#cherryfics

[shotasfavesimp]

𝓟𝓾𝓹𝓹𝔂 𝓫𝓸𝔂

Summary: You love treating Sam like a lost puppy, especially after a hunt. In a motel room, he snaps and takes control, but crumbles inside you, crying, begging for praise, and asking if he’s doing a good job.

warnings: Sam Winchester x fem!Reader (Reader is named Bambi'I hate the Y/n thingy, just know it's you' ), Season 1-2 vibes, Bratty!Black Cat!Reader x Whiny!Golden Retriever! Sam, Crying during sex (male tears), Praise Kink, Size Kink, Desperation, Emotional hurt/comfort, Rough sex turned soft, Begging, Dean Winchester is a judgmental brother, Overstimulation, Hair pulling, Aftercare, Clingy!Sam, Slight OOC

The hunt in Ardmore, Oklahoma had been a nightmare from start to finish. A nest of vamps that turned out to be twice the size they’d anticipated, a sewage system backup that left everyone smelling like rot and sulfur, and a missed night of sleep that was currently pushing forty hours.

But the worst part, at least for Sam, wasn’t the physical exhaustion or the throbbing cut above his eyebrow. It was you.

You were in a mood. A specifically sharp-tongued, nails-out, 'don't touch me unless I say so' mood. You were currently sitting across from him in a booth at a 24-hour diner, picking listlessly at a waffle that had seen better days, radiating an energy that dared the world to test you.

Sam sat opposite you, hunched over his plate because the booth was too small for his frame. He looked like a giant, guilty secret trying to hide behind a coffee mug. His shaggy brown hair—still damp from a quick gas station shower-wipe—fell in curtains around his face, shielding his eyes. Every time he shifted, his leather jacket creaked, and every time he looked up at you, you rolled your eyes or sighed dramatically.

"Can you pass the sugar?" Sam asked softly. His voice was raspy, rough from smoke inhalation during the fight.

You didn't look up. You just pushed the sugar shaker across the table with a little too much force. It tipped over, spilling granules onto the Formica.

"Oops," you said, voice flat. "Clean it up, Sam."

Dean, sitting on the edge of the booth next to you, paused with a forkful of eggs halfway to his mouth. He looked at the spilled sugar, then at Sam’s trembling hand as he reached for a napkin, and finally at your bored expression.

"Okay," Dean said, dropping his fork. "What the hell is going on? We just ganked six bloodsuckers, we’re alive, we’re eating. Why are you acting like Sam kicked your puppy?"

You snorted, finally looking up. "Sam couldn't kick a puppy, Dean. He'd probably adopt it and cry when it got a flea."

Sam’s jaw tightened. He cleaned up the sugar, his movements precise and controlled, trying to keep his composure. "I'm just tired, Bambi. I didn't mean to... be in the way."

"See?" Dean pointed a bacon strip at his brother. "That. That right there. You’re apologizing for existing. It’s depressing, man. Grow a spine."

Sam flinched like he’d been slapped. He ducked his head further, his shoulders curling inward. It was a defense mechanism, one he’d used his whole life. Make himself small. Make himself invisible.

"It's fine," you snapped at Dean, though your eyes were fixed on Sam. "He likes it when I'm mean to him. Don't you, Sam?"

The question hung in the greasy air, heavy and charged.

Sam didn't answer. He just gripped his coffee cup until his knuckles turned white. But you saw the flush creeping up his neck—the very same reaction he had when he was turned on, or ashamed, or both.

Dean let out a groan of disgust. "I’m done. I can’t listen to this freaky foreplay." He shoved the last of his eggs into his mouth and stood up, throwing a few crumpled bills on the table. "I’m gonna crash in the Impala. I need silence and beauty sleep. You two get a room. And seriously, Sam? If she tells you to sit, maybe just... don't."

Dean walked out, the bell above the door jingling cheerfully as he left.

Silence settled over the booth. You looked at Sam. Sam looked at his coffee cup.

"We should go," Sam mumbled. "Dean has the keys."

"He'll be asleep in five minutes," you said, your voice dropping to a low, dangerous purr. "We can get a room here."

Sam finally looked up. His eyes were wide, wet, and bloodshot. He looked wrecked. "Bambi, please. I'm so tired. Can we just... not tonight? I can't take the teasing right now."

You tilted your head, studying him. He looked so pathetic. So beautiful. The cut on his eyebrow was stark against his pale skin. He was vibrating with anxiety, desperate for comfort but terrified to ask for it.

"Who says 𝓘'𝓶 𝓽𝓮𝓪𝓼𝓲𝓷𝓰?" you asked.

Sam let out a shuddering breath. "Because that's what you do. You poke and you prod and you make me feel like an idiot until I snap. And I don't want to snap. I just want to sleep."

"You want to sleep?" You stood up, grabbing your jacket. "Fine. Let's go."

Getting a room took ten minutes. The walk to the room took thirty seconds. The moment the door clicked shut, Sam dropped his duffel bag and sank onto the edge of the bed, burying his face in his hands.

"I'm sorry," he whispered into his palms. "I'm sorry I'm so boring."

You stood by the door, watching him. The room was dim, lit only by the buzzing neon sign from the parking lot outside. It cast long, red shadows across the cheap floral bedding.

You walked over to him, stepping between his knees. He didn't look up. You could feel the heat radiating off his body. He was massive, taking up so much space, yet he was trying to make himself disappear.

"Look at me, Sam."

He hesitated, then slowly lowered his hands. His eyes were shimmering with unshed tears. It broke your heart, just a little, but it also lit a fire in your belly. He was so open, so raw.

"I'm not boring, Sam," you said softly, running a hand through his hair. It was silky and damp. "I'm just... bored."

"I know," he choked out. "I know. I'm sorry."

"I think you need to stop apologizing," you said, your grip tightening in his hair, tilting his head back. "And I think you need to give me what I want."

Sam swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing in his throat. "What do you want?"

"I want you to stop acting like a kicked puppy and start acting like the man who killed six vampires tonight."

He let out a wet, broken laugh. "I don't feel like him. I feel like a mess. Bambi, please, I just... I need you. I need you so bad it hurts."

He wrapped his arms around your waist, burying his face in your stomach. He held on like you were a life raft in a storm. You could feel him trembling against you.

"I know," you murmured, rubbing the back of his neck. "I know you do."

"I try to be good," he whimpered into your shirt. "I try so hard. Why is it never enough?"

