#voiceovers back pls

[subtlehaz]

I’ve seen people saying that the cheerleader convo with the kid’s dad is a one way ticket to gay Eddie

And while I don’t disagree because it needs to happen and I love how they’re planting enough seeds that even if people don’t get it NOW, they’ll get it when they look back, I have another thought

Eddie said something to the other dad that was like “maybe he’s not reaching out because he’s waiting for you to come” and I’m like. Edmundo Diaz do you hear yourself. Go pick up your teenager baby right tf now. He does not need space he needs his dad.

[paradife-loft]

so this "ethics & legal requirements for research involving human subjects" course I'm doing for class rn hasn't figured out that you don't hyphenate "cisgender," and yet has still somehow heard of "trans broken arm syndrome" and wants to inform us about it being a source of distrust in medical professionals among some trans people. what's happening here....

[sixeyesonathiel]

told the nerd to film it and he exported inside me instead!

pairing — tech nerd!gojo x fem reader

synopsis : you crushed on him for months, watched him dodge every advance like you were malware. so you dressed up a little, played a little dumber—and now he’s got you spread out in pixels and moaning in surround sound. worst part? you kinda want him to do it again.

tags/cw — masturbation, degradation, praise kink, dacryphilia, marking, overstimulation, explicit language, filming, voyeurism, fingering, oral (f receiving), unprotected sex, creampie, squirting, rough sex, dirty talk, power dynamics, obsession, lingerie, virgin weeb satoru, questionable but effective way of seducing ur crush. 13k wc, 18+ only, minors DNI.

a/n : plz don't nitpick about how a fashion vlog shouldn't be like that bc that's the point. toru doesn't know the difference because all he watches is 2d girls

the compressor’s peaking again.

satoru squints at the waveform, drags the threshold down two decibels, then listens back to the same three-second clip of voiceover for the tenth time. it’s a podcast intro, some wannabe influencer droning about mindfulness. he doesn’t care. he’s just here to make it sound less like it was recorded in a bathroom.

“sounds like shit,” he mutters, even though it’s clean. crisp. perfectly balanced.

it doesn’t feel right. nothing ever does. he tweaks the bitrate, checks the export codec, wonders if he should build a custom ffmpeg preset. maybe write a quick script to batch clean all future files—something to shave off a few milliseconds of his life. his fingers hover over the keyboard, itching for efficiency, for control.

ping.

discord overlay glows in the corner of his ultrawide monitor, a neon-green intrusion on his meticulously organized desktop. he freezes. the notification pulses like a heartbeat.

you.

he stares at it, lets it sit there like it’s radioactive. doesn’t even remember keeping you added. your username—something stupid with a heart emoji—feels like a splinter under his skin. he should’ve purged his contacts months ago, but here you are, slipping through the cracks of his digital fortress.

hey. remember when u edited our project? can u help me trim some vids pls…

his jaw tightens. of course you’d ask now, at 2 a.m., when he’s neck-deep in audio plugins and caffeine. his fingers hover over the keyboard, poised to dismiss you.

“no,” he types, then erases it.

“what kind of vids,” he tries, but deletes that too. too eager. too curious.

after a solid twenty-five seconds of overthinking, he finally sends:

i guess. send what you have.

he leans back in his chair, the leather creaking under his weight. his room is a cave of glowing screens and scattered energy drink cans, the hum of his overclocked pc the only sound besides his own shallow breathing. he shouldn’t care. you’re just another art student, another distraction. but his pulse betrays him, thudding a little too hard in his throat.

flashback.exe

he hated group projects. despised them. a bunch of useless art students in overpriced streetwear, trying to make films with no understanding of pacing or continuity.

they’d fumble with premiere pro like it was rocket science, leaving him to clean up their shaky cuts and mismatched audio tracks. he always ended up doing 90% of the work, and he preferred it that way. control was his god, and he worshipped it.

but you were different.

not better. just... a different kind of stupid.

you showed up late to the editing suite, glitter pens spilling out of your bag, heart stickers plastered on your water bottle like a middle schooler’s diary. you called the lav mic a “weird nipple thing” and giggled when he glared at you. once, you spilled your lip gloss on the soundboard, leaving a sticky pink smear he had to scrub off with isopropyl alcohol. another time, you asked if uploading to drive made your data heavier, and he almost threw you out.

but.

you let him do whatever he wanted.

you didn’t hover or micromanage. you just sat there, cross-legged on a swivel chair, watching him cut scenes like it was magic. you leaned over his shoulder, close enough that he could feel the warmth of your breath, your wide eyes reflecting the glow of the timeline.

“whoa... you made it feel like a real movie,” you whispered, like he’d just parted the red sea.

you smelled like something artificial. strawberries, maybe, or some overpriced body mist from a mall kiosk. your hair was always tied with a ribbon—pink, blue, sometimes yellow, always obnoxiously bright.

he didn’t care.

he told himself he didn’t.

but he remembered. every fucking detail.

the zip file lands in his downloads with an obnoxious ka-chunk, snapping him out of the memory. he doesn’t rush. just opens it like it’s any other favor, like his heart isn’t clawing at his ribcage. the folder name stares back at him: “pls help <3”

typical.

he clicks it open, expecting shaky iphone clips of cafes and shopping hauls. maybe some cringe tiktok dance you think is cute. he’s ready to hate it, to scoff at your lack of framing or shitty lighting.

but then—

you appear on screen.

not just appear. you perform.

you’re biting your lip, laughing into the lens like it’s your lover. wearing something stupidly short—a skirt that barely qualifies as fabric, hugging your thighs like it’s painted on. you spin around in front of your mirror, the camera catching every angle, every curve, like you’re being filmed for someone else. someone who’d appreciate it.

you pose. cock your head. giggle. the sound is loud, breathy, smiling when you speak. “do you think this is too short?” you ask, tugging the hem of your skirt, your fingers lingering just a second too long.

he blinks.

backs the video up three seconds.

watches again.

your laugh echoes through his headphones, a little distorted, a little too close. he pretends he’s checking the audio, tells himself it’s for sync, that he’s just doing his job. but his eyes are glued to the screen, to the way your skirt rides up as you twirl, to the flash of skin that makes his breath catch.

he watches again.

his mouth is dry, his tongue heavy against his teeth. your skirt flips up higher this time, and you gasp—like you’re surprised, like you didn’t mean to show that much. but you don’t stop filming. don’t cover up. just... laugh, a sound that curls around his spine and sinks into his gut.

he doesn’t even realize his hand is moving until it’s there, slipping under the waistband of his sweatpants. his fingers brush against himself, and he hisses, the contact sharp and sudden. he’s already half-hard, his body betraying him before his brain can catch up. the room feels too warm, the hum of his pc too loud, but he doesn’t care. he can’t care.

he rewinds the clip again, pauses on the frame where you’re mid-spin, your skirt flared just enough to show the curve of your ass. his hand wraps around his cock, slow at first, tentative, like he’s testing how far he’ll let himself go. the texture of his own skin is rough, familiar, but it’s not enough. not when it’s you on the screen, laughing like you know he’s watching, like you’re daring him to lose control.

he strokes himself, a tight, deliberate rhythm, his thumb brushing over the tip where he’s already leaking. the sensation jolts him, makes his hips twitch in the chair.

he imagines it’s your hand, your fingers—small, soft, probably clumsy, but eager. he pictures you kneeling between his legs, looking up at him with those wide eyes, your lips parted like they are in the video, glossy and pink and begging to be kissed. or more.

the video plays on. you’re bending over now, adjusting your hair in the mirror, your skirt riding up to expose the thin strip of your underwear. he groans, low and guttural, his hand moving faster.

the sound of your voice—teasing, playful—fills his headphones, and he closes his eyes for a moment, letting it wash over him. “do you think this is too short?” you say again, and he wants to answer, wants to growl that it’s perfect, that you’re perfect, that he’d rip it off you if he could.

his grip tightens, his strokes growing erratic. he’s not gentle with himself—never is. it’s all pressure and friction, chasing the edge as fast as he can.

his free hand fumbles with the mouse, scrubbing the timeline back to the moment you gasp, to the split-second flash of your thighs. he loops it, the clip stuttering in time with his breathing, with the slick sound of his hand working himself over. his cock throbs, hot and heavy, and he imagines it’s you—your warmth, your wetness, the way you’d probably whimper if he touched you like this.

he’s close. too close.

his vision blurs at the edges, his pulse hammering in his ears. he shouldn’t be doing this, shouldn’t be jerking off to your stupid video like some desperate creep, but the shame only makes it worse, makes it sharper.

he pictures you catching him, walking in right now, seeing him with his pants down and his hand on his dick. would you laugh? would you blush? would you get on your knees and—

he comes with a choked gasp, his hips bucking up into his hand. it’s messy, spilling over his fingers, onto the hem of his shirt. his chest heaves, his head tilting back against the chair as the aftershocks ripple through him. your laugh loops in his headphones, oblivious to the wreck he’s become.

it’s filthy. it’s desperate.

ten minutes later, he’s cleaned himself up, his hands steady again as he trims the file like a good little editor. he cuts out the shaky parts, stabilizes the footage, adjusts the audio so your voice doesn’t clip. it’s clinical now, professional, like he didn’t just fall apart to the sight of you. he names it something sterile: “vlog_cut_1.mov.”

he exports it twice. once normally, for you. once... not. the second version is raw, unedited, every twirl and giggle preserved in crisp 4k. it gets copied to a different folder, buried in a directory labeled “shader_study_2022.” he tells himself it’s in case you need a re-edit. a backup. that’s all.

when you text back:

thank u!! lol i owe uuu :3

he stares at the message, his thumb hovering over the keyboard. his heart’s still racing, a faint tremor in his fingers.

he types “anytime :)” and erases it. sends:

np.

what he doesn’t say: he rewatched the part where you bend over six times. he had his dick in his hand by the second loop. he renamed the close-up to “test_render_asscloseup.mov” and hid it behind three layers of subfolders.

he doesn’t even like tiktok girls.

he’s into 2d, girls with big swords and bigger tits, drawn in sharp lines and impossible proportions. he once bought a dakimakura because the shipping came with a free pin, and it’s still shoved in his closet, one corner stained from a late-night mistake. real girls are messy, unpredictable, too much work. but now?

he’s thinking about the way your laugh dipped when you turned around, the way it caught in your throat like you were nervous. the way you looked into the lens like you knew someone was watching.

someone like him.

next day, you walk in like a fucking weapon.

pink fuzzy shrug, low-rise jeans that sit dangerously low on your hips, a sliver of stomach peeking out like it’s 2004. your hair’s up in a ribbon—pink, of course, swaying as you move. you’re all glitter and confidence, a walking distraction in a lecture hall full of tired students and flickering projectors.

he scoffs under his breath. “tacky.”

but his heart’s pounding, a traitor in his chest. his fingers twitch against the edge of his laptop, betraying the calm he’s trying to project. you slide into the seat two rows ahead and twist around, grinning like a cat, like you know something he doesn’t.

your eyes catch his for a split second, bright and teasing, and he forces himself to look away.

he opens his laptop, types random garbage into a terminal window—some half-baked python script he doesn’t even care about. he runs a fake compile just to feel busy, to drown out the way his blood is rushing too fast.

you lean over to whisper to the girl next to you, your laugh spilling out, loud and careless. your hair tosses, and he swears he catches the scent of your perfume drifting past in invisible waves. saccharine, overwhelming, like strawberries dipped in sugar syrup.

his brain short-circuits. he snaps his headphones on, the cord tangling in his haste. not to listen to music. not to block you out.

to replay your giggle.

he’d isolated the audio last night, cleaned it up with a high-pass filter, boosted the mids to make it crystal clear. exported it as a high-quality .wav, tucked it into a folder labeled “audio_ref.” he tells himself it’s for study, just good reference for future projects. but he loops it now, the sound of your laugh layered over faint lo-fi static he added for texture. it’s you, distilled into a three-second clip, filling his skull.

he closes his eyes and pretends you’re saying his name. satoru, you giggle, breathy and soft, like you’re leaning over his shoulder again, watching him work. satoru, you made it feel so real.

the lecture drones on, but he’s not listening. he’s lost in the rhythm of your voice, the way it dips and rises, the way it makes his skin feel too tight. he shifts in his seat, adjusts his hoodie, tries to ignore the heat pooling in his gut. he’s not supposed to want this. not supposed to want you.

but he does.

the thing about addiction is that it never announces itself.

no dramatic thunderclap. no internal monologue screaming, ah yes, now i am a pervert. it’s quiet. insidious. it sinks in like static, crackling at the edges of satoru’s brain until he’s not sure where his old self ends and this new, wretched version begins.

it’s not like he’s not already a pervert who gets off from pixels. this simply wasn’t his brand of perversion.

that night, he stayed up longer than he should’ve. stared at code for so long his ide crashed, the screen flickering to black as if it knew he was wasting his time. not that he got anything done. 

he just kept switching tabs—your final cut in vlc, some useless bash script in vscode he pretended to care about, then back to your video, the timeline frozen on that twirl, that gasp. his fingers shook when he closed the laptop, but sleep never came.

and now it’s the next day. mid-afternoon. the sun is doing that thing where it turns his apartment into a blinding box of heat and regret. his ac hums like an old man, wheezing against the sticky air. he’s sprawled in his chair, one leg slung over the armrest, staring at the ceiling fan like it might tell him how to stop.

ping.

another discord notification. he doesn’t even flinch this time. your username glows, and the filename attached makes his stomach do a weird little roll: “try-on2_raw.mov”. his eyes linger on the heart emoji you’ve tacked onto the message, like it’s a personal invitation.

hiii! ty for the last edit, ur a lifesaver <3 can u check and trim this one too? i’m trying smth new but idk if it works… lmk what u think pls!!

he clicks download. no hesitation. doesn’t even pretend to care anymore.

the file loads into his editing software like second nature, the premiere pro interface blooming across his screen. muscle memory. routine.

he’s done this a hundred times—except never like this, never with his pulse hammering in his throat and his mouth already dry.

the video starts the same way as the last—handheld, messy lighting, your voice trailing in from offscreen as you fiddle with the camera angle. no mic, of course not. just raw cam audio, unpolished, real, every breath and rustle amplified. he leans closer, like proximity to the screen will make it less dangerous.

“okay—wait, hold on,” you mutter, slightly out of breath. there’s a plastic rustle, fabric scraping skin, the light jingle of a zipper. he catches the sound of your nails tapping the digicam accidentally, a faint clack-clack that makes him picture your fingers, probably painted some ridiculous color, fumbling in that endearing way you do. 

“ugh… come on…” your voice drops, a frustrated huff, low and throaty. “mm—sorry! this one’s hard to pull up.”

then—zipper slides. metal on fabric, slow and deliberate, like it’s teasing him on purpose. you let out a sigh, long, slow, just a little too satisfied, like you’re savoring the release of pressure. the sound coils in his gut, tight and hot.

he freezes.

his mouse stays hovering over the playhead, the cursor trembling slightly. blood is already rushing south, his sweatpants tightening in a way he can’t ignore. his breath catches, shallow and sharp, and the worst part?

you giggle.

