I Have A Giant Growing Spider Bite Right Next To My Couch Bro Someone Help.

Once I figure out how to color the words like that oooo it’s over for yall

@st7rnioioss

introducing.. 70s STONER TIMOTHÉE CHALAMET

“All I can do is be me, whoever that is.”

stoner timmy.. who never seems like he’s in a rush. He moves through life like he’s got all the time in the world, even when he doesn’t. You could be late to school, running down the street like your life depends on it, and there he’d be, leaning against a lamppost, cigarette dangling from his fingers, looking up at the clouds like they just told him a secret.

stoner timmy.. who’s got this annoying, effortless charm that makes it impossible to dislike him. He’s never trying too hard. Never really trying at all. But somehow, he’s always the guy people want around. It’s not just that he’s funny, or that he listens better than most. It’s that he makes everything feel lighter, like the world isn’t so serious when he’s in it.

stoner timmy.. who got told once that he looks like Bob Dylan and has held onto it ever since. He doesn’t bring it up often, but when he does, he acts like it’s no big deal, like it doesn’t keep him up at night thinking maybe he’s meant for something bigger. He doesn’t know what yet, but he’s working on it.

stoner timmy.. who loves music, movies, sports, and art but can’t decide which one to fully commit to. He’s got records scattered across his floor, half-finished sketches on his desk, a baseball glove in his backseat, and an old film camera he takes everywhere. He just wants to be one of the greats. The question is, great at what?

stoner timmy.. who matches people’s energy like a mirror. You’re loud and excited? He’s right there with you, matching your enthusiasm like he’s known you forever. You’re quiet and mellow? He’ll sink into the calm with you, like he’s always belonged there. But sometimes, when he’s the only one reciprocating the good vibes, it gets a little awkward, like he’s standing in a room full of people but still somehow alone.

stoner timmy.. who doesn’t believe in bad days. Not really. If something shitty happens, he shrugs it off, says, “Yeah, but did you see how good the sky looked today?” Like that’s supposed to make up for it. Maybe it does.

stoner timmy.. who can talk to anyone about anything. Politics, philosophy, the best way to roll a joint, how a certain song makes him feel like he’s floating. But the second someone asks about him, he dodges the question with a joke or a smirk, like he’s got nothing to say about himself that’s worth hearing.

stoner timmy.. who has never, not once, been caught up in drama. Not because he avoids it on purpose, but because people just can’t bring themselves to drag him into it. It’s hard to be mad at a guy who looks at you like you’ve got the whole world inside you.

stoner timmy.. who loves sitting in the backseat on long drives, watching the world blur past, cigarette in one hand, feet up on the dash. He doesn’t care where he’s going. He just likes moving.

stoner timmy.. who, no matter how hard you try, you can’t bring yourself to hate. Even when he’s frustrating. Even when he’s impossible to figure out. Because at the end of the day, he’s got this way of making you feel like the world is a little softer, a little easier to exist in. And maybe that’s enough.

@issysh3ll

taglist.. @yearlyism @italiansunsetss @b1gba113r @sylvanianngirl @st7rnioioss-alt @sincerelykelsss @throatgoat4u @wiseladypoetry @gracieabrmslvr @sweetangelgirl7 @pearlzier @1-hypegvrl @piperrrr-16 @mackyyyk @luna443 @flowerxbunnie @cwemetrys @calliepie @cupidsword @notaboutlovebyfiona @recklesssturniolo @littlebookworm803 @blissfulxsins @camsturnz @st7rnioioss @rempessturniolo

Okay I really like quen but um.. pokimane?? Dropouts?? Like she’s not beating the allegations I’m sorry I’m starting to think they’re true cause wtf do u mean POKIMANE like that is verrryyyyyyy weird behavior and I feel like no one cares because she’s fine. Like it’s getting weird to me.

