❀𝑰𝒓𝒊𝒔❀ @almostsaidiloveyou - Tumblr Blog

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔* °❀⋆.ೃ࿔*: °❀⋆.

Hello! Welcome to my little blog <3

Quick explanation / warning (?) : My Imagines, I want the reader to close their eyes and picture whoever they want. I write strictly for Sapphics & Lesbians…I’ll write about a specific character if someone requests for it.

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔* °❀⋆.ೃ࿔*: °❀⋆.

❀ Masterlist ❀

Imagine #34: The ER

[After a car crash leaves your leg broken, you're stuck in the Emergency Room. But the person next to you makes you feel less alone]

⊹₊˚‧︵‿₊୨ᰔ୧₊‿︵‧˚₊⊹⋆. ̊⊹₊˚‧︵‿₊୨ᰔ୧₊‿︵‧˚₊⊹⋆. ̊

The crash wasn’t super violent. It was loud and glass shattering (literally), the sound of tires screeching across the wet concrete would forever be engraved in your brain. You remembered dazely blinking at the grey sky, unsure if you were upside down.

Now, several hours later, you sat propped up on a stiff ER bed. The sterile scent was basically clouding your senses. Your leg is in a temporary cast, aching in a way that makes it hard to focus on anything around you. A nurse had just left after reassuring you.

“You’re lucky. Nothing too serious. Just a break and bruising."

But you didn’t feel lucky.

You hated hospitals. The curtain surrounding your little corner of the ER felt suffocating. You hated the beeping machines and the squeaky wheels of gurneys, and most of all you hated being alone in them.

“Are you kidding me?” A voice broke through the feeling of being alone. Tad bit raspy, sharp edged, definitely pissed off. “You’re telling me I need stitches AND a tetanus shot? That is RIdiculous. I-It’s barely a scratch.”

Your head turns towards the thick curtain beside you. The voice was muffled, but not enough to hide their frustrated tone or the very obvious sarcasm.

“You’re bleeding through your clothes,” a nurse said flatly.

“So? That’s…like… nothing,” a scoff, “I’m fine.”

You raised a brow, a small smile tugging at the corner of your mouth despite your. Whoever was next to you was clearly having a worse day… or at least a louder one.

“Are you always this dramatic?” you called out before you could stop yourself. You weren’t like this usually, but given the circumstances of the day. Who gives a shit?

A pause from both the person and the nurse. Then the sound of fabric shifting, like someone sat up suddenly.

“Excuse me?”

You smirked, “...just saying. I’ve got a broken leg and even I’m not whining that hard.”

Another pause, then, begrudgingly…a short laugh.

“Okay,” the voice responded. “Nurse, we've got a comedian next door.”

There was a moment of silence. Not really silence, just the nurse saying some medical things to her, before leaving.

“I’m not whining,” She scoffed from behind the curtain. “This just a lil scratch.”

You hummed. “Right right. Except the nurse JUST told you that you’re bleeding through your shirt. Sounds a little worse than a scratch..”

She huffed. “It’s not that deep.”

“Uh huh. Yet you need stitches and a tetanus shot..."not that deep"” You did air quotes as if she could see you.

A second of silence.

"That's not the point."

You held back a laugh, your mouth turning into a straight line. "Yea. The point being that you should ignore medical professionals?"

"You know what I mean."

"Mm hmm."

“You’re really enjoying this, huh Nosey?”

“Jus’a little.”

The noise she made was between frustration and amusement. “You talk a whole lot for someone with an alleged broken leg.”

“And you’re still arguing with me, so what does that say about you?”

Another pause. Then a long dragged out sigh.

“Alright. That’s it.” Before you could ask what she meant, the curtain yanked open.

Imagine #33

.✦ Masterlist

── .✦── .✦── .✦── .✦── .✦── .✦── .✦── .✦── .✦

The apartment is quiet except for the hum of the old refrigerator and the news on the television. Life happening without you.

To maintain your sanity you pour a glass of wine before noon. Into the same chipped glass every morning, the one you never replaced because you have a weird connection with it. You’re standing at the counter, still in yesterday’s blouse, hair messily clipped back.

The first swallow doesn’t taste like anything. The second satisfies you.

You step into the shower, drowning in the coldness. By eleven you could say you’re human enough to teach.

Your phone lights up once while you’re dressing yourself. You don’t check it right away. You already know who it is.

- Don’t forget dinner tonight. - We need to talk.

You leave the message unopened.

There’s a note on the kitchen table. There’s always a note. Written neatly, purposefully placed where you can’t miss it…next to a dirty cup. Petty

You left the door open again. Be more careful.

You don’t remember leaving it open. You don’t remember closing it either. You sniff the cup smells faintly of last night’s whiskey. The note stays where it is. You step around it like it’s furniture, eyes rolling.

Your husband isn’t home.

He rarely is. When he is, he takes up space without filling it. keys in the bowl, jacket over the chair, commanding rules disguised as concern. He texts instead of talking. Leaves reminders instead of affection. Correct you like a child who’s too old to be acting certain ways.

You haven’t loved him in years. Long enough that the absence of love doesn’t even matter. Long enough that leaving feels harder than staying.

At the conservatory, you’re efficient and precise. You don’t smile at your students. You don’t soften your voice. They sit straighter when you enter the room. You correct their posture with a glance. Their tempo with a single word. They fear disappointing you more than they fear failing.

