Requests Are—Open

“For boring undies..”

Welcome in, lover. We hope you don’t plan on only window shopping..you’d be the perfect model for us.

MASTERLIST

Hiii!! You can call me anything you like, but cherry is the name I typically go by online, so if that’s more comfortable, be my guest. I don’t like sharing too many personal details about myself online, simply to keep myself detached from my hobbies of writing, as well as for my own mental health.

I enjoy writing, and while I love all the fandoms I indulge in, I tend to quickly hyperfixate on one thing for a while before moving on to something else :(, which I hope you can understand, but I need somewhere to dump the pieces of writing I impulsively jumble together.

KINKS—On content terms, there’s little I won’t write for. Kinks like piss kinks, scat, hard non-con or pedophilia won’t be written here, and any request with them will be turned away. I also won’t write for male reader, simply as I don’t have those parts, and am not experienced in writing it!! Fem!reader is the standard, though gender neutral can be written if requested, or I’m just feeling it that day.

RULES—don’t rush me, I don’t appreciate being bombarded with people in my inbox questioning or even confronting me over the time it takes to produce content. I’ve had accounts before, ones that have been deleted simply for anon toxicity, so please don’t make me turn anons off and ruin it for everyone. Again, the kinks listed above will not be written for, simply for my own comfortability and personal views. Mostly, just respect my boundaries. I..used to not take requests to prevent from piling my ‘to-do’ too high, but I’ve begun taking them. I’ll always post if or when my requests open up, and it will be updated on my bio, so please check that before submitting something, as I won’t write for a request that was too late to be sent in. However, when it comes to discussions about characters, fandoms, or even myself, my inbox is always open—I would love to talk to you! I have my own life, and while writing is a hobby I love, it is simply that—a hobby.

Divider by @suupersonic

OUTLAST TRIALS—

Leland Coyle

Phylis ‘Mother’ Gooseberry

Franco Barbi

Franco w/ his older stepsister..

Big Grunt

Dr. Hendrick Joliet Easterman

CREEPYPASTA—

Jeffery woods/JTK

Jack Nyras/Eyeless Jack

Cockwarming..

Brian Thomas/Hoodie

Pillow talk/fwb..

Tim Wright/Masky

Franco with his older step-sister…

Okay..this idea comes from @hangmeandbangme and their thought on Franco giving everyone familial roles..idk I’m horny and this almost made me nut the first time I read it

CW: step-cest, Franco’s an awkward, emotionally stunted little pervert, reader is MEAN, mentions of neglect/abuse, mild obsession, brief religious allusion, SMUT, oral (fem!receiving), heel kink, mostly sub!Franco, light petting, heavy degradation

He’d been following you around like a puppy for weeks now. Ever since the wedding and honeymoon between your parents were officially over, and you’d moved into the Barbi’s place.

“Hey, uh..” he stepped into your doorway, a bead of sweat already rolling down his stretched forehead. He was trying to make conversation, pitifully as it may be. “You got any plans later?”

After a moment of silence and an eye roll, you turned from your vanity and laid your eyes on him. He was so awkward it genuinely made you cringe.

Mother told you to be nice to him. You suspected it was so she didn’t have to actually pretend to be a mother to him, but you couldn’t entirely blame her. Don just sort of..ignored him, for the most part, despite his obvious desperation for his father’s approval. Kind and sweet to the boy, considering he didn’t get much female interaction, or attention from generally anyone.

But he made it so difficult. Being a nasty little skeez doesn’t exactly instill sympathy into the hearts of women.

You couldn’t wear low-cut shirts anymore, the inevitable always came when he couldn’t tear his eyes away from your cleavage long enough for you to snap your fingers in front of his face.

Dresses above the knee were out of the question. His eyes tracked every sway of your hips as you passed the dinner table, tongue wetting his dry lips at the sight of your exposed thighs. Seriously, your mother had your new home into a nunnery.

Hell, you didn’t even care that he stared. You wouldn’t admit to yourself that it made your face warm, made pride blossom beneath your ribs when he practically drooled over your tits, but that’s irrelevant. Sometimes, before mother banned that clothing all-together, you’d put on a show for him.

Bend over the counter while he sat on a stool across from you, twiddle playfully with the straining button of your top. You bought shirts maybe a size too little just make his head turn. Maybe you were just as perverse as he was.

Yeah, definitely not.