“probably got the wrong size,” you say, tugging the dress up higher. the hem catches on your thighs, rising indecently, the fabric clinging to your skin like it’s reluctant to let go. “don’t tell anyone i didn’t try it on in-store first.”

he swallows nothing. jaw tight. the room suddenly feels suffocating, the ac’s hum drowned out by the thud of his own pulse. your lip catches between your teeth, a flash of white against pink gloss, and the camera catches that too, lingers on it like it knows what it’s doing.

you glance at the lens, eyes half-lidded, like you’re waiting for approval, like you’re asking him directly—do you like this?

satoru’s fingers twitch.

one hand stays on the mouse, scrubbing the timeline back three seconds to hear that sigh again. the other hand moves before he can stop it, slipping under his waistband, brushing against the heat of his skin. he’s already hard, achingly so, the kind of hard that makes his head swim.

he wraps his fingers around himself, slow at first, testing, like he’s not sure he’s really doing this again. but the sound of your voice—breathy, teasing—loops in his headphones, and he’s gone.

he strokes himself, deliberate and tight, his grip almost punishing. the video plays on, and you’re stepping into frame now, the dress half-zipped, hugging your curves in a way that makes his throat burn. your thighs shift as you adjust the hem, and he imagines them under his hands, soft and warm, parting just for him.

his thumb swipes over the tip of his cock, slick with precum, and he groans, low and broken, the sound swallowed by the hum of his pc. he pictures your fingers instead, clumsy but eager, your nails grazing his skin as you try to keep up with his rhythm.

he’d guide you, show you how he likes it—fast, rough, no mercy.

you sigh again, and he speeds up, his hand moving in time with the rise and fall of your voice. “this one’s kinda tight,” you murmur, tugging at the neckline, and the fabric stretches, exposing the swell of your chest.

he wants to rip it off, wants to hear you gasp for real, not for the camera but for him. his strokes grow erratic, desperate, the slick sound of his hand filling the room, obscene and unstoppable.

he scrubs the timeline back again, pauses on the frame where your dress slips, where your underwear peeks out—a thin, lacy thing that makes his vision blur. he imagines pulling it aside, imagines the heat of you, the way you’d whimper if he pressed himself inside.

he’s close, too close, his hips twitching up into his hand. the video loops your giggle, that satisfied sigh, and he’s drowning in it, in you.

he pictures you catching him like this, walking into his apartment right now, seeing him with his pants down and his cock in his hand, flushed and leaking. would you laugh? would you blush? would you drop to your knees and let him finish on your lips, glossy and perfect and—

he comes with a muted groan, his head tipping back, eyes screwed shut as his release spills over his fingers, hot and messy. his breath shakes, a ragged exhale that leaves him hollow. the aftershocks pulse through him, and he slumps in his chair, the video still playing, your voice oblivious to the wreckage you’ve caused.

he pauses the frame. your mouth is mid-word, forming the shape of “oops,” lips parted just enough to make his chest ache. he wipes his hand on a paper towel from his desk, crumpled and stained from earlier sins. doesn’t look at himself. doesn’t think.

exports the file without touching a thing. names it “final_edit.mov.” then saves another copy, the raw footage, every sigh and rustle preserved. he names it “jesusfuckingchrist.mp4” and buries it in a folder labeled “misc_ref.”

he tries to normalize it.

“it’s just grading,” he mutters the next time he opens the project, the lie sour on his tongue. “just adjusting white balance.” but the playback bar hasn’t moved from your thighs. he doesn’t touch the colors. not really.

he zooms in under the excuse of checking “grain smoothing,” but it’s just your lip, caught between your teeth, your breath clipped at the edges like you’re holding back.

he tells himself he’s just learning.

every artist has their muse, right? except now he edits to your audio. he used to play podcasts, background noise to keep his brain from spiraling.

now? your breathing is layered into the timeline, a track he’s labeled “vox_ref.” he loops your laugh in reverse, lets it pan from left to right like it’s some surround sound experience.

“this is practice,” he whispers, dragging eq curves around nonsense, boosting the highs until your voice is sharp and intimate. “i’m experimenting with filters.”

right. filters. filters until your voice sounds like it’s right by his ear, like you’re whispering in bed, your breath warm against his skin. he plays a clip of you saying “do you like this one?” over and over, the words detached from context.

he doesn’t even care what you’re referring to anymore. he’s got that part memorized, the way your voice dips, soft and unsure, like you’re asking him to love you.

the next class is worse.

you walk past him in that fuzzy pink shrug thing, one sleeve slipping off your shoulder, and it’s like a bomb goes off in his chest. the fabric clings to you, soft and teasing, and he wants to grab it, pull it down, see how much skin you’ll let him have.

you lean down to plug your charger in, your jeans riding low—too low, the kind of low that makes him wonder how they’re even allowed on campus. he catches a glimpse of your underwear, a flash of lace, and his brain whites out.

he glares at his laptop, scoffs under his breath. “that outfit’s… desperate.” the word feels like a blade, sharp and mean, but it’s all he’s got to keep you at a distance.

your head tilts, innocent, eyes wide like you’re genuinely curious. “you think so?” you say it like you mean it, like you don’t already know the answer, like you haven’t watched your own footage and seen what he’s seen.

he shrugs, keeps scowling, doesn’t look at you. his fingers grip the edge of his laptop too hard, knuckles white. behind the screen, he’s got a paused frame of you licking lip gloss off your thumb, minimized in the corner. it’s been open since he got here.

his file structure is disintegrating. he used to name things with logic—timestamps, project codes, version numbers. now his desktop looks like a manifesto, a digital shrine to his unraveling. “vlog_tryon_final.mov.” “edit_3alt.mp4.” “fuckmeagain_laughcut.mov.” there’s a folder called “NOT work (unless)” that he doesn’t even open anymore, too afraid of what he’ll find.

he tries to draw a line, but it’s blurry. always blurry. he doesn’t know where the edit ends and obsession begins. when he dreams, he dreams about zippers—except they’re not zipzers. they’re your legs, parting slow and deliberate, your breath hitching as he pulls you closer.

a new text lights up his screen:

 hey! idk if the last one looks good… should i redo it? it felt kinda awkward lol sorry T_T

you sound insecure, unsure, your words dripping with that self-conscious charm that makes his chest hurt. he stares at the message, his thumb hovering over the keyboard, his mind spiraling.

you don’t know, do you? you don’t know what you’re doing to him, how your voice alone is enough to make him hard again.

he types:

looks clean. don’t worry about it.

satoru watches the word clean sit there like a fucking lie. his dick twitches, traitor that it is.

he hates himself.

but he opens the raw file again. scrubs through, frame by frame, until he finds that timestamp—where you moan, soft and accidental, like you didn’t mean to let it slip. he watches it, his headphones sealing him in with the sound of you. he exports that single second, names it “moan_finalgodhelpme.mp4,” and tucks it away like a secret he’ll never confess.

the timeline sits open, your frozen frame staring back at him. he doesn’t close it. doesn’t want to.

it starts with static in his skull.

not the loud, electric kind that chokes you up or begs to be noticed. it’s quiet. a whir, like an old fan that never shuts off, humming behind his thoughts. when satoru drags his mouse across the screen and sees your name still on the folder, it buzzes—faint, familiar, a sickness with your scent.

he changes the name from “NOT work (unless)” to “ARCHIVE_21,” moves it to a different directory, pretends it’s work, or dead, or both. but the static doesn’t stop. it clings, sticky and warm, like your laugh looping in his headphones.

it doesn’t help.

not when he dreams in highlighter gloss and those half-bitten whines you make when stretching, your body arching just so. not when he wakes up rutting into damp sheets, mouthing your name like a damn prayer, his hips jerking against nothing. the shame burns, but it’s not enough to make him stop.

satoru’s trying.

really.

he takes up freelance gigs, edits wedding footage for some guy he hasn’t spoken to since second year. overlays cheesy filters, mutes the groom’s ugly laugh, syncs the vows to some overused acoustic track. it’s clean. respectable. sterile enough to make him itch, like he’s wearing someone else’s skin. but the folder’s still there, buried in his drive like it knows he’ll come back.

2:03 a.m.

his inbox pings, a sharp sound that cuts through the drone of his pc fans. your name lights up the screen, and his chest tightens before he even reads the message.

hiii satoru!! sorry for the late send, been sooo busy <3 can u take a look at this haul vid? i tried smth spicy but idk if it’s too much… lmk what u think pretty pls!!

march haul (raw).mp4

he knows he shouldn’t. there’s no logical reason, no business context, just the weight of your words—spicy, pretty pls—sinking into his gut. but his hands move on their own, clicking download, the progress bar filling like a fuse burning down.

click.

of course he does.

the video starts soft, your bedroom light diffused to a golden haze, casting shadows that dance across rumpled sheets. it looks like you’ve been tossing in them all day, the fabric creased and inviting.

you’re in lace—barely. something soft pink and flimsy, a slip of fabric that clings to your curves like it’s begging to be torn off.

your thigh’s out, one leg bent just enough to draw his eye, and the camera’s angled low, too low, like you meant to frame it this way.

“god, i hope this one fits…” your voice is breathy, a little strained, like you’re fighting the fabric. you adjust a strap, your fingers lingering on the lace, and your lip catches between your teeth, glossy and pink, a casual gesture that’s anything but. his breath stutters, a sharp inhale that burns his throat.

“oops, sorry—too much cleavage?” you laugh, not to yourself but at him.

he knows it.

his cock knows it, twitching against the seam of his sweatpants. the screen shakes as you set the camera on something unsteady—a stack of books, maybe—and it rocks just as you turn around, hips swaying, your ass hugged by that tiny thong, the lace cutting into your skin like a claim. you glance back over your shoulder, smirk poised like a dagger, eyes glinting in the soft light.

“i bet you’d pause right here, wouldn’t you?”

he does.

the video cuts mid-breath, and he doesn’t hear the silence. he’s frozen, hand halfway down, brain wiped clean. the frame lingers on your ass, the curve of it framed by lace, and his mouth is dry, his pulse hammering so loud it drowns out the static.

ping.

march haul (real).mp4

oops. wrong send lol. this is the real one!

his screen is still painted with the freeze-frame of your ass. his dick’s straining so hard it aches, a dull throb that makes him shift in his chair. he doesn’t respond, doesn’t move for a full minute, just stares at the message, the word oops taunting him. then—

he saves both files. drags them into “ARCHIVE_21” with a trembling cursor, his fingers clumsy on the trackpad. he opens the raw one again, slower this time, one hand on his lap, the other fisting his sheets until the fabric creaks.

you’re back on screen, adjusting the strap again, your laugh curling through his headphones like smoke. his hand slips under his waistband, and he’s already leaking, the tip slick and sensitive as he grips himself.

he strokes slow, deliberate, savoring the friction, but his mind’s elsewhere—on the hentai he’s spent years jerking off to, the doujins with dog-eared pages and cum-stained corners.

he pictures you like those girls, bent over and begging, your lace thong pushed to the side as he fucks you from behind, your moans louder, needier, than anything you’ve let slip on camera.

he imagines pinning you to those rumpled sheets, your thighs trembling under his hands, your ass bouncing with every thrust. no teasing giggles, no coy glances—just you, fucked out and whimpering, his name on your lips as he buries himself deep, so deep you can’t think.

his hand speeds up, the slick sound obscene in the quiet of his room. he scrubs the timeline back, pauses on the moment you turn, your smirk sharp and knowing.

he wants to wipe it off, wants to fuck you until you’re too wrecked to smile, until you’re clawing at the sheets and sobbing his name. he imagines your cunt, tight and wet, gripping him as he pounds into you, the lace of your thong rubbing raw against his skin.

it’s not enough to watch you anymore, not enough to stroke himself to your voice—he wants to ruin you, wants to feel you break under him, wants to make you his in a way those 2d girls never could.

he cums with a low, breathy whisper of your name, his hips jerking up into his hand. it’s intense, almost painful, spilling over his fingers and onto the hem of his shirt.

his chest heaves, his vision blurring as he slumps back, the video still playing, your laugh oblivious to the mess he’s become. he opens it again, doesn’t touch himself this time—just watches, memorizes, eyes glassy and mouth parted.

at one point, he swears he moans with you, a soft sound that slips out unbidden, his body betraying him even when he’s spent. when he edits the “real” file, he’s a machine. no stutters, no slips, just sharp keystrokes and surgical cuts, trimming shaky frames and boosting your voice until it’s crisp.

the guilt claws at him, a dull ache in his chest, but it only makes the next orgasm worse—and better. he exports it, names it “haul_march_final.mov,” and saves the raw file to a new subfolder: “stills_ref.” he doesn’t name the second copy. doesn’t need to. it’s just for him.

he plays it cool in class. “wow. another fit straight outta your grandma’s closet,” he scoffs as you pass, voice dripping with mockery, lips curling into something lazy and mean.

but his gaze flickers—just once, low and quick, like he’s checking for danger. and there it is. a flash of soft pink lace against the curve of your thigh as you shift your bag higher up your shoulder. just a sliver. deliberate.

he knows that lace. knows it from the raw footage, from the way it hugged your skin under golden light. his smirk falters for half a second, a crack in his armor.

you turn your head, slow as syrup, and smile at him over your shoulder. it’s airy, innocent, ditzy enough to play dumb, poisonous enough to feel like a threat. “mm? that bad, huh?” your voice is light, but your eyes linger a moment too long, sharp and knowing, like you’re peeling him open.

you take your seat two rows away, crossing one leg over the other with careful grace. your skirt rides up, just enough to show the edge of that lace again, and your fingers toy absentmindedly with the hem, brushing the fabric like it’s a game.

he doesn’t blink.

he knows what’s under that skirt, knows the way that lace bites into your skin when you move just like that. he’s seen it in soft lighting, tangled with shadows and sighs. he knows, and you know, and neither of you say a word.

he can’t breathe.

his hand trembles as he grips his pen, scrawling nonsense on the corner of his notes—random numbers, jagged lines, anything to keep his fingers busy.

someone’s asking a question about identity and performance, something about how we present ourselves versus how we wish to be perceived, and satoru’s already halfway to standing.