It’s the only place where you are still listened to.

Lessons end at seven. Your throat is dry from speaking, patience is gone, head throbbing. You lock the studio, drive home, stop at the same liquor store without thinking. The clerk doesn’t talk to you anymore. He just nods, and raises his brows knowingly.

Whiskey this time. Neat & Expensive.

You drink alone at the piano in your dull living room, fingers hovering over keys you don’t play anymore. The instrument is polished and cared for.

"You could still be great," the devil on your shoulder whispers. "You just chose not to be."

Your phone buzzes again. Snapping you out of thought.

- Might come home late.

You don’t answer. The silence afterward is louder than any argument you’ve ever had.

You check your spreadsheet, schedule for tomorrow.

Tomorrow, there’s a new student, recommended. “Exceptional potential,” the notes say.

You snort softly to yourself, “Potential.”

Potential is just another word for disappointment waiting to happen.

── .✦

You teach the way you were taught. You learned after all, without mercy, without apology.

Your students hands hovering over the keys like they’re afraid of the piano. You don’t tell them to relax.

“Again,” you say flatly.

The little girl in front of you flinches and starts over. Her tempo rushes, her left hand slow. You stop her before she reaches the third bar.

“No,” you cut in.

“I made a mistake.”

“That wasn’t a mistake. You’re being careless.”

Her cheeks burn up. You see it and don’t care.

“You know this piece. You’ve practiced it. Respect it properly and don’t change it.”

She nods quickly, eyes glossy. You let her sit in that feeling for a moment before you gesture for her to continue.

This is how they learn: by discomfort, by realizing that wanting to be good isn’t enough. You learned that lesson young, with bleeding fingers and a teacher who never once told you they were proud.

You stand when you teach, arms crossed, weight on one hip. You correct posture with a tap of your knuckle against a shoulder, hard enough to be felt but not leave a mark. You count out loud when they drift off beat.

“One. Two. Three.” Your stiff voice is steady.

“Precision,” you tell them. “If you want to be emotional, go write poetry. Here! You're gonna be in order.”

Some of them hate you..maybe all of them. You know because they avoid your eyes, and they whisper in the halls. When they transfer out after a season, breathing is easier without you. Others stay, desperate for your approval like it’s oxygen.

Those are the ones who might be worth something. Who you gotta keep an eye out for.

You don’t praise often. When you do, it’s stale.

“Acceptable.”

“Better.”

“Not that embarrassing.”

The words mean more to them than any standing ovation. You see it in the way their shoulders loosen, the way they glance at you like you’ve handed them a cookie.

Between lessons, you sit alone at the piano. Drink, sometimes. Your fingers move automatically, correcting mistakes that you imagine. Playing passages you could play in your sleep.

You demand from them what you once demanded from yourself. To be perfection, discipline, sacrifice. Sacrifice. Sacrifice.

You remember the hours locked in practice rooms, the hunger to be perfect, the pain in your wrists. The way failure seemed like death.

Anyways, if you survived it. Then they will as well..

“Again,” you say to the next student, before he even begin. His hand position would’ve thrown everything off, you basically helped them.

He looks startled. He is. It’s 3 in the afternoon, after his day in probably private school or wherever rich parents send their kids; he want to sleep.

He start again, this time correctly.

Imagine #32: “-Lloras con los ojos secos - hablando de ella” (-you cry with dry eyes - talking about her)

☀︎ masterlist

✿ inspired by “La Tortura” (mv) — Shakira ✿

How torturous it was for her. As if the world had a sense of humor placing you directly across from her. Your apartment complex lined up perfectly with her bedroom window. From her bed, she could see you move through your living room, your kitchen, even a glimpse of your bedroom if she angled herself just right.

Your existence tortures her. Reminds her she hasn’t been a saint since the day you moved in.

Not once.

This morning, at barely eleven, the bus exhales at the stop a block away. The streets are busy enough for a Friday. She doesn’t need to look to know it’s you stepping off. She’s memorized the timing by now.

You’re always awake at dawn. She knows because she is too. Because some mornings, before the sun has even awakened, your kitchen light flickers on.

You step off the bus with plastic bags dangling from your hands, light enough that your shoulders don’t hurt. If she squints, she can make out what’s inside: tomatoes, bread, those twenty four piece chocolate bars… cream cheese—

Pathetic

She shouldn’t be able to see that much.

Her eyes trail lower instead. The way the jeans cling to your hips. The way your jacket stops perfectly at the curve of your back. She runs a hand through her hair restless and slow.

She loves this angle of you. Watching you climb the stairs. The pattern of one leg stepping in front of the other. The way the denim creases on your ass when you lift your foot. The way it pulls.

She didn’t wake up planning to watch you. She woke up to make breakfast for her girlfriend.

Turning her head, she glances back at the sleeping figure in her bed. A blanket tangled low around her legs. The fan hums softly, blowing strands of hair across her peaceful face. The thin straps of last night’s sundress rest against warm skin.

Beautiful…

Both of you are and that’s what makes this so annoying. One woman in her bed, the other across the building from her.

How torturous this all is.

