a little louder than you wanted to, unable to help it as your ears rang from the intensity. Sanemi’s teeth sunk into his lower lip hard enough to nearly draw blood. Your cunt was quivering around him, suffocatingly tight as a warm gush of your arousal dripped down your thighs. The sight was unbearably hot, and just enough to push him over the edge with you. 

You shivered as he came, spraying your walls with his sticky release. “Oh fuck.” It was just barely audible over the sound of your heart pounding in your ears. Sanemi was tense, too tense to acknowledge the marks he was leaving on your hips as his nails dug into your skin. It wasn’t until his hips came to a stuttering halt, burying deep inside your cunt that he was able to suck air into his lungs again and loosen his grip. “Y-you okay?” 

You hummed, too tired to lift yourself off of the table. “Words, sweetheart.” Sanemi was never content with your little noises after the fact. He needed the verbal affirmation that you were okay and he wasn’t too rough. “...’m good.” You heard him exhale through his nose, something similar to a humorless laugh. “C’mon, let me clean you up.” the feeling of his softening cock slipping out of you made you both shiver, his sticky release following. 

He watched your hips squirm, you were never fond of the feeling. “Sorry, sweetheart.” but again, you mumbled out an “...’s okay”. He had worn you out, there was no way he would be able to finish your lesson tonight. “How about a shower instead of a rag?” His fingers were running along your slick thighs as he spoke, carefully dragging your mixing arousal back up to your entrance and using two fingers to shove it back inside.

“You’ll have tah carry me.” you mumbled, pushing yourself up halfheartedly, your cheeks stained with drying tears. “Fine by me, it’s the least I can do.” Sanemi smiled, carefully moving to pull you into a sitting position and get your weight off of your bruising knees. “You wouldn’t mind if I stayed the night, would ya?” You nearly collapsed into him, turning weakly into his embrace so he could get you both off the ground. 

“You’re always welcome, Sanemi. I still have some of your clothes in my dresser.” He chuckled at that, hauling you up bridal style as he made his way towards your bathroom “I might as well move in at this point, hmm?” this time you were the one starting to laugh. “You practically live here already, Sanemi. Why don’t we make it official?” If he knew it would have been that easy, he would have made the comment weeks ago. “I’d like that.” 

[hysteria-things]

can you do a teacher!chris and a college student pleasee. (With smut. And if you want to!!)

PROFESSOR STURNIOLO

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: dom!teacher!chris x student!reader

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: this isn’t your first problem with this specific professor, but at this moment you’re fed up and want to put your foot down.

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: SMUTTY SMUT, p in v, degradation, spanking, masturbation (female), making out, stomach bulge, overstimulation, dumbification, squirting, cream pie

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 1,535

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: we are locked in🫡

your professor dismissed class mere seconds ago, and everybody either has already left the lecture hall or is still packing up. “are you meeting us for lunch?” your friend says, zippering her bag and putting it on her shoulder.

you scoff, shaking your head. “can’t.” you say, ripping out the essay you wrote for this class that was due a few days ago. “professor sturniolo gave me an F on the essay.”

“again?” she questions genuinely shocked. “he’s got a bone to pick with you.”

this isn’t the first encounter like this you had with your professor. this class — your argument and persuasion class — is the only one you’re failing this semester.

not in your three years have you ever had this type of problem, and after many F’s, you’ve finally had enough.

“well, good luck.” your friend sighs, leaving the classroom with the remaining group.

now, that leaves you and him.

it would be a different story if you didn’t do the assignment right or didn’t try on the essay, but you’re one hell of a writer and you’re sure he knows it. you’ve always been good in school, ever since a young age.

normally you wouldn’t pick up fights with teachers, but your blood has been boiling for this dude for weeks.

“what’s your problem with me?” you say sternly, wiggling the paper in your hand as you step down to where he is.

he stops erasing the board and turns to you. “class is over, ms. l/n.”

yeah, no shit.

you roll your eyes. “so? i want to speak with you about my recent essay. you always give me F’s and never explain why. i would understand if it happened once before at the beginning of the year, but for every. single. one? it’s ridiculous.

he’s emotionless as he listens to your rambling, then he shrugs. “it wasn’t good enough.”

you crinkle the paper in your fist and slam it down on the desk in front of you. “wasn’t good enough my fucking ass, professor sturniolo. is it a favoritism thing? or are you fucking the other chicks in your class so they can have good grades? is that what i need to do? do i need to fuck you?”

the moment those words left your mouth, you knew that was a huge mistake.

you wouldn’t be surprised if he does, though. he’s not much older than you, and he is attractive.

he licks his lips, tilting his head toward himself. “bring it over.”

you gulp, feeling slightly intimidated. you uncrinkle the page and hand it to him, who is now sitting in the chair.

not even reading it, he stares at it and looks back up at you. “sorry. your paper didn’t meet the expectations.”

your pinch your lips together to keep you from screaming at him. “you didn’t even read it.” you shake your head. “i should’ve dropped this class when i had the chance. you’re cocky, and a waste of my time. i’m failing probably because your teaching sucks.”

as you start to storm out, he speaks up. “i’m going to have to clean that filthy mouth of yours.” he smirks. “teach you a much-deserved lesson, then afterward you can see if my teaching still sucks.”

you pause in your tracks, face turning beat red as you slowly turn back around. “w-what?”

he motions you to come over with his finger, and for some reason, you listen.

grabbing your wrist, he pulls you over his lap so you’re straddling him. again, you let it happen. you can’t help the wetness that starts to pool between your legs.

“you can admit it, you know,” he whispers, dragging his hand from your waistband to your mouth. he grazes his thumb over your bottom lip.

“a-admit what?” you stammer, shuffling in his lap which causes him to groan and hold your hips.

he chuckles. “deep down you want me to fuck you. i bet you touch yourself to the thought of me like a desperate little thing.”

you look away, face turning even redder than before if possible. “nuh-uh.”

“your face says otherwise.” his whisper shoots a chill up your spine as he starts to unbutton your shorts.

the way your fingers move quickly inside of you have your eyes shut with your mouth dangled open.

you were lucky enough to get a single dorm, so you can do whatever you want without being sneaky about it.

the way your legs are spread makes your fingers dig deeper, curling to hit the right spot. you grip onto your sheets tight, moans and other loud noises leaving your lips.

your previous orgasms make a mess below you or the back of your thighs, but you don’t stop. you’ve been at this for almost an hour because your mind is only focused on one thing.

your lecturer.

professor sturniolo.

“shit.” you pant, your orgasm building for the nth time. you let go of the sheets to massage your breast, pinching at your nipple from time to time.

you whine. “just like that.”

legs shaking, your fingers get coated with yet another orgasm, but you wish it wasn’t your fingers.

you wish it were his.

your shorts are now on the floor, along with your shirt, underwear, and bra. chris still has his clothes on except for his pants.

hovering just above his tip, your lips move in sync with each other. his tongue fights yours, and the erotic sounds of you two kissing fill your ears.

his hands rub along your back before spanking you hard, ruining the intimate moment. you pull away to gasp.

“sit,” he demands, mouth agape as he looks down to watch you try to sink onto his dick.

you grunt from the pleasurable pain, stopping just about midway. he’s probably the biggest you’ve ever seen. “it’s not gonna fit.” you whine.

“i’ll make it fit.”

with that, he grips onto your ass, hammering up into you without being able to adjust first.

you grab onto his shoulders for dear life. you moan uncontrollably, the feeling of him raw inside of you making you grin like a fool.

you’ve been wanting him to do this for a very long time.

“look at you.” he starts, smacking your ass to have you jolt. “having the professor you allegedly hate balls deep in you.”

“i-i do— ha-ate you.” you struggle to get out, a hand landing on your asscheek again.

“is that so?” he mocks, waiting for you to talk back but instead you moan even louder. he nods. “that’s what i thought.”

he bites his lip, looking at the way your tits bounce rapidly and at the bulge in your belly, eyes widening slightly. he’d never seen something like that before.

“i should keep you around more often after class.” he groans, seeing your face of pleasure.

eyes rolled back, mouth hung open, hair disheveled and sticking to your forehead from sweating.

“you make a pretty little cocksleeve.”

that sentence makes you clench around him, your body starting to quiver from the overwhelming feeling. “ngh— feels so go-od. y-you make me feel s-so good.” you whimper. “wanna cum!”

“not until you apologize.” he tuts, grabbing and then spanking your ass. “say you’re sorry, and i might let you cum.”

you whine, his cock now kissing your g-spot more than it did before. “i’m s-sorry.”

“for?”

“for— mm!” you squeal. “for being b-bad.”

“and?”

“and-and—” you can’t finish because of the sudden clear liquid squirting out of you, now making your pussy squelch more than it was before. your back arches even harder, your brain all dazed and dumb from the overstimulation.

you start to lose stability from being too weak, so chris has to hold you by your arms.

he groans, shaking his head at the terrible mess you are making. “come on. you can do it.”

tears spill from your eyes, sobs running past your lips. “a-and for t-talking back. fuck!”

his dick twitches inside, his thrusts getting sloppy. “i hope you’re on the pill because i’m going to fill you deep, baby.”

you can only make sounds, so a high-pitched moan echoes throughout. you’re seeing stars the closer your orgasm approaches before it finally snaps and you’re smearing the ring of white around his dick.

he doesn’t stop, causing your body to twitch in his grasp as another orgasm builds since he’s still fucking deep to your g-spot.

“close again?” he laughs fake. “scream for me. let people know how much of a slut you are; letting your teacher use you to get a better grade.”

your body slowly starts becoming limp, eyes fluttering closed as you moan.

he spanks you for the last time, not caring that his job is on the line.

“louder. they can’t hear you.”

screaming this time, you cum once again when he holds you down on his shaft. you collapse onto his chest, quiet sobs leaving your lips as you feel his cum start to fill you.

he peppers kisses on your shoulders, peeking over them to grab a pen and clicking it open. he scribbles over the previous grade on your essay to write a new one.

A+

𝐭𝐚𝐠 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭!

@bunbunbl0gs @lexisecretaccx @thy-mission @angelic-sturniolos111 @sophssturn @mattsneezing @janiellasblog @blahbel668 @meg-sturniolo @hearts4chris @mattslolita @sturnbaby @imwetforyourmom @tillies33ssss @sturnifyed @mayhem-72 @ripmattitude @p1xieswrld @alorsxsturn @txssvx @sttzee @multiluvr @delilahprentiss @matthewsspecial @sturnolio-luvs @sturniolho @suga-daddy-69 @tworosesblackthorn @luckistar-posts @gnxosblog @junnniiieee07 @sturnioloslurps @tylerthecreatorsrealwife @flowerxbunnie @imaslut4kehlani @sturniolosandmoree @hertvgirl @whoreforchrissturniolo @r4iyaa @sturniolotriplettoplover @mattybswife @freshsturns @loverrsposts @sturnlcvr @elliesturniolo1 @tpvmz @user283926392 @lalalands86 @sukiipjs @sturniologirl813 @leahrab @chrissturniolosslut @h3arts4harry @sturnioloblogs @creamoncreamoncream2 @luv4kozume @ivyyyyyysposts @mirxcle1 @iluvm4ttsturni0l0 @sturniol0s @catalina-island @mbsbaby @pinkfarts @slut4mattsturn @thesturniolos @vickeyzloserz @nononopeno1

[danikamariewrites]

The Happiest Day

Bat boys x reader

A/n: I can't believe @polyacotarweek is almost over. I know I'm late for celebration but I wanted to make sure I got out what I wnated to say. I wrote this one because I've never really liked my birthday but in the last few years I've started to enjoy celebrating. I didn't have anyone I liked celebrating with (minus my immediate fam) until college. When people really love you and want to celebrate with you that's what makes the day special in my opinion.

Warnings: none

Another year another century started for you. Today marks your 400th year and Cauldron did you not want to celebrate. Not that you didn’t like your birthday. Quite the opposite actually. You love having a day where you get to do all the things you love. But when it’s just you. 

At some point in your youth your family started celebrating multiple birthdays together. The day no longer felt special. When you were old enough you started doing your own thing. 

Having a calm afternoon to yourself, treating yourself to nice things just felt right. Of course that semi-stopped when you met your mates. Rhys, Cassian, and Azriel always made you feel special and your birthday was no exception. 

Stretching and rolling around the soft sheets you reach out for your mates only to be met with their cold pillows. Your fingers brushed over a note against Rhys’s spot. Your name was written in his elegant handwriting on the outside. Opening the parchment it read, Happy Birthday darling! We’re sorry we aren’t there to kiss you and hold you on our favorite day but you will see why later. We love you very much y/n. Enjoy breakfast in bed. 

Putting the note down on the bedside table a tray appeared. A small vase with Evening Primrose sat in the corner. Chocolate croissants, fruit, toast, and bacon were laid out on beautiful blue and white plates. 

You decided to enjoy breakfast, choosing not to dwell on the giant party your mates are putting together for you.

—

Mor knew exactly where to find her cousin this morning. Entering the grand ballroom of the House of Wind Mor weaved between fae carrying large flower arrangements and party decor. She shook her head, blonde waves bouncing around her shoulders. 

Rifling through the stack of papers in her hand she picks out the one Rhys needs to sign. Looking around the room Mor spots Rhys in the middle with the party planner. He was pointing animatedly as Cass and Az lifted the heavy stuff for the decorators. Mor cleared her throat once she was behind her cousin making him slightly jump. 

Once he faced her, Mor gave Rhys a shit eating grin. “Excuse us, I just need the High Lord a moment.” The party planner gave a bow of her head, scurrying off to go perfect something else. “Cousin,” Rhys sighed, “what can I do for you, I am very busy.” Mor hands him the papers and a pen for his signature. As Rhys read through them Mor looked around the ballroom, truly taking in the lengths the males will go to celebrate you. 

Mor’s brows furrowed as she thought back to your last wine night. If she recalled correctly you hated celebrating your birthday with a huge party. “Here,” Rhys shoved the papers back into her arms. Rhys began to walk to the banquet table and Mor followed. “Does y/n like these parties? All seems a bit, ya know…much.” 

Rhys stops dead in his tracks slowly turning to face his cousin again. “Of course she likes the parties. Why would you ask that?” Mor’s eyes go wide along with that stupid smile she’s still wearing. “Oh, you have no clue do you.” 

Cass and Az have now joined the conversation. Confused looks pull at their features which are bringing Mor so much joy. The males look at each other, having a silent conversation. “Mother above you three are thick in the head.” Cassian waves his hands urging Mor to tell them. To stop teasing them with this secret information she’s holding over their heads. 

“She doesn’t like big parties. Have you ever wondered where she goes during the day on her birthday? Why has she only asked for a party with the family?” Their faces drop as the realization hits them like a ton of bricks. “Excuse me,” Rhys murmurs, quickly turning on his heel to tell the party planner to stop everything. Mor let out a triumphant hum, leaving the other two glued to the floor.  

—

On your way to the kitchen you found the house oddly quiet. Usually you could hear the hustle and bustle from the ballroom. People hurrying through the kitchen and foyer, cooking and setting up decorations for the party Rhys insists on throwing you every year. But nothing. Odd for eleven in the morning.

Normally you take the day to yourself to mentally prepare for the large party in the evening. You never liked big events or being the center of attention. It was never fun to be used by your people as a reason to climb a social ladder or gorg themselves on food and alcohol Rhys provided. 

Not that you would ever tell your mates this but you have shed a few tears after putting on your gown. Eventually you pull yourself together. Putting on a smile to look ready to celebrate.   

Shyly poking your head in the kitchen you find it empty. Your brow furrows as you place the breakfast tray in the sink. “Rhys,” you reach out to him in your mind. “Yes, darling.” His voice a purr in your head. “Where is everyone?” “We’re waiting for you in the living room.” You could hear the smile in his voice. You smirked, something told you your mates are up to something. 

You found them in various states of excited and nervous. Cassian was pacing while Rhys and Azriel sit in large arm chairs conversing quietly. Clearing your throat the three perk up, smiles plastered on their lips. Cassian made it to you first, pulling you into a bone crushing hug, “Happy birthday, sweet pea.” He pulls away from you to kiss all over your face leaving you giggling. 