You wouldn’t indulge him this time around.

“No, Franco. Absolutely not.” You sighed, and although your words betrayed nothing, it was enough to make him groan, closing your bedroom door behind him with a strangled whine.

“Why not, marone?” His steps that pulled him deeper into your room were weary, light like he was approaching a wild animal and not a woman. Franco’s voice was pathetically whiny, nasally and childish in that way that either made you annoyed, or made you wanna reach out and hold him like a baby.

The nickname was something used only in private, only in the confines of these walls. If Don caught him using that language around you, he’d be royally fucked. Not that that thought was a priority right now. Not when you sat there on that perfect ass, hair done, back arched only enough to highlight your shoulders. Not when you spoke to him like that, like he was a nuisance that you reluctantly put up with.

It made his skin crawl. How could you act that way, he’s sure your heart was pounding behind your ribs the same way his was. You never turned him down when he came to you, shameful as he felt. Like a dog pleading for any scrap of your affection. It aroused him. It shouldn’t, not when you look at him like he’s garbage, but it makes his cock twitch in his briefs when your lip curls at his presence, yet your traitorous eyes still follow him. Both? Neither? What’s it even matter?

His hands found purchase on your shoulders. Trembling, humiliated, anxious. You didn’t push him away, but you didn’t lean into his touch, either.

Just sort of..accepted it, in that nonchalant way that you know drives him crazy, if that tent in his dress pants are any indication. “Because you’re desperate. It’s pitiful to watch you each time you walk in here with your tail between your legs.”

“And you’re a whore.” You finished, almost as a side-note.

It was almost instinctual how fast he fell to his knees. He took no time to round the back of your chair, kneeling where you’d moved your vanity chair.

He knows you did with a purpose. Shifted your chair to give him just enough room to fit without the drawers of your desk disturbing him. It made his mouth water, the promise of ecstasy was so close, he only had to talk his way between your thighs.

“I wait for you,” he began, chapped lips constantly needing to be wet by his tongue. He wished he could put it to better use. “Every day, I dream for father to tell me he and your mother will be gone for the evening.”

“That’s childish.”

“I know,” a small hand reached out, hurriedly sliding the expensive fabric of your skirt up and over your knees. Your legs were crossed, a taunt, if he knew you as well as he did.

Your manicured hand slid over his forehead. The side of your thumb gently traced a vein on the side of his head, curious. His hands were clammy against your smooth skin, grasping eagerly at any flesh he could reach. “You’re drooling like a mutt.”

“I’m waiting.” He admitted, tongue ghosting over the supple skin of your knee. Then again, more insistent this time.

Your foot lifted, and pressed to his crotch. The toe of your heel pressed against his (painfully) hard cock, applying only a light pressure.

He hissed, hand scrambling to catch your foot, though he didn’t stop you. Electricity shot up through his veins at the pain, and a whimper punched was from his lungs at the friction, but he only caressed the skin on the back of your ankle. Gently, hand shaking while his tongue prodded your legs apart while his head nudged up your skirt further.

Goosebumps slithered up your spine up to your nape, and your cautiously pressed further into his bulge. Earning a whimper, you allowed your legs to fall apart.

That was his permission. That was what he wanted—you’d never tell him how bad you wanted him, that you needed to feel his skin against yours, but you didn’t stop him. When it was all done, typically cum staining his underwear, he’d have to go back to his room, and there he’d harden again, cumming too fast at just the memory of your words. Just the thought of you pushing his nape further between those plush thighs, foul words melting into shaky, nonsensical insults. That was his favorite way to see you—clinging so tightly to your cruel facade that after he wrecked you, it was hard for you to even call him a whore.

“Mmh—you smell like heaven.” His crooked nose dragged up your thighs, sniffing them individually, like one wasn’t enough. Then he nosed your mound through your panties.

You gasped, the sudden contact making your hand fling to his head. Your fingers busied themselves in his scalp, weakly pulling at the tuft of hair that fell over his forehead, just enough to make him groan into you.

His free hand reached up, shakily pulling the sticky fabric to the side and baring your cunt to him. Drool dribbled down his chin and onto your dress, but even you were too gone to notice. His other hand cupped your ankle, bringing your white heel down harder against his groin. He’s grinding against it now, hips shamelessly bucking up into the new sole, earning only a scoff from you.

