#Because no one with a life would waste time doing shit like that

[megamindsecretlair]

Make Me Weak, Part 2

Pairing: Sex Therapist!Terry Richmond x Sub!Black!Fem!/ Plus Size reader

Warnings: 18+, Minors DNI, You are in charge of your own reading experience. Intentional use of AAVE. Cursing, mentions of depression, anxiety, and description of sex acts and sexual issues. Hair pulling, PIV, condom use. Power imbalance, Shy!reader. Dark!Terry. Dom!Terry, AU Terry, all consensual. Sorry if I missed some. I'm not a therapist and while I do not make light of therapy, this is purely for my own fun. Please seek real medical attention when necessary.

Summary: You followed Dr. Richmond’s instructions to the best of your ability. You spent so much time in your mind that willingly descending into your body was an experience that opened your eyes to how much you had neglected. Your second session forces you to confront more truths than what you were ready for. 

Terry reaches some conclusions of his own as he tries to shake whatever is ailing him by disappearing between Tasia’s thighs. Yet his mind is on you, on your thoughts and words. During the second session, he can’t help but push you beyond your limit.

Word Count: 5,018k

Part 1 | AO3 Link

A/N: I'n back babbyyyy. I got so inspired reading so many lovely fics. Plus the encouraging asks really helped. I had TOO much fun writing this and you will not hurt my feelings if you don't want to read this one. However, I must tag to keep my taglist updated. Forgive me, my loves. Toss a coin to your blogger by leaving a comment, gif, or unhinged ask.

You

Hot steam rolled out from the shower as you set it to your desired temperature. You faced yourself in the mirror, thinking over Dr. Richmond’s words. You supposed that there was some truth to what he had told you.

Most people did start by exploring their own bodies first. It must be so easy for guys. Close the door, grab some lotion, and rub one out. Girls on the other hand…your life was constantly spent in a state of panic.

Panic that anything on your person would make your mother snap. Harsh criticisms hidden behind “just talkin’ shit” that Black people liked to hide behind. You were too sensitive to jokey-joke with when you weren’t able to reciprocate. It’s not like you could talk about your mom. It’s not like you could throw insults back in her face and tell her to take it in stride.

Panic that you could be caught or exposed at any point. You were a grown woman, yes. You were also taught to believe that you needed to act as if someone was watching. You believed there was some kind of life after all this and so wouldn’t it stand to reason that someone or something would be looking at you? Or worse, someone would come flying through your door because your family lacked boundaries? 

Panic that you didn’t know what lay on the other side of an orgasm. How would you feel? How would you look? Surely something like that changed a person. Feeling that rush of relief for the first time had to be special. Had to be amazing. Otherwise, why would anyone ever be obsessed with sex? 

Panic that you’d never reach that peak and fall over. Never feel that rush of euphoria that everyone talked about. Porn, books, friend groups. You always felt left out and you didn’t want to anymore, dammit. 

You watched yourself in the mirror as steam overtook it, inch by inch. Until you were only staring at your eyes and the disbelief written all over your face. Would this even work? Were you wasting your time? 

“I need total, focused commitment from you.”

Dr. Richmond’s sultry voice skittered along your naked skin. Goosebumps raised on your flesh from the cold air moving through the house. You would be focused. You would be committed. This was something you wanted so badly, you were fucking desperate. 

So you took deep, measured breaths using the Box method a previous therapist told you about. You inhaled for a count of four, held for four, exhaled for a count of four, and then held it for four. You repeated the process, doing a full body scan. 

You focused on your head, starting with your scalp. You focused on your forehead, feeling the tension melt away and your eyebrows start to relax. You hadn’t even realized that you had it scrunched.

You brought your attention to your eyes, unfocusing them, and allowed them to close. You repeated the process, breathing the entire time, settling down into your body when your mind wanted so badly to escape. To flee. To leave the Horrors. 

When you felt your mind drift, you didn’t chastise yourself. You continued to breathe, focusing on your breaths until you continued with your scan. Your body relaxed fraction by fraction. Your shoulders lowered from up around your neck. Aches and pains became more prominent. 

Your belly expanded and you sighed. You hadn’t even noticed how often you clenched your stomach, never allowing yourself a full breath. You always had to be on edge. Never knew where the next danger was coming from. What new fresh hell you would encounter just around the corner. 

By the time you reached your feet, you felt more relaxed than you had in a long time. Your body prickled with your newfound awareness. Steam caressed your bareskin and you quickly hopped in the shower, letting the warm water cascade across your body.

The water felt different on your body. Each droplet may as well have been a tiny earthquake, popping all over your skin and making you tingle. This…wasn’t too bad. 

You lathered up your facial scrub and gently moisturized your face, soothing the stiff areas. Your jaw popped as it loosened and you moaned from the relief. 

How long? How long have you spent outside of your body? A stranger to it? A foreigner to this vessel you carried around? Had you truly loved your body when you were so alien to it? Or had you just learned to layer on the armor and pretend? 

