#madi: writes stuff

[gloomskulls]

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ YELP REVIEWS [tasm!peter parker x reader]

pairings: tasm!peter parker x reader

⇢ ˗ˏˋ SUMMARY ୨୧ a fan decided to make an unofficial yelp page for spider man as a joke. A lot of clients...or citizens had so much to say.

⇢ ˗ˏˋ WARNING ୨୧ none

A/n: Just a random short fluff. I'll go back doing dark stories once I feel like it. I haven't really used Yelp, but my friend gave me this idea lol, so credit to Angelina lol. Don't steal this coz I'll shave your head.

Peter slumped on the couch scrolling through his phone. He frowned intensely and tapped a link you had just sent him, headlined as "Spider-Man Yelp Reviews"

You leaned against the door with a stifled grin. "Found it while looking at reviews for that new pizza place. Thought you'd get a kick out of the comments from your…clients."

Peter groaned. "Clients? I'm not running a business. What is this?"

Thumbing through the reviews, he cycled through disbelief, frustration then finally wounded pride.

2 stars

"He saved me from a mugger, but he sailed so quickly I didn't even manage to get the chance to say than you. Really rude."

3 stars

"I appreciate the help...however, he left me dangling from a lamppost for 20 minutes until the cops arrived. You could have just dropped me on the ground bro."

4 stars

"Brilliant rescue, but my phone screen got cracked when he yanked me into a speeding car. Thanks, I guess"

Peter threw his head back, exasperated. "Cracked phone screens? I'm sorry, Janet, would you prefer to have been hit by the car?"

"Peter, this is gold," you dropped beside him taking the phone to scroll further. "Ooh, look at this one!"

1 star

“I yelled for Spider-Man to come help me when my cat was stuck in a fire escape. He didn’t show. What’s the worth of a superhero when they won’t even help the little guy from time to time?”

"That wasn't even a crime," Peter exclaimed with hands thrown up. "What do people expect me to do run a cat rescue hotline?"

"I mean…isn't helping people your whole thing? Even the little guys? Or, in this case, little cats?"

He narrowed his eyes at you. "You're enjoying this way too much."

"Oh, I'm loving it." You scrolled to another review.

3 stars

"Got my purse back after it was snatched, but when he handed it to me, he just said, 'Here ya go,' and left. No photo, no autograph. Kinda rude."

"Oh no, Peter, how dare you not stay for selfies mid-crime fighting?" You snickered.

Peter dragged a hand down his face. "Am I supposed to throw a meet and greet after every mugging? Should I bring merch? Web-slingers for kids? Spider-Man action figures?"

You wiggled your eyebrows. "Don't tempt me to start a side hustle."

He shook his head, scrolling further. His eyes widening in disbelief at the review.

1 star

"I yelled for Spider-Man to help me with my groceries. He didn't show up. Ended up dragging six bags up five flights of stairs by myself. What's even the point of having a superhero if he doesn't help the little people?"

Peter let out a strangled laugh. "Groceries? I have to save people from groceries now?"

"Be honest," you teased. "If you would have heard her, would you help?"

He hesitated. "…I mean, maybe. If I wasn't busy."

"Softie," you said, poking his cheek. "You're gonna carry someone's Costco haul one day; I just know it."

Peter groaned louder and clicked on another review, muttering, "It can't get worse. It can't possibly—"

0 stars

"Spider-Man swung by my building and broke my balcony railing. Now my landlord's charging me for repairs. Thanks, webhead."

"Oh," you managed a stifled laugh. "Isn't that the guy from your last patrol? You know, the one who yelled at you when you were chasing that car thief?"

Peter buried his face into his hands. "It's not my fault that balconies are so flimsy in the city. It's very hard to swing around without hitting something."

You patted his shoulder soothingly. "Don't worry, hero. I'm sure you'll get your Yelp rating up again. Maybe even start a loyalty program? Save five, get a free coffee?"

Peter shot you a look, betraying irritation and amusement. "You're impossible." You just grinned menacingly at his words.

"Hey, look at this one," you said, stealing the phone and scrolling to a five-star review, finally. "Finally, some love."

5 stars

“Spider-Man saved my dog from traffic. My girlfriend thinks he's cute. I do too, honestly. Would let him rescue me any day.”

He blinked. "What…what does that even mean?!"

"It means you’re the city’s hottest, most eligible bachelor,” you said, draping an arm over his shoulders. "Even dogs are falling for you. Can't blame them."

He rubbed his temples. “I think I need to retire. Or move to a quieter city. Do they need Spider-Man in, like, Ohio? Whadoyo think baby?”

You smiled and opened the Yelp app. “There, there, hero. I’ll fix your reputation." You assured him as you patted his back

Peter leaned over, squinting as you typed. “What are you— '5 stars. Spider-Man is amazing. Handsome. Athletic. Definitely has a great butt' Babe!" He read out everything you typed for him as you clicked the submit button

You winked. "Just telling the truth. Besides, if you're going to be stuck here, you might as well be a five-star hero."

"Unbelievable," he muttered, but the corner of his mouth twitched up in a smile.

@gloomskulls 2024, DON'T COPY, TRANSLATE OR USE OF MY WORKS IN ANY OTHER WEBSITE. Photos don't belong to me

[eowynstwin]

imprimatura / muses

Johnny "Soap" MacTavish shows up one day to model for your studio class. He's flirtatious, too attractive for his own good, and more interested in you than you'd ever expect him to be. And his boyfriend Ghost is interested too. - ao3

He arrives early as you’re setting up for your students, in jeans and a tight t-shirt, and the first thing that crosses your mind when you lay eyes on him is Jesus, he’s fit. 

You are no stranger to bodies. Hundreds of them have cycled through your studio, all shapes and sizes and colors; you think you may know every dip, every roll, every hard angle and soft curve that a human body is capable of holding. The mystique of defined muscle has long lost its novelty. Bodies are bodies, and each holds the same value as the next when subject to brush and canvas. It never matters, you teach your students, what a body looks like in the modeling chair. It only matters if they can reproduce it accurately.

Even so, when a body like this walks in, you really can’t help but take notice.

Decadent muscle, fed and worked well, round and full with hydration. It’s impossible to miss, even through his clothes; each group delineated clearly, gracefully, as if sculpted rather than built, and alive with soft, subcutaneous movement. It’s indulgent to look at, the comfortable breadth of his shoulders and chest down to that slight taper of his waist and bulk of his thick thighs. It’s a physique no hard-bodied gym rat could hope to achieve merely with extra time at the racks—a physique that is easily, harmoniously attractive in its makeup of muscle and healthy fat.

The man is also mohawked and suntanned, and his mouth rests at an angle that suggests he often smiles—as if he knows that Michelangelo would have swooned at the sight of him. He comes into your classroom, saunters over to you, and stops precisely two paces away from you.

“Sergeant John MacTavish,” he says, offering his hand. “I understand you’re the instructor?”