Imagine #31: “Baby take off your cool, cause I wanna see you”

(OneShot - clingy - jealousy- emotionally shut off - codependency - cute - insert female love interest - kind toxic relationship - hurt/ comfort? - dialogue heavy - suggestive? - 2 added background character - 3116 words)

✿ loosely inspired by “lose my cool” (part II)— kali uchis ✿

2 Years Ago; Feb 14.

February as a month could go either way. Some years in the past have been warmer; others were the coldest, even surpassing January. This year, in particular, was on a scale that, inside felt warm, but outside felt violent. Either way, you looked as stylish as you ever have all month..

You’re warm, though. Warm enough, with the heavy weight of your purse resting on your lap and a single flower between your fingers. You’re sitting with your ankles crossed, the train mostly empty. Someone at the far end of the cart is playing romantic pop music.

The last train you were on was so packed. Men with Valentine’s Day baskets taking up space everywhere. Your breast pressed between the pole and the corner of some girl’s XL chocolate box, the cardboard edge poking into your rib.

Thankfully, now, the only basket was far away from you. You fidgeted again with the single flower in your hand. Pink and white caught your eye: a bouquet of orchids resting on the seat across from you.

Your eyes flickered to the owner of the bouquet. A woman with her legs crossed, the red-brown leather of her boots peeking from beneath the bells of her pants. She was fidgeting too, an unlit cigarette between her fingers, the pack tossed beside the flowers. Her energy opposed yours. You sat wrapped in pink and white, while she was dominated by black with hints of red. A rockstar.

You made eye contact. A smile escaped your lips out of habit. She smiled back, more of a grin than something soft. Through the red lenses of the thin silver glasses perched on her nose, you could see her eyes roam over your body.

Its not a question, but I just want to say I really appreciate your imagines and you're an amazing writer, thank you for sharing your works with us!!

𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ𐀔 𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ𐀔 𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ𐀔 𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ𐀔 𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ𐀔 𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ𐀔

And thank you all for sitting and taking time to read what I write. Words aren’t enough when I want to express my gratitude. Such a memorable year for me.

Seriously, I started writing just for fun, just because… Now! there are so many people who have expanded my creative side. Every comment, reblog, request, every interaction really does matter so much to me.

I want to just hug y’all.

Next year, I plan to be my best. Not disappoint.

—Happy New Year! Thank you, thank you, thank you, all.

𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ𐀔 𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ𐀔 𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ𐀔 𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ𐀔 𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ𐀔 𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ𐀔

#happy new year

Special Imagine #30: Unwrapping Gifts

(Explicit - (long) fluffy smut - domestic life - part one - already established girlfriends - reader receiving (oral) - scissor sisters & riding - insert love interest - happy holidays <3 - barely proofread - 2,4k+ words)

₊˚｡⋆❆⋆｡˚₊ ₊˚｡⋆❆⋆｡˚₊ ₊˚｡⋆❆⋆｡˚₊ ₊˚｡⋆❆⋆｡˚₊ ₊˚｡⋆❆⋆｡˚₊ ₊˚｡⋆❆⋆｡

Morning comes early.

You arrived at her place at 9pm the night after. Gifts shoved in a random grocery bag. A cute little Santa hat and a smile so bright.

No alarms, no rushing…just the soft white lights peaking through her curtains. You had your matching holiday Pjs on (surprisingly her idea), hair curled at the ends scooped in a scarf.

The sound of the city was a hum, it was a Holiday Day so majority were waking up later—opening gifts. Not having to go to their 7am shift.

She smells warm. Feels warm wrapped up in blankets that smell like her laundry detergent and her. One of her legs slung over yours, heavy but holding you in place.

You peck small kisses on her head. Then her forehead. Cheeks. Pecks on her nose is what got her.

“Hey,” she murmurs, voice rough with sleep.

You rest your chin on her arm. You hum and close your eyes. “Happy Holidays!”

“Happy holidays, pretty.”

She smiles, she always does that: smiles before she speaks.

“Let’s unwrap them!” You pulled out a box from underneath you.

You two made your way to her living room.

A small tree stood in the corner. Lights hung, even little snowflakes. You wanted to decorate her apartment together this year.

You go first. The shoes make her audibly gasp, an actual sound disbelieving. She open the box, pulls one out in the most gentle manner possible. She tries it on right there, socked foot against the hardwood.

“They fit,” she say softly. Leaning to kiss your forehead.

“I knew they were your size,” you’re a bit smug for someone who was so doubtful.

Her look screams, ‘thank you’ and ‘I love you’

The scarf, gloves, and beanie come next. Cozy, practical, exactly her. She presses the scarf to her cheek before wrapping it around her neck like she needs to feel it against her skin.

Now, that tee, the bra, the matching boy shorts…she pauses there, cheeks warming. You never gotten her actual underwear, pjs? Yes. But panties, bras? No.

“Okay, this is cute,” she holds up the more girly tee shirt.

She unwrapped the other gifts you gotten her. A smile never leaving her face, being humble about everything.

Then it’s your turn.

Bath & Body Works bags first. She watches your face. You unscrew a cap, inhale and hum…

“Mhm,” you nod. “That’s what I’m talking about.”

Her shoulders drop in relief. “Oh thank god.”

You laugh, burying your nose into your wrist immediately after rubbing it; already imagining her doing the same later.

Snacks follow. Your favorites, remembered without asking.

Then the box.

You open it slowly. The two piece set. Lavender. Lace. Soft and seductive all at once.

Your eyes flick up to hers.

She’s biting her lip nervously.

