#it feels hot to feel myself get hard... maybe i should give in and put on some audios..

[secretlyunder]

I always use the same earbuds to listen to audios, but sometimes I still listen to normal music, except, when I want to put them on for music I always feel hmmm about it, and I kinda want to not to put them cuz the urge to play audios instead might be stronger than i think.. I'm listening to music right now but damn.. the urge, and thinking about it... makes me a bit hard.. maybe... not the kind of conditioning I was expecting but making me a bit wet still😵‍💫

[universalitgirlsblog2]

🎀📖STUDYING TIPS FROM STRAIGHT-A STUDENT📖🎀

(1) Passionate about Learning

If we look at Hermione or Rory , they had a burning passion for learning. They were full of curiosity. They didn't just study for good grades , they studied because they were passionate to learn. They read alot of books. Ngl Reading is therapeutic . Hermione always went into detail , she read alot of books about the topics she was studying. There is a reason behind her being a " know it all " .

(2) Rely on Understanding , not rote learning

I was one of those who would study at last moment and rely on rote learning, I would still get good grades . But gradually I realized , studying at last moment is wrong and it makes education unworthy. After the exam , I would forget everything. Sometimes rote learning won't help too. Rely on understanding the concepts. Ofc there will be some topics that are just meant for memorization. When you come back from school , you should revise everything. It will makes things much easier for you.

(3) Be Disciplined and Dedicated

The best form of self love is discipline. Don't procrastinate. Procrastination is the cost of life you could have lived. Be mindful and prioritize your tasks. Start taking responsibility. You owe yourself to be disciplined and dedicated.

(4) Prioritize Education

Education is the most powerful weapon. Being educated and Intelligent is HOT ! HARD WORK WILL NEVER BETRAY YOU. Books are your best friends. When I had my exams or when I was in 10th grade, we had board exams . I studied really hard. It was lockdown but exams were still offline ( lol ). I cut off toxic people or anything which drained me or made me feel bad. I prioritized myself and my education. I used social media for 30 minutes only and I would watch content which made me feel motivated or good about myself. I unfollowed everything which made me feel bad. Did I regret it ? NO ! I GOT 98%. I strongly believe in manifestation too ( that's why this account exists ) so I affirmed for good grades too.

(5)Less Social Media or N🚫 Social media at all.

Alot of my classmates who are also exceptional at studying . Some of them joined Social media very late and some of them still don't use Social media. I joined Social media in Grade 9 but these days I try to use it as less as possible. This can be different for everyone. Maybe you use Social media in a healthy way and get good grades. For me , Social media can be draining sometimes so I use it less whenever I need to focus on myself. I was thinking to deactivate my account or take a break 😅. Most of the posts you see are scheduled btw, including this one .

(6)Find your WHY

Why are you studying ? What is your reason ? Is it because you want to make your parents proud ? Is it because you love learning ? Is it because you want to prove others wrong ? It is very important to have a reason for studying. Maybe connect your goals to studying. Let's say you want to become a dentist , now you can't become a dentist without studying ,right ?

(7) Find a Role Model

If you can't find your WHY yet , it's okay. Try to find a role model. It can be any real life person or a fictional character. It can be ANYONE ! My role models are Hermione and Elle Woods. You can put your role model Keychain on your pouch , stick their posters etc so whenever you look at it , you gain motivation to give your best. Again , it's okay if you can't find a role model . Become your own role model If you can't find any role model 😉

(8) Don't let Past intervene

It's okay if you weren't a good student from start . According to manifestation, you can revise being one too ! You can still change yourself and become a good student . You can prove all those people wrong by becoming a good student. Once a wise man said , don't let your past blackmail your present to ruin a beautiful future.

(9) Believe in Yourself & Be confident

Harry potter once said " Working hard is important but there's something which matters even more ; Believing in yourself " . Even if you aren't a potterhead , you should listen to Harry Potter. Another example can be Elle Woods , she believed in herself when no one did. She showed us the power of self belief. Be confident in yourself.

(10) Be attentive and Regular

You must be attentive in class. Participate in class and don't hesitate . I can understand if you can't participate in class because you feel shy ( I used to be like that ) but the more you push yourself to participate, the less you will hesitate. Gradually , you will feel confident too. Like Thewizardliz said , sometimes you need to get uncomfortable to get comfortable. Be a good listener.Also , be regular in your classes. If you aren't able to be regular, study at home. Some of my friends weren't able to be regular in school because of personal reasons but they studied at home . They didn't waste their time in unproductive stuff. Sometimes I was also not able to be regular at school but I studied at home and took breaks in between.

(11) Study From Youtube

I don't know if it's just me but youtube teachers can make the most complicated topics so simple. They explain everything in detail. Youtube teachers can be more helpful than school teachers tbh 😀. Self Study is important.

(12) Take care of Your Mental health.

It can be very hard to study with bad mental health. I tend to take care of my mental health. Stress can be the biggest distraction sometimes. So take care of your physical and mental health. Journal. Meditate. Take a break from social media if you need to. Use affirmations.Dance. Exercise. Read.Paint . Sleep. Whatever makes you feel better. Poor mental health can also interfere with your attention span so please take care of your mental health. Don't take it for granted 😃.

Short and simple tips

- Value your time. Time is money

- Self study is very beneficial

- Be organized

- Avoid Drama

- I WANT TO LET YOU ALL KNOW HOW IMPORTANT YOUR TODAY IS , YOUR NOW IS .STUDY HARD . WORK HARD.PLAY HARDER. DON'T BE BOUND BY RULES. DON'T HURT ANYBODY AND NEVER EVER LIVE SOMEONE ELSE'S DREAM. REMEMBER HOW MANY TIMES YOU GO WRONG, NO MATTER HOW MANY TIMES YOU FAIL , DESPAIR, FEEL LIKE THIS WORLD IS AGAINST YOU . IN THE WORDS OF BOB MARLEY , AT THE END EVERYTHING IS GONNA BE ALRIGHT . - SHAH RUKH KHAN aka SRK👑

🎀📖These are some tips which helped me and I live by these tips. I hope these tips help you too. I apologize if the post wasn't helpful🎀📖

[4wkjun]

merry christmas, i guess | sjy

pairing: jake sim × reader

requested? yes! there you go, anon <3 i fucked up and lost the request, i’m so sorry ㅠㅠ

genre: smut

warnings: blowjob inside of a car, swearing, throat fucking (?), minors dni.

♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡

you envy people who had snow during christmas. living in australia was great – not that you knew anything different than that –, but it was so hot.

it was almost two in the morning when you and jake decided to leave the christmas party your friends decided to throw. the windows were down as the cool breeze hit your face and you pulled the hem of your dress a little up, feeling your thighs sticking together because of the thin layer of sweat on your skin.

“you hot?” jake smirked, his hand on your thigh.

“yeah, i hate the summer.”

jake hummed, caressing your soft skin. he hated himself for being turned on just by the sight of your bare thighs and the soft feeling of your skin against his palm. you barely had time alone, your mom over the two of you everytime jake visited you at your place. he missed feeling your skin against his, but could’t bring himself to say that to you. you’ve been together for only three months, he didn’t want to sound like a perv.

“a penny for your thoughts?” you said, caressing his hand on your thigh. jake took a deep breath and squeezed your thigh, shaking his head.

“maybe i should keep them to myself” he answered, smiling softly at you for only a second before turning his eyes back on the road.

“your dick begs do differ” you said, noticing his bulge starting to show through his jeans. jake groaned, his hand back on the wheel. “i’m sorry we haven’t fuck in two weeks” you said, your hand hovering his crotch.

jake almost threw the car across the road as you squeezed his hardening cock, gasping. he looked at you with wide eyes, his cheeks bright red.

“you don’t have to do this, y/n. it’s ok, you have a lot to deal right now and- fuck” he whimpered as your palm started to rub him through the jeans, ridiculously slowly. “don’t do this or i’ll shove the car in the middle of a tree!” jake said, desperate.

you laughed, leaning in to whisper in his ear: “stop the car.”

jake obeyed, pulling over on the freeway. there was no other cars, just yours, so jake didn’t even bother to look for a hidden spot.

“y/n...” he started, his hands urgent to get rid of the seat belt.

“shh, let me give you a christmas gift” you smiled, getting rid of yours too. your hands unbuttoned his pants, jake panting in anticipation.

“you’re so pretty” jake said, his hand pulling your hair behind your ear. you smiled before tapping his leg so he would help you, getting up to bring his jeans down. you pulled both his jeans and his underwear down at once, jake hissing while you released his half-hard cock.

jake threw his head back when your hand closed around his shaft, pumping him slowly and spreading his precum. he held his breath when you put your head down to spit over his tip, making your hands slide easily.

“god, i missed your touch” he said under a breath, his eyes focusing on your face. his cheeks were getting redder, his eyes completely dark, filled with lust. he leaned in to kiss your soft lips, moaning against your mouth everytime your hand circled his sensitive tip. “are you gonna ride me?” he asked – his voice shaking – when he broke the kiss to moan, his eyes closed.

“no, baby. this is your gift, remember?” you said softly before lowering your head towards his hard cock. jake whined when he felt your breath against his cock, holding his breath when you licked his tip.

“don’t mess with me, baby” he groaned, his hand instinctively on your head. you hummed, your lips circling his tip with eager.

jake moaned loudly when you bobbed your head down his shaft, your hand still pumping the part your mouth couldn’t reach. he slowly applied a little pressure on the back of your head, trying to get you to suck on more of him. you took a deep breath before going down, afraid you would gag around him.

“uh, that’s it baby” jake moaned, holding your hair so he could see your face going down on him. “you take me so well” he said before whining when you sucked your cheeks in, your eyes closed. you slowly bobbed your head again, trying to put more of him inside your mouth.

jake's hips bucked forward without his consent, his body working on his own. you gagged as his tip brushed against the back of your throat, tears automatically filling the corner of your eyes. jake let out a loud moan and his hands grabbed a fistful of your hair, not wanting you to back out.

“baby, please” he whined.

you tried taking a deep breath through your nose before letting his tip hit your throat again, wanting jake to feel good. you couldn’t help but make another gagging sound around his cock and jake hissed, his hazed eyes never leaving your face.

“you don’t have to do this” he managed to moan, his breathing completely irregular. you lifted your head, letting off of his cock with a loud pop. tears ran down your cheeks and your hand didn’t stop pumping him.

“i thought you’d like to fuck my mouth” you said with a hoarse voice, wiping your tears with the back of your other hand. jake’s cock twitched in your hand by the thought of fucking your mouth.

“i would love to” he moaned. “but you don’t have to-”

“stop saying that, i want you to cum inside of my mouth. would ya?” you said, pumping him faster. he whimpered, nodding non-stop. you smiled, taking a deep breath again before attaching your lips to his cock.

you could tell jake was trying to go easy on you, thrusting softly against your mouth, his tip barely touching the back of your throat. he knew he was your first boyfriend, your first everything. no one else has ever fucked your mouth before, he didn’t want this to be traumatic in anyway. however, when you hollowed your cheeks again and put your own head forward, he groaned before thrusting hard against you.

you couldn’t stop the gagging sounds from leaving your mouth as jake thrusted against you, the tip of your nose touching his pelvis. tears streamed freely down your face as jake chased his own high on your lips, desperate to cum.

“fuck, y/n” he whined. you could feel his thighs flexing underneath your hands – you needed any kind of support –, knowing he wouldn’t last long. “look at you, a gagging mess around my cock” he said, pushing your head down on him. you gagged loudly again and he moaned just as loud.

you could feel your arousal dripping down your thighs, desperate to make him cum – and maybe ask him to return the favor. your right hand reached his balls and he whined, bucking harder against your mouth. you moaned, vibrating his cock with your voice.

“i’mma cum, i’mma cum” he whined, fucking your throat non-stop in erratic thrusts, his hips bucking on their own again. when jake released his seed inside of your mouth, you tried your best to swallow while still sucking his sensitive cock, only stopping when he whined and tried to get you out of his cock.

you smiled, cleaning your mouth with the back of your hand, not knowing if jake would want to kiss you right now. obviously he wanted to, pulling you in to attach his lips on yours, his tongue capturing his own taste on yours. jake wanted to return the favor, eat you out until you passed out of pleasure.

“let me do this for you, baby?” he asked before leaning in to kiss your neck. you whined, embarrassed.

“you have to drop me off, it’s half past two...” jake laughed, his hand sliding through your dress to squeeze your ass. he smiled when he noticed you weren’t wearing underwear.

“don’t worry, i’ll make sure you come” he said, chuckling at his own joke. “go to the backseat, baby. i’ll make you feel good. merry christmas, i guess.”