He has gorgeous, vivid blue eyes (pthalo and cremnitz, with a touch of hamsa). You blink several times. Fit is still rattling around your skull, and begins knocking against sergeant at the same rolling frequency as his warm Scottish brogue. You realize his hand is still outstretched and quickly take it to shake.

“Yes!” you say. His palm is tough, callused, and not soft in the slightest, but very warm. “Nice to meet you, sergeant.”

He gives a grimace. “John’s fine. Or Soap.”

“Soap?”

“Nickname, y’know.”

Neither of you have released from the handshake. Soap’s grip is firm, the kind of firm that suggests he can squeeze much, much tighter if he needs to. And if the grip isn’t any indication, the broad forearms, dusted soft with dark brown hair, certainly are.

Black lines, a sword and helmet framed in laurels, catch your notice. The ink has the soft edges of having lain in the skin for a few years. You turn his arm to see it more fully. “Oh. Nice tattoo.”

He looks at the ink as if it is entirely new to him, and then gives an easy grin. “Thanks. I’ve got a few more too. Hope they aren’t hard to draw.”

When you loosen your grip on his hand, he releases you immediately. You still feel the squeeze in your bones even as you drop your hand to your side.

“So, then, Soap,” you say, “have you ever modeled before?”

He shakes his head, tucking his hands into the front pockets of his low-slung jeans. It tugs the waistband just a bit, revealing a sliver of warm, tan skin (raw sienna, flesh ochre, naples yellow). “Should have, honestly, with how much it pays.”

“It gets very boring, very fast,” you say. “What do you plan to wear for the breaks?”

“Was I supposed to bring that m’self?”

You are unable to suppress a laugh. “Yes, unfortunately.”

“Oh,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck and going a little sheepish—as if expecting a reprimand. You suppose it’s a valid expectation to have, in his world. You aren’t terribly familiar with the military, but you do know it’s one hell of a stickler for rules.

You also can’t help but admire the appealing pull and stretch of his bicep and deltoid, the flex of his pectoral as he lowers his arm. 

“Why don’t you wait here, and I’ll go see if I can find something for you?” you suggest kindly, letting him off the hook.

“Sorry,” he says, pretty blue eyes filled with genuine apology. “I’ll remember nex’ time. Thanks.”

The expression is so hangdog that you almost want to pat his head and noise at him reassuringly, like an actual dog. You press your lips together to hide a smile, and leave the studio.

When you get back from the models’ changing room, you find Soap with one hip against the counter where you’d been organizing your supplies, one knee loose and shoulders set at a relaxed angle. You want to laugh at his easy contrapposto. He’s going to be an excellent model. You can feel it. 

It looks as if he’s moving around the sticks of vine charcoal with one outstretched finger; he pulls his hand guiltily away when you reenter the studio, crossing his arms over his chest as if to hide the evidence of his snooping. It makes his pectorals bunch and round out, gathers the thickness of his biceps up into chiseled, full definition.

You lift one brow at him as you walk over.

“Never could keep my hands to m’self,” he admits, still sheepish.

“It’s alright,” you allow, smiling back. “Do you draw?”

“Used to,” he says. He looks back at the charcoal. “No time, now.”

“Are you deployed often?” you ask, taking the opportunity to look at his face. 

Beauty is cheap in art, but you notice it all the same—appreciate the strong brows, the hard angle of his jaw, the dark stubble of a beard you suspect he can’t keep shaved down, and the long scar that cuts through it across his chin. The light brown of his complexion is speckled with sun exposure, and there are the faintest of creases at the corners of his eyes, which you expect will deepen into genuine, gorgeous crow’s feet as he ages.

He’s not all rugged, though. There is a soft, thick curl to his lashes, which are as dark as strong coffee or expensive chocolate, and an equal decadence to the pink, plush little swell of his bottom lip—which, in the very middle, has the smallest of divots, as if he regularly spends time biting it. 

They’re traits that are far too sweet to belong on an otherwise masculine face, and their effect is such that they turn an objectively average set of features into a shockingly attractive portrait—that suddenly has something fluttering, just a bit, in the roof of your stomach.

He looks at you, and catches your survey. You can see him realize you’d been watching, the knowledge of it blooming in ocean blue eyes like ink dropped onto linen.

“More often than no’,” he answers, showing teeth in a crooked, interested grin. And now he’s looking at you—attention flitting across your face, dropping down your body and jumping back up to meet your gaze. The creases deepen at the corners of his eyes.

The fluttering intensifies. The sudden role reversal has you feeling at once flustered and unmoored. You are never the subject of any perusal—always comfortably the observer.

“Well—” you try, and you’re embarrassed at the low tone of your voice. You clear your throat. “Well, let’s make use of the time we have you, then.”

His smile remains, cocksure and easy. “Let’s.” 

He knows the effect he’s had.

“Anyway,” you say, blinking several times and proffering the sheet you’d retrieved, “none of the other models are your size, so I’m afraid this will have to do.”

He takes it in his hands, which are sun-dark and striking against the clean white linen. “So it’s a toga, then?” he asks.

“Whatever you like. Let’s go over the basics, and then you can undress.”

“Oh, already, aye? Y’move fast, hen,” he drawls, still grinning. “I like it.”

Heat rushes to your face, but you don’t feel embarrassed enough not to laugh. You busy yourself with tapping your charcoal sticks back in place, putting them back in an even row ascending in order of length, and saving yourself from having to look him in the eye. “Ha! We don’t do a lot of foreplay in this studio, I’m afraid.”

“No?” Soap hums, and he steps closer. He’s very warm, enough that you can feel it even with the space between you. You do have to look at him then. His eyes are half-lidded, lashes casting pretty shadows on his cheekbones as he gazes down at you. “That’s a shame. I’m right partial to it.”

Your brows lift, and you will your pulse to remain steady even as you inhale, catching a thread of—cologne? Aftershave? Just plain deodorant?—coming off of him. The scent caresses you, almost beckoning you to lean forward. You swear you can see the thrum of his heartbeat, there in the soft hollows by his Adam’s apple.

You blink. He is your model. “Well—I’ll try to set you up as best I can, anyway. Follow me, please.”

And you turn your back on him, because this is your workplace, and you are at work, and if you don’t get on with things you might do something stupid like actually flirt back.

Soap hadn’t been sure what to expect when he arrived at the art studio. He’s never been to one before, much less one housed in a university—which he has also never been to—and hell, he only ever took one art class in high school.

If pressed, he’d have imagined old brick walls covered in diagram posters, shelves of supplies in all colors, the smell of paint hanging permanently in the air. What he finds instead is modern, clean, and impersonal. Stage lights hang from fixtures in the ceiling, pointing at a platform in the back center of the room. A tight line of easels, all folded up, stand pressed into a far corner, next to a tower of stacked chairs, and waist-high cabinets line half the room against the bare, painted cinder block wall. The linoleum floor looks new.

None of this, however,  has any opportunity to disappoint him. His final unmet expectation, standing across the room and organizing a tray of art supplies, is a very welcome surprise.