Azriel pulled you to his chest next then into a searing kiss. “Happy birthday, princess. How was your breakfast?” “Delicious.” 

Rhys held your hands, resting his forehead against yours, leaving a soft kiss on your lips. “You look like you want to ask something, darling.” You exhale a little. Not wanting to seem greedy but you needed to know. “No, I was just expecting the house to seem…busier.”

Rhys hummed, “Yes, you have Mor to thank for that.” Your cheeks turn red from the shame of your friend speaking up for you. “Why didn’t you say anything?” Azriel asked softly. Letting out a sigh you look down to avoid eye contact. “You seemed so happy having the party and I didn’t want to upset you.” After a few long moments of silence you feel Cassian’s hands gently grip your chin, tilting your head to look at them. Frowns replacing their smiles. 

“You could never upset us y/n.” Smiling at them you feel happy tears prick at the corners of your eyes. Your mates pull you into a group hug, sending pulses of love down the bond. Letting go Cass ruffles your hair. "No more tears today." He says.

"We have the whole day planned," Rhys starts, "we're going to go to all your favorite shops and then have a nice relaxing night in. Az will cook dinner and we can do whatever you want." Your face lights up at the thought of having your mates with you, doing your favorite things on your day is all you've wanted.

[thollandneedy]

Hey Bella! Hru?

First of all… the Tom Holland Masked fic you wrote

ABSURDLY AMAZING

Second, could you write a oneshot where Peter discovers that y/n has a praise kink? Thank u🩷

Good girl- Peter Parker

A/n: Literally screaming cause my favorite Peter is soft!dom Peter and UGHHHHHH YES! JUST YES! Thank you for the request btw babes 🤍 (Definitely doing a pt 2 if you guys want too)

Warnings: Make-out and suggestive content

Don’t forget to share, like, comment and leave your ideas here

Bellah’s Masterlist 🪻

“Peter?” Y/n called out to her boyfriend, who was lying on the bed.

The brunette sits up when he hears his girlfriend's voice, smiles and gets up to hug her. The girl runs into the hero's arms, who greets her with a kiss on the forehead and then a kiss on the lips.

“How did you get in?” Peter asks, placing both hands on Y/n's cheeks, looking into the shining eyes of his girlfriend, who is wearing a dark blue sweatshirt.

“May gave me a copy of the key.” Y/n explains. “I have something to show you.” The girl takes out a piece of paper from her shoulder bag with the name of her college printed on it.

Peter took the paper, moving away from her so that he could read the entire document, which soon turned into a piece of joy. Parker smiled at Y/n, hugging her once more and saying:

“I knew you'd make it, love. You're good at everything you do.” Y/n's cheeks flushed, causing the girl's feet to slowly pull away from the embrace.

“It's no big deal, Pete. It was a difficult test, and I had your help.” Y/n points with the paper in her hands, putting it in her cream-colored bag once again and then leaving it on the study table next to Peter's bedroom door.

“Stop being modest, Y/n.” Peter grimaces. “You've earned it, and asking for help is never a sign of weakness.”

“Good” The girl looks down at her own feet. “Then Santa will have to give me a present in advance for my grade.” Y/n comments, remembering that Christmas was only a few days away.

“He sure will.” Parker approaches with slow steps, putting his hand on his girlfriend's waist and pulling her close to his body. “You've been a good girl”

At that moment, the world stopped. Y/n's breathing stopped, and her eyes froze in an expression of surprise. Peter tilted his head to one side, smiling at Y/n as he saw her reaction to the affectionate nickname he had given her. It was no surprise to Peter that his girlfriend liked to be complimented, because of the words of affirmation she always liked to hear, but he didn't know that such compliments could leave her speechless. The hero gently kissed the side of his girlfriend's mouth, who only responded by kissing him back. Her hands were on the collar of Peter's shirt, which had become a fulcrum for her weight. The boy allowed his tongue to slide over her lips, making the kiss wetter.

The brunette could hear Y/n's heart beating harder, holding back his instincts to just throw her on the bed and take off his winter clothes. The girl moans against the older man's kiss, who responds with a smile.

“Did you like that?” Peter asks, pulling away from the kiss, but quickly returning at the urging of his girlfriend, who messes up his brunette curls. “Did you like that I called you a good girl?”

Y/n grunted in response, as if her legs were made of jelly and her vagina became wetter with every word he spoke. Peter laughed, taking her weight in his arms and guiding her on his lap to his bed, where the sheets were already messy. Y/n couldn't quite put her finger on why she liked it, but she just knew that she liked it and wanted more. Perhaps it was the constant need for approval in everything she pursued, or the stress of the last exam grades being released.

“Keep talking.” Y/n asks.

“Talking what? Tell me what you want, princess.” Peter trailed his kisses down Y/n's neck.

His voice sounded like velvet, and his open questions still, yes, sounded like orders coming from him.

“How good I am.” Y/n says without shame at exposing her desires."How good I make you feel. How good a girl I am, how much I…” The girl's speech is cut off by a hot kiss

Peter removes his gray blouse in a hurry, throwing it on the side of the bed in an attempt to feel his body closer to Y/n's. The girl looks at him with her eyes wide. The girl looks at him with her eyes asking for touch, validation, love and care. Peter uses his index finger to trace the curves marked by the slim shirt his girlfriend was wearing under her sweatshirt. Peter lowered his eyes to the legs covered by the jeans, and again turned his gaze to his girlfriend's mouth, which, without saying it, was begging to be kissed.

“Do you want to be my good girl, love?” Peter asks with an imposing air,

“I-I do.” Y/n agrees, almost impeded by the longing for the touch.

Peter moves a lock of hair away from the girl's eyes, putting his weight against hers, allowing her to feel how hard he was. In an instant, their hips met, and all Peter could think of was the image of his girlfriend completely submissive to him.

“Then take off your clothes and kneel for me, darling”

[edmunsonss]

Love Letters to Future Selves

Pairing: Eddie Munson x GN! Reader

Summary: Eddie finds a letter that he was never supposed to read.

Word Count: 5.4k

Warnings: Swearing, kinda angsty??, it's also overly dramatic and not proofread because I just wrote this in class (sorry professor!).

A/N: I don't know what this is but I had the idea sitting in my lil idea dump, so yeah! I hope you like it :)

•:•.•:•.☾☼☽•:•.•:•.

Air hits your face as you stand there, alone, overlooking the city from your small apartment’s even smaller balcony. Ever since you arrived to New York, standing out on the balcony at night and looking at the lights that illuminate the buildings all around you is something that brought you comfort. Now it’s just a poignant reminder of the decisions that have brought you there.

You still remember the day the letter arrived in the mail. Eddie was there with you, sitting on your bed as you both tried to complete your English Lit assignment. It was one of the first times in your whole High School experience where you could genuinely say homework was enjoyable. Even Eddie seemed to be enjoying it, more involved in a project than you’d ever seen him be.

Your mom called your name, told you there was mail for you, which immediately made you look at Eddie.

“I think I’m going to be sick, Teddy.” You wished it was a joke, but you had genuinely felt your heart fall to your ass at her words. You had been waiting for that letter for months at that point.

“It’s going to be fine,” Eddie reassured, “There’s nothing to worry about, my little valedictorian.”

Eddie had never cared much about school, as demonstrated by the fact that by next fall, he would be a three-time senior at Hawkins High. He would have never imagined that he would end up becoming the biggest nerd in school’s best friend. Life was funny like that sometimes. Now there you were, about to escape Hawkins and go to college while Eddie stayed behind.

“Okay, okay.” You mumbled, anxiously playing with the ring on your finger, “I’ll just go get it before I throw up.”

You ran into the kitchen and basically yanked the letter out of your mother’s grasp. After mumbling out a quick apology, you went back into your room and shut the door behind you.

You stood there for a few seconds, back pressed against the door. It felt as if the purple envelope in your grasp was mocking you, like it knew the letter inside of it would change the course of your life.

“Well, open it!” Eddie laughed and secretly wiped the palm of his hand on his ripped jeans, just as nervous as you were.

“Shit, shit, shit.” You went and sat by his side once again.

“NYU.” He whispered. Your dream school ever since you were a little kid, the dream he had seen you chase for years.

You messily ripped the letter open, blinded by pure excitement. Everything went silent for a few minutes, you swore you even stopped hearing the Metallica record that had been playing.

Eddie read the letter with you, slightly craning his neck to look over your shoulder. The next thing he knew, you were screaming out of pure joy. He barely managed to catch the words admitted… Tisch School of the Arts before you threw the piece of paper into the air.

He treated you to a celebratory dinner that night. With the little money Eddie had, he took you to your favorite diner and let you ramble on and on for hours about everything you would do once you were in New York.

When the time came, Eddie was the one who helped you get settled into the apartment you would be sharing with two of your classmates. He helped you decorate your room and stayed the week before school started. You explored the city together and he made sure to take the subway to Tisch with you every morning until you had it perfectly memorized. You also took him to watch West Side Story and insisted on going to George’s for breakfast, just like your family did when they visited the city. It was probably the most magical week of your life.

Back then, you had been afraid of the distance pulling you apart from each other, but Eddie killed your fear with every call he made and letter he sent. You would even visit each other on holidays and it would almost feel as if nothing had ever changed.

You were still living inside that illusion until about an hour ago. You had just gotten back from class and figured it was a good idea to give Eddie a call before his show at the Hideout, craving to hear his voice. Neither of you had been able to talk over the phone that whole week and all you wanted was to hear how your best friend was doing.

You dialed his house number, which you had memorized as well as if it were your own. What you didn’t expect, was for someone else to pick up the phone on the other side.

“Munson residence,” Spoke a sweet voice. You frowned, what the fuck?

It definitely didn’t sound anything like Eddie’s voice, or Wayne’s. It did sound familiar, but you couldn’t put a face to the voice.

“Hello? Anyone there?” She said after a beat of silence had passed. That’s when it dawned on you. It was Emily Richards.

WHAT THE FUCK? Emily was a cheerleader, one of the nicest ones of the bunch, sure, but that still didn’t explain what she was doing at Eddie’s trailer. It surely wasn’t for one of his deals or she wouldn’t have picked up the phone.

“Uh… Ah… Hi,” You mumbled awkwardly as you anxiously toyed with the telephone cord. You told her your name, “I’m Eddie’s friend.”

“Oh! It’s so nice to finally meet you! Eddie always speaks wonders of you. I’m Emily, his girlfriend.”

You felt your jaw go slack at her words. They almost seemed to repeat themselves in slow motion inside your head… His girlfriend. Panic invaded your mind as jealousy crept into your heart and punctured it with a knife, but why?

It was perfectly fine for Eddie to have a girlfriend, right? Right? Millions of questions swarmed your mind, from thinking why he never told you about her, to wondering where this blinding jealousy came from if you were just friends.

“I think Eddie’s in the shower.” She said, abruptly putting a stop to your train of thoughts, “But I can tell him to call you back if you want.”

“Uh, that’s-that’s alright, I’ll just call him another time. Thank you though… It was nice meeting you.”

You hung up immediately after that. You’ve been out in the balcony ever since, sulking for God-knows-what reason. You fish around your pocket for the clove cigar you know you’ve got somewhere, but before you can even find it, your roommate, Tessa, walks into the apartment.

You turn to greet her, only to find she’s already looking at you with eyebrows raised. A sigh almost escapes past your lips at her expression. Tess hasn’t been your roommate for long, yet she seems to pick up on every time you’ve had a shitty day just by taking a look at you. In your opinion, it’s fucking insane… Slightly scary too.

“Don’t look at me like that! It’s not my fault you chose the balcony as your ‘I’m miserable’ spot.” Tess goes over to your tiny kitchen and you can see her shuffling around until she comes across the box of cookies that has become part of every deep conversation you have with her.

You spend most of the night sitting on the couch, talking about Eddie. Tessa is clearly unaware, but when you stir close to the topic of your jealousy she makes you question everything you thought you already knew about where you stood with Eddie. You still think about it as you lie in bed and stare blankly at the ceiling.

“I don’t understand him,” She had said, “Why would he cheat on you?”

“Cheating? Who said anything about cheating? You do know Eddie and I were never dating, right?” You reply. Tessa raises her eyebrows as she shoots you a questioning look.

“Friends with benefits then?”

“No,” You laugh. “We’re just… really close. I mean, we’ve basically known each other our whole lives. Eddie’s my best friend, nothing more, it’s how it’s always been.”

“Babe, I really don’t want to be pushy here but… does Eddie know he’s just your friend? He’s smitten! I swear he looks at you like the sun shines out of your ass.”

She then asked the question that kept you up the rest of the night, “If you feel nothing for him, why are you this upset over him getting a girlfriend? You can lie to me all you want, but you can’t lie to your own heart.”

You teased her for how cheesy her words sounded, but deep down, the question left you with more doubts than you’d like to admit.

You’re more than aware that there was a time where you did have feelings for Eddie, but a long time has passed since then. Back in your freshman year of High School, you had awkwardly tried to shoot your shot on at least three occasions, only to be turned down every single time.

It hurt at first, but you eventually got over it, because your friendship with Eddie was far more important than your romantic feelings. Yet, there seems to be where the lie is, isn’t it? To think you actually got over it. If that is the truth, then your discovery shouldn’t hurt as much as it does.

So, as you lie in bed, staring at the ceiling, you come to the realization that your feelings for Eddie have never gone away. No, you are in love with him. Shit!

The thought startles you out of bed in an instant. A million thoughts buzz around inside your head and you cannot imagine a way in which they will quiet down on their own, so you do what you’re best at, you write.

You sit at your desk for a long time and write out a letter for Eddie. A letter you know he will never read because you find it unfair that you’ve decided to write something like this when it’s already too late. So you just use it to write all the feelings you’ve bottled up for years, then, you bury the letter somewhere inside your closet, never to be found again.

TWO YEARS LATER

Eddie

A smile illuminates Eddie’s face as he listens to the soft purrs of the cat perched on his lap. His fingers comb through her soft fur while his eyes are focused on the TV in front of him.

He’s been trying to keep himself busy until your classes end for the day. There are still a few boxes of stuff waiting to be unpacked, but Eddie wants to get your permission to do so first, knowing the only empty space left in the room is in the closet, which still has some of your stuff.

After Tessa moved out once she graduated and Eddie finished High School, he had moved to New York to help you keep the apartment you loved so much. The salary paid by the bakery wasn’t cutting it anymore and month by month you struggled to gather up enough money to pay rent.

Eddie had gotten himself a job at the bar downtown to help out. You’d insisted on him taking the biggest room and despite his refusal to do so, you had already moved most of your things into Tessa’s old room, claiming it was the least you could do for him after he left so much on pause back in Hawkins just to be with you.

After a while of watching TV, Eddie finally hears you open the door and turns to look at you as you walk in. The cat on his lap jumps down and walks over to you after stretching out her body nonchalantly. Eddie pouts and mumbles a barely audible “Hey… come back.”

Your shoulders sag as you pet her soft fur, then lazily drop your bag by the door and change your shoes. Eddie watches as you head straight for the coffee maker. A big yawm escapes your mouth and you rub your tired eye.

“Hi Teddy,” You turn your attention to him once the coffee starts brewing and offer him a smile, which he gladly returns. He can’t help but think of how adorable you look in your fluffy white sweater and the pair of bunny slipper that are keeping your feet warm. He’s no stranger to this sight, you’ve had more sleepovers than Eddie can count. Yet, the desire to wrap you in his arms and cuddle you is still present.

“I see you’ve met Storm.” You say, looking at the cat brushing her body against your leg.

Eddie straightens up ever so slightly and wiggles his legs like a little kid to stretch them out, “I didn’t know you guys had a cat.”

You laugh, “She’s the neighor’s, actually, but she likes sneaking in through the balcony sometimes. Don’t let her get too close to your hair though, she’ll chew on it.”

“Isn’t that like a sign of love or some shit? Pretty sure Henderson said that once…” You shrug and finally pour yourself a cup of warm coffee.

You cradle the cup on your hands as gently as if it were your most prized possession, “Wouldn’t know, Teddy. Anyway, I’ve got some homework to finish, but feel free to tell me if you need anything. We can go get dinner once I’m done too.”

