⋆˙⟡ Greetings! ⭒₊ ⊹🌕₊ ⊹⭒ xo, Kym ✧˚ ⋆。˚
Requests are always open for anyone you see me write for 🥰
⁀➴
The Pitt
★ Michael Robinavitch
Series:
٠࣪⭑ ⋆。゚☁︎。⋆。 ゚☾ ゚。⋆ ٠࣪⭑
One Shots:
Both Hands on the Wheel
Alisa U Zemlji Chuda
wallacepolsom
No title available
Game of Thrones Daily
Show & Tell
Stranger Things
Keni
"I'm Dorothy Gale from Kansas"
Acquired Stardust

Kiana Khansmith
occasionally subtle
Lint Roller? I Barely Know Her

Love Begins
Today's Document
2025 on Tumblr: Trends That Defined the Year
noise dept.

shark vs the universe

titsay
No title available

ellievsbear

seen from Brazil

seen from Brazil
seen from Türkiye
seen from New Zealand
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Argentina
seen from United States

seen from Canada
seen from Belgium

seen from Canada
seen from Vietnam
seen from Türkiye

seen from Canada
seen from Canada

seen from France

seen from Slovenia

seen from Australia

seen from Canada
@callm3otter
⋆˙⟡ Greetings! ⭒₊ ⊹🌕₊ ⊹⭒ xo, Kym ✧˚ ⋆。˚
Requests are always open for anyone you see me write for 🥰
⁀➴
The Pitt
★ Michael Robinavitch
Series:
٠࣪⭑ ⋆。゚☁︎。⋆。 ゚☾ ゚。⋆ ٠࣪⭑
One Shots:
Both Hands on the Wheel
Ugugugugug i can’t stop thinking about the “Jack has to tell Robby when to quit on their girl.” Trope. It’s my favorite of all time and I feel like I have to jump on the bandwagon. Word count: 0.7k Warnings: threesome. Mdni. Edging. Fem!reader. Piv.
Your body’s on fire; you can feel the sweat dripping down the side of your forehead and Robby’s hard thrusts from behind you.
simon picking you up from the club!!
he gets the text at half one.
"si com eget me plsd" and then, instead of a location pin, a screenshot of a map with your street barely visible in the corner, which tells him everything he needs to know about the state you're in. he stares at it for a moment. closes his eyes. gets his keys.
you're outside when he pulls up, leaning against the brick wall with your shoes dangling from one hand and your hair half out of whatever careful style it was when you left, and the moment you see his car your entire face brightens and you push off the wall and stumble toward him like he's the best thing you've seen all night.
"simon!!," you say, drawing his name out like it's something you've been saving.
"yeah," he says. "i'm here. come on."
you stumble and crash directly into his side, both arms winding around his waist, your face pressing into his chest with a contented sound that he feels more than hears. he stands with your shoes dangling against his back and your hair tickling his chin and after a moment of trying to help you to walk, he ends up picking you up bridal style and carrying you.
"you're so strong si" you mumble dreamily, staring at him in absolute awe. when he places you into the car and buckles your seatbelt for you, "you're responsible too"
you manage the passenger seat for almost a full minute before you migrate.
he's not entirely sure of the mechanics — one moment you're buckled in beside him, the next you're somehow mostly across the centre console, sideways, your chin on his shoulder and your hand warm and certain on his thigh before he's even made it out of the car park. he pulls over at the first opportunity and sorts your seatbelt properly, reaching across you, and you look up at him while he does it with an expression that has no business being that specific given the circumstances.
"you're so good to me," you tell him, with complete sincerity.
"sit still," he says, and pulls back onto the road.
you sit still for thirty seconds. maybe thirty five.
then your hand starts moving on his upper thigh. slow, idle, the kind of absent touch that might be accidental on anyone else but on you, right now, tilted toward him with your eyes tracking his profile you're gazing at him with pure lust.
he watches the road. says nothing. when your hand shifts onto his bulge he picks it up and deposits it back in your own lap without comment.
you put it straight back.
he lets it stay, this time, because clearly moving it isn't working and he's a practical man.
this turns out to be a mistake, because you start rubbing there too. he tries to stare straight forward and focus on the road, but his pants are undeniably getting tighter.
"simon," you say, in a voice that is different from your usual voice — lower, a little slow, the careful diction of someone choosing words through a pleasant haze.
"mm."
"you're so pretty" you say, very seriously.
"not the word most people would use," he says.
"well you are pretty. so pretty si." in some form of cuteness aggression, you lean over the console and softly bite his neck. then you decide its not enough and give sloppy kisses down his neck.
"lovie sit back."
"i am sitting back. i wanna sit on your face though siiii." you mumble against his neck and your nails drag lightly against his bulge. his jaw tightens incrementally. "simon."