You’re bonnie. Like, every point on his wishlist bonnie. Christ, he must’ve done something really good lately, because he can’t imagine just lucking into this. There’s not a hard angle to you, all sweet and soft, but when you meet his gaze during introductions there’s a sharpness to you that skewers him through the chest. You are much smarter than him, he can tell immediately. 

He’s always had a thing for smart women. Soft ones, too.  And if that weren’t enough, you let him flirt shamelessly with you, while checking him out the whole time.

Steaming Jesus.

You direct him to get onto the platform and sit down, still clothed, in an armchair draped in another pristine white sheet. The stage lights are bright overhead, and they highlight free-floating wisps of your hair in gold. 

“You want to ensure that you don’t rest your weight on only one or two points,” you explain. You have a nice voice. Steady, confident—this is your territory, your studio, and in it you are clearly the master. “The main danger is that your arms or legs might fall asleep, and you won’t realize it until you get up, in which case you’ll fall. We can’t touch you, so we can’t save you from that.”

“Y’canna touch me?” Soap repeats.

“Not without your explicit consent,” you say.

He smiles at you, the kind of smile he saves for bright nights at the pub over platoons of shot glasses. “I explicitly consent to you touching me.”

The corners of your mouth tug upward, just a bit, and you look away, clearly bashful. Something in Soap’s chest starts beating a drum. He knows already he’ll ask you to drinks after the class ends tonight.

“I doubt I’d be able to do much,” you say, “you’re a bit more substantial than the usual models.” Your eyes flick down his torso and back up.

“Guess I’ll have to follow your advice, then,” he says.

“You should,” you say, and he looks at your thigh shamelessly as you pat it—even beneath your jeans, he can see the ripple of the impact. “One of the worst-case scenarios is nerve damage.”

“So you have done this before!”

He can’t help it—Soap’s imagination runs wild. Titanic, draw-me-like-one-of-your-French-girls wild. It’s not exactly polite to imagine a teacher naked while she’s in the middle of giving him directions (and Jesus, what a concept, he might be half-mast already), but Soap has always found that people like it when he’s a little rude.

You drum your fingers. “I have.”

He finally hears the nerve damage part of your instruction. “How, uh—how bad can it get?”

The drumming stops. “For me? It just starts to twinge a bit if I sit on this side very long. So don’t rest your weight all on one hip, yeah?”

Concern assuaged that he had not ignored your genuine pain in order to objectify you, Soap grins. “Yeah.”

“Good,” you say. “Also—even if it doesn’t hurt, Soap, you can stop at any time, okay?”

That has him blinking. “Kinda defeats the purpose, doesnae?”

You shake your head. “It doesn’t matter. This is your first time modeling. You don’t know how you’ll feel, sitting here with your clothes off and everyone looking at you. If you need to stop, I want you to stop. I’ll make sure you’re paid anyway, so don’t worry about that.”

You are…so serious about this. The line of your brows is furrowed, imploring, like a little discomfort on his part is a violation of the highest order.

“Sure,” he says, a little dumbstruck and mostly lying. He’d be a rubbish soldier if he tapped out of a little thing like sitting down, but it’s nice that you care.

You purse your lips, nod, and then move onto the task at hand, stepping back and then down off the platform. When you begin to survey him—gaze flitting up and down his body, more pensive than appreciative—he has to resist the urge to flex.

Instead he watches you as you look at him. He especially likes, he decides, the slope of your nose and the smart, serious press of your mouth. You could get him all turned around, he thinks, if you gave it half a try.

Your tits are also great, but that’s by the by.

“Try resting your elbow up a little higher, and twist at the hips a bit,” you instruct, and Soap obeys. “Hm. How would you feel about crossing your ankles?”

You continue like this—nudging him in directions he doesn’t think make all that much of a difference, standing in different positions around the room to check the angles. He half-wishes he could step out of his body and join you, curious as he is about what you’re seeing, what your students will see. He’s not sure he has any clear expectations for how the class will go, but if you’re any indication, it’ll be more fun than he expects.

“Not sure if I’ll remember how to get back into this,” he says, partly to be helpful and partly to get you to talk to him again.

“I’ll help you, don’t worry,” you say. “Okay, I think that’s a good one, you can move now—I’m going to start setting up, the students should be here any minute.”

He stands, and you turn away to collect your supplies, so Soap figures this means it’s time for him to strip. He pulls off his shirt and drapes it over the chair’s arm, unbuttons his pants and shoves them down to his knees.

“Soap!”

He freezes. Then he looks at you. You’re blushing again, deep and saturated, mouth parted in surprise and hand pressed to your chest. He does not miss the quick flick of your gaze down his body; he’s probably violated some rule or another of the studio, but he can’t help but grin.

You’re adorable.

“Gotta happen eventually, right?” he says.

You cover your face with your palm. “I was going to leave the room first!”

“First time someone’s wanted to run away when I’m takin’ my clothes off, I won’t lie—”

“You just come get me when you’re done!” you say hastily as you beeline for the door. “I’ll be right outside!”

Soap chuckles a little when you’re gone, the door slamming mortified behind you, and folds his clothes up behind the armchair he’ll be sitting in. You’re so cute. He can’t wait to sit naked for you for the next three hours.

And he’s definitely asking you out for drinks.

next

[mbirnsings-71]

Heavy is the head that wears the Watcher's Crown / But if I open up the door everybody's gonna drown / I can't have that on my conscience, I've already lost my mind / But I'll do anything to save you, you will not be left behind - Watcher's Crown (Demo) by Cloudkissed

anywho, tfw I finish a drawing in two days flat??? haven't done that in a hot minute okay- Anywho alternate versions of this drawing under the cut because I like all the versions of this tbh but this one was my most favorite-

The Variation is very subtle but I like them okay okay-

[defnotmadie]

i wish i had the strength to finish this fic bc god something possessed me when i started it because this is one of the first paragraphs

[cannimochi]

i love being silly with @mbirnsings-71 bc it means i get silly jokes about their aus- so before pride months over here r some doodles of What About A Desert Wedding AU characters interacting with the mess that is Grian

i wanna post more but like all of my recent stuff is whiteboard doodles like this AHAA anyways no more context til madi writes them more ..

[gabaghoul-fandom-meme-queen]

So just finished s7e14 of #the100 and WTF?! #SPOILERS

Clarke kills Bellamy for to "protect Madi" from a book that SHE LEAVES THERE. Also, why did they BUTCHER Bellamy's character!?! I know there was scheduling stuff with the irl actor but this was such a nuclear writing choice that totally fucked his character. So much so, they have to make the rest of the characters be like "ya that's fine Clarke" when Echo and Octavia have recently fought tooth and nail to either get back to Bellamy or avenge him. Also, it is literally a theme of the show to never give up on each other even if they literally commit tons of war crimes, but this time - nope. Like, there are so many other ways they could have written his ending even with the actor scheduling issues.

[wijdan309]

Dear friends, For the past few days, I have been experiencing the shock of the situation and trying to understand what might happen after the ceasefire. After everything we had endured, I was finally able to return to northern Gaza, where our homes once stood, now in ruins.