Eddie hums—basically moans—in delight at the idea of food, already picturing the delicious pizza he’s going to be eating later, “Ugh, yes please. I can’t stop thinking about Joe’s pizza.”

“I told you it was better than Wade’s.”

“Woah! Nothing’s better than Wade’s.”

“Keep lying to yourself. It stopped being good like… years ago, it’s the nostalgia talking.” You argued and picked your backpack back up, making a beeline for your room.

“Hey, sweetheart, before you go. Is it okay if I move some of your stuff out the closet?”

You shrug once more, “Sure, knock yourself out, Eds.”

•:•.•:•.☾☼☽•:•.•:•.

Eddie has spent almost a whole hour organizing the closet and he’s sure it’s only a matter of minutes before he goes utterly insane. He’s never been the biggest fan of cleaning, especially not when the only thing in his mind is what he’ll eat when he’s done.

His dark eyes scan over the next box and he can’t help but let out a deep sigh at what he knows is inside. An “in need of sorting” label is messily written on the side of the cardboard box, which contains some of his records and some things Emily gave him during the months they were together.

It’s been over a year and a half since they broke up and he’s over it, but even then, he isn’t exactly thrilled of having to sort through those things. As much as he likes to deny it, Eddie still feels a slight pang of guilt in his chest when he thinks of her.

He decides to move the last box of your stuff out of the closet instead. It looks small, which makes Eddie assume it mustn't weigh too much, so he picks it up, not putting much care in supporting the box from the bottom.

He quickly realizes his mistake when he picks it up and it is as heavy as if it was filled up with stones. He huffs and watches helplessly as the bottom of the box gives out and all its contents end up scattered on the bedroom floor.

Eddie doesn’t give it much thought before he kneels down and folds de box closed again, securing it with some tape he sees lying around. He starts picking up your stuff and dropping it in the box. It’s mostly school papers, Eddie notices, the weight coming from a few pocket-sized books.

His fingers brush over a folded piece of paper. Eddie doesn’t mean to snoop, but he can’t help but notice that at the top of the pages Dear Eddie is scribbled in your handwriting.

He thinks it’s probably a letter you meant to start but didn’t finish, which wouldn’t be too unusual given how busy you are with school. That’s why it comes as a surprise when he unfolds the paper and sees it’s filled with your writing. The With love at the bottom an indication that you did finish writing it.

Eddie sees no harm in reading it, after all, it’s addressed to him, right? So he plops down on the floor and shimmies around until his back is resting against the bed.

Dear Eddie,

It has always amazed me to think of how much you’ve changed my life. I still remember the day I met you, do you remember it too? You walked into the classroom wearing a shirt that was a few sizes too big for you, fingers tightly holding on to Wayne’s hand. You were so reluctant to let go, but you eventually did and sat on the only empty seat left, which was right next to me. The rest is history.

Eddie smiles as he reads. He remembers that day too. You don’t mention it in your letter, but at the time, you had greeted him with a bright smile, which had reassured him everything would be okay despite everything.

*I hold the memories of every moment we’ve spent together close to my heart. They remind me of how lucky I am to have you in my life. Maybe I’m getting too emotional, but you’ve done so much for me all these years. Like that time I was upset because my parents were going to miss my first play, so you made Wayne, Gareth, Jeff and Grant go with you so I’d have people cheering me on in the audience. Or that other time when I was practically shitting my pants out of nerves a few days before my Tisch interview so you made us go on a road trip to Indianapolis to “*calm my nerves” as you’d said.

There are obviously thousands of other times where you’ve been my knight in shining armor, despite me saying I don’t want one. Truth is, I want one if it’s you behind the armor. Is that a cringy thing to say? Maybe. I don’t know.

I found out about Emily just a few hours ago. I keep wondering why you didn’t tell me about her when I went over to visit for Thanksgiving break. I’m glad you didn’t though, because you can read my expression annoyingly well and I’d be afraid of you finding any traces of dissapointment on it. Keep in mind I’m not disappointed in you for having a girlfriend, it’s great actually! You deserve nothing but happiness because you’re nothing short of an amazing human being, whether you believe it or not. I fear my state of dejection would have been my own fault ‘cause of something I didn’t say.

I feel the need to say it now because I’m stupid and I’m selfish. That’s why I don’t really plan on sending this letter out. I can’t be unfair and burst into your mailbox with my confession right after I’ve found out you have a girlfriend. I just wanted to write this out because I don’t know what else I could possibly do with all this love I feel for you. Which is actually funny if I think about it, because if it were about anything else, I would have already called you so you’d knock some sense into me, but I can’t exactly do that right now, huh? Not when it’s about this. Not when I don’t want you to know.

But yeah, Teddy, I love you. I love you so much more than a friend should. I always share my secrets with you, but I think I’ll keep this one to myself. I’m sure you know already though, I asked you out like three times in freshman year, I wasn’t exactly the most secretive about it back then, huh?

Eddie has to stop reading right then and there, both to collect himself and wonder what the hell it is you’re talking about. Eddie’s sure he’d remember you asking him about because the one thing he’s dreamed of for years is taking you out on a date. He’s always fantasized about how he’d drop you off at home and kiss you on the porch like they did in those boring romance movies you liked. It wasn’t like he hadn’t tried, in fact he had asked you out on several occasions during freshman year too! You rejected him every single time.

Now that he has time to think about it, he comes to the conclusion that all along you’ve just been morons. Two lovesick morons. He figures it’s time to fix it, but first he finishes reading your letter.

Whether you know… or don’t, I’m not sending this letter. Even if I were to, it isn’t cohesive enough, or whatever. My creative writing professor has made me become obsessed with writing everything perfectly, it’s fucking exhausting, not like it matters right now anyway.

I don’t really know what else to say other than: I fucking love you and I hope it’s the only secret I ever keep from you.

With love.

There’s a deep sense of longing in his heart, accompanied by nostalgia as he remembers growing up with you by his side. Eddie wasn’t stupid, he knew just how lucky he was to have you in his life, had never taken it for granted in fact.

In hindsight, a lot of things make sense now that he knows what you felt back them. Eddie can’t help but think of a particular Friday night, the week before Halloween.

Eddie had his eyes on the road, but otherwise, his attention was fully set on you. Hellfire’s yearly Halloween campaign had just finished and, per tradition, he was driving both of you to the trailer so you could have a scary movie marathon.

Ever since the campaign ended, you had been catching him up to what went down during the brief time window where you didn’t see each other that particular day. Much to his dismay, you were telling him about how Christian Adams—some guy from science class—asked you out on a date after first period.

“My first date! Can you believe it?” You shouted over the music playing loudly inside the van, “I’m kinda nervous, Teddy.”

He tapped his fingers on the steering while as he stole a quick glance in your direction, “Who was the date with, again?”

You groan, “Eds! Don’t start falling asleep on me, dude. It’s with Christian Adams, you know-”

“Ah! The idiot who told Harrigan two plus two was five?” A throaty laugh escaped past Eddie’s lips, you rolled your eyes.

“It was stupid, wasn’t it? I thought I’d seen it all when I heard you say Thor was a Greek God.”

“You absolutely cannot compare my honest mistake with that shit! I’m about to be a super senior and even I know basic math.” You guffawed at his comment and shook your head in pure amusement.

Eddie parked the van and you walked into the trailer, still laughing a bit. Wayne, who was sititng on the kitchen counter with a bright blue cup in hand, looked at you.

“Hey, old man,” Eddie greeted his uncle lovingly and gave him a side hug.

“Hi Wayne!” Your best friend gave your hand a gentle tug and gestured to his bedroom.

You playfully swatted his hand away and took a moment to open your backpack and grab the mug that was securely wrapped in layers of newspaper and paper towels. Both men watched with interest as you peeled each layer of paper away to reveal a beautiful mug decorated with a detailed drawing of a deer.

“I got this for you! From Colorado.”

Wayne gave you a small smile, which for someone like him was basically the equivalent of a toothy grin, “Look at that boy, should take notes from them.”

Eddie pouted jokingly at his uncle’s words and turned to look at you, “Where’s my souvenir?”

“It’s in my backpack, Teddy. Shut up.”

“Make me.” You furrowed your brows and turned to look at him, only to find him looking back at you with a shit-eating grin on his face.

“You suck.”

He pulled you towards his bedroom once again and this time you didn’t put up any resistance. Wayne watched it all unfold and sighed, “You kids are going to be the death of me.”

•:•.•:•.☾☼☽•:•.•:•.

You had been in Eddie’s room for almost an hour at that point. Wayne had already gone to work and Eddie was busy writing down something on his DnD notebook.

Your fingers plucked at the strings of his beloved guitar, which you had insisted on not hooking up to the amp.

“So… Why did you say you were nervous for that date?”

“Well, what if he wants to kiss me?!”

“You kiss him back if that’s what you want.”

“I’ve never even kissed anyone before, what if it’s gross? What if I suck?” By that time, you were pacing around the room, Sweetheart long forgotten in Eddie’s bed. This was a topic you had discussed with Eddie countless times, but it was never something that was the cause of actual concern, until that moment.

“I heard somewhere that pretty people are good kissers, so you must be amazing at it.” You stopped dead in your tracks at his words. You knew he was probably kidding, but that didn’t stop you from feeling your cheeks heat up at his compliment.

“Ha. You’re so funny.” You replied in a dry, sarcastic tone. A beat of silence passed before you spoke again, “We could always test that theory though.”

From his expression alone, you knew he couldn’t tell if you were serious—you were… Kinda. You thought that your crush on Eddie wasn’t much of a secret at that point. You’d asked him out when you were younger, but you had never been so direct about it.

There was a glint of mischief in his eyes as he stood up walked towards you. For the first time in years, you felt nervousness crawl into your heart. For as long as you could remember, Eddie had been your safe place, you always found solace in those warm brown eyes of his, yet at that moment, you couldn’t help but wonder if your stupid comment was about to ruin everything.

Eddie’s fingers grazed your face as he cupped your face. He was intimidatingly close by that point. You let your hands wander to the curls that sat right below his shoulders. That naughtiness in his eyes was long gone, replaced by a tender look.

He took that last step needed to close the distance between you. His lips brushed against yours in a timid peck that couldn’t have lasted longer than a few seconds.

The brief contact gave you enough confidence to kiss him one more time. You let him guide you and quickly realized just how correct it felt to have his lips on yours. There was nothing but pure joy in your heart as you enjoyed the feeling of having him close.

Much to your dismay, Eddie eventually pulled away. He said nothing for a few moments that seemed to stretch into eternity. Then, he let out a breathy laugh and spoke, “Well, theory confirmed. That was… wow… you’re totally ready for your date, yup.”

Back then, Eddie had noticed something in your expression shift after the comment he’d made, but you’d left almost immediately after, which left him no time to ask. When you saw him Monday morning, you acted as if nothing had happened and told him all about your date with Christian. He had been hurt, but now he understood how much of an idiot he was for that comment and how he had hurt you too.

In his own defense, Eddie was genuinely convinced that you had no other intention behind your comment. He actually thought you wanted to practice kissing for a date! WHAT A FUCKING IDIOT!

Eddie stands up, doubt planted in his heart like a poison, but he isn’t going to let that stop him, not again. He firmly holds the letter in his hand as he walks down the hallway to where your new room is. His hand trembles as he raises it up to knock.

He doesn’t even need to knock again before you open the door, a confused look on your face, “Since when do you knock?”

“Since, uh, now… I guess.”

You smile at him, “Well,that’s a mi—”

The words die down in your throat and your smile vanishes as you notice what he’s holding.

“Oh.” Is the only thing you manage to say before tears start welling up in your eyes.

Eddie can see your temptation to close the door on his face, but before you can do it, he musters up the courage to speak up, “I found it by accident while cleaning out the closet. Why didn’t you send it?”

Your lip trembles as you find a way to answer his question. “How could I? I had no right. I spent years hearing you talk about how you wished someone would give you a chance to show them you’re so much more than stupid town gossip. I wasn’t going to ruin your chances of that happening, not when you had someone so perfect by your side.”

“I always had—still have someone perfect by my side. You.” Eddie watches as you shake your head and tears start falling freely down your face.

“You can’t say that, Teddy. You can’t give me hope.”

Eddie doesn’t hesitate to wrap his arms around your body and pull you close, “I never told you why I broke things off with her, did I?”

You shake your head against his chest, “I broke up with her because I kept comparing her to you. I kept hoping to find at least half of what I have with you. I know it’s wrong, but you’ve changed my life. You know every little thing about me and you’ve never loved me any less for it. You care so much about me, about Wayne. It’s you, always been you and I wish I could have had the courage to say that I love you sooner.”

“You love me?”

He cups your face with the same gentleness as he did that one autumn night, “So much more than words can express.”

“Kiss me then.”

“As you wish,” He says with a lopsided smile and lets his lips meet yours.

Eddie feels a heavy weight lift from his chest at the feeling. The kiss is so tender yet full of so much passion, caused by those bottled up feelings you have shared all this time. The way you hold each other makes him feel like you’re both trying to say every feeling to that single kiss, and it’s truly magical.

When you pull away, Eddie is met by a sweet smile and your kind eyes, “I love you to.”

It’s a funny thing how everything has played out, or at least it is to Eddie. For two people who understand and share things with each other, you’ve sucked at sharing one of the most importat things of all. That you love each other. For this reason, Eddie can’t wait to make up for all the time he didn’t spend showing you how much he loved you.

[collapsedglasshouses]

I JUST WANT YOU TO KNOW WHO I AM

NICK RUFFILO x FEM!OC

☁️ SUMMARY: Burdened by caring for her mother with Parkinson's, Iris's life feels distant from her artistic dreams. The news of Nick, her childhood best friend, returning home starts to stir up old memories. Quickly, she found herself back in their childhood tree house, in the hopes Nick would meet her there... Like he used to. ☁️ PAIRING: Nick Ruffilo x fem!OC (Iris) ☁️ WARNINGS: familial responsibilities, caring for an ill family member, missed opportunities, crashed dreams (sort of?) friends to lovers (are you really expecting something else from me??), FLUFF with a pinch of angst, ... ☁️ WORD COUNT: 5.4 K ☁️ A/N: This story is kind of inspired by one of my favorite songs of all time, Iris by the Goo Goo Dolls. (Rumor has it that this is the reason why OC is called Iris.) I may have wrote this while sitting in my statistics seminar, but you didn't hear that from me. I hope you enjoy and consider liking/reblogging if so. ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖

☁️ MASTERLIST ☁️

The glass shattered before Iris even heard it fall.

One second she was in the hallway, tugging on an oversized hoodie with paint-stained sleeves, and the next she heard the crash. A too-familiar sound that still made her heart stop.

She rushed into the kitchen barefoot, cursing quietly when she stepped on something sharp. “Mom? Don’t move, okay? Just stay there.”

Her mother stood frozen near the counter, one hand hovering mid-air like she still hadn’t processed it was empty. Her eyes were wide, trembling just like her fingers, and she looked at Iris like a child caught in the act. The silence between them was deafening.

“I—I didn’t mean to,” her mom stammered, voice small.

“I know. It’s okay.” Iris crouched, wincing as she carefully picked up the jagged pieces, slipping them into a dish towel. “It was just a glass. Not a big deal.”

But it was. It always was. Every dropped item, every misstep, every moment like this chipped away at the version of her mother that used to dance barefoot in the garden with a book in one hand and a coffee mug in the other. The one who used to laugh so hard she cried, who always smelled like jasmine and lemon, who swore she'd never dye her gray hair any other color because she’d “earned every one of those suckers.”

Parkinson’s didn’t care about any of that. It came in slowly, then all at once. The diagnosis four years ago had felt distant, almost abstract – like maybe it would stay manageable, like maybe they’d be the exception.

They weren’t.

Iris had lasted another semester in college before dropping out. One frantic phone call after another, one forgotten appointment, one too many bruises on her mother’s arms from “small accidents.” Her art degree could wait. Her mom couldn’t.

She stood now, tossing the broken contents in the dish towel into the trash, then wetting a paper towel to clean the floor. Her heel still throbbed, but she ignored it.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” her mom said again. “I’m just clumsy today.”