Im coming out.. I hate/despise/can’t stand enemies to lovers. (I keep a gun by the door btw)

too GIRLY

70s teenage dirtbag hamzah and reader

Hamzah had never seen a room like this before. It was pink, not overwhelmingly so, but in a way that felt intentional, soft yet loud, like her. The walls were lined with posters, some of musicians he knew, others of actors from old movies he hadn’t gotten around to watching. Trinkets and jewelry littered her vanity, bracelets stacked like small, colorful towers, rings scattered like forgotten treasures. Everything had a place, even in its slight messiness, and it smelled like her, warm, sweet, something floral but grounded.

He sat on the edge of her bed, hands pressing into the plush comforter, looking around like he was stepping into a world he wasn’t sure he belonged in. He wasn’t used to softness like this. His own room was plain, bare except for his boxing gear, a few records, and his camera sitting on the dresser. But hers? It was a reflection of her, vibrant, lived-in, a place that didn’t just exist but felt.

“You like it?” she asked, standing near the vanity, watching him take it all in.

He scoffed, running a hand through his bleach buzz. “It’s… a lot.” Then, softer, “It suits you.”

She grinned, walking over and plopping down next to him, the bed dipping under her weight. “You mean it’s too girly for you?”

Hamzah smirked, leaning back on his hands. “Nah. I think I like it.” His gaze flickered to the pink ruffly pillows, the delicate lace curtain fluttering from the open window. He turned back to her. “It’s nice.”

And it was. Not just the room. The feeling of being there, of sitting close, of knowing this was a space she felt safe in, and that, somehow, he’d been allowed into it too.

The late afternoon sunlight slanted through the blinds of her bedroom, painting soft golden stripes across her walls, her floor, the tangled sheets beneath them. Hamzah wasn’t sure how they got here, sprawled on her bed, bodies pressed together, warmth curling between them like the scent of her perfume. It was always the same, something light and sweet, like vanilla and flowers, something that made his head feel foggy whenever he got too close.

His hands trembled slightly, but not out of fear. It was something else. Something deep in his chest that clawed at his ribs, telling him that this, whatever this was, was just as thrilling as it was terrifying.

She lay beneath him, half-laughing, half-breathless, pink lips parted just enough to make him want to kiss her again. He did. It was soft at first, hesitant, searching, but then her fingers tangled in the back of his bleach-blonde buzz, and suddenly, he was kissing her like she was the only thing keeping him breathing.

Somewhere between the way she sighed against his mouth and the way his hands skimmed the warm skin beneath her shirt, that nervousness melted. Not completely. Not all at once. But enough. Enough for him to help her out of it, leaving her in that ruffled pink bra he swore was the prettiest thing he’d ever seen. It had a tiny bow in the middle, delicate lace tracing the edges, the kind of thing he never thought much about until now, until her.

His fingers ghosted along her waist, and she shivered. He swallowed, feeling like his heart was somewhere between his throat and his stomach. “You okay?” His voice was quieter than usual, like he was scared of breaking whatever fragile thing was holding this moment together.

She nodded, looking at him with something warm, something trusting, something that made him feel like maybe he could do this, maybe they could figure it out together. He kissed her again, slower this time, letting the world outside her bedroom slip away, letting himself get lost in the feeling of her, the way she fit against him, the way she made him forget everything except her.

They weren’t in a rush. There was nowhere to be, nothing to prove, just hands exploring, lips meeting, skin against skin, and the quiet thrill of knowing they had all the time in the world.

@issysh3ll

taglist.. @italiansunsetss @b1gba113r @sylvanianngirl @st7rnioioss-alt @sincerelykelsss @throatgoat4u @wiseladypoetry @gracieabrmslvr @sweetangelgirl7 @pearlzier @1-hypegvrl @piperrrr-16 @mackyyyk @luna443 @flowerxbunnie @cwemetrys @calliepie @cupidsword @notaboutlovebyfiona @recklesssturniolo @littlebookworm803 @blissfulxsins @camsturnz @st7rnioioss @rempessturniolo

MY MAN MY MAN MY MAN MY MAN MY MAN MY MAN MY MAN MY MAN MY MAN MY MAN MY MAN MY MAN MY MAN MY MAN MY MAN MY MAN MY MAN MY MAN MY MAN MY MAN MY MAN MY MAN MY MAN MY MAN MY MAN MY MAN MY MAN MY MAN MY MAN MY MAN MY MAN MY MAN MY MAN MY MAN MY MAN MY MAN MY MAN MY MAN MY MAN MY MAN MY MAN MY MAN MY MAN MY MAN MY MAN..