“Oh my god, you are genuinely the most pathetic man I know!—“ your words were cut off with a gasp, when his mouth immediately latched onto your clit.

There were a couple words to express the way Franco ate you, but one would suffice—starving.

Needy and clumsy come next, his tongue ravaging your folds messily to the point that you wondered if you were still as wet, or if his saliva made up for lubrication.

You yelped when his teeth knocked your clit accidentally, making you angrily grind your shoe against his cock. A patch of dirt stained the crotch of his pants, alongside a wet patch that made you let out a breathy snicker. You gasped, his fat tongue prodding your hole now. He paused only for a second, exhaling deeply against your slick cunt before speaking.

“God, I could die down here. Smothered between these fucking thighs, I’d die a happy man.” He pressed a slobbery kiss to the crease where your thigh and mound met.

“You’re going to fucking die if you don’t put your mouth back on me, Barbi.”

“Don’t forget, you’re a Barbi now too, marone.” He licked a stripe up your slit, fat fingers squeezing the fat of your calf.

You giggled, choked and broken, before yanking him out beneath your skirt. “Not by any courage of yours, you wait like a coward until your father is gone before you come in here and nuzzle your mouth against me like you’re in heat.”

He moaned at your words, hips giving a particularly strong thrust up into your shoe. Your ankle was sore now, but the rest of your body was both over-sensitive, and numb from pleasure. Franco could only push back onto you, lips finding purchase on your swollen bud.

The vanity chair creaked when you began to ride his face. Provocative and shameless, you gripped his hair, threw your legs over his shoulders, and ground your cunt against his face until he gasped for breath. But he wasn’t complaining, if the precum stain on his pants was any indicator. It continued that way for a minute, finally productive and effective at building the two of you up.

You rocked messily against his face, and sung so pretty for him, how was he supposed to stop? Stop humping your foot like a caged animal while he ravaged you. Feasted on you like you were all that was left for him. You were his last supper, all he needed to reach heaven. He moaned into your folds, feeling your eager cunt clench sporadically around his tongue when he teased.

It reached a head when he stilled. Thighs clenching, loins tightening to an unbearable amount until he spilled into his briefs. Which only made you moan so beautifully, so perfect that if he hadn’t just spent himself, the sound itself would’ve made him cum. Your thighs trembled on either side of his head, and it took only a delicate suckle on your clit to send you over the edge. Not softly, but not harsh, either. It was a world-shattering, voice-breaking orgasm that made your eyes all hazy, the kind that made the world soften for a moment.

“You…you been practicing on whores without telling me, baby brother?”

Why would you ask him that? He hadn’t been able to fuck anyone else since you. He couldn’t get it up for whores, or sweet girls, just his older sister. The one who couldn’t give a shit less is he keeled over and died, but that let him between her legs every chance they got. “No, guess I was just excited to see you is all.” He pressed a shaky kiss to your knee.

The sound of keys rattling the front door made you sigh, run a hand over your sweaty hair.

“Wait—Jack, I need to-“ a weak attempt to squirm, really, writhing pitifully against him while he pinned you sternly in place.

“Stay still,” a large hand petted your back, tenderly authoritative in the way he soothed you back down into his lap. “You asked for this, yeah?”

Yeah, you kinda did. Couldn’t entirely be mad when you get what you want, even if it’s not exactly what you intended.

Still, when you softly padded down towards the basement, sock-covered feet still freezing against the chilly floor, you hadn’t expected to end up like this. Your boyfriend had mysteriously disappeared from bed about an hour before, taking the warmth and tenderness from the room with him, though. What else did Jack really expect you to do?

So once he heard the slow patter of your feet approaching the door, and the almost sheepish steps down the stairs, he tried to brush you off. Let you stand between his legs and nuzzle into his neck for a good minute, run his warm hands down the bare skin of your legs before he (politely) told you to get out. Told you he had work to do, inventory.

But that wasn’t good enough for you. It never was. ‘Don’t really know what he was expecting on that end. You pouted, of course. Jutted your lip just enough, soft hands tracing the line of his shoulders, begging for scraps of attention. And hearing his name roll off your tongue in that tired, sweet voice, saying ‘please, Jack’ made him tense in the office chair. But as beautiful as you looked, eyes still foggy and skin still sticky from sleep, he just shook his head.