“sorry. washroom.” his voice cracks halfway through the lie, too sharp, too rushed.

satoru stumbles into the men’s room like he’s escaping a crime scene, the door clicking shut behind him. palm flat against cold tile, forehead pressed to the inside of his wrist, he tries to breathe, tries to think of anything else—code, deadlines, the wedding edit he’s behind on.

but it’s you.

always you. your smile, your laugh, the lace peeking out like a taunt.

he’s already hard, already leaking, the front of his jeans tight and unforgiving. he fumbles with the button, shoves them down just enough, and grips himself, his hand shaking as he strokes.

he closes his eyes and sees you—not the you in class, not the you playing dumb, but the you from his fantasies, the you he’s built from hentai panels and late-night desperation. he imagines you on your knees, lace thong pulled down, your cunt glistening as he fucks you against the bathroom sink.

no giggles, no teasing—just raw, desperate need, your moans echoing off the tiles as he slams into you, his hands bruising your hips, your body arching to take him deeper.

he wants you messy, wants you marked, wants to fill you until you’re dripping, until you’re his in a way that’s permanent.

he strokes faster, his breath hitching, his teeth sinking into his knuckles to muffle the groan clawing up his throat. he cums hard, too fast, his knees buckling as it spills over his hand, hot and shameful. he shakes, gasping, his forehead slick against the tile, and thinks of lace. thinks of lip gloss. thinks of your voice saying “oops” like it’s a sin.

it doesn’t take long for his desktop to become an altar.

the background’s still you, a freeze-frame from the first video, your lip gloss shimmering and fingers caught mid-twist in your hair. he tells himself it’s temporary, just a visual reference.

it’s been three weeks.

folders on folders: “hauls > favs > zoom_ins > stills > pantyshots.” “audio_samples > moan_loop > breath_only.wav.” “color tests > gloss_ref > lips.png.”

some nights, he replays a single frame just to watch your mouth form the word “fuck,” slows it down, isolates the syllables, pretends you’re saying his name instead.

the worst part?

you’re still pretending nothing’s changed. still calling them “favors,” still sending content like it’s work, like it’s nothing.

but your outfits are shorter, your giggles stick to the air longer, your eyes linger like you’re testing something. and when you purr, “you’re sooo good at this, satoru,” with that saccharine lilt, your voice curling around his name like a caress, he bites the inside of his cheek just to keep quiet. fists the sheets at night and prays.

he moans your name in the dark, face hot with shame, and hates how much he wants you to hear it.

satoru’s become sleep-deprived, dark smudges nesting beneath his eyes like fingerprints left behind by guilt or obsession or both. he wears his glasses more lately, less out of need and more as a buffer between him and the world—between him and you.

the lenses catch the glow of his new triple-monitor setup, a sleek beast he told himself was for coding, for editing, for multitasking. not for keeping your videos looping on the side monitor while he pretends to work on the main one. not for that at all.

your folder’s pinned in quick access, a permanent fixture in his file explorer. he keeps it open in the background at all times, a digital pulse that hums alongside his pc fans. second nature now, like breathing or wanting. not unlike a shrine.

in class, he pretends to take notes, his stylus scratching nonsense on his tablet. he’s not. he’s watching a gif on his phone, hidden under the desk—a loop of your tongue dragging slow across lip gloss, eyes soft with focus like you’re painting yourself pretty just for him. the gif’s only three seconds, but he’s memorized every frame, every flicker of your lashes. his thumb swipes to replay it, again, again, until his vision blurs.

ctrl+shift+eject brain.exe.

three days pass, and you haven’t messaged. he checks your chat thread more than he breathes—opens, closes, re-opens, scrolling through your old texts like they’ll reveal something new. every flicker of hope is a false start, a phantom ping that makes his chest lurch. he’s pathetic, he knows it, but knowing doesn’t stop the itch.

then:

ping.

april haul (suits).mov

hii satoru!! new haul vid for u to check <3 tried some swimsuits this time, hope it’s not too boring to trim hehe. lmk what u think!!”

he nearly drops his phone, his thumb smudging the screen as he fumbles to download. his new setup hums to life, the main monitor flashing with code he hasn’t touched in hours, the side monitor already open to your folder.

he drags the file into premiere, the timeline blooming across the screen, but his eyes are on the raw video, already playing on the right monitor, your voice spilling through his headphones like honey.

the video’s different this time. the camera’s lower, like it’s been left on a desk or shelf, pointing slightly upward to frame you from your knees to just above your head. your bed makes a cozy blur in the background, sheets tangled like an invitation.

you’re in a bikini top that isn’t trying very hard to stay on, thin strings knotted loosely at your neck and back, the fabric barely containing you. “mmm. does this scream summer, or slut?” you giggle, feigned innocence like frosting over heat, your voice curling around the words like you know exactly what they’ll do to him.

you play with the strings at your chest, tugging, adjusting, your fingers brushing the swell of your breasts. then, softer, breathier, to the lens: “baby, help me pick…”

baby.

it breaks him all over again, a crack that runs straight through his chest. his cock twitches, already hard, straining against his boxers.

everything after that gets softer, lazier, dangerous in how intimate it feels. there’s no performative energy now—just casual, candid seduction, your movements slow, like you’re not hurrying for anyone. like you know exactly who’s watching and how long he’ll linger.

when you shrug a dress off your shoulders, you sigh, the sound catching in your throat. when you twist to adjust a strap, you hum, low and absentminded. and when you struggle with a clasp at your back, your fingers fumbling, you moan—soft, unintentional, a sound that slips out like it surprised even you.

satoru’s thumb slams the spacebar, pausing the video, rewinding three seconds to hear it again. he watches the way your lips part, the way your brows twitch, the way your body shifts like you’re chasing the sensation.

he’s already leaking, his boxers damp as he shoves them down, his hand wrapping around himself. the side monitor loops the raw footage, your moan playing over and over, while the main monitor holds the paused frame of your parted lips. he strokes slow at first, his grip tight, his thumb swiping over the tip where he’s slick and sensitive.

his mind slips to the doujins he’s hoarded, the hentai he’s spent years chasing—the girls with flushed cheeks and desperate eyes, fucked raw and begging for more. but now it’s you, not some inked fantasy, and it’s so much filthier.

he imagines you sprawled across your bed, that bikini top ripped off, your thighs spread wide as he fucks you deep, relentless, your cunt clenching around him as you sob his name. no teasing, no giggles—just you, wrecked and dripping, your nails clawing his back as he takes you again and again, each thrust harder, messier, until you’re nothing but his.

his hand speeds up, the slick sound loud in his room, mixing with your looped moan. he wants you pinned beneath him, wants to feel you squirm, wants to fuck you until the bed creaks and your voice breaks, until you’re begging like those hentai girls, your glossed lips trembling as you say his name—satoru, please, more.

he imagines filling you, his cum leaking down your thighs, your body marked by him in ways he can’t unsee. it’s not enough to watch, not enough to stroke—he wants to own you, wants to make you his in every way those 2d fantasies taught him to crave.

he cums hard, forehead pressed to his desk, a low groan tearing from his throat as it spills over his hand, his keyboard, the edge of his new setup. his breath is ragged, like he’s run a marathon, his glasses fogging slightly as he gasps.

the side monitor still plays, your voice oblivious, your moan looping like a hymn. he doesn’t stop the video, just slumps back, spent and shaking, and watches again, his hand twitching like it’s not done.

it doesn’t take long for his room to reek of sweat and sin.

he edits shirtless now, sometimes in boxers, always hard, always leaking. every file’s renamed with trembling hands: “wifey_take7.mov.” “wifey_raw.mp4.”

he syncs your sighs to his lo-fi playlist, turns it into a lullaby, falls asleep to the sound of your breath. sometimes he slows your voice just to hear “baby” dragged out into velvet, makes gifs of your hands skimming your hips, kisses the screen when he’s drunk enough to forget shame.

you, on the other hand, don’t break character.

in class, you chew your pen and lean forward, the arch of your spine exact, your cleavage subtle—barely a tease, just enough to make his throat tighten. he looks away with a clenched jaw, adjusts himself under the desk, twice, his jeans unforgiving.

you whisper to a friend and giggle, and he lipreads, thinks he sees the words “can’t wait,” but maybe he’s hallucinating, maybe not. it doesn’t matter.

he starts responding to the clips aloud.

“fuck yes, that one.” “spin again, baby.” sometimes he mumbles your name like a prayer, sometimes he chokes it into his pillow. every orgasm has your name carved into it, a brand he can’t erase.

one night, he opens a file to edit, drags it into premiere, but he doesn’t touch it. just watches, headphones in, barely breathing. not a content creator now, not a student, not even a man—just a creature of need, and you his ritual, his muse, his goddess.

the screen shows you adjusting the straps of a silky babydoll, the lighting warm, your thighs bare, half-tucked under you as you sit prettily at the edge of your bed.

“okay, so this one’s… like, totally giving ‘come to bed’ energy, right?” you giggle, voice light, teeth sinking into your glossed lip as you bounce once, soft and natural, the fabric barely covering your chest.

satoru groans low in his throat, not even trying to hide it. “it’s giving bend over,” he mutters, lips twitching, his side monitor looping the raw footage, his main screen frozen on your smile. “fuck, look at you…”

you reach behind you, struggle with the clasp, wiggle your shoulders like you’re teasing whoever’s behind the camera. “oof. that’s tight… should i size up?” a breathy laugh follows, your sigh melting into it.

he licks his lips, your audio crystal-clear in his headphones. you’re right there, talking to him. “nah, baby,” he croons, eyes fixed on the curve of your spine as you turn. “tight’s perfect. keeps the goods in place.”

you blow a kiss at the lens. “hope you’re not bored yet,” you say with a wink. “i saved the cutest for last…”

you bend off-frame, your ass peeking just above the edge of the bed, round and inviting in cotton panties with lace trim, and when you rise again, your hands hold something sheer and tiny. “tadaaa,” you whisper, eyes glinting with mischief. “this one’s for my favorite viewer.”

00:05:46—satoru slams the shortcut, timestamp saved. a second later, he screenshots, then again, then again, frame by frame, until he finds the exact one where your lip’s caught between your teeth and your ass is still halfway in the air.

“fucking perfect,” he mutters, breath uneven. he pulls the image up on his main screen, zooms in, sharpens it, runs it through noise reduction. the side monitor loops the raw video, your voice sweet and teasing, while the right monitor plays a gif of your earlier moan, your lips parted in that soft, accidental sound.

his hand’s already moving, shoving his boxers down, his cock springing free, hard and leaking like it’s been waiting for this. 

he grips himself, rough and urgent, no pretense of patience. the new setup’s perfect—your video on the side, his code on the main screen like he’s working, but it’s all you, every pixel, every sound.

he strokes in time with your giggle, his eyes flicking between the gif of your moan and the screenshot of your ass, his mind spiraling into the filthiest corners of his hentai-soaked brain.

he imagines you on that bed, face down, ass up, the babydoll hiked to your waist as he fucks you so hard the headboard cracks. he wants you screaming, wants your cunt pulsing around him, wants to pull your hair and make you look at him as he fills you, over and over, until you’re a mess, until you’re his completely.

his strokes are frantic, his breath hitching, his hips bucking into his hand. he pictures you tied to the bed, like that one doujin he read last month, your wrists bound with those same bikini strings, your thighs trembling as he fucks you through one orgasm into the next.

he wants to cum inside you, wants to watch it drip out, wants to push it back in with his fingers and make you lick them clean. it’s not enough to jerk off anymore, not enough to dream—he wants to break you, wants to make you real, wants to fuck you until you’re as addicted to him as he is to you.

he cums with a choked growl, his head tipping back, glasses slipping down his nose as it spills over his hand, his desk, the sticky mess splattering his keyboard.

he’s shaking, gasping, his chest heaving as the side monitor loops your voice, your “baby” purring like a mantra. his wrist’s sticky, his room a haze of sweat and shame, but he doesn’t care. he’s not even really here.

you’re everywhere now—three monitors, three altars, your image burned into his retinas. he’d worship on his knees if you asked.

the next day, another file:

april haul (closeups).mp4

sorry! idk if this one’s helpful but i liked the shots hehe

he doesn’t unzip his pants. doesn’t need to. he’s already throbbing from the inside out, his body reacting to your name alone. he clicks, watches, kneels, and whispers your name like a benediction, the static in his skull louder than ever.

it starts with a ping.

innocuous. a single pixel shift on the main monitor mid-code, just as satoru’s debugging a script for a deadline he already missed. his side monitor hums with your last video, paused on that frame where your lip’s caught between your teeth, and the third monitor’s open to a half-finished render he hasn’t touched in days. he glances lazily at the notification, expecting another reminder from suguru to shower or eat—

but no. it’s you.

hey… do u do filming too?

his fingers freeze. heart jams, a dull thud in his chest. the cursor blinks, waiting, mocking. he doesn’t think. doesn’t breathe. his glasses slip down his nose, and he doesn’t fix them. the words burn into his retinas, and his cock twitches before he can process why.

yeah. totally. what kind of shoot?

he sends it, his thumb trembling over the enter key. no reply. not for five whole minutes. the wait is a crucifixion, each second stretching into eternity. he keeps opening and closing the chat, rereading your words like they might shift into something dirtier, something more.

his triple-monitor setup glows, your frozen frame on the side monitor staring at him, lips parted, eyes glinting. he’s already leaking in his pants, a damp spot spreading against his thigh.

then:

just a casual thing. home setup. come over?

he reads it twice. three times. his breath catches, sharp and shallow, like he’s been punched. come over. your dorm. your space. he’s hard, achingly so, his boxers tight and unforgiving. he doesn’t reply, just slams his laptop shut, grabs his camera bag, and stumbles out the door.

he shows up twenty minutes later, barely remembered to wear deodorant, definitely forgot his dignity. his high-end sony alpha mirrorless—loaded with a lens that costs more than most people’s rent—bounces against his chest as he knocks. his palms are slick, his glasses fogging slightly from the heat of his own nerves.

you open the door with a giggle, wrapped in a pastel pink robe that might as well be air. it clings to the curve of your waist, parts at the thigh, revealing soft skin that makes his throat burn. your hair’s still damp, sticking to your collarbones, and the scent of vanilla lotion hits him like a drug. “thanks for coming! i’m kinda nervous…”

he wants to bark out same, but his jaw locks. he swallows instead, the motion too loud in his ears. “no problem.” his voice is gravel, like he’s choking on his own want. he steps inside, and your dorm swallows him whole—warm, cutesy, a pastel fever dream of plush throw pillows, fairy lights, and a pink velvet couch that looks too soft, too inviting.

he’s already imagining you bent over it, your robe hiked up, your moans echoing off the walls. it smells like you sprayed your strawberry perfume over every surface, dizzying, suffocating. his glasses fog again.

he sets up the tripod with shaking hands, the sony’s weight grounding him just enough to keep from falling apart. you bounce around the living room, humming, fluffing pillows on the couch, fixing your gloss in a heart-shaped mirror propped against a shelf.

“does this lighting make me look washed out?” you ask, stepping back, tilting your head. then you bend to adjust a lamp, and your robe parts just enough to reveal the gentle curve of your ass, bare except for a sliver of lace.

he sees. pretends he didn’t. fumbles the lens cap, twice, the plastic clattering to the floor. his face burns, but he keeps his eyes on the camera, adjusting settings he doesn’t need to touch.

you brush past him again and again, your bare arm glancing his, silk whispering across his knuckles when you pass. he smells shampoo in the air, thick and sweet, and it’s you, all you, sinking into his lungs. “you nervous?” you tease, voice light, a giggle curling at the edges.

he scoffs, wiping his palm against his jeans, the denim rough against his slick skin. “pfft. nah. i’ve filmed worse.” a lie, bold and brittle, his voice too tight to sell it.

“worse than me?” you pout, stepping closer, close enough that he can feel the warmth of your breath. “ouch.”

“i didn’t say that.” his voice cracks, a hairline fracture. he’s too aware of you, of the way your robe slips an inch, of the way your eyes glint like you’re playing with him.

you tilt your head, wide-eyed, all fake innocence. “sooo… you have filmed pretty girls before?”

he falters, breath stuttering in his chest. he’s a virgin, hasn’t touched a girl in years, hasn’t wanted to—not when hentai’s been enough, when doujins have been his only lovers. but you’re real, and you’re here, and you’re breaking him.

“no one like you,” he says, unfiltered, raw, the words slipping out before he can stop them.

your lips curl, slow and sweet, a smile that says i know. “hm. figured.”

you disappear into your bedroom for a few minutes, the door clicking shut. he pretends to adjust the white balance, tweaking settings on the sony that are already perfect, but really he’s staring at the door like it owes him salvation.

his cock’s throbbing, a dull ache that won’t quit, and he shifts, trying to ease the pressure. the living room feels too small, the pink couch too soft, the fairy lights too intimate. he’s imagining you sprawled across that couch, your robe gone, your thighs spread, his camera capturing every gasp.

the door opens. you emerge. lingerie set, pale and sheer, a mini skirt that barely qualifies, lip gloss freshly reapplied. you look like a doll, saccharine and sinful, every curve a taunt. “can you help me zip this?” you turn, bare back exposed, the zipper halfway up, your spine a perfect line that begs to be touched.

he steps forward, too close, his exhale brushing your shoulder. his fingers graze your skin—soft, warm, real—and you shiver, a small, deliberate tremor. he pulls the zipper up with trembling hands, the metal catching once, his breathing uneven. the distance between you shatters into nothing, the air thick with static.

“you’re doing this on purpose,” he rasps, low in your ear, his voice rough with want.

“doing what?” you whisper, fake innocence thick as honey, your head tilting just enough to catch his eye.

you look back at him, lashes fluttering, lips parted, glossy and pink. he breaks.

