Too GIRLY

Relationships are so scary cause what if fine shyt likes his brother more than me.

sometimes i feel like i’m too FREAKY with people i've just met and then i'm embarrassed and i think they're going to start hating me

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

this is so hot

.ᐟ.ᐟ introducing — producer ! matt && ex ! reader.

⸝⸝ bad idea by ariana grande. a faint trace of vanilla perfume and danger. smooth legs under silky skirts. the one they warned you about but couldn’t resist. lives in a high-rise in downtown la, penthouse suite. iced coffee with extra vanilla at 3 p.m. daily. black-soled heels. late-night drives in a sleek black porsche. whispers like a secret, laughs like a weapon. keeps a lighter in her purse but doesn’t smoke. vodka martinis, extra olives. the song that makes your chest ache. the one who got away—and left you remembering how they tasted.

⸝⸝ nc-17 by travis scott. baggy jeans and oversized shirts. piercing eyes that seem to know all your secrets. messy hair, probably ruffled from running his hands through it during late-night sessions. lives in a modern penthouse downtown. cigarette smoke lingers on his jacket, but he doesn’t care. black coffee, no sugar. doesn’t say much, but when he does, it’s either cutting or profound. has a beat-up notebook full of scribbles and half-written lyrics. mike dean best mate. drives a sport car. midnight walks, scuffed sneakers, and the occasional half-smirk. always late but worth the wait. the one who stays on your mind like a bassline that won’t let go.

@imawinnerforever

Using the excuse “it’s just a joke” to defend yall faves will never not be humiliating. Like get off your knees and have some shame. They don’t know you. Your life will go on without them. Stop being ride or dies for strangers. Weirdos.

Omg thank you sm the new episode left me queezy ima pretend I didn’t watch ts

LOCHLAN SMUT PLEASEEE everything im seeing is so fluffy but we all saw the way he kisses so um 👀

PINKY PROMISE

lochlan ratliff and reader smut

The boat sways gently beneath you, the ocean stretching endlessly into the dark. Everything feels too much, the soft hum of waves, the distant laughter below deck, the warmth of your skin against the cool night air. You’ve never done drugs before, and now you’re out of your mind, your senses cranked up to a hundred. You can feel everything. The way the wind grazes your arms, the rough texture of the boat’s carpet beneath you, the erratic thudding of your own heart.

Lochlan sits across from you, legs crossed, his fingertips trailing absentmindedly over the floor. His pupils are blown, his lips parted like he’s trying to catch his breath even though he hasn’t been running. You’re hugging your knees to your chest, trying to steady yourself, but you can’t. You’re both too aware, and it’s making you jittery.

It’s not like everyone else. They’d crashed a while ago, scattered below deck, passed out in a tangle of limbs and abandoned drinks. But you and Lochlan? You’re still here. Stuck in this hyper-aware, touch-starved limbo.

You try to distract yourself, rambling about the game earlier, how ridiculous it was, how terrifying it felt in the moment. Lochlan listens, a lazy smirk on his face, nodding along as you giggle.

“You practically made out with Saxon,” you tease, nudging his knee with your foot.

He groans, rolling his eyes, shaking his head like he can’t believe you’re bringing it up. “That was barely making out.”

You laugh harder than you should, breathless and lightheaded. It feels like you can’t stop. It’s like everything is funny right now.

Lochlan chuckles too, but then his laughter fades, his smile lingering but different now. A little tense. A little hesitant.

You’re still giggling to yourself when he finally speaks.

“Saxon kissed you.”

Your breath catches slightly.

“He was practically trying to eat you,” he adds, and his voice is teasing, but there’s something else beneath it. Something unreadable.

Your stomach twists.

“Yeah,” you mumble, pressing your cheek against your knee. “It was… weird.”

He watches you carefully.

You exhale, licking your lips. “Like, it was rough.” You frown slightly, trying to piece together the right words. “Like I had to force myself to like it.”

Lochlan’s fingers flex slightly on the carpet. His knee bounces once before stopping.

Then he says, “I could do a better job than that.”

Your head snaps toward him, eyes wide, before you burst into laughter. You’re convinced he’s joking.

But he doesn’t laugh.

He just looks at you, waiting.

Your smile falters slightly, your heart hammering against your ribs. You try to play it off, voice wobbly as you tease, “You don’t have any experience.”

He smirks a little. “I wouldn’t try to swallow you.”

That warmth in your stomach spreads, creeping up your neck. The boat sways gently, and suddenly, you feel weightless.

“Can I try?” he asks, voice softer this time.

You don’t say yes.

You don’t say no, either.

And he doesn’t know what that means, so he just leans in.

Your breath stutters, but you don’t move away.