“You didn’t—”

“I did,” she says quietly. “I saw it and I thought of you and I couldn’t not.”

You swallow. Closing your legs tightly, entirely inappropriate for ten in the morning.

You lean forward and kiss her. Slow. Also sayings “Thank you.”.

The charm bracelet makes you stop completely. Small, delicate, charms that meant specific things to you two. You turn it over in your hands, a small pout on your lips.

“I love it,” you murmur against her mouth.

“I love you,” she says, like it slips out before she can stop it.

Special Imagine #29: LAST MINUTE SALE

(Soft - paths crossing unaware - insert love interest - happy holidays <3 - 1,591 words)

⋆꙳•̩̩͙❅*̩̩͙‧͙ ⋆꙳•̩̩͙❅*̩̩͙‧͙ ⋆꙳•̩̩͙❅*̩̩͙‧͙ ⋆꙳•̩̩͙❅*̩̩͙‧͙ ⋆꙳•̩̩͙❅*̩̩͙‧͙ ⋆꙳•̩̩͙❅*̩̩͙‧͙ *̩̩͙❆ ͙͛

This is your fault.

You knew that. You left everything last minute. For fucks sakes. Why? Lazy…or simply you forgot.

The mall?

A mistake. The moment you step inside and get swallowed by heat, noise, and artificial pine scented air freshener or is it cinnamon..depending on the section you’re in. Holidays is in twenty four hours. Everything will be closed after twenty four hours.

You tighten your coat around yourself. Lower down the fur rim hood and open the notes app anyway.

Christmas List:

• Something thoughtful (important)

• Something warm (she’s always cold)

• Something silly or playful

• Wrapping paper

• Tape! Tape! Tape! Tape don’t forget the tape. Never tape at home. Make sure to go to the crafts store.

You pick up the pace. First stop: a crowded bookshop. There’s a table labeled: “Best Gifts.” You look at the mugs, with sayings. Corny things that doesn’t fit her. You think of getting it just to shit on her.

“Would she want a peppermint scented candle?” You talk to yourself.

A vinyl record, you almost grab it. Holiday Jazz, soft, probably crackles like fire in the chimney. You read the songs on the back, just imaging playing it on the background of her quiet apartment.

You put it back. ‘Is it too intimate?’ You think to yourself. No, you want intimate, but you also want something that means more.

You leave empty handed.

*̩̩͙❆ ͙͛

She’s already annoyed, finding a spot in the parking lot. She could’ve taken the bus for $2 like you did. But nope, here she is in competition with some lady trying to get this parking spot.

By the time she makes it inside she regrets it: children crying, lights a bit blinding, employees trying to give freebies, teenagers walking so slow.

She rubs her temples and exhale. Looking at the scrap of paper she had in her pockets, written the moment she woke up:

Things to get:

Get her something cute she’ll actually wear

Personal.

Small trinkets that are meaningful

Snacks?

Gift bag

A card (write inside it this time!)

She walks fast, shoulders squared, dodging groups. She wasn’t trained for this, but hearing your stories…she was ready.

A clothing store, one of many many. Immediately too much, racks are either overstuffed or empty. People lingering. Employees hovering over her: “Need help? Want a bag? Is everything okay?”

She just smiles and shakes her head. “I’m ok.”

She heads towards the sweaters. She runs her fingers over the soft knits, pausing at one in your favorite color.

She holds it up, squints, imaging you in it: oversized, sleeves perfectly long, stealing it from each other back and forth. She bites her lip.

Into the bag she ended up getting from an employee.

Her watch lets her know her phone is in 20%. She curses softly and turns the brightness down.

Little did she know you were right behind her. Passing through the store, on your way to your next location. Her back towards the door, looking at the jeans.

pls pls plssss tell me there’s a part 7 to the makeup artist story 🥹 it’s so good i could cry !!!!!!!!!!

Imagine #28: “…she’s a make up artist?”

(makeupartist!reader - masterlist- insert female love interest - aftermath of closet sex - social media gossip - bittersweet - angsty - melodramatic - heavy dialouge- added background characters - kinda proofread - 3.9k words)

A/n: oh gosh this chapter is so long overdue. So here’s a chapter with drama and shit to keep the plot going. I've had this half-written in drafts since September. Forgive me my lovelies.

7 ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩⛧°。 ⋆༺♱༻⋆。 °⛧✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩

You don’t wait for her.

Your heart is still racings, knees are weak, her words still pounding in your skull: “God, I love you.”

You just want to bang your head against the wall and yell: “No you don’t!” Over and over and over.

With every pluck of the rose, ‘she didn’t it mean it. Pluck, ‘she did.’ Pluck, ‘she didn’t.’ Pluck, ‘she did.’

You don’t know. You don’t WANT to know.

You smooth down your silver dress, fix your lipstick with one swipe of your thumb, and pretend your world didn’t flip with 4 words.

Behind you, the door shuts.

Her

You feel her before you look at her. She looks…undone. Cheeks flushed, lips a little redder, sunglasses back on even though the hallway is dim and empty. She tries to look casual hands in pockets, chin up, breathing even.

But you can see the reality in the way she won’t look directly at you. Lips still a little swollen from biting down on them when she came.

You keep walking and she follows.

Just two steps behind you because she has to, cause the PR team has eyes everywhere. Cause Tina Carr is somewhere inside this fucking place, and the internet already believes Tina and her are in love.