"ten minutes," he says. "we're ten minutes away."
"i just want—"
"i know what you want."
"and?"
"and ten minutes."
you consider this for a moment, apparently decide ten minutes is a negotiating position rather than a statement of fact, and say something directly against his ear — low and unhurried and specific enough that every muscle in his body contracts simultaneously. the car remains in its lane. it takes more effort than he would like to admit.
"christ," he says, very quietly, to the windscreen.
"is that a yes," you say, settling back with the satisfaction of someone who knows exactly what they've done.
"it's a keep your hands where they are and let me drive," he says.
you keep your hands where they are. you also keep talking — which, as it turns out, is considerably worse than the hands. a steady, uninhibited stream of observations and suggestions delivered in the candid cheerful tone of someone who has temporarily misplaced their filter, all of it aimed at him, all of it landing exactly where you intend it to. simon drives. he keeps his eyes on the road. he responds to none of it, which he's aware is not the same as not hearing it, and the ten minutes stretch out into something that feels significantly longer than ten minutes.
he gets you inside.
the lift is its own specific trial. you're facing him with your back against the panel, arms loose around his neck, looking up at him with those eyes that have always been a problem. you're talking again, softer now, something about his hands and something else about what you'd like and he reaches past you and hits the button for your floor and keeps his eyes forward and breathes steadily and thinks about absolutely nothing at all.
"you're ignoring me," you say.
"i'm listening to every word," he says, which is true and is the problem.
you stop twice on the way to your door. once to tell him something about his shoulders that he files away against his better judgement, and once to make a suggestion so detailed and vulgur that he stops walking entirely for a moment, stands in the middle of the hallway, and takes a slow breath before continuing. you look pleased with yourself.
he gets you through the door. gets you to the bedroom. you sit on the edge of the bed and reach for him with both hands, expression open and warm and wanting, and he catches your hands gently and holds them.
"lie down," he says.
"come with me," you say.
"in a minute. i'm getting you water."
you lie back against the pillow with a small sound that does nothing helpful for the ache in his pants, and he turns and goes to the kitchen.
when he gets back he sees you face down on the pillow, one arm thrown wide, your shoes finally abandoned somewhere between the door and the bed. there you were, fast asleep in your dream world, a small pool of drool already forming at the corner of your mouth, breathing slow and even and completely, utterly unconscious.
and there simon stood, water glass in hand, watching you, while he was sporting a throbbing hard-on and nothing he could do about it.
Painfully accurate reader 😔
I love the implication that there's a town frozen in time where Bandido sometimes go to fight cowboys
And that Swerve broke in to go look for him 😭
I would fold like a lawn chair
“Ugh I don’t get the love for brat taming- nvm..”
these scenes playing back to back is actually so sick and twisted
No I’m going to vomit what the actual fucking fuck Noah Wyle don’t do this to me-
someone put this man on a psych hold
“ungf - fuck - dad - please.” it slips out from between your lips into the hair on john's broad chest; a blurred, desperate whine. one you wish you could immediately take back when you hear his sharp intake of breath against your neck.
his hips still against yours and air catches in your throat; a flush creeping up your neck. “oh shit. sorry - I didn't -” you panic as he drags his cock all the way out of you, leaving your weeping cunt tensing around nothing.
“dad, huh?” he murmurs against your jaw, one hand reaching to pinch a nipple between calloused fingers just to hear you whimper. “didn't know you were into that shit. s’ok. i’ll take care of ya, kid.”
his hands find the meat at the back of your thighs, pressing your knees practically to your shoulders before he slams back inside you in one brutal motion. your back arches off the bed. he presses harder on the back of your thighs to pin you back down.
“fuck, with a cunt like this i’ll be whoever you want me to be. your dad. a fucking plumber. whatever means I get to keep filling up this sweet little hole of yours, sweetheart."
ILL BE WHOEVER YOU WANT ME TO BE AHHHHHHH
🌽!link
"Jesus christ! König stop it's not gonna... oh my god..."
You clutched at the mans broad shoulders. Cunt split open by just the tip of his cock. You said you'd try. You would give it your best effort. But that thing was a monster. It would tear you in two before he even got it all the way in.