At first, it’s just a peck, soft and fleeting. He pulls back, grinning like this is the funniest thing in the world, but you’re not laughing.

He notices.

This time when he leans back in, it’s different.

His lips press into yours again, slow and unsure but eager, and you kiss him back, tentatively at first. He exhales through his nose like he’s relieved, like he wasn’t sure if you’d kiss him back at all. His hands slide down your back, hesitating before settling on your hips.

It’s awkward and clumsy and neither of you care.

You rest your hands on his shoulders, unsure, barely touching, until he presses forward, his weight gently easing you onto the carpet. Your back meets the floor, and then he’s above you, hovering, breath shaky, eyes locked on yours.

The world around you fades, the ocean, the boat, the distant murmurs from below deck.

Just you. Just him.

His lips find yours again, and this time it’s deeper. Slow. Uncertain. His hands tighten on your waist, then drift lower, settling just above your thighs like he’s testing the waters.

You exhale sharply against his mouth, gripping his shoulders tighter. He tilts his head, pressing closer, and your stomach flips, heat coiling low in your belly.

The touches are hesitant, inexperienced, but it doesn’t matter.

As you and Lochlan's kiss deepened, you felt something inside you ignite, an ache that spread through your body, demanding attention, demanding satisfaction. You pushed yourself up, your chests pressing against each other, and Lochlan's hands instinctively slid down to your hips, gripping you tightly, anchoring you to him.

You could feel his need, matching your own, as he pulled you closer, his body molding against yours, fitting together like pieces of a puzzle. You moved together, the kiss growing more urgent, more desperate. Lochlan's fingers dug into your skin, sending sparks of pleasure shooting through your veins.

Lochlan’s breath was uneven, his forehead barely brushing against yours as he hovered over you. The moonlight reflected off the water, painting shifting silver patterns across his skin. His lips were pink and kiss-swollen, his pupils dark and blown wide.

He wasn’t trying to be rough, it didn’t suit him. But there was something different in the way he touched you now. A little more sure of himself, a little more desperate. His hands traced tentative patterns down your sides, warm and steady, but there was an urgency to the way he kissed you, like he was trying to memorize the way you felt beneath him.

Your heart pounded so hard it nearly drowned out the waves lapping against the boat. You gasped softly when his fingers skimmed under the waistband of your bikini bottoms, not entirely pushing, just testing. Your hand instinctively closed around his wrist, stopping him.

Lochlan froze. His breath hitched, and he pulled back just enough to search your face, eyes flicking between yours, afraid he’d pushed too far.

“I—” he started, voice rough, but you shook your head quickly.

“It’s not that,” you whispered, though you weren’t even sure what that was. “You just…you donn’t know what you’re doing. Not really.” And the thought sent a nervous chill down your spine, despite the heat between you.

Lochlan let out a breathless laugh, resting his forehead against yours. “Yeah? Well, neither do you.”

You squinted at him, narrowing your eyes, and he smirked, soft, teasing, almost offended.

“Please…” His voice dropped, quiet and pleading. “Lemme try. I won’t hurt you. I promise.”

You hesitated, searching his face for any hint of doubt, but there was none. Just Lochlan. Just the boy who had spent the whole night laughing with you, the boy who looked at you like you were something delicate and precious, even as his hands trembled slightly against your skin.

Finally, you nodded.

His lips parted slightly, exhaling in quiet relief. But before he could do anything, you grabbed his face between your hands, making sure he was looking right at you.

“You can’t tell anyone,” you whispered, voice firm despite the way it wavered at the edges. “I mean it. No matter how much Saxon gets in your head, you can’t spill.”

Lochlan’s brows furrowed. “Saxon doesn’t get in my head.”

You tilted your head, unconvinced. “Promise me.”

Something flickered behind his eyes before he sighed, holding out his pinky. “I won’t tell. Pinky promise.”

You hesitated for half a second before wrapping your pinky around his.

The moment you did, he pressed you back down against the soft, warm deck, lips crashing onto yours again, filled with a new kind of urgency. His fingers dipped under your waistband, dragging your swim bottoms down just enough for him to kiss along your stomach, slow and reverent, like he was worshiping you.

You feel his hands on your bikini bottoms, pulling it down slowly, giving you the opportunity to stop him if you want to. But you remain motionless, staring at the ceiling, silently granting him permission to continue.

As the fabric slides down your legs, you sense his eyes drinking in the sight of your exposed skin. He lets out a barely audible breath, his voice a husky whisper that seems to vibrate against your flesh.

With deliberate care, he lifts your legs, draping them over his shoulders. The position is intimate, vulnerable, and you feel a flutter of trepidation mixed with excitement. You're not sure where this is headed, but you trust him enough to follow wherever he leads.