"It is enough," you said. "You're enough. But you're also annoying when you mope."

You pushed him back, just a little. He looked up at you, panicked, thinking you were rejecting him. But you just grabbed the hem of your shirt and pulled it over your head, tossing it aside.

Sam froze. His eyes darted across your skin, drinking you in. "Bambi..."

"Take your clothes off, Sam."

He scrambled to obey. His hands were shaking so badly he couldn't get his jacket off. You sighed, stepping forward to help him, shrugging the leather off his shoulders. You undid the buttons of his flannel shirt, pushing it open, revealing the tight white t-shirt underneath, straining against his muscles.

"Off," you commanded.

He pulled the t-shirt over his head. His chest was heaving, his skin flushed. You ran a hand down his chest, tracing the lines of his abs. He shivered, his eyes fluttering shut.

"Look at me," you said again.

He opened his eyes. They were dark, dilated, filled with a desperate kind of hunger.

"You're going to fuck me now, Sam," you told him. "And you're not going to be gentle. You're not going to ask if it hurts. You're going to take what you need, and you're going to make sure I feel it tomorrow."

Sam let out a sound that was half-sob, half-growl. "I can't. I'll hurt you. I'm too—"

"You're perfect," you cut him off, grabbing his face with both hands. "And if I say stop, you stop. But until then? You stop being a puppy, and you be a wolf."

Something in him snapped.

It wasn't a clean break. It was messy, jagged, and filled with emotion. He surged up, capturing your mouth in a kiss that was more teeth than lips. It was bruising, desperate, hungry. He kissed you like he was starving, like he was trying to consume you whole.

He stood up, forcing you backward until your back hit the wall. He kicked his jeans and boxers off in one clumsy, desperate motion. He was naked now, towering over you, all hard muscle and frantic energy.

"𝓢𝓪𝓶," you gasped as he lifted you up, wrapping your legs around his waist.

"I got you," he mumbled against your neck. "I got you, I got you."

He carried you to the bed, dropping you onto the mattress. He didn't give you a moment to breathe. He crawled on top of you, his weight heavy and grounding. He tore your pants and underwear down your legs, tossing them carelessly onto the floor.

He hovered over you, his hair falling into his eyes. He looked terrified.

"Bambi," he whispered, his voice cracking. "Bambi, I'm scared."

"It's okay," you said, reaching up to touch his face. "It's just me."

"I don't want to disappoint you," he said, a single tear spilling over and tracking down his cheek. "I want to be good for you. I want to be so good."

"You are," you assured him. "Now, Sam. Please."

He didn't need any more encouragement. He lined himself up and thrust into you, hard and deep.

You cried out, your back arching off the bed. He was huge, and the sudden stretch burned. But he didn't stop. He set a rhythm that was punishing, fast and deep. The bed frame slammed against the wall with a rhythmic thud that echoed through the room.

"Is this okay?" he choked out, his eyes squeezed shut. "Tell me it's okay. Please."

"Yes," you moaned, digging your nails into his shoulders. "Yes, Sam, god—"

"I love you," he sobbed, fucking into you with a desperation that bordered on violence. "I love you so much. It hurts. It hurts how much I love you."

He was crying freely now, tears streaming down his face and dripping onto your chest. It was overwhelming—the sight of this powerful warrior breaking apart over you, trembling and weeping as he took you.

"Look at me," you demanded.

He opened his eyes. They were red-rimmed and swimming with tears. He looked so vulnerable it made your chest ache.

"You're doing so good," you told him, your voice breathless. "You're fucking me so good, Sammy."

"Yeah?" he whimpered, his hips snapping forward, driving deeper into you. "You like it? You like me?"

"I love it. I love you. You're mine, Sam. All mine."

"Yours," he agreed, burying his face in your neck again. He was panting, his breath hot against your skin. "I'm yours. I'm your good boy."

He slowed down, grinding his hips into yours, hitting that spot inside you that made your vision white out. He wasn't rushing anymore. He was savoring it, clinging to you like he was afraid you'd disappear.

"Am I doing a good job?" he whispered against your ear. "Am I making you feel good? Please say yes."

You ran your fingers through his damp hair, holding him close. "The best job, baby. The best job."

He let out a shuddering sob of relief. "Thank you. Thank you."

He started moving again, faster this time, chasing his release. He was lost in it, completely undone. He was a mess of contradictions—strong enough to crush you, but breaking apart in your arms. Dominant enough to take what he wanted, but submissive enough to beg for permission to have it.

"Come on, Sam," you urged him, feeling your own climax building. "Come for me. Be a good boy and come for me."

With a broken cry, he buried himself to the hilt and came undone. His whole body shook violently, his muscles locking up as he spilled into you. He collapsed on top of you, his full weight pinning you to the mattress, sobbing into your shoulder.

You held him while he shook, stroking his back, whispering soothing nonsense into his hair. He cried for a long time, letting out all the stress, the fear, the exhaustion of the hunt. He cried until he was empty, until there was nothing left but the steady rise and fall of his chest against yours.

Eventually, he rolled off you, pulling you into his arms. He tucked you under his chin, wrapping his long limbs around you like a cocoon. He was still sniffling, his eyes swollen and red.

"I'm sorry," he whispered into the dark. "I'm sorry I cried."

"Don't be stupid," you mumbled, sleep already pulling at you. "I like it when you cry."

He let out a weak, huff of laughter. "You're weird."

"And you're a giant, emotionally unstable puppy," you replied. "Now go to sleep."

"Okay," he sighed, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. "Goodnight, Bambi."

The next evening, the three of you were at a bar on the edge of town.

The air was thick with smoke and the smell of cheap beer. A pool game was in full swing in the corner, and the jukebox was playing something classic and loud.

Dean was in his element. He was leaning against the bar, flirting with the bartender, a cocky grin plastered on his face. He looked clean, rested, and entirely too pleased with himself.

You were perched on a barstool, sipping a gin and tonic, feeling pleasantly sore.

Sam was standing behind you. He hadn't left your side since you woke up. He was wearing a fresh t-shirt and his leather jacket, his hair still slightly damp from the shower. He looked better—less haunted—but his energy was different. He was clingy.

He was standing with his chest pressed against your back, his chin resting on your shoulder. Every time you shifted, he followed you, maintaining contact like he was physically glued to you.

Dean wandered over, two fresh beers in hand. He looked at the two of you and raised an eyebrow.