God, you felt like crying. With one session, Dr. Richmond already had you re-thinking your entire life. Like the answer was there in your face the entire time and you just needed him to shine a light on it. 

You rinsed your face while you grabbed a washcloth and lathered up with your favorite soap. You added body wash and then took your time trailing the washcloth around your body. Starting with your neck, you worked your way down to your chest. 

You took your time feeling the rough cloth against your smooth, watery skin. You rounded the washcloth across your nipples and they beaded under the slow torture. Oh, this was new. This was very nice. 

You were focused, letting the water act as a sound machine, lulling you into a further relaxed state. You followed the washcloth with your hand, moving over and under your areolas and nipples. You pinched your nipples and gave it a tug. You gasped from the responding tug in your pussy.

You moved on, remembering Dr. Richmond’s words about not making it sexual. But fuck, how could you not? 

Heat flushed beneath your skin that had nothing to do with the hot water on your body. You washed your back and then moved lower, skirting your throbbing pussy and washed your legs and dug the cloth between your toes. 

On the way up, your fingers glided around your mound, your hips pushing forward. Your breathing turned rapid, feeling yourself getting more and more excited. Your brain turned to mush, retreating from your actions. Like it wanted to picture something else. You shook your head, and started up with your Box breathing again.

You stopped mid-shower to reorient yourself and get yourself back into that zone of ultimate calm. If Dr. Richmond were there…

You focused on what he might say. There was no rush. There was no rulebook for this sort of thing. There was no reason to chastise yourself. There was no test to pass or box you had to check in order to achieve an orgasm. You just needed to relax, dammit. 

Slowly, achingly slow, you went back to that calm. You continued lathering up your body and then rinsed the soap off. You repeated the process, adding more soap to thoroughly wash your body. To enjoy the feel of the cloth and water and soap on your skin. On your body. 

“This is the only body you’ll ever have so it’s time to think beyond simple body maintenance. Admire your body.”

This was the only body you would ever have. It was time you stopped treating it like the enemy. 

You turned off the water and then got out. The chill air hit the water on your back and you shrieked and shivered, quickly drying off. You went through your nightly routine, taking care of your teeth, face, and deodorant. You sat down on a decorated stool in your bathroom to apply your lotion.

As instructed, you looked at your body. Every mole, every scar, every bump, and every wayward hair. Being in your body was weird to say the least. You had to disassociate to survive your childhood and you never learned to drop those defenses. Your body never realized that it wasn't at war anymore. Or perhaps it was and this was battle fatigue. You were so damn tired.

You massaged the lotion into your skin and then slipped in your panties. You pulled on an ankle bracelet you got while visiting New York once and it made you feel extra pretty, so why not. You turned on your bedside light and pulled out a notebook.

You started a new entry and wrote about the sensations and revelations you experienced. Some of it you would discuss with Dr. Richmond and some of it was never leaving your grave. It felt good to get it all out, uninterrupted.

Sometimes, venting to someone else just gave them room to talk over you. To steer the direction back to them. Brooklyn was like that. In an effort to relate, she ended up taking over the convo and made it about her situation. Then you ended up comforting her about her issue and never feeling truly heard about yours.

In a journal however, you pretended that you were just relaying it to a friend. The type of friend who allowed you to speak. To get your jumbled thoughts out without getting mad or trying overshadow you. 

Done, you collapsed against your bed as if every ounce of strength left your body. You breathed through it, allowed your body to rest for a moment. The hell kind of voo-doo shit did your therapist put you through?

Immediately, warning bells went off in your mind. Surely, you would be whisked away to some super important task around the house. Surely, your phone would ring with some awful accident you had to attend to. Surely…nothing. You were drained. You had nothing. 

You had just enough energy to put the journal up, turn off the light, and drift off to the deepest sleep of your life.

Terry

Tasia bounced like a porn star on Terry’s dick and it wasn’t doing a damn thing for him. He felt himself getting soft the more Tasia shuddered with her pleasure. At least one of them was having fun. 

Maybe he rushed this. Too intent on getting you out of his mind that he hopped immediately into Tasia’s warm heat and didn’t consider that there was no substitution. He knew it was irrational to be drawn to you so fast. After only one session. He was conflicted on that front, but it went beyond just looks. 

Your case, your assessments, your willingness to try, and your obvious smarts was a cocktail shooting through his veins and turning his body liquid. The perfect sub was dropped into his lap and he couldn’t do a damn thing about it.

And as a man used to getting his way in the bedroom, it stuck in his craw that he couldn’t have you. That it wasn’t your pussy that his dick disappeared inside of. Would you moan loudly? Were you shy in the bedroom? Were you enthusiastic? 

What would your mouth look like taking the full length of him? How far down could you suck him? Did that same determination translate to the bedroom?

Tasia grunted beneath him as his dick rose back to life, thoughts of you turning him harder than a brick. He could build a house with how hard he was at the moment, picturing the curves on your body. The natural handles in your waist for his big hands to wrap around. To hold.