His fingers brush against your inner thighs, the light touch sending shivers down your spine. You hold your breath, anticipating what might come next. Instead of plunging ahead, he parts your legs the slightest bit, as if savoring the taste of uncertainty.

Then, without warning, his face descends, his breath hot against your core. You gasp, your body tensing reflexively, but he continues undeterred,he moves closer and presses a feather-light kiss against your clit. The sensation is electric, and you can't help but clamp your thighs around his head, a mix of pleasure and embarrassment washing over you.

"Ow," he murmurs, his voice muffled by your grip. "Sorry," you whisper.

He returns between your thighs, his tongue gliding over your slick folds in long, languid strokes. Each pass sends waves of pleasure coursing through you, your hips twitching involuntarily in response. Your fingers thread through his hair, holding him close, unsure whether to guide him or not.

As he works, his nose occasionally brushes against your clit, the slight friction adding another layer of pleasure. Your moans grow louder, more urgent, your body beginning to quake with the approaching climax.

His movements become more insistent, his tongue delving deeper, exploring every hidden crevice. You're lost in a haze of pleasure, your mind foggy with the sheer intensity of the sensations coursing through your veins.

Suddenly, a particularly skilled lick sends you over the edge. A strangled cry tears from your throat as your body seizes, convulsing in your orgasm. Your hand flies to your mouth, muffling the sound as wave after wave of ecstasy crashes over you.

When you start to relax, you release your death grip on his hair, panting heavily. He looks up at you, mouth wide curled into a shocked smile and he laughs at the sound you made. Without warning, he peppers your thigh with soft kisses.

Irritation flickers across your features as he laughs at your post-orgasmic vulnerability. You shove his forehead half-heartedly, trying to hide the pure utter embarrassment in your face. He catches your wrist, his grip gentle but firm, and presses a tender kiss to your palm.

Satisfied with the gesture, you relax into the carpet, the cool fibers a stark contrast to the heat still radiating from your skin.

With a contented sigh, he reaches over to gently tug your bikini bottoms back into place, covering your still-sensitive flesh.

He lays beside you on his back quietly. The both of you breathing heavily but at different paces, chests rising up and down at different times. Not even looking at you. And you not looking at him. Almost trying to see if you regret what you had just done.

Neither of you speaks, content to drown in the aftermath of your shared experience. Eventually, you both turn to face each other, exchanging smiles.

Breaking the silence, you both erupt in laughter.

sorry this is so long but this was my first time writing smut and I was feeling like Shakespeare.. I got a lot of requests and I’m trying to do them all in a short span of time..

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

happy VALENTINE

70s teenage dirtbag hamzah and reader

The radio hummed low and warm, a crackling thread of music weaving through the quiet of the car. Hamzah’s fingers tapped absently against the steering wheel, rings clicking against the worn leather, but his mind wasn’t on the road, wasn’t on much of anything except the girl beside him, laughing softly at something he said five minutes ago.

The car smelled like her perfume, like jasmine and something sweet, mingling with the faintest trace of cigarette smoke and the lilies resting in her lap. She had been staring at them ever since he gave them to her, running delicate fingers along the petals, like she couldn’t believe they were hers.

“Didn’t think I was the type, huh?” he had teased when she first saw the flowers, the stuffed bunny, the little box of chocolate-covered strawberries from his cousin’s bakery.

“No, I just didn’t think you’d actually try this hard,” she smirked, but there had been something softer in her eyes, something he recognized.

Hamzah had never cared much for Valentine’s Day. It always seemed like a scam, a way for people to convince themselves they were in love for the price of a heart-shaped box. But her? She changed things. If she wanted lilies and chocolate and soft things wrapped in ribbons, then he’d give her all of it. He’d give her more.

So now, they were nowhere. Just a stretch of road fading into darkness, the distant hum of the city swallowed by trees and open sky. He pulled off onto a hill, parking beneath a massive oak tree, its branches twisting against the stars.

“Is this what you do with all your dates?” she teased, turning to face him.

“Nah,” he grinned, leaning back against his seat, hands loose in his lap. “Just you.”

Her smile wavered, just for a second, but he caught it. She didn’t know how to take it when he was sincere, when he let his guard slip. He kind of liked that.

The car ticked softly as the engine cooled, the wind slipping through the cracked windows. She peeled open the box of strawberries, picking one up and holding it to her lips before pausing. “You sure you don’t want one?”

“I got ‘em for you, sweetheart. Knock yourself out.”

She rolled her eyes, biting into the fruit, the chocolate cracking softly under her teeth. Hamzah watched her, eyes half-lidded, something lazy and fond resting in his gaze.

“Alright, now you gotta try one,” she insisted, plucking another from the box and holding it out for him.

He smirked, leaning forward, but instead of taking it from her fingers, he just bit into it, teeth gently biting her fingertips.