I am contacting you because I need help. The cost of moving my family and our belongings is very high, and unfortunately, we cannot afford it on our own.

There are no tents in the north, and buying new ones is not an option there.

I can't leave our stuff behind; They are all we have left.

My heart is tied to this place, to the sky above our house, even if it is uninhabitable.

I miss him so much, and I need to be there with my loved ones, surrounded by the rest of our lives.

I trust you my friends, and I consider you my family. Please, if you can, help us cover transportation costs.

Every little thing counts, and your support means a lot to us during these difficult times.

Please donate and contribute what you can, it makes a difference for us.

Thank you from the bottom of my heart.

with love,

✅️Vetted by @gazavetters, my number verified on the list is ( #370 )✅️

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[ohthewh0rror]

ETERNALLY YOURS.

˚₊ ⋆ ☠︎︎ ⋆ ₊˚ prompt — The follow up to ‘I’ve Dug Two Graves For Us, My Dear.’ Now that your marriage has been irreparably damaged, where do the two of you go from here?

Pairing: Tom Riddle x Reader

Word count: 2k

A/N: I changed my mind after writing a completely different ending. At first I wanted to make it angst-filled and unhappy but I keep writing sad stuff, and you guys deserve a break. Thank you to my best friend Madie for proof-reading/editing this once again and to @brooklynscherry-z for helping me get a better understanding of Tom & Mattheo’s lore. Anyway, I hope you guys enjoy this (much shorter) continuation to ‘I’ve Dug Two Graves For Us, My Dear”!

“A letter arrived for you this morning, Y/N,” came the soft voice of your great aunt Delia, her wrinkled hand holding the letter out for you. For a second you were confused, unsure of who would have sent you a letter, especially at such an early hour, until it dawned on you.

Your husband.

A pang of hurt hit your heart at the thought of him. It had been two months since you had seen or spoken to him and though you hated him, another, smaller, part of you missed him terribly. He had been your first love and dearest friend, and his infidelity wasn’t enough to completely erase the love you’ve held for him since the two of you were only seventeen.

As you held the letter in your hands you contemplated not opening it, to instead toss it in the trash and forget it ever arrived. You eyed the entrance to the kitchens, the trash was right through that door, you could throw it away and leave the contents of the letter a mystery. But, as you turned the letter over in your hands, you felt curiosity eating at the back of your mind, beckoning you to open the letter and dissect its contents.

‘Well…it couldn’t hurt,’ you thought, gently unfolding the parchment. As your eyes skimmed over the opening of the letter, you soon realized this was not a letter you should read in the company of others. Folding the letter back up, you looked at your aunt, asking “may I be excused?”

Her eyes darted between the parchment and your eyes, and she looked as if she wanted to ask you something but she waved you off instead, wordlessly telling you that you may take your leave.

You gave her a nod of gratitude before heading to the room you were staying in, trying your hardest to seem normal. Once you entered your room, you made sure to lock the doors and cast a silencing charm for good measure. You did not want your aunt to hear you in the event that you became upset.

Sitting at the desk in the corner of your room, you unfolded the letter and began to read it once again.

Dear Y/N,

I hope this letter finds you well. It has been two months since I have seen or spoken to you, and I must admit that I miss you more than I thought myself capable of. I understand that what I did was unforgivable in your eyes, but I hope by telling you everything it will help you process what is going on so we may move forward from this.

A year ago I approached Bellatrix with the proposition of conceiving and carrying my heir. I explained I did this out of a need to produce an heir and you had not been able to get pregnant yourself. Once she had the child, the child would be ours to raise, she was merely going to be a surrogate of sorts; she understood and agreed to the terms and from there we began the affair.

She finally fell pregnant 6 months ago with a boy. While I should've told you about my plans before approaching her, I most definitely should have told you once she was with child. I am sincerely sorry that you found out the way you did. I wish I could have told you myself, under better circumstances.

Please consider coming back home so that we may be a proper family.

Eternally yours, Tom

You felt a few tears slip out and drip from your eyes onto the parchment, smearing the ink that stained the page with its terrible words. Oh how you wish he hadn’t written to you. His answers did not bring any form of acceptance of his actions, only further heartbreak. It was hard for you to comprehend how he could have sex with her and then return home to you as if all was normal.

“Reducio,” you muttered, shrinking the letter. You carefully folded it, being sure not to rip it, before you got out of your seat and made your way to your closet. On the top shelf, in the furthest corner, sat an intricately carved wooden box with flowers lining the top and sides. The initials M.R sat right above the lock. You conjured a small stepping stool, but even with the stool you were still unable to reach it, leaving yourself to blindly swipe your hand across the shelf till you finally felt your fingers bump the edge.

With what you were looking for finally in your grasp, you got off the stool and went back to your desk. You sat down again, reaching towards one of the desk drawers, and pulling it open to retrieve the small key for the box. As soon as the lock clicked, you opened the top, revealing an empty interior.

The box was made to hold important milestone objects and keepsakes for your son. You planned to fill it with your own letters and pictures so that you could look back on it when he is older and no longer needs you, to remind yourself of simpler times. You hadn’t planned on putting anything related to Tom in there. The thought of him was far too painful, and you didn’t want to taint the little bits of happiness within.

Taking the shrunken letter you placed it in the box before sliding off your wedding ring and putting it on top of the letter. As you closed the box once again, you felt as if you were also closing the metaphorical lid on your marriage. You wouldn’t grace Tom with your presence, a simple letter would have to suffice as you decided you were going to effectively cut him out of your life.

Dear Tom,

I will keep this letter simple and to the point. I appreciate your honesty and your willingness to take some form of accountability for your actions, as I know it’s not something that comes easy to you. But, I will not be returning home nor will we be playing at being a happy family. If you want to be a family as badly as you say, then leave our marriage intact but let us live separate lives. Don’t worry, I do not plan to date or remarry, for you are my first and final love.

That all being said, do not contact me again unless it is with divorce proceedings.

P.s. congratulations on the heir you always wanted.

Sincerely, Y/N

Putting your quill down, you read over the letter one more time to be sure this was what you wanted your final words to him to be. Satisfied with what you wrote, you got out of your chair once again and left the room, heading towards the back garden where you knew the owl belonging to your aunt would be.

Walking into the small building that housed her owl you saw the bird, Chipp, still here and not away delivering mail for your aunt. You gave Chipp a few treats as a thank you for going out in the cold for delivering this letter for you before holding the letter out for the owl to take. Chipp happily took the parchment and flew off to take the letter to its recipient.

That was the last time you spoke to Tom. As the months turned to years, Tom became a distant, painful memory.

11 years later

“Mattheo! Wait up!” You called out to your son, as he excitedly ran ahead of you. You were winded trying to keep up with him, trying hard not to lose him in the crowd of teary-eyed mothers and nervous children. When you finally caught up to him, you grabbed him by the shoulder, halting him. “I understand you’re excited, but will you try not to run off,” you were panting slightly, “I would at least like to tell you goodbye.”

