#and as much as i physically can not shut the fuck up about it it's ultimately mine for me. it don't have to be realistic <3< /div> Explore tagged Tumblr posts

[ihfmseatsoch]

Happy new year!!!!! I hope your new year is good!!! To start the new year off, would it be okay to request something softer with Jimmy? Dubcon of course with the reader topping and giving Jimmy soft praise to where he starts crying? Like he has a mommy kink and he unravels when he gets gentle sex?

-🥩

HAPPY NEW YEAR !!! 😁🎉 ermm i went a little crazy with this one. i love jimmy best when hes nice and pathetic

genre: smut, angst

word count: 3.6k

fem!reader

warnings/content: porn with a lot of feelings, heavy self deprecation, jimmy has mommy issues, mentions of parental abuse and drug addiction, mommy kink, sub jimmy, ooc maybe but IDC!!!!!

—

"Fuck are you doin'?"

Jimmy mutters, and you're unsure if he's confused, or upset. He makes the same expression for either emotion.

You're sat on his lap, straddling his hips while your fingers tenderly brush his hair back, raking them through the surprisingly soft strands. It's surprising, because he only uses that two-in-one shit from the dollar store.

"What do you mean?" You say, not really paying any attention to his usual snark.

He leans into your touch, almost like a cat; seeming to enjoy your attention, but there's a chance he may get sick of it in a split second and bite your hand. Still, he craves physical touch just as much as the next person, even if he'd never admit that to anyone, including himself. It's stupid, he thinks, to be that vulnerable. To crave something like a loving touch or a warm hug. It's corny.

He scoffs at your question, but it’s more lighthearted than anything. "I’m talking about you being all… lovey-dovey on me. You tryin' to butter me up for somethin'?"

You shake your head 'no', with a gentle smile. It's not like buttering him up would result in anything in the first place. Usually, if you really do want something, he'll complain and accuse you of being spoiled. Although, there's a 50% chance that if you give him a blowjob first, he'll be slightly more agreeable.

"Nope. Nothing like that. Am I not allowed to love you?" You press a kiss to his forehead, and you receive a quiet grumble from him in response. Jim's trying desperately to maintain his usual grumpy demeanor, but he's failing. He hates that you can get him like this, how you can make the all-consuming ache in his body dissipate with a squeeze of his hand or a kiss to his temple. Jimmy can never just accept that he wants your affection, but you can tell that he doesn't mind it one bit, even if he continuously acts like he wants you as far away from him as possible.

"Shut up…” He hesitates for a moment, clearly debating his next words. “I didn’t say you couldn’t… do that…” Jimmy mumbles, and his hand snakes around your waist, keeping you in place on his lap, giving your hip a tentative squeeze. "You don't have to be sappy about it."

"Being in love with you is sappy?"

You ask, holding both sides of his face in your hands, his coarse stubble scratching your thumbs as they caress his cheeks, feeling every groove of his protruding cheekbones. Every inch of him is sharp. Angular, and jagged. He tries his hardest to make his outward appearance match his heart. Unlucky for him, you're annoyingly determined to see him in a different light.

Jimmy's looking everywhere except your face, refusing to admit that he's quickly turning into a sniveling, needy boy who wants nothing more than to just be held. No one's ever loved him before. No one's ever said stuff like that to him, or ever made him as soft as he is now. He's not quite used to the idea of vulnerability yet. He can hear the voice in his head, telling him to pull back, to run and hide.

"Yeah," He reiterates, "It is."

You closely study the way his features soften. His brows, which have always seemed to be frozen in a permanent furrow, relax ever so subtly. Anyone would have to be as close as you are right now to notice the difference.

"Ah, I see." You nod in faux understanding. "My sincerest apologies."

He hates how much you know him. Hates how you pay attention to the smallest of details, to every bit of his body language. How you've cracked down his walls and managed to see him for the pathetic, touch-starved man he is right down to his very soul. It's embarrassing. Humiliating, even. But yet, he has no idea how to pull back. He's hooked. A nicotine addiction with even less ability to drop the habit.

"Don't be a smartass." He mutters in response to your sarcasm, looking like he's moments away from throwing you off his lap, but his hand on your waist hasn't moved since he absentmindedly placed it there.

You click your tongue at his ever present stubbornness. You'll have to take things a bit further to get him to quit being such an ass.

A subtle roll of your hips against his gets him to physically tense under you, his fingertips digging a little too painfully hard into your flesh, though it doesn't deter you. You trail a hand down his lean chest, purposefully tantalizing with how slow you move. "Don't be stubborn." You almost sound stern. Like you're scolding him.

Jimmy sucks in a breath at your obvious teasing, the sound devolving into a low, stifled noise. "I'm not being stubborn," His voice wavers embarrassingly, "And stop that."

"Stop what?" You bite back a grin at your feigned cluelessness, though it's not entirely meant to be all that convincing in the first place. You shift in his lap again. He's already getting worked up, and all you're doing is toying with him. Jimmy can't let you win that easily, right?

"Don't give me that shit, you know damn well what," He hisses, glaring at you with annoyance, "Stop... moving around like that." His voice betrays him a second time, cracking mid-sentence.

"Why?"

You tilt your head inquisitively, and before he can snap at you again, your palm presses down onto his groin, making all of his attitude fizzle out momentarily. Jimmy stiffens, his grip on you tightening. He doesn't respond to your question instantly, too distracted by how you're caressing his now apparent hard-on through his jeans, and a shaky exhale escapes him. The noise sounds so vulnerable, so uncharacteristic and unguarded for a man like him, and it takes him a couple moments before he's able to form a response.

"...You're a mean little brat, you know that?" He manages to get out through gritted teeth.