“fuck.”

he grabs you, his hands rough on your hips, your mouths crashing together—teeth, tongue, gasps. your lip gloss smears against his cheek, sweet and sticky, and he groans into the kiss, devouring you.

you moan into his mouth, legs wrapping around his hips as he lifts you onto the counter, the edge biting into your thighs. you’re silk and heat and sin beneath his hands, and he’s forgotten everything else—his camera, his code, his shame. only you exist now.

you feel his hard-on through his jeans, pressed against your thighs, and he’s panting, his breath stuttering against your skin as he kisses down your jaw, your neck, the ridge of your spine. his mouth is everywhere, like he’s starved, like he’s trying to memorize you with his tongue.

his glasses slip down, and he grins against your collarbone. “need to get a better look,” he mutters, a flimsy excuse to lean closer, until the fog of his breath warms your skin. he bites your collarbone, hard, groaning when he leaves a mark. “wanna see that in playback.”

he drops to his knees without hesitation, a virgin’s worship, reverence born from years of hentai and nothing else. his fingers dig into your thighs, spreading them wide, and he groans like he’s just found salvation. he runs his tongue along the inner part first, slow and teasing, so close to the lace of your panties but not touching what you want.

you try to close your legs, but he forces them open, his grip bruising, his mouth finding the wet spot through the fabric. “fuck, you’re soaked,” he growls, voice muffled, his tongue dragging heavy and slow, the lace rough against your clit. “been wet for me this whole time, huh? fuckin’ tease.”

you whimper, hips bucking, and he moans into you, the vibration making you gasp. he licks through the panties, relentless, his glasses slipping halfway down his nose but he doesn’t care.

“you taste better than i dreamed,” he says, his voice hoarse, hentai dialogue spilling out like it’s natural. he sucks at the fabric, tongue pressing harder, and you’re trembling, your hands fisting his hair as you grind against his face. he’s messy, desperate, his moans louder than yours, like he’s the one about to cum. you do, hard, a cry tearing from your throat as you shudder against his mouth, and he doesn’t stop, lapping at the soaked lace like it’s his last meal.

he presses his cheek to your thigh, sticky and glistening, looking up at you with glassy eyes. “first one’s mine,” he says, grinding his hips into the floor, his jeans tight with his own need. you don’t think he even realizes he’s doing it. he spreads you open with his fingers, peeling the panties aside, watching your hole twitch with a hunger that makes his mouth water.

“look at that,” he murmurs, almost to himself, his voice dripping with awe. “fuckin’ perfect.” he slides two fingers in, slow at first, then deeper, curling them just right, like he’s memorized every doujin panel that showed him how. “shit—i’ve seen this in hentai but it’s better. fuck, it’s real.”

his fingers pump, slick and steady, and you’re moaning, head thrown back, the counter digging into your hips. he adds a third, stretching you, his free hand jerking himself through his jeans, matching the pace of his fingers inside you. “so tight, baby. you’re gonna feel so good around my cock.”

he spits on your pussy, a quick, filthy gesture, his eyes locked on yours as it drips down. “they never show that part right in hentai. had to test it myself.” you moan, loud and broken, and he moans louder, his fingers slipping out with a wet squelch. he licks them clean, slow, eyes fluttering shut like he’s savoring you. “fuck—want it all.”

he stands, trembling, his jeans tented painfully. “can i?” his voice is small, almost pleading, a crack in his bravado. you nod, and he fumbles with his belt, shoving his jeans down just enough. he lines himself up, his cock thick and leaking, the tip brushing your entrance. “you’re so warm—holy shit—you’re squeezing me—fuck—”

he slides in, slow at first, gasping as you take him, your cunt tight and slick around him. he’s a virgin, but he knows this, knows the rhythm from years of jerking off to scenes just like this. he freezes, trying not to cum, his glasses fogging as he pants. you clench down, deliberate, and he slaps your thigh, a quick, sharp sting that earns him a whine.

“don’t—fuck, don’t do that yet.”

he pulls out, just to slam back in, harder, the counter creaking under you. his rhythm’s sloppy, desperate, but he finds it, each thrust deeper, rougher. “look at you,” he growls, his voice pure filth, hentai dialogue spilling free. “taking my cock like a good little slut. you love this, don’t you? fuckin’ made for me.” he licks the tears running down your cheek, his tongue hot and greedy. “crying already? baby, i’m not even close to done.”

you moan his name, and he loses it, his thrusts turning frantic, messy, like he’s trying to ruin you. “film it. show me what you see,” you gasp, and he fumbles for his phone, almost dropping it with how hard he’s shaking.

the camera app opens in a blur of fingers, then steadies, the lens catching you spread wide beneath him, thighs trembling, pussy stuffed full of his cock. he holds it there, watching the way you flutter around him, his breath ragged. “watch this later and see how ruined you look, baby,” he pants, voice hoarse, wild.

he leans in, still recording, whispering filth against your ear. “that’s right. take it. cry for me. i want you loud.” his other hand drags the mic closer, the sony’s external recorder capturing every slick thrust, every broken sob, every wet squelch, loud and obscene.

he fucks you harder, the counter shaking, your tits bouncing with each thrust. “gonna fuck you on every piece of furniture in here,” he growls, his voice low, unhinged. “that couch? gonna bend you over it. that table? gonna spread you wide. your bed? gonna fill you till you’re screaming.”

you clench around him, and he groans, his hips stuttering. “fuck, you like that? you want me to wreck you everywhere, don’t you?” you nod, gasping, and he slaps your thigh again, harder, leaving a red mark. “say it, baby. tell me you want it.”

“i want it,” you whimper, voice breaking, and he grins, feral, his thrusts turning punishing. you cum again, a shuddering mess, your cry echoing in the mic as your cunt pulses around him, slick dripping down your thighs. he doesn’t stop, doesn’t slow, his cock throbbing as he fucks you through it.

“gonna fill you up,” he pants, his voice cracking, hentai fantasies spilling out. “gonna cum so deep you’ll feel me for days. you want that, don’t you? want my cum dripping out of you?”

you nod, moaning, and he loses it, slamming into you one last time as he cums, a guttural groan tearing from his throat. it’s hot, messy, spilling inside you, and he keeps thrusting, shallow and desperate, like he’s trying to push it deeper.

satoru doesn’t stop.

in fact, he lifts you, his arms wrapping under your thighs like you’re weightless, his cock still buried inside you, slick and pulsing. your head lolls against his shoulder, your breath hot against his neck, and he groans, low and guttural, as he carries you toward your bedroom.

the air shifts as he crosses the threshold, your perfume hitting him harder here—floral and sugary, the same scent that clings to your pillow, your wrist, your everything. it’s thicker in this room, curling around him like a trap, and he kicks the door shut behind him, the click loud in the quiet.

he pushes you toward the vanity, your back meeting the cool glass of the mirror with a soft thud. he bends you over it, slow and deliberate, his hands guiding your hips until your cheek presses against the surface, your breath fogging the reflection.

“look at you,” he groans, angling his phone to capture the scene—your flushed face, your glossed lips parted, your eyes half-lidded in the mirror as you whine in embarassment.

“pretty little thing, still trying to act innocent.” his voice is rough, edged with hunger, and he shifts his hips, thrusting shallowly, keeping you pinned, reaching for your lip gloss.

you mumble something, a weak protest or plea, but he shuts it up with a swipe of your lip gloss across your mouth, his hand trembling as he paints your lips pink, the applicator slick and messy.

“perfect,” he says, pulling back just enough to admire the shine, the way it catches the light. then he pushes in again, deeper, and you both moan, the sound mingling in the air, caught by the sony’s mic still recording from the tripod in the corner.

he kisses you messily—gloss smearing, lips hungry, teeth clashing as he grinds his hips, slow and torturous, never breaking the rhythm. the camera stays on, the phone propped against a perfume bottle, capturing every gasp, every shudder.

“taste so fuckin’ good,” he mutters against your mouth, his tongue chasing the sticky sweetness. “gonna kiss you till you’re dripping everywhere.”

satoru lays you on the bed next, gentle but urgent, his hands shaking as he props his phone against a stack of books on your nightstand, the camera app open, framing you perfectly—your body sprawled across the pastel sheets, thighs parted, lingerie barely clinging to your skin, the sheer fabric of your top stretched tight over your chest, the mini skirt hiked up to expose the lace of your panties.

he climbs over you, his glasses slipping down his nose, and pushes your legs up, hooking them over his shoulders, the angle forcing you open, vulnerable.

“fuck, you feel like heaven,” he says, voice cracking, almost reverent, as he slides back inside you, slow and deep, the heat of you pulling a groan from his throat. “i’m never gonna stop, baby.”

each thrust is deliberate, his hips rolling to hit that spot that makes you arch, your nails raking down his arms, leaving red trails he’ll stare at later.

he kisses you through it, his mouth sloppy and desperate, swallowing your moans like they’re his lifeline. the bed creaks under you, the fairy lights casting a soft glow over your tear-streaked face, and he’s lost in it, in the way you clench around him, so tight it’s like you’re made for him.

“so fuckin’ perfect,” he pants, his lips brushing your ear, his breath hot and uneven. “taking my cock like you were born for it.”

he tugs at the straps of your lingerie top, pulling it down until your tits spill free, the sheer fabric catching under them, and he groans, his mouth latching onto a nipple, sucking hard until you whimper, your hips bucking against him.

but it doesn’t last—he needs more, needs to see you break in ways he’s only imagined in the dark of his room, his hand on his cock and your videos on loop.

he pulls out, his dick slick and throbbing, and grabs your hips, flipping you with a low grunt. he drags you up by the waist, positioning you on your knees, your ass high, your face pressed into the sheets, the skirt still bunched around your hips. his hand slides up your spine, pushing your chest down, arching you just right, and he yanks the lace panties to the side, not bothering to take them off.

“this is what you get for teasing me all these days,” he growls, his voice unhinged, as he lines himself up and thrusts in, hard and deep, the slap of skin sharp in the quiet room.

you whimper, muffled against the pillow, and he fucks harder, each thrust rocking you forward, the bedframe rattling, your moans spilling free despite the fabric. his phone’s still recording, propped precariously, catching every angle—your arched back, your trembling thighs, the way his cock disappears into you with every brutal snap of his hips.

“look at that pussy,” he says, his free hand gripping your ass, spreading you open for the camera. “so greedy, swallowing me whole. you love this, don’t you?” he tugs your hair, pulling your head back, forcing your cries to echo. “louder, baby. let the whole fuckin’ dorm hear you.”

he slows, just to torment you, his hips grinding deep, making you squirm, your overstimulated body shaking under him. you’re teary, sobs catching in your throat, but he doesn’t care—he wants you loud, wants you broken. he leans down, his chest pressed to your back, and bites your shoulder, hard enough to leave a mark.

“cry for me,” he whispers, his voice rough, his hand slipping around to pinch your nipple, twisting until you gasp. “wanna hear you fall apart.” he pulls out, leaving you empty, and you whine, a desperate, keening sound that makes him smirk.

“patience, princess,” he mocks, slapping your ass lightly, the sting making you clench around nothing.

satoru guides you up, turning you to face him, and pushes you back onto the bed, climbing over you. “wanna see you ride me,” he says, lying back against the headboard, his hands gripping your hips as you straddle him. he tugs the skirt off completely, tossing it aside, leaving you in just the stretched-out lingerie top and soaked panties.

“bounce,” he growls, his eyes locked on where you sink down onto him, slow and deliberate, your cunt stretching around him as you take him inch by inch. “show the camera how you fuck me.”

his phone’s angled to catch it all—your tits bouncing, still half-caught in the sheer fabric, your thighs trembling, the way you gasp every time you drop down, taking him to the hilt.

you move, your hips rolling, your hands braced on his chest, and he’s sweating, his glasses slipping, his breath ragged. he doesn’t let you slow, his hands lifting you, slamming you back down, making you take him deeper. “that’s it,” he says, voice hoarse, his fingers digging into your ass, leaving bruises. “fuck yourself on my cock. show me how bad you need it.”

you’re sobbing now, tears streaming down your cheeks, but you keep going, your moans loud and broken, your body shaking from the overstimulation. he reaches up, ripping the lingerie top off completely, the fabric tearing with a sharp sound, and gropes your tits, squeezing hard, his thumbs brushing your nipples until you shudder.

“these are mine now,” he says, his voice pure filth. “gonna mark ‘em up so you can’t hide.”

he’s close, too close, but he’s not done.

he pushes you off, gentle but firm, and stands, pulling you with him toward the full-length mirror by your closet. he spins you, pressing your chest to the glass, your hands splaying against it, your tear-streaked reflection staring back.

he kicks your legs apart, his cock nudging your entrance, and slides in, slow and deep, his breath hot against your ear. “look at you,” he says, his lips brushing your neck, his hands caging you against the mirror. “look at my cock ruining your pussy.”

he thrusts, slow at first, watching your reflection—your tears, your drool, your gloss-smeared lips, the way your body shakes with every snap of his hips. “you wanted a nerd? this nerd’s gonna fuckin’ break you.”

he fucks you harder, the mirror rattling, your moans bouncing off the walls, loud enough to wake the neighbors. “so fuckin’ pretty,” he pants, one hand slipping to your clit, rubbing messy, relentless circles. “gonna cum all over my cock, aren’t you? gonna make a mess for me?”

you nod, sobbing, your body trembling, and he slaps your ass, the sting sharp, making you clench around him. “say it, baby. tell me you’re mine.”

“i’m yours,” you gasp, voice breaking, tears streaming, and he cums with a raw groan, spilling inside you, hot and thick, his hips stuttering as he rides it out.

he doesn’t pull out, doesn’t stop, his cock still hard, still twitching as he fucks his cum deeper, the slick sound obscene. “not done,” he mutters, his glasses fogged, his voice wrecked. “gonna make you cum again.”

he keeps going, relentless, his thrusts slower but deeper, each one pushing his cum back inside, making you shake. his fingers on your clit are merciless, circling fast, and you’re oversensitive, your body convulsing, your moans turning to desperate cries. “satoru—fuck—too much—” you sob.

he only slaps your thigh, sharp and stinging, and leans in, his lips grazing your ear. “too much? nah, princess, you can take it. wanna feel you squirt for me.”

he angles his hips, hitting that spot that makes your vision blur, and you’re gone, your body locking up as you cum, a gush of wet heat soaking his cock, dripping down your thighs, pooling on the floor. he groans, loud and broken, his hips jerking as he cums again, another hot rush filling you, spilling out around him.

“fuck—look at that mess,” he pants, his hand smearing the slick between your legs, rubbing it into your skin. “all for me.”

but he’s not done. he pulls you back to the bed, laying you on your side, one leg hooked over his arm as he slides back in, his cock still hard, slick with your cum and his. “one more,” he begs, his voice cracking, his glasses crooked. “gimme one more, baby. need to feel you again.”

he thrusts slow, deep, his hand slipping between your legs to tease your oversensitive clit, and you’re crying, tears streaming, your body shaking from the intensity. he bites your neck, leaving marks, and whispers, “love it when you cry for me. so fuckin’ loud, just how i like it.”

he shifts, rolling you onto your stomach, keeping you pinned as he fucks you into the mattress, his hand pressing your face into the sheets. “gonna cum all over you,” he growls, his thrusts turning sloppy, desperate. “gonna fill you up till you’re leaking me for days.”

you cum again, a shuddering, broken mess, your sobs muffled against the pillow, your body convulsing as you squirt again, weaker but still enough to soak the sheets. he cums with you, a third time, his groan hoarse, his hips stuttering as he spills inside you, the mess dripping out, pooling under you.

“fuck—baby—” he gasps, his voice wrecked, his body shaking as he collapses against you, his glasses falling off completely, clattering to the floor.