[4sturns]

H(ATE) YOU

enemy!chris s. x fem!reader

genre: smut

synopsis: you and chris do not get along. the both of you do the most to irk the other. but what happens when he has you under him, naked and moaning his name?

warnings: smut, pwp, oral (reader receiving), enemies to ???, hair pulling, empty threats (reader's a little violent), marking, chris is a masochist, dacryphila

a/n: y'all want a part two with messy, nasty, disgusting hate sex or nah ... also i had to rewrite literally half of this fic because tumblr crashed on me 🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣

if you were smart you wouldn't be here right now. you'd still be downstairs and enjoying the party just like everyone else. except you're not downstairs, instead you're upstairs in chris' bedroom, completely nude from the waist up and severely worked up.

you're unsure how you even got yourself into this situation. one second you were downstairs by the punch bowl, and the next you were dragged up the stairs and into his bedroom. maybe you shouldn't have provoked him.

chris hovers over you, his shirt discarded on the floor with yours. his breath is hot against your skin, his tongue licking at the sweet spot right under your ear. quiet moans leave your mouth at his motions causing him to smirk against you.

"keep smirking and i'll cut your dick off, sturniolo." you hiss at the boy. all he does in return is suck on your sweet spot, his teeth nibbling at the skin before pulling back to admire his work. a slightly red mark is left behind, though chris is sure it'll be blooming purple and yellow by the time he's done with you.

"maybe you should give my dick a try before saying such things, baby." chris sneers as he lowers his hands from your waist down to your clothed hips. his fingers hook around the belt loops of your jeans before he starts to slowly tug them down, his eyes fixated on yours.

"move faster or i'll do it myself." you throw your head back onto the pillow, breaking eye contact. you're tired of his teasing. you debate whether or not this is worth the fact you're missing out on the party downstairs, but your curiosity gets the better of you, making you stay put in chris' bedroom, your fate left completely in his hands.

"calm down, mamas. i'll give you what you want once you learn to tame that tongue of yours," chris finally gets your jeans off and haphazardly tosses them to the floor. "or you can use that tongue elsewhere." chris smirks.

"shut the fuck up." you snap back quickly.

you're left in your black lace panties which match your bra. your head comes back up to look chris in the eyes right as his teeth take a hold of the waistband of your panties, tugging them down and off of you at an agonizingly slow pace.

"holy shit, chris." you moan at the sight, noticing how much darker chris' eyes have gotten compared to the start of the night.

you can feel his breath against your skin, causing goosebumps to form in its trail. despite the obvious effect chris has on you, you refuse to let your guard down. you refuse to stroke chris sturniolo's ego. but you wouldn't really mind stroking his dick.

chris rids of your underwear, leaning back to place his feet back on the ground before reaching to undo his belt. he watches you as you watch his every move, as if you were daring him to keep going. and he's not one to back down from a dare.

"get your dick out before i cut it off, asshole." you spit through gritted teeth. although you know you don't mean it and chris does too. regardless, he quickens his movements, letting his pants fall to his ankles, revealing his boxers. they feel and look tight against him as his hard cock takes up any extra space. you'd never admit it to his face, but he seems quite big based off the imprint in his boxers.

he confirms this when he releases his throbbing member from the confines of his underwear, hissing when the hot tip touches the cold air. he's leaking from his tip already, presumably from the never broken eye contact he still holds with you.

when chris leans back down to get level with you on the bed, you can feel the temperature in the room start to rise. even if you won't admit it out loud, chris has already done a number on your body. he has barely done anything yet you're worked up beyond words and dripping onto his sheets.

"and for that you're not getting my dick," chris snickers, opting to slide lower onto the bed to settle between your thighs. you open your legs to him without protest, an action which makes chris break out into a smug smile and causing you to let out a huff before finally break eye contact to look at the ceiling.

"aren't you just eager, you pretty thing." chris mocks you, and you can only assume he noticed the wet spot on his sheets.

"i'll kick that look off your stupid face if you keep testing me. i'm dead serious, chris." with this, chris puts his hands up quickly in a mock surrender, something you only get a quick glimpse of before his hands settle back onto your thighs, gripping them firmly and pulling you closer to his mouth.

your heartbeat speeds up rapidly, beating so loud you're afraid chris can hear it. all you want to feel right now is his tongue on you, working at your folds and bringing you to that climax you need so badly.

an embarrassingly loud moan leaves your mouth as chris licks a long stripe up your folds, collecting your arousal. at this he hums, savoring the way you taste before his eyes find yours.

there's a difference between his eyes and yours. his are dark and pointed, while yours are a pure reflection of him. it's clear in your eyes that all you want is him. and he's gonna make you admit it tonight whether you like it or not.

he continues to work his tongue in and out of you, alternating between fucking you open with his tongue and kitten licking at your swollen clit.

a sneaky hand makes it way from your thigh to your entrance, two fingers collecting your slick before plunging into you.

"chris— fuck! just like that, keep going." you're whimpering as you squirm against chris' tongue, and all he can do is hum against you in response as your hands come down to pull harshly at his hair.

your thighs start to tremble in chris' grip. his fingers are working quickly inside of you, scissoring you open before angling them and curling right at your sweet spot. with every drag of his fingers combined with the feeling of his mouth sucking on your swollen clit, you know you won't last long.

you're holding back tears as you feel the coil in your stomach start to tighten. the grip on chris' hair tightens too, causing a muffled whine to vibrate against your clit. you buck your hips up as a long cry leaves your body.

"oh my god, chris, keep going. please don't stop, don't fucking stop— holy shit!" tears cascade down your face as your thighs begin to uncontrollably shake against chris.

chris takes a quick look at your face, noticing the river of tears. his eyes nearly roll into the back of his head as he works faster and harder. his fingers plunge in and out of you so violently that the wet sound of your arousal fills up the room along with your choked cries.

your grip on his hair only seems to get inhumanly stronger, causing him to let out more muffled whimpers and moans against your body. call him a masochist but he'll never get tired of the way you grip, tug, and pull at his hair. he'll always eat it up. chris feels his cock twitch, and he knows he's in deep shit.

it's not long before he starts to imagine what you'd look like crying on his dick, all pathetic and weak while you sob and cry for more.

with a choked sob and a vice grip on chris' hair, the coil in your stomach snaps. a wide variety of curses, cries, and incoherent sentences including chris' name leaves your body as you lose complete control of it.

you're violating shaking against the sheets as chris continues to finger fuck you through your high. loud whines come out from your gaping mouth and fill up the room. chris' mouth has left your heat a while ago, but with the grip you still have on his hair, he reminds in his place.

with a rather sharp pull of his hair, he lets out a strained, almost pornographic moan as his eyes flutter shut.

you immediately let go of his hair, using the little strength you've gained back from your intense orgasm to prop yourself up and into a sitting position. you inch forward, trying to get closer to the edge of the bed where chris sways in a trance.

from your view, you spot a small puddle on the floor. a cruel and mean smile reaches your face as you watch chris' thighs flex every so often. reaching forward, you quickly return your hand to chris' hair, tugging and pulling at it violently making him hiss and look up to meet your dark gaze.

"well, aren't you just eager, you pathetic little thing."

[strawberrystepmom]

gojo and f!reader are in a semi established relationship aka idiots in love. mention of injury to reader and bruises from a mission (reader is a teacher), established friendship btw reader and nanami, slightly angsty and hurt/comfort. wc 1.6k

divider by my beloved @/cafekitsune

“Nanami told me that he thinks I’m vain today.”

Standing at Satoru’s side in your bathroom, the mirror still foggy from the shower the two of you just finished, you stop dabbing a cream around your eye under the assumption the fancy shit listed on the box will help brighten the appearance of the rapidly darkening bruise on your face.

You took a solo mission today, something that was meant to be small and quick while he took care of your students, and instead he ended up hauling you home after an afternoon spent in Shoko’s office getting the scrapes across your shoulder and neck looked at. You exorcized the curse but not without taking damage of your own.

Turning to look at the man who leans on the counter beside you, it’s hard not to sigh with a tinge of melancholy. The irony of him, in his near marble-like perfection, asking you, trying to stave off a black eye you should have just let Shoko fix instead of calling it a waste of her abilities, isn’t lost on you in the moment so you snort and shake your head, wiping your fingers on the soft towel next to you.

“I think we all are. I know for a fact Kento can be vain so maybe he shouldn’t give you too hard of a time.” Gojo chuckles and you smile in return, putting the jar down on the counter and looking up at him. “Why did he say that? What were you guys talking about?”

“You. That mission.”

His eyes flit to the darkness around your orbital socket, the yellow turning maroon turning purple, and he wrinkles his nose. The only reason it was brought up between the two men was out of concern for you, Nanami upset that you went on the mission alone to return injured, and the conversation became terse as soon as Satoru joked about your bruises.

“You’re so vain it would be admirable if it weren’t disgusting,” Nanami tutted at his colleague while swinging the door to Shoko’s exam room open to see you sitting with your legs swinging off of the edge of the examination table. They both gasped when you turned to look at them, eye swollen shut.

“What about me and the mission?” You mutter in the present, water droplets still covering your shoulders. It’s not news to you that your pseudo boyfriend and your best friend may discuss you on occasion but you bristle at anyone potentially questioning your ability to take care of yourself. It is one of the things the two men know about you with utmost certainty. “I handled it.”

Satoru chuckles and scrubs his hand over his face, raking his fingers through his still damp hair.

“You have a black eye that can’t be hidden no matter how much of that crap you dab on it and I healed a paper cut on myself an hour ago.”

Smiling, you lean and press your cheek into his bare arm and the cool skin feels nice against your sore and hot face. You idly twist the cap of your cream back and forth, looking at your reflections in the mirror in front of you, shocked by the stark difference in your own roughed up face and the near perfection standing next to you. You quickly look away and he notices, glancing down to watch your face twist into something he’s afraid will be upsetting if he thinks about it for more than a passing moment. Clearing your throat, you gaze back up at him but not in the mirror, putting your smile back into place.

“Do you think you heal yourself because of vanity, though? I think you do it just because you can.”

He tilts his head to the side and you move away from him slightly only to be pulled back against his side with his arm draping over your shoulders. Can’t get away so easily now and he shrugs.

“What else would it be?”

You wrap your arms around Satoru’s waist and gently run your fingernails along his side, light pink tracks left behind in your wake. He raises a brow and you hum, as if you’re a scientist taking notes about their experiment. A few beats pass and the scratches have turned into something deeper red and angry. You soothe the scratches with your fingertips and he stays still, pinned to where he’s standing by your touch.

“If you were vain you would have already healed those. It would take like one one thousandth of your power to do that.”

He laughs. It’s hard to argue your point when the scratches grow more red with every passing second. They don’t hurt, of course, and he keeps his Infinity off when you are near and he “ahh’s” to himself softly when he realizes where your line of thinking is carrying both of you. You smile and squeeze him.

“It isn’t about vanity, Satoru, it’s about untouchability. If there isn’t a visible scratch on you is it possible to even leave one?”

“You know better than anyone that it’s possible to leave one,” his eyes dart to the red covering his side that is slowly fading into pink and will soon be gone.

“Yeah, only because you want me to.”

You watch the marks disappear before your very eyes, still refusing to glance at your own reflection and witness how bad the bruise around the left one really is. Caffeine cream can’t fix this one.

“And how about you, tough guy? What about that thing?”

All you can do is shrug in response to his questions. Satoru brings his fingers to your face and gently traces the corner of your eye. It’s still a little tender and you hiss but he doesn’t move, cupping the side of your face in his large palm.

“Maybe I want people to think I’m untouchable too.”

“With a giant shiner?”

You laugh, shifting your face and pressing your nose into his side and his hand slides from your cheek to the back of your head.

“Being untouchable is different for both of us. People know you are and want to see it first hand so you can’t walk around with a bruise the size of a grapefruit.” He raises his eyebrows and nods, gaze still fixed on where you hide your face in his side. “I can and it’ll make everyone think I’m tough.”

“So tough you can’t even look at yourself?”

You scoff and unbury your face, looking up at him with a scowl. The bruise has darkened significantly and he resists the urge to reach out and touch it again, fascinated and horrified all at once that this happened to you to begin with. Maybe he should have gone with you. Maybe you need more training, to be better at keeping your guard up (something you are notoriously terrible at) or maybe it was just a slip of your attention while distracted by other things.

Sneaking a glance at yourself in the mirror, you can’t glance for more than a moment but whatever emotion it evokes you hide, swallowing thickly and half smiling up at your boyfriend.

“It’ll go away in a couple of days, you don’t have to worry about me.”