"You know," Dean said, setting a beer down on the coaster. "Most people go to a bar to, you know, socialize. Mingle. Not act like a sentient backpack."

Sam ignored him. He just nuzzled his face into the crook of your neck, inhaling your scent. He was being subtle about it, or at least he thought he was. But to anyone watching, it looked like a six-foot-four giant trying to hide inside a five-foot-six woman.

"Sammy, you alive in there?" Dean poked Sam’s arm.

Sam grunted, but didn't pull away. He wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you tighter against him. He rested his forehead on your shoulder, his eyes closing.

"He's tired," you said, resting your hand on top of Sam’s where it interlocked over your stomach.

"He's always tired," Dean scoffed. "But this is new. He's usually brooding in the corner by himself. Now he's fused to your hip."

Sam lifted his head slightly, just enough to be heard. "She smells good."

Dean choked on his beer. "Okay. That was TMI. I'm going to go play pool. Before I vomit."

Dean walked away, shaking his head.

You turned slightly in Sam’s arms. He looked down at you, his eyes soft and warm. The vulnerability from the night before was still there, but it was quieter now. Muted.

"You okay?" you asked, brushing a strand of hair away from his face.

He nodded, leaning into your touch. "Yeah. Just... still processing."

"You liked it," you stated, a smirk playing on your lips.

Sam blushed, looking down at his boots. "Yeah. I... I really liked it."

"You liked crying?"

He looked up, his gaze intense. "I liked letting go. I liked... you taking control, but also... I liked feeling like I could... I don't know... take care of you, too."

"You did take care of me, Sam," you said softly. "You did a really good job."

A small, shy smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "Yeah?"

"Yeah." You leaned up and kissed him, a soft, lingering kiss. When you pulled away, he looked dazed.

"Can we stay like this for a while?" he asked, his voice dropping to that low, whiny register that made your stomach flip. "Just... like this? I don't want to let go."

"You're such a puppy," you sighed, but you leaned back against his chest, settling into his warmth.

"I know," he murmured, burying his face in your hair. "𝓘'𝓶 𝔂𝓸𝓾𝓻 𝓹𝓾𝓹𝓹𝔂"

"And don't you forget it."

He tightened his arms around you, burying his nose in the curve of your neck, completely blocking out the bar, the noise, and Dean. For the moment, it was just the two of you the bratty black cat and her devoted, oversized, slightly traumatized dog. And somehow, it was exactly what you both needed.

A/N: I honestly feel like I made Sam A little OOC, but I was really trying to make him submissive cause if yk, he's more dominant in later seasons, which is why I chose seasons 1-2 I tried to proofread it idk how that went but I HOPE YOU ENJOY!! I also made the banner thingy heh

[shotasfavesimp]

Summary: Failing Bio 101 leads you to the university’s most reclusive nerd, Gojo Satoru. You expect an easy target to manipulate. You find a monster with a taste for control. Now, you’re passing his class, but you’re failing to resist your addiction to him.

cw: explicit smut (x2), rough sex, breath play/choking, fingering, edging, degradation, dumbification, power dynamics, college au, black reader (bambi), obsessive behavior.

A/N : "Please don't use my work for Ai chat bots i you do credit me. This was heavily inspired by an author on here. I can not remember her, but it's inspired, and I love her work now. ENJOY!! MWHA

The reflection in the hallway mirror was flawless. You adjusted the leopard print halter top, smoothing the fabric over your chest and admiring the way it hugged your curves. Your wide-leg pants were slung low on your hips, giving you that breezy, effortless look, and your curls were bouncing perfectly around your shoulders.

You snapped a selfie, pouting your glossed lips. Caption: Science is hard. Send help. 😩

It wasn’t a joke. You were currently drowning in Biology 101. The syllabus might as well have been written in hieroglyphics. Your GPA was tanking, and if you didn't pull it up, your dad was going to cut off your credit card. Tragedy.

Professor Geto 'Hint, hint, new drop?' had called you into his office that morning. He hadn’t even yelled. He just looked at you with those tired, golden-brown eyes and sighed. "Bambi, you have a 58%. You cannot fail this class again. I’ve assigned you a peer tutor. He’s the best student I have. He’s waiting for you in the library now. Don’t be late."

So, here you were. You clicked your way into the library, heels tapping softly on the linoleum, heading toward the study carrels in the back.

You spotted him immediately. How could you not? He was a mess of white hair and oversized knitwear, surrounded by a fortress of thick textbooks. He looked like a stereotypical nerd—thick-rimmed black glasses, a sweater vest that looked two sizes too big, and a posture that screamed ‘I have a back problem from hunching over books.’

He was typing furiously on a laptop, his long, pale fingers flying across the keys.

You sauntered over, putting a little extra sway in your hips. Time to turn on the charm.

"Gojo?" you chirped, leaning against the table and popping your hip out.

He stopped typing. He didn’t look up immediately. He finished the sentence, saved his work, and then slowly turned his head to look at you. His eyes were piercing blue, even through the glare of his lenses.

"Bambi?" he asked. His voice was deep, smoother than you expected, but totally flat.

"The one and only," you giggled, dropping into the chair across from him. You made a show of getting comfortable, crossing your legs and leaning forward so your chest was eye-level with him. "Professor Geto said we could save my GPA?"

Gojo looked at you. He looked at your top, then at your face, then back down at his textbook. "Bio 101 is foundational. If you don’t understand cellular respiration by Friday, you’re going to fail the midterm. Which is in three days."

He sounded like a robot. You stifled a sigh. This was going to be boring. You needed to spice it up.

"Cellular respiration sounds… exhausting," you pouted, sticking your lower lip out. You reached across the table, letting your manicured fingers graze his hand. "I’m better at other things. Maybe we could study… anatomy?"

You winked. It was your signature move. It usually made guys melt.

Gojo didn’t melt. He didn’t even blush. He just stared at your hand on his, an expression of mild annoyance crossing his face. He pulled his hand away and adjusted his glasses.

"I don’t have time for games," he said, opening his book. "Open your notebook. We’re starting at chapter four."

You sat back, stunned. Rude. Okay, so he was shy. He was playing hard to get. That was fine. You loved a challenge.