König whined, tucking his head into your neck as he rocked the sliver of cock he had fit inside you just a little deeper.
"Schatzi... bitte... please. Just a little more... you are so tight..."
He sounded so needy. You had never heard the man so needy. You would have loved to let him fuck you silly, but it wasn't happening.
Your fingers carded through his hair gently. Shushing his desperate sobs. Running your free hand down his heaving chest to rest on his hip. Stopping him from pushing any further in.
"If you're gentle, and really good for me, you can jerk off like this. You think you can do that, love?"
He nodded, drooling onto your collarbone as he reached down to grip his cock. large hand easily covering what hadn't been shoved in your poor cunt.
It stung, but listening to him whimper like this was worth it. The fat tip of his cock throbbing inside you. His breathing hot and heavy against your chest. Needy lips finding your tits and latching onto your nipple like a life line.
You continued to pet his hair. Breathing through the stretch while he pleased himself. It didn't take long. The vice your cunt had around the tip of his cock was making his brain melt. Only a few eager strokes later and he was jerking forward. Ignoring your pained hiss as he spilled inside you.
"Danke... Danke..."
Before he had the chance to go limp on top of you, a harsh tug to his hair drew his attention.
"You'll clean up for me, won't you, sweet boy? Make me feel good, yeah?"
The dazed way he looked up at you was gorgeous. Eyes wet with tears and glazed over. Lips parted and drooling. Giving you a slow nod before he pulled out and shuffled lower to lap at your poor sensitive cunt.
TKB how I love youuuu
Abbot and Robby in 2x07 of the Pitt
BOAF. RN. GUYS. FCKN TAG ME INNNN.
König never understood how someone so small could be so cold.
You make a pathetic noise somewhere around his collarbone, burrowing closer as if you’re trying to phase directly through his sternum. He’s on his back, half propped against the headboard, mask rucked up to his nose, book in one hand. He had been reading… until you wriggled under the covers and latched onto him like a starfish.
“Why are your hands so hot,” you mumble into his chest, words muffled by cotton and muscle. “This is ridiculous. You’re like a human furnace.”
He huffs out a quiet laugh, the sound rumbling through his ribs and into your cheek. “Is that a complaint, maus?” His accent drags over the pet name, soft and amused. “Because I can move away.”
You immediately grab his wrist. “Don’t you dare.”
The book ends up face-down on the nightstand with a dull thump, because he knows he’s lost. You guide his hand under the blanket, shoving it down to where your thighs are curled up against your stomach. He goes easily, obedient, letting you put his palm exactly where you want it with the same resigned patience he always has.
Your skin is icy against him, and he actually flinches. “Scheiße, liebling,” he mutters. “You are freezing.”
“You’re fine,” you say, already readjusting him, tucking his hand higher, like you will achieve maximum warmth out of this very large, very confused man if it kills you both. “You run hot. Don’t be selfish. Share with the class.”
He can feel the difference even without seeing it; his hand is burning compared to you, heat trapped under the blankets, his pulse a slow heavy thud against your chilled skin. It doesn’t take long before you melt, muscles uncurling one by one as the warmth spreads.
You sigh. Not a delicate little exhale, either, but a full body, soul deep oh thank god sort of sound that makes his face turn red.
“There it is,” you murmur, eyes fluttering shut. “Perfect. Don’t move.”
“Ah.” His lips tilt behind the mask. “I see. I am… what is the word…?” He thinks for a moment. “Heizkissen. Heating pad.”
“Multifunctional,” you correct sleepily. “Big scary sniper. Personal space heater. Very comfy pillow. Don’t sell yourself short.”
He wants to argue with the “scary” part because you’re here, voluntarily, using him like some oversized hot water bottle, but the way you tuck your face deeper into his chest kills the urge. Your nose is cold where it presses into him. The rest of you is slowly warming, though, leeching the heat from his body.
He wraps his free arm around you, palm spanning most of your back. The room is quiet, the only sounds the soft whir of the heater and your breathing, already slowing into something close to a doze.
“How,” he asks after a moment, “do you always end up like this?”
“Like what?”
“Like…” He searches for the right phrase. “Like a stray cat that has found the warm sun beam.”
You snort into his shirt. “You love it.”
“Mm.” His fingers flex against your stomach, slow and absentminded. “I do.”
You go still at that, just for a second. Then you relax again, the tension bleeding out of your shoulders, your body sinking heavier into him. The words weren’t meant to be grand, not some big confession, just a quiet statement of fact, but they land like one anyway.