He hums, unconvinced of your words.

For Satoru, seeing the swollen flesh is a reminder of how vulnerable you are. It horrifies him how easily you can be hurt and how much worse things could have been and how he’s so out of touch with his own vulnerability at times that yours is something he joked about as if he hadn’t said goodbye to loved ones in Shoko’s exam room before.

“I will always worry about you no matter what,” he admits with a defeated sigh.

Turning his body so that he can envelop you in his arms and hold you against his chest, pressing his lips to the top of your head. His arms feel gentle around you, full of careful affection, and you wrap your arms around his waist and drop the act for a few minutes.

“It was scary today,” you admit and he kisses your forehead again, his grip tightening.

“I know. I know it was and I’m sorry I wasn-“

You shush him with a sharp hiss and he looks down at you, wet hair flopping over his nose and eyes and dripping down into your face. This makes you laugh which in turn makes him do the same despite the seriousness of the moment and suddenly, things feel okay for both of you.

“Don’t apologize to me for that Satoru, I’m not your responsibility. I can handle myself even if I slip up sometimes.”

The laughter tapers off quickly with your words and he doesn’t speak for a moment for fear of saying the wrong thing. He knows you’re capable of a multitude of things but keeping you safe is his responsibility.

“I love you.”

Because he loves you. All he’s feeling right now can be summed up with those three words so he chooses to speak none additional, watching a smile spread across your face. You rise to your tiptoes to press your lips against his, fingers finding the base of his neck and resting there. The kisses are lazy and slow and precious, especially after the scare you had.

“Even with the giant shiner?”

Backing away from him, you smile and rest your chin between his pecs, arms still wrapped around his waist. He chuckles and cups your face in his big palms, gently kissing the skin at the edge of your bruise.

“Are you joking? Even more.”

You smile and gently massage the base of his spine with your thumbs, smoothing through the dimples that rest right above where the towel sits on his hips. Gojo smirks, chuckling to himself and pulling you closer to him until no space remains between your bodies. He reaches for your face and touches your warm skin with his thumb, shaking his head.

“I love you even more, baby.”

[eternal-auditor]

Consultation

Morax x GN!Reader, Suggestive, Piercing discussion

You follow Morax around while he completes his last task for the day. Bored out, you start contemplating on a topic this devil has a particular interest in.

— Morax, I've been thinking...

— Hm, about what? — your voice distracts him from the task at hand to sort and do revision of the medical supplies left.

— I've been thinking if I should get myself pierced.

The small storage was so silent that you can even hear his breathing muffled by the bandages.

He stops for a moment and turns to look at you.

— And what did you decide?

— I though long and hard on this, but I don't know which one to choose, so maybe you can help me with that? — you move closer to him with a mischievous glint in your eyes.

— Which one do you think would look good on me? — you look at him expectantly.

Your seemingly innocent question made his imagination stir. He keeps his gaze on you, visualizing in his mind how your face and body would change with modifications. He thinks anything will suit you.

— You can start with your ears. The lobe is the most popular spot to pierce. You can also choose helix or–

— Ahh, I'm bad at remembering names, so I'm not sure which one are you talking about, maybe you can use your fingers to point those spots out?— you smile coy and bring his hand closer to your face, but he halts.

— I told you before, you can touch me freely, — you sigh out, — whatever you worry of now doesn't bother me at all.

He seems hesitant, but allows you to guide his hand to your ear, and you give his palm an encouraging kiss.

His fingers trace and point out each spot that is suitable for piercing while you stare at his face attentively.

— And what about my face?

He shifts his gaze to your eyes as his hand trails to your brows.

— You can pierce your eyebrows or the anti eyebrow location, here, — his thumb brushes under your eye, — a teardrop would suit you, — his mouth is covered, but you can see him smiling at you with his eye.

He goes further, tracing your nose and cheeks, reaching your lips.

— You can do Medusa or Jestrum, and here you can put the Labret, — his fingers stop at your lower lip.

— Mm, and what about oral piercing? — you ask.

He was about to answer, but words got stuck in his throat when you took two of his fingers in your mouth, swirling your tongue around them. His breath stops and his ears redden in tone of his hair. You suck on his fingers and release them with a popping sound.

While he was distracted, you snaked your arms around his waist, pushing his body against yours. He lets out a surprised gasp, and you feel no less surprised when his hard-on gets pressed against your lower part. You didn't think he would react this strongly, as you only wanted to tease him a little, but you feel pleased with the outcome regardless.

— Well, we can come back to it later, now what about the rest of my body?

He tries to recollect himself to answer.

— Ah, you can make a dermal piercing, right here, for example, — he puts his hand on your collarbone tracing its outlines.

— Or here, — his hand moves lower to your chest and stops in the center, while the other finds your nipple.

— Have you thought about nipple piercing? What would you prefer: rings or barbells? — he asks as he tugs and massages them.

Now it's your turn to blush, as you try to surpass a moan.

— I-I was thinking about rings- Aah! — you moan out as he suddenly squeezes them.

— Very interesting, — he lets out a small chuckle. He continues to play with your nipple as his other hand travels lower, circling around your navel.

He leans further in and whispers in your ear.

— Your lower parts can also be pierced, whether it's your pubic mound, — he presses his hand to it, — or your genitalia, — you can feel his hot breath even through the bandages.

— It looks attractive, but it can also serve to increase your sexual pleasure.

His hand trails further between your legs and starts rubbing your crotch, making you groan.

— Mm, that's all very vague descriptions. If I show you myself, can you explain it in details? — you guide his hand to the waistband of your pants, sliding it down a little.

He smiles at you and says:

— I'll do my best.

[prettyboykatsuki]

✮ tags ; edging + sub!bakugou + soft dom!gn!reader, restraints, praise kink, no titles used 18+ | ✮ wc ; 1.2k

✮ a/n ; it really would be sub bakguou to get me at least a little bit out of my writing slump lol

"Fuck you," Katsuki can feel his voice starting to lose it's gruff. The words come out hoarse and choked - but in his defense he's miserable right now "Let me cum, fuck."

Your smile is wry as you put your thumb over the slit of his cock, a pathetic amount of pre-cum sliding down his shaft as you stop the motion in your hand completely. He swears at the lack of contact, tugging against his restraints to no avail.

You look delighted by him. Even worse you look hungry. It's the kind of bottomless lust that Katsuki is never confident he can appease. In every context he finds you unselfish and giving. Not like this though. Like this you look like you'd make yourself sick if you tried to satisfy your every desire.

You let your thumb touch against his spent cock gently. He hasn't cum once. Not a single time today. Hours of bringing him to the edge of frustration before stopping completely. You let him have his come down each time. Let him be lulled into a false sense of security before bringing him back.

He wants to cum. He's not asking for fucking much, he just-

You're not budging. You never do with him. There's a breaking point he has to hit before you even think about giving him so much mercy and he knows that. Even then, he hopes that you'll give in sometimes. That once you'll give into his demands.

You bend at the waist and get between his legs to blow on his cock, red and angry and flush - and it twitches like it's ready to spill. He hears you laugh, all bubbly and delightful and grits his teeth.

"Why should I do that?"

"B-because, you fucking," He shakes, shudders as your hand brushes along the inner part of bitten thigh. Marked to hell and back, he's sweating and sticky "Because it—"

"Does it hurt? Any pain?"

He shakes his head, tries to reason with you but you cut him off "So you're just frustrated."

Yes. Obviously. But that's not the answer you're looking for. He shuts himself up, a shuddery breath pushing out of his lungs. Before he knows what's happening, your palm wraps around his cock again, hot velvet over steel. He bites the inside of his cheek as you start to move, hard and fast.

But temporary, a spike of pleasure rupturing him from the inside out before pulling your hand away again.

"Fuck! Fuck you, fuck you, fuck."

You laugh again, placing the same hand on his shoulder. You smooth down the curves of his body. Stopping to squeeze at the fat of his chest, smoothing thumb over nipples and fingers over scar. He's shaking, core tight and tense as he chases a high that keeps disappearing. Maybe he can will himself to cum.

"I don't want to let you cum," You say with amusement, staring at him. Katsuki can feel your eyes on every inch of his face. The way they're tracing his expression, trying to commit his despair to memory. You're all kinds of twisted to him. "I think I'd prefer to leave you here like this. Undo your restraints, maybe make myself cum, and go to sleep. Sounds like more fun."

A sense of dread builds in his stomach. He looks at you in the face, in your eyes this time. Pleading, silently. You give him another smile, unreadable. Grinning so hard that you burst into laughter again, before putting a fake pout. He's going to cry. Son of a—

"Aw, what? No dice? Do you really have to cum that bad?"

Evil. You're evil, he thinks. He almost screams and it's like you know he's going to. You're planning on it, looking on with giddy delight. You bites his cheek, stops himself from doing it and you soften immediately. You coo at him, lovingly tender as you use your hand to cup his jaw. Tugging on his lower lip, he opens his mouth. You stick your fingers into it, and he sucks on instinct. It gives his brain something to focus on.

"Now you're being all well-behaved," You comment gently. He gives you a glare through his lashes but you don't budge "What do you want baby? Can you tell me nicely like a good boy?"

He's overwhelmed. It washes over him like a tidal wave, like his fingers are slipping off a cliffs edge. He's been holding onto it so tightly and now he can't get his footing again. He tries to glare a second time, but even he can tell he looks pathetic. He can see it when he looks at his reflection in your eyes.

You pull on his tongue with your fingers, letting the drool drip down your hand before pulling away. You touch his cock again, more mercifully this time but don't move.

"Now," You say, a single slow stroke up that leaves him shuddering "Is there something you'd like to ask me?"

Your voice is cool. Like a salve on his nerves. He wants to give into whatever abyss is waiting for him to drop into. He stares at you dazed, prideful and frustrated and wanting. You're grounding - expectancy swimming in your vision. Approval. He wants approval from you.

"I wanna cum," He slurs, choked up. You grin, another stroke.

"And how do we ask for things we want, baby?"

"S-sayin' please."

"That's right," You hum, another stroke. Precise with pleasure like you know every nerve of him, down the atom "So, what do we say when we want to cum?"

We. Like the two of you are intertwined. He feels fuzzy.

"C-can I please, hngh fuck, please cum? Please, needa,"

"Look at that," You say, picking up the pace as soon as the words leave his mouth. He braces himself for impact, hands gripping the edge of the chair with a harsh breath "Good boy. Good job baby, just incredible. My baby is so brilliant isn't he? Just a little misguided."

"Shit," His lower lip trembles, near tearful at the intensity of the situation "S-shit, shit. 's gonna, oh fuck - gonna,"

"A little more. Okay? Cum when I say so, think you can do that?"

He pushes out a breath "Y-yeah."

You lean forward to kiss him and Katsuki feels his spine melt. It's relieving and overwhelming - though the kiss itself is so gentle and sweet. He shudders, trembles under the weight of his own desire as he gets so harrowingly close to the edge. He whimpers this time, free of shame as you praise him through it.

"Cum for me baby," You say with finality. And he does immediately, not even a millisecond of time between you saying it and him doing it. He cums hard, feels his entire lower half lose it's strength as he fucks up into your hand. He feels something hot slip down his cheek, groaning as he finishes. He cums and keeps cumming - it goes on for minutes, forever. You talk him through it but the words don't make sense. He just listens for your voice and lets go until everything is out.

He slumps back into the chair he's restrained in, blinking open his bleary eyes as he watches you clean your hand with a nearby towel. You give him a warm look as he does, standing to your feet as you press a kiss to his hairline.

"You did so great this time. Such a prodigy."

He huffs.

"You get more evil every fucking time I swear."

You laugh.

"I can't help it when you're so cute."

"Don't make excuses, you bastard."

"Sorry, sorry. I love you, yeah? My good boy."

He flushes.

"Love you too. Now fuckin' untie me."

[thyfleshc0nsumed]

I was 19, wearing the only flattering dress I had. It was all black, a rough but not scratchy fabric, flared at the waist. The bust looked pretty good on me. I bought it from a used clothes store about two months after I started publicly crossdressing when I was 16. At 17, I wore it to my grandfather’s funeral, and seven months later to my friend Liam’s funeral. That night was a different sort of occasion.

Around 11:30 I parked my car at a Comfort Inn just off the highway, about 25 minutes from my suburban apartment and sat for a few moments, finishing my cigarette, putting it out on the side of my car. I always took a moment after parking to sit with myself before going to meet someone. I was nervous, not fearful, though maybe a smarter person would have been, just as a measure of caution.