You spent the next hour listening to him explain mitochondria with an intensity that was actually kind of scary. He didn’t stutter. He didn’t look at your body. He just talked at you. But every time you shifted in your chair, or sighed dramatically, or let your hand "accidentally" brush against his knee, you saw his jaw clench. He noticed you. He was just hiding it.

the nerd snaps

By the time the library started to close, your brain was fried. You had learned nothing, but you had determined that Gojo Satoru was insanely repressed. No one was that uptight without needing a serious release.

"Pleeeease," you whined as he started packing up his bag. "I’m still so confused. Can’t we go back to my dorm? It’s way quieter there. We can… get comfortable."

Gojo zipped his backpack up with a sharp zzzip. He stood up, towering over you. He was lanky, but he was actually tall. You had to crane your neck to look at him.

"Fine," he said abruptly.

You blinked. "Really?"

"If you want to fail in private instead of in public, be my guest," he said, shouldering his bag. "Lead the way."

You smirked. Got him.

The walk to the dorms was short. You kept glancing back at him, swinging your hips. He was walking right behind you, close enough that you could feel his body heat, but he wasn't touching you. He was quiet. Too quiet.

When you unlocked your door and stepped inside, you turned around, ready to push him against the wall and show him a good time.

The door clicked shut.

And the atmosphere in the room changed instantly.

Gojo didn't let you make the first move. He stepped forward, closing the small space between you in one stride. He kicked the door shut behind him, the lock engaging with a heavy thud that made your heart jump.

"You think you're so cute, don't you?" he asked.

His voice was different. It wasn't flat anymore. It was low, vibrating in his chest, and dripping with something that made your knees weak. Intimidation.

"I—what?" you stammered, your confident facade cracking slightly.

Gojo reached up and took his glasses off, folding them and shoving them into his pocket. Without them, his eyes were even more intense. They were dark, locked onto yours with a predatory focus.

"You think just because you dress like a doll and bat your eyelashes, everyone falls at your feet," he murmured, stepping closer. He backed you up until your back hit the wall. "You think I’m some socially awkward virgin you can use to get a passing grade."

"I didn't say that," you breathed, your pulse racing. This wasn't going how you planned. He was too big, too close. He smelled like expensive cologne and old books.

"You didn't have to say it," he smirked, but it wasn't a nice smile. It was cruel. He brought a hand up, placing it on the wall beside your head, caging you in. "I’ve watched you in class, Bambi. Sitting in the back, scrolling on your phone, giggling with your friends. You’re a spoiled brat who’s never had to work for anything."

He leaned down, his face inches from yours. "So I’m going to teach you a lesson. If we’re going to study biology, let's study response."

Before you could process his words, his hand was on your throat.

Your eyes went wide, a gasp caught in your throat as his fingers wrapped around your neck firmly. He didn't squeeze hard, just enough to pin you there, to claim you. You reached up to grab his wrist, but he didn't budge.

"You want to play?" he growled. "Let's play."

He pulled you away from the wall and spun you around, marching you toward your bed. When your knees hit the mattress, he pushed you down. You fell back, bouncing slightly on the mattress, looking up at him with wide eyes.

Gojo didn't hesitate. He climbed on top of you, his knees spreading your legs apart roughly. He was heavy, pinning you down with his weight.

"Gojo, wait—" you started, your voice shaky.

"Shh," he hushed you, his hand returning to your throat. He squeezed again, harder this time, cutting off your words and your airflow at the same time. "You talk too much. Always talking, never thinking. Let's see if you can shut up and take it."

He leaned down and kissed you. It wasn't sweet. It was aggressive, his teeth clashing against yours, his tongue forcing its way into your mouth. You moaned against him, your hands instinctively going to his shoulders, trying to push him away—or pull him closer, you weren't sure anymore.

He broke the kiss, panting, his eyes roaming over your face. Your heart was hammering in your chest. You were scared, but god, you were thrumming with an energy you’d never felt before. The guys you usually hooked up with were soft. They worshiped you. They asked for permission.

Gojo was taking. And it was intoxicating.

He reached down with his free hand and grabbed the fabric of your leopard print top, yanking it down with zero regard for the material. He exposed your breasts, his gaze darkening as he looked at you.

"Look at you," he said, his thumb stroking your pulse point on your neck. "Dressed like a slut, acting like a tease. You want to be treated like one?"

"Yes," you whispered, the word slipping out before you could stop it.

His eyes flashed. "Louder."

"Yes," you gasped, his grip tightening on your throat for a split second, sending a rush of lightheadedness through you. "Please."

"Good girl."

The words hit you like a physical blow. He didn't say them nicely; he said them like he was rewarding a pet. He shifted his hips, grinding his jeans against your soft leggings. You could feel how hard he was through the denim, and you gasped at the size of him.

He laughed, a dark, arrogant sound. "You didn't expect that, did you? You thought I'd be grateful just to touch you."

He grabbed your wrists, yanking them above your head and pinning them there with one hand while his other hand stayed on your throat, choking you just enough to make you dizzy.

"I don't like easy things, Bambi," he whispered against your ear, his teeth grazing your earlobe. "I like breaking them."

He didn't wait for you to adjust. He moved with a precision and roughness that left you breathless. He handled you like a doll, flipping you over, pulling your hair, gripping your hips so hard you knew there would be bruises tomorrow. He degraded you with every thrust, every squeeze of his hand, telling you how dumb you were, how useless you were, how the only thing you were good for was taking what he gave you.

And the worst part? The part that terrified you the most?

You loved it. You were moaning his name, begging him for more, your body arching into his rough touch. Your brain turned off completely. There was no biology, no grades, no worrying about your next Instagram post. There was only the hand on your throat, the sting of his grip, and the overwhelming pleasure of being completely dominated.

When he finally entered you, he didn't use a condom at first—you were too dazed to ask, and he seemed too crazed to care. He just spit in his hand, slicked himself up, and drove into you.

The stretch was painful, but it burned so good. He set a brutal pace, the headboard slamming against the wall.

"Is this what you wanted?" he snarled in your ear, his hips snapping against yours. "You wanted to play with the nerd? Now you're getting fucked by one."

"Yes! Yes, Satoru, harder!" you screamed, not caring who heard.

He wrapped a hand around your hair, pulling your head back, choking you with the other. Your vision started to spot. The lack of oxygen combined with the brutal stimulation made your orgasm hit you like a freight train. You convulsed under him, your pussy clamping down on him so hard he groaned.

He didn't stop. He fucked you through it, chasing his own high. "Take it. Take all of it. You're nothing but a hole for me, Bambi. Say it."