“I’ll be up once I’m done. Get some sleep.” He patted your thigh dismissively, not pausing to stop writing the name of some prescription he’d probably need stolen later.

You scoffed. Bratty, maybe, but valid. You never stepped out from between his legs like he’d expected, instead almost broadening your frame to catch his attention. Your form stiffened, and a larger hand came up to hold yours. Smooth and hot, making the hairs on your neck prickle when he touched you.

Jack’s lips ran absently over your knuckles. Like he was somewhere else momentarily, but still holding you. He was thinking, head tilted down towards the ground while his lips danced over the gentle skin. Then he sighed, pressing a kiss to your palm before pulling you down.

A sudden gasp sounded through the basement when he dragged you down. Quick but gentle, strong hands tensing on your hips, testing his own strength. He was strong enough to break you in half, snap your wrist in a moment’s notice like he had with others, but he didn’t. He let your knees hit the back of his chair and while your thighs closed around his hips, your hands flew to his shoulders. Grasping for strength, your nails dug into the cotton fabric of his shirt when he kissed you. Messy, wet, and exhausting. His tongue lapped at the corner of your mouth, making a choked moan from you fall into his mouth.

Heat lashed dully at your stomach, twisting and burrowing deep enough to make you whimper. You could feel Jack beneath you, the noticeable bulge growing more prominent beneath his sweatpants. He was hard immediately, eagerly grinding up into you while holding your hips firmly. You felt powerless, unable to squirm or even push back against his strength…but the thought was enthralling. Someone so dangerous, so powerful handling you with just enough care. Your hand reached up into his hair, tugging enough to make his hiss before one hand slid from your hip to between where you were practically glued together. He slipped himself free with ease, hand finding your shorts quickly after.

It took all his strength to not rip them off. To not tear them off of you for the mere offense of covering you up from him. So he pulled them aside. Quickly but not sloppily, he knew how to take care of you, how to take you apart and put you back together again just for him. Wetness pooled between your puffy folds, and he groaned into your mouth before parting from you, latching hungrily on your pulse. “Fuck,” he growled into your skin.

He spread the wetness up to your swollen clit, giving it a teasing brush with his thumb just to make you jolt. To feel your pulse jump beneath his teeth. But he didn’t give you anything other than that.

Typically, he’d take his time. Slowly undress you and drag his fingers up your spine to watch you shiver. Grumble in your ear to watch your tremble before slipping two fingers into your dripping cunt. You’d cry, mascara stains pulled down your cheeks when he ate you out. Feasted, more accurately, savoring your taste on his tongue for minutes at a time. He’d start unbearably slow, just kitten licks of your needy clit until you were pleading for him to fuck you already.

‘Jack, please!’

‘I need it so bad..’

‘It hurts, please, just—“

But you’d gasp like he’d just burned you the minute he gave you what you wanted. Hands fisted in his hair, trying to guide his face where you needed him until he restrained you. Used one hand to pin your wrists behind your back while the other fell across your hips, holding you in perfect devouring position.

Then, and only then, would he fuck you. Deep and slow and unbearable. Mind-numbing and astronomical in the same breath. He’d have you dumb within minutes, head lolling carelessly to the side while he held your knees to your chest. Your sounds would fade from crying moans and satisfied whimpers to choked gargles he could hardly make out. There was a sort of milky ring around his base now, near the hair, of your mixed releases. They were dripping out of you with every thrust now, and he couldn’t even press on your stomach without you sobbing. Always so full.

But that’s not now. He didn’t bother to finger you open, or lap at your clit like a starved man, only running the head of his cock through your dripping folds. The sensation of his tip catching on your hole made you jolt like a shock of electricity had grown from your toes to your neck. He only sighed.

“Jack, hold on, I can’t take it all at once!” You panicked, brows furrowing while tears gathering on your lashline.

“Yes, you can,” Jack huffed, making you gasp when he pressed inwards just a little. His cock caught in your entrance, but he didn’t pull it out this time. “I’m just usually too nice, and open you up first.”

He punctuated the line with a sharp thrust, making you whimper and claw into his shoulders. He knew he was a little bigger than average, but he also knew you could take it. You always do, what’s the issue now? His lips latched onto your shoulder, teeth dragging subtly against your shaking form.

Jack practically bullied his cock into you. Dragging you down onto his length, and noting your tears soaking his shoulder. He traced your back with one hand, shushing your cries while he rocked you deeper. It took a minute (and a lot of praise) to get you fully situated, to have your hips flush with his and to stop you from crying.