It wasn’t my first time werking, but I was still pretty green, I had only been in the real-deal-pay-to-play game for a couple months, mostly doing blow and gos before that. Full service felt like hot girl shit, it was different from the eyes-closed blowjobs I had been giving since I was 15. I was still a sexual commodity, but a sexual commodity they were willing to get a motel room for and drop more than $20 on, so I actually bothered to play dress up--and shower--for it.

I walked into the building, passed the reception desk, not paying them any mind, knowing they’d see me leave in about an hour and know exactly what I was there to do. After a trek through a few dimly lit hallways, I found the room he told me he was in and I knocked. The knocking on the door is always the scariest moment of a smooth and safe job. I always envision some vacationing mother coming to the door, distraught at having to see a fat tgirl dressed up like a whore and telling me “No, we didn’t order a prostitute, you should try 1106, this is 1160.”

Luckily, for both me and this imagined middle aged woman, I got the right room. The john opened up the door and let me in. I saw the money already laid out onto the table, quickly counted it, and put it into my purse, which I set down. He sauntered over and wrapped his arms around me. He was a head and a half taller than I was and wasted no time in getting physical. After only a couple of minutes, I was laying on my back on the bed, the john kissing my legs, up to my crotch. This was a “I want to do whatever makes you feel good” john, which are actually much harder to work for than the “shut up and suck my dick, faggot” johns. I can suck a dick, but I can’t really act, though I ended up seeing this man a couple more times over the next year, so either I can act well enough or I just have a monopoly on fat non-passing tranny prostitutes in the west suburbs of Chicago.

There’s a certain way this kind of john carries himself while having sex: he moves as if trying to be seductive and sexy, as if to pretend he won me with wit and attractiveness rather than the promise of a small wad of twenties. This sort of john’s ultimate fantasy is to have sexually pleased someone–anyone!--else, a thing they are so unable to do that they have to pay a teenager to pretend that they give great head. This john did these soft, light touches, that I had to fight very hard against bursting into laughter from. The only way I can describe the head he gave is that noise that Anthony Hopkins makes in Silence of the Lambs. after he says “I ate his liver with some fava beans and a nice chianti.” Fththththth.

About fifteen minutes into his lease on my body, he pulled away from me and said, “Hey baby, would you mind if I did a line off you?”

I sincerely thought about it for a moment, as it was clear he was genuinely asking. I wanted the anecdote and said yes.

He walked over to his jacket and grabbed a smallish baggie of coke and came back over to the bed, He grabbed a pinch, deposited it in a line on my left breast, and made another attempt at that seductive movement, his head bobbing and swaying for a few moments before he swooped down like a plane finally landing after circling the runway, opening his mouth as he did, and licking the line up with his tongue.

Had I not been being paid for my composure, I would have burst into laughter, the man might as well have just rubbed lidocaine on his gums. Yet again, a straight face was kept, and we got back to business.

Ten to fifteen minutes after his first line, I was laying on my stomach and he was kissing my ass and legs. Again, he asked me if he could do another line, and again, I said yes.

It is my genuinely held belief that should I, in the state of health I find myself in, ever do cocaine my heart will explode and my eyeballs will pop out of my head and dangle as in cartoons. However, simply through being a rational, reasonable human being, if I were to make the decision to both do coke, and do it off of someone’s ass, I would have a clear path on how I would accomplish that task–snort a horizontally placed line off of a cheek. My very own Mr. Lecter, however, is an outside the box thinker.

I felt a hand spread my asscheeks apart. He let out an excited sigh. His tongue landed between my cheeks, a full inch behind my asshole. It drew a line up, passed my tailbone, and into the Fat Bitch Mini Crack. After the briefest layover, his tongue took flight once more, seats now filled with coke and ass lint.

[thesassypadawan]

So Proud *part 2* (Hayden x FemReader)

Summary: (Takes place during the filming of ROTS) You’re so proud of Hayden and you feel like words aren’t enough…that maybe you should show him instead. Hope you lovelies enjoy part 1 as well!

Warnings: 18+ (mdni), because there’s just a tiny bit of the smut. Oral (Hay receiving) and, as always…Hayden’s big dick.

Notes: A little something for @jediskywalkerblog!  I really enjoyed writing this, made me feel all warm and spicy!  Hope you like it! ❤️

- You’re so proud of Hayden! It’s not every day that someone so young is cast into a role so big. And here he was smiling, loving each minute he gets to play Anakin.

- Fortunately, you get to not only witness this magical time in his life. You also get to take part, helping him transform into the dashing jedi knight morning after morning.

- You know you tell him constantly how much you are. Which is almost always accompanied by his cheeks turning red and that shy little smile; so cute and yummy. But sometimes you feel that words aren’t enough…that maybe you should show him instead.

- It didn’t take long to figure out how you wanted to do so and an even shorter amount of time to get it all ready. So with a plan in place, you waited patiently for the perfect moment to come along. And that just so happens to be today.

- “All right, people, that’s a wrap! See you all on Monday! Enjoy your weekend off!”

- Wearing a huge grin, he comes jogging over to you. “Hey, angel! You miss me?”

- You can’t help but roll your eyes at him. “You know I’ve been here the whole time, Hay,” you giggle, swinging your legs.

- “I do,” he laughs. Reaching up to help you down from the crate you were perched on. The tall one he insisted you use, so you could ‘have a good view of everything’. More like so he could have a good view of you. “I just meant; did you miss spending time with me since lunch?”

- So sweet, so cheesy. Back on solid ground again, you rise up on your tip toes. “When you put it that way.” And place a tiny peck on his cheek. “Then yes, missed you.”

- You watch as that grin grows even bigger, making your heart melt. “Missed you too.”

- Wrapping an arm around your waist, pulling you close against his side. He presses a kiss to the top of your head. “Now come on. Let’s get me de-anakinized, so we can go enjoy our weekend together.”

- Doing the same yourself, you give him a playful bump with your hip. “Couldn’t have put it better myself.”

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

- Once you finally ‘de-anakinized’ Hayden, you two return to his trailer. Where he, much to his great dismay, is told that he’ll be showering alone.

- It takes everything in you to not cave in and join him. Especially when he gives you that sad, little pout. “But we always do after work.”

- Despite all of this though, you hold your ground. Because, dammit, you worked hard on this plan and you aren’t going to have it derailed now. “I promise to take an extra long one with you tomorrow.”

- Thankfully your counteroffer was enough. “Fine, but I’m holding you to it.” And when you hear the water turn on, you get to work.

- Fixing yourself up a bit, so you no longer look like too much of a hot mess. Tidying and straightening up the bed, because it was still destroyed from last night; opps. And, finally, slipping into a little something. Something that was black and lacey, and he was sure to love.

- Just as you’re finishing up, the bathroom door opens and out steps Hay. All in his wet hair and wearing only a towel around his waist glory.

- Seeing you, a sly smiles spreads across his face. “What’s all this for?”

- Placing a hand on his chest, you guide him back towards the bed. “To show how proud I am of you…all weekend long.”

- Casually you remove the towel, letting it drop to the floor. Before gently pushing him down onto the mattress. “All weekend, huh?”

- Straddling his waist; you lean forward, brushing your lips across his. “Yes, to show you how hardworking you are.”

- You press tender kisses along his jaw. “How you’re so passionate.” Making him shiver, an ‘angel’ falling sweetly from his lips.

- You nip at his neck, teeth barely grazing over his sensitive skin. “So driven.” Making him whimper all cutely, unconsciously tipping his head to the side.

- You glide your tongue across his collarbone. Then slowly trail down to his chest and further after that. Following the lines of his body, along the path of his happy trail. Taking your time to savor every last delicious inch of him. “So caring.” Making him shudder, goosebumps forming in your wake.

- You come to rest between his thighs. Kissing up and down his shaft, licking hungerly at his base. “So proud of you.” Making him let out a breathy moan, fingers tangling in your hair.

- You pause. Gazing up at him lovingly, you whisper. “Never forget that, Hay.” Before wrapping your lips around his drooling tip and sucking harshly. Making him throw back his head, a low hiss escapes him.

- You’re so proud of Hayden! You know you tell him how much constantly, but sometimes you feel that words aren’t enough…that maybe you should show him instead.

[answer2jeff]

fixer-upper. // lip gallagher

lip x biker-girl!OC

warnings : public sex, oral (m!receiving), praise kink, light to rough hair-pulling, unestablished relationship, intense and obvious flirting, porn with plot and detail, mentions of smoking (tobacco), cursing, OC is just as full of herself as Lip, knows she's a bitch, kinda has a weird sense of possessiveness over him?? clunky and overly detailed writing with a journaling/diary style.

authors note : trying something a little different! using the first person POV with an original character. first time writing this way—still getting the hang of it <3 this is REALLY long...sorry.

song : beauty school.

disclaimer : you can picture the OC however you like! her name is really just used for aesthetic purposes. there isn't much description on her appearance other than the fact that her hair is long enough to put it in a ponytail. enjoy!

Great. Fucking great.

One of my tires is punctured. The visor in my helmet is cracked. My elbows are etched with surface level scratches and dried blood. And the engine cover of my bike has finally snapped off. I had it coming. It was an old piece of rusty junk from my cousins garage sale from 2012, anyway. But it had charm. I knew I was gonna miss that bike for the good couple of hours, possibly days, I would reluctantly end up leaving it in a repair shop down the street from my apartment.

I can hear the squelch of skin, the seal between my hot breath and sweaty skin breaking as lift my helmet from my head. I hope to feel a rush of cool air, but the humidity tells me to go fuck myself. I'm pulled over onto the curb. I can't totally remember how I got there; being in the middle of the street on a scorching summer day wearing denim shorts that chafe up my inner thighs and rub my skin until it is raw and red and unbearably itchy, was not my vision for today. My handlebars are loose. That would explain it.

If I just take it to Born Free Cycles, leave it overnight, and come back in the morning, I can act like this whole thing never happened, and I'm not horribly irresponsible.

40th West View Ave.

Oh. I'm close actually. Barely a block away. I should go there now. I can call Mikey and have him drop me and the bike off at the garage. I'll see that kid with the grown out buzz-cut and black motor grease on his knuckles that somehow always transfers and blots on his face. Specifically on his strong jaw and right before the peak of his hairline. I wonder if he notices. Maybe he doesn't clean it off because it gives him edge that he doesn't need. Like the nickname on his name tag on a black uniform hadn't given his thirst for trouble away already. And the circles under his eyes are almost the same shade of smudged charcoal grey.

I wonder if he notices.

—

"So the engine cover popped? Just—" he shrugs, looking up at me as if I can't understand him "clean off?"

The sunlight bleeds in through the open garage door. It shines behind Lip, casting a shadow that makes his face hard to see perfectly. But I know the look he's conveying. His eyebrows are raised but drawn slightly closer together, his teeth are gnawing at the inside of his cheek so he can stifle a smile and the laugh that will follow soon after, and his blinks remain slow. I try not to smile too. But I fail.

I've only been here about 3 times, really. The first time was to get handlebar grips from Eddie. That was when I saw Lip. I chose not to make any kind of move, but it ate at my insides until the second time. That time was with Mikey. I was preoccupied with the blue-eyed kid, propped up on a workbench and throwing mindless flirty implications at him while he took long drags from a cigarette, to remember why Mikey was even doing there and why he dragged me along with him. His laugh, the playful eye-roll after I complimented his sweat-laden blonde curls weighed down by heat humidity, told me he was on board.

But I wasn't done.

I knew this time I'd pounce for what was mine.

"Yeah," I breathe out, crossing my arms and peering down at him, "And I mighta' been redlining the RPM a little too much. Probably fried the fucking thing."

Lip nods, the corner of his mouth curling up just a bit. He beckons his hand toward himself, telling me to kneel down beside him to inspect the bike. "This things kinda old, huh?" He teases, turning his head to me and finally letting a real smile break. It warms something in me. I shrug. He glances at my white tank-top, covered in black stains of dirt and oil.

"It's not great, no. It's a piece of shit. But it's cute!" I play along with him, taking the hairband on my wrist and twisting my hair into a high ponytail. Lip huffs though his nose, shaking his head and laughing again.

The next couple of minutes are filled with him telling me things I already know. Things I was too exhausted to manage on my own, defeating the whole purpose of why I was here. Fuck the bike. I know what's wrong with the bike. I know it's an old piece of junk and it's barely salvageable. You should know why I'm here. And maybe you do. But you should do something about it.

Lip has this way of speaking to me that feels ridiculously sweet and overly 'cool.' I know it's just his cadence and his cockiness, but I like it. I like that he thinks it makes me swoon. Partially because he's right, but mostly because I've mastered hiding it. He doesn't see my heart pound or the rising heat in my abdomen when he cracks his knuckles or puts a hand on my shoulder and let's it travel down to the small of my back when I crouch down beside him to look at another motorcycle he's trying to save. I'm almost certain he convinces himself that my gestures are nothing more than a meaningless flirt. I simply find him attractive, as does everyone. Nothing more.