He moaned, picturing it all so clearly. His thumbs would dig into your back. The sounds you would make. His hips jerked just thinking of pounding into you. No mercy. You weren’t some fragile flower. Your insightful thoughts were like a mirror to his own. He wanted to explore with you. And the fact that he couldn’t had him pulling Tasia’s hair back.

“Call me Dr. Richmond,” he commanded.

“Yes, D-Dr. Richmond,” Tasia moaned. It was starting to piss him off. 

“Softer,” he said.

“Yes, Dr. Richmond,” she said, bringing her voice lower, softer. It was nowhere near your voice, but it’d do for the fantasy he concocted in his head. He didn’t have time for any extra tricks tonight. He just needed to get to the other side of his nut. 

He closed his eyes and thought about your case. He wondered if you were doing as you were told. He wondered how well you would take commands in the bedroom. If he even had to give commands at all. If you’d instinctively know what he needed when he needed it. Tasia used to know that. Tasia used to have him out of breath. 

Now…she was a beautiful girl with deep mocha skin, a cute face, and wide expressive eyes. She was like a little doe in a meadow somewhere. He was attracted to the overall softness of her and of her body. The natural way she seemed to know what he needed. 

Perhaps it was him that had changed. His tastes. He was no longer interested in a casual sub-relationship. Perhaps he wanted a more permanent sub. One he could explore every single nasty fantasy with and never get bored. He was getting older, getting into his early-thirties without a significant partner.

And that was what he wanted. A partner. An equal. Someone he raced home to see or spent his days thinking about how he would break her and put her back together like a puzzle box. 

Terry groaned and came into the condom, gripping Tasia’s asscheeks for dear life. It was one of the hardest climaxes he ever experienced. His release triggered hers, causing her to fall forward as her pussy gripped his dick. 

He pulled out and immediately disposed of the condom, coming back to help clean up Tasia. 

“That was…different,” she said, using the word in place of something else. He didn’t want his reputation to slacken in that regard, but hell, this whole thing had been a mistake. He still made sure she came twice before he did, but he usually put more oomph into his sexual exploits. 

He usually had Tasia popping her pussy on his face, or contorting her like a pretzel. Now…he was just over it. Over trying to impress someone that wasn’t permanent in his life. That he couldn’t play with whenever he wanted. He was no longer excited at the prospect of making many women cum. He just wanted to make one cum over and over again. He wanted to collect each one like trophies. 

Terry grabbed Tasia’s hand and kissed the back of it. “Forgive me. Tonight should’ve probably been a gym night,” he said. He smiled for good measure, but it was a close-lipped smile.

“Oh, I’m not complaining. That dick still know how to rock my world,” she said. She stood up, pulling on her sweats and sweatshirt, and slipping on her sneakers. He sat down on the bed and watched her, not feeling an ounce of desire. 

She leaned over and grabbed his chin, making him look up at her. “You take care of yourself and whatever or whoever got you in this funk. And if you need more relief, you know my number,” she said.

“Yes, ma’am,” he said with another close-lipped smile. Tasia had been one of his longest play partners, he’d be sorry to see her go. She smiled and gave him a kiss on the cheek, showing herself out. 

Terry sat in his fancy bedroom in his fancy house, staring at the empty archway Tasia disappeared through. His mind and body told him that he was ready for something more. Something tangible. Something he could hold and never let go. He only hoped he found it soon.

You

You clutched your journal to your chest as you sat in Dr. Richmond’s office. Nothing about it had changed except the man himself. He chose to wear a cream colored outfit. A soft, oatmeal colored sweater and khaki pants with white sneakers. His gold rimmed glasses flashed every so often from the light overhead and you couldn’t help catching every single thing about him. If only to distract you from your racing thoughts.

It was one thing to live in your body when you were in the comfort of your own bathroom. Your mind escaped once more, retreated to the safest place you knew. Your knee bounced with nervousness. 

“You don’t have to share if you don’t want to. This is a safe space. It’s your space. You get to decide what we do here,” he said. 

You closed your eyes to the sound of his voice. If he wasn’t so damn helpful, you’d ask for someone else. Literally, anyone else. But he was the first therapist to give you a glimpse of the other side. You wanted that more than you were embarrassed.

“No, I want to share. I need to share,” you said. You licked your lips and then cracked open your journal. You skimmed over things you didn’t want to reveal just yet. Too embarrassing for a second meeting, of course.

“I think…I think my mind is safer. I am constantly on alert that I’m “doing the right thing”, as opposed to what actually makes me happy,” you said. 

When you didn’t say anything, Terry leaned back in his seat. He rolled up his sleeves, revealing the golden brown of his forearms. Your mind emptied of any other thought until he cleared his throat. “Can you expand on that?” 

You looked up into his eyes before heat rushed to your ears. You looked back at your journal, focusing on that rather than his lush, pink lips. 