“You’re not clumsy,” Iris said gently, trying to keep the sharpness out of her voice. “You just need a little more help lately. That’s okay.”

Her mom looked away, jaw tightening in the way it always did when she felt weak. “I don’t want to be a burden.”

“You’re not.”

“I don’t want you putting your life on hold for me.”

“I’m not.” But she was. And they both knew it.

The weight of unspoken things hung in the room like smoke. It wasn’t her mother’s fault. Iris knew that. But sometimes – on the harder days, the days when she felt less like a daughter and more like a live-in nurse – it was hard not to feel a flicker of something like grief. Not just for her mom, but for herself, too. For the girl who had once dreamed of gallery walls and big city lights, who had plans to travel, to live.

Instead, she painted commissions from a converted sunroom, selling soft portraits and quiet still lifes online. She told herself it was enough. Some days it even was.

“You should go out tonight,” her mother said suddenly, her tone lighter. “It’s Friday. Go see a movie or something.”

Iris raised an eyebrow. “And leave you here to start a revolution with the kitchenware? I think not.”

Her mom cracked a smile at that – small, but real. “I’ll behave.”

“I’ll believe that when I see it.”

They shared a quiet laugh, and the tension in Iris’s chest eased just a little. These moments, rare as they were, made everything feel a little more bearable.

Then her mom’s face shifted again, this time with a flicker of curiosity. “Oh – I almost forgot. Sandra mentioned something when we talked earlier.”

Iris froze, the name unlocking something warm and slightly unsteady in her chest. “Sandra… as in Nick’s mom?”

Her mother nodded. “She said Nick’s back in town. Got in this afternoon, I think. Staying for a couple weeks.”

Iris blinked. “Really?”

“Mhm. You didn’t know?”

“We haven’t really talked lately.” That was putting it mildly. It had been a year, maybe more, since they last exchanged messages. Not out of anger, just… life. Tour schedules. Her mom’s health. All the little excuses that pile up and feel harmless until you look up and realize it’s been twelve months since you heard the voice of someone who once knew you better than anyone.

She could still see him, though – Nick at sixteen, slouched against the wall in her bedroom, his guitar across his lap as they took turns showing each other songs they’d found on obscure message boards. The boy who once spray painted art is rebellion on the side of the treehouse they built together. The boy who never judged her for being too quiet or too strange or too intense about her weird little obsessions.

Their moms had been best friends since high school. It only made sense that Iris and Nick followed suit. Childhood birthdays, scraped knees, living next to each other, summer garden parties with lemonade and sparklers. She couldn’t remember a time in her life before him.

And then came the band.

By her senior year, Nick had started to work at this tattoo shop and slowly but surely his music had taken on a life of its own. Local shows turned into regional ones. Then came the record deal, the endless touring, the festivals in Europe. He promised they’d stay in touch. And they had. At least for a while.

But life got heavy. And distance made things complicated.

Iris stared out the kitchen window now, eyes drifting toward the trees in the backyard – the ones that lined the path down to the river where the treehouse still stood, half-forgotten but never truly abandoned.

They used to meet there when Nick came home. No texts. No plans. Just… show up. That was always their thing.

Her mom must’ve noticed the shift in her expression, because she reached over – fingers shaky, but determined – and rested her hand on Iris’s. “You should go, honey. You’ve earned yourself a little magic.”

Iris looked down at their hands, her mother’s veins like faded ink against parchment. Her throat tightened, but she nodded.

Maybe just for a little while.

Maybe she’d go see if the treehouse still remembered them.

After taking care of her foot with which she had stepped into the glass, she had debated just going back to the painting she needed to finish, but before she could think she found herself outside.

The garden hadn't changed much. Not really.

The rose bushes along the fence still bloomed stubbornly, spilling petals onto the gravel path like little pink bruises. The wind chimes by the river still sang their thin, silvery song, even though the string tying them to the branch had frayed almost to nothing. Someone, probably Nick’s father, had replaced the stepping stones along the slope down to the water, but the old ones were still buried in the underbrush, half-swallowed by earth and time.

Iris’s boots crunched against the familiar path as the sky shifted into lavender. A soft, heavy quiet hung in the air, the kind that came only in early spring evenings, when the earth was still deciding whether to thaw or sleep a little longer.

She hadn’t walked this way in a long time.

Not since before her mom’s hands had started shaking bad enough that she couldn’t hold a cup of tea without spilling it. Not since the nights she sat up late listening for sudden crashes in the kitchen, heart wired on caffeine and worry. Not since the commissions slowed and the loneliness grew teeth.

Not since Nick had stopped replying to her messages.

She told herself this was a stupid idea.

And still, she kept walking.

The treehouse came into view just beyond the bend – tucked between two ancient oaks, half-hidden by the branches that had grown thick around it over the years. From a distance, it looked like a dream. Closer up, like a relic. The wood was weather-stained and moss-kissed, the faded black paint on the railing peeling like sunburned skin. But it was still there. Still standing. Somehow, that mattered.

She climbed the rope ladder one step at a time, her fingers tight on the worn, splintered rungs. The closer she got, the harder her heart pounded.

What if he was there?

What if he wasn’t?

She reached the hatch, pushed it open slowly, breath catching—

Empty.

The silence was sharper than she expected. Not the stillness of peace, but the kind that echoed, deep and lonely. She stepped inside.

The air smelled like wood dust and river water, the old and the gone. The floor creaked beneath her weight. It looked almost exactly the same – mismatched pillows scattered around the corners, their colors dulled with time; the crate they once used as a table still holding an empty soda bottle from some forgotten summer; the scratched-up walls etched with initials and bad jokes and hearts with half-worn names inside them.

She walked slowly, fingertips grazing the wood as if she could bring the memories to life just by touching them.

In the far corner, taped crookedly to the wall, the polaroids still hung – aging ghosts of their childhood, sun-bleached and slightly curled at the edges. Her chest tightened.

There they were – fourteen and wide-eyed, covered in sawdust, grinning proudly beside the half-built treehouse, Nick’s dad in the background, giving them a big grin and a thumbs up. Another one of her, sketchbook on her knees, nose scrunched in focus. One of Nick, slouched with his first bass guitar, wearing a band tee three sizes too big. Another with the two of them and Noah, Nick’s best friend since middle school—now the frontman of the band that catapulted them into something bigger than backyard shows and mixtapes.

Her gaze moved to the next photo.

Prom.

Nick in a black suit with Dina on his arm – Iris’ stomach gave a quiet twist – while she stood beside her own date, that boy from her econ class whose name she barely remembered now. They’d dated for two months, maybe three. He’d never known how to kiss her right.

Nick’s arm had been slung casually around Dina’s shoulder, his smile genuine. Iris remembered watching them dance that night, something quiet and strange unraveling inside her. She hadn’t had a word for it back then.

The final photo made her stop.

It was tucked half-behind another, almost hidden. But she knew it instantly. Her breath caught.

She and Nick. Both of them red-cheeked, wide-eyed, and flushed in a way that had nothing to do with the spring air. Fifteen. Sitting close, knees touching. Her hair messy from the wind. His hand on the floor between them, pinky just barely brushing hers.

They’d kissed that day.

Their first kiss.

It had been clumsy, sweet, unexpected. They hadn’t talked about it afterward. Hadn’t needed to. They were still best friends. That never changed.

Iris blinked and turned away, throat tight. Her old corner still had the pillow she used to drag around like a security blanket. She settled into it now, curling her legs beneath her.

Her fingers reached under the floorboard, the loose one by the back window. It gave way with a soft creak, revealing what she'd hidden there all those years ago.

Her sketchbook.

The paper was yellowed around the edges, but the pages were intact. She flipped through it slowly – portraits of Nick mid-laugh, of the river, of tangled headphones and guitar strings and a thousand little things only someone who really knew someone might’ve noticed.

She hadn't realized how often she had drawn him back then. Not really.

She reached for the pencil wedged into the spine and turned to a blank page. Her hand moved almost instinctively – soft strokes, a curve of a cheek, a tilt of a head. She sketched without thinking, without trying to make it perfect.

So lost in it, she didn’t hear the ladder creak. Didn’t notice the sound of someone climbing up, each step hesitant.

Not until—

“Still hate drawing hands?”

Her heart stopped.

She looked up, pencil frozen mid-line.

Nick stood in the open hatch, bathed in gold from the last of the sunset. His curls were a little shorter now, the stubble on his face quite noticeable, eyes still the same stupid perfect greyish blue that had haunted her sketchbooks for years.

He looked tired. Older, maybe. But he still looked like him.

She blinked, disoriented. “What?”

He stepped inside, letting the hatch close behind him. “You used to complain about hands all the time. Said they were ‘stupidly shaped spaghetti forks.’ Still true?”

“I…” she swallowed, closing the sketchbook quickly. “Yeah. Still true.”

He smiled, and for a moment, it was just like breathing again. “Hey, trouble.”

“Hey, rockstar.”

That broke the ice just enough for her to breathe.

He crossed the room slowly, lowering himself into the opposite corner like he’d never been gone. His gaze swept over the room once, then landed back on her.

“I wasn’t sure you’d come,” he said softly.

She shrugged, picking at the spiral binding of her sketchbook. “Neither was I.”

A long pause.

The silence was different now. Not empty. Not aching. Just full.

“I come back here sometimes when I’m home,” Nick admitted. “When no one’s around.”

“Looks like we both still do that,” she said, glancing at the photos. “It hasn’t changed much.”

“No,” he said, eyes flicking to the wall. “Except us.”

Her chest pulled tight. “You look different.”

“So do you.”

She nodded, unsure of what else to say. She could feel questions behind her ribs like stones in her lungs. Are you still with Dina? Why didn’t you text me back or visit? Why does it still hurt when I look at you?

Instead, she said, “Your mom told mine you were coming back.”

“I was gonna reach out,” he said. “I mean—I wanted to. I just didn’t know if…”

“If I’d want to talk to you?”

Nick looked at her, really looked at her. “Yeah.”

Iris smiled faintly, tired. “You’re an idiot.”

He laughed under his breath. “Still a good friend, though.”

She met his eyes. “You were more than that.”

A heartbeat. Maybe two.

“I know,” he said, voice barely above a whisper.

The fading light filtered in through the cracked wooden slats, turning everything into gold and dust and memory. Iris looked at him – really looked at him – and saw not just the boy he had been, but the man who had lived a whole other life. Who had played to large crowds. Who had disappeared from her world but never left her thoughts.

She looked down at her sketchbook, then held it out.

He took it without hesitation, flipping through the pages with a quiet reverence. When he reached the drawing she’d just started, he smiled.

“You still draw me with better hair than I actually have.”

“I’m romanticizing.”

“I like it.”

He looked up at her again, something shifting behind his eyes. “You know, I found your last message a few months ago. The one you sent after the second album came out.”

“You never replied.”

“I know. I read it like a hundred times, though. Just… didn’t know how to say what I wanted to say.”

She tilted her head. “And now?”

He set the sketchbook down. Moved a little closer. Not too much. Just enough.

“Now I’m here,” he said. “And I’ve been thinking about this place. About you. About us.”

Her heart beat in her throat.

“You left,” she said, not accusing – just honest.

“And I regret the way I did,” he replied. “Every damn day.”

They sat like that, the space between them humming with every word unspoken.

Outside, the wind picked up. The chimes sang again.

And Iris reached for her pencil.

“Fine,” she said. “But if you’re going to be back in my life, I’m drawing your stupid spaghetti fork hands.”

Nick laughed, the sound low and soft, and settled beside her. “Deal.”

Nick shifted beside her, his long legs stretching out across the floorboards as if he hadn’t spent the last few years on tour buses and stage sets. He glanced toward the far corner of the treehouse, then pushed himself up with a small, satisfied grunt.

“Hang on,” he said, walking across the room. “Bet this thing’s still here…”

Iris watched him curiously as he crouched beside an old crate covered in dust and spiderwebs. He pulled the lid open and reached inside, rummaging for a moment before letting out a triumphant noise.

“Aha!” He stood, holding a worn cardboard box above his head. “You ready to lose again?”

She raised an eyebrow. “Nick, be real. I beat you at Jenga 90% of the time.”

“I let you win.”

“You had no coordination then. You knocked it over with your elbow once.”

He held up a hand dramatically. “That’s slander. You have no proof.”

“I bet Noah could be a key witness to this case.” Iris grinned despite herself, and he dropped the box between them. The sides were dented, the top flap nearly torn off, and a few of the wooden pieces clattered loose onto the floor. She picked one up, thumb brushing over the faded ink – her messy handwriting from years ago still faintly visible: You owe me one soda.

“You remember we used to write dares or bets on these?” she asked.

Nick smirked. “Yeah. You once made me drink pickle juice and ketchup mixed together.”

She laughed. “I forgot about that.”

“I haven’t,” he said darkly. “Scarred for life.”

They started stacking the tower, their hands moving instinctively. The old rhythm slipped back into place as easily as breathing. Nick hummed a little under his breath as he worked, a tune she didn’t quite recognize but one that made her heart feel like it was moving in time with it anyway.

They played the first few rounds without talking much, just laughing softly whenever one of them made a risky move. Iris was reminded of all the summer nights they’d done this before – sprawled across beanbags and old quilts, late-night snacks and shared secrets. It hadn’t felt this easy in so long.

“Alright,” Nick said, peering at the tower like it had personally offended him. “This one’s gonna be legendary.”

Iris raised an eyebrow. “You’re going to knock it over, aren’t you?”

“Faith, Iris. Have a little.”

He reached in slowly, very deliberately, tongue poking out slightly in concentration. The block started to slide… then wobbled… and–

Crash.

The whole thing toppled like a slow-motion collapse. Blocks scattered across the floor with a soft chorus of thuds.

Iris let out a mock gasp. “Unbelievable. You’ve dishonored the house.”

Nick groaned, flopping back against the wall dramatically. “I swear that one was loose a second ago.”

“I swear you’ve gotten worse at this,” she said, laughing as she gathered a few blocks into a small pile. Then her smile faded just a little, and she glanced at him. “So… how’s life been?”

He looked over at her. That same open expression, the one he’d always had when it was just them. “Busy,” he said. “But good. We’re recording our third album right now. Back in LA most of the time.”

“Third already?”

“Yeah. Feels weird,” he said with a shrug. “I still wake up sometimes expecting to be back in Noah’s garage, y’know? Where we were just screaming lyrics into the cheapest mic we could find and praying the neighbors wouldn’t call the cops.”

Iris smiled softly. “I miss hearing you guys practice in your basement.”

“I miss that too,” he said, voice quieter. “Things are louder now. Bigger. But not always better.”

She leaned back against a pillow, arms resting on her knees. “Do you like it, though? The touring and stuff?”

Nick thought for a second, then nodded. “Yeah. I mean, I love the music. And being on stage – it’s like breathing fire. But sometimes it’s just… lonely.”

He didn’t elaborate, but he didn’t need to. The words hung between them like something fragile.

He shifted his weight, expression softening. “How’s your mom?”

The question tugged her gently back down to earth.

“She’s… okay,” Iris said carefully. “Some days are worse. The tremors have been stronger lately. She still tries to do everything by herself, even when her hands can’t hold things steady.”

Nick’s brows pulled together, his concern quiet but sincere.

“She dropped a glass earlier,” Iris added after a moment. “Almost refused to let me clean it up. Got upset when she noticed how often it is happening. Said she doesn’t want to be a burden.’”

Nick looked at her for a long time. “You’re doing so much.”

“She’s my mom,” she said simply. “She raised me on her own. I had to be there when things got hard.”

He nodded slowly, remembering how Iris and her mother had stayed at their place for a week after her dad had passed away, because everything in their home reminded them of him. He remembered how Iris, despite being just ten years old at the time, had stayed up every night until her mother had finally fallen asleep. His voice was low when he answered. “You’ve always been like that. You take care of people.”

She glanced down, fidgeting with one of the Jenga blocks.

There was a stretch of silence, not uncomfortable, just full. Then Nick leaned forward, his eyes catching the last light filtering in through the slats before turning on the fairy lights that were mounted on the wall.

“Are you…” he hesitated, shifting the topic. “Are you seeing anyone at the moment?”