But he's got it all wrong.

He knows my intentions somewhat well enough to the point where he can't not flirt back, though. He knows I haven't stopped him from letting his eyes travel from mine to my lips whenever I speak. He likes that I let him light my cigarettes for me. But he doesn't know this isn't just for fun. I'm so hyper-aware that it isn't out of the kindness of his heart. And neither are his compliments and lame jokes he makes to impress me. He treats my attraction to him as fact, but my genuine interest as a possibility.

Again, he's wrong.

I can't wrap my head around how he could reciprocate my efforts without ever pushing the envelope and asking to exchange numbers, or if I had a boyfriend, or maybe he had one of his own. No, no. He'd tell me if he had a girlfriend. He is, above all else, loyal.

Lip's what I want. I meant when I said his hair looked nice. I meant when I gave him a 20-dollar gratuity and a peck on his cheek just for giving me a repair cost estimate on my shattered headlight. I smile any time he says my name: Maeve.

Hey Maeve, back so soon, huh?

Hand me that box, Maeve.

Y'alright, Maeve?

Yo, Maeve, wanna bum one?

Maeve, Maeve, Maeve.

—

"Think you'll be back tomorrow to pick it up? No rush, though. I can keep it 'till you're ready," Lip asks me, leaning against the wooden workbench littered with microfiber towels and tools. His swell arms are crossed to his chest. I nod, coating my fingertips with a thin film of spin while I fish out some cash from my beat up faux leather wallet.

"A-huh. Thanks," I hand him 6 twenties before glancing at the opening of his button-down uniform.

The corner of my mouth lifts itself into a knowing smirk, my hand on my hip as I shift my weight to it, making my chest stick out and my spine bend correspondingly. My lips hang open a measly centimeter apart before I draw the bottom one between my teeth. I watch him sort through the cash, biting down harder on the flesh of my lip when he freezes.

"Looks like you're a good 15 short," he barely mumbles, looking up at me through his eyelashes. His brows narrow down to me again. I click my tongue coyly. I step closer to him, my hand, with fingernails painted black, pushing the cash in his palms down and his arms down with it.

"About that..." I pause, tilting my head with a look of naivety and not bothering to push away the strand of hair that has fallen from my ponytail and over my eye. Instead, I wait and let Lip set the pile of cash down and draw the curtain of my hair open to reveal my face. My stomach twists on itself, and I can practically feel his chest rising and falling with every anxious breath in my own lungs.

I beg to whatever higher power lies above us in this garage that a kiss will work. Not that it usually doesn't, but my form isn't as confident as it typically would be. The guys I wrap around my finger aren't as driven as Lip is. And God, none of them are part of my tantalizing daydreams nearly as often as he is. I picture his rough hands exploring me, squeezing and rubbing over the valleys of my skin. I imagine his breath is hot with the taste of mint and cigarettes. Every part of me wants to know if my predictions are accurate. If he's the type to sink his teeth into my neck and shoulder blades just to apologize to the reddening skin with open-mouthed kisses. The anticipation kills me. It's enough to swallow me whole.

"...Maybe I can pay you back a different way?"

I barely whisper and Lip scoffs, glancing away from my gaze, scanning the area just for it to be completely empty. He comes back to me. His eyes go a little wider than before. Almost to say, 'oh shit, you're serious?' I stick my tongue between my teeth and tug on his uniform, feeling the fabric rub between my sweaty fingertips. My eyes watch Lip's adam's apple bob as he swallows a breath.

"Yeah?" He thumbs my bottom lip and pulls it down, his free hand traveling down to my hip and pulling me closer to him, "what were y'thinking, Maeve?"

"Mmmm," I hum while pressing my hand against his chest while the other cups his cheek, and I let the pad of my thumb graze over the grove of his defined cheekbones. "Dunno yet."

My teasing is much to Lip's dismay, but he handles it quite well. It's sobering to see a guy as seemingly self-involved and easily impressed play into my mind games. It only pushes me further, and he knows it. I crash my lips into his, my hands anchoring themselves on his shoulders for support. He sighs into me, a hand reaching down to hook a finger through the belt loop of my shorts and drag me closer to him. His hand cups my cheek and pulls me into his mouth to let his tongue slip past my own. And he tastes just as I expected. Minty, smoky, and mine. I practically grind my self onto him in complete desperation, feeling him harden under me. Every roll of his hips threatens to send me over the edge. And fuck, his muffled groans of pleasure against my mouth that ring in my ears are hypnotic. But even with his sturdy, growing buldge forcing the fabric of my shorts to press roughly on my clit, I need this to last.

Blissfully and ever so slowly.

I finally pull away to catch my breath, the buck of our waists slowing down. My head feels fuzzy and heat rises in my cheeks when I open my eyes to see how flushed Lip's face is. Even the tips of his ears have turned a little red. I smile, giggling like a teenager who just kissed her crush in a closet at a house party as a dare. He laughs back in a way that asks 'what are we even doing?'

"Thought you had a boyfriend."

I pause, my eyebrows knitted. I try to think of who he could possibly be referring to.

Ah.

"Who? Mikey?" I try not to laugh, looking around to the imaginary audience to check if they're really hearing this nonsense too, "ew, no. He's like my brother."

Lip lets out a breath of relief he almost didn't realize he'd been holding. It surprises me. Probably a lot more than it should. But hey, for the other 3 times I've been here, I kept asking myself why his flirting was just as intense as mine, but he never asked for my number or made a true move on me. To think that my friend had been unintentionally cockblocking me with his ridiculous height and horrid American traditional tattoos all over his arms, and it wasn't because the guy had a girlfriend...it's almost funny.

"Oh," he replies, his eyebrows raising. Now both of his hands rest at my hips.

"What? Is that why you left me hangin' when I did this?" I press a kiss against his cheek, my palm rubbing over his shoulder to pull a chuckle out of him.

"I guess so, yeah. Just didn't want him to kill me for getting to close t'you," he kisses my cheek, smiling again.

"Geez. Mikey wouldn't hurt a fucking fly. He just...looks scary. Plus, nobody tells me what to do."

"Noted. Glad to hear that, actually."

"Mikey is—" I pause, biting the inside of my cheek "a sweet guy."

"Uh-huh."

"Too sweet. And I hate the aftershave he uses. He's—he's entirely too much."

"Mm."

"Whatever. Shut up."

"Didn't say anything," he shrugs, trying and failing to act clueless.

Fuck. He's fucking glad. He's glad I don't have a stupid-waste-of-my-time-cockblocking-boyfriend on my hip who's constantly watching my every move and stopping me from giving all of myself to Lip. Hell, I'm glad too. Very glad. With one swift movement, I take matters into my own hands again. I undo every last plastic button on his uniform, snaking down his chest and abdomen. I latch onto his neck, biting the skin and sucking a bruising hickey. He shivers beneath me and wraps his hand around my ponytail, huffing breathless chuckles and slowly getting more and more frustrated with my agonizingly slow, torturing pace for foreplay.

I bend my knees to begin my descend to the ground, kissing down his torso. My hands travel down his sides. Lip gently lets go of my hair to lean back into the workbench, never letting his head reel back so he can carefully watch me tenderly adhere to his needs while anchoring his hands behind him for support. I giggle to myself, relishing in the affect I have on him.

Shit. This is risky. Screw it. Pretty girl without a boyfriend who tips in 20 dollar bills and blowjobs? How could I say no? No part of me wants to back out, Lip's mind races, his grip tightening on the wooden slab as he clenches his jaw.

I wonder if he's nervous. Or maybe he's done this time and time again: fucking a girl right in this garage. Possibly bent over this very work bench. Those girls must've been so easy. I can bet on my life that they were never as fun, never as wet, never as needy as me. This would be different. I wouldn't give him everything he wanted and more that quickly. A girl deserves to have her fun. She deserves to watch the overly confident guy she's fancied for weeks, who continues to play hard to get, squirm and writhe with every slight of hand she gives him.

And that's exactly what I'm doing.

"Y'having fun down there?" Lip chastises me, chuckling lightly to himself as he tilts his head down to get a better look at my face.

My kisses stop right above the waistband of his jogger pants. I look up at him pleadingly through my lashes, my eyes big with lust and cunning seduction. I pull the middle of the waistband down just so I can drag my tongue across the exposed skin just centimeters away from his cock. The curls of his happy trail tickle my chin, but the full body shiver and the shaky exhale of "fuck," as he tries to keep his composure, makes it so worth it. He finally shuts his eyes, head reeling back. I lick my lips and smile, cupping his groin before he can even think about looking back down and feeling the blood rush to his cock again. His twitching dick underneath my palm sends me sitting on my heel, ready to slowly rock my hips down into it to fill my desperate need for friction. My cotton panties are definitely soaked.

I can't waste any more time.

I remove my hand from his crotch and quickly pull his pants and his boxers down with them. They pool at his ankles, and his cock strains hard and leaking sticky, crystal clear pre-cum from the thick and aching tip. My mouth nearly drops. I admire every vein, letting my hand wrap around the base of his cock once I've spit into it as makeshift lubricant. I'm so lost that I don't even register Lip peering down at me, swallowing impatiently.

"My, you're so worked up, Lip. And I haven't even started." I don't bother to look up at him as I rub my hand up and down his shaft, worried his pretty face will distract me. But I can picture him perfectly.

"Fuck you," he huffs through a struggled laugh, covering his mouth as he groans in pleasure at the feeling of my hand squeezing his cock every once and a while as I slowly pump him up and down.

"Later," I retort. I bite down on my bottom lip, looking up at him again for permission. He nods, almost as if he's able to read my mind. My eyes shut and my stomach flutters. Soft lips cover the head, swirling my tongue over the slit. His tip leaves my mouth with a loud pop, and I lick a bold stripe along the thickets vein I can find.

"Jesus, fuck, Maeve!" He writhes, his breath hitched in his throat by me hollowing out my cheeks and taking nearly 3/4 of his total length into my mouth. Moans of pure bliss at the feeling of his cock enveloped by the wet warmth of my mouth echo through the garage. I fear he's too loud, but I decide not to care. Not now.

My hand pumps the rest of his cock that I don't fit into my mouth at the moment, while my free hand reaches for his. My eyes remain closed and my sucking maintains a steady pace as I bob my head up and down his cock. I grab his hand and set it on the top of my head, but he hesitates.

"W—you sure, Maeve? I don't wanna hurt you," he swallows, accidentally bucking his hips into my mouth and running his unoccupied hand through his sweaty curls. I detach myself from him, wiping the mixture of pre and spit from the corner of my mouth and finally looking up at him.

"You won't," I take a deep breath, "I won't let you. I'll tell you if 's too much, kay?"

"Okay. Maybe just—" he clears his throat "tap my leg 3 times? And I'll...uh—I'll let go? Yeah?" He looks beautiful. Flushed, bare, and oh so needy for my touch. I wish I could keep him like this forever. He's so compliant, so understanding. But part of me knows that once I let him do this, it'll show me the side of him I've really been praying to see.

I nod, smiling contently and feeling myself blush when he twirls his fingers around my ponytail again. He bends over just the smallest bit to cup my chin and smile back. The pad of his thumb grazes over my skin before he lets go. I take it as my sign to go back, pressing my hands against either of his thighs and feeling clit jump with excitement when Lip tugs at my hair the moment I take his cock into my mouth again. I bob my head up and down, my eyes rolling back when his tip hits the back of my throat. Tears prick at my waterline as I struggle not to cough.

I grow even more desperate. My hand dives into my shorts and I slide two of my fingers inside of me, unfortunately never living up to the potential size and feeling of Lip's. The continuous ram into my gummy and tender spot causes me to fall apart, whining with his dick occupying the space in my mouth.

"Oh my God," Lip nearly whines, his grip tightening as he guides my head up and down his dick, but it's so gentle it never startles me, "so fuckin' good, baby. Jesus, fu—ah..keep doin' that. Yes, fuck.."

My tongue swishes over and under his cock in mind-numbing patterns, and I can't help but let little muffled moans escape my throat and vibrate against him. He almost can't contain himself: bucking his hips and practically fucking my throat. I do my best to cancel out the occasional gag so quickly he won't feel guilty and possibly stop.

Use me, I think.

Usually, I'd take the lead, never letting a head pusher take the role. But not this time. Lip's so pent up, so stressed with the complexities of his life. This is a kind gesture. One that involves tears of struggle spilling out of my eyes and streaming down ky cheeks. But fuck, I love it. It's filthy. It's nasty the way I nearly suck him dry. I can't remember the last time a blowjob was this fun.