You told him more about how you reached this conclusion. That there was a standard for being Black that you never quite achieved. That at any moment, multiple mobs of people were coming for your Black card. Or, you were constantly trying to over-achieve at school. You had to work twice as hard, had to be the smartest in the class, because if you came home with a B, your mom went on a long rant about being stupid and never achieving anything real in life. Or how everyone praised you at work for going above and beyond and then got mad when you couldn’t sustain it. You were constantly on the lookout for someone else’s standard.

“I have so many fucking voices in my ear, telling me to do this or do that. And I fucking hate it. Which is wild considering that that’s what I seek in a sexual partner,” you said.

Dr. Richmond smiled and nodded. “Your mind is trying to re-contextualize your upbringing. Being submissive is actually about putting yourself in the position of power. A dom is only as good as how well he treats his sub. It’s about the ultimate act of trust on the submissive’s part,” he explained.

“Yes! And how can I trust that someone isn’t going to…take what I say or want and abuse that or make fun of me for it?” You asked. You played with the corner of your journal, not willing to look at Dr. Richmond. You didn’t need to see the pathetic pity in his steel blue eyes. 

“You have to stand resolute in what you want. You have to recognize that pleasure and sex is about give and take. Trust and acceptance. The right partner isn’t going to make fun of you, abuse you, or rush you,” he said. 

You sighed and leaned back on the brown sofa. You felt like you were chasing a unicorn. What kind of guy was willing to be dominant and care about your needs? Reassure you when you needed and took control when your body sent massive panicked waves at him? Took care of the trust you were placing in him to help you relax and cum? While also being physically attractive to you and have you be attracted to him; not a chubby chaser, not a creep, and not an abuser? 

It was impossible. Hopeless.  

“If you’re comfortable, tell me more about what you found,” he said.

You took your mind off of your dream mystery man. When the fuck was it going to be your turn? 

You scanned your journal once more, noting the sensations about actually living inside your body. “I think when I feel an orgasm approaching, I get scared. And that could be part of why I’m blocking it, but even when I’m alone, I don’t know what it feels like. Or…”

“Or…?” Dr. Richmond prompted. 

You grimaced. Fuck, this was so hard to put into words. Too hard to expose yourself like this. But did you want to reach your sixties, seventies, never having a true orgasm? Never finding your way to actual release? 

“Or, there’s no way to control the orgasm,” you said.

Dr. Richmond nodded. “The goal isn’t to control it, you know,” he said. 

“I know!” You groaned and stood up. You thought better on your feet. Or maybe when you had something to do, you were better able to regulate the jumble of emotions inside of you. No wonder your emotions were all over the place. You spent too long disassociating, too long in your mind and not enough in your body. 

“What benefit do you get from being in control all the time?” The scratch of his pen on the notebook drew your attention to him. To his pretty face, dark eyelashes, and push lips. You watched as he wrote in his notebook. Watched the lines and planes of his gorgeous face. His short curled afro. 

“If I’m in control, if I never look weak or stupid or incompetent, then I win. I win at life. And all my bullies, from school to home are all wrong. There’s nothing wrong with me because I know what to do. I know what to say. I’m not an alien,” you said, taking a deep breath at the revelation.

Whatever your insurance company was paying him, they needed to double it. You admitted things you never had in the past. Your previous therapists attacked your problem sex first, focusing on different methods you could try. Some wanted you to describe, in detail, whatever you did to get yourself off. Safe to say they weren’t practicing ever again. 

“Do you believe there’s something wrong with you?” He asked. He leaned back in his seat, giving you an unflinching stare. His face gave away nothing, revealed nothing, as you thought through his question. 

“All the fucking time. Why else do friends keep leaving me? Or guys don’t want me? Or my mom is…my mom,” you said. 

“Have you considered that you aren’t the problem?” He asked.

“How could I not be? I’m the only common denominator,” you said. You flopped back onto the couch but it wasn’t that soft. It thudded under your weight and you took a deep breath. Fuck, you wanted to cry. Tears pricked your eyes, turning them hot and itchy. You refused to cry in front of this man. 

This strange, quiet man who seemed to read you like one of the many books on his bookshelf. No wonder he had so many degrees. He could drag a full confession from a mute. 

“That may be true. But, bear with me, consider that you aren’t the problem. If you take yourself out of the equation, what are you left with?” He asked. He leaned forward on his desk and the sudden intensity of the question made your mind blank.

You had…nothing. No explanation, no back up. You were used to making yourself the problem. The issue had to be you. If it wasn’t you…

You shrugged your shoulders and looked away from him. The silence stretched on, so quiet you could hear the quiet tick of the clock on the wall. 

“Don’t shy away now, dig into it. If it’s not you, then…?” Dr. Richmond prompted. 

The question only seemed to make you clamp up. Your tongue swelled. Your throat constricted. If it wasn’t you, then what? Everyone was incapable of giving you what you wanted? Everyone just had an agenda against you? Please, that was narcissistic as hell. 