UGH

okay okay but hear me out right. slow soft sex with saxon who gets super freaked out because he was trying to do his usual thing and then it got real vulnerable all of a sudden and he doesn’t know how to feel about it after….BUT he knows it got vulnerable because he actually felt safe with her and blah blah blah or whatever. i think about him. that man needs to be fucked real gentle and lovingly or something.

anon, I like the way your mind works… I’ve added some plot to this though so bear with me in the first half…

let me be in your life like that ft. Saxon Ratliff

MDNI 18+

cw: obsessive(?) Saxon, established relationship, fluff, p in v (unprotected), “babe” as a pet name, mentions of oral (f! receiving), mentions of cheating (not followed through)

a/n: re-read it and now I have to write rafe & him tag teaming or something... idk the things going on in my head are devious rn. Title inspired by Ariana Grande’s “west side”

Not that SAXON RATLIFF ever thought of himself as the loyal kind, but he’s just been so uninterested in any girl other than you. Well, any one other than you. Understand that he would never admit that he’s a shit boyfriend; in every relationship before this, there was always a point where he’d wake up to realize how little he cared for his current partner. There was a whole twitter “exposé” at one point from one of the sorority girls he dated. Something about how much of a douchebag he was and that “he’s the equivalent to a community bike.” So with that in mind, he can’t help but be confused about his current predicament.

He’s away from you, on some business trip in the Outer Banks to close up a deal with some investors. Really, it’s more like a vacation; hot girls in the most scantily clad bikinis, (other) out of touch nepo babies on their week long vacation trip, and all the great restaurants, of course.

But get this, he can’t get his dick up. Like at all. Every time, he would bring someone back to his room, and bam! He’s got whiskey dick. Not that he could even fall back on that. Half of the time, he wasn’t even drunk. He’s never had this problem before. Rather, the opposite. Always needing another warm body. Always needing someone new. Which is why it’s such a perplexing experience to come to terms that he’s being haunted by you. From his wet dreams to any time he’s getting hard, it’s always about you, you, you.

So, maybe he needs to fuck you out of his system. Have his way with you on his bed, in the bathroom, in his car. And when that doesn’t work out, he figures he needs to go to your place; smell your sheets when he has you pressed into him, use your shampoo when he’s got you in the shower, eat you out as breakfast on your kitchen counter. Just anything to work you out of his head.

He thinks it’s finally working. He’s over at your place again, nose buried in your hair to smell that fresh shampoo as your legs dangle over his shoulders. Y’know, to really ram into your cervix. He swears he’s starting to feel that same sort of boredom he’s gotten with all his past relationships. Suppose that after today, he’ll be done with you and onto the next.

But, he makes a mistake. He kisses you. And it doesn’t feel like those “heat-of-the-moment” kisses. Matter of fact, it’s something much too foreign to him. Your nose is bumping his, and your lips are entirely too soft. How is it that the way he’s fucking you is so savage, but every touch of you makes him confront those weird butterflies in his stomach? How has he never noticed how you scrunch your nose? That you laugh with your whole chest? Or how your smile lines enrich your expression?

“Saxon?” You’ve got lilt to your voice that he can’t bring himself to snap out of. “You good?”

Somehow, you don’t even realize what you’re doing with your eyes.

“You have no idea what you’re doing to me, do you?”

“What are you talking about, you weirdo?” God, how is it that even your giggle is infectious?

He rolls his hips slowly, almost experimentally. He catches how you gasp a bit at that, rolling once more at a much slower pace.

“Please, babe, keep doing that.” Your legs are around his waist now, but he’s taking his time rocking back and forth, reveling at how your breath hitches when he circles your bud.

You’re kissing at his shoulders, hand massaging through his hair, and he doesn’t ever want to leave this moment. He whines at how you’re touching him. Soft, high moans that sort of catch you off guard. It makes you feel so good to know he’s enjoying himself though.