"Such a good girl. Y'know that?" He looks down at me, biting his lip as his eyebrows knit in pleasure and desperate need to cum down my pretty little throat, "how'd you get so fuckin...so fuckin' good at this, baby? Shit—feels so good."

He babbles over and over again, and I'm taking strategic breaths through my nose and speeding the pace of my fingers as they thrust in and out of me so I don't stop him from releasing the way he absolutely deserves. Finally, he pulls my ponytail tighter than he ever has, warning me that he's about to cum, but by the time he tells me, it sends down my throat. He groans out, releasing my hair and going limp. I swallow the salty substance, blinking out the last few tears in my eyes and sliding my fingers out of me.

—

Lip: 1 message.

Hey. 11:47pm

Hey. Miss me already? 11:52pm

Something like that, yeah. 11:56pm

What's up 11:58pm

I get off early tomorrow. Just wondering if you wanted to come by the shop and hang out for a bit? 11:59pm

Sure. See you then. xoxo 12:03am.

—

current taglist : @lemmejustpulloutmylightsaber @sexyyounglatinoboy @febris-amatoria

[ph4ngz]

Hey i have a request for Bakugou..🤭

LIKE imagine sitting on his Lap and he’s like

„ i can feel u throbbing „

btw rlly like your writings

Hot. Why does every guy I write about kinda end up being an asshole har har

I don’t have time to read this back, but hopefully there’s no mistakes *smiles awkwardly*

Thankyou btw! <3

/-/-/-/

It's been at least an hour since your boyfriend Bakugo returned home early from patrolling the city, maybe even longer. You don't know, being this horny makes it kinda difficult to keep track of time.

You're currently being bounced on your shirtless hero's thigh whilst he fills in a few bits of paperwork, built muscles flexing underneath your weight. He has a bare arm snaked around your waist to keep you steady as he moves around on the couch, and you can feel his hard abs tensing against your back each time he leans forward to retrieve another sheet of paper from the coffee table in front of you.

You'd been looking forward to having your man back from his exhausting job a few hours earlier since it makes cleaning, cooking and whatnot much easier compared to when doing it alone. Although, you had made sure to complete your daily chores before he came home today anyway, solely due to the fact that you'd been unbearably aroused since he left this morning. You'd already made yourself cum twice to the thought of him but, clearly, nothing you can do is good enough.

You're sure he can tell how you're feeling right now! You definitely saw him try to hide a smirk when he came home to you in just a shirt and panties!

You can see that he's tired of working without being able to look at his face, the sighs that blow past his lips every so often giving him away. He also never finished removing his work clothes.

"Finished yetttt?" you drawl out slowly, wiggling along the bottoms of his hero costume to reposition yourself and unintentionally nudging your clit upon his leg, the sudden tingle of pleasure making you hurriedly cover a whimper with a forced sniff.

Sighing, Bakugo answers to your childish whining, "Just gotta fill this last one out... n' then put my signature on that one, I think."

"Can't that one wait?"

Yes, you know it's rather selfish. You should be letting him concentrate, but...!

You lean back on his warm shoulder, your head fitting perfectly in the crook of his neck. Glancing up, you admire his side profile and the way his reading glasses rest upon the bridge of his nose. You'd always thought he looked hot with them on. Maybe he would place them on his head to keep his wild hair pushed back as he goes down on you... Or maybe he'd keep them on, until your juices squirting all over the lenses becomes too much so that he can't see clearly?

Wow, you are not doing yourself any favours.

Steamy thoughts cause your body temperature to rise, voice wobbly when you beg once again, "C'monnnn, you hardly ever get home this early. I always get lonely when you're not here with me, sitting here by myself after doing housework and stuff..."

The vivid thought of you at home, all alone, not knowing what to do with yourself for hours yanks at your boyfriend's heartstrings and it's almost paining him. Slowly, Bakugo relaxes, letting the arm around you land limply over your thighs. Still staring up at his side profile, your cute smile graces his peripheral view once he manoeuvres his head to face in your direction to show he's listening.

He closes his eyes, ballpoint pen still in hand yet not on paper, and presses his forehead into your hair so he can breathe in your homely scent. He's contemplating. A wave of pride washes over you at his behaviour, only you could ever manage to coax him out of hero work.

But that pride dulls into a certain annoyance when he reverts back to his previous position and begins to work towards completing his last form, the pen in his hand barely releasing any ink unless he presses down hard enough. He's losing motivation, just a teeny bit more persuading.

"Katsukiiiii," you extend the last sound of his name in the whiniest, most pathetic way you can whilst lifting your upper half away from him, only to force yourself down with a bratty huff. Thankfully Bakugo lifted the pen away before you made him scribble over everything with your little tantrum.

A "tch" comes from your right and you frown. Fine then, you think, proceeding to (struggle to) tug your panties down, but only until they reach the other hand he has on your upper legs. Rough, scarred fingers instantly grasp the crumpled fabric but he pays no mind.

As he writes, Bakugo moves his clutch on your underwear from the twisted hem to the noticeable wet patch between your slightly spread thighs. It's difficult to open your legs more for him with your panties constricting them to at most a mere few inches apart. You watch your boyfriend toy with the dampened cloth whilst appearing to focus on what's in front of him, repeatedly swiping a thumb across the stickiness.

"So damn impatient." he mutters grumpily as always, ignoring the abrupt exhale you release at his hand cupping your yearning cunt. Those gorgeous crimson eyes roll when you attempt circling your hips to ideally catch your pulsing clit against his bottoms, but the angle your body is positioned prevents that from happening. Though it doesn't prevent the hero from landing a clean smack on the sensitive skin of your almost hidden pussy.

"Chgh! Ow..." you grit your teeth as the initial sting subsides, finding yourself flustered with desperate tears clouding your vision. Why does he have to be so mean! What's worse is that he hasn't even showed any satisfaction yet, continuing with his stupid forms or whatever like he's being forced to tease you so brutally.

Like nothing ever happened, he returns one thick middle finger to your aching bud, only to discover that your sweet slick has amounted to so much that he can hardly keep it in one place without slipping.

Bakugo's tone of voice is relatively normal as he states, "Fucking hell, I spanked you once and you're drenched,"

You mewl lightly, his touch doing the bare minimum, gliding up and down your entrance so easily, embarrassingly easy.

Wait, he's put the pen down. Where has his other hand gone?

You hadn't realised his mouth was closing in on your ear until a sharp nibble to it makes you freeze up. A gruff whisper unleashes a tsunami of shivers to race down your spine.

"You miss me that much when I'm gone, huh?"

It sounds like a teasing question, but you know it's more than that. A 'condescending demand' is more of a fitting term. That other hand of his that sneakily coiled around your throat just now is a more than enough sign for you tell the difference. It squeezes lightly, as your hero relentlessly flicks his finger over your puffy clit. Your trembling hand rapidly covers your mouth, the odd yet familiar fear of reaching your first orgasm of the moment filling your body with sparking adrenaline.

You're wailing into your palm, fidgeting in his lap due to the overstimulation and frustration at the panties stopping your legs from opening further, drinking in his words and the breathy moans escaping him because of your own delicious little whimpers.

" 'miss me so much that you just can't help yourself, ah? So much that you go outta your way to distract me from my work?" and with that said, he stops tormenting your cunt to shove three of his digits between your sloppy folds just to press them harshly over your clenching hole.

For the first time in what seems like forever, you finally take a deep, albeit shaky, breath through your nose. Your entire body twitches uncontrollably, you were so close.

"Answer my damn question, brat."

Jeez, you picked a bad day to annoy him. Who pissed in his cereal this morning?

The growing angry rumble in his voice causes you to panic and whine into your fingers like you're incapable of talking. The grip from around your neck disappears, then returns around your wrist this time, tearing it away from your plumped lips with a thin string of drool attached.

His sudden act of power evokes pleading words from you, weak voice breaking with a, "Ka-Katsuki, I jus' wanna play—"

"Answer the question. You're not stupid," he pauses for a second before circling your entrance with some pressure. You gasp at a painful sensation blooming across your cheek, realising the hot skin is being pinched with his teeth.

"I can feel you throbbing. You can't hide it, how your tight little hole begs for me. Just say it, baby. Me, you and your needy fuckin' body all know the answer."

His fingers are almost inside you and his huge palm is pressed up on your burning clit. Bakugo nuzzles into the crook of your neck, ghosting his lips along the salty skin.

"Do yourself a favour, for god's sakes." he muffles into your shoulder whilst taking a handful of your plush hips and kneading harder than ever.

"...Yes, yes— I miss you that bad, Katsuki. I always miss you so so bad, it hurts~"

Your man chuckles lowly at you, decides to pull you further into him so that your ass grinds on his restrained, jolting cock. Your heart flutters at the sound of his laugh, even if it is mocking you. Your lusty eyes are forced to make contact with his, reading glasses pushing back his fringe just as you'd imagined. Then, he lovingly kisses the bite mark donning your face.

"Finally, s'all you had to do. Now, stop pissin' me off and bounce on it." he orders, effortlessly lifting you up by your underarms to buck his hips as he slams you down.

/-/-/-/

[phoenix--flying]

pjo characters as things my friend group has said

Hazel: I just kinda radiate towards caves

Nico: Breathing has been taken out of Nicos software

Connor: I can speedrun to your house when you're home alone

Cecil: raisins are dehydrated rats

Percy: It's a roller coaster where the only option is to die

Will: I just goooot- my jugular sliced open by a cat

Nico: We're going out tonight and killing all the homophobes. Call it a date

Will: Why am I so much taller then- Oh its cause im standing on a dead body

Connor: You're sooo welcome. I literally did nothing

Hazel: Just because your trash doesn't mean you can't do great things. It's called a trash can not a trash cannot

Piper: Cut my hair, I'll cut your throat

Thalia: Sometimes I do slap kids

Travis: When I grow up I'm gonna be a legal drug dealer

Beckendorf: I’m going to drop kick myself into space

Malcom: Briefly describe three applications that make use of the total eternal reflection of light Connor: The colour seven

Grover: Percys reaching old age, we should put him in a retirement home

Piper: Leo what did you do Leo: I may have burned down an orphanage and it may have spread to this site.

Lou Ellen: Travelling, usually done on the ceiling

Will: Imagine sitting on your couch watching TV and your phone buzzes. Reminder: Breathe

Austin: i just broke an acorn.. panic whY IS THERE AN ACORN IN MY ROOM

Nico: i feel like today happened yesterday and i just slept for all of tomorrow and woke up in the evening

Malcom: yeah i fell down the stairs and broke my spine in 3 places Connor: that's hot

Jason: Nitroglycerin. The forbidden smoothie

Will: I always look like trash. Annabeth: I know that's why I hate looking like trash

Travis: well we only have a few minutes left of class.. y'all wanna watch something explode

Piper: It sounded like you smoked 10 packs of cigarettes and then hit puberty

Jason: Imagine you get fired the day after you die

Nico: My stomach just like...started learning German

Nyssa: Leo if you don't leave, i'm shoving this desk fan up your ass

Jason: I slammed my foot on the accelerator, running multiple red lights at 220km/h, because I wanted to drive safe

Nyssa: When you go through the car wash but you forget the car

Drew: *points at trashcan* That looks like you

Nico: I only want chemistry between me and a coffin

Jake: Gotta put your wheelchair in 4Wheeldrive. Outdoor mode. Off-road mode

Leo: Murder is ok as long as its fine

Percy: Maybe if I fall asleep on my textbook I'll wake up with all the knowledge

Connor: Let's play spin the bottle but it's only you and me

Leo: Now how do we calculate the density if swiss cheese

Clarisse: I have to ask one of the experts Chris: Who are the experts? Clarisse: I don't know

Piper: Your mom is on vacation Leo: well- she's on a permanent vacation

Michael: AYO BITCH YOUR FOODS FLAMIN THE FUCK

Silena: If you're slow I'm a fucking snail

Jason: We need to hold a funeral! Percy: Here comes the bride

Beckendorf: Have you ever died? No??? Well here you go!!! Death simulator. It’s permanent!

*Annabeth and Percy sitting on a bench with drinks and a cop drives by* Percy: What if they thought we were drinking and driving Annabeth: We're not in a car

Will: I'm so smart Nico: Oh my god since when

Piper: *gives Leo a singular goldfish* Piper: Feeding the poor

Lou Ellen: Bless your soul Nico: What soul? Lou Ellen: ...good answer

Sherman: an apple a day keeps the doctor away, and anybody else if you throw it hard enough

Connor: I can see the veins in my eyes

Ellis: Whatever sinks your boat!