Her head lifted, surprised.

“What?”

“Just wondering,” he said quickly. “I mean, it’s been a while. Since… everything.”

She shook her head, lips twitching into a small smile. “No. Not really much time. Or energy.”

“Not even the guy from – what was his name, the one with the bandana obsession?”

Iris laughed, covering her mouth. “God, Marcus. That was years ago. He thought Radiohead was a punk band.”

Nick snorted. “Criminal behavior.”

She tilted her head slightly, then asked, “What about you? Are you and Dina still…?”

Nick’s smile faded a little. “No. We broke up. About six months ago.”

“Oh.”

“She’s great,” he said quickly, like he felt the need to defend it. “We just weren’t working anymore. Different lives, different… everything.”

Iris nodded. “Sorry.”

He looked at her, then, and it was different this time – soft, searching. “Don’t be.”

The light in the treehouse was dim now, dusk pressing in from every angle, turning the space into something warm and dreamlike.

He nudged her foot with his own. “Hey.”

“Yeah?”

“I’m really glad you came.”

She smiled, heart skipping. “Me too.”

Neither of them said anything for a while after that. But the silence felt full of something. Of laughter, of old Jenga dares, of polaroids stuck to the wall like bookmarks of the past. Of a first kiss, and a thousand almosts.

Eventually, Iris reached for the Jenga box again.

“Best out of three?”

Nick’s grin lit up the shadows.

“Prepare to lose.”

Time slipped away as the two were focused on their games. Their first match, Iris had won but quickly offered to go again. 

Iris pulled her knees up, laughing as Nick groaned, watching his last Jenga block topple the tower with a dramatic crash.

"That's three rounds to me," she said, grinning triumphantly. “Again.”

Nick leaned back against the wall, arms folded. "You're cheating somehow."

"It's called skill," Iris teased, nudging the scattered blocks with her foot. The same easy banter they'd always had wrapped around them like a soft blanket, familiar and safe.

The treehouse creaked gently in the breeze. Around them, everything smelled of sun-warmed wood and the faint, lingering scent of pine. Dust motes floated lazily in the air.

"Man, we were so obsessed with this place," Nick said, looking around. His gaze softened. "Feels smaller now."

"That's because you're bigger now," Iris pointed out, bumping her shoulder with his.

He smiled. That old shy smile that still did things to her heart, even though her stubbornness would never let her admit that.

Iris's eyes landed on an old shoebox wedged behind a pile of abandoned comic books and a deflated football.

"No way," she said, crawling over and tugging it free. It was dusty and battered, the lid barely holding together. A piece of masking tape on top read: The Vault in her messy teenage scrawl.

Nick's eyebrows shot up. "Is that..."

"Our old note box!" she said, a bubble of excitement rising in her chest. "Remember? Before we left for the night, we had to write something. Anything. And throw it in."

"Right," Nick laughed, sitting up straighter. "Sometimes it was just dumb stuff like 'I'm hungry' or ‘Noah stinks.'"

"That was an important observation," Iris said seriously.

She pried off the lid. Inside was a chaotic mess of folded paper scraps, receipts, gum wrappers – anything they could scribble on. She pulled out a handful and offered it to Nick.

"Pick your poison," she said.

He grinned and selected a folded napkin. Iris watched as he unfolded it carefully.

"'If I die young, bury me with a slice of pizza'" he read solemnly, before bursting out laughing.

Iris snorted. "That was definitely you."

"I'd still want that," Nick said, pretending to be serious.

She grabbed a yellowed Post-it note and unfolded it.

"'I think I could live in a treehouse forever. No bills. No drama. Just books and pizza.'"

"See? Pizza again. Consistent branding," Nick said, tapping his temple.

They traded notes back and forth, the pile slowly shrinking. Some were hilarious – inside jokes about TV shows, sarcastic haikus about school. Some were ordinary – "Had a good day today" or "Hope the math test isn't too brutal."

Every once in a while, a heavier note surfaced – a half-scribbled worry about the future, a quiet "Today sucked but I'm glad you're here."

Those they read more quietly, smiling at each other without saying much.

Iris was about to pull another scrap when her fingers brushed against something different – a slightly heavier paper, more carefully folded.

Curious, she plucked it from the bottom of the box.

The paper was worn, but the ink was still sharp. Dated at the corner: June 14th.

Her heart gave a small, inexplicable lurch. That was the summer Nick left for L.A.

She unfolded it slowly.

The message was short. Only seven words.

If you asked, I'd stay.

The air shifted around them.

Iris stared at the words, her stomach twisting. Her mind flashed back to that night – the farewell party everyone threw in Nick's backyard. How she’d hugged him here and said, "Go be a star, dummy," while swallowing down everything she really wanted to say.

"What'd you find?" Nick asked casually, stacking the Jenga blocks back into a pile.

She hesitated, then held the note out to him.

Nick took it, his fingers brushing hers. She watched his face as he read it. Watched the change – the way the easy smile faded, replaced by something more raw.

He looked up at her, and for a moment, neither of them said a word.

"You wrote that," she said, her voice too soft.

Nick nodded slowly. "Yeah."

"Why didn't you…?" She trailed off, unable to finish the sentence.

He blew out a slow breath, setting the note down between them.

"I thought you wanted me to go," he said finally. "You were so brave about it. So… happy for me. I figured if you needed me to stay, you'd say something."

"I didn't want to hold you back," Iris whispered.

"You wouldn't have," he said immediately. His voice cracked a little. "You were never 'holding me back,' Iris. You were… you were everything."

The treehouse felt too small suddenly, too full of all the things they'd never said.

Nick leaned forward, his hand covering the note like he was anchoring it to the floor. His other hand lifted, hesitated for half a second, then brushed a strand of hair behind Iris's ear.

"I would've stayed," he said again, more quietly. "In a heartbeat."

Iris blinked rapidly, her throat thick. She reached up, her fingers finding his wrist.

"You idiot," she whispered, half laughing, half trying to hide how her eyes started to become glossy.

And then she looked at him. 

Nick was already looking at her, his expression raw, uncertain — like he was balancing on the edge of a decision. Iris could feel the air between them hum, so thick she could barely pull in a breath.

Slowly, like he didn’t want to spook her, Nick leaned in. His forehead brushed hers, the softest touch, barely there. His hand slid from her hair to the side of her neck, his thumb grazing her jawline. She shivered under the contact, her fingers still wrapped around his wrist like a lifeline.

For a long moment, neither of them moved further.

Their breathing synced, shallow and quick, and Iris felt her heart hammering against her ribs so hard she was sure Nick could feel it too. Her gaze flicked down to his mouth — that same mouth that used to tease her mercilessly, now only inches from hers, and suddenly it wasn’t funny anymore. It was terrifying. It was everything.

He paused, giving her every chance to pull away. She didn’t.

Instead, she tilted her chin up the slightest bit, a silent answer.

Nick closed the last bit of distance, brushing his lips against hers in a kiss so light, so careful, it barely even registered at first. Just a breath of a kiss, full of all the things they'd held back for too long.

Iris felt herself sway forward instinctively, deepening it, and Nick responded with a soft, broken sound in the back of his throat that made something inside her snap.

The next kiss was messier, hungrier. Years of missed chances and swallowed feelings poured out between them.

Without thinking, Iris shifted onto her knees and then into his lap, straddling him. Nick’s hands immediately found her hips, holding her steady like he thought she might vanish if he let go. His fingers dug into the soft denim of her jeans, not rough but desperate, grounding himself.

Iris cupped his face between her palms, angling his mouth to hers, kissing him harder. She felt his breath hitch as she shifted her weight, fitting closer, and he pulled her tighter against him, his hands sliding up under the hem of her T-shirt to rest against the warm skin at the small of her back.

Nick kissed like he was memorizing her — slow at first, then faster, deeper, as if he couldn’t get close enough. Iris matched him, her fingers threading into his hair, tugging just a little. That made him groan quietly against her lips, and the sound shot straight through her, making her dizzy.

They broke apart for half a second, panting. Their foreheads stayed pressed together.

Nick's eyes were wide, pupils blown dark, his chest rising and falling rapidly under her hands. 

"Iris," he rasped, like her name was the only thing he could hold onto and the only thing that she needed to hear to understand. 

She smiled shakily, brushing her nose against his.

"Yeah," she whispered back, voice breaking a little with the flood of emotion pressing at her ribs. "Me too."

Nick kissed her again, harder this time, and Iris let herself fall into it — no fear, no regrets. Just the two of them, finally, in the treehouse that had seen them through every other moment except this one.

His hands roamed up her sides, her back, like he couldn’t decide where he needed to touch her most. She kissed him like she was trying to make up for every second they'd spent apart, and Nick responded, pulling her impossibly closer until there was no space left between them.

The treehouse creaked gently under their weight, but neither of them cared. 

The world could’ve crumbled around them right then and Iris wouldn’t have noticed. Everything she’d ever wanted, everything she’d ever been scared to ask for — it was right here, in Nick’s arms, in the way he kissed her like she'd been the center of his universe all along.

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ dividers by @saradika-graphics

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ taglist: @ladyveronikawrites @sitkowski @deathblacksmoke @fadingangelwisp

@lacy1986 @xmads-omensx @concretejunglefm @bugseatmesoon

@darksigns-exe @circle-with-me @bluehairpunklol @devilsfuckingdance @pipidoll

[stellisketches]

Random MCD Headcanons that have nothing to do with anything (Part 5???)

Sorry I haven't made any real posts in forever. My drawing phone broke and college has been a bitch so i haven't really gotten the chance to make anything (though I finally made some more progress on the next chapter of my rewrite). In any case, please accept this next installment of head canons I wrote like 10 months ago and completely forgot about in lieu of anything that requires actual talent. Love y'all:

Laurance lost an incisor tooth in a fistfight when he was 19

When he got turned into a shadowknight it grew back, now he purposefully goes out of his way to loose teeth just cause he knows he can grow back an unlimited supply

Hayden has a cat named Bog Butter. He’s the color of butter and he found him in the bog. 

Vylad’s favorite vegetable is avocado

There are three major guard academies in Ru’aun: one in O’Khasis, one in Scaleswind, and one in Bright Port. 

Bright Port’s is the largest and most well known

O’Khasis’ is the most prestigious

Scaleswind’s academy is the most difficult

The bare minimum age to join is 14, though most people join between 16-19

Every guard must have a minimum of 2 years training to earn the actual title of Guard, however to serve in O’Khasis you need a minimum of 4 and for Scaleswind a minimum of 5. 

Part of that training includes apprenticeship, so they do get some in-field experience with their mentors (think unpaid intern)

Technically you can train for up to 8 years, however most people only train for 2-5.

Garroth was in academy for 3-4 (although to be fair he had been trained in sword fighting since he was like 9)

Laurance went for 5 years and Dante went for 6 ½ 

Dante lied about his age when he enlisted though

He was barely thirteen

Both went to the Bright Port Academy however they were in different divisions at different times since Dante is younger, so they really only saw each other in passing and never actually talked to one another

The only personal interaction they ever had was one time at the academy Laurance was trying to get back to his dorm after a night of copious drinking and partying and could barely walk out the front door of the bar. Dante (who was pretty tipsy himself) ended up half-carrying back to Laurance’s dorm before going back to his own. Neither of them remember this. 

Katelyn’s two older brothers’ names are Kaj and Khareem

Khareem is the oldest, then Kaj, then Katelyn, then Kacey

Occasionally, when he is absolutely, positively, 100% sure he is alone, Zane will sing to himself sometimes

Dante once did a Zane impression in front of everyone and Garroth got so freaked out by how realistic it sounded he made Dante swear he’d never do that voice around him again. 

The worst argument Kenmur and Emmalyn ever had during their marriage was whether their system was heliocentric or geocentric (Kenmur argued the former and Emmalyn argued the latter)

In most colleges across Ru’Aun, there is usually some statue of Enki that students will leave offerings to before their big exams

Offerings vary, but it’s usually something like food, money, trinkets, or paper. It varies on how important the exam/how desperate the students are

Kenmur went to one of these colleges for a few years

One time he fell asleep the night before his final exam and he woke up like an hour before his exam was supposed to take place and in a fit of panic he dumped his entire wallet in front of the statue. He passed with flying colors.

One time at the Narhakan college someone left a life-sized horse statue made out of gold. No one has any idea where it came from or who left it. It’s become kind of an urban legend among all the colleges

Zenix never learned how to read and by god he isn’t about to wimp out now

Garroth tried to teach him once and it… did not go well

Let’s just say Garroth still owes Emmalyn a book from that incident. And a new table. 

Zianna came from the same region that Esmund was native to

Katelyn absolutely despises the feeling of sand in her shoes

Dmitri and Nekoette raided the Bright Port guard academy kitchen the first night they got sworn in

Dmitri also had to go to the infirmary after getting shot in the arm by one of Nekoette’s loose arrows

Laurance can play the piano and used to play it at some of the taverns in Meteli

Levin and Malachi both know a good bit of Elvish thanks to spending so much time in Yggdrasil

They switch to Elvish for the majority of their arguments

[seongminiz]

hotdemonsummoner . com - kang minhee

minors dni ; demon dom!minhee x human sub!reader ; 2.4k words

warnings : fem reader , dubcon , not rlly proof read (thats my trademark atp) , reader is an idiot and a monsterfucker (just like me fr)(very mild monsterfucking btw bc he literally looks human with horns like ..) , crack-ish in the first half but i swear it gets smutty quick , minhee is kinda mean , spit (minhees spit works as an aphrodisiac ehegegheh), its just messy overall , unprotected sex , breeding but its not rlly breeding but ,, whatever , possessive minhee [pretends to be surprised] , manhandling , size kink , strength kink (reader is referred to fragile/small but its just in proportion to a literal demon n has nothing to do with how she looks !), oral (f receiving) , biting , marking , dumbification ? , praise , dacryphilia , minhee calls reader 'little human' (giggling kicking my feet) . hopefully i didnt forget anything

tagging my lovely @ajaxsbeloved hope u like this 🫶🏻

the warning list is ,,, long . it might be a little cringe but i literally give zero fucks‼️⁉️ but i do feel like the smut part kinda sucks but also it might be that im just sad while posting this n its affecting how i view my work idk ANYWAYS wrote this while i had a cold n then a mosquito bit me on the eye so any and all mistakes r bc of that real no clickbait . had so much fun writing this uhhh happy spooky season idk i want demon!minhee in a way that is concerning to feminism lesbianism and my gender identity amen

demon!minhee whom you not so accidentally summoned in your room one uneventful night.

you're bored to death. your favorite show hasn't had a new episode in weeks, all your friends are busy - studying for exams, working, on dates while you're sitting in your lonely bedroom, staring at the ceiling as if it'll solve all your problems in life.

you start considering it might be able to do that when, out of nowhere, you're reminded of the stupid website you visited a few days ago with your friend when she was sleeping over at your place. something about the occult, hot demons and summoning rituals. you grab your phone, opening an incognito tab and typing the link you somehow remember by heart (hotdemonsummoner.com? seriously?)

if this was a horror movie you'd probably be dead in the first ten minutes. you grab a pen, paper and a candle - the tutorial talked about multiple small ones, but you'll have to make do with the cinnamon scented ikea christmas candle that has been sitting on your desk for at the very least three years. and once you're done, you wait for the magic to happen.

five minutes later, there's no sign of any hot demon summoned instantly in your room. you're pretty sure- no, you're certain the problem was the candle. either that, or the site is complete bullshit, but you refuse to believe that. there's no other explanation, screw ikea and their stupid christmas candles.

you sigh, placing everything back where it belongs and letting yourself fall on the bed, picking up your phone just to be met once again by no notification, no nothing, just that stupid 'SUMMON A HOT DEMON INSTANTLY!' title in neon pink with a little devil gif floating right beside it, mockingly staring back at you.

that's when you see something from the corner of your eye, a shadow sliding across the wall. it's probably just the light outside hitting a tree weirdly and casting a creepy shadow, no big deal. but there's no trees outside your window, you're a broke college student who lives in a sad gray apartment complex in an equally sad and gray city.

you gather enough courage to look up from the screen of your phone, your eyes slowly adjusting from its blinding brightness to the darkness of your surroundings. at first you don't see anything, half tempted to turn your phone flashlight on. and then you make eye contact.

he looks just as confused as you are when he quite literally spawns in front of your bed. the normal human reaction would have probably been to scream, instead you just gasp in surprise, followed by a small 'oh.' as you look at him with wide eyes. he takes slow, calculated steps towards you and you have half a mind to hastily turn off your phone, hiding it under a pillow.