“Really?” you ask, voice softer now, less teasing, as if you’re asking about something fragile.
“Ja.” His thumb strokes a small, careful circle against the fabric over your skin. “I like when you need me.” He clears his throat, looking anywhere but the crown of your head. “Even if it is only for… warmth.”
You tip your head back enough to look at him, hair mussed, eyes drowsy. The blanket is hitched up to your chin, his arm and hand disappearing beneath it.
“Not only for warmth,” you say quietly. “But it’s a perk.”
Something in his chest does a slow, awkward flip.
You study him for a second more- his flushed ears, the way his gaze refuses to hold yours for long- then you nuzzle back down, apparently satisfied. Your cold toes sneak around his calf.
He jumps. “Warum- ! Your feet, maus-!”
“Shhh,” you murmur, like he’s the one being unreasonable. “Science experiment. I want to see how fast I can make a giant combust from touch alone.”
His laugh is darker this time, rougher. One massive hand slides down your spine, cups your ass, and yanks you flush against his thigh.
“Careful with your experiments, maus,” he murmurs, lips brushing the shell of your ear, voice gone rough and velvet rough. “Keep teasing like that and I’ll warm you the old fashioned way.”
He rolls you beneath him in one smooth, deliberate motion, caging you in with that towering frame, mask still rucked up just enough to reveal the hungry curve of his mouth.
“Sound like a plan, liebling?”
[Inspired by @konigs-lover sending me the most delicious pics of König’s tits]
A wunderbar snack! Thank you Silver 🙂↕️
goldilocks | jack abbot
jack abbot x attorney!reader | 5k words | ao3
synopsis: jack has trouble sleeping. you don't make it any easier.
content: 18+ mdni, age gap, swearing, super soft sex (not like super graphic bc I'm weak), reader is annoying as USUAL and jack is just so in love
a/n: teehee. LOL? tbh can I be honest. I'm not sure what this is fr
sorry for using an andrew cody gif. as if u could blame me LOL up top ladies! shoutout @doctcrrobby dani for putting this in my mind. also my dad was in the army and dude literally sleeps on the couch every night and I'm always like dad let's go get you a new mattress and he's like I'd rather fucking die. I don't know why I told you guys that I think I just had to cite my sources on that single line.
Jack’s back ached. It has for years—a legacy of abuse stemming from unforgiving cots, and the punishing weight of rucksacks weighing as much as he did, and strain from bodies thrown over his shoulder en route to safety. It ached from responsibility, and it ached from the perpetual guilt that he’ll probably never rid himself of.
It also meant no bed was ever right. One was as hard as the unyielding ground while gunfire split the air overhead. Another bed he tried sagged beneath him with every twitch, threatening to pull him under. They were too warm, too short, too something.
He felt like Goldilocks, if Goldilocks only had one foot and lumbar pain.
AlL tHiS aPp Is Is SmUt
YEAH AND SOMETIMES IT MAKES ME CRY WHAT ABOUT IT
No thoughts just older!price taking you out to a really nice restaurant after you shyly admit your previous boyfriends just took you to fast-food...
You, foolishly, assume this will be a nice evening with your partner. Smiling while you read over the menu, your heart so full of affection for john.
Only for the mood to be instantly crushed when your waitress comes along and comments "wow, it's nice to see family celebrating valentine's! I wish I got to spend more time with my dad!"
Your face instantly heats with embarrassment at the implication. You know price is a bit older but...really? She continues, not at all picking up your reaction "I've always said valentines was about all forms of love. You're a great father, sir."
You glance across the table to see price smiling that smug little smile, reserved for times when he gets what he wants. "Thank you, miss. Families important, eh?"
He cuts his gaze to you, delighted in whatever he sees in your expression. You're too mortified to correct her, a fact that makes john smile even more. That bastard, he planned this.
The worst part? When the waitress came back to grab the check, price made sure to cup his palm behind your neck and pull you into a deep, not at all public appropriate kiss. You'll never forget the look of horror on the waitresses face.
....you'll also never forget how insanely turned on you were the whole time, making price pull over on the side of the road to satiate you.
Chefs kiss Rommy!
Ghost of The Opera
I was listening to The Story of The Phantom (any other musical geeks here??) on my way to work yesterday and FAHK I could not stop thinking about our bby gurl Simon Riley as The Phantom!! I mentioned this forever ago too so why not finally bring it to life.