Dr. Richmond stood up from his desk and took off his glasses. He pulled out a drawer and retrieved a glass cleaner cloth. He cleaned his glasses and walked around the front of his desk.

“Consider, for a moment, that other people have deficiencies as well. That people congregate in groups because biologically, it’s safer. We seek groups to be in and when we can’t find one, we tend to think that we’re the problem. That we are outcasts, getting left out to defend ourselves. But all that means is that we haven’t found our group yet. You’re trying to fit a round peg into a square hole. You don’t belong with the squares, so no, you won’t fit in with them. 

“The same goes for sex. Everybody has their preferences. People have their kinks, their needs. When those needs aren’t meant, society teaches us to look at our own deficiencies rather than someone else’s. Perhaps the man you need sexually is far different from the men you take to bed,” he said. He waved around his glasses as he spoke, drawing attention to his massive hands. 

Seriously, they were huge. Like two lion paws that could strike down someone with one hit. He held his glasses by the frame, waving it around delicately as he spoke. You were still paying attention to his words, but fuck…he was unreal. 

“But how do I find the man that I need sexually?” You asked.

Terry

Terry inwardly groaned as you asked him that. Plenty of suggestions came to mind, each too crass to suggest. How could he tell you to go into another man’s arms? How could he send you to another man to unleash that hidden hellcat within you and he wouldn’t get to experience it? 

He needed to end this. End this before it even began. He placed his glasses back on his face and crossed a line that he never thought he would. “I think we have more work to do to adjust the way you think about sex before we get into how you attract what you’re seeking. In fact, I’d suggest you abstain from sex until we get deeper into this,” he said.

“Abstain?” You snorted and he fought a smile. Your face showed absolute disgust, like the mere thought was abhorrent. 

“Abstain. From what you’ve told me and what’s in your file, you jumped from overcoming your initial thoughts and reluctance about sex right to jumping into bed. Without really, truly exploring yourself first. Kids explore their bodies all the time right? They grow conscious of themselves and start thinking about hey, my equipment is different from someone else’s equipment,” he said.

You couldn’t help but giggle and it caused him to smirk in return. Yes, it was silly. Talking about sex was silly. But it was true. “And as you start to notice people that you’re attracted to, you start to grow conscious of hormones in your system. Brain chemistry. All the fun stuff that goes into attraction. You start to touch yourself more, explore your preferences through porn or books or experimentation.”

You cringed when he brought up experimentation. He tilted his head. “Did you go through an experimentation phase?” He asked.

You closed your eyes and sighed as if it were the last question you wanted to answer. You completely fascinated him. He had no idea what would come out of your mouth next. How you would respond to certain questions or ideas. 

He snuck a glance at the clock, he was nearing the end of the session. He flexed his jaw. This was so damn irritating. By the time you were willing to open up, it was time to end it. He wished he could carve out a month of sessions to get you to lower your defenses and let him inside. 

“No? I grew up in the wrong generation. All everyone thought about was sex and while I did too, no one was checking for the fat Black nerds unless it was a prank. And I saw everything as a prank. I was always getting pointed at, made fun of, stared at. Jesus, being exposed fucking sucks! So, no, I didn’t experiment. There was no one to fucking experiment with. 

“And it wasn’t like I could go ten feet from my mom without her up my ass about where I was going. Claiming she just didn’t want me to get snatched when all she really wanted was just to control me. To not let me end up like her. Young and pregnant,” you practically yelled, spewing way more vitriol than he expected.

He figured it was a sore spot for you by the way you grimaced, but he hadn’t been expecting…that. Again, he balled his fists thinking of every person that ever let you down. Every person that was supposed to uplift you, guide you, help you, all dropped the ball in teaching you about self love.

Every experience every kid was supposed to have was denied to you. Instead of being asked out with interest, with sincerity, boys treated it like a prank. He was wild in his youth, he wasn’t always nice to people, or he went through life like a little gremlin. But he liked to think he mellowed somewhat in high school. Treating everyone with respect. From the nerds to the jocks. He didn’t know what not trusting people’s words felt like. Like everything that someone said came laced with poisoned barbs ready to sting. 

“This is so fucking stupid,” you whispered. Your lip trembled but no tears fell down your face. 

Fuck, even now you were trying to hold everything in. Control a natural response to something painful. “When was the last time you cried?” Terry asked.

You stood up and snatched your purse and journal from the couch. “Session’s up, right?” You asked. You avoided looking at him as you rushed to the exit. The faux glass door clanged against the wall as you threw open the door and left, steps echoing on the linoleum flooring. 

He stared at the door as it lazily swung back and he wondered. And he pondered. 

Wheww, need more? The Secret Terry Richmond Files | Part 1

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[bellelikesmcyt]

Shubble: Complains that she had to pay once for one of Wilbur’s meals. Proceeds to ask him to pay her shit so she could visit him. Wilbur visits her out of his own pocket multiple times.