“mine now,” he whispers, hoarse and ruined, his forehead pressed to your back, his breath hot and uneven. “you’re mine now.”

you nod, too spent to speak, your body limp, your reflection in the mirror a blur of tears and gloss and him, the phone still recording every ragged breath, every whispered “fuck” as he pulls you closer, not letting go.

but then silence swells, heavy and slow, filling the room like a fog. the air’s thick with the aftermath—sweat, cum, and the lingering sweetness of your perfume, still clinging to the sheets, to him.

satoru’s hands tremble where they hold you, one slipping down to fumble with his phone, stopping the recording with a clumsy tap, the other pressing flat against your stomach, grounding him, grounding you. your breaths are too loud, ragged and uneven, syncing in the quiet like a metronome.

he leans away slightly, just enough to grab a towel from the edge of your bed, awkward in the afterglow like he just realized he desecrated a temple. his glasses are gone, lost somewhere in the mess of sheets, and his hair’s a disaster, sticking to his forehead, damp with sweat.

“shit,” he mutters, voice barely above a whisper, too quiet for the boy who was growling filth ten minutes ago. “did i—i mean. that wasn’t too much, right?” there’s a crack in his tone, a flicker of panic, like he’s replaying every thrust, every slap, every sobbed moan he pulled from you.

you don’t answer at first, too dazed, too wrung out, your body still humming from the overstimulation, your thighs sticky and trembling.

your silence makes him spiral.

“fuck, i knew it. i pushed too hard. i got carried away—i was recording—fuck—i didn’t even ask—” his words tumble out, frantic, his hand raking through his hair as he sits up, eyes wide, searching your face for any sign of regret.

you turn to face him, slow and sore, your cheek pillowed against your arm, the motion making your body ache in the best way. your eyes are still wet, lashes clumped with tears, lips kiss-bruised and sticky with half-worn gloss, swollen from his teeth. you stare at him—this boy, this dork, with his mussed-up hair and the panicked look of someone who just lived out a lifelong fantasy and now doesn’t know what to do with it.

“i’m okay,” you say, your voice shredded, raw from screaming his name. “jesus, i’m so okay.”

he exhales, a shaky rush of air, like he’s been holding it in for hours. he collapses back against you, burying his face in your neck, his lips brushing the bite mark he left earlier. “fuck, you scared me,” he mumbles, his voice muffled, warm against your skin. then, quieter, almost unhinged: “we just speedran my entire hentai folder.”

you laugh, a weak, breathy sound that bubbles up despite the ache in your ribs. “i know.”

“i didn’t even know i could,” he says, his voice small, like he’s confessing a sin. “i haven’t even done that in vr.”

you snort, the sound catching in your throat. “nerd.”

he groans, but it’s not annoyed—it’s mortified, the kind of sound that comes from knowing he’s exposed himself completely. “i’m never gonna recover from this. i glossed you like a fuckin’ bratz doll. i glossed you.” his hand gestures vaguely at your lips, still shiny and smeared, and you laugh again, the sound softer now, your body too tired for anything more.

you roll over fully, tugging him down into the blankets with you, the pastel sheets tangling around your legs. he follows like a kicked puppy, his head resting on your chest, his breath warm against your skin. you can feel his heart still racing, his body still trembling from the high.

“i just,” you mumble, your voice barely audible, “wanted you to notice me. back during the group project, you never looked at me. just your laptop. even when i wore that stupid short skirt.”

he goes silent, his fingers pausing where they’re tracing lazy circles on your hip. then, in a voice so small it barely carries: “…you wore that for me?”

you nod, your cheek brushing his hair.

he lets out the tiniest, most violated gasp, like you’ve just rewritten his entire reality. “i thought you were just one of those girls who always looked hot. like, default setting.” his voice cracks on the last word, and you can’t help the teasing smile that tugs at your lips.

“no,” you say, your tone playful despite the exhaustion. “i was trying to seduce the dumbass with the mecha desktop background.”

he muffles a sob into your chest, half-laugh, half-groan, his arms tightening around you. “i love mecha…” he says, like it’s the most tragic thing in the world, and you hum, stroking his hair, your fingers catching in the sweaty strands.

“i know.”

a long pause settles over you, the kind that feels like it could stretch forever. the fairy lights twinkle softly, casting shadows across the room, and your perfume lingers, mixing with the musk of sex. his breathing slows, but he doesn’t let go, his body still pressed to yours like he’s afraid you’ll vanish.

then he lifts his head, his eyes serious, stripped of the wild edge they had before. “can i… hold you properly? not like—y’know—breeding press. like, real holding.” his cheeks flush, like he’s embarrassed to admit he wants something soft after all that.

“you already folded me in half like a love letter,” you whisper, but you shift into his arms anyway, letting him pull you close. he wraps around you, tight, needy, his hands trembling like he’s still processing you’re real, not just pixels on a screen. his hold is desperate, like he’s trying to memorize the shape of you, every curve, every soft inch, in case this never happens again.

“don’t make fun of me,” he says, his voice muffled against your shoulder. “i think my crush on you just speedran into obsession.” there’s a rawness to it, a confession that feels too big for the quiet, but it lands soft, like he’s finally letting it out.

“you’re the one who begged for one more while crying into my shoulder,” you tease, your voice barely above a whisper, your fingers tracing the line of his jaw.

“stop,” he groans, burying his face deeper, his arms tightening like he could squeeze the embarrassment out of himself. “i’m gonna die.”

you press a kiss to his forehead, slow and deliberate, your lips lingering on his sweaty skin. “you’re not gonna die,” you say, your tone soft but firm. “you’re gonna eat me out on friday and wear your glasses while you do it.”

he whimpers, a pathetic, needy sound, his hips twitching involuntarily against your thigh. “say less,” he mumbles, his voice wrecked, but there’s a spark in it, like you’ve just lit something in him again. you giggle, wrapping your leg around his waist, pulling him closer, your skin sticking to his in the humid air.

and in the quiet, as you’re both drifting off—sore, sticky, still catching your breath—he says it again. not ruined this time, not even possessive. just low. certain. like he’s already planning his next sin.

“mine.”

you don’t answer. just smile into the pillow, heart pounding. because maybe you are. and maybe you’ll let him prove it again.

especially once he finds out what cosplay you ordered last week.

friday’s going to be filthy.

[fics-lovebot]

enhypen fic recs pt. 1

main masterlist - enha fic recs pt. 2 - enha fic recs pt. 3 - enha fic recs pt. 4

· · ♡ · · tysm to the amazing creative minds of the writers for giving me sevaral moments of joy reading your creations

pls remember to reblog if you like any of my recs❤️

brought the heat back - ( @neos127 ) toxic!enha, listen,,,,SÑDFLHSÑDJFH the sunghoon one had me giggling at my laptop like a gremlin omg

their s/o falls asleep waiting for them - ( @heeliopheelia ) ot7. fluffFFYY

you take your engagement ring off during an argument - ( @heeliopheelia ) ot7. angst, love it

leche of the sirens - ( @thinemoonshine ) dark romance, mature themes, revharem ot7, obssesive and possesive behaviour, corrupt nobles!enha, siren!reader. GRRRRRRRAAAAAAAAAAAAAA (insert that one pic of a werewolf ripping his shirt) THIS IS THE BEST THING I´VE READ IN A HOT MINUTEEEEEE!!!!! omg I literally DEVOURED this

you´re short - ( @nikrangdan ) fluff, crack, love itttttt

"i wanna break up" prank hyung ver , maknes ver- ( @luvrseung ) text, crack, JAY IS MY KIND OF MANNNN, and riki LMAOOOO why is he like that.

makeup voiceovers - ( @kairoot ) fluff, crack, this is so creative omg, I love itttttttt

possessive - ( @kairoot ) text, fluff, crack, DKJSADKJHKASD so fun to read

dear husband - ( @atrirose ) fluff, you doing that one tiktoktrend where you call them husband outta nowhere, so cuteee

exe.enhaboy_stopped_working.exe - ( @star-sim ) fluff, making them flustered. the Jay and Ni-ki ones are my favsss

is your girlfriend single? maknea line, hyung line - ( @star-sim ) fluff, crack, youtuber! non-idol bf! enhypen. when your youtuber bf finally shows you for the first time to his audience and the chat starts simping. PLSSSSSSSSSSSS READ IT, ITS SO GOOODDDD

"i want to break up" prank - ( @enha-stars ) text, crack. "wanna hear it in spanish? NOH" LDSJHFSJFDH WHY WOULD HE-

"we´d make a cute couple" - ( @sainns ) text, fluff, crack. NOT jay asking at what time u had a thought last night so he can be prepared lmao

“If you were walking past a strawberry field and you were very hungry, would you eat a strawberry?” - ( @luvrseung ) text, fluff, crack, heesung aint even know wtf he did lmao

hands - ( @cypherchii ) text, crack, enha legal line. "aint nobody looking at that", the sunghoon one .... no bc author is so real for that

another man paying for your nails - ( @joysbaereal ) text, fluff, crack, JAYYYYYY once again being the standard

a little less scandalous - ( @bywons ) fluff, suggestive, bad boy!enha

"i miss being single" prank hyung line - ( @joysbaereal ) text, fluff, very suggestive, sunghoon needs to chill out LMAO.

the other man?? - ( @thinemoonshine ) text, jealousy, crack, they are NOT about to let their girlfriend be in the same vicinity or presence of another man—especially, not one-on-one.

brought the heat back - ( @neos127 ) toxic!enha, highschool au, the sunghoon one was sexy ngl LFJSDFKJSH

sending them dirty texts while being surrounded by family - ( @heejake-hoon ) hyung line, VVERY suggestive. SDLFKJLDKJFH STOPPP I HAD TO PUT MY PHONE ASIDE WITH THE JAY AND SUNGHOON ONES,,"Be careful what you wish for, baby girl… you know damn well this dick doesn’t play fair." HAD ME TEARING UPPP

charmed by her - ( @xoamiiren ) noona!reader, younger bf!enha, BC WHY DID HEESUGN AND JAY HAD ME GIGGLING AND KICKING MY FEET

give you the world (when you pout) - ( @okwonyo ) fluff, e.r NAURRR, NOT JAY CALLING HER "MY HEART" i lit threw my phone across my room, and sunghoon omg :(((( so fluffy

blinded by your lethal face card - ( @blairbliss ) fluff, KSHKDFJHSKH stoooop this had me blushing n shii

dress to impress? - ( @mlyscha ) crack, fluff, ASKJHS I LOVE THISSSSS, it´s so fun, JAY WAS SO OUTTA POCKET LMAO HAD ME LAUGHING OUT LOUD, thank god i was alone in my room or else

[kairoot]

── ࣪ ˖ ❛ 𝓜𝑎𝑘𝑒𝑢𝑝 𝓥𝑜𝑖𝑐𝑒𝑜𝑣𝑒𝑟𝑠．

‧₊˚ 𝓼𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: they do the voiceover for your makeup routine 𝗽𝗮𝗶𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴 : enha x 𝑓．𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋 𝗴𝗲𝗻𝗿𝗲 : fluff , crack 𝗿𝗲𝗾𝘂𝗲𝘀𝘁𝗲𝗱 : no 𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀 : jokes, profanity, pet names, this was shorter than i intended, some of these are kind of inspired by some tiktoks i saw.

— ( 𝓂𝑖𝑙𝑎𝑛’𝑠 𝑛𝑜𝑡𝑒𝑠 ) : pls leave reblogs, they are much appreciated !! ♡︎

��� member’s headcanons under the cut !!

⊹ 𝓁ℎ𝑠．

asking hee to do this was a piece of cake

he agreed to it immediately

he lovesssss watching you do your makeup

so when you asked him he was like, “well.. yes!”

gonna keep it real with you, he has absolutely no idea what ANYTHING is

he just knows the things that he buys for you and that’s it

flirty mcbirdy over here, he’s barely even watching the makeup, mostly watching you

“hi guys, today i’m doing my girlfriend’s makeup voiceover.” he says into the mic, the video starting with you priming your face as you’ve already did skincare prior to starting the video.

you were next to him while he narrated your routine, holding in your giggles as he began naming the products that you were using.

“okay so now she’s uhm.. damn she’s gorgeous..” he paused for a moment, watching you through the screen as you applied the first product of your base.

you nudged him, urging him to stay on topic as your face began to warm up.

“she’s applying, uh— the— the..” he thought for a moment, the product seemed familiar but he couldn’t think of the name.

it was foundation.

“and then she’s.. wiping it all over her face.” he mumbled, still not paying attention to what you were doing but admiring you instead.

“it’s blending, hee..” you whispered, not wanting the mic to pick up your voice.

expect the comments to go insane about hee’s little flirtatious comments.

⊹ 𝓅𝑗𝑠．

ngl, he’s a bit confused as to why you asked him to do this but he says yes anyway

why does this man actually know what the products are??

quite literally does the whole voiceover better than any beauty influencer you’ve ever seen..

compliments you throughout the video

he’s literally so polite

“hello everyone, today y/n has asked me to do her voiceover, so here i am!” he says excitedly, watching you apply the first product.

“so here, she’s putting some of the foundation in her t-zone.. she has really great skin.” he explains.

you’re sat next to him, shocked at how he’s able to understand the whole routine.

“after she blends, she goes in with her.. concealer, i think.” he was right again.

as you blend that out, jay begins talking about the product that you’re using.

“yes, i pay attention to my girl’s routine.” he says, knowing everyone’s gonna wonder how he could even know all of this. you bite back a smile, his comment making your heart warm.

now the whole internet wants a boyfriend like jay.

⊹ 𝓈𝑗𝑦．

he is very eager to do it. why? because he loves you and is so down bad for you

ummm he knows NOTHINGGG about makeup 😫

another flirty one

count how many times he says he wants to kiss you or compliments your lips challenge (jake is so weak for kisses, you cannot convince me otherwise)

he’s so giggly throughout the whole thing ??

he definitely gets flustered over your beauty, esp your bareface <3

he’s lowkey your hype man even though he has no idea what he’s talking abt

“hey guys, it’s jake! today i’m gonna give you all a tutorial for y/n’s everyday makeup.” he beamed confidently. he watched you start your routine, already giggling at the small things you do throughout the first 30 seconds.

“so she’s gonna start with, um..” his giggles cutting him off. “she’s starting with the putty stuff. it kind of looks like play-doh!”

“jake!” you nudge him a bit, rolling your eyes playfully.

“sorry, sorry!” he laughs. “now she’s putting on.. powder? wait, no, that’s definitely bronzer.”

“yeahh, apply that bronzer, babe!” he exclaimed.

it was powder foundation ??

“she looks so good already, wanna give her a kiss..” he said, watching you pat the product onto your skin.

⊹ 𝓅𝑠ℎ．

bro is so impatient

he can’t think of any of the name of the products that you’re using which frustrates him to the MAX

pls don’t laugh at him, he will sulk 😕

cracks jokes abt how long you take

“now she’s applying.. uhm, glitter?” he tilted his head, watching you apply highlighter to the inner corners of your eyes.

“highlighter, babe.” you corrected him, holding back your laughs.

“whatever it is, it’s very shiny. and she’s putting it on so do whatever she’s doing if you want this look.”

you snorted a bit, finding his impatience hilarious.

“watch as she puts on her favorite mascara that she made me buy her.. because she doesn’t care about my pockets or if i go broke.” he sighed.

you landed a playful smack to his shoulder, scoffing.

“anyways, she takes forever.” he huffed. “she told me she was gonna be ready in 10 minutes but 10 minutes turned into two hours, so i guess im gonna have to wait.”

please don’t ever ask him to do this again.