Mattheo looked exasperated, trying already to seem too cool to tell his mother bye. “But mum—” he started, trying to justify his running off. “No buts; now, let me see you,” you said, motioning him to turn around. He groaned, turning around to face you. You held him by his arms in front of you, “listen, and actually listen to me for once; listen to your professors and don’t cause trouble, I know how—” you paused mid sentence when something out of the corner of your eye caught your attention.

It was your husband.

Your husband, who you hadn’t seen in 11 years, with a young boy standing beside him. The two of you locked eyes and you felt a wave of discomfort hit you. How could you have been so stupid? Of course he would be here, his son and Mattheo are close in age, they’d obviously go to school together.

You decided to skip the speech and quickly walk further up the platform, trying to put more room between you and Tom. You didn’t want Tom to approach you and attempt to talk to you or your son. Mattheo didn’t need to go through such a confusing altercation on such an important day. This day was only about him and you wanted it to be special.

Once you put a satisfying amount of room between the two of you, you stopped and your son decided to ask why that man was staring at you. Waving him off, you explained, “he’s just someone I used to know, that’s all.” Mattheo looked like he had more questions, but you didn’t give him the chance to ask them. Instead, you gave him a parting kiss on the forehead and told him goodbye before all but pushing him onto the train.

You backed away and watched Mattheo walk further into the train before he finally disappeared from sight. You felt your eyes well up with tears at the reality of your son leaving for Hogwarts, giving you definitive proof of how old he was getting. It made you wish you possessed a time turner, just so you could go back to the beginning and do it all over again.

As you shuffled back toward the exit, you were lost in thought over how Mattheo would do at Hogwarts. What house would he be in? Would he make friends? How would he do academically? You were so lost in thought that you hadn’t noticed someone closing in on you until it was too late.

You felt a hand wrap around your bicep and pull you back slightly causing you to stumble into their chest. You whipped around, about to give the owner of the offending hand a piece of your mind when you saw who was touching you.

Tom looked at you, and though his face remained neutral, you swear you saw a glint of hurt in his eyes. He released your arm only to place a hand on the small of your back, “walk with me, Y/N?”

You hesitated for a second before giving him a small nod and walking with him back towards the entrance to platform 9 ¾. There was a moment of tense, awkward silence before he spoke.

“What is his name?” Tom asked. You thought about whether you wanted to tell him or not, as you knew where this conversation was headed.

“Mattheo,” was all you said. Not giving away his full name, as you weren’t ready to admit you’d given him Tom’s last name.

Tom went silent again and you looked up to see him deep in thought. Not wanting to make the situation any more uncomfortable by just staring at him, you looked away, waiting for him to speak once again. Though, once he spoke, you wish he had kept the awkward silence between you two.

“Have dinner with me tonight.”

Taglist: @the-sweet-psycho @mypolicemanharryyy @jessysfangirlworld @homan-oid @motherofdragons1998 @theeslutintheroom @pasta01 @lovefks @mwahbella @storminacloud @brooklynscherry-z @eri-s-big-sis @eversei @tomhollandisabae @rlblackbarbie @cyphah @cookielovesbook-akie

[chrispotatos]

private school headcanons

summary: basically if you, madi, nick, chris, and madi went to a private school and had a friend group. (matt and reader are talking)

warning: none, (I've never been to a private school before, so don't come for me)

a/n: two posts in one night? wow

- plans hardly ever make it out of the group chat

-you and chris are the ones that gets the whole friend group in trouble. it would be dead silent because everyones trying to focus on work and then chris will make a face or whisper something to you that makes you burst into laughter and then the rest of your friends start laughing even if they dont know why.

-skipping detention is a must. all though you and chris landed everyone in detention matt and madi are the main ones who wanna leave.

"guys the teachers gone, lets go" matt whispers.

"why the fuck are you whispering it's just us" madi spoke aloud. "right" he giggled shaking his head "so we leaving or what" madi said

you look over to nick who makes the smartest decisions out of the five of you and he said yes.

"who is this and what have you done with nick" you joke out of shock of his decision " well im not going. im not getting more detention because of this" you cross your arms not going along with everyone. "c'mon y/n you know you want too" matt dragged his words in a bit of a sing song way and of course you gave in.

-yall made plans to go to a gas station for snacks after sneaking out of detention. you and madi made a few tiktoks one of the boys getting in the screen on purpose to 'mess up' the video.

-when the class goes on school trips you and matt sit next to eachother on the bus; talking and showing eachother funny videos half the ride.

-his brothers teased him for letting you fall asleep on him but madi was the number one supporter of this soon to come relationship so she took pictures whenever she could.

-if you saw matt talking with some girl and it looked like they were having a good conversation you would complain to madi and end up crying because you wore your heart on your sleeve and sometimes regretted it. even if it was nothing serious you were sensitive so it hurt even more.

-when you were alone with either nick or chris they would tell you stuff matt said about you

"bro i look like shit today" you were looking at yourself in the camera app fixing your stray hairs that flew from your half up half down hair style, and your mascara that was trying to clump the other eyelashes together but overall failing and it frustrated you too much so you put your phone away.

"matt said this is probably the prettiest you ever looked" chris mentioned so nonchalant like that wasn't sweet of his brother to say. thinking about it made your cheeks heat up, you hide your smile with a confused look "really?" chris shrugged "he said it not me"

-matt came into your dorm later on in the evening to just hang out and you confronted him about what chris said and he didn't deny any of it.

"you thought i looked pretty today?" you asked with a teasing grin on your face. he snapped his head up from his phone, metting your eyes "who told you that" "it doesn't matter"

the boy shrugged going back to his phone "well i didn't lie"

- the groupchat consists of gossip and homework answers

- you and matt would separately make up lame excuses of why you can't go through with the plans that for once made it out the groupchat, just to stay back and cuddle, taking turns talking about one anothers day.

a/n: im gonna write fics based off of this. also lmk if you would want a pt.2

[crushmeeren]

⋆ ⋆˙⟡ welcome to crush’s 5k follower event..! i’ve never done one before so i hope you all enjoy! ❣︎

⋆ ⋆˙⟡ open 04.10.25 — 05.15.25

⋆ ⋆˙⟡ choose from the following options and drop a request in my inbox.

❲ ̽ ⋆ moodboard ̽ ⋆❳ or ❲ ̽ ⋆ short drabble / one shot ̽ ⋆❳

⤷ ⋆ you’re free to choose both if you’re super interested!

⋆ ⋆˙⟡ tell me a character you love and a song that reminds you of them (i’ll choose a lyric from it that will be the name of your request and i’ll try to base the over all vibe of the moodboard and / or drabble off of it). » »

⤷ ⋆ if you’re up for it, tell me why the song reminds you of said character! [ not mandatory for the request ]

⤷ ⋆ tell me what au you prefer to see them in, or if you’d rather it stay canon — i won’t change anything. c:

⤷ ⋆ this very much INCLUDES self ships as i would LOVE to create some stuff based off of self ships for everyone! i would just need a few fun/silly facts about you and your self ship, plus the name. or send me a link to your self ship page. ❣︎

⋆ ⋆˙⟡ fandoms i will write for ;

⤷ ⋆ my hero academia, demon slayer, haikyuu, naruto, blue lock, kaiju no. 8, jujutsu kaisen, hunter x hunter, attack on titan, bungo stray dogs — and i’ll throw one piece in for the hell of it.