Shubble: says she acted like everything was fine in front of their friends. Did not provide any realistic reason for why she would do so aside from her own desire and likely also acted so with Wilbur too. Explains why he didn’t know that she felt this way.

Shubble: refuses to talk to Wilbur to ask him to stop and refuses to set her own boundaries. Wilbur gives her a safe word and thus the power to decide when he should stop. Shubble uses it at the last possible moment.

Wilbur: has depression from his friend dying and his overworked from his streaming life and his upcoming tour. Shubble refuses to try and get others to help. Let’s him waste away and chooses to try and make herself comfortable.

Shubble: says Wilbur most likely didn’t know that she was cleaning her a bathroom for her to use. Blames him for not paying her back.

Shubble: calls Wilbur a money grabbing master manipulator. Wilbur repeatedly spent his money on others, tried to make things cheaper for fans, could not stream because he was working with his band and trying to maintain his friendships while going to therapy. Refused to pump out songs, instead wanted to give fans music worthy of their attention. Scrapped projects because he didn’t like how end up. Wilbur has not done anything blatantly manipulative. Billzo and Freddie are not reliable witnesses here, Billzo is jerk (cuffed Wilbur to the point of panicking, had problems with Wilbur afterwards. got Tommy high without his consent, laughs about it, looks back on it fondly) Freddie was SA’d recently and is a old friend of Tommy. Would likely have been panicked and worried for his friend and looked to back into his memories believing he missed it.

Shubble: blames Wilbur for saying he doesn’t want kids right now. She’s dated him for less then a year. Who wouldn’t especially when his music career is taking off.

Shubble: refuses to talk to Wilbur about their relationship and issues. Wilbur tires to fix things himself even though he clear needs help both with himself and with their relationship problems. Shubble gets annoyed with Wilbur when he tries to bring up the problems in their relationship to fix them.

Shubble: says Wilbur purposefully hurt her when consensually biting. Says she screamed the safe word, refuses to see she likely surprised him. Especially if he wasn’t expecting it. Likely meaning she had allowed Wilbur to bite her hard before to the point he was used to it. Explaining his delay and biting down after she says it.

Shubble: claims he would bite hard enough to bruise her and that he bite her in front of others. Shubble has admitted that she bruises rather easily. No one has come forward to confirm these. People have said they hadn’t seen anything.

Shubble: failed to communicate with her boyfriend. Claims she wanted to “fix” him. Says his attempts to fix their problems is manipulative. Wants to force a family on him. Only asks others for information on him and not help as she claims she needed. Exposes his personal life and private information. Attacks him on a low point in his life, she wanted to hurt him. Shubble refused for her failures in the relationship and blames him for not knowing how. When her merch provider went bankrupt, she waited until people started blaming her before she addressed it, claiming ignorance.

Shubble: likely jealous of Wilbur. She had been on YouTube and streaming for years yet only ever got a small audience. She was beginning her decline and Wilbur was still rising when she came out with allegations against him. During a point where she knew he wouldn’t have been able to respond properly. She was failing and he was succeeding, in her mind she likely felt she should be the one whose successful, that she put in the time and effort, not some damaged man who can barely take care of himself.

Shubble: lives a lavish lifestyle and complains about not having money, she likely expected Wilbur to spend money like she does and was surprised when Wilbur was more hesitant to pay for her wants as she was incapable of saving money.

Shubble: claims he love bombed her. He was likely just happy he was dating someone he’s had a crush on for a while, was also trying to meet her needs despite it not being how he shows his affection and he is also an introvert so he was incapable of worshipping her like she wanted. Her whole reaction to finding out Wilbur likes her, both while live and on X. She likely expects to be fawned over. Mind you she was still dating someone when she found out.

Wilbur: has poor mental. Likely expects things to be his fault. (Overheard his mother say she regrets having him when he was younger. His first ex blamed him for her cheating. Wilbur proceeds to blame himself.) Wilbur ties to fix the problems in their relationship as Shubble doesn’t want to.

Shubble comes off as manipulative, she lets others suffer and only intervenes when it starts to affect her. And even then she will only do it to help herself. She refuses to believe she can do anything wrong and blames others for her own problems, actions, and failures. She expects to be the center of attention that everyone should hear her and treat her as supreme.

Wilbur on the other hand tried to meet her needs. He tried to fix their problems even when she refused to give him anything besides acting like he’s inconveniencing her. He was likely in the busiest and most stressful part of his life in the latter half of their relationship. Having to put his own health last to deal with everything else that he couldn’t put off. He had existing problems that she added on to, refused to help him with and acted like she was trying to fix him.

ANON YOU FUCKING ATE

don’t feel the need to identify yourself but this is the fucking best thing i’ve ever seen

[weebsinstash]

So back on my pervert shit, you know what I've been thinking of?