⊹ 𝓀𝑠𝑤．

like jay, he knows what everything is

he’s actually really excited to do this

he pays attention when you do your makeup and pays attention when he gets his makeup done so

he basically knows what everything is he just.. doesn’t know how to do it

he knows all of your favorite products

count how many times he calls you pretty challenge:

“look at how pretty she is!” he exclaims as you prime your face. “i did her skin care by the way.”

he watched as you applied your concealer, telling the viewers exactly what brand it was and what it did for your skin.

“i’m pretty sure this is her favorite product.”

“okay! next she’s gonna set with this one powder that she absolutely loves.” he giggled.

you chuckle at his excitement, not expecting him to like this as much as he did. you just knew people would want more of him narrating your routines and grwms.

“and now, she’s putting on her blush.. I love this part.” he said, mesmerized by you and your features.

“isn’t she so pretty?”

⊹ 𝓎𝑗𝑤．

he’s so confused

tbh he just yaps the whole time

you don’t know what he’s talking about, he doesn’t know what he’s talking about..

he just knows that he buys some of the stuff

he gives random facts throughout the video ??

“okay, so i’m not really sure of what she’s putting on her face right now..” he said, scratching his head slightly.

“did you guys know that dolphins name each other?”

“jungwon..?” you furrow your eyebrows, looking at him confusingly.

“oh, right! sorry, now she’s applying some.. nose.. stuff?”

you mentally face palmed at his attempt to name the products, which he ended up wrong every time.

“if it wasn’t already obvious, i know none of these things, i just get whatever she tells me to buy.” jungwon giggled, watching you apply your blush.

please DO NOT let him do this ever again 😭🙏🏽

⊹ 𝓃𝑟𝑘．

bro does NOT wanna be here

he doesn’t wanna do it at all 😭

but somehow you convince him (you told him you’d buy him robux)

he guesses everything

some of it he gets right somehow

gets so triggered when you laugh at him 😭

“um, okay, she’s applying concealer.. that’s concealer, right?” he looked over at you, as the video showed you applying the product.

you looked at him, giggling.

“why are you laughing? is that not concealer?” he asked again, becoming irritated.

“yes.. just keep going, ki.” you cover up your laughs.

he rolls his eyes playfully, “anyways, now she’s putting on some powder shit.. i don’t know.”

“and she’s.. beating it on her face..? why are you punching yourself?” he quirks an eyebrow.

you shake your head, sighing at his confusion.

✿

TAGLIST: @haechansbbg @contyynishimura @sasfransisco @kgneptun @jungwonderz @enha-stars @dioll @jakesangel @cupidscourt @violetwitchmcu @haohaoshoe @randomgirl02228 @wonsdoll @powerpuffstuts @flwrstqr @elysianiki — send an ask to join.

[anothermansjeans]

I NEEDDDD more of YouTuber y/n X Spencer 😭 pllzzzzz maybe the first time he actually is on a video? Not just by accident but doing something like a challenge or something 😭?

HEHEHEHE I AM FERAL FOR THEM YOU HAVE NO IDEA!!! i also love this concept... everyone pls feel free to send me more 🫶

cw: major fluff, competitive reader, competitive spencer, reader (sometimes) wears makeup

wc: 1.4k

++

You were extremely giddy. Ever since Spencer’s face was accidentally shown in one of your unedited videos, he’s been slowly coming around to the idea of being more involved with your channel. Of course, he had to be careful at times because of his job, so it started out small. You saw a trend on TikTok and practically begged Spencer to participate.

It was simple really. You would take a video of your makeup routine and then have Spencer do the voiceover without telling him the exact name of the method or technique you were doing. He was adorable with it, truly, and because of this, the internet went absolutely berserk. Comments ranged from awe to thirsting over his voice, and you didn't blame them. It was this uproar of engagement that sparked the idea of actually having him in a real video for your channel.

Spencer was apprehensive at first– he was still a bit camera shy, but after your reassurance that the people will love him, he agreed, wanting to help and support you in any way possible. When he asked about the video you had in mind and the words “trivia game” were thrown around, his eyes lit up and even offered for Penelope to go over to your apartment to be the one reading the questions so that it could be a fun game between the two of you.

When the camera was set up, ring lights on, and Penelope curled up on the big comfy chair behind the scenes, it was show time.

“Hello, lovelies!” Your intro went as usual, and as you spoke, you could see Spencer in your peripheral, staring at you with a gentle smile on his face. After about a minute of talking, you took a breath and turned your head to his. “You're probably wondering who this hunk of brains is next to me… this is Spencer, my boyfriend!”

Spencer finally took a glance at the camera and gave a thin smile with a shy wave. “Hi.”

A giggle erupted from you and Penelope, which resulted in your eyebrows jumping up. “And behind the camera is the magical woman I am stealing to be my best friend–” your words were slightly interrupted by a soft “hey” coming from Spencer, “Penelope!” You gave another smile to the camera before going on to explain what you were doing in the video. “Today we are putting our brains to battle in some fun trivia! Penelope will be reading us pop culture trivia and whoever answers first correctly gets a point. The prize is… bragging rights?” Your eyebrows pulled together. You forgot to think of that part, but a smile erupted once Penelope spoke from behind the camera.

“Oh! What if Spencer has to be in three in your TikTok videos if you win, and if he wins, he gets to tweet from your twitter!”

“Penny, you're a genius!”

Penelope was bashful as Spencer held a confused expression. “Tweet?”

“Oh boy wonder,” Penelope started, “I’ll show you the ins and outs if you get that far.”

Once again, Spencer let out a soft “hey” in response.

Noticing his semi-hurt expression, a pout formed on your lips and you gently placed your hand on his thigh, immediately feeling him relax under your touch and shift his body more towards yours. “It’s okay, baby. I believe in you.”

It was like he couldn't help himself. He leaned in and placed a gentle kiss on your forehead, causing stars to appear in your eyes and a small “eek!” to come from Penelope's mouth. The sound startled Spencer, making a blush appear on the apples of his cheeks. He cleared his throat and muttered, “shall we start?”

Shaking yourself from the starry place he sends you, you turned back to the camera. “Right! Well, Pen, we’re ready whenever you are.”

“Okay, first question. ‘Does Barry Manilow know that you raid his wardrobe?’ is a classic movie line from what 1985 John Hughes film?”

A millisecond barely went by before words were spewing out of Spencer’s mouth, “The Breakfast Club!”

You knew he was right, so you weren't too disappointed when Penelope called out as correct. “Okay, next one,” she said, marking a tally under Spencer’s name on a small whiteboard on her lap. “What five members make up the band *NSYNC?”

You were practically shouting out the answer before she finished the question, “Justin Timberlake, Lance Bass, JC Chasez, Joey Fatone, and Chris Kirkpatrick!”

“Correct!”

“Yes!” You jumped up from the couch, only aware of your overexcitement after looking down at Spencer and seeing the complete awe plastered on his face. “Sorry…” You sat back down with a shy smile on your face, but Spencer just shook his head, folding his lips in.

“Don't be,” he started, “you're cute when you're excited.”

“Yeah, excited to destroy you,” you said sassily.

A scoff soon followed from Spencer, “oh, it’s on.”

“Shall I continue?” Penelope spoke up, trying not to interrupt their moment. She only asked the next question when both parties on the couch gave a nod. “Which member of One Direction was the first to go solo?”

And the game continued. Honestly, you thought you had this win in the bag, but as it progressed, you became increasingly worried. Who knew your genius boyfriend was pretty well-versed in pop culture trivia? It was the end of the game when the two of you inevitably tied, and Penelope was basically on the edge of her seat as she prepared to give you the last question.

“Okay, tie breaker. This is for the win.”

As much as you love each other, you were both in it to win it. You two were also too focused to realize the mirroring positions you had. Both hunched over with your hands clasped as your arms resting on your knees, bottom lip tucked between your teeth, and eyebrows scrunched together (once the video is uploaded the comments have a field day with this… you guess that's what happens when you live with someone for a while).

“The E.L. James novel Fifty Shades of Grey is based on fanfiction from what young-adult book series?”

You knew the answer… deep, very deep in your mind, you knew, but before you could even reach those depths, Spencer was standing up with wide eyes. “Oh! I know this one. It’s Twilight!” When Penelope told him he was right, he let out a loud “ha” as he looked at you and pulled your sitting body into a hug. It was an awkward hug, but a hug nonetheless.

As he was squeezing your shoulders, you moved your head up so that your chin was resting on his stomach. Your eyebrows knit together wondering how the hell he knew that, and once he came down from his high he loosened his grip and sat back down, sheepishly scratching the back of his neck. “We uh, had a case that involved the topic of vampires to come up… I was intrigued and learned a lot about the series.”

You just smiled and pecked his nose with your lips. “Your brain is insane and I love it.”

He ducked his blushed face down and Penelope cleared her throat, prompting the two of you to remember your surroundings and the camera placed in front of you. “So the winner is Spencer!”

Letting out a sigh, you gave a nod and opened up Twitter before starting a new post and handing your phone to Spencer. “It’s all yours, lover boy. Write what you want– there is a word limit, though.”

He held your phone for a moment, staring at the screen as he pursed his lips. It was only a few seconds later until he started typing away. After about a minute, he pressed the button to send the tweet, and you immediately heard an “awe” come from Penelope as she looked at her phone. Looking down at the app, you took a peek at what he wrote, and your heart was ready to burst.

@ y/ny/l/n: According to a 2013 survey, nine in ten Americans cited that love is the most important reason to get married, compared to 28% of people who said they wed for financial stability… I think I’m with those 9 people. I thought that was a fun fact :)

You knew the replies were already going crazy, but you refused to look at them. You were in for a ride with Spencer Reid.

[lucvly]

can you do chris x influencer gf hcs pls 🤍

— chris with an influencer girlfriend hcs. ⸰ 𖥔 ͙

warnings: fluff, not proofread.

a/n: this is so short My bad. ☹️

— both your fanbases suspected something was going on between you two because you started following each other a while back, and honestly you were soft launching him.

— the soft launch included pictures of your date nights, faceless couple pictures, etc.

— one time you posted a picture to your instagram story without realizing you were wearing fresh love sweatpants and your fans went crazy.

— despite that incident, you both waited until you were ready, and you made one of those couple videos on your channels. “introducing my gf/bf!” it was soo cute & most people in the comments were gushing about how cute you both are.

— when your relationship first started, you both had to sit down and talk about how public you wanted to be just to clear the air about what you were willing to and weren’t willing to post.

— you two have a joint youtube channel where you do vlogs about your life, dates and travels together.

— his personal channel is much more active because he posts with you a lot. he’ll post challenges, random vlogs– at some point you started a prank war on your channel which people loved.

— he’s your personal photographer. he sucked at taking pictures at first but you taught him how and now he takes all your pictures.

— sometimes you don’t even have to ask him for pictures because he’s so willing to take them. he loves doing it + (gets hella cocky because he gets to comment “I TOOK THESE”).

— when you have to go to a public event, he’ll call you to color coordinate outfits LMFAOO he loves matching with you, especially if it means showing you off in public.

— you two do the cutest trends together. you posted a tiktok with him doing a voiceover of your makeup which went absolutely viral because he was clueless.

— the amount of fanpages people have made for you are actually insane omg ??

— chris watches the edits people make of you, it’s his favorite pastime. he acts like he never sees edits but this man stalks fanpages, watches edits, and even showed you fanfiction of you two once.

— you were invited onto the cut the camera podcast one day and people went absolutely feral over it. it was insane. you and chris were lowkey flirting the whole time and just sharing stories about your relationship.

— literally your number one supporter. he loves you immensely so every project you’re a part of, he’s definitely a fan of. you could be selling grass and this man will advertise it on his stories like he’s getting paid.

— your comments are filled with him just hyping you up. he’s your #1 hype man. (“MINE” “i took these btw”).

— he shows you off everywhere. you’re all over his instagram. he has a highlight for you specifically & it’s the cutest thing ever :(.

— he spoils you so badly. anything you want, he’s getting it for you. necklaces, rings, perfumes, etc. all yours.

— you two steal each other’s clothes and people always end up noticing because of videos, tiktoks and pictures & they think it's adorable.

— this man will deadass steal your phone and post pictures on your social media. he’ll post stories on instagram, snapchat, literally anywhere 😭. full on hacks your accounts.

— you’re that internet couple. literally everywhere. the all time favorite internet couple.

[phiphieee]

A complete unknown

A/N: disclaimer english is not my first language! :) The reader is asab other than that i don't think there are any tw needed but pls tell me if i missed anything! Thanksss

The video starts with a clip of Timmy and Y/N laughing before abruptly stopping. Timmy clears his throat and Y/N bites the inside of their cheek side-eyeing him and raising an eyebrow.

"Hi guys I'm Timothy Chalamet" he said pointing at the girl sitting next to him.

"And I'm Y/N L/N" she says giggling making jazz hands.

"And we're here to answer your questions on..."

"A complete unknown!"

"A complete unknonw!!!" They say together laughing.

The screen flashes with the first question, Timmy is reading a cue card "how did Y/N join the project? Interesting, interesting, you wanna take that one?" he throws the cue card and she snorts at that. "Well" she says tucking her hair behind her ears "Timmy was already cast, and I think it was during the actor's strike?" she looks at him and he nods "And I was staying at Timmy's place at the time, I think most people know I'm not really an actress or anything I just happen to be friends with" she gestures vaguely with her hand "these types of people" Timmy laughs shaking his head and saying "she sings as well". Y/N shrugs "but yeah obviously, being the voice for joan was crazy, and uh, it pretty much all happened because the director heard me doing her harmony parts on a video Timmy sent. I don't think I match it perfectly to be honest i think it's just because I'm a soprano too. Not too say that the way Joan Baez sings is just like a soprano, she's got a much nicer rounder voice than me I think, and yeah" she turns back to Timmy to see him smirking. "Yeah her Joan is better than my Bob".

The screen flashes with another question: "What was the funniest moment on set?"

Timmy’s face lights up. "Oh, I’ve got one," he says, leaning forward conspiratorially. "So, there’s this scene where I’m supposed to be really intense, right? Like, full-on Dylan brooding mode. And Y/N’s just off-camera, watching. But instead of staying serious, they’re doing this..."

Timmy turns to Y/N, gesturing for them to demonstrate.

"No way," Y/N says, laughing nervously.

"You have to," Timmy insists, grinning.

Y/N sighs dramatically but gives in, puffing out their cheeks and crossing their eyes in an exaggerated parody of deep concentration. Timmy doubles over laughing, clapping his hands.

"Exactly that!" he says, pointing at them. "So, I’m trying to stay in character, right? And she’s just—" He imitates the face again, sending Y/N into a fit of giggles. "I cracked every single time. The director was ready to murder us both."

Y/N wipes a tear from their eye. "In my defense, you were way too serious. It needed some levity!"

"Levity, sure," Timmy says, shaking his head fondly.

The next question appears on the screen: "What’s the most surprising thing you learned about each other during filming?"

Y/N raises an eyebrow at Timmy. "Oh, I’ve got a good one for this."

Timmy groans, throwing his head back. "Here we go."

"So," Y/N starts, leaning in like they’re about to share a deep secret. "Timmy has this really weird habit of—"

"Don’t you dare," Timmy cuts in, laughing but also clearly nervous.

"—eating cereal with orange juice instead of milk."

The room erupts in laughter, Timmy covering his face with his hands. "Okay, first of all, that was one time!"

"Once was enough," Y/N says, grinning. "And it wasn’t even like, a weird experimental thing. You ran out of milk and just... decided orange juice was the next best option. It was unhinged."

"It was resourceful!" Timmy protests, though his ears are bright red.

The two dissolve into laughter again, the kind that comes easily between close friends, and the video fades out with a montage of bloopers from the shoot.

A voiceover from Y/N plays over the clips: "If there’s one thing I learned working on this project, it’s that Timmy Chalamet is just as chaotic as he seems... and I wouldn’t have it any other way."