⇝ ‎‎‎ ⇝ keep in mind, as i may be writing for some of these requests, if it’s a character i have no idea how to characterize i prob won’t do it. sorry! :c

⋆ ⋆˙⟡ rules ;

⇝ ‎‎‎ ⇝ this is not exclusive for mooties or followers, anyone can send in a request! however, don’t send me an anon request, i’m going to be turning them off for the duration of this event.

⇝ ‎‎‎ ⇝ i ⌜ ¡! WILL NOT ¡! ⌟ write nsfw for any of these. no matter what, so don’t ask.

⇝ ‎‎‎ ⇝ i love you all besties, but i am not writing angst. anything silly, comforting, fun, fluffy — that kind of heart warming shit is all i’ll do. » »

⇝ ‎‎‎ ⇝ last but not least, if i’m not up to doing this for a certain character i simply won’t respond to a request. it’s never personal, just preference on my end!

⋆ ⋆˙⟡ chigiri hyoma ; you wanna be me? you can’t be — for @/osamucide c: | reid + chigiri + crush |

⋆ ⋆˙⟡ kirishima eijirou ; i’m on my way to believing — for @/grenadehearts | lotus + kiri | c:

⋆ ⋆˙⟡ uchiha sasuke ; i’m tired of feeling like i’m fuckin’ crazy, i’m tired of driving till i see stars in my eyes — for @/kurokawaia | honey + sasuke |

⋆ ⋆˙⟡ bakugou katsuki ; i know you get me, so i let my walls come down — for @/dollyfetti | bakudoll |

⋆ ⋆˙⟡ dazai osamu ; pretty as a vine, as sweet as a grape — for @/fleursdaydreams | fleurzai |

⋆ ⋆˙⟡ kuroo tetsurou ; cuz the sign on your heart said its still reserved for me — for @/peqch3rry | veronica + kuroo |

⋆ ⋆˙⟡ kaminari denki ; you saw me and smiled — for @/kitkat13001 | denkitty |

⋆ ⋆˙⟡ kirishima eijirou / bakugou katsuki ; it must be counterfeit, i think there’s been a glitch — for @/peachsukii | kireibaku |

⋆ ⋆˙⟡ akutagawa ryuunosuke ; she looks like the real thing, she tasted like the real thing — for @/with-my-calamitous-love | mady + ryuunosuke |

[madi-writes-things]

Nobody Pt. 1

(C.Sturniolo X Reader)

Summary:

Chris and Y/N never seemed to get along, but sometimes help comes from the most unexpected places

Word Count: 1,009

TW: Cursing, SH (not in detail, but it definitely happens and is talked about), Blood, Violence, Hurt Comfort, Not edited, Bad stuff under the cut

A/N: Hey guys, just wanted to pop in t let you know that my DM’s are always open if you need someone to talk to. I use y writing as a safe and healthy outlets for the destructive thoughts, but reading i these sorts of things isn’t healthy for everyone… keep yourself safe.

-Madi <3

Y/N’s POV

“”“”“”“”“”

“What do you want?” I ask when I see Chris walk into my room without knocking. I didn’t mean for it to sound so rude, but it just kind of happens when i talk to him. I don’t even remember why we hate each other, and i bet he doesn’t either… its just always been like this.

“Nick was too lazy to come upstairs…” he stared at me for a second before continuing. “We’re going out to film, do you want us to get You something for dinner?”

“I’ll just text nick what I want” as he leaves i wonder if he even cares. I only live with him because Nick and Matt begged me to come to LA with them after HighSchool. Nick and i have been best friends since eighth grade when I transferred to their district, and Matt has always been nice to me… but Chris never seemed to like me, eventually i stopped going out of my way to be nice to him.

I hear the door closes, quickly followed by the sound of Matt pulling out of the driveway.

“”“”“”“”“”

How did i get here? Nick would be so mad at me… he would never say it, but i know it’s frustrating when people you care about keep making the same mistakes. I look down at my thighs, realizing that I can’t even see the individual cuts through the blood. I should have just woken Nick up, if i had I wouldn’t be in this situation.

The tears have mostly stopped flowing at this point, and the adrenaline is dying down. The weight of what I’ve done starts to set in. I need to clean this up, I need to get help, I need to get Nic-

“What the fuck” as I look up I’m met with the icy blue eyes of Chris. Before I can process what is happening he is yanking the blade out of my hand and flushing it down the toilet. “Y/N, look at me… what happened?” Seeing the panic in his eyes makes me feel bad, he was never supposed to have to deal with this.

“Can you please get the first aid kit from under my bed?” The words roll off my tongue with ease. He just stared at me with fear in his eyes. “I’ll be fine, just go” with that he turned around and went to my room.

Chris returned a few minutes later, with my large first aid kit, and a gas station bag in his hands. I had been desperately trying to clean up some of the mess with toilet paper, but I was mostly failing. “Can you please sit on the side of the bathtub?” I stared up at him in confusion. “Please Y/N… please just let me help you clean up”

“do you even know what you’re doing?” His response consisted of turning his phone to face me, an article on how to clean self harm wounds staring back at me. “Fine…” I did what he asked and positioned myself on the side of the tub.

Chris started by wiping up what I had missed from the floor, quickly moving to sit in between my legs. As he started cleaning me up, I realized how intimate our position was. He wouldn’t look me in the eyes, but I could tell that he was holding back tears. After he stopped all the bleeding, and cleaned off the wounds he just stared for a second… and it broke me.

the tears started streaming down my face again, nothing could’ve stopped them. “Don’t tell Nick… he can’t know I’m doing this again.”

He finally looked up at me, taking a breath to steady himself before speaking. “again?” I just stared. He finished up what he was doing in silence before finally speaking. “Ok… I won’t tell Nick, as long as you let me help you with this”

“I don’t need help Chris.” He didn’t respond, causing me to panic. “Fine, but nobody can know about this.” He held out his pinky, I locked mine into his… an unspoken promise between us.

Chris disposed of any evidence, before carrying me to his room. I was too tired to protest, and it’s not like anyone would be up early enough to notice. He gave me a pair of sweats, and climbed into the bed with me.

“”“”“”“”“”

I woke up to Chris laying practically on top of me, his arm wrapped tightly around my waist. For a moment I didn’t mind… until I saw the time.

“wake up!” I shook him lightly, his eyes flutter open before widening at the position he was currently in. “I need to get up, me and Nick are supposed to go get breakfast for a video… he can’t know that I slept in here.” Chris quickly rolled off of me, and I rushed down the stairs.

As I made my way into the living room I could see Matt and Nick, sitting in silence. They looked at me at the same time, just as Chris came down the stairs to join us.