'what the fuck?' you say under your breath, studying his figure. if this isn't some extremely technologically advanced burglary and you're not having an expired candle fumes induced hallucination, then this is the demon you tried to summon. and he's actually hot, which means the website was not a scam and the candle is the problem. he seems to read your exclamation and general confusion as a question on why he's there. 'you summoned me.' he explains, taking yet another step towards you.

'no! wait! don't get close!' you order, your self defense weapon of choice being the pen you used to summon him. 'listen,' you start, raising your hands defensively 'i did not think the random summon a hot demon instantly tutorial i found on a sketchy website would actually... well, summon a hot demon instantly.' the creature - minhee, you don't know how you got his name, if he telepathically shared with you or what - raises an eyebrow, amusement clear on his face. 'so you think i'm hot?'

'no! i mean yes! but like not in a i want to fuck you way! just in a... you're an objectively beautiful man- demon, sorry, way...?' you can feel your body temperature rising, getting restless under his unwavering stare. and minhee can feel it too, he can hear the way your heartbeat hasn't calmed down for a second and he can see how your thighs have been clenched together ever since he appeared. his eyes linger for a few more seconds on them, observing the way your shorts ride up everytime you anxiously squirm under his gaze.

'so, little human, why would you want to summon a hot demon instantly? is there anything in particular you need from me?' the nickname has your stomach doing backflips, you swallow thickly before speaking 'will you steal my soul if i say yes? take it as a payment for whatever favor i may ask?' the demon laughs, leaning down so his face is just a breath away from yours. 'not really. i could make an exception for a pretty girl like you,' his eyes flicker to your lips for a split second, so fast you don't even notice it.

thing is, minhee usually does feed off of human souls, but there's something about you that's telling him to not do it just yet, wait it out and see how it goes. maybe he could feed off of something else, something he doesn't get to do that often nowadays. surprising, but the monsterfucker demographic - even the milder ones who would only ever go as far as fucking his semi-human form - is basically an endangered species nowadays.

before you can answer with what favor you actually need (not that you'd actually know what to ask.. what, were you going to offer him to play UNO or something?) minhee's hands are on top of your thighs, spreading them slightly as he presses his lips to yours. you shiver at the cold sensation of his skin, way too cold for a human, and minhee can hear your heartbeat quickening, as you weakly grab his wrists in a failed attempt to get him off of you - or at the very least slow down the process of whatever is going on.

minhee finds your fighting amusing, he knows no human could ever overpower him physically, let alone a little fragile thing like you, but he still indulges in giving you the small hope you could break free from his hold, just to take it away immediately after. one of his hands leaves your thigh to grab both of your wrists, pinning them over your head, the other one staying on your thigh, pushing it to spread even more as his thumb runs along the hem of your shorts.

his mouth is on you once again, and this time minhee forces his tongue past your lips - the tip of it is slightly pointed, not enough to actually hurt you in any way but enough to make you wonder what exactly it could do. you panic for a second, just for everything to slow down, your body relaxing under minhee as the arousal between your legs grows tenfold, you can feel your panties sticking to you and minhee doesn't give you an answer once you look up at him in confusion, your eyes welling up with tears. you can barely come up with a coherent sentence, 'wha- what did you do?' you manage to stutter out, every word getting harder to say as your mind slips, you don't even know where.

minhee's hand leaves your thigh, going to gently wipe the tears that started running down your cheeks. 'mh, that's interesting,' he says, more to himself than to you, fingers sliding down your face to lightly brush against your lips. 'i've used this on other humans before, but their reaction was never this strong.' you don't have time to ask what exactly 'this' is - you don't even know if you have the brain power to do it, really - as minhee forces your mouth open and spits in it. you gasp at his action, but still end up swallowing, your body shuddering with another wave of what could only be described as raw pleasure.

you don't know how he's doing that, but you feel pathetic, getting this horny over someone who hasn't even touched you yet shouldn't be normal. but, honestly, what exactly is normal about a demon appearing in your room and trying to fuck you?

your shorts have been discarded somewhere in your room, and your panties are quick to encounter the same fate - not before getting ripped off of you, to which you whine in disappointment, but minhee cuts you off saying something about you 'not needing them when you're with him' you don't really pay any mind to.

he takes his time with you, biting your thighs to the point you're sure you're bleeding, and then running his tongue along the small cuts he caused, letting whatever the obscure substance mixed with his spit is enter your bloodstream in a matter of seconds, reducing you to even more of an incoherent mess.

when minhee finally gets to eating you out, it all escalates far too quickly for your slowed down brain. for a second he's sucking on your clit, and then he's fucking you with his tongue, reaching spots a human could never dream to reach with their mouth alone. the stimulation is too much, your hands search for any kind of support, something you can grab onto, your fingers running through his hair and pulling slightly before minhee grabs your wrists, moving your hands to hold onto his horns instead and letting out a groan when you do so.

he works on you until you're on the brink of consciousness, until you've lost count of how many times you already came - around three, probably, but they feel like ten times that when each orgasm is more intense than the other and your perception of reality is fading with it. minhee notices it, ignoring your pleas about it being 'too much' and how u 'cant take more' and slipping two of his pretty slender fingers in your sopping cunt. you sob, shaking your head as you uselessly try to squirm away from his touch, subsiding to the unbearable pleasure just a few seconds later.

'already tired, little human? how are you going to take my cock if you can't last a few rounds with my tongue and fingers? maybe you don't want it that bad, then,' he's just fucking with you, deep down you know it, but the thought of minhee just leaving you like this after everything he's done is enough for you to desperately shake your head as you grab his free hand - a far too intimate gesture for this whole 'fucking a random demon you just summoned out of boredom' situation you've found yourself in - pulling him into yet another kiss that leaves the both of you breathless. you never knew it would happen in your lifetime, but you managed to make a demon, a being who doesn't need to breathe, breathless.

'is that convincing enough?' you whisper in a split second of lucidity, your mind and body already subsiding to the effects of his spit you might as well have grown addicted to, half tempted to kiss him again and only interrupted by minhee slowly slipping his fingers out of you. your complaints about it are short lived, so focused on the emptiness between your legs you don't realize minhee has pulled out his cock until his tip is pressing past your entrance.

the stretch is almost unbearable, despite all the time minhee spent overstimulating you he's still too big, and you tell him exactly that in an attempt to slow him down. it only feeds minhee's ego more, though, he chuckles as he pins your hips to the bed, telling you to 'stay fucking still and just take it,' forcing his whole size inside of u until he bottoms out. you've never felt this full, struggling to even breathe as the feeling of minhee inside of you overcomes all your senses.

minhee gives you no time to adjust to the way his cock is stretching you out, immediately thrusting into you and reaching even deeper. all your pleas for him to go slower fall to deaf years, quickly being replaced by the moans you're struggling to quiet down. it's not long before you're getting close again, still sensitive from all your previous orgasms.

'need to cum' you whine, your hips buck up to meet minhee's, feeling his tip hit spots you never knew existed. he chuckles, slowing his thrusts until a fresh wave of tears is filling your eyes at the idea of being denied of your release. 'you need to?' his tone is mocking, but you're so fucked out you can't notice it, quickly nodding 'yeah, need to cum all over your cock.' that's all it takes for minhee to pick up his pace again, aim even deeper than before and have you quickly approaching your high as you incoherently moan his name.

you feel like your soul has been ripped out of your body, gone through each and every layer of hell, and then put back where it belongs. your legs shake as minhee keeps mercilessly fucking you, mumbling something about how he's going to 'fill you up and keep you forever' that, even in your fucked out state, slightly alarms you, your hands pushing at his shoulders to no avail just to be once again pinned above your head.

minhee knows it's physically impossible for a demon to breed a human, and yet, the idea of somehow making you his through it sounds so appealing, as you sob in overstimulation and keep begging him to pull out. he might be aware of there being no consequences if he cums inside, but what would a human like you know? the way you squirm under him, trying to convince him to pull out is almost endearing.

'you're so well behaved, little human, it would be a shame to let all the results of your hard work go to waste, right?' you keep shaking your head, a high pitched moan leaving you as minhee finally cums deep inside of you, tightly pressed against your cervix to make sure you're marked by him, completely ruined for anyone else who'll ever try to fuck you.

minhee doesn't know why he did that, despite having no plans to keep you he still found himself desiring, needing to claim you as his little human. as he stills inside you, minhee thinks that maybe, just maybe, he might bring you 'back home' with him.

[larchwood]

Pen Pals

So I was cleaning out my work computer this week (in case I get axed by The big Cheeto and his puppet master), and I found this Ty & Zane drabble I started years ago.

Pen pals

4th grade

“Alright class, get out your paper and pencils. We’ve got a new project to work on today!”

Tyler obediently did as the teacher asked, hoping the new project would be something way cool like drawing dinosaurs. He fidgeted a little while the slower kids in the class took too long to get ready.

“Thank you, class. You all are great at following directions!” Ms. Clancy praised them. Ty nodded his head. Yep, he was good at following directions. His daddy made sure he did. “A good Marine always follows orders!”

“Now, my best friend in college is also a teacher. She went to Texas after college to teach there. And she and I decided to collaborate on an assignment together.” She paused to deal with hands that shot up in the air.

“What does ‘collbrate’ mean, Ms. Clancy?” “Coll-AB-or-ate, Kelly,” she enunciated slowly and clearly. “It means to work together. My friend, Ms. Lassiter, teaches 4th graders too. So we decided that we’d have our two classes be pen pals together for the rest of the school year.”

The next flurry of hands waved in the air.

“Pen pals are friends who write letters to each other,” she plowed on. “You’ll each get paired up with a boy or girl that you’ll send letters and cards to. You can tell them about yourself, and he or she will answer and tell you about themselves. That way, you can learn about them and what it’s like to grow up in Texas, and they’ll learn about you and what it’s like to grow up in West Virginia.”

She passed out names on construction paper. Ty’s eyes widen when he got his pen pal’s name. “Zane Garrett.” He poked his neighbor to get his attention and waved the paper in his face. “Look at my name! It starts with a Z! That’s so cool! I didn’t know there were names that started with the letter Z! What name did you get?”

The boys and girls in the class chattered as they tried to pronounce their pen pals’ names. Ms. Clancy gave them a few minutes to settle down as she wrote some sentences on the chalk board.

“Okay, class. Letters have parts to them – a beginning, a middle and an end. The beginning of the letter is the greeting. So everyone at the top of the page on the left, I want you to write the word “Hello,” followed by a comma.” She waited until everyone had that part down.

“Since this our first letter to our new pen pals, we want to introduce ourselves. This will be our middle section of the letter. I’ve written some sentences on the board that you can use in your letter if you can’t think of any of your own. Everyone needs to write down five sentences in your letter. You can tell them your name, what your favorite color is, what you like to do for fun, what your favorite movie or book is. You can tell them anything you can think of, but you need to write five sentences, okay?” There was some groaning at that. Five sentences was a LOT.

“After you’re done with your sentences, the end part is the farewell. You’ll sign your name at the bottom of the letter, okay? Then I’ll collect them all and mail them all together to Ms. Lassiter. Once she gets them and hands them out, her students will write back to you. Okay? So let’s get started! If you need help spelling a word, just raise your hand quietly and I’ll come give you a hand.”

I can barely remember where this was going to go. I think a few scenes of letters through the years. Then video chats. Finally they end up going to space camp or something together, (that one time at space camp) around the age of 15, get all blushy and giggly and shy for each other. Go to each other's proms, then go to college together, then fade to black?

Maybe one day.....

[writingonleaves]

bundles of flowers (we'll wade through the hours of cold) - brock boeser

pairing: brock boeser x original female character

warnings: literally nothing, lots of fluff, flower research i did two years ago, not proofread

title: “promise" by ben howard

word count: 2.7k

author’s note: dug up a creative writing piece i wrote two years ago for a class and tweaked it a bit to create this. happy holidays to all. hope you all enjoy <3

*****

It’s a routine.

When Amber Chen was a young girl, she spent most days after school at Petals Lab & Design, zooming through the front door into her father’s waiting arms, chattering about the meal she had whipped up in the play kitchen at Kindergarten that day. Customers would fawn at her pigtails as she hid shyly behind her father or skipped behind the counter and hoisted herself up on a stool, munching on apple slices her mother had cut.

During her high school days, she would be sure to lock her car twice, twirling her keys around her pointer finger as she walked in. She’d drop her backpack, placing her iced green tea in the center of the counter. If the shop was filled with customers, she’d go into the back room and check the whiteboard filled with her father’s scrawl. If the shop was empty, she’d lean her head on her chin while listening as her parents rattled on about shipments or what was going to for dinner that night. On Mondays and Fridays, it was just her and Xavier or Willow in the shop. On those afternoons, she blasted the music a little louder, swayed her hips a little bolder and dragged whichever poor soul was working that day into a dramatic dance that always left both of them laughing. 

Once Amber went to college, she still found herself coming in every other Sunday to help out, with a sample of whatever baked good she had made that week, an iced green tea, a hot black coffee and a cappuccino. Her mother would always roll her eyes, before reaching for a cookie or cupcake or brownie, chewing it thoughtfully for a couple of seconds and scrunching up her nose. 

“This is too sweet,” she’d say, or, “Too much chocolate.” 

Her father would then wander out, taking a small sip of his coffee first before placing a gentle kiss in her hair. 

“Missed you. How are classes?” Before she could answer, he would always get distracted by something else, whether it be a customer, a phone call or the sudden epiphany of remembering something he had to do hours ago. 

Amber knows that a bouquet of lilies was always acceptable for a funeral or that corsages cost $30 on average, and that yes, they can find a flower color to match the dress. She could rattle off cost estimation for bouquets by the time she was 13. She even finds herself from time to time sitting across from couples at a table tucked in the back corner of their shop, pulling out wrinkled papers to consult them about the floral arrangements for their wedding. 

One hot morning in July, she’s left completely alone to open the shop. Her parents are helping with preparations at a large wedding. She had decided to play one of her favorite playlists over the speakers, soft guitar plucking and the honey-like voice of John Mayer accompanying the routine of putting out the flowers that had arrived that morning. The music’s louder than usual, as people usually flock in about an hour after opening.

But this time, the bell rings after two songs, and she looks up to see a guy around her age, gray hoodie over his blonde hair, black vans covering his feet. The neutral color scheme of his outfit heavily contrasts the bright colors of the flowers around him. He has a calm aura about him, hunched shoulders as if he’s trying to make himself smaller to fit into the shop. She shoots him a tired smile before going back to stocking the bouquets of roses. She waits until the end of the song to speak up, finding him glancing at the orchids.

“Anything I can help you with today?”

He looks up, “Uh, not at the moment.” His hand reaches up to scratch the back of his neck. “My mom’s birthday is today, and I’m a jackass who is getting her something right before she wakes up.”

“Well, orchids are always a solid choice.” Amber backs away with a small nod. “Let me know if you need anything.” He hums in thanks, and she walks back to the register. 

She pulls out her laptop and looks over the materials her eventual boss sent her to read before her first day of work in a month,  singing along to “Daughters” under her breath, ears alert for the tinkling of the bell at the front door. 

She looks up to see the guy shuffling to the counter, and closes her laptop. He clears his throat, eyes bright and smile contagious. “Do you happen to do custom bouquets?”

“We do.” Amber walks from behind the counter and leads him to their lab, eyes going to the multitudes of flowers and brain already spinning with ideas. “Tell me about your mom. What’s your relationship with her like?”

He blinks. “Good. She’s literally always smiling. Has never yelled at me once. She’s the strongest woman I know.” He trails off as she gathers a couple of various stems. “That all you need?”