Cecil: You can't kill the gays if the gays kill you first

Will: dude sorry there's a knife in your grandma's face it grew wings and flew there :( Cecil: I’m sorry my knife flew out of my hand and slit that guys throat then burned it so he wouldn’t bleed

Silena: *playing Minecraft* I walked into your house and your birds started aggressively dancing at me

Lee: That's just so unfortunate for me. That is just so- oh I died

Percy: Wanna go to Toronto? Why drive just take the Earth Quake on natural disaster

Travis: The roof is just caving in on us it's fine

Michael: My arms are broken, my legs are broken, my lungs are broken, my knees are broken, I got decapitated when I was five

Connor: We're gonna die? No we're gonna beat the speedrun world record

Cecil: Hell to go down I there

Will: Mask to mask resuscitation

Travis: I may or may not have accidentally dropped a match in the building on purpose

Nico: Minecraft but I accidentally sets a school on fire

Percy: Minecraft but I die of hypothermia

Piper: Minecraft but I left my eyes at home

Jake: Minecraft but my legs are broken

Jason: Minecraft but I died

Lou Ellen: Minecraft but we're all gay

Will: If I die the game is homophobic

Cecil: Minecraft but I run my best friend over

Nico: I wanna hit a citizen with a baseball bat

Michael: Hey sir, you have Alzheimer’s. Would you like a side of bronchitis?

Silena: Why can't this be straight? Lee: Because you're not

Lou Ellen: mmmm i love my jesus fish Cecil: bro jesus fish Lou Ellen: ikr, jesus moment

[casanovawrites]

chappell roan sentence starters ft. "the rise and fall of a midwest princess"

if i didn't love you, it would be fine.

here comes the excuses that fuel the illusions.

i'd rather feel something than nothing at all.

we've done this before, and i don't need it anymore.

it's never just coffee.

my friends call me a loser 'cause i'm still hanging around.

i thought you thought of me better, someone you couldn't lose.

you said, "we're not together." so now when we kiss, i have anger issues.

we're knee deep in the passenger seat, and you're eating me out. is it casual now?

is it casual now?

i know what you tell your friends.

dumb love. i love being stupid.

dream of us in a year, maybe we'd have an apartment, and you'd show me off to your friends.

it's hard being casual.

i hate that i let this drag on for so long, now i hate myself.

call me hot, not pretty.

it's comical, bridges you burn.

if karma's real, hope it's your turn.

it's hot when you have a meltdown.

you're getting called out 'cause you're running your mouth.

people say i'm jealous, but my kink is watching you thinking i care.

people say i'm jealous, but my kink is karma.

wishing you the best in the worst way.

i'm using your distress as foreplay.

it's hot when you're going through hell.

you're hating yourself, i'm feeling myself.

you're getting pissed off, it's getting me off.

do you picture me like i picture you?

i'm too scared to say half of the things i do when i picture you.

everything is fine, i guess we could pretend.

we didn't cross a line, but ever since that day, everything has changed.

whatever you decide, i will understand, and it will all be fine. just go back to being friends.

nothing good happens when it's late and you're dancing alone.

this is what i wanted, this is what i like.

i've been a good, good girl for a long time.

can't be a good girl even if i tried.

i kinda wanna kiss your girlfriend if you don't mind.

i love a little drama, let's start a bar fight.

everything good happens after midnight.

let's watch the sunrise.

should've listened to your friends.

so let's say it's working out.

um, can you play a song with a fucking beat?

i just want you to make a move.

i just wanna get to know you, guess i didn't quite think it through.

fell in love with the thought of you. now i'm choked up, face down, burnt out.

why don't you come over?

i like what you like.

i heard you like magic, i got a wand and a rabbit.

baby, let's get freaky, get kinky, let's make this bed get squeaky.

not overdramatic, i know what i want.

sometimes i scare myself, but i can't help what i can't help.

so shame on me and shame on you. i fantasize what we would do.

some good girls do bad things too.

can we drag it out and never quit?

you give me guilty pleasure.

touch me, baby, put your lips on mine.

could go to hell, but we'll probably be fine.

if it hasn't happened yet, then maybe you should go.

too hard to find reasons to stay. even true love could not persuade.

[thesublemon]

best picture

For the first time in a long time, I watched all of the movies nominated for Best Picture at the Oscars this year. Partly on a whim, partly for a piece I’ve been working on for a while about what is going wrong in contemporary artmarking. I cannot say that the experience made me feel any better or worse about contemporary movies than I already felt, which was pretty bad. But sometimes to write about a hot stove, you gotta put your hand on one. So. The nominees for coldest stove are:

Poor Things. Did not like enough to finish. I always want to like something that is making an effort at originality, strangeness, or style. Unfortunately, the execution of those things in this movie felt somehow dull and thin. Hard to explain how. Maybe the movie’s motif of things mashed together (baby-woman, duck-dog, etc) is representative. People have been mashing things together since griffins, medleys, Avatar the Last Airbender’s animals, Nickelodeon’s Catdog, etc. Thing + thing is elementary-level weird. And while there’s nothing wrong with a simple, or well-worn premise, there is a greater burden on an artist to do something interesting with it, if they go that route. And Poor Things does not. Its themes are obvious and belabored (the difficulty of self-actualization in a world that violently infantilizes you) and do not elevate the premise. There’s a fine line between the archetypal and the hackish, and this movie falls on the wrong side of it. It made me miss Crimes of the Future (2022), a recent Cronenberg that was authentically original and strange, with the execution to match.

Anatomy of a Fall. Solid, but not stunning. The baseline level of what a ‘good’ movie should be. It was written coherently and economically, despite its length. It told a story that drew you along. I wanted to know what happened, which is the least you can ask from storytelling. It had some compelling scenes that required a command of character and drama to write—particularly the big argument scene. The cinematography was not interesting, but it was not annoying either. It did its job. This was not, however, a transcendent movie.

Oppenheimer. Did not like enough to finish. But later forced myself to, just so no one could accuse me of not knowing what I was talking about when I said I disliked it. I felt like I was being pranked. The Marvel idea of what a prestige biopic should be. Like Poor Things, it telegraphed its artsiness and themes and has raked in accolades for its trouble. But obviousness is not the same as goodness and this movie is not good. The imagery is painfully literal. A character mentions something? Cut to a shot of it! No irony or nuance added by such images—just the artistry of a book report. The dialogue pathologically tells instead of shows. It constantly, cutely references things you might have heard of, the kind of desperate audience fellation you see in soulless franchise movies. Which is a particularly jarring choice given the movie’s subject matter. ‘Why didn’t you get Einstein for the Manhattan project’ Strauss asks, as if he’s saying ‘Why didn’t you get Superman for the Avengers?’ If any of this referentiality was an attempt to say something about mythologization, it failed—badly. The movie is stuffed with famous and talented actors, but it might as well not have been, given how fake every word out of their mouths sounded. Every scene felt like it had been written to sound good in a trailer, rather than to tell a damn story. All climax and no cattle.

Barbie. Did not like enough to finish. It had slightly more solidity in its execution than I was afraid it would have, so I will give it that. If people want this to be their entertainment I will let them have it. But if they want this to be their high cinema I will have to kill myself. Barbie being on this list reminds me of the midcentury decades of annual movie musical nominations for Best Picture. Sometimes deservingly. Other times, less so. The Music Man is great, but it’s not better than 8 1/2  or The Great Escape, neither of which were nominated in 1963. Musicals tend to appeal to more popular emotions, which ticket-buyers and award-givers tend to like, and critics tend to dislike. I remember how much Pauline Kael and Joan Didion hated The Sound of Music (which won in 1966), and have to ask myself if in twenty years I’ll think of my reaction to Barbie the same way that I think of those reviews: justified, but perhaps beside the point of other merits. Thing is. Say what you want about musicals, but that genre was alive back then. It was vital. Bursting with creativity. For all Kael’s bile, even she acknowledged that The Sound of Music was “well done for what it is.” [1] Contemporary cinema lacks such vitality, and Barbie is laden with symptoms of the malaise. It repeatedly falls back on references to past aesthetic successes (2001: A Space Odyssey, Singin’ in the Rain, etc) in order to have aesthetic heft. It has a car commercial in the middle. It’s about a toy from 60 years ago and politics from 10 years ago. It tries to wring some energy and meaning from all of that but not enough to cover the stench of death. I’d prefer an old musical any day.

American Fiction. Was okay. It tried to be clever about politics, but ended up being clomping about politics. At the end of the day, it just wasn’t any more interesting than any other ‘intellectual has a mid-life crisis’ story, even with the ‘twist’ of it being from a black American perspective. Even with it being somewhat self-aware of this. But it could have been a worse mid-life crisis story. The cinematography was terrible. It was shot like a sitcom. Much of the dialogue was sitcom-y too. I liked the soundtrack, what I could hear of it. The attempts at style and meta (the characters coming to life, the multiple endings) felt underdeveloped. Mostly because they were only used a couple times. In all, it felt like a first draft of a potentially more interesting movie. 

The Zone of Interest.Wanted to like it more than I did. Unfortunately, you get the point within about five minutes. If you’ve seen the promotional image of the people in the garden, backgrounded by the walls of Auschwitz, then you’ve already seen the movie. Which means that all the rest of the movie ends up feeling like pretentious excess instead of moving elaboration. It seemed very aware of itself as an Important Movie and rested on those laurels, cinematically speaking, in a frustrating way. It reminded me of video art. I felt like I had stepped through a black velvet drape into the side room of a gallery, wondering at what point the video started over. And video art has its place, but it is a different medium. Moreover video art at its best, like a movie at its best, takes only the time it needs to say what it needs to say. 

Past Lives. I’m a human being, and I respond to romance. I appreciate the pathos of sweet yearning and missed chances. And I understand how the romance in this movie is a synecdoche for ambivalent feelings about many kinds of life choices, particularly the choice to be an immigrant and choose one culture over another. The immigrant experience framing literalizes the way any choice can make one foreign to a past version of oneself, or the people one used to know, even if in another sense one is still the same person. So, I appreciate the emotional core of what (I believe) this movie was going for, and do think it succeeded in some respects. And yet…I was very irritated by most of its artistic choices. I found the three principal characters bland and therefore difficult to care about, sketched with only basic traits besides things like Striving and Being In Love. Why care who they’d be in another life if they have no personalities in this one? It’s fine to make characters symbols instead of humans if the symbolic tapestry of a movie is interesting and rich, but the symbolic tapestry of this movie was quite simple and straightforward. Not that that last sentence even matters much, since the movie clearly wanted you to feel for the characters as human beings, not just symbols. Visually, the cinematography was dull and diffuse, with composition that was either boring or as subtle as a hammer to the head.

Maestro. Did not like enough to finish. Something strange and wrong about this movie. It attempts to perform aesthetic mimicry with impressive precision—age makeup, accents, period cinematography—but this does not make the movie a better movie. At most it creates spectacle, at worst it creates uncanny valleys. It puts one on the lookout for irregularities, instead of allowing one to disappear into whatever the movie is doing. Something amateurishly pretentious in the execution. And not in the fun, respectable way, like a good student film. (My go-to example for a movie that has an art-school vibe in a pleasant way is The Reflecting Skin). There’s something desperate about it instead. It has the same disease as Oppenheimer, of attempting to do a biopic in a ‘stylish’ way without working on the basics first. Fat Man and Little Boy is a less overtly stylish rendition of the same subject as Oppenheimer, but far more cinematically successful to me, because it understands those basics. I would prefer to see the Fat Man and Little Boy of Leonard Bernstein’s life unless a filmmaker proves that they can do something with style beyond mimicry and flash.

The Holdovers. Did not like enough to finish. It tries to be vintage, but outside of a few moments, it does not succeed either at capturing what was good about the aesthetic it references, or at using the aesthetic in some other interesting way. The cinematography apes the tropes of movies and TV from the story’s time period, but doesn't have interesting composition in its own right. It lacks the solidity that comes from original seeing. (Contrast with something like Planet Terror, in which joyous pastiche complements the original elements.) The acting is badly directed. Too much actorliness is permitted. Much fakeness in general between the acting, writing, and visual language. If a movie with this same premise was made in the UK in the 60’s or 70's it would probably be good. As-is the movie just serves to make me sad that the ability to make such movies is apparently lost and can only be hollowly gestured at. That said, the woman who won best supporting actress did a good job. She was the only one who seemed to be actually acting.