“Why are you wearing his sweat pants?” Nick stared daggers into my soul. “They must’ve gotten mixed up in the laundry…” I hated lying to my best friend, but he couldn’t know.

“I see… what’s your fake excuse for being in his bed this morning?” I looked at Chris quickly as we walked closer to his brothers. He met my eyes, unsure of what the right decision was.

“please Chris…” I whispered. “You promised me you wouldn’t tell him.” I see Chris make a decision, and before I can stop him he opens his mouth.

“We slept together.” He looked at me, apologizing with his eyes. I look between Nick and Matt, trying to judge their reactions. While this wasn’t ideal, it was better than the truth… until I saw Nick get up.

in a matter of seconds Nick had punched Chris across the face. After flexing his hand, he looked at me with nothing but hatred before walking away.

[gloomskulls]

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚SQUEAKY CLEAN [tasm!peter parker x reader]

pairings: tasm!peter parker x reader

⇢ ˗ˏˋ SUMMARY ୨୧ peter wants to be pampered and bathe by you after being dirtied up by some robbers

⇢ ˗ˏˋ WARNING ୨୧ fluff, wounds, peter falling lol, mud and dirt, lemme know if i missed any!

A/n: you know what was so funny? this was actually supposed to be a smut, but I low key don't feel like a whore today lol. Btw don't steal my shi, coz that will also make you shit.

The sound of hurried footsteps passed outside your apartment window, and although startled, you relaxed when you recognized the familiar person in a spandex suit coming closer. Peter always had a flair for dramatics and entrances, but tonight it seemed to be more chaotic than before. Moments later, the window creaked open, and he stumbled in, muttering something unintelligible under his breath.

"Peter!" You rushed to his direction.

His Spider-man mask was drawn up to his nose, exposing a sheepish grin underneath. However, that was not the most alarming part—his suit was torn by mud and faint scratches could be seen through some torn parts on the arms.

"Hey, babe," He spoke, trying to sound casual, "before you say anything, it's the puddle that did it."

Raising an eyebrow, you replied, "Oh? The puddle did it?"

"Well, robbers started it, but the puddle finished it, long story short story—I won. Kind of." He gestured at his muddy, disheveled state.

You sighed, crossing your arms. "Let me guess—you couldn't resist some unnecessary flips to show off and got humbled by gravity?"

"Most shockingly accurate," he said with a weak grin of admission. "But can we save the sass for later? I think that puddle has some kind of grudge against me. Ow." He gestured to a particularly nasty scrape on his arm.

Shaking your head slightly with fond exasperation, you took his hand and led him off to the bathroom. "Come on, bug boy. We need to clean you up before you start the next supervillain origin story with an infected wound."

Peter followed you like a chastised puppy

As you pushed Peter onwards the bathroom door, the mud and dirt clung to the Spider-Man suit and was slowly soaking into the blood oozing from his injury during a fight with robbers. You could see the fatigue in his eyes; all his responsibilities as Spider-Man were now heavy burdens on his shoulders. But even such a rugged appearance could not take away that magical spark in his gaze that seemed to ignite every time he looked your way.

After switching on the light in the bathroom and rummaging through the cabinet for a first aid kit, you told him, "Sit," motioning to the edge of the bathtub.

He plopped down obediently, resting his elbows on his knees. You knelt in front of him, carefully peeling back the torn fabric of his suit to inspect the damage.

You quickly grabbed the first aid kit, but before you could even get it open, Peter looked up at you with those hollow eyes and said, "I'm filthy. Mind if I take a shower?"

You nodded with rival emotions raging inside you — one was concern; the other was something you could not figure out entirely. "Well, go ahead. The first aid kit is here, so take a shower, and then we got time to tend to your wounds."

He then put his voice into some very vulnerable tone and asked, "Could you… bathe me? I'm feeling a bit weak."

You should have figured. You saw his wounds; it was nasty but not fatal, something you probably get when you fall of a bike.

You threw him a derisive look. "Peter Parker, if this is some kind of trick just to get me to pamper you—"

"Okay, no, I'm serious this time! Scout's honor," he interrupted, holding up his hand in mock solemnity.

You roll your eyes as you grabbed a towel and tossing it over your shoulder. "Fine. But no funny business Parker."

Helping Peter shower is actually a bit less embarrassing than you'd thought it would be, at least to begin with. You stand outside the tub, holding him at the detachable showerhead while you rinse off the muddy spots on his back, being careful not to touch any cuts or bruises.

"This is so degrading," he mutters, but with a tone that clearly says 'he'd rather be caught dead' than annoyed at the present moment.

"Degrading? You begged me to get in here and help you, buddy," you shot back, scrubbing at an especially stubborn piece of dirt on his shoulder.

He winces before laughing quietly. "Yeah, but it's kind of nice, you know? Being taken care of."

The pause lengthens and your heart grows soft. "You're so dramatic. Well, maybe if you didn't jump into danger every night, I wouldn't have to."

"Fair enough," he says, turning to face you. His eyes have softened now, teasing mood all gone. "Thanks for this. For everything."

You smile and reach up to brush away a strand of wet hair from his forehead. "Don't mention it. That being said, turn your face around; there's still mud on it."

He muttered, "You know, if I weren't in so much pain, this would be kinda romantic."

You laugh, shaking your head. "You're impossible, Peter Parker."

Peter is now cleaned, bandaged, and dressed up. Sprawled on the couch, looking much more like himself. He grabs your hand as you pass by and tugs you down beside him.

"You are amazing," he says, pressing a kiss to your cheek.

"And you are exhausting," you reply, but you cannot hide your smile.

"Perfect match," he quips, pulling you into his arms.

You roll your eyes but snuggle closer, because you would trade this chaos for nothing.

@gloomskulls 2024. DON'T COPY, TRANSLATE OR USE ANY OF MY WORKS HERE OR ANY OTHER WEBSITES. Photos don't belong to me

[sturnboos]

FINALLY SPEAKING UP ABOUT THE NDA ACCOUNTS

okay so I have had enough, idgaf anymore I’m making a post about this shit, it’s now time to share all the stuff I’ve been hidding to keep 'the triplets' safe aka just that bitch named doll/charlotte.

I’m sure people have seen this first sc cause it had been shared around already but it was my original conversation I had with 'Matt' about their relationship with eachother and doll.

I lost majority of my conversation with 'Matt' and 'chris' when this screenshot was first shared around, because they blocked me, I removed their chats then they unblocked me but doll has kept me blocked on her blog since that day so I don’t have proof for this next part I’m about to tell you but another conversation I had with 'matt' he had told me their sexuality's I can’t remember what exactly was said but he basically made them all attracted to both genders AND he told me with nick that nick would fuck girls but never date one. Then proceeded to follow it up by saying he had fucked Tara before (this was a bit after the 'date with Tara' surprise happened on tour)

Okay now next screenshot was when I did believe them they were controlling what I would post across platforms. Here 'Chris' harassed me into deleting a tiktok because one of the plushies had the name Charlotte. they would often say it was for MY safety so I didn’t get harassed for being involved with them.