He wiped away the remnants of tears from your cheeks while you sniffled, nose red and irritated from crying. “Shhh, you did very well, sweet girl.”

So despite the burn in your loins and jumbled brain, you expected the regular. Deep, slow fucking that made you drool and beg him for more while pushing him away. But he..didn’t move. At all. You’d expected that he was only allowing you to adjust, Jack wasn’t entirely cruel, but even after you’d stopped crying and instead had become a limp noodle in his lap, he remained still.

An unmoving object. His hips served no stimulation other than for his hands to hold you down firmly against them. So, working up courage, you spoke.

“Jack, I’m ready.” You nosed into his collarbone affectionately, though your voice was broken and chipped from a sore throat. His chair scooted. Slowly, he drew back to his desk, and lifted the ballpoint pen. The click made you startle, whipping your head to find him writing slowly. Completely unaffected.

“Wait—I need,” a trembling hand pawed at his chest, searching his face for any sign of amusement, though you found none. No cruelty or even affection behind those voids.

“I know, and you’ll get it,” he stroked your waist through your sleep shirt, pressing a tender kiss just beneath your ear before continuing. He wrote names and dosages over and over again, things he needs for the infirmary. Scalpels and needles also went on the list, though you were hardly paying any mind, much too preoccupied with the cock that was practically in your lungs. “But you demanded attention, and this is what you’re getting for the moment.”

“No, but I—I just,” you paused, eyes hooding before your hips gave a weak, pathetic grind against his. Then you seen it—a faint grin tugging at one side of his cheek watching you struggle. Your hips tried to chase his, to grind the same way he always made you when he put you on top, but it wasn’t the same. The hand gripping your hip obstructed your movement, and it was hard to get a rhythm going under him.

Finally, you pouted, relenting back into him. Disappointed and sleepy, you fell back into his shoulder. Your hands still clutched his shirt, though you just whined and squirmed now in his lap. It was almost humiliating, how helpless you felt without his help, though he just kissed your temple and petted the back of your head calmly. “It’s alright, sweet girl, you can’t do it on your own. I’ll take good care of you once I’m done, okay?”

You could only nod, chasing even a little friction between your bodies, to once again be let down.

The ego boost for Jack was immeasurable, to know you couldn’t even get off without him. He would occasionally shift his hips, just to send you scrambling, only to relax further into the leather chair. It kept you on your toes just enough to make you cling to him, keep him pulled tight against you, pliant and barely awake and always ready.

A/n: sorry I got a little carried away..can you tell Jack was og fine shyt? ໒꒰ྀི ˵•  ̫ก ꒱ྀིა

tw: reader is described briefly to have commitment issues, Brian being just a litttle manipulative (not directed @reader), fwb

Brian supposed he’d always been good at it. Charming people, that is.

It just came naturally to him. It was never awkward to talk to strangers like it had been for others, like Tim. Girls in school always laughed at whatever he said—full-teeth smiling with flushes on their cheeks all because he said he liked her shoes or some shit, guys he’d known for all of five minutes would clap him on the back as a goodbye like they’d been friends for decades.

He’d managed to smile his way into anything—or rather, out of anything. He was no angel, using his pretty teeth and respectful attitude to guide him and his friends out of detention back in high school. Which only made people like him more, it was safe to say he was rather well-liked for the vast majority of his life.

Which extended to this very moment. You laid to the side, back turned to him while you breathed soundly into the pillow below you. Your hair splayed messily behind you, frame dipping slowly each time you took a deep breath, trying to recover from your earlier activities. The sheets clung loosely to your frame, and you held the blanket close despite the sweat that glistened down your back. A barrier, a small attempt of distance from the man lying at your side.

You shivered when Brian brought a hand to you, knuckles brushing down the subtle line of your spine. But you didn’t roll over, not even sparing a glance to the man lying in your bed. Your eyes pleaded to stay shut, hoping that he would assume you’re asleep and grow bored.

“Aw, c’mon, don’t tell me you’re giving me the cold shoulder.” They were the first words spoken since the two of you separated, the silence before charged and almost uncomfortable. His accent was slow, smooth and deep in a way that made your neck prickle with need. Warmth rose to your cheeks at his smug attitude, resisting the playful words with tense silence.