Red string soulmates Reader x Lucifer except not only are you extremely nervous and hesitant and scared of him when you first meet and keep completely shooting him down and rejecting him, but, just as you two are starting to become close and you're actually legitimately starting to like him, it's Extermination Day and he arrives just in time to watch a holy spear pierce your heart and you just straight up fucking DIE

... which then leads to him developing a divinity kink for you when it turns out your soul was redeemed and you're now an angel in Heaven and he starts viewing you as like an ACTUAL "true" angel, basically viewing you almost akin to God, and becomes actually genuinely religiously obsessed with you

Lucifer just absolutely inconsolable after your death, lying in bed every single day completely unable to get up except for the bathroom, drinking eating crying in bed all day long, and then... one night... he dreams of you, and you look... so glorious, dressed all in white, with beautiful white wings and a gentle glowing halo. You look radiant, downright regal, and at the sight of this vestige of you, he's throwing himself to the ground on his hands and knees begging for you to forgive him for being such a worthless waste of life, how he would give his own soul to make you real again, how he would do ANYTHING if it meant seeing the real you again

and then you touch him. You all but drop to your knees to embrace him, pulling him into your chest and holding him close. You're crying too as you apologize for leaving him feeling so heartbroken and alone, how it's been so hard for him, how much he was looking forward to getting to know you as his soulmate and you blame yourself for pushing him away and then dying, taking that away from him. You stroke his hair and pet his back as he feels your tears dropping onto his head

...but it's all too real. The touch is all too real, the smell of you is all too real. Lucifer suddenly pulls away to look at you with huge eyes. He can feel your soul when the two of you touch. This angelic appearance of yours is just too radiant and grand for him to possibly imagine, at least in his eyes. He. Can. Feel. You. You're still alive, just, not in Hell, and somehow, some way, your souls met in the plane of dreams, and now he knows, definitively, that you're in Heaven, that you're an angel now, and here's the devil himself looking at you like you're a god

Imagine having THE actual Lucifer Morningstar himself, the Angel of the Bottomless Pit, a man you once thought wasnt even real, an actual divine creature older than humanity itself, all but crawling on his hands and knees to prostrate himself in front of you, kneeling, looking up at you weeping tears of joy while he says with complete sincerity and absolute bliss that YOU must be the entire reason he was born. He's clutching at his chest, sobbing that you've made him whole again, that the entire reason he's alive must surely be for this moment, to meet you and serve you in every single way that he can. You weren't born to be his soulmate; he was born to be yours, to serve you and elevate you to your true potential and glory and forever shield your immaculate grace

Then he wakes up, and all he can think about is that you need him, immediately, whatever it takes. He was born to serve you, be by your side, and every single breath he takes and move that he makes that doesn't serve the purpose of aiding you is an unforgivable transgression. He's just, IMMEDIATELY making his way up to Heaven, because what the fuck are they going to do?

"HI, I'm here to pick up my angel ^^"

"Lucifer you can't just come in here and take a soul, they live here now, there's a balance-"

"OK then I can just start killing you all until I find them :)"

"Oh, uh, you know what, that's so funny haha I just got a text from the heavenly father, my mistake, you're cool, please take this single soul back down to Hell with you and leave the rest of us alone :')"

You're down in Hell again but, as an angel now, and Luci's calling you everything from "my love, my angel, my purpose, your holiness, your grace, your saintliness" and following you around like a duckling. Is there anything you need? Are you cold? Are you hungry? Do you need him to carry you from room to room because you're "too pure to soil your feet by touching the ground"? He basically becomes your protector and your priest and may even change how he dresses to reflect your angelic garb (and may actually become extremely resistant to letting you wear anything else or anything differently. This man catches you in a pair of denim jeans and he's just, magicking you back into saintly robes because "he doesn't want you to dirty yourself with anything but the greatness that you deserve")

Something something "he develops a fetish for basically every part of your body and yes he does eventually wash your bare feet in a very religiously coded and horny manner" something something "horny idolatry" something something

He considers himself simultaneously unworthy of you yet the most qualified and deserving to be at your side; the other half that makes him whole yet an existence greater than his own. He may feel he doesn't deserve to even touch you and is just satisfied staring at you for hours on end, even as you sleep, but if you touch him? All but groaning and having his eyes roll back, completely offering his body to you for you to touch and do whatever you please

You're uncomfortable but you form the opinion that losing you must have deeply, deeply traumatized the poor man and that this is a coping mechanism, and even if that may be true, he continues to shock you and maybe even gross you out with the lengths he goes with his newfound devotion. You try to, not exactly feed into his delusions but you don't outright reject him. You try to gently guide him back to how he used to be, and, maybe you can get him to tone some things down, but, it's purely because you asked and he'll do basically anything you say at this point. Emotionally, psychologically, he's a different Lucifer than the one you first met, and he doesn't want to go back to even remotely considering you anything other than his divine purpose for living

Oh, but of course, he's still your official soulmate as well, so even if he is essentially your servant now, he still wants to be your husband. I'm torn between whether he'd want like, the absolute LARGEST wedding possible so that all of Hell soon knows of you, or, if he'd want a private ceremony of only you and him so that no one else can gaze upon your splendor.