He’s kissing the nape of your neck, leaving deep hickeys in his wake. Then he’s at your lips again, gently. As if he’s scared he’s going to break you. As if all the time before he wasn’t going crazy on you.

“Ugh, I think I’m going to…” Saxon is rutting into you now, fingers still on your clit.

“Okay, fuck, don’t pull out…”

“huh?”

“Inside! Just cum inside!”

Your legs are tied around him, and you’re so tight that Saxon couldn’t even pull out if he wanted to. He’s so deep in you that he wouldn’t even be surprised if you told him your Plan B didn’t work out. He figures he would cross that bridge when he gets there.

For now, he’d rather enjoy basking in the heat of the sunlight to cuddle you with.

I’m not in LOVE

chris and babydoll reader

“it’s just a silly phase I’m going through”

Chris likes to think he’s immune to love, that it’s something for other people, not him. He’s the guy who coasts through life, carefree and untouchable, too busy being the center of attention to bother with anything as serious as feelings. At least, that’s what he tells himself whenever she’s around.

She’s just a friend—he repeats it like a mantra. The girl who sits shotgun in Eclipse, singing along to her disco tapes while he pretends he’s annoyed, though he never skips the track. The one who calls him out when his ego gets too big but does it with a laugh that makes it impossible for him to get mad. She’s the grounding force he never asked for, the one person who doesn’t fall for his charm but somehow makes him want to be charming anyway.

He doesn’t take what he feels for her seriously. He can’t. If he starts calling it love—if he starts admitting that maybe she’s more than just a cool girl who’s fun to have around—then he’s tied down. And Chris doesn’t do tied down. Not yet. Not when he’s got a reputation to keep up and a world to conquer. So he brushes it off, tells himself it’s just a passing thing, a silly crush that’ll fade.

But it doesn’t. It lingers in the way his eyes follow her when she’s laughing at something he didn’t even say. It’s in the way he drives her home slower than necessary, taking the long way just to keep her in the car a little longer. It’s in the way he notices the small things about her—how her curls shine when the sun hits them, how her New York accent slips out when she’s really excited, how her smile feels like it’s changing the air around them.

Chris won’t admit it, not even to himself, but she’s gotten under his skin in a way no one else ever has. She makes his world feel different, brighter, more real. But instead of leaning into it, he hides behind his usual bravado, throwing out half-baked jokes and acting like she doesn’t matter as much as she does.

Maybe one day he’ll figure it out—that what he feels isn’t just some fleeting crush. It’s not something he can brush off or laugh away. It’s real, and it’s hers. But for now, he’s stuck somewhere in between, holding on to his careless image while quietly letting her become his favorite part of everything.

For now, he tells himself he’s fine with the way things are. No labels, no big confessions, just the two of them driving around with her disco tapes and his bad jokes. But there’s a part of him that wonders, late at night when he’s alone, if maybe one day he’ll be brave enough to let her see how much she really matters. How much she’s already changed him.

@issysh3ll

࿐ ࣪ ۪ INTRODUCING 𝒜NGEL READER

𓂃 angel reader, ‘baby’ — pretty girl, soft spoken, poc, jasmine oils, ethereal, arizona green tea, gold rings, loud bracelet stacks, gold, underlining words that make her heart ache, natural hair, coconut hair products, floral slip dresses, crooked teeth, dimple, lochlans obsession, sun kissed, open windows, lilys, sunlight catching in her curls, summer fling, sweet, kind, ‘baby’, —literal angel

taglist.. @italiansunsetss @sylvanianngirl @st7rnioioss-alt @sincerelykelsss @throatgoat4u @wiseladypoetry @gracieabrmslvr @pearlzier @1-hypegvrl @piperrrr-16 @mackyyyk @luna443 @flowerxbunnie @calliepie @cupidsword @notaboutlovebyfiona @recklesssturniolo @littlebookworm803 @blissfulxsins @camsturnz @st7rnioioss @yearlyism @cinnamoncunt

WHY DIDNT THEY KEEP THIS IN WTH???