"I'm just a hole! I'm your hole!" you sobbed, tears streaming down your face.

"Good girl."

He pulled out at the last second, stripping himself and finishing all over your ass and your back, marking you as his territory. He collapsed on top of you for a second, his heavy breaths fanning your neck, before he rolled off and stood up.

You lay there, wrecked, unable to move.

Two weeks later, the dynamic had shifted.

You were actually passing Bio 101. You had a solid B. Professor Geto had been shocked when you’d handed in your lab report, correctly identifying every stage of meiosis. You didn't tell him that the reason you knew the difference was that Gojo made you recite it while he had three fingers inside you.

But Gojo was getting stricter.

You were addicted now. It was a problem. You craved the roughness, the way he handled you like you weighed nothing. The vanilla sex you’d had before him felt like nothing. You needed the sting. You needed the degradation.

However, Gojo was withholding the main event.

The study sessions had moved to a private room in the library. You were sitting on the table, your legs spread wide, your skirt hiked up around your waist. Gojo was sitting in a chair between your legs, fully clothed, calmly reading a textbook while his fingers moved inside you.

"Focus, Bambi," he murmured, not looking up from the page. "What is the function of the Golgi apparatus?"

"I… fuck…" You gasped, your head falling back as he curled his fingers, brushing against that spot that made your toes curl. "It… it packages proteins!"

"Correct." He added a third finger, stretching you. You moaned loudly, your hips bucking against his hand.

He stopped moving instantly.

"Ah, ah," he tsked. "Stay still. Did I say you could move?"

"No," you whined, tears of frustration pricking your eyes. "Please, Satoru. I want you. I want your cock."

He finally looked up, pushing his glasses up his nose. His expression was cool, unimpressed. "You want a reward? For what? You have a B minus. You’re barely average."

He started pumping his fingers again, agonizingly slow. It was torture. You were so wet, dripping down his wrist, but he refused to give you the friction or the stretch you needed. He was edging you, keeping you right on the precipice.

"Dumb girls don't get dick," he lectured, his voice maddeningly steady. "Dumb girls get fingers. Maybe, if you get an A on the midterm, I’ll let you suck it."

"Please," you sobbed, your pussy clenching around him. "I’ll study harder. I’ll be a good girl."

"Prove it," he said. "Tell me about osmosis. And if you stop, I stop."

He pressed his thumb against your clit, rubbing it in tight, harsh circles. You saw stars.

"Osmosis is… the movement of water… molecules!" you cried out, your voice breaking. "From high concentration to low… through a semi-permeable membrane! Oh god, don't stop!"

"Good," he said, a cruel smirk playing on his lips. "You can be taught."

He increased the speed of his fingers, fucking you hard with his hand now. The wet, squelching sounds were obscene in the quiet library. You were so close.

"Satoru, I'm gonna cum!"

"Ask permission," he commanded sharply.

"Please! Can I cum? Please let me cum!"

"No."

He pulled his fingers out completely.

You cried out, a broken, desperate sound, your hips bucking into empty air. You were so close, trembling, throbbing. It was the cruelest thing he had ever done to you.

"Not today," he said, wiping his hand on a tissue like he was cleaning up a spill. "You hesitated on the last question. We try again tomorrow."

He stood up, adjusted his sweater vest, and left you sitting on the table, legs spread, aching and empty.

The week after that, you were insatiable.

Every time you saw him, you were all over him. Draping yourself over his back in the hallway, sitting too close at lunch, sending him explicit texts between classes. “Please, I need it.” “I miss your cock.” “I’ll be good, I swear.”

But he was cold. Distant. He told you he was busy with midterms for his own major. He told you to focus on your own classes.

Friday came. You were waiting in the usual spot, the hallway outside the science labs. You were wearing a new outfit, a tiny pink skirt and a cropped white sweater, your hair done in braids that fell down your back. You looked perfect. You looked fuckable.

And Gojo didn't show.

Five minutes passed. Ten. Twenty.

You checked your phone. No texts. No calls.

You waited for thirty minutes, shifting from foot to foot, feeling a familiar, desperate ache building between your legs. It wasn't just horniness anymore; it was a need. You needed him to degrade you. You needed him to tell you what to do. You felt empty without his rough handling.

People walked by, staring at the pretty girl standing alone, looking increasingly distressed.

You felt sick without him. It was like a drug withdrawal. Your hands were shaking, your skin felt too tight. You missed the way he smelled, the way his hands felt around your neck. You missed feeling small.

Finally, you couldn't hold it in. You slumped down against the wall, right next to the "KEYS" sign, pulling your knees to your chest.

It was pathetic. You felt like a lost puppy. No, worse. You felt like a dog waiting for its master to come home and feed it.

A group of guys walked past, whispering and looking at you. You didn't even care. You just stared at the door, waiting for that shock of white hair.

You let out a loud, high-pitched whine, not caring who heard. "Satoruuuu…"

It was a pitiful sound, raw and needy. You buried your face in your knees, inhaling your perfume, wishing it was his smell. You were going crazy. Your B in Biology didn't mean anything if you didn't have him there to force you to earn it.

You felt your phone buzz in your lap.

You snatched it up, your heart hammering so hard you thought it might burst. It was a text from Gojo.

Busy. Study without me. Don't touch yourself.

You stared at the screen, reading the words over and over. He wasn't coming. And he knew exactly what you were doing right now.

You whined again, louder this time, a sound of pure frustration. You threw your head back against the wall, tears leaking out of the corners of your eyes. You were addicted. Totally and completely addicted to the nerd with the rough hands, and you had a feeling he wasn't done breaking you yet.

A/N: ik i usually add more pink highlights everywhere but i am tired chat so I didn't add much. ENJOY THIS LOVE YA MWHA

[shotasfavesimp]

Scandalous

Unhappyhubby!NanamiKento x Black!reader

a/n : Honestly don't see this man cheating but likee for the plot okay MINORS DNI 18+

c/w : mentions of cheating | cheating smut minor DNI | smut | age gap '8 years your 20' | spanking | Rough Nanami | Nanami being his fine ass self

summary : You have lived in this neighborhood boring, most fun in here is when it's fourth of July, Your new neighbor was Nanami Kento a rugged, business man and his wife who clearly married for money, She was everything. Let's see how this goes - |

You we're sitting in your living room couch watching Abbott elementary as you heard a car pull into the driveway near your house, you got up walking over to your window with you fluffy blanket dragging on the floor as you peep out the window. It a man and woman one woman who just looked like a sugar baby next to the man a 6ft of muscle and stress from work and probably her, nice shaped jawline sharp could cut something on it, a pushed back hair style as he rubbed the bridge of her nose 'Rec song My all - Mariah Carey '

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The woman was complaining about them moving ' WHY ARE HERE THIS TOWN IS SOO NOT WHAT YOU SAID THEY Probably don't even have a CLUB!!' She screamed at the man as he just kept picking up the boxes unpacking them in the house he looked so tired of the bullshit.