You re-enter the party first, lights, perfume, champagne, fake laughter.

Someone bumps into you and you realize you’re back on the clock. You shake out your hands; You’re a makeup artist again.

NOT the girl who was just on her knees for a woman she can’t have.

Bambi (the birthday girl), is calling your name from across the room. She’s loud, drunk, sweaty and glittery. Slurring her words, “BAAABEESS, touch up! My gloss is GONE!!”

You give Bambi a force smile and make your way through the crowd with her. Her security moves just enough to let you through. Back towards your table of powders and brushes, and beauty sponges and the other tired stylists eating cheap small sandwiches Bambi’s team brought out.

Your coworkers give you looks, half sympathy. One of them mouthes, “Girl, breathe.”

Behind you, she walks back into the main room and immediately finds Tina. Of course. And Tina beams when she sees her. Wrapping her arms around her neck, and her hands on Tina’s waist instinctively.

Yet, she’s looking at you.

You feel her gaze slide down your side, lingering on your legs, your hair, your side profile, your mouth. She stares at your mouth like she can still feel it.

You try to focus on Bambi’s lipgloss, but you can see how Tina notices, her smile falters enough.

“Somethin’ happen?” Bambi asks, all sugary yet strict. Can’t let you forget you’re working for her.

“No,” you say. You lie so easily. Well…you’ve had practice.

When you finally finish with Bambi and her sticky lipgloss (and other necessities), you try to escape again. To sit down and breathe. Ignore the fact that she’s a bit closer than before, in perfect view.

Talking to some producers, Tina at her side—so close it makes your head hurt AND THEYRE NOT EVEN TOUCHING.

It shouldn’t matter, technically you won right? She said she loves you. But it does! She’s standing there smiling for cameras that aren’t there, living for a world that’s curated.

You look away and shake it off. You get up and go to work. For the next 30 minutes: powdering sweat off rich people’s forehead, fixing mascara smudges, blotting lipstick, pretending you’re not dying inside.

You barely look at her (or for her) again. She does though.

Every. Damn. Time. - Every time you pass by. - Every time you bend down to adjust a heel strap on someone. - Every time you reach for a brush - like she’s starving, and she can’t touch you.

Especially not here.

༺♱༻

You’re returning from the bathroom. Politely making your way through people. About to hit a wall, so exhausted.

Imagine #27: “You shouldn’t spend your birthday alone.”

(Reader x insert female love interest, oneshot(?), wlw, fluffy, soft nsfw, smut w/plot, reader giving (oral) & receiving (fingering), indulgence in alcohol and cake, sad ass birthday party, kinda friends to lovers, didn’t proofread 3.3k words)

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.☆ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.☆ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.☆ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁

“Happy birthday.” Your co-worker messages you. You reply with a smiling + hugging emoji, before dropping your phone to your side. The first person who wasn’t a family member to message you happy birthday almost 24 hours later.

Usually you didn’t care, you really didn’t. Yet, celebrating everyone’s birthday this year and last, you thought you would get the same energy back.

But no.

Twenty-something now, and you’re spending it alone, sitting on your apartment floor, with a cardigan way too big for you stained with frosting. The same stale frosting that took over the air and mixed with the scent of candle wax.

It’s too quiet in your living that eventually it gets too loud. So, you put on your shoes and walk to the nearest corner shop that’s open this late.

The dull lights buzz the moment you walk in, alongside a small bell. Immediately the cheap alcohol section is calling your name, singing thou happy birthday louder than anyone has all day.

The basket gets heavy as you put in the six-pack, your forearm dropping slightly. You fill the basket: chips, chocolates, more cheap alcohol.

You got birthday money from a family member, “might as well put it to you,” you mumble to anyone who’s around you, but the store’s empty.

You’re grabbing one more bag of chips when you hear:

“…No way. Is that you?”

You furrow your brows, freeze a little. You’d recognize that voice anywhere.

You turn and there she is behind the counter. Your old High School classmate. The girl who wore her lanyard either on the loops of her pants or around her wrist. The chick who wore boots during the rain and snow, whenever she walked all you heard was: ‘squeak squeak.’

Same girl who wasn’t really a close friend. Though, in some blurry memories, once made your stomach flutter-cheeks burn up for reasons you never understood at seventeen.

She leans forward on the counter, smiling like she’s genuinely glad to see you. And you, cursed at yourself for wearing the: ‘no one I know will see me,’ outfit.

“You look like you ransacked the place, and are about to ask me for the money in the safe,” she teases. “Everything okay?”

You shrug and lift the basket slightly. “Birthday.”

Her face changes, not pity, but like she just recognized something. A quiet “oh,” look appears into her expression.

“It’s your birthday? Tonight?”

You nod, and she lets out a little laugh, stepping around the counter so she’s closer. Too close for someone you haven’t seen in years.

“I remember…” she murmurs. “Back during homeroom, you used to bring cupcakes for everyone. Different colored frosting, rainbow sprinkles; like you were a birthday fairy. Cute little crown too.”

You feel your face heat up. “Yea…well that was before everyone ditched me right after graduation. Hard to keep a reputation when no one sticks around.”

The words came out harsher than you meant it. Regretting the whole: “woe is me.” She notices. Her expression softens again, this time in a way that kinda hurts.