He's still gotta dick you down too, of course. He ever finds you self pleasuring and he'll all but want to lash himself for "failing to tend to all of your needs", "leaving tou unfulfilled". Mf is over here saying grace before he eats you out. Tell him any fetish or kink you have and he'll do it, no questions asked, unless it's something that involves causing YOU pain. You could whip him like Jesus until the skin is flaying off and he'll do nothing but thank you and wet his face with tears of pure ecstasy

Although, he's not, completely 100% obedient. He'll still kill people who he feels have "wronged you" even if you ask him not to. Oh, a car drove by way too fast and he had to dive in front of you so you didn't become soaking wet? The driver will be tortured and killed. Someone insults you? Tortured and killed. Did someone pr something cause Lucifer to miss out on doing something with you? Tortured. Killed.

You know how in Hell's Greatest Dad, Lucifer is able to duplicate himself? Imagine waking up from a nap searching around everywhere because, for some reason, you just can't find him, and you find a set of large double doors for a room you don't remember being there before and you catch him literally preaching gospel to a room of himself??? Like??? You walk in and Real Lucifer is at the pulpit giving an actual sermon that is definitely very obviously about YOU and a crowd of himself is openly weeping and clasping their hands together, and they all turn to face you with expressions of wonder and awe

If you have some sort of personal symbol or sigil you used for yourself, sort of like how Alastor has specific runes for his magic, Lucifer would all but make pendants and rosaries with the same sigil. He'll put your symbol on his robes, on pennants hanging up in his castle (I'm just assuming lil man has a castle somewhere), he'll wear your symbol around his neck like a cross, holding it between his hands while he prays to you, often in front of you, unless you are massively uncomfortable with it; then he'll just do it in private or in his head

You could be sitting playing video games on your phone and he'll just, lay his head in your lap and purr, delighted just to be with you, especially touching you, and if you briefly take a hand and pet through his hair or stroke along his back he's shivering with pleasure.

He won't allow any harm to come to you so long as he's by your side, and both of you are basically immortal souls, not to mention you're actually bound together cosmicly as soulmates, so... expect to be spending plenty of time having The Lucifer Morningstar adoring and fawning over you with every last ounce of energy that he has, and God forbid, no, may Your Grace forbid that anyone else dare to worship you with the same level of fondness that he does because Lucifer won't hesitate to take that person, that false worshipper, and tear them to pieces, sacrificing their body and soul to an altar he's made special for worshipping you like he KNOWS you truly deserve ❤️

[lesbiansanemi]

I am so fucking sick of living with my roommate and his fuck ass boyfriend. Also watching my roommate burn every single one of his (already rather minimal, I might add) bridges for this guy is also kind of painful but also his relationship with me is one of said bridges so I'm almost past the point of even feeling bad for him lmao

[vanweezer]

very very personal, just insight into where im at w my family and things that bother me/have encouraged me to move out

"i know youre moving out so im just gonna say no ones kicking you out and if you feel like this is something you have to do then ok"

thanks! i know im not being kicked out! but yknow i kinda yet a weird vibe when your out of touch husband takes me to a cemetery to yell at me, tell me im just like my father/dont give my father "the time of day", and that im "mean to people who care about me" in front of his dead mother's grave in a poor attempt at guilting me out of speaking my mind. but no yeah thanks for stating the fucking obvious that im leaving on my own terms

[the-casbah-way]

i'm not doing anything !!!!!!!!!!!!!! i'm not fucking doing anything !!!!!!!!!!!!!! i just sit and rot and worry and yearn whilst other people are out there living and feeling and breathing and experiencing and still i just do nothing !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[m-for-now]

Improving in your life is actually kinda hard and sucks, I'm gonna pretend I'm at the beginning of my anime arc now

[immamapletreekid]

work anxiety starting before work itself hahahahaahahahahahahhhaha

[starbuck]

lord give me the strength to not be a massive cunt at work today

[highwaydiamonds]

As someone who hates the sisyphean task of cleaning, how dare my mental health prefer a clean room.

[puppmeo]

And the cycle begins anew . As it does every week

[forgivenfolly]

cannot express how badly i wish i was capable of completing art comms in any consistent way lol

[bongjuiceconcentrate]

.

[kannagen]

went to my college’s bars for the first time this weekend and they were exactly as i expected. i did pregame too hard and was veryyyy drunk and i did have fun but they are lame and full of people i have no interest in. but alcohol and music will work on me regardless and no cover so whatever it was fun to be white girl wasted and bar hop for a night ☺️

[thatdemiboymess]

Even just half-heartedly looking for work as someone who is legally blind, autistic, with no highschool diploma, GED, or degrees and who can't leave the house is a very specific kind of let-down and disappointment that just really makes a person depressed.

[the-unofficial-village-idiot]

Thinking about the parallels of Prime showing C-137 the universe and Rick offering to do the same for BP