Star/Loopie was the only one who was constantly nice and respected my decision when I told her I didn’t believe them anymore, I no longer consider me and her friends anymore tho as things were sent to me with proof exposing her as predatory plus 'Matt' seems to hate me now and 'chris' keeps posting shit seemingly directed at me when it’s @exposemermaid doing all the work, I’m just cheering at the sidelines lmao and Kiki and mermaid are right about the harassments, everytime I liked a post that exposed them I’d get messages like this.

Here’s the most recent/last conversation I currently have with any of the accounts, I’ll admit I was being a bit of a dick but I was pissed off at all the lies they are feeding people with and they keep changing their story. Here 'Matt’ was now telling me Charlotte isn’t doll even tho all our conversations previously he had been calling her char. Also trying to convince me she works for space camp but there is no such thing as a person being a partner, partners are only for brands for example like Kool Aid would be considered a partner for space camp as they have collared. Charlotte would have to be an affiliate (fan membership) or team member (influencer that gets the pr packages). She is NOT a PARTNER.

sorry if this is messy and doesn’t make much sense, I've got the flu right now so I’m extra moody and in rage mode, I spent months messing around with this shit. Although I knew early on they were fake because of the incest comments and hate towards Alahna, Madi and Laura. for my mains this is another reason why I put the distorted reality au (the realm) on hold because I’m still trying to wrap my head around this whole situation, it makes me sick the only reason I stayed pretending was for someone I thought was a friend but turned out to be a 28 year old pred… I will still write some oneshots here and their because I love writing!! but yeah. Also tagging @exposemermaid and @nickssidewitch because they have been my log book for these conversations might be able to back me up with some stuff.

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main taglist: @blushsturns @riasturns @iloveduckssm @chrissbxby @sturnobessed @kayskreativeideas @tits4matt @mattsfavho @sturniolobananas1 @courta13 @alexisa78 @chrisissos3xy @sturnobessed @mattschelseaa @norahsturns @dolliraez @jibitzlesscrocs @oopsiedaisydeer @gemzyy @mattschelseaa @hesvoid34 @phone4pills @spaghettislut1 @sturnslux3 @phone4pills @owenstar @luvsturns @nickssidewitch @ariieeesworld @babyt0matoes @sugarraez

[mbirnsings-71]

(31/365) Me when I realize that I have a busy week ahead of me

[defnotmadie]

CHAPTER TWO OF STARBOYS AND THE SHADOWS THAT HIDE THEM HAS BEEN DROPPED

When he was younger, before the castle and before Wilbur, Tommy used to lay on benches in the park or alleyways and stare up at the sky.

Something about the stars always called to him and who was he to deny himself that.

:D have fun!

[l0vely-sturniolo]

SANRIO GIRL

chris sturniolo x reader

short, different scenarios of you being a hello kitty girl and chris spoils you :)

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i was at the mall with my mom, we went into hot topic because they have the cutest hello kitty stuff. we walked in and i saw a cute hoodie, taking a picture of it and posting it on my story, writing 'i'm gonna lose my mind😍'

we kept looking around, and when i didn't find anything, i decided that if i didn't find anything anywhere else, i'd come back and get the hoodie. next we went to burlington, to see what kind of halloween things they had. i found a few mugs, but i already had enough. i didn't need anymore.

i kept looking around, when my phone went off. i checked and it was a text from chris, he had sent me $60, and texted me 'go get the hoodie, i love you ❤️'

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me and chris were at the mall, along with madi, and nick and matt. we were in some random clothing store, and i went and looked, and found a couple hello kitty shirts. a few minutes later, chris came over. "find anything baby?" he asked.

"look at all the hello kitty shirts chris," i smiled, showing him. "get them, i'll pay for them," he told me. "no chris, they're like $10 each and there's at least 7 of them here, i'll just get like 3 of them and i'll pay for them," i said to him.

i got some of the shirts and paid, and then we went to get something to eat. "i'll be right back, i gotta pee," chris told us, leaning down and kissing me, before he left. he was gone for a little while, and then he finally came back with a bag in his hand. a bag from the place we were just at.

he walked over and handed me the bag, i looked and it was the rest of the shirts i left behind. "chris," i said to him. "what? i can't get my girl something she'll love?" he smirked at me. i rolled my eyes playfully, "i can't stand you but i love you," i leaned in, kissing him. "i love you," he said.

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"babyyyy," chris walked into my room. "hi, i missed you," i smiled, getting up and walking over to him to kiss him. "i missed you," he smiled as we pulled away.

"i got you something," he smiled at me. "chris? noo, why?" i asked. "because i saw it and i knew you'd like it," he smiled. "and because i love you," he said, leaning in and kissing me again. "i love you," i smiled, wrapping my arms around his neck, not even caring about what he got me right now.

"do you wanna see?" he asked. "sure chris," i smiled. he pulled away and went into the hall outside of my room, grabbing a bag and giving it to me. i looked inside and it was the halloween hello kitty greeter. "chris!" i threw the bag on my bed, wrapping my arms around him again, kissing all over his face.

"i'm assuming you like it?" he giggled. "i love it, thank you baby," i smiled. "you're welcome, i love you," he smiled. "i love you," i kissed him.

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“oh my god chris what do i do?” i ask as i put another hello kitty thing into the cart, every single thing in the cart was hello kitty, and quite frankly, all of the things i’ve been looking for recently.

“what do you mean? you’re getting it, right?” he looked at me. “not all of it,” i shook my head. “baby,” he started, but i cut him off. “chris i cant,” i said. “so let me buy it for you, i was going to anyway,” he shrugged. “chris no!” “baby, you’ve been looking for this stuff forever, you found it, you’re not putting it back, come on.”

he took the cart from me and started going towards the checkout, ignoring my protests. “chris,” i whined. “oh sorry baby, were you still looking?” “no, chris come on let me put some of it back,” i said. “can’t hear you,” he said, making his way to the register, putting everything on the counter.

“chris, let me at least go half, that’s too much money,” i said, and he just looked at me, before taking his card out of his wallet and tapping it on the machine. “chris,” i frowned, feeling bad, as he took the bags and we started walking out.

“don’t feel bad, i wanted to baby, you deserve this, you’ve been working so hard, it’s the least i could do,” he said, kissing my head as we walked to the car.

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i walked into my shared bedroom with chris, to find my entire side of the room had been changed. “chris.. what?!” i said, shocked.

there was a brand new vanity, with the hello kitty chair and mirror that i’ve been wanting, but haven’t been able to find. i looked over at him and he was just looking at me with a smile on his face.

i walked over, and on the vanity were new hello kitty makeup brushes, a new hello kitty makeup headband, new makeup, skin care things i was running low on, and a hello kitty necklace.

“chris,” i teared up, and he walked over to me, wrapping his arms around me. “happy early anniversary, baby.. there’s more coming,” he kissed my head. “no, chris this is too much,” i held onto him tighter, letting some tears fall. “never too much for my girl,” he kissed my head again. “thank you,” i whispered. “of course,” he smiled, giving me an actual kiss.

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tags:

@stayingstromboli