“I didn’t ditch you,” she says quietly. Yeah she didn’t, you did though. Her gaze drags over your face like she’s searching for the old you she used to know. “None of that reputation shit ever mattered to me.”

You gulp, the store feeling too warm. Or maybe it’s her.

She plucks a bag of chips with her knuckles out your basket. “Tell you what. You shouldn’t spend your birthday alone…” she looks at the clock behind you, red lights on. “I get off in ten minutes. Stay? Keep me company while I finish my shift?”

It’s the way she looks at you: softly, familiar, almost like she’d been waiting for you to walk back into her life. Shit, now your heart fluttering, it’s like you’re seventeen again.

You nod before your brain even fully understands what she ask. And she grins.

Imagine #26 (HopelessRomantic!reader - dream world - WLW - insert female love interest - slight angst - witches and magic? - quick read - second hand embarrassment - 419 words) ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

It starts in a dream.

You’re standing in a forest lit by fireflies, barefoot, in whatever you fell asleep in. And in front of you stands…you.

Well, not you-you. But a witch! Who looks exactly like you, only softer-older-wiser. Hair longer, eyes glowing, and in those white nightgowns that reached your ankles.

She steps closer and cups your cheeks like she’s about to tell you a secret. “Stop hurting yourself, love,” she whispers.

“Tell her how you feel.”

You shake your head, cause in your dreams you’re always brave but still scared. “She’ll laugh at me,” you say.

The witch you, but not you only smiles.

“Confess. It’s time.”

You wake up with your heart pounding, with the witches voice echoing in your head like a spell that’s been changed repeatedly.

For the first time: you feel sure.

The universe gave you permission to want something.

So the next morning, you sit at your little desk, the gold sun crawling through your flimsy blinds. You write her a real letter. Pen to paper, ink smudge, honest and handwriting perfect for how shaky you felt but so determined.

You tell her everything!:

how long you’ve loved her

how she makes the world feel warm

how you can’t keep pretending your heart doesn’t jump out your chest whenever she says your name

You fold it, kiss the crease like a fool. Walk outside—well you speed walk about 10 minutes in your sleeping clothes. Without hesitation, without overthinking it, you drop it into the mailbox with a confidence that feels given from the witch in your dreams.

For the rest of the day you feel light and hopeful and magical.

Like they say: “calm before the storm.”

Because when night comes, and you’re laying in bed doom scrolling, smiling at the thought of her reading your letter in a few days.

You see the worst thing: A photo of her and another girl.

Posted by the latter. A string of cute emojis on the corner decorating the image of, her arm around the girl. Her smile so bright and foreign you've never seen before.

Your heart drops...not it shatters. The comments of their friends popping out on the left corner only hurts more.

You shut your phone off and scream into your pillow. Suddenly wishing the witch had never come to you at all. Calling yourself stupid for believing a dream.

Because now, that letter is already on it's way.

And there's no magic spell in the world that can pull it back.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

A/N: Hii! Just part a little imagine I had written out of bored one night, and since it's been months since I've uploaded I thought this was cute enough. Hope you enjoyed.

I miss youuuuuu, queen ☹️ please, Iris, come back the children (us) miss youuuuuuu 😞🫶🏻

(CLARIFICATION UPDATE)

Hii everyone!!! ☺️♥️☘️✨🐞

Okay! So, I’m not dead, I don’t have a tragic Wattpad authors note lore, and I definitely DID NOT QUIT writing.

I mentioned before that I’m a (full-time) Psychology student at university. And during the summer I was a Psychology student with too much time…well NOW I HAVE NO TIME at all.

Apparently I need to go to classes—do work—and study to get a degree, like ugh who knew??

Which means I have no time to really sit down, write, edit, and publish. Even communicate with half of my online mutuals/friends. (Canada if you’re reading this ily🍁)

That doesn’t mean I forgot about you all. I still love & appreciate you all. I’m trying to balance everything out.

But I get Fall Break soon & after that I get a few months off for the Winter (depending if I don’t do extra credits).

Anyways! I have many drafts saved, many ideas. It makes me so happy to see people actually ask for me, enjoy my stories, just acknowledge my existence in the writing community. The only reason why I’m still even motivated to continue writing.

I’ll be back soon…I promise 🤙🏽💕

- Iris 💋

(Here’s Baby V.O.X becuz yes <3 ✨)

#update #where ive been #university is killing me #i still love you #i’ll be back #<3 mwah #baby vox

I LOVE YOU GIRL. YOUR WORK IS BEAUTIFUL. TOTALLY MWUAH 💋💋💋. PLEASE DON'T DIE YOUNG 😔💔 i just know you're a total cunty diva. yum. 💞💞💓💓💋💋🗣️🗣️ also stop being so cool. your name???? sooooooo beautiful (like you ofc 🫵🏻🗣️). anyway that's all, ily so much 💓

HII!

Do NOT worry, I plan on living til the Teslas Robots start going to the military…that sounds like it’s sooner than later BUT TRUST ME! I won’t🤞🏾.

💕ILYT, you’re just as cunty as I am. 💋👩‍❤️‍💋‍👩😜😜😜 they’ll hate to see us come.

Thank you! Thank you! My mom literally didn’t know what to name me so I’ll thank her as-well.

Mwah mwah mwah 💋. You’re such a babe. I really appreciate you. 🫂 I’ll make a sims character of you and give them max money and the most comfortable expensive bed.