You weren't a whore anything at least not in practice, He looked so tired and he was just your type, You could treat him sooo much better listen to every command be a good girl for him. SHIT! you we're soaked just from the thought of him calling you good girl while your arched down for him. Would his type even be black girls (Girl hesure is)

you wasn't ugly you had everything, Lowish siren- doe eyes the perfect fully lips usual black lip liner pink lip-gloss combo, Not hourglass shaped but pear-shaped perfectly the nice ass that everyone wanted either way it slamming against their pelvis or going to a surgeon to get it. you had these stretch marks you hated just a bit.

You moved away from your window and went upstairs throwing something on 'A tight fit yellow maxi sundress with some white sandal's it was hot outside you didn't have fuckass cookies but you had red wine. Walking outside mental cussing as you walked over his wife was still bitching if on you could curb stomp her to shut up right now.

You walked over he was taller up closer now you weren't short you we're 5'6 but he was fucking tall. ' Hi!! I'm your new neighbor I just wanted to come say Hi I don't have any cookies but I have wine' you luagh nervously, the woman finally stops talking looking at you ' it's okay I myself don't keep cookies in my house my wife does at time'

you look at her thinking | We can tell. . | you smile handing him the wine bottle your hands touch veins popping god everything on him seemed stressed. The way you wanted to drag him in his house and suck his soul out those pretty balls make his whole body tense than relax.

' Call me bambi ' your wicked smile spreads across your face wasn't one for cheating but he may have needed help saving from this woman and you'd help if it meant being with him. He was clearing checking you out the way the dress held you so tight the upper part of your puffy pussy printing out just a bit from the dress. 'Okay call me nanami, bambi' Your name on his tongue sounded to good rolling off just a bit like the way you wanted his tongue to role against your folds.

You stayed on that porch a little longer than necessary.

He did too.

His wife’s voice carried faintly from inside the house, still sharp, still nagging, but he didn’t turn back right away. Not when you were standing there looking like that, sunlight catching against your skin, that dress hugging you in all the right ways.

“Nanami,” you repeated, softer this time, like you were testing how it felt.

His eyes flicked back to yours, something heavier settling behind them now. Not just stress. Not just exhaustion.

Interest.

“You always this friendly with strangers?” he asked, voice low, almost amused but there was something else under it.

You tilted your head, smiling just enough. “Only the ones that look like they need it.”

That made him pause.

And for a second just a second you saw it.

The crack. He folded under the tension between you. You smiled, turning back around to walk back to your house waving as you walked right up to your door before turning back at him with a soft smile before stepping inside your house he watched you ever walk of the way.

TIME SKIPPP!!

Soon, you would realize why Nanami looked so tired. All that bitch did was whine and moan, not the good kind, always complaining when he didn't get her a new Birkin or when he was working and couldn't do jack shit. You never knew your walls was so thin till she came.

It was hella late Sunday, and you were in your living room watching baddies. You had been on your feet all day, just got a silk press, nails done, everything, and you paid for Zeus for a reason. There was a knock on your door as you placed your glass of wine down, walking to the door,

You opened the door, feigning surprise, but you both knew better.

Nanami stood there, looking like he'd just walked out of a war zone his eyes red and exhausted, his tie hanging loose like it was the last thing on his mind. He looked like he’d been running on fumes, like he’d been keeping himself together only long enough to make it to your door. It was a mess of need and exhaustion. The way he stood, barely holding himself upright, told you everything.

The moment you opened the door, the air shifted. That silent pull between you two was undeniable.

"Nanami?" Your voice was soft, almost teasing, but you knew how it hit him. You felt the way he shifted under the weight of it. He looked at you like you were his last breath.

His voice was hoarse when he spoke, barely a whisper. “Can I come in?”

You took a slow step back, the door creaking slightly as you let him in. He didn’t wait for further permission, stepping past you like he was drawn to you by something deeper than mere courtesy. You closed the door behind him, the click of the lock echoing louder than it should’ve in the quiet space between you two.

He stood there in your foyer for a moment, like he wasn’t sure if he should move or say something, but the tension in the room was thick, like a storm about to break. You could feel the pull between you—the way his eyes couldn’t quite leave your body, the way his breath hitched when he took you in.

You noticed everything in that moment, the way his fingers tightened around his jacket sleeves, the way his chest rose and fell unevenly. He was trying to keep control, but you could see it slipping.

You didn’t speak at first. You just studied him, letting the silence drag on. It was almost cruel how much you enjoyed seeing him so... undone.

He finally broke the silence, his voice just above a whisper, the words heavy with something more than tiredness. “I... I just needed a moment to breathe.” But his eyes told you everything he didn’t say.

You stepped closer to him, your bare feet soundless on the hardwood floor, the space between you closing inch by inch. His gaze followed your every movement, like he couldn’t stop himself. His hands flexed, as if he were fighting the urge to reach out and touch you. But he didn’t. He couldn’t.

Not yet.

“Breathe, huh?” You smiled, and it wasn’t just any smile—it was slow, deliberate, like you knew exactly what kind of effect it had on him. “You look like you need a lot more than that.”

He swallowed hard, the motion barely noticeable, but you saw it—felt it. His pulse raced, visible beneath the strained collar of his shirt, like he was struggling to hold it together. The air between you both was thick with something you both knew was coming but refused to acknowledge.

You took another step forward, moving closer so that your bodies were just barely touching. He didn’t pull away. Instead, he seemed to lean into it, just a little, as if your presence was the only thing grounding him.

“I don’t know if wine’s gonna fix this,” you said softly, the words meant more for him than the room. Your hand brushed against his arm, barely grazing his skin, but it was enough. He flinched at the touch, just enough to send a wave of heat through you. You could feel the pulse of his body, the tension radiating off him.

He was trembling.

“Maybe I need... something else,” Nanami muttered, his voice barely audible now, the huskiness of it making your stomach tighten.