“Well, let’s see.” She points at each flower as she describes them. “Gerbera Daisies represent happiness, pink carnations represent gratitude and peonies represent prosperity and good health. Pair all that with some baby’s breath and you got a beautiful bouquet right there.” She raises an eyebrow. “Ultimately though, it’s your gift. I can do whatever you’d like.”

“No,” he shakes his head with a nervous chuckle. “It’s perfect. Go ahead.”

She flashes him a grin before methodically cutting the stems of the flowers, arranging them into a lively arrangement of colors and wrapping it all together with tissue paper and a ribbon to match.

He pays for the bouquet at the register, and when she comes around the counter to hand it to him, he thanks her before ducking his head down and walking back out into the muggy Saturday morning air. She blinks as she watches him get into his car, but shakes her head to herself as the phone starts ringing. 

A few weeks later, Amber finds herself waking up to a frantic call from her mother, asking if she can meet up at Camrose Hill for a wedding. Her father has to deal with a shipping miscommunication back at the store, and she needs one more helping hand. When Amber arrives, she steps out, travel mug filled with tea in her right hand and her left hand smoothing down her red floral dress. After asking around, she finds her mother next to carts filled with roses in various colors. With a quick hug, Amber gets to work on building the arch, the light breeze making her regret not putting her hair up. 

“Funny seeing you here.”

She looks up and blinks twice, standing up from her crouched position. 

“Good morning.” She eyes him up and down, admiring his white button up and black dress pants. 

“You here for the wedding?”

“I’m the Best Man, actually.” He chuckles, shoving his hand in his pockets. “My best friend’s getting married.”

“Congratulations,” she says softly, climbing onto a nearby chair to reach the top of the arch. “Beautiful place to do it too.”

He nods, eyebrows furrowing as she stumbles slightly in her heeled sandals. “Do you need help?”

“Absolutely not. You’re a guest. You shouldn’t even be out here right now.” He eyes her warily when she attempts to reach down to grab some roses off the cart, hands automatically going up as she almost falls over. She sighs, “Fine. Grab me five ivory ones and three pink ones, please. And the scissors.”

“So, what do they mean?”

“Hm?”

“The roses. What do they mean?”

She glances at him as she intertwines the stems together, wiggling her fingers at him for more flowers. “They’re roses. Roses are pretty typical for a wedding, generally symbolizing love. I’m sure you know that.”

“How about the colors?” 

“Your friend’s soon to be wife chose ivory instead of white, and ivory usually means gracefulness. Peach roses are usually given as a thank you gift, so gratitude and sincerity is tied to that one. I’ll admit that green roses are more rarer in weddings, but it means growth, so perhaps the start of growing together as a married couple?” She shrugs. “Or maybe she just likes the color combination.”

“Knowing Stacy? It was probably very methodical.”

Amber laughs airily, before sticking her hand out. “Help me down? I need to move the chair to the other side.”

Before he can respond, someone from inside the tent calls his name. He helps her down quickly, before running his hand through his hair. 

She hums. Brock. It fits. “So that’s your name.”

“Can I get yours?” He asks hopefully. 

His name is called again and Amber shrugs with a sly grin. “Another time. Think you’re needed, Best Man.”

With a slight huff, he backs away with a wave. Her attention goes back to her fingers as she threads the flowers into the white arch, listening to the chatter of the other employees preparing. She’s out of the venue before the guests have even started arriving.

The summer always brings in tourists from all over, many itching to take a peek at a shop that has a rainbow of flowers outside of its doors. Balancing her new job at a PR firm, she pops in to help her parents, fingers slowly getting scars and cheekbones beginning to hurt daily. 

On a day where the sun is shining bright and the shop is in a lull during lunch hour, Brock walks in. His smile is wide as he makes small talk with her mother across the shop. Amber freezes when she sees both sets of eyes on her, and swallows her tea as he walks over. 

“Hi again.”

“I came in yesterday looking for you,” he said. “Your parents told me to come back today.”

“Looking for me?”

“Yeah.”

“Did they tell you my name?” 

“Amber.” Fuck, her name rolls off his tongue so sweetly. 

“That’s what they call me.”

“Beautiful name for a stunning girl.”

She snorts, “What can I do for you?”

He grins slightly at her professional tone. “My mom was complaining about how her place isn’t homey enough, so I figured I’d come to my favorite flower shop and talk to the experts about how to fix that.”

“My parents could’ve helped you with that.”

“I know, but I wanted your opinion.”

She moves from behind the counter, lips lifting into a smile as he immediately follows her. “If you want just a bouquet, you can never go wrong with sunflowers. And judging from your sporadically timed visits, you’re probably not around town much, so it wouldn’t be wise to get a plant that you would actually have to take care of. Unless that’s what your mother wants.”

“How do you-”

She stops in front of the sunflowers, ignoring his question. “We got a fresh delivery this morning. If you don’t like these, there are plenty of orchids I’d suggest as well.”

“I’ll take the sunflowers. What’s the special meaning of these?”

“Exactly what they look like. They bring happiness into people’s day.”

“That they do.” She feels her cheeks flush from his stare.

She quickly rings him up and bids him farewell as he walks out the door, smiling to her parents along the way. They both turn their heads to look at her as soon as the door shuts, and she rolls her eyes before venturing into the back room, ignoring the shout of questions and comments.

Winter rolls around quickly. Every time someone has purchased sunflowers these past couple of months, she can’t help but think of Brock; the last image of him imprinted in her brain was him walking out the door with sunflowers in his hand. That was four months ago.

Since then, Amber’s figured out who he is. Brock Boeser. Vancouver Canucks. Minnesota’s very own. She’s spent many nights with a few glasses of wine deep thinking too much about it. 

She’s outside the shop one day after a long day of work, on top of a ladder, gloved fingers fumbling around with the string of lights. Her cheeks are rosy, snowflakes are sticking to her hair and she’s been yawning every five minutes for the last hour, but she’s determined to get these lights up before she locks up in 15 minutes. The poinsettias, mistletoe and holly are scheduled to arrive the next morning.

“Are you guys still open?”

She straightens up at the familiar voice and tightens the gray scarf around her neck. “Yep. I’ll be down in a minute.” She hangs the last of the lights and plugs them in. Wiping her eyes with the heels of her palms, she stores the ladder away and walks in. 

“Brock. Hey. What can I help you with today?” She asks, ducking into the back room to hang up her coat. The shop is quiet, crooning notes of Spotify’s “Christmas Coffeehouse” playing in the background. The dark blue button up peeking out of his black winter coat makes her smile. It’s the most color she has ever seen on him.

“Can you help me with a bouquet?”

“Of course.” She observes the half-empty buckets. “What things do you want to symbolize this time?”

“I actually know what I want.”

“Oh yeah? Great. What would you like?”

“Purple lilacs, irises, pink roses and baby’s breath, please.”

“Just give me a second. The roses are in the back.” She begins arranging the flowers and looks up as she’s grabbing the wrapping paper, noticing his confused stare. “Is everything alright?”

“Yeah, you just, didn’t tell me what they mean. Like, the flowers.”

Amber chuckles. “You’ve obviously done your research. You still want me to?” Brock nods. “Okay, purple lilacs symbolize first love, irises symbolize wisdom and eloquence. Roses are romantic, but pink ones specifically? That symbolizes admiration. So I would guess you’re giving this to someone you like, maybe a romantic partner? Someone you haven’t been with for long?”

He whistles, “Damn. You’re good.”

Her heart sinks the slightest bit as she shrugs, before a particular set of flower stems caught her eye. “I know it’s your bouquet, but how would you feel about adding daffodils? It would add a beautiful contrast to all the purple you have in here. I won’t even charge you for it.”

“Add them in, and charge me for it too.” She plucks the daffodils out of the bin, separating them throughout the bouquet. “What do those mean?” Brock asks. 

“The daffodils?”

“Yeah.”

She clears her throat. “New beginnings.”

After adding the finishing touch of a purple ribbon, she punches the sale in the register and walks from behind the counter to hand the bouquet to him. 

Brock shakes his head. “Nope.”

Her eyebrows furrow. “Sorry?”

“They’re for you, actually.” She raises an eyebrow, and he continues, flexing his fingers continuously. “It’s my stupid way of asking if you would like to go on a date with me.”

She looks down at the bouquet and back up at him, raising an eyebrow. “Right now?”

“If you’re free. Or in a couple weeks. I, uh, I don’t work around here, unfortunately. So I won’t be back in Minnesota until about a month or two.”

“I know who you are, Brock Boeser.” She hands the flowers to him again. “Hold these while I close up?”

“Is that a yes?”

Amber grins, scanning the shop. “Yeah. It’s not stupid, by the way.” She shuts off the lights, grabs her coat and locks the front door, her date for the night following her obediently. “It’s actually really sweet.”

“You think so?”

“Yeah.” She tentatively reaches for his fingers with her other hand as she admires the bouquet. “Do you wanna know something?”

“Anything,” He says, leaning down so he can hear her better.

“Daffodils are actually my favorite flower.”

“Like, ever? Out of all flowers?”

“Out of all flowers.”

He leads her to Osteria La Buca with a wink that has her stomach flipping. “What a coincidence.”

She looks down at the bouquet with a smile.

[cowgurrrl]

OKAY WAIT

late night talks with college!joel - how reader and him came to date. they were studying they got distracted talking about something and stayed up all night taking. now joel can get her off his mind. 😉

thank you harry styles <3

I’ll kiss you on the mouth dude I love this idea

UPDATE: I DIDNT KNOW HOW TO END IT AND IF IT WASNT FOR MY MELATONIN KICKING IN I WOULDVE CONTINUED IT

She’s got a book for every situation

Pairing: college!joel x fem!reader

Summary: this ask

Author’s note: typed in tumblr and not proofread so god speed slayers 🫡

Warnings: mentions of alcohol, Joel being The Biggest Flirt, June your BA in English is showing, I think that’s it??

Working at the writing center on campus has its perks. You get unlimited printing, editing experience, and free coffee. Granted, it’s from a pot that had been simmering for several days but it’s free nevertheless. You’ve even managed to get in good with a few professors who would recommend their students come to you if they need help. Normally, they don’t take the advice until finals week and they all scramble into your office all at once. So, when a tall guy with curly dark hair walks into your desolate lobby, you’re a little surprised. He looks lost with a stack of papers piled in his hands and visibly relaxes when he sees you peek your head out.

“Hey there. Can I help you?” You ask, approaching him.

“Maybe. ‘M from Dr. Phillips class and she said to come to the writing center and ask for…” He trails off as he glances down at his paper before saying your name. “Said she might be able to help me with my paper.”

“Yeah, I think she can help you with your paper.” You say and hold out your hand to grab the red inked paper. It’s a paper on Kerouac who’s never been your favorite. In fact, you wrote an entire paper about how pretentious and privileged Jack Kerouac actually was but that’s neither here nor there. The bottom line is that you know how to write a paper professors are looking for. You feel his eyes scanning your face as you read his thesis and try to ignore the blush creeping over your cheeks.

“I take it you’re the brilliant writer Dr. Phillips likes so much.” He says. You smile but don’t take your eyes off his words so you don’t get distracted by his presence.

“Dr. Phillips doesn’t like anyone.”

“She seemed to like you. Told me all about how smart you are,” he says. “Never mentioned the pretty part, though.” Finally, you look up and meet his gaze.

“Technically Dr. Phillips isn’t allowed to recommend one student editor over another. It’s against our policy and makes things a little fairer for everyone. So, can we keep this little secret between us…” you let your sentence end, realizing you never asked his name, and he holds out his free hand.

“Joel.” He says and you shake his hand.

“Well, Joel, I’ll tell you what. I’ll agree to help you get your paper in order if you agree to not get me fired. Fair deal?”

“Yes, ma’am.” He says politely.

You spend the rest of the day walking Joel through essay structures, grammar mistakes, and thesis issues. His argument is strong but it needs to be more concise and punchier. When you try to explain it to him in those terms, he looks at you like you’re from Mars. Eventually, after a little too much flirty small talk, he tells you about his dad’s construction company and you learn to put flowery, over dramatic writing advice into clean, neat boxes that he understands completely. Unfortunately, you don’t end up finishing the actual essay before the center closes.

“You’re free to come back tomorrow morning so we can finish this.” You say as you gather your things and stuff them in your backpack. Joel stretches in his chair, his shirt riding up just enough to reveal a gorgeous sliver of tan skin and you have to force your eyes away from the sight.

“D’you live far from here?” He asks, standing and throwing his own backpack over one shoulder. You waffle for a moment, unsure if you want to tell this almost perfect stranger where you live.

“Maybe a ten minute walk. It’s not bad for Austin.”

“Can I walk you home? Since I kept you so late,” he asks. Once again, you hesitate. Joel doesn’t seem like the typical frat guy you’ve come to fear since your time at school. He actually seems gentle and genuine. You turn the thought over a few more times before he throws his hands up. “‘S just an offer to make sure you get home safe. I’ll even carry your backpack for you if you want.” He offers and you smile. You take another second before handing him your heavy backpack. He slings it over his free shoulder and walks to the door to open it for you, keys jingling in your hand as you lock up the writing center for the night. The humid Texas night suffocates you the second you step out into the fading daylight.

“You always carry girls’ backpacks home?” You ask as you start walking in the direction of your apartment. Campus is mostly empty this time of night, everyone crawling home after class to pregame or cry or both. Squirrels patrol the sidewalks for any students who may want to hand them a piece from their bagel or sandwich. Someone honks their horn in distant standstill Austin traffic, and the sun slowly slides behind the Capitol. It’s peaceful.

“Only when I make ‘em read my shitty writing.” He says and you laugh.

“Your writing’s not bad, Joel. It’s actually very good. Essays are just the worst to write.”

“You like ‘em enough to work at the writing center.”

“Yeah, but that doesn’t mean it’s what I actually care about,” you shrug. “At this point, I’m a warm body with a clicky pen.”

“Woah there, Kafka. I think you’re a little more than that,” Joel laughs and you have to laugh too. Not only for the perfectly on brand joke but for the tone in his voice. The playful lilt makes your head feel fuzzy. “Alright then, if you don’t like essays and you don’t like Kerouac, what do you like? What do you wanna write?” He asks and you take a deep breath. It’s a question you’ve fielded more than enough times in your college career to know that not many people like your answer.

“I’m not sure yet. I like a little bit of everything.”

“Have you written anythin’ I would’ve read?”

“No,” you laugh. “Probably not.”

“Why’s that funny?” He asks and you shake your head.

“Because nobody wants to publish my work. It’s too… rough.”

“Rough?” He raises his eyebrows at you.

“Yeah. Publishers either want the next Great American Novel or nothing at all, and I am not next Great American Novel material.”

“How do you know?”

“Because nobody’s publishing me.”

“Maybe, you’re not lookin’ in the right places,” he says. “‘M just sayin’ someone as smart as you has to have somethin’ someone will wanna take.”

“Yeah, well, don’t go holdin’ your breath on me, cowboy.”

“Why do you do that?” He asks suddenly and you stop to look at him.

“Do what?” You ask.

“Try and play it off whenever someone compliments you.” He says with glaring honesty. It sets you back in your heels but you quickly recover.

“You’ve only known me for a few hours. How do you know I’m not just incredibly humble?”

“I guess I don’t,” he says. “Could I buy you a drink and figure it out?” It could be the way he, somehow, sees right through you already or the way his brown eyes look in the sunlight but you can’t stop the butterflies in your stomach. You purse your lips together and dare a step closer to him.

“Tell you what, if you get an A on this paper, I’ll let you buy me a drink.” You say.

“And if I fail?” He asks and you shake your head.

“You won’t fail.”

“But what if I do?”

“If you do, you have to…” you search your brain. “Carry my backpack home for me for a week.”

“You drive a hard bargain, ma’am.”

“But I take it Joel Miller’s a bettin’ man.”

“See, smarter than you think.” He quips and you roll your eyes.

“One thing at a time, lover boy.”

Joel ends up getting the highest grade on his essay out of anyone in his class. Dr. Phillips commends his dedication to bettering his first draft and tells him to keep up the good work. “Whatever you did to change this, keep it up.” She says when she places his graded essay on his desk. When he presents the A to you at the writing center, all you can do is applaud him and smile.

“I told you you’d pass.” You say, poking at his firm chest.