She gasped, pulling her hand back. “Hamzah!”

“What?” he mumbled through a mouthful of chocolate, eyes twinkling with mischief.

“You’re an idiot.”

“Yeah,” he swallowed, licking his lips, “but you like me.”

She rolled her eyes but didn’t argue.

The music played on, soft and unintrusive, some old soul song he didn’t know the name of. Outside, the world stretched on in every direction, but inside the car, it was just them.

He reached for her hand without thinking, just feeling the need to touch, to hold. She let him, fingers curling easily around his.

“You’re warm,” she murmured.

“You always say that.”

“Because you always are.”

She turned to him, fully now, shifting so one leg tucked beneath her. The moonlight poured in through the windshield, catching in her eyes, making them gleam.

“You’re staring,” she whispered.

“Yeah,” his voice was lower now, rougher. “What about it?”

She didn’t answer, just tugged on his collar, pulling him in, slow and unhurried. Their lips met in a kiss that started soft but deepened quickly, something languid and melting, like heat unfurling in the cold night air. His hand found the side of her face, thumb tracing the curve of her cheek, while her fingers slipped into his hair, tugging, teasing.

He sighed into her mouth, pulling her closer, like he could fold her into himself, keep her there. The world outside didn’t exist. Just her lips, her breath, the way she tasted like chocolate and strawberries and something he could never quite name.

“You really didn’t have to do all this,” she murmured against his lips.

“I know,” he whispered, kissing her again, softer this time. “But I wanted to.”

@issysh3ll

Happy Valentine’s Day my loves🎀

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

introducing

໑ 70s LOSER MATT

LOSER MATT.. who isn’t shy, just terrible at social cues, leaving people wondering if he’s being intentionally funny or just awkward.

LOSER MATT.. who doesn’t say much but notices everything, his sharp eyes catching details others overlook, like someone’s mood changing or a song subtly switching tempo.

LOSER MATT.. who’s clumsy in the most endearing way, tripping over nothing or spilling his drink, then muttering a dry, self-deprecating joke that actually makes people laugh.

LOSER MATT.. who only comes to parties if Chris and Nate are going, and even then, he spends most of the night nursing a drink and bobbing his head to the music in the corner.

LOSER MATT.. who sits on the edge of his bed, headphones on, completely lost in the world of his favorite obscure album, mouthing the lyrics like they’re gospel.

LOSER MATT.. who practices drumming on every surface he encounters—desks, tables, his own thighs—earning annoyed looks from teachers and amused ones from friends.

LOSER MATT.. who doodles on the edges of his notebooks during class, filling the margins with weirdly intricate designs no one ever sees because he immediately closes his book.

LOSER MATT.. who will pause mid-walk in the hallway to daydream, staring off into space like he’s in the middle of a movie scene only he can see.

LOSER MATT.. who spends his free time at record stores, thumbing through vinyls he can’t afford, memorizing tracklists, and mentally curating the perfect playlist.

LOSER MATT.. who doesn’t understand why people hate on disco and will passionately argue its brilliance to anyone willing to listen—or not.

LOSER MATT.. who shows up to every group hangout slightly late, not because he’s cool, but because he overthought what to wear and couldn’t decide if he was actually invited.

LOSER MATT.. who panics if someone randomly calls on him, answering with a stammer and a dry, witty comment that accidentally makes everyone laugh.

LOSER MATT.. who secretly wants to be the main character but thinks he’s destined to be a background NPC, quietly hoping someone will see him for more.

LOSER MATT.. who refuses to watch a movie he’s obsessed with until he has the perfect setup—a quiet room, the right lighting, and no distractions—because art deserves to be experienced properly.

LOSER MATT.. who only really comes alive when he’s playing his drums, his quiet, awkward demeanor melting away into raw passion and energy.

LOSER MATT.. who would absolutely lose it if someone recognized one of his niche movie references, but instead, he just shrugs it off like it doesn’t matter.

LOSER MATT.. who’s clumsy in the most endearing way, tripping over nothing or spilling his drink, then muttering a dry, self-deprecating joke that actually makes people laugh.

LOSER MATT.. who has exactly three close friends, Chris, Nick and Nate, and would do anything for them—even though Chris shoos him away half the time.

LOSER MATT.. who, despite his awkwardness, has a way of making people feel understood with his quiet loyalty and soft-spoken humor.

LOSER MATT.. who dreams of being a film composer but tells no one, burying his passion under layers of self-doubt and drum solos.

LOSER MATT.. who has a heart so big it scares him, hiding it under sarcasm and humor, hoping no one will notice how much he really cares.

@lovelymylene <3

I’ve never realized how fine Ben Barnes was omg.. his accent when he played Prince caspian 😭🙏🏽