Your smile widened, a little wicked, a little too confident. “What exactly do you need, Nanami?” you asked, your voice dipping lower, coaxing him in a way you never thought you would.

His eyes locked onto yours, and for a split second, there was no hiding it. The hunger. The want.

It wasn’t just physical anymore. It was desperate.

You took one more step forward, until you were pressed against him. His breath hitched as your body met his. There was no mistaking the heat between you now, no denying the tension, the pull. You could feel the hardness of him against you—just enough to make it clear that he wanted this, wanted you. His chest rose and fell quickly, his hands hovering at his sides like he didn’t know whether to touch you or not.

But then, just as quickly as it had started, the hesitation returned. He stepped back slightly, but his eyes didn’t leave you. He was struggling with it, with what he wanted, and with what he shouldn’t want.

“Maybe... this isn’t a good idea,” he murmured, but the way his voice cracked it wasn’t convincing.

You leaned in closer, just enough that he could feel your breath against his ear, the soft caress of your lips brushing his skin as you whispered. “Do you want to keep pretending that this isn’t what you need, Nanami?”

You felt him shudder beneath you, like a wave crashing over him. His hands finally found your waist, fingers brushing the edge of your dress, like he was testing whether this was real. Whether this was really happening.

But neither of you were backing down.

Not now. Not when the air was so thick with need, with a tension that could only lead one way.

“Maybe I need something... more than just air,” Nanami admitted in a low growl, his lips just inches from yours.

The space between your lips was so close you could taste him, could feel how badly he wanted it. You barely resisted the urge to close that last gap.

“I think we both know exactly what you need,” you replied, your voice a low purr. “And I’m not about to let you leave until you get it.”

His hands kept exploring, gripping, claiming. You could feel how stressed he was, the way his fingers dug into the soft flesh of your hips like he was trying to release every bit of tension from his body through you.

"Fuck," he groaned against your neck, his breath hot and uneven. "You don't know how long I've."

He didn't finish. Just picked you up like you weighed nothing, your legs wrapping around his waist automatically. Those short shorts rode up your thighs as he pressed you against the nearest wall.

"Which way's the bedroom?" His voice was low, rough.

You pointed down the hall, barely able to think straight. He moved fast, carrying you with ease. Every step made you feel how strong he was.

He tossed you onto the bed, standing over you for a moment. His eyes raked over your body, the white tank top clinging to your skin, your nipples hard and visible through the thin fabric, those tiny shorts barely covering anything.

He loosened his tie with one hand, never breaking eye contact.

"Take the shorts off."

Your fingers hooked into the waistband, lifting your hips as you slid them down your thighs slowly. You watched his jaw tighten as more skin revealed itself, your smooth brown legs, the wet patch on your panties, the stretch marks on your hips catching the light.

"Good girl."

Those two words made your whole body shudder. You reached for your tank top but he grabbed your wrist.

"Leave it. Want to see your tits through it while I fuck you."

He climbed over you, one knee pressing between your thighs, spreading them open. His mouth found your neck again, sucking and biting down to your collarbone. His hand slid under your tank top, rough palm grazing over your nipple.

You arched into his touch, a moan slipping out.

"So sensitive," he murmured against your skin. "Bet she doesn't appreciate what you have to offer."

His fingers pinched your nipple, rolling it between them. You whimpered, your hips grinding up against nothing, desperate for friction.

"Please"

"Please what?" He pulled back just enough to look at you. His pupils were blown wide. "Tell me what you want, Bambi."

"You. Your mouth. Please."

His mouth curved into a dark smile at your desperation. He lowered himself down your body, pressing open-mouthed kisses down your stomach through the thin fabric of your tank top. His breath was hot through the cotton, making you squirm.

He hooked his fingers into the waistband of your panties, dragging them down your legs agonizingly slow. The cool air hit your soaked pussy, making you clench around nothing.

"Look at you," he breathed, staring at your glistening folds. "So wet already. All for me?"

"Yes," you gasped. "All for you, Nanami"

His tongue pressed flat against your clit and your words dissolved into a moan. He licked a long stripe through your folds, groaning at the taste of you. The vibration made your thighs shake.

"Fuck, you taste good," he muttered against you before diving back in.

His tongue was relentless, circling your clit, dipping inside you, sucking the sensitive bud into his mouth. Your hands flew to his hair, fingers tangling in those pushed-back strands, tugging hard.

He growled against you, the sound sending shockwaves through your body. His grip on your thighs tightened, pushing them farther apart so he could bury his face deeper.

You could already feel the coil tightening in your stomach. Your back arched off the bed, the white tank top riding up to expose the underside of your breasts.

"Nanami I'm close"

He didn't stop. If anything, he worked harder, his tongue moving faster, two fingers sliding inside you and curling upward.

"Cum on my face," he commanded against your slick folds. "Be a good girl and cum for me."

Your orgasm crashed over you, your whole body trembling as you pulled his hair tighter. He worked you through it, tongue slowing but not stopping, drawing out every last whimper.

When he finally pulled back, his chin was slick with you. He looked absolutely feral, hair messy from your grip, eyes dark, lips swollen.

"She doesn't do this for you, does she?" You breathed, still catching your breath.

His jaw tightened. "No."

You sat up slightly, reaching for his belt with shaky fingers. "She doesn't appreciate you. Doesn't take care of you like I will."

Something flashed in his eyes. He grabbed your wrists, pinning them above your head with one hand.

"You talk too much."

His free hand worked his belt and zipper. He shoved his pants down just enough, his cock springing free. He was thick, veins prominent, tip already leaking.

"Turn over."

You hesitated, heart pounding.

"Now, Bambi."

You flipped onto your stomach, the white tank top riding up your back. You felt exposed ass in the air, still dripping from his mouth.

His large hand came down hard on your right cheek.

Smack.

You cried out, the sting radiating through your body.

"Count," he ordered.

Smack.

"Two," your voice broke.

"Good girl."

Smack.

"Three..."

He rubbed the heated skin soothingly before delivering another. Your pussy clenched around nothing, even more wetness dripping down your thighs.

"Look at you," he groaned, palming your sore ass. "Taking it so well. Such a good girl for me."

He leaned over your back, his chest pressing against you. One hand wrapped around your throat from behind, not squeezing, just holding. Possessive.

"You want this cock?" He growled against your ear, rubbing the tip through your slick folds. "Beg for it."