“Yeah, yeah,” he rolls his eyes. “Maybe I just needed a little motivation.”

“Oh, yeah? What was that?”

“I think I was promised a date.” He says cheekily and you nod.

“You were, and my mama raised me to be a woman of my word,” you smile. “Jenny, do you mind closing up for me tonight?” You ask the receptionist and she shakes her head.

“Not at all, darlin’. Have a good night.” She winks at you when Joel turns his back and you stick your tongue out at her.

Say what you will about the writing center but you think a date with a broad, tall, handsome cowboy is the best thing that could’ve come out of that hell hole.

[ghostlyschizophrenic]

i… i’ve been doing some reflecting and i was thinking about a relationship i had and ive always just said it was bad but i think it might have actually been a lot worse

i guess i could use some advice so ive typed out a lot of what it was. there’s really not much triggering in there aside from the age gap, but i just put it under a read more because it got long :/

i was 15 and in a relationship with an 18 year old. they took me to the movies on my 15th birthday and just told me we were dating. i never was asked out.

they spent the first few months of our relationship talking about how they were turned down by a person they had a crush on and then i came around.

every one of our dates was a movie they wanted to watch, and i went along with it even though i don’t really watch movies. i only asked them to see a movie with me once, it was mamma mia 2 and the first movie is one of my all time favorites. i wanted to share it with them. they said it was stupid and not worth it. i went by myself.

their parents were my teachers, one in a topic that i needed to get good grades in to pursue my college major, and the other was the coach for an extracurricular that looked good for, guess what, college.

i was the one that ended the relationship because i felt uncomfortable and would get panic attacks before our dates.

the break up was me talking to them in person, expressing my feelings, and telling them i don’t want to lead them on by staying in the relationship.

i was told by people i was in the wrong for breaking up with them because they’re socially awkward and i was mature for my age so it worked out and i should’ve be grateful for all the extra stuff their parents did for me while i was at school.

they wrote a paper using she/her pronouns for me (i’m trans and use he/him and was out to everyone and they never used she/her for me while we were dating) and wrote about every single detail of our relationship, including things i told them in confidence. they read it to their writing class and tried to get it published in the school paper, and the only reason it wasn’t was because people in the class told me about it and reported it to the teacher who runs the paper

they haven’t said a word to me since we broke up, even with the paper. they just accepted that it wouldn’t be published and moved on. the only reason i knew about it at all was the people in the class. i tried to say happy birthday. i tried to congratulate them on graduation. they didn’t say anything to me.

i’ve been feeling guilty for years and im 21 now and i finally reflected on it and why am i the guilty one? why was i encouraged to be in that relationship at all?

but i don’t know what to call it because they were never outright mean to me. they said that me being unhappy would make them unhappy. they said they loved me and that i made them happy and that they would take care of me. i want to believe they did but my gut tells me something different and everything about that year is a haze in my mind and i don’t want to say something bad about them without being able to back it up but this feels like it was wrong.

i don’t know. i don’t know if i’m asking for advice or venting or just trying to put my thoughts into one place but i feel like i don’t know a major part of my relationship history and if im overthinking or not

i just. i just don’t know.

[batsyheere]

Hello..If you don't mind me asking, can I ask, what are your top 7 (or top 10) favorite media (can be books/ manga/ anime/movies/tv series/etc) and your top 10 favorite (fictional) characters from any media? Why do you love them all? Sorry if you've answered this questions before......

Oh, that's a fun question because it's constantly in flux. I get a hyperfixation binge and usually bounce around whatever I like because otherwise I get bored. But there are quite a few I go back to, and I always have a favorite character whether I like the media or not. So.

Top ten media? This is definitely not in order and I might ramble-

Danny Phantom

I come back to this one a little too often because of how the fandom has managed to make it so much more than the show- I love lore and worldbuilding and the way people have built off this show is fascinating to observe.

The Grandmaster of Demonic Cultivation // The Untamed

This is another I return to a lot. It's a story of how everything goes wrong, and while there is a villain at the end, ultimately the blame is on the collective characters. It's also neat to see so many adaptations of the original material. I also like to remember that I had no idea this was a novel about guys pining after each other because I was just looking for something interesting to read and it got recommended by a friend. Who said nothing. And then mentioned I was equally as dense as some characters.

Homestuck

This one will always have a place in my heart for being incredibly weird and weirdly influential. Despite the fact I haven't read it again in years, I recall so much about it and enjoy engaging with my fellows- I volunteered at a con once and saw the most gorgeous Karkat cosplayer, we had a nice conversation while I tried to get the system to read their ticket. The community of this fandom is a nice thing, especially since at least once or twice a year we can see who is still in the world.

Percy Jackson

Where most people get into mythology thanks to Rick Riordan, Greek mythology got me into Percy Jackson. Modern day interpretations of myths are so intriguing, even if some interpretations could be argued with. It's also funny that I got my first Percy Jackson book at a summer camp. (It is not a surprise that I now have an EPIC the Musical fixation.)

Lord of the Rings // The Hobbit

I'm a huge classic fantasy nerd and this was a way I bonded with my grandfather over the years before he passed. It's influenced a lot of how I interpret other takes on fantasy and sets such a high bar. I also like that it's an encouragement of hope and faith in the little things of life that make it worth the fight. I wrote a lot of high-school papers on Tolkien.

Batman / DC Comics

While I do love comics, I do have a returning fancy in the Gotham Knights and their allies. Especially since in a world filled with corruption, an unjust system and too many broken pasts, it shows a person can make something of themselves to help others rather than just hurt. And that it is never too late to turn onto a better path. Also, just like LOTR, I wrote a couple of papers on Batman in college.

Star Wars

I grew up on Star Wars. Even with this weird output to the franchise Disney is trying to put out, I feel there are parts of it that are great to come back to. If I had to pick specifics I would mention the Mandalorian, but I favor the era around the prequel trilogy- both before and after.

Critical Role / Dimension 20 / TAZ

If I could just say DND I would but I had to list the top three for me. As I mentioned before I'm a hug fan of worldbuilding and lore. I also really like complex characters who are neither good nor evil, just trying to go about their lives. Found family is also one of my favorite tropes, and these three pull that off effortlessly.

Howl's Moving Castle

Both the book and movie are fantastic, I enjoyed both forms of this story in a way that I only ever enjoyed the vast differences between the How To Train Your Dragon movies and books. I like how it's a good example of adapting a book without being entirely off-putting.

Arcane

Just barely making this list because the second season just came out. But honestly? Arcane is so good. It takes such an artistic approach to its animation and gives vibrancy to its characters you don't typically see outside video games or movies. The story writing and dialogue are excellent- I could rant all day about it.

And now, Top Ten Characters from media...

Shang Qinghua from SVSSS

So many reasons. Top three? Such an unreliable narrator, understandably a sell out and holds a better romance than the technically main character of the novel.

Obi-Wan Kenobi from Star Wars

He's on the sidelines of a lot of the main story as a mentor, brother, friend- despite being one of the most tragic characters in the entire timeline.

Stiles Stilinski from Teen Wolf

My friend dragged me into watching the show because she didn't want to watch alone and he was the most redeeming quality of it. The sarcasm, the wit, the untapped potential.

Dick Grayson // Nightwing from DC Comics

A complex character with an even more complex series of issues in his life that never let him have a moment to breath half the time. He has so much repressed rage it's funny he's considered the happy one.

Kim Dokja from Omniscient Reader's Viewpoint

This one is basically me being way to empathetic with a character and another reason for therapy. He needs a hug.

Aizawa Shouta from My Hero Academia

As weird and "way too much" the fandom can be, Aizawa is worth it. Crazy and a mentor figure.

Taako from The Adventure Zone

Again, love complex characters. I also like convoluted pasts and people with intimacy issues who are also huge flirts.

Fai Fluorite from Tsubasa Reservoir Chronicles

This poor guy was my first "wow what a character" for way too many reasons to list. Probably the crippled sense of self worth.

Ruby Rose from RWBY

She has such a good character set up and had such a strong sense of self. That plot did NOT help, but she's coming out stronger for it.

Yor Forger from Spy X Family

This one is purely because I love pure of heart dumbasses with too much badass and not enough sense.

As much as I like certain pieces of media a lot it's not a guarantee that I like the characters, and vice versa. Anyway, thanks for letting me ramble! This is what is currently on my mind when it comes to immediate favorites, though I definitely love far too many pieces of media- a lot of anime, and a lot of fantasy.

[angelanimedesaray]

🍄🍓🎲

AAAH!!! HELLO!!! I always see you in my feed, I wasn't expecting you in my inbox, but I'm happy to see you here XD

Sooo, the questions. Yes. I am so sorry these are so long, I can't be short and sweet and to the point for anything, I swear, it's always just word vomit and -- I'm rambling again, let's get to it hahaha XD

🍄 A Headcanon for one of my favorite ships/Pairings. Sooooo I don't have a favorite ship/pairing, not really, for the AOT fandom, I'm just kind of vibing over here with most of them XD I'll enjoy Erwin/Levi Content one second, scroll two more posts down and oogle over a Hange/Levi, and then gasp and jealously drink in an OC/Levi art the next second while scribbling down the artist for future reference for the day I can finally afford to request some Levi and my OCs art (I have an OC in mind for every Levi x Reader Fic I've written that I imagine while I write). So it's more like a Levi x Anyone kind of headcanon:

I have always been a sucker for the thought that when Levi get's really comfortable with whoever he's with, and he's letting his guard down more and is cuddling regularly with his SO, that this is a common and favorite position:

Just, the hand running gently through his hair at the nape of his neck, arms wrapped tightly around one another, head pillowed on n their chest, it looks so comfy and warm and comforting for him and uuugggghhhhh I'm a sucker for it, it's my comfort soft thought/headcanon and I love it.

🍓 How did I get into fanfic. Soooo I was already known IRL for loving writing, mostly poetry at the time, and being a huuuuge star wars fan (I was usually the one people went to if they had a character or event question cause I KNEW MY STUFF). And a friend of mine came up to me one day at summer camp and asked for some help with a star wars fanfic she was writing since i knew character and canon/EU stuff so well, and she explained WHAT fanfic was to me, and after talking for a while we wrote it together, though we kind of parted due to creative differences/complete opposite styles, but I'd created a fanficnet profile putting the original character names from the story together with plans to post the fanfic we were writing, and I decided to just keep it and start writing my own stories, and that's how I started writing fanfic--and also how I got the penname AngelDesaray, two OCs that didn't really see the light of day. Well, Desaray got revamped into Zelina for my Star Wars fanfiction baby I still work on slowly to this day, but that's besides the point, heh.

🎲What stops me from writing more in my free time? I usually get in my own way a lot. My attention span has been really shot since college, it's hard for me to focus on one thing for a long time--it's part of why I started having multiple things going on at once, it helps me to focus if I have a video running or music playing, and three or four word documents and a social media website I can easily jump away from again open, because then there's enough going on that I oddly enough can focus (I used to get teased all the time by my parents for having my laptop open on my lap, texting someone on my phone, playing a NintendoDS Game, and watching a show all at once). Another issue is that I think I haven't 100% bounced back from my college burnout, but I really really miss my writing and stories, which puts me in this weird catch 22 where I'm just mentally tired and don't want to do anything, but i've been daydreaming of my story for literal hours and really want to get something on paper. Also sometimes I'm cursed with wanting to write plot heavy stuff but I'm in the middle of relationship building, or wanting to write action but I'm doing dialogue heavy chapters, or wanting to write relationship steamy stuff but there's a lot of plot stuff going on--etc etc. Its usually me and my attention span getting in the way, pretty much. Doesn't mean i don't want to really really bad or that I'm not thinking about it 24/7, cause I usually am, it's just hard for me to FOCUS these days once I have the white sheet in front of me.

Ask Game Here

[melliotwrites]

Hi! I’m writing my own music, and Adamandi is an inspiration. I’m just wondering, has there been any inspiration when it came to you two writing musicals? (Adamandi, The Art of Pleasing Princes, Ghost Story, and any other future musicals.) Such as, any movies, TV shows or any other musicals? I find the aesthetics and music in these musicals all so different and I love that! And the themes in these musicals are so interesting! (/vpos!)

Great question! It's hard to separate genuine inspiration from research, since once we get an idea we usually try to consume everything that's related to what we want to write to figure out what we wanna add to the cultural conversation. Sometimes we also get inspiration from a work because we don't like it and want to position our piece in opposition to that one. But for this post we'll try to keep it to Genuine Inspiration that we consumed before we wrote each piece (hey, this thing is cool, this helped me figure out how I wanna write my thing for the better.)

Maybe we'll break this up by show:

TAOPP

Fun light fantasy with heart that plays with the tropes of fantasy settings, a la classic DND settings, Six of Crows, Terry Pratchett

Mel took a class on the High Middle Ages and read On The Origins of Courtliness (from which the title is derived!) and The Ballad of Tristan and Isolde, which got sort of melangéd into the Princes court world- living and dying by the king's pleasure, etc.

Aesthetically, the TV show The Great? Mel watched it a little bit before writing Princes and the anachronistic dialogue + rules of court drama have something to do with it.

Not much musical inspo for this tbh, I think it was just our first go at Writing A Show Together so a lot of our influences were just other musical soundtracks we thought might be the vibe we were aiming for. (Probably Pippin, 35mm, Great Comet, etc..)

Similarly with lyrics, I wasn't really thinking of a lyrical style, but I think I based a lot of my song forms on Something Rotten as the other show I knew set in the same era (using the very loose definition of "the same era"). ~Mel

ADAMANDI GENERAL INSPO:

the usual dark academia medias (Maurice and Another Country were our favorites) and also attending undergrad at a dark academia ass college

Lots of folk horror! (The Wicker Man (1973) - was particularly fun for me in thinking about the Catholicism storyline -Mel)

Jordan Peele movies like Get Out and Us

For musicals, Passion was really inspirational in both tone and subject matter.

Lyrically, I tried to think about Falsettos and Sunday- very lyrically dense shows that portray the intricate vocabularies of a specific, often highly intellectual subculture. What shibboleths do academics use to identify who does and doesn't belong? And why is the word "shibboleth" so not singable :( I think really liking Matilda as a kid also had something to do with it. ~Mel

I looked at a lot of horror musicals for a research paper but didn't like them much. (Except Little Shop. I love Little Shop and kinned the dentist in high school.) So I guess that's inspiration but in a what-Not-to-do way? Which is how I stumble on a lot of "inspiration" - Elliot

ADAMANDI MUSICAL INSPO:

chamber pop, baroque pop (incorporating the orchestral/acoustic elements of "dark academia" movie soundtracks with alternative pop and rock that's associated with the dark academia aesthetic more thematically)

The Dresden Dolls/Amanda Palmer's music

swing, jazz, dark cabaret (for the 1930s vibe)

Murder ballads (e.g. American Murder Song)

also weirdly the soundtrack to the Yellowjackets TV show. I love the eerie vocals in them and the creepy use of body percussion/breath - Elliot

here's an early inspo playlist: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/2wjhDj3ZzR01ghNfB03sYC?si=6f38f4c5f2ee43c7)

GHOST STORY

(more of a reading list since we're thinking top-down for this one!)

M. Butterfly by David Henry Hwang. I will never write anything as bangin' as "Being an Oriental, I could never be completely a man." - Elliot

Powers of Horror: An Essay on Abjection by Julia Kristeva

Stranger Intimacy by Nayan Shah

A View From the Bottom by Tan Hoang Nguyen

Ishtyle: Accenting Gay Indian Nightlife by Kareem Khubchandani

For musicals, Assassins and Parade

Arcadia and Follies are my touchstones for how the past and present can intersect onstage, and what got me excited about doing it ourselves! ~Mel

GHOST STORY MUSICAL INSPO

ragtime, jazz, Americana, blues, folk, country ! For inspo, trying to look for American folk music as close to 1880 as possible, but it's hard to find. Allowing myself to listen to stuff up til 1920.

Also alternative pop/rock/indie/whatever per usual. https://open.spotify.com/playlist/0QwtUiwwZfc3TYMy0DarOq?si=cc9d5129d43b4aeb is my working inspiration playlist right now - Elliot