#thanks anon!#cutie pie #i love you so so so much

Your popular girl x quiet one fic?? I ate it up so fast omgggg

IT WAS SO GOOD. Gorgeous. I loved it so much. Pretty and sweet. And everything felt so damn real it was sooo niceeeeee

And I loveeee how long it was even if you didn’t intend for it! I can tell you had fun writing it, it feels like it was crafted with care.

I’d love to read the role reversal if you decide to write it. :))

🫶

This is part two of this one shot: Imagine 25. It’s similar to your request where READER is quiet and your love interest is popular.

Now I really need you to read the first part before this one LOL.

Thank you for the request, for enjoying my little imagines. Everytime I write, and it takes so long to make…just know I had more fun than i usually do. (And I find everything fun)

Imagine 25.5: "Don't you tell me to deny it, I've done wrong and I wanna suffer for my sins...I know tomorrow brings the consequence at hand. But I keep living this day like the next will never come"

❀✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊ criminal - fiona apple ❀✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊

(University AU - introverted!reader - filmstudent!reader - established relationship - insert female love interest - infidelity and selfishness - reader has a boyfriend - caught cheating - drama - long verbal fight - wlw - smut w/ plot - reader loses virginity w/strap - one shot - added background character - 7k words )

It’s been almost two weeks since you’ve done anything that wasn’t staring at a screen. Your desk is buried under empty mugs, memory cards, and half-scribbled notes. The world outside your apartment might as well be a movie playing as background noise.

So when she shows up at your door, cheeks flushed from the cold and a beanie shoved down over her ears, you’re caught off guard.

"Get dressed," she says, no bossiness, just a mischievous glint in her eyes.

You blink rapidly, look at her from the doorway. "Why?"

"Because you’re slowly turning pale, hunched over like a cave monster, and if I let you edit for one more day straight your spine is going to fuse into the shape of that chair."

She glances inside at the mess of your desk and grimaces. “Shoes. Now.”

The next thing you know, you’re bundled in layers, your breath puffing into the air as you take the subway with. To the city streets lit in warm gold from shop windows. The smell of roasted chestnuts and cinnamon drifts from a food cart on the corner. It feels strange and alive after so many days locked indoors.

When you finally see the rink: a wide oval of ice surrounded by strings of lights that look like they were inspo for a postcard; you can’t help but smile. Skaters loop past in scarves and coats, some gliding effortlessly, others clutching the railing for dear life.

“You’ve got to be kidding,” you say, slowing your steps.

She grins, already tugging you toward the rental booth. “Nope. I want to watch you improved skills.”

It takes ten awkward minutes to lace your skates and shuffle toward the ice, her steadying you with an arm at your waist. The air is cold enough to nip at your cheeks, but there’s music playing somewhere: soft, jazzy, old holiday standards.

On the ice, you cling to her hand for balance. She’s steadier than you expected, her movements confident but casual, like she’s done this a hundred times…(cause she has).

“You’re not gonna let go, right?” you mutter, eyes glued to your feet.

“Of course not” She squeezes your fingers, leaning closer so her breath warms the shell of your ear. “I like watching you rely on me.”

Your stomach flips, though you tell yourself it’s just the slippery ice.

You circle the rink together. Slowly, clumsy, but with her pulling you through the crowd like you’re the only two people there. And for a few minutes, it almost feels true.

Afterwards, you both strop out the ice. Like second nature you pull out your camcorder.

Anon’s synopsis: You’re the quiet girl, known for dating the university’s popular quarterback, but youre secretly pulled toward his best friend: a strong, charismatic hockey player. She’s infamous for her hookups and late partying. Yet, lately, her attention has been entirely on you...(I had to crop half of the request cuz it’ll spoil the whole thing T_T )

Thank you so much for the request. <3 I hope you enjoy and this was what you expected from me. 💋💕🫂

Imagine 25: "I saw you stare from my peripheral, yeah...Find out how it feels to let go of everything, be free, when you're here with me" ❀✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊ moonlight - kali uchis ❀✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊

(University AU - introverted!reader - filmstudent!reader - slight slow burn - insert female love interest - infidelity and selfishness - reader has a boyfriend - use of y/n like once - wlw - smut w/ plot - switch!reader - 2 part story - added background character - proof read once :'D - 11.9k words )

You crouch behind the lens, shaping out the scene without blinking. The loud click of the shutter cuts through the cold air, capturing motion frozen in time. Your fingers fidget over the camera controls, adjusting focus on the center of the rink.

The assignment was simple: photograph the women's hockey team for the university's website. A straight forward job. Your professor handed you the sports roster, a few notes from the marketing department, and a deadline.

You arrive early, checking your camera settings while the players lace their skates and adjust their pads. The ice weirdly smells faintly of antifreeze and detergent, the cold air stings the inside of your nose. You stay near the boards, letting the edge of the plexiglass be your view.

She stands out immediately. Not just because she's captain, but because of the way her presence commands the frozen water she stand on. Her voice carries, low and steady, as she gathers her teammates into position. She glides around, stick under her arm. She's scanning the team with an judgy stare, focus enough to catch the smallest mistake.

"Lets go. Line up for the shot," she firmly calls without being harsh. A couple of girls laugh, moving too slowly, and she skates over to them quickly. Her voice drops, low enough you can't hear the words, but the effect is instant; they straighten, correcting their formation, stop fidgeting.