Timmy’s voice cuts in, mock-offended. "Chaotic? That’s slander!"

The screen fades to black, leaving only the sound of their laughter as the video ends.

[laughroditee]

Thinking about the COD urban fantasy AU that I will be writing a fic for. I have a background in fine art and comics and have experience with video editing, so because of this, this fic came to me as a movie trailer, which I plan on making an animatic of. (If I can get my husband to learn how to voice the characters, I may include voices as well.) But it came from the idea:

What if there was a necromancer who would raise your loved one, but if you didn't pay them, they'd take control of them?

And that leads us to the

🟡 "Repossessed" Trailer Script, starring necromancer!graves

(please note that I do not have any formal training in actually formatting scripts so these are just my notes for the animatic. Filmmakers, don't come for me.)

(OPEN on a cityscape at sundown, cue music, if any.) Voiceover: "The name's Graves."

(NIGHTTIME. cut to a scene of a man, back to us in a cemetery. Close in on headshot, he turns to face the camera.) V/O: "Phillip Graves."

(INTERIOR OFFICE, DAYTIME. Graves is seated behind his desk, feet up, leaning back in his chair, maybe playing with a Rubix cube or something, speaking with a client, whom we can't see yet.)

Client: "Phillip Graves? As in 'fill up graves?' That's a bit… on the nose isn't it?"

Graves (smirking bc he's a cocky mf): "I don't so much fill ‘em up as I do empty ‘em out nowadays."

(Cut back to scene of Graves in the cemetery where a green, eldritch light glows from his hand.) V/O: "As a necromancer, I can bring anyone back from the dead."

(Cut back to Graves in office, looking at client.) Graves: "For a Price."

(Graves leans forward, cocking his head): "What would you pay?"

(Flashes of the deceased, happy.) V/O: "What would you do...?"

(Flashes of the deceased and the client together, loving etc huehuehue) V/O: "...To have them back with you?"

(Cut to Graves sitting behind his desk, holding up photo of the deceased between two fingers, looking at his client, cocky and eager.) Graves: "Pretty little thing like this? What's it worth to ya?"

(Cut to John Price seated in the chair opposite the desk, looking grief-stricken, desperate, and determined): “Everything.”

(cut to black, dramatic pause if there's music)

(Cut to first person POV, looking up at Graves, giving you a hand.) Graves: “Welcome back, darlin', to the land of the living.”

When I post the art (storyboards and eventual video) for this, it will be on my art blog @momokeen and reblogged from there. (I try to keep my 18+ stuff here separate from my main blog, even though I update more here, currently.)

Issues I know I will have:

Time - my chaotic brain always has a billion projects going at once, which is why I wanted to at least put this much out. I have at least four other fics that need attention, not to mention actual real life, and running a small business. I will be doing it though. It may not be good, but it will be done, eventually.

Finding the right music. Currently I'm looking for good epic trailer music. I have zero money to commission someone to compose something custom, otherwise I would ask my friend if he'd take the job.

Voices (because I want them 😩)

The decedent. I had planned on writing the fic as a "x you" POV, but if I'm including a visual trailer, done in the way that I want, obviously I have to pick one way the decedent looks, which I know will leave many people feeling left out. This is why I tend to make OCs, as it's easier for me to make decisions that my OCD and trauma brain won't let me make otherwise, because "this person is their own person and this is how I've developed them." (Also I'm new to fanfic, pls forgive me. I know OC x Canon is the less-liked option here. I really struggle with trying to make everyone happy, to the point that it's debilitating and I honestly don't know what to do.)

And finally, ✨mental health✨.

But yeah, that's it. That's a thing I'm gonna make. This was step one. Thanks for reading. 🖤

[subtlehaz]

there’s so so much still to explore s8 like I have so many thoughts oh my god

Mara !!!!! and that bitchy councilwoman

Gerard obvs 😒 sidenote: do we think he’s in cahoots with the councilwoman from hell and why did the chief do fuck all to protect the 118?? do we think the chief is also in cahoots bc he wants to run for office? the speculation is speculating

Mr. Eddie Diaz absolute menace to himself and others: still needs to accept that a) Shannon wanted a DIVORCE and B) THE WILL and C) Christopher coming back and repairing their relationship omfg pls put them in family therapy I beg I want my faves reunited D) I want him speaking more Spanish !!!!! we got a tiny little ‘dios’ this episode but still

Buck ??? pls for the love of god let this man exist outside his love interests I wanna see him succeed in life and hobbies and work and peace and NO ROMANCE FOR A MINUTE for gods sake give him a dog or something but not another LI

Bobby like,,, can we get some confirmed closure idk like man’s was suicidal one episode then almost died and now is back within the next episode has he PROCESSED HAS ATHENA HAVE I

MAY AND HARRY back together again!!!! pls expand their storylines like how was Harry??? Not home during the fire was he having a sleepover like omg

Madney. Let them live. Let them remain happy moisturized at peace. I want a goofy gossip episode of the dream team and Jee like keep them wholesome it’s the least you can do after their bs wedding

RAVI MAIN RAVI MAIN GIVE US RAVI BEGINS

I miss captain mehta I wouldn’t mind a visit from him. or Linda in dispatch. oh my god or Josh??? we haven’t seen most of dispatch since the wedding? I’m sad

just. idk fighting actual fires lmao. I miss when they all did their actual jobs. I miss when we got the goofy 9-1-1 calls at the start of the ep and the super emosh voiceovers at the end of the episode like that’s when we were a real country

OH MY GOD ALBERT

also:

will we ever circle back to Denny’s father storyline? will Hen’s mom ever return?

is sperm donation baby gonna make a comeback? bc the top 5 recap promo before this season started brought that up and I haven’t forgotten 911 Instagram I haven’t forgotten 10 bucks says it serves to remove Tommy when Buck learns he doesn’t want kids

okay that’s it thank u for reading my brain blast

[bieddiediaz]

i miss when 911 used to do proper voiceovers. bring them back pls

[redrobbingabank]

Spider-Bats

So awhile ago, I started writing a Bats in the Spiderverse au, but I didn't finish it because I don't finish half of what I start. Since the new Spiderverse movie came out, though, I thought it'd be fun to post the beginnings I had done. This is literally all I had from the doc lol, it's below the cut. CW's for violence and death.

Here ya go

(pls excuse the shitty format I don't write screenplay format often)

(BRUCE voiceover)

Alright, let’s do this one more time.

My name is Bruce Wayne. Long story short, I was bitten by a radioactive spider. And for the past twenty three years, I have been the one and only Spider-Man. You know the rest. I saved the city––

(BRUCE delivering a knockout blow to the JOKER)

––Fell in love–– (BRUCE and SELINA kissing in on a rooftop)

––Saved the city a few more times––

(Montage. BRUCE defeating BANE; BRUCE, in a gas mask, arresting SCARECROW; BRUCE in the middle of an overgrown laboratory, negotiating with POISON IVY)

I save the city a lot. But the most important thing about me is that no matter what happens,

(BRUCE on the ground, back broken. BANE stands over him)

I always get back up.

(While BANE’S back is turned, BRUCE pushes himself up on his elbows)

I will always keep fighting.

(BRUCE, bloody and beaten, facing off against an army of Talons)

Because that’s what I do. I’m Spider-Man. I’m a symbol of hope in Gotham. And as long as I’m around, there will be hope in Gotham’s people, too.

(Cut scene, no audible dialogue. In the Batcave(Spider-cave? Whatever I’m calling it the Batcave), BRUCE stands against RA’S AL GHUL. He’s heavily injured, clearly dying. RA’S delivers some clever, triumphant line. In response, BRUCE slams his hand down on a button to the left of the computer’s console. A self-destruct protocol is activated, and the cave comes down, killing them both.)

(DICK voiceover)

Alright. Let’s do this one last time.

My name’s Dick Grayson. When I was eight years old, my parents were murdered. When I was fourteen, I was bitten by a radioactive spider. And for the past ten years, I have been the one and only Spider-Man. You know the rest. I fell in love––

(DICK and WALLY doing the Upside Down Kiss™)

Saved the city––

(DICK defeating BLOCKBUSTER)

Did that a lot, actually. 

(DICK exchanging blows with DEATHSTROKE, disarming FEEDBACK, arresting TORQUE)

Pretty cool, huh? I mean, it was, at first. Then things started going a bit downhill. I lost my brother––

(DICK, kneeling in the ruins of a warehouse, holding the beaten corpse of fifteen-year-old JASON TODD)

Lost my fiance––

(DICK and WALLY reaching for each other. WALLY is screaming as a storm of lightning consumes him. He disappears before DICK reaches him, and he drops to his knees, alone in the middle of a scorched house)

Lost a lot of people, actually. But that’s not important! What is important is that I always get up. No matter what gets thrown at me, no matter how hard I’m hit, I will always get up. That’s a promise.

(DICK, in a funeral suit, kneeling in front of a grave. The headstone is engraved: Wallace West. The on-screen DICK speaks, syncing with the voiceover)

I will not break that promise. 

So that’s life! I get hurt, I keep going.

(Shots of DICK getting progressively angrier. He leaves villains behind bloody and unconscious, blood on his knuckles. In a rundown apartment, he puts his fist through a wall, tears running down his face.)

I do what I have to to keep people safe, regardless of the pain. Because I’m Spider-Man, and that’s my job.

(JASON voiceover)

Okay, let’s be real. This is probably not the last time.

My name is Jason Todd. I was kidnapped and almost killed by a psychotic serial murderer when I was fifteen. The reason I wasn’t was because of a radioactive spider that bit me on my way out. And for the past seven years, I have been the ‘one and only’ Red Spider. My methods are a little different than the other guys.

(JASON, standing over the body of BLACK MASK. He holds a handgun in each hand. One is still smoking, aimed at BLACK MASK’S head)

What can I say? It gets the job done. So yeah. I’ve saved the city.

(JASON holding a disassembled bomb, bodies littering the ground around him)

I’ve pissed people off.

(JASON, swinging away, flipping off BRUCE, who’s also in a Spider-man suit––this one is made by science. He didn’t get bitten in this universe––. JIM GORDON watches from his car, looking like he doesn’t get paid enough for this shit.)

I almost fell in love. But it didn’t work out.

(JASON and ROY together in a bar, smiling over drinks. It’s their first date. Cut to JASON finding ROY’s body in an alley, where he was killed trying to stop a mugging.)

I haven’t tried again since that. But it doesn’t matter, because I’m a fucking Spider. You lose people. It happens. So as long as I’m alive, I’m going to keep fighting, and I’m going to keep winning. That’s my job. I’ve been taking a new angle recently––

(Shot of JASON at the UTRH meeting with the bosses. No audible dialogue, but he throws The Duffel Bag down to them. Clearly, it goes in his favor. Cut to JASON counting money, dropping it off anonymously at schools/hospitals/libraries. Cut to JASON, in an office, giving orders to the bosses.)

––It’s working out pretty well. So, that’s me. I’m the Red fucking Spider, and as long as I’m around, I’m going to help. There’s nothing else to do.

[muddyorbsblr]

15 Questions

Thank you @ladyofthestayingpower @mochie85 and @littlespaceyelf for the tags! 💖💛

1. Are you named after anyone?

My first name (a variation of Stephanie)…no. But my 2nd name and also my preferred name, Allison, was actually originally my mother's name (only hers was spelled Allyson) and she hated it on her so she passed it on to me…? That's a whole lot of shit I gotta unpack one of these days 🥴🫡

2. When was the last time you cried?

I chose violence last week and decided to flesh out what the Season 2B finale of 'relinquish the crown' would look like, decided to title it 'relinquish the crown: you're losing me', and yep…that had me crying for a few good minutes. Whelp--

3. Do you have kids?

Lol no. My aspiration is to be cool rich aunt to my friends' kids.

4. Do you use sarcasm a lot?

Yes and IRLs despise me for it

5. What sports do you play / have you played?

🤣🤣🤣 …ohh wait, you're serious aight well…shit… I had a trainer for table tennis when I was in my late teens purely for fitness purposes and so my father had someone to do drills with.

6. What's the first thing you notice about other people?

Their eyes.

7. What's your eye color?

Brown. Hence the username "muddyorbs" 🤣🤣

8. Scary movies or happy endings?

Anyone who knows me from my horror narration days will probably choke on air at this but…happy endings, all the way.

9. Any special talents?

I'd like to think writing…and then after that I dunno, calligraphy, I guess? 😳👀

10. Where were you born?

Manila

11. What are your hobbies?

Diamond painting, coloring apps, voiceover (once in a blue moon), writing, making moodboards (when inspiration strikes), watching YouTube and retaining a whole library of random information I like to whip out when the time is right.

12. Do you have any pets?

Building doesn't allow any pets sadly (which might be a good thing because I have no idea if I'm capable of keeping another living thing alive when I'm struggling taking care of myself lol), but I have a lot of stuffed toys that I have to share with y'all one of these days

13. How tall are you?

5'4", and it's ridiculous that despite being this smol, I look like I'm tol when I go outside because most people I come across are 5'1" and under. (Just can't stand beside my father because he's 5'10" and suddenly I am smol again)

14. Favorite subject in school?

English. Honestly wasn't a big fan of the books we had for required reading, but during my Junior year in High School, we had a few weeks just dedicated to Edgar Allan Poe and that's probably my favorite memory from those 4 forsaken years lol…ohh, and that one week where we learned about sonnets and I had to write one. Good times, goooooood times.

15. Dream job?

Book reviewer. If there's a way for me to make some "sit back and relax in my humble lil mansion/penthouse" money from just reading books and hyping it up on the internet for everyone to see, then that's what I want. All my friends putting out books and lil ol' me in my reading nook, hyping them up. And then occasionally I'll come out with something of my own…maybe. When the mood strikes.

tags (if you've done it, pls disregard 😅): @holdmytesseract @infinitystoner @give-me-a-moose @maple-seed @alexakeyloveloki @liminalpebble @lokisgoodgirl @lokischambermaid @fictive-sl0th @smolvenger @wheredafandomat @ijuststareatstuffhereok89 @joyful-enchantress @coldnique

[feuqueerfire]

I Will Knock You Live Blogging

I'm really excited for this one, I love the idea of the younger guy pretending to be all tough and gangster with inspiration from old TV mafia bosses or whatever lol. I don't know how there's a story worth 12 episodes but I'm hoping I'll be delighted to find out. The visuals and bright colours look interesting too.

I also just finished Triage which was very good and well-made and had more of a focus on the plot than the romance, so maybe this will be a good change of pace.

Ep 1 (May 5)

he takes this so seriously, it's very endearing

getting the gang for moral support while he asks out his crush lol

this show is so silly and fun already, i'm kinda giggling out loud

Noey believes in destiny and only listens to the song "Destiny"

hey, be nice to the restaurant uncle! >:(

also pls how does the uncle have interest with these kids? How are they lending anybody money, you're high schoolers lol

going to get the meat his mother told him to buy :)

forced to be in close quarters on the bus lol

Noey used ter with his crush but he also uses it with Thi

omg not "You got my heart. I came here to ask you nicely to give it back" already, though it's likely about the lotus he stepped on and took away

I searched "lotus before bloom" and saw the worst photo ever, made my skin crawl and I started understanding trypophobia. made my skin crawl and kinda made me wanna throw up

kabadon

save from falling only to drop him anyway

a day to find and return the lotus

damn, this lotus is very intact, he's not even gonna tear off most of the petals?

not Noey getting some random kid to bring his crush to a designated spot so he can serenade her. let her live!

there's even a dance from the whole group accompanying it, delightful tbh

no just be like aw :( she doesn't like me :( how sad, it's okay though i will seek joy else. not "i won't give up"

Seriously, that lotus wouldn't fool anybody

kabadon 2

Noey likes the cute charm on Thi's bag, aw. nvm it's probably some religious symbol/helps with business and so his mother might want it? still cute of him to notice it and inquire

does he take it?

ah lol it's a Soulmate/love charm

heh, Noey indeed did take it and now Thi's mother's asking him if he's met his soulmate lol

oh silly Thi, thinking you can already say goodbye to Noey

user heretherebedork mentioned how Ep 1 is full of symbolism of them exchanging hearts/souls... or, specifically, with Thi stepping on Noey's heart and then giving him the soulmate charm.exchanging hearts/souls

Ep 2 (May 6)

Thi: junior in uni, high school tutor

last ep kind of focused on Noey (or rather the narration was from one of Neoy's gang members lol) but this one Thi's doing his own voiceover

I get some whining but come onnnnn, either be stronger in your conviction to not go or suck it up after a while

I must not use my brain while watching this show for real because now I'm like ?? Why didn't you get your iPad during the hours you were waiting?

last ep, I noticed that when Thi was looking for the lotus at night and Noey was supervising with the umbrella, Noey was in all blue while Thi was wearing red but this time their colours changed?