GN reader x Phantom!Simon "Ghost" Riley
your writing about Jack Abbots leg? I wanna reblog it 10 million times. obsessed. no one really writes about his leg which ofc it doesnt identify who he is, hes more than his leg, but i think its good to mention it every once in a while at least so people don't just forget. though its not his whole identity, its still part of his character AHHHH. anyways, i love your writing
AW OMFG?!?! THANK YOU AND I LOVE YOU 😭😭
This is exactly how I feel too! Jack’s leg does not make him who he is- no disability makes a person. But it is a very important part of who. he. is. He’s a soldier, a veteran who has literally lost a part of himself. That Matters!!
Of course I'm sure plenty of other bloggers achieve this much better than I do but I really really appreciate that you like it. 🥹
ADDIE 💗💗 I HOPE ALL IS WELL BB!!!! so sorry to hear about your writer's block (i feel the damn same unfortuently and it suuuuucks!!!) so if i can hopefully spark a little something-something.... perhaps " ³⁾ lips pressed against a brow-bone " with puppy dog pope cody??
liliana!!! i'm good and i hope you are too!! this does spark something in me, i really gotta get back to writing for my boy andrew (also i LOVE your new blog theme, the header is everything)
prompt is from this post and i've decided to make his part of my selectively mute!andrew universe
God, what were you going to do with Andrew?
He'd come to your door tonight, in the very late hours, bruised and bloody. He wouldn't say anything, wouldn't tell you what had happened, what he'd done, or why he wasn't home with his family. He sat down on your couch and had put his head in his hands and stayed there for the longest time.
You watched him carefully from the other side of the coffee table, nibbling on your bottom lip as you tried to figure out what to do. Part of you wanted to march over to him and shake him until he told you what was going on. He did this too often, came over without an explanation, and while you liked being the safe space for Andrew to land, it made you sick with worry. You were his friend, probably his only real friend, and you deserved an answer. You knew you were unlikely to get one though, considering Andrew didn't speak ever.
Another part of you wanted to drag him to your bedroom and urge him to fall asleep next to you, no questions asked. You decided that at most you needed him to just look at you.
You rounded the coffee table and parked yourself in between his knees, staring down at him as your feet in his field of vision got his attention. He raised his head from his hands and craned his neck back to look up at you. He had bruises near his temple and on his jaw, with a cut on his eyebrow to compliment the bruises around his eye. What stopped your heart was how his beautiful hazel eyes were wide and shiny with unshed tears. You resolve crumpled immediately at the haunted look in his eyes, all thoughts beyond taking care of him leaving your brain.
Your eyebrows creased in worry as your hand came up to cup under his chin, tilting his face up more for you to see. Andrew didn't fight you, he just sat there - pliant and submissive to your touch. You took careful catalogue of his injures and noted his slightly downturned mouth and the relaxed nature of his eyebrows. It was a little jarring to see, since Andrew typically walked around with his eyebrows intensely furrowed in a dark expression that had people scrambling to get out of his way. To see him so broken, so open with his emotions laid bare on his face was too much for your poor heart.
You bent over at the waist, your hand still holding his face still, and pressed your lips gently to his brow bone while being careful to avoid his injury. You heard a barely audible sigh from Andrew, so soft you almost hadn't realized what it was. You let your lips linger on his warm skin, the kiss dragging on for an extra moment or two.
When you pulled away Andrews eyes were closed, his face slack and his mouth parted. You didn't pull away completely and instead kept your face near his until he finally opened his eyes.
"Let's get you cleaned up." You straightened up and outstretched your hand to him, forcing him to make the choice to follow. He slipped his large hand into yours without a second thought and let you lead him to the bathroom. You used what limited first aid skills you had to clean the blood off of his face and his knuckles, before adding a small bandage over his eyebrow.
Andrew leaned back against the bathroom counter as you cleaned him up, his eyes watching your carefully. He had a habit of staring, like he expected you to disappear at any moment and he wanted to commit you to memory. Normally you didn't mind, but right now, being so close to his face, it was hard to not met his eyes every other second. It was even harder to not just stare back and get lost in his orbit.