"Please," you whined, pushing your hips back. "Please, I need it~ need you to fill me up. She doesn't deserve this dick, I do!!"

Smack.

Your ass stung again and you moaned loud, pressing your face into the pillow.

"Filthy fucking mouth," he rasped, but you could hear the smile. "I like it."

He pushed inside you slowly, groaning at the stretch. Your pussy fluttered around him, trying to adjust. He was so thick you could feel every inch.

"Fuck~! so tight" his voice was strained, controlled. His thumb rubbed soothing circles on your hip while his grip bruised. Gentle and rough all at once.

He bottomed out and stilled, letting you feel how deep he was. Your walls clenched around him desperately.

"You feel that?" He rolled his hips slowly. "That's all yours. Every inch."

He pulled back almost entirely before slamming back in. The sound of skin slapping skin filled the room.

"This what you wanted? Hm?" He started a rhythm deep, punishing thrusts that made your eyes roll back. "Wanted me to fuck you like the desperate little slut you are?"

"Fuck fuck fuck I can't I can't oh god oh fuck Nanami please please please"

You were babbling nonsense, words tumbling out slurred and desperate. Your body shook uncontrollably beneath him.

"That's it," he groaned. "That's my good girl. So fucking pretty when you fall apart."

His thrusts got erratic. His breathing ragged against your neck.

"Where do you want it?" His voice was strained. "Inside? You want me to fill you up?"

You nodded frantically into the pillow, words failing you completely.

"Use your words, Bambi."

"Inside inside inside please I need it need it so bad wanna be full please please"

He buried himself deep one final time. You felt him throb inside you, hot spurts filling you up. His low groan vibrated against your back.

Your walls milked every drop from him, your body greedy.

He stayed there for a moment, both of you catching your breath. Then he pulled out slowly, watching his cum drip from your abused pussy.

"Fuck," he breathed. "Look at that."

You whimpered, face still buried in the pillow, completely spent.

He rolled you over gently, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. His thumb traced your jaw.

"You okay?"

You blinked up at him, dazed. A lazy smile spread across your face.

"Mmm… think you broke my brain."

He huffed a laugh. Actually laughed.

"Good."

He lay down next to you, pulling you against his chest. Your body felt like jelly, completely boneless.

You stared up at the ceiling for a moment, then turned your head to look at him.

"So…" You raised an eyebrow. "That stress relief?"

He huffed that quiet laugh again. "Something like that."

Your eyes trailed down his body. He was still half hard against his thigh.

"Damn." You gestured vaguely at him. "You got a recovery time or what? Cause I'm not done with you."

He turned his head, looking at you with amused surprise.

"Greedy."

"Obviously." You flipped your braids over your shoulder. "You seen me? I deserve to be greedy."

His hand slid over your hip, thumb rubbing the stretch marks you used to hate. He didn't seem to mind them. Seemed to like them actually.

"Your wife know you got stroke like that?" You snorted. "Cause she's wasting it."

His jaw tightened but he didn't defend her. Just pulled you closer.

"She doesn't know a lot of things."

"Clearly." You traced a finger down his chest. "Lucky for you I'm a fast learner."

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SOO WHAT WE THINK I PUT MY HEART SOUL AND COOCHIE IN HERE, ALSO ANYONE REALIZE MY WRITING CHANGES WHEN ITS SMUT

[shotasfavesimp]

𝒫𝒜𝒢𝐸 𝐼𝒩𝒯𝑅𝒪

𝐻𝐸𝒴, 𝐼'𝑀 𝒞𝐻𝐸𝑅𝑅𝒴 𝐵𝐸𝑅𝑅𝒴 (𝒞𝐻𝐸𝑅𝑅𝒴 𝐹𝒪𝑅 𝒮𝐻𝒪𝑅𝒯)! 𝐼 𝒲𝑅𝐼𝒯𝐸 𝐹𝒪𝑅 𝒥𝒥𝒦, 𝒪𝒩𝐸 𝒫𝐼𝐸𝒞𝐸, 𝑀𝐻𝒜, 𝒜𝒩𝒟 𝐸𝒱𝐸𝒩 𝒮𝒪𝐿𝒪 𝐿𝐸𝒱𝐸𝐿𝐼𝒩𝒢!

𝑀𝐼𝒩𝒪𝑅𝒮 𝒟𝒩𝐼. 𝑀𝒴 𝒞𝒪𝒩𝒯𝐸𝒩𝒯 𝒲𝐼𝐿𝐿 𝐹𝐸𝒜𝒯𝒰𝑅𝐸 𝐵𝐿𝒜𝒞𝒦 𝒢𝐼𝑅𝐿 𝒫𝒪𝒱𝒮, 𝒜𝒮 𝐼 𝒜𝑀 𝒪𝒩𝐸. 𝐼𝐹 𝒴𝒪𝒰 𝒲𝒜𝒩𝒯 𝒯𝒪 𝑅𝐸𝒬𝒰𝐸𝒮𝒯 𝒮𝒪𝑀𝐸𝒯𝐻𝐼𝒩𝒢, 𝒫𝐿𝐸𝒜𝒮𝐸 𝒜𝒟𝒟 𝒮𝒪𝑀𝐸 𝐵𝒰𝐼𝐿𝒟-𝒰𝒫; 𝐼 𝐿𝒪𝒱𝐸 𝒯𝐻𝒜𝒯! 𝐼’𝐿𝐿 𝒮𝐻𝒜𝑅𝐸 𝒜𝒩 𝑀-𝐿𝐼𝒮𝒯 𝐿𝒜𝒯𝐸𝑅.

𝒲𝐸𝐿𝒞𝒪𝑀𝐸 𝒯𝒪 𝒯𝐻𝐸 𝒞𝐻𝐸𝑅𝑅𝐼𝐸𝒮, 𝒜𝒩𝒟 𝒩𝒪𝒲 𝒴𝒪𝒰'𝑅𝐸 𝒪𝒩𝐸! 𝐵𝒴𝐸 𝐵𝒴𝐸! 𝑀𝒲𝐻𝒜

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HAII GIRLY I LOVE UR BLOG HIII!! UR SAM POST WASSO GOOD

OMG THANK YOUUU THAT MEANS A LOT TO ME THE IDEA IS FOR YOU TO FEEL LIKE ITS ACTUALLY YOU

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I'M BACK

I'M SORRY I DIED Y'ALL I HAD EXAM'S AND OTHER STUFF I'M BACK NOW FR