Damn, Thi managed to not properly show Noey his face or what?

disgusting looking water rip for them having to film in that

lol Noey thinks Thi's following him around on purpose

pls shallow ass water

the view and trail to the restaurant really is quite pretty

Noey means butter?

ah indeed it's Noey's mother's restaurant, I wasn't sure

and Thi indeed was into the girl who served the drink lol

not the girl/Noey's sister just roasting Thi's nerdiness and naivete

lol, Thi's friend a real one for talking up his tutoring to Aunt Tim

Noey confused at Thi's fainting

forehead kiss

Noey really living in romance dreamland

gangster Noey fr

Something hilarious about how Noey's confidence that Thi likes him, like him giving a forehead kiss as reward and talking about "giving in" just for the night

Thi coming to O's rescue in ep 1 (and somewhat succeeding) and to Noey's rescue in ep 2 (and not ending up helping but y'know it's the thought that counts)

Ep 3 (May 6)

lmao kindhearted Noey giving Thi a chance to win his heart

crazy that Thi still hasn't uttered the words "I don't like you romantically"

not the housewife mention

Why is Thi smiling like he's into it lmfao maybe I'm the silly one and Noey's correct that Thi's already fallen for him

pls what did Thi drink from the monk's donations? pop?

Noey calls Thi Jarunee. I'd seen a post when this was airing that Noey calls Thi by names of famous' gangsters' wives/gfs?

Noey's apparently not gonna be nice like last night

ah, the gangster lackeys call Noey Phi

pls not another girl wanting to photos with Noey cuz she finds him scary but likes him still

girl, Noey's a menace, what's with this notoriety lol but how much of it is true? like pls the jail and gun stuff

aww Noay and Nid Nhoi brother-sister bonding moment

girl, Thi, please, not you now believing the rumours about Noey and so taking a wooden weapon to face him

this is so humiliating for Thi i'm gonna bury myself

Noey's main lackey manager guy is so funny and useless

damn, Thi can eat Noey's shitty/salty cooking

The foot that Noey meant to give to his crush Pam now being eaten by Thi

damn, they fr left at like 9pm and left Thi to sleep on the roof the whole night lol

literal menace Noey, being stuck on the rooftop was a grift?!

I now love this song Destiny, it's so memorable

Third person Thi was trying to protect: Nid Nhoi. Although this time he miscalculated even more than the previous 2 times. He's really unable to read the room/understand what's going on sometimes and it's funny still because we're on ep 3 but is gonna become real old if it keeps continuing on for 9 more eps.

Ep 4 (May 7)

learning about Pam? girl...

bucket hat to a new level, pot helmet

Wanlapa and Jamnien

not Noey teaching Thi to fight lol

lmfao 1 punch and running away, alright

2nd time Noey wanted to feed Thi lol it's really just his own desire

Noey's never gonna get tutored

Noey's goal to get better at cooking

damn, 4 eps in and finally we get some attempt at tutoring in the last 10 mins

Reddit post about Noey calling Thi old-time female names

I... wonder if this sort of low-plot, mostly chill, meandering show is maybe not what I'm fully in the mood for? Like I enjoy watching the show and I'm usually giggling and having fun while watching but also I feel little urge to pick up the next episode.

I am somewhat tempted to pick up Only Friends as well and alternate like 1 ep of Only Friends and 1 ep of I Will Knock You but I don't know if that'd actually work, and I've also got 23.5 which is another low-stakes, sweet high school romance that I'm already an episode behind on. Would I end up just watching Only Friends while ignoring I Will Knock You? Or should I try it just to see what happens and we're early enough in the month that I'll likely be able to finish all 3 of 23.5, I Will Knock You, and Only Friends if I'm in the middle of all 3 but 1 or 2 falls to the wayside until I finish another.

hmm... okay, I will next pick up Only Friends but maybe I'll try to limit that to 1 ep a day + the 2 podcasts I listen to that did ep-by-ep recaps and try to fit in 1 I Will Knock You ep a day as well.

Ep 5 (May 14)

Well... I'm here a week later because I ended up binging all of Only Friends and taking a 1-day break as well. I think I was just more in the mood for that kind of drama and addictive sort of storyline rather than the chill school shows like 23.5 and I Will Knock You. I have however returned to this and plan to watch hopefully all the remaining episodes or at least 4 more episodes till ep 8 before starting another possibly high-action/high drama series.

FOUR TIMES TABLES?! 10th grader? Noey's like 15-16 years old at least, right?

Noey's relentless certainty of Thi's crush on him lol

why does this whole endeavor feel fake

lol indeed it's some sort of set up and they're just eating ice cream

I was wanting vanilla ice cream in a cup to eat with a little wooden non-spoon just like as a kid but apparently, it's coconut ice cream and i want it even more now

pls I feel like I would've already decked Noey by now if he kept egging me on as if I liked him. If anything, so far, Noey has started falling for Thi lol

lol serves him right to have everybody ring his pockets dry with the ice cream

Is that the Bas gang also eating ice cream?

Is the helmet stolen or did Noey prepare it for Thi?

pls Noey wanting to go to Thi's room

and his whiny/mocking laughs lol teenager indeed

is he just throwing the seeds anywhere on the floor?!

Ai'Noey, which is seen as rude

also does the fish have some sort of resemblance to Noey's bang? he signaled the bang when he said "Are you making fun of me?" and then made Thi get his hair style

lol was Noey just looking at Thi's notes when answering

Thi Watphlu?

Ep 6 (May 14)

extremely serious silly dancing

what are they collecting?

taking shoes from the temple alksdfjalsdf for some reason Thi's banned from buying new sandals but "borrowing" them and returning a new pair later is... fine?

This show is so slow, it's kinda hard to binge since it's also not... explicitly romantic? Like the fun part about the show is how bizarre it is and the funny situations but I'm in the mood for some plot.

I watched 2 eps instead of 4 but I think I'll give Kiseki: Dear To Me a try now instead lol

Ep 7 (May 24)

I'm back 10 days later and this time, I must finish!

They were actually so cute and now Noey bringing up Pam again, c'mon kid.

Thi orchestrating Noey flirting with him to practice flirting with Pam, bruh

yaas lol Thi as Noey and Noey as Pam in the imagination

giggly Noey

man, they're being too cute and friendly while trying to help Noey to flirt with a different person, I hope they start liking each other (or realizing it) soon

...does Noey know? that he likes Thi? why is it seeming like the flowers are for Thi bruh

hah, Nid Nhoi being like is there something going on between you and Thi?

ahhhh Noey doing his homework so that Thi can be proud of himmmm

omg yay Noey being like shall I hit on you (Thi) instead?

I really liked this episode and it's not even that it's better than the other episodes necessarily, I think I'm just receptive to high school cutesy storyline again after wanting something darker or more dramatic for the last few weeks. which is great, it's way more enjoyable to watch a show while in the mood for it.

Ep 8 (May 28)

Was busy this weekend but I'm finally back again

fun how forward Noey is to both his friends and Thi about him flirting with Thi

Thi dragging his friends around to help Noey with his motorcycle, aw

a different guy showing interest in Thi?

girl, Thi's friends are gonna know what's up

Noey's so mean to Thi in front of Thi's friends >:(

ah, Noey's cooking only edible to Thi, who enjoys it a lot

Ep 9 (May 29)

you just called me (phi) and idiot? yes. oh, okay. lmfaooo

this tiny child lolll

Noey declaring his intentions to make Thi his bf in front of everyone

[Linguistics] ik Noey said he doesn't even consider Thi his Phi but he's been referring to him as Phi these last few minutes. Has he always done that and I never noticed or is it new?

Ep 10 (May 30)

nooo Noey did bad in class despite trying

ahh, the movie that shaped Noey

this shot is so similar to the BD films that take place in the village ahh on a boat in a pond full of water lilies <3

talking about the FL going abroad but this time I think Noey's the one who goes abroad

why are we competing to ride the ferris wheel with Thi, is he a prize?

oh damnn dramatic fight, and Nid Nhoi and Auntie Tim getting caught in the crossfires

Ep 11 (May 30)

It's not good how I just want this show to be over already because it's not that I dislike it or that it's bad, I'm literally just... in the mood for something different.

aww, Noey and Thiw friendship T.T

Thi's parents immediately realizing what's going on and disapproving

I wish these conflicts were happening since earlier on in the show because a lot of the earlier eps were repetitive in their 'Thi is scared of Noey' cycles.

Aw, Noey's not giving up. and like to see Thi being into Noey's plans lol

[Linguistics] Noey often calls Thi P'Thi but also is currently using just Thi in this convo

did Noey's cooking improve or do Thi's parents also just love Noey's terrible cooking? both are cute

girl why is Phayu still here and why doesn't Thi tell him no straight up

2 seconds of lesbians and I smile, imagine what'd happen if they even gave us 20 minutes. oh this makes me realize there's no second couple and I think this show could've actually benefited from a 2nd couple story tbh (though at least the family story's there but there isn't too many scenes with just Noey and family members)

? girl, "I'm gonna flirt with the real Pam now?" is this Noey trying to break Thi's heart to get him to not miss him or whatever? we should kill him

not the ending credits dancing scene being only Thi by himself D:

Ep 12 (May 31)

finallyyyy last ep, goddamn I just wanna be done bro

noble idiocy is dumb af every time but especially this time because they already discussed LDR!!

gorgeous scenery

Noey and Thiw :')

but is the gang back to being troublemakers? i liked them being nerds

ahhh Thi was with Thiw that night, not watching a movieeee

and Thi's fuckass father made Noey say that ?!

hehe the soulmate charm secret is out

They're really quite cute and charming together heh

okay, so the timeskip was just finishing 12th grade and getting into uni i guess? Idk why I was under the impression that Noey would go abroad from the spoilers but it's just Thi's Chiang Mai studies

aw, online pair dancing

Nid Nhoi's competing restaurant to her mother, I'm dead lmfao this family

literal 1 second of lesbians

i'm ignoring the marriage mention and still kiss because it's the thought that counts

aw, original lotus

I became less mad about the noble idiocy because if a 17-year-old is told this by the parents of their bf + believes themself to not have any future, I can believe that they'd indeed break up.

Overall:

Noey is such a unique character, it was a pleasure to see him on screen.

I really like the familial dynamics between Noey, Nid Nhoi, and Auntie Tim/their mother. It was fun and they were always teasing each other but obviously there was love and concern beneath it. And the gang was great too, how they obeyed Noey and were a bunch of goofballs but obviously the fighting was less than ideal.

I realized toward the end that this show should've had maybe a second couple which maybe had a faster or more intense relationship while we were slowly, slowly, slowly inching toward the Noey and Thi romance lol

I wasn't obsessively watching the next episode but I was usually smiling while watching the episode. I think it was half me not being in the mood for a cute high school romance where nothing much happens and half on the show for dragging out the Noey and Thi stuff for so long in the first half, like the tutoring didn't even start until 1/3 of the way into the show.

It should be a 5.5/10 because of how much I dragged my feet while watching but I'm giving it a bonus 0.5 because of the great cinematography and also because me barely watching was more due to me than the show itself.

Rating: 6/10

[fallenraffe]

Beautifully Cruel by J.T Geissinger

<b>2.5 stars</b>

a quick and fun smutty read with great MCs

I liked Liam and Tru, and very much appreciated the balls on her and how she wasn't afraid to stand up to him <s>even if she did ultimately end up giving in to him anyway, her efforts were appreciated</s>

they had great chemistry and I could roll with their rs and feelings even if it was very insta lovely, one year of gazing at each other notwithstanding

even tho I had fun listening to this, when I start to actually think about the story there's a couple of glaring "issues", like:

- mafia... where? Liam's line of <i>just to clarify, I'm <b>not</b> in the mafia, <b>I am the mafia</b></i> was savage sure, and yeah he has goons, yeah everyone is afraid of him, cops included, yeah he can break a neck like it's a twig, yeah he has a bunch of businesses and a whole ass skyscraper all to himself yada yada, but that's about it, there was no actual mafia plot going on here, which.. isn't necessarily a bad thing long as you know what you are getting into

- their rs... like I said I could roll with it, but... there was a half passed attempt to convince us there was more to this than just sex, that they got to know each other and developed feelings, however most of their falling in love bits were only <i>told</i> not <i>shown</i>, the showy bits were mostly reserved for the smut. like besides a couple of tender/talkative moments it was mostly just them having sex and then we got a voiceover version of <i>we developed a routine and spent the weeks in our own little bubble, talking about everything and nothing, or just sitting quietly and gazing at each other, like?</i> sure the smut was great, but I'd have liked to see at least a coupe more of those domestic scenes that were described, oh well...

- that twist at the end? came a lil out of pocket and I wasn't the biggest fan, but it is what it is🤷🏻‍♀️

the audiobook was so good tho, it was duet narration (my beloved) + a couple of sound effects here and there, like you could tell someone was on the phone cos it was all crackly and shit and there was a clicking sound when they disconnected the call, it was real dope and the narrators did a bang up job, tho the accents were an acquired taste; I love troy duran but prefer his og tone to this irish one, and the girl did a great job too, but Tru's southern/texan twang took me back to Mary Cooper from Young Sheldon every time she spoke, but that's just a me problem😭💀

anyway, a quick and fun smutty read, just don't expect much of an actual plot or mafia shenanigans, then you won't be disappointed

age gap: 15 years

Liam : 39

Tru : 24

Killian looked fun <s>tho apparently his book wasn't that good, based on some reviews I glanced at</s>, but I'm actually more interested in Decklan?! give the guy a book pls

(audiobook on 2x, duet

narrators were👍🏻👍🏻)

[kyunsies]

i hope this coming week is gentle on you and you're able to find peace and comfort wherever you go <3 <3 i currently have photoshop and hardly use it but!! i wanna change that!! i've used editing programs before just not something like ps. i'd love a lil guide or some resources on how to make gifs and graphics and all that!! i have so much free time and i'm willing to learn from your and others wisdom <3

hello love this is like months late at this point but if you’re still here :) hi !!! i hope you now still have a passion for figuring out how to gif, it’s a stressful process if you have no techy/creative background (like i did not know how to do ANYTHING about ps back then lol) but once you get the hang of it and do stuff the way that works for you it gets so much easier !! i really had to dig a few years back on finding a giffing tutorial bc nothing seemed to work for me but this was the first video i watched that really help me with vapoursynth (a powerful sharpening tool) and photoshop AND if you’d like here’s my own voiceover on my person giffing process!!

HAPPY GIFFING and pls remember to be kind to yourself and give yourself loads of time to learn bc it’s hard to learn it on your own!! good luck and come here if you need help with anything <3