Killers of the Flower Moon. The only possible winner. It is not my favorite of Scorsese’s movies, but compared to the rest of the lineup it wins simply by virtue of being a movie at all. How to define ‘being a movie’? Lots of things I could say that Killers of the Flower Moon has and does would also be superficially true of other movies in this cohort. Things like: it tells a story, with developed characters who drive that story. Or: it uses its medium (visuals, sound) to support its story and its themes. The difference comes down to richness, specificity, control, and a je ne sais quois that is beyond me to describe at the moment. Compare the way Killers of the Flower Moon uses a bygone cinematic style (the silent movie) to the way that Maestro and The Holdovers do. Killers of the Flower Moon uses a newsreel in its opening briefly and specifically. The sequence sets the scene historically, and gives you the necessary background with the added panache of confident cuts and music. It’s useful to the story and it’s satisfying to watch. Basics. But the movie doesn’t limit itself to that, because it’s a good movie. The sequence also sets up ideas that will be continuously developed over the course of the movie.* And here’s the kicker—the movie doesn’t linger on this sequence. You get the idea, and it moves on to even more ideas. Also compare this kind of ideating to American Fiction’s. When I said that American Fiction’s moments of style felt underdeveloped, I was thinking of movies like Killers of the Flower Moon, which weave and evolve their stylistic ideas throughout the entire runtime.

*(Visually, it places the Osage within a historical medium that the audience probably does not associate with Native Americans, or the Osage in particular. Which has a couple of different effects. First, it acts as a continuation of the gushing oil from the previous scene. It’s an interruption. A false promise. Seeming belonging and power, but framed all the while by a foreign culture. Meanwhile potentially from the perspective of that culture, it’s an intrusion on ‘their’ medium. And of course, this promise quickly decays into tragedy and death. The energy of the sequence isn’t just for its own sake—it sets up a contrast. But on a second, meta level it establishes the movie’s complicated relationship to media and storytelling. Newsreels, photos, myths, histories, police interviews, and a radio play all occur over the course of the movie. And there’s the movie Killers of the Flower Moon itself. Other people’s frames are contrasted with Mollie’s narration. There’s a repeated tension between communication as a method of knowing others and a method of controlling them—or the narrative of them—which plays out in both history and personal relationships.)

Or here’s another example: When Mollie and Ernest meet and he drives her home for the first time, we see their conversation via the car’s rearview mirrors. This is a bit of cinematic language that has its origins in mystery and paranoia. You see it in things like Hitchcock or The X-Files or film noir. By framing the scene with this convention, the movie turns what is superficially a romantic meet-cute (to quote a friend) into something bubbling with uneasiness and dread. This is not nostalgia—this is just using visuals to create effects. It doesn’t matter if you’ve seen anything that uses the convention before, although knowing the pedigree might add to your enjoyment. The watchfulness suggested by the mirrors and Ernest’s cut-off face will still add an ominous effect. It works for the same reason it works in those other things. Like the newsreel, it is a specific and concise stylistic choice, and it results in a scene that is doing more than just one thing.

In general, the common thread I noticed as I watched these nominees, was the tendency to have the ‘idea’ of theme or style, and then stop there. It’s not that the movies had nothing in them. There were ideas, there was use of the medium, there was meaning to extract. There were lots of individually good moments. But they tended to feel singular, or repetitive, or tacked on. Meanwhile contemporary viewers are apparently so impressed by the mere existence of theme or style, that being able to identify it in a movie is enough to convince many that the movie is also good at those things. The problem with this tendency—in both artists and audiences—is that theme and style are not actually some extra, remarkable, inherently rarifying property of art. Theme emerges naturally from a story with any kind of coherence or perspective. And style emerges naturally from any kind of artistic attitude. They are as native as script, or narrative, or character. A movie’s theme and style might not be interesting, just like its story or dialogue might not be interesting, but if the movie is at all decent, they should exist. What makes a movie good or bad, then, is how it executes its component parts—including theme and style—in service of the whole. When theme is well-executed it is well-developed. Contemporary movies, unfortunately, seem to have confused ‘well-developed’ with ‘screamingly obvious.’ A theme does not become well-developed by repetition. It becomes well-developed by iterationand integration. Theme is like a melody. Simply repeating a single melody over and over does not result in the song becoming more interesting or entertaining. It becomes tedious. However, if you modify the melody each time you play it, or diverge from the melody and then return to it, that can get exciting. It results in different angles on the same idea, such that the idea becomes more complex over time, instead of simply louder.

Oppenheimer wasprobably the worst offender in this regard. Just repeat your water drops, crescendoing noise, or a line about ‘destroying the world’, and that’s the same as nuance, right? Split scenes into color and black and white and that’s the same as structure, right? That’s the same as actually conveying a difference between objectivity and interiority (or another dichotomy) via the drama or visual composition contained in the scenes, right? When I watched many of these movies, I kept thinking of a behind-the-scenes story from Buffy the Vampire Slayer. The story goes that Joss Whedon was directing Sarah Michelle Gellar in some scene, and when the take was over he told her how great she was, and that he could see right where the music would come in. And Gellar replied that if he was thinking about the music, he clearly wasn’t getting enough from her acting alone. This conversation then supposedly informed Whedon’s approach to “The Body,” a depiction of the immediate aftermath of death that is considered one of the best episodes of television ever made, and which has no non-diegetic music whatsoever. Not to imply that music is necessarily a crutch, or to pretend that “The Body” is lacking in other forms of stylization (it is a very style-ish episode). But more to illustrate the way that it is easy to forget to make the most of all aspects of a medium, particularly the most fundamental ones, once one has gotten used to what a final product is supposed to feel like. 

And that’s why most of these movies don’t feel like movies. They create the gestalt of a movie or a ‘cinematic’ moment—often literally through direct vintage imitation—without a sense of the first principles. Or demonstrating a sense of them, anyway. Who needs AI when the supposedly highest level of human filmmakers are already cannibalistically cargo-culting the medium just fine.

[1] “The Sound of Money (The Sound of Music and The Singing Nun).” The Pauline Kael Reader. (This book contains the full text of the original review, rather than the abbreviated review that I linked earlier.) 

[scekrex]

I saw some of your Adam x readers and really enjoyed them! I was wondering if you could do an Adam x reader where the reader is a trans man but still likes to wear dresses, skirts, and has like either medium length or long hair, but is also insecure about the fact that they won't be seen as a real guy. Have a wonderful day/night!

Omg as a trans guy myself writing this was some sort of healing I swear, I adore you for requesting trans reader! Also I hope you like it!

What it takes to be a man

pairing: Adam x trans!male!reader

warnings: a lil angst maybe? It's mainly fluff

note: not beta read bc idc

Things were rough up here in heaven, you thought that once you had died things would get easier but they didn't. Your body was still the same, still wrong. Everything was wrong, to be honest. Your voice was still too high for a guy's voice, your chest was still… well, too big for a man's chest and your curves weren't really helpful either. Waist too small, hip bones too pronounced.

When Adam entered the room you flinched for a moment, but only for a moment because as soon as the man entered the room he took his helmet off and greeted you with a cocky smile, “How’s my babe doing?”

You sent a small smile his way, then looked down to your hands. Yeah, how were you doing? That was actually a pretty good question. Not fine, that much you knew. So you said just that, there was no reason for you to lie to Adam after all, “Y’know I thought things would be different here.”

Adam's smile dropped almost immediately, a serious expression took its place. He put down the helmet on the bedside table and sat down next to you. “Yeah? In which way?”

You inhaled loudly, you tried to find the words, tried to explain how you felt, but it was just so hard to find the correct words to express your feelings. “In a ‘my body is still not it's way,” you then chose to say. “I’ve been struggling with that back on earth and I thought that here it might be different, that I'd get here with the body I feel like I should have been born in, you know?”

Well to be completely honest, Adam didn't know, nor did he fully understand the entire concept of body dysmorphia, but he didn't need to understand it, he was trying his best to keep you happy and that was what counted in the end. “Babes, why does it matter what other people think huh? You feel comfortable in dresses and skirts and those slutty crop tops, fuck, you look so fucking hot wearing them too,” his hand came to rest on your knee. He knew that being seen as a guy by others was a big deal to you, he didn't understand why though.

“No but that's the point, I wanna feel comfortable and confident but then people come up to me and tell me ‘what a pretty lady I am’ and I'm so sick and tired of being seen as a lady when I'm really not. I'm a fucking dude just like you're a dude, why can't people just see that?” It was exhausting, really. Because even when you corrected people they would try to take your identity from you, they usually said things like ‘men don't have long hair the way you do’ or ‘you wanna be a man? Then stop dressing like a woman'.

You weren't trying to be a man, you were a man.

“I see it,” Adam said and shot you a small smirk. Your head snapped sideways to look him in the eyes, “You do?” Adam made a hand gesture that was meant to say ‘Isn’t it obvious?’. “When I look at you I see my handsome boyfriend, you don't give two shits, you dress in what you feel comfortable, you wear your hair in ways that make you feel good and hands down, that's the hottest thing you can do, doesn't make you any less of a man.” His wing wrapped around your back softly, the tips of his feathers wrapped over your shoulder to gently pet your cheek. “You’re the most interesting angel I ever got to meet, babes. Don't let these assholes bring you down just because they can't see the most obvious thing.”

You tilted your head slightly, curiously looking up at your boyfriend, “N that is?” “That you're a motherfucking dude, babes,” he spoke like it was the most obvious thing, and to him personally it was. You've always been you, always been a man, nothing could ever change that. His hand slid smoothly through your hair, pushing the long silky strands out of your face. “And if some fuckface ever tries to claim anything else, you're gonna head straight up to me and I'll handle it, got it?” You knew he meant it and it warmed your heart that he cared so much. You leaned against his arm, your head was resting against his shoulder as you whispered a quiet “Thank you”.

[sockiess]

sam BEGGING you to let him give you a piercing. he doesnt care which one, he just wants to see you with a piercing because he thinks you'll look even hotter 😣😣

OMG YES I LOVE UR MIND

(imma do septum piercing because I have one)

Piercing

warnings: blood and needle mention

“Please babe” Sam begged me holding the needle and piercing tool in his hand. “Absolutely not” I cringed at the sight of the big needle. “It won’t hurt I promise” Sam whined. “Yeah that’s complete bullshit” I scoffed.

“Ok yes it’ll hurt but i’ll be here to take care of you.” Sam frowned. “please baby you’ll look so hot.” “Aren’t I already hot” I asked him climbing onto his lap. “You’re very hot” Sam replied rubbing my thighs.

“we’ll be a really hot couple all pierced up together” Sam said looking up at me with his big ole eyes. “Fine fine fine” I said

“Ok just lay down” Sam said softly, laying me down on the bed. “Sam i’m kinda scared” I frowned up at him. “it’s ok baby you can squeeze my arm if hurts to much” “okay..” I said raising my chin so he can pierce my septum. “Okay baby i’m gonna find the soft part in your nose it’s called the sweet spot.” Sam told me as he put on gloves. “ready baby?” Sam asked softly as he got the needle ready. “no but yes” I laid on the bed waiting for him to be down setting up.

“ok sweet girl i’m going to count to 3 and then pierce it.” “ok” I said as I took in some deep breaths. “1..” Sam said as he lifted my chin. “2..” putting the needle against my “sweet spot” as he called it. “3..” He said, pushing the needle in my nose.

“SAM OW WTF” I yelled as I gripped his arm like my life depended on it. “I know baby I know” Sam said softly as he finished the piercing and quickly putting a tissue on my nose so the blood wouldn’t get all over myself and the bed.

“how you feeling baby?” Sam asked softly scratching my head. “It hurts sammy” I said in tears. “I know baby, I know, you did such a good job my good girl” He said softly kissing my forehead.

“let me see baby” Sam pulled the tissue away and cleaned my nose. “There we go my perfect gorgeous girl” Sam starred at my nose with wide eyes. “What is it Sam?? Does it look bad?? Sam I swear to God if you fucked up my nose-“ I was quickly cut off by Sam “no no baby it looks perfect fuck you’re so hot” Sam said shifting around nervously. “Sam?” “Yeah baby?” Sam looked at me softly. “You’re hard right now aren’t you?” I smirked. “Maybe..” Sam replied softly kissing me. “I love you baby thank you for trusting me to do this” Sam said into my lips. “I’ll always love and trust you Sammy”

“we should pierce your nipples next princess”

“in your dreams”

THANK YOU FOR THE REQUEST I HAVE NEVER WRITTEN FOR SAM BEFORE SO I HOPE I DID HIM JUSTICE

AS ALWAYS IF THERE IS ANYTHING YOU WANT ME TO ADD OR CHANGE PLEASE LET ME KNOW🫶🫶🫶