Your camera lifts almost without your permission. Through the viewfinder, she's a perfect photo: the stiffness of her shoulders, the tilt of her chin, the concentration in her eyes when she continues to adjust her teammate's stance. Your lens takes her in frame by frame. Gloves hands brushing frost bits from her jersey, the faint smile when someone finally does what she wants. Her eyes sweep across the rink, scanning and calculating.

can you write about like an quiet, introverted, kinda nerdy girl and a popular social butterfly girl. they have known each other since like elementary school. but the popular girl is always about boys and boys and the quiet one is into girls ( she hasn't come out yet). and also quiet one is like really socially awkward and a loser and her classmates are wondering why the other girl is even friends with her (you get what i'm sayying right?) (and also the popular girl is kinda mean on the outside but actually a softie) i mean i know it's such a cliche trope but i would reallly like if you can write about it. i've read all your fics. they are really really perfect. anyway i hope you all the best girl .

Hello! I just wanted to start by thanking you for the reques. I appreciate it so much. 💕 this makes me so happy and i really do hope you enjoy.

I wasn’t sure if you want the ‘Reader’ to be the popular girl or the quiet one, so I made her the popular girl. If anything, I can write another short story with the roles reversed. I had so much fun. It wasn't supposed to be THIS LONG! but ugh this trope is soo cute. Sending you kissed and hugs xx 😘

Imagine #24: "We all need somebody that makes the Earth feel heavenly. Maybe I'll be that somebody cause you're that someone to me. ˚｡⋆୨ʚɞ୧⋆˚｡⋆Sunshine & Rain - kali uchis⋆˚｡⋆୨ʚɞ୧⋆ ˚｡

(Best Friends to Lovers - Senior Year AU - PopularMeanGirl!Reader - Slow Burn - Insert female interest - Coming of Age - Heavy Fluff - Slight Angsty - Reader has boyfriends - Implicit girl on girl sex - One shot - added background characters - 11.7k words)

4th Grade:

It was simple. Mrs. Smith has everyone lines up: boy-girl-boy-girl so that no one would get “distracted." But there were too many girls and not enough boys. Which meant two unlucky girls would get stuck together.

The unlucky ones being you and her.

She was already staring at the ground when Mrs. Smith announced it. Big round glasses slipping down her nose, her hair done as if someone forced her to have it that way, a loose braid. She didn't look thrilled.

You weren't exactly thrilled either.

She was the quietest girl in class; the one who reads at recess and never raised her hand unless she knew she was 110% sure. You were more of a "running around bossing classmates and trying to make everyone laugh" kind of girl.

But rules were rules, and Mrs. Smith was making everyone have a "guardian buddy" for safety.

"You have to hold hands," Mrs. Smith said. "So you don't get lost."

Her face went pink immediately. "Do we...really have to?" she mumbled, barely audible.

"Yes," Mrs. Smith said in her teacher voice. "And you need to keep an eye on each other."

You sighed dramatically for show (obviously) and grabbed her hand before she could argue. It was small and warm and she flinched like your fingers zapped her with electricity.

Which you probably did since less than a minute ago, you were both in your socks running on the class rug.

The bus ride was loud. You spent most of it kneeling on your seat to talk to your other friends, but every so often you'd glance at her. She just looked out the window like she wanted to disappear.

When you got to the Botanical Garden, you were supposed to follow the laminated map and find five specific plants for the worksheet in your packet.

You of course, decided that was boring.

My notifications showed that you posted, but it was just a late notification from yesterday 🤸‍♂️🌉💥

Hiii!!! Here’s a RECENT post <3

Imagine #23: Touch Me & I’ll Stop

A/N: when it comes to the love interest, (sometimes) her pronouns will be italicized.

(makeupartist!reader - part 5 - slow burn before the smut :p - smut with a plot (reader giving) - a bit of fluff - added background characters - barely proofread - 4.9k words)

6 ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩⛧°。 ⋆༺♱༻⋆。 °⛧✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩

Since the trailer and the mirror, you haven't seen her. Not really.

A day after, you brushed past her in the hallway and your arms touched for barely a second too long. Long enough to feel the edge of her bracelet scrape against your skin.

Schedules haven't lined up.

She's on press duty. Some film premiere. Probably some dinner meetings. And you're knee deep in double shifts, hustling through beauty calls, corporate campaigns, and multiple shopping runs to buy products.

It's only been texts. Half of them inappropriate. The other half?

Even worse...sweet.

Just notifications. No hands, no mouths, nothing.

Mon 9:43 PM her: what if I had my mouth on you rn? her: wouldn't be tired then huh

You remember reading that on the train, half asleep, with a model's leftover bronzer still on your hand. You didn’t answer right away. Not because you're prideful. But because you couldn’t believe someone who acts like you don’t exist in public can still make you feel so seen in private.

Still, as always you replied:

Mon 9:47 PM you: my legs would probably shake, not gonna lie you: but maybe i'd claw your back...only a little. since you're into pain and all ;)

Mon 9:49 PM her: don't say shit like that while im at dinner her: with fucking tina carr no less

You know exactly how long it's been since you were pressed against the mirror in her trailer. The fading marks on your shoulders acted as a timer.

Tue 12:45 AM

She sends you a blurry photo. Her hand curled lazily over her bare stomach, nothing else in frame but a white duvet. The message underneath:

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