You could read Brian, you weren’t an idiot. Polite and friendly, with dark blonde curls and lingering eyes—yeah..you clocked him the first time he stepped up to you in the kitchen. He’s used to getting his way, accustomed to getting out of scrapes with the police and leaving girls desperate and sleepy in motel rooms, still clinging to him while he buttoned his jeans. With a hand on your back and a few too many beers, he lead you up the stairs, promising to take care of you. He knew exactly how pretty he was, and how to use his mouth to get what he wanted.

This arrangement of yours had started not long after you arrived to the absurdly large mansion, deciding that even a little company was better than no one. The sex was also great. Like, really good.

Brian would cradle your head and tuck your hair behind your ear before pushing your mouth further down on his cock. His nails itched just behind your ear, making your brain buzz mindlessly, becoming a simple toy, reduced to a whimpering mess below him. “Oh, that’s right—there ya’ go, girl.” He’d mumble above you, hooded eyes tracing each exposed curve of your body, skin littered in bruises and scratches. Drool dribbled down your chin, and he didn’t bother to wipe it, letting your pride crumble in humiliation when you looked up at him with big, watery eyes.

He was a praiser, through and through.

“Mhm, you’re doing so well, baby.”

“Yeah, look at how good ya’make me feel.”

“You’re alright. You can take it, I know you can.”

“You’re hurting my feelings now, at least turn over.” He purred, hand slipping around your hip to pull you back. His warmth, the heat that radiated from him was inescapable, making you squirm when he licked at the bruise on your shoulder.

Your eyes rolled, acting as though you turned over of your own will and not his persuasion. He was smart like that, make you think it’s your own idea, even if you knew what he was doing. Yeah, you definitely knew, but it’s fun for the both of you to pretend otherwise.

“What, Brian?” You groaned, faux irritation present in your voice while your head nuzzled to rest above his heart.

“Just wanted to see your face. ‘Like lookin’ at you.” A callused hand wiping the sweat from your hairline, tone sweet but arrogant.

Hm. He was good, you could give him that. Suave and smooth enough make your stomach twist, but it wasn’t fake. It wasn’t artificial and practiced, just gut-wrenchingly warm.

“Yeah, okay,” But one of your hands still slid up his chest. “Easy, lover. I’m gonna start thinking you like me more than we agreed.”

Up his stomach, between his ribs, over his sternum and pulse before your hand found home at his cheek. Soft skin, pretty hands making a roll of goosebumps drag up his body. He didn’t flinch, didn’t back away from your touch the way he does with others, only hummed.

“Maybe I do, like you more than we agreed on.” A larger hand cupped your wrist, tenderly tracing the skin covering your slow pulse before pulling your hand closer to his mouth. There was a brief mischievous glint in his eye before he kissed your palm. Then again—brief, slow pecks to your skin that made your stomach twist in hunger.

Before he bit down. You gasped. He loved that look in your eye. Confused, maybe a little cautious when he tests you. Pushes lovingly at your boundaries just to see you twitch. You weren’t good with commitment, and he liked to watch you squirm at his domestic gestures.

He only nipped at you, not even enough to really sting, but of course, you pulled your hand back like he’d burned you. Your cheeks were warm with color, shoulders a little tighter when his other hand began kneading the skin of your back. Your makeup was a mess, too. Mascara and eyeliner staining the outer corners of your eyes from crying, lips chapped from the straining and biting from both himself and you, but you were lovely. A picture of desire, splayed out on the sheets, sleepy and sarcastic.

You waved him off, rolling back over but not pulling yourself out of his grip. The hand that was on your back now spread over your stomach, rubbing the sore skin gently.

“A conversation for another day.” You spoke dismissively, but there was a weight in your tone. Avoidant.

“I’ll be waiting for it.” Brian grumbled, leaning in close to kiss into your hair. A soft press of his lips to the crown of your head that made you shiver, hating the heat that eased through your limbs at his touch.

“You’ll be waiting forever.”

“Mhm, I’m sure.”

A/n: okay..first post down! A little nervous, cannot lie. It’s been a WHILE since I’ve written ‘x reader’, but eventually I always have to return to my roots yk? So lmk how you feel, constructive criticism is always welcome, though I’d appreciate if we could KEEP IT CONSTRUCTIVE ໒꒰ྀི ˃̵ ࿁ ˂̵ ꒱ྀིა