Rick Bby.. When I See You.

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.

Lady Gaga ahs hotel

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

Og fine shyt

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

Ik I'm a little late to posting this but omg I'm so freaking excited

Their random pair group science project in THE 70s

CHRIS & HAMZAH – ELECTRICITY

Why They Got Paired: Mr. Calloway assigned them when they both took too long picking a partner.

Where They Worked: Chris’s basement, but mostly just goofed off.

How They Split the Work: Chris insisted he had a “vision” for the project but did no actual research. Hamzah tried to take notes but kept getting sidetracked by Chris’s nonsense.

Final Grade: C-.

WORKING TOGETHER

Chris and Hamzah met up at Chris’s house on Saturday afternoon, but calling it a “work session” would be a stretch. Chris’s basement was dimly lit, old band posters peeling off the walls, a stack of records leaning against a dusty turntable. A single lightbulb flickered overhead, which Chris immediately used as a teachable moment.

“See that?” he said, pointing dramatically. “Electricity, man. That’s our project right there. The light flickers, and boom. science.”

Hamzah exhaled through his nose. “That is literally not how that works.”

Chris flopped onto the couch, tossing a football in the air. “Yeah, but like… imagine if we just walked in, pointed at the lights, and said, ‘Electricity. You need it. We got it.’ Then sat back down.”

Hamzah ran a hand down his face. “I cannot fail this class, dude.”

Chris sat up, suddenly serious. “You think I’m gonna let you fail? Trust me, I got this.”

He did not have this.

By the time Sunday night rolled around, all they had was a half-finished poster with the words Electricity: It’s Important! scrawled across the top in marker. Hamzah, fully resigned to his fate, shook his head.

“We’re bombing this.”

Chris grinned. “Nah, man. We got charisma. That’s half the battle.”

PRESENTATION DAY

Standing at the front of the classroom, Chris tried to hold it together. Hamzah, on the other hand, was already choking back laughter.

“Alright,” Chris started, gripping the edge of the poster like it was the only thing keeping him grounded. “So, electricity. You need it. We got it.”

Hamzah pressed a fist to his mouth, shoulders shaking.

“It’s, uh… real important,” he managed, voice cracking slightly.

Chris cleared his throat.

“Right. So. Electricity comes from, uh, power plants… and lightning. And, like, when you plug stuff in, boom. It works.”

Mr. Calloway pinched the bridge of his nose. “Explain the diagram.”

Chris turned to their hastily drawn diagram of a battery, wires, and a lightbulb, none of which were labeled.

“Right, so you got electrons. They, uh, zoom through wires—”

Hamzah, tears in his eyes while scratching the back of his neck, added, “Not scientifically accurate, but sure.”

Chris powered through.

“And they make stuff work. That’s basically it.”

A silence hung in the air. Then, from the back of the room, Nate muttered, “Genius.”

The class erupted into laughter.

MANDY & QUEN – PHOTOSYNTHESIS

Why They Got Paired: They picked each other.

Where They Worked: The library, but mostly spent time laughing, giggling, gossiping.

How They Split the Work: Mandy did the research. Quen made the project visually appealing and cute.

Final Grade: A-.

WORKING TOGETHER

Mandy and Quen sat at a library table, surrounded by open textbooks and crumpled notes.

“So, photosynthesis,” Mandy said, flipping through a book. “It’s how plants turn sunlight into energy. They take in carbon dioxide and release oxygen.”

Quen twirled a pen between her fingers. “So, plants are out here minding their business, making their own food, not needing anyone?”

Mandy smirked. “Exactly.”

Quen tapped her chin. “Independent queens. Love that.”

Mandy rolled her eyes but was clearly amused. “Yes, Quen. Plants are independent queens.”

Quen grinned and started sketching a tree with sunglasses onto their poster.

PRESENTATION DAY

Mandy stood confidently at the front of the room while Quen adjusted their colorful poster on the chalkboard.

“Photosynthesis is the process in which plants convert sunlight into energy,” Mandy explained.

Quen nodded, leaning into the mic. “Basically, plants are self-sufficient badasses.”

Mr. Calloway sighed. “Academic language, please.”

Mandy fought a smile. “Right. Plants absorb sunlight through chlorophyll, take in carbon dioxide, and release oxygen. It’s why we can breathe.”

Quen gasped. “Breathing?! I love doing that.”

The class chuckled.

MATT & MARTIN – THE SCIENCE OF SOUND

Why They Got Paired: They were the last ones left.

Where They Worked: Martin’s attic, surrounded by random junk.

How They Split the Work: Matt tried to keep things on track. Martin kept derailing into weird facts.

Final Grade: B.

WORKING TOGETHER

Matt sat on the floor with a notebook, actually trying to work. Martin was balancing a spinning record on one finger.

“Did you know the loudest sound ever recorded was from a volcano in 1863?” Martin said suddenly.

Matt sighed. “Martin.”

“People heard it from 3,000 miles away. Imagine just chillin’ and then—BAM—volcano.”

“Martin, focus.”

“This is focus.”

Matt gave up.

PRESENTATION DAY

Matt cleared his throat. “Sound is made when vibrations travel through the air and reach your eardrum.”

Martin grinned. “Also, dolphins use echolocation, which means they’re basically underwater superheroes.”

Matt exhaled slowly. “Please ignore him.”

Mr. Calloway rubbed his temples.

“Moving on.”



Mr. Calloway sat back in his as the bell rang chair, rubbing his temples as the last presentation ended. Some were disasters, some were impressive, and some were just… what they were.

“Alright,” he said. “Let’s just hope the next two project turns out better.”

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???????

omg of course!! i’m so glad it made you happy, i’m literally obsessed with it<33 it so unique it the best way possible🤍

I literally love you

@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 @itsyagrillkat

When you see it, REBLOG IT.

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