Due to Andrews selective mutism, he did a lot of communicating with his facial expressions and through his eyes. You'd gotten extremely good at reading and understanding him without needing a word spoken between you. In this moment his eyes were saying thank you but there was something more underneath, a sad question that you wanted to ignore.
Why?
It was a stupid question in your opinion. Why would you help him? Because you cared. Because he was your friend. Because you were pretty sure no one in the whole world had ever really, truly cared about him before, had every shown him genuine kindness, had provided a safe space for him to breathe.
That's why when you finished patching him up and he walked out of the bathroom, you weren't surprised when he turned towards the front door to leave. You quickly got in his way, stopping him in your hallway with gentle hands against his chest.
"Wait, I want you to stay." You said. Andrew started to shake his head, his expression growing more guarded.
"Please," You begged desperately as you stepped forward to wrap your arms around his torso, hoping your whole body would block him from leaving. You hugged him tightly, your body flush against his and your face pressed into him.
"I need you to stay. I'll get so worried if you leave, I need to know you're safe. Please." You pleaded, your words muffled against his solid chest. You felt a little bad about trying to appeal to Andrews concern for you, that if staying made you feel better, that he'd likely do it. But you really did need him to stay. You wanted him to have one night of actual, peaceful rest.
You could have cried in victory when Andrews arms lifted to wrap around you, holding you in his warm embrace. He pressed his cheek into the top of your head and you felt him nod. You didn't waste a moment, instead pulling back just enough to grab hold of Andrews hand to pull him towards your bedroom.
He followed where you lead him, and when you told him to take off his shoes and get into your bed, he obediently followed your orders. It took some encouragement from you to get him actually under the covers and lying down before you slipped into bed next to him.
You told yourself that your concern that Andrew would leave the moment you'd fallen asleep was the only reason you snuggled up next to him, your head resting on his shoulder and your arm draped over his chest. Andrew wrapped a tentative arm around your shoulders but when you took hold of his other arm to encourage him to hold onto you, he relaxed more and touched you with more conviction. His arm pulled you closer to him as he turned his head to nuzzle his face into your hair.
"Goodnight Andrew." You sighed contently, your whole body melting under his touch. With Andrews warm body and gentle breath providing you with a feeling of safety, you began to drift back to sleep very fast.
So fast you weren't sure if the kiss Andrew pressed to the top of your head was real or a dream.
taglist below the cut
MY BABY BOY
Suggestive :p
John won’t go to the club with you. But he will drag you to his old man bar.
It’s the type that has street signs and car parts stuck to the wall. They don’t have any of the nicely flavored liquor you like, but the drinks are half price on Thursdays…and there’s pool tables.
Which. Wouldn’t matter. You’ve never been known to play pool, frankly you don’t know how to. But that’s kind of part of the appeal…because now John wants to teach you.
So, he drags you to his old man bar where you’re the only thing that’s not aged, and buys you your drink of choice (though, without the fun flavor you like), gets himself a whiskey, and then drags you to the pool tables.
Then, when you absolutely whiff your first shot, he comes up behind you, pressing his whole front into your back, and caresses down your arms to place your hands properly. He slides the stick back and forth to show you how it should glide through your hands, and you try to ignore the image that creates.
Once you’re both griping the pool stick properly, he bends you over the table, pushing you against it with his hips, and bring his head around to your ear to whisper about aim. And you pretend like you’re listening, but all you really catch is a whispered “juuuust like that, sweetheart.” His breath is hot against your neck, and it makes goosebumps shoot up.
When he finally takes the shot, he jerks forward with the force, jolting himself into you and squishing your hips harder against the table. The force makes a small noise leave you, but he doesn’t acknowledge it, just gives you a peck to your neck and a “perfect, baby.”
And then he’ll pull back like nothing happened, like you’re not sweating and feeling the effects of that in…other places. And the rest of the bar will look at him like he’s a perv…which he is, but you like him like that.
So yeah…no clubs for John.
GIGGLING AND KICKING MY FEET