"Aww, don't be like that," You lean in to pepper a trail of sweet kisses starting at his cheek, down to his jaw, neck, and finally, at his collarbone. The way his breath hitches tells you everything you need to know. "Don't pretend like you hate this."

He makes a noise that rises from the back of his throat, between a whine and a growl, like a wounded animal in need of someone to soothe them Jimmy isn't used to having such a gentle and loving touch on his bruised, damaged body. You're treating him like he's something fragile, breakable, something to take care of.

He's not, he knows he's not.

Yet, he can't stop the way your kisses are burning his skin, heating him to the very core. Jimmy never thought he was someone worthy of being spoiled with soft, chaste kisses, being touched with gentle, adoring hands. And yet, here you are, doing that exact thing.

Jimmy tries to respond, he really does, but all he can do is let out a small, choked-up moan.

Noticing the way his adams apple bobs as he swallows down and contains his emotion, you pull back to look him directly in his eyes, pools of honey brown that only hold your reflection alone inside of them in this moment. "Hey," Your tone becomes more serious, less playful than before, "I love you, Jim. You never let me, but I still do."

That word. 'Love'. Jimmy hates it. Not because he's never heard it before, but because for some reason, it's never sounded real when directed towards him.

"Why?" Is all he manages to ask, not accustomed to this type of raw, vulnerable affection. Where's the screaming, the anger, the violence? Where's the toxicity?

"Why shouldn't I?"

You respond with a question of your own. There's a multitude of answers he could give you. He's been screwed up since birth, his own mom abandoning him at some junky trailer park with his father who found any reason to give him a black eye, or throw him out into the dirt. Quite literally, sometimes.

Or the fact that he's never made an effort to improve his own life, even after he made it out of that "home". Instead, he got addicted to heroin and sex and alcohol and destroyed himself for the thrill he got out of torturing himself.

Who would love someone like that?

Jimmy can't take your kind, loving gaze on him anymore, so he turns his head to the side, refusing to look at you. He wants to scream at you, to say something cruel and heartless, to tell you to knock off that 'doey-eyed' bullshit and give him the cold hard truth of the matter. That people like him aren't meant to be loved, that he's a disgusting, pathetic mess who doesn't deserve a single drop of your affection.

But all he can do is silently swallow down the lump in his throat, too emotional to muster up a reply.

You turn his head right back towards you, and kiss him on the corner of his mouth, right on an ugly scar that never fully healed properly. "Can I take care of you? Just once, will you let me?" You murmur against his skin, warm and flushed.

Jimmy's brain is wired to resist, to deny your advances and stubbornly hold onto any sort of 'authority' and masculinity he has left. To give in to you would be letting you win, surrendering to your kindness. That's what he keeps telling himself, anyway.

A long, shuddering exhale escapes his lungs.

"...Yeah," He whispers like it pains him to say it out loud, "Yeah, you can."

He's only semi-hard now, not exactly horny enough to get it up, but desperate enough for your attention in any form.

You take his cock out of his fly, holding him in your hand so delicately that he feels pitied. He doesn't want to feel so fragile. But, in your hands, it's not so terrible. His skin tingles with warmth, even deep inside of him burns with an aching desire to be wanted. Maybe that's why he agreed to this in the first place. Not because of sexual enticement, but instead, the intense yearning he's pushed down and ignored.

It's hard to wrap his mind around the fact that a woman like you actually seems to care about him at all. He's a parasite. He can't help but want more from you, to devour you whole and keep you in his clutches. Jimmy can't stand being touched like this, being treated like he's something valuable, something worthwhile. He wants to push you away and tell you to stop pampering him like he's a helpless baby, because he's not. He's a man, and men aren't supposed to melt and tremble at a loving touch.

But god, does it feel incredible when you begin to stroke him. Your hand is so soft, meticulously taken care of, while his are calloused, dry skin bitten and torn off, resulting in sore cuticles and rough palms. The rise and fall of Jimmy's chest gradually picks up speed, uncharacteristically subservient noises leaving his throat.

"I love you," You suckle a sensitive spot on his neck, mumbling praises between leaving a red hickey on his tanned skin, "I love you so much. I mean it."

Jimmy's mind is stuck in a haze of confusing emotions, every word you say goes straight to his head, fueling his self-destructive tendency to crave more, more, more. Why are you doing this? What do you gain from acting so sweet to him?

"You–" He shudders, "You're wasting your time with me."

Maybe he's right. You can't change him, not by a longshot. He'll never treat you the way you deserve, like a proper boyfriend. He'll always end up shouting at you out of frustration, he'll always break things and punch walls during arguments, he'll always slip horribly deep into his depression and self isolate, rotting alone in his room while you're worried sick about him.

But you're not trying to "fix" him. You're taking him as he is, flaws and all.

Jimmy's no longer sure if he can stomach the realization that maybe, just maybe, you genuinely love him.

The way you're pumping his cock, sending stinging jolts of burning hot pleasure that shoot straight through his abdomen, makes him react in a way neither of you expect.

He's crying.

It feels so good– you're so fucking infuriatingly good, all he can do is weep. Tears stream down his face as he whimpers, his breathing coming out as labored, choked gasps. A shaky breath comes from him, trying to compose himself before he speaks, "You should stop. Please. I don't deserve it."

You shake your head, persistent as ever when it comes to him. You wipe away a fresh tear as soon as it attempts to slip down his cheek.

"No," You say, "Don't push me away." The way you look at him, all love and tenderness; it makes him nauseous.

"Please..." He begs. He's not sure what for.

You shush him, a finger to his chapped lips, before you pull your pants down, underwear along with them. He's seen you bare more times than not, yet in this particular instance, it feels like your willingness to give yourself to him is an act of gracious mercy. He only takes, and yet, you give so freely.

"It's alright," You coo, melodic, "Just relax."

His heart is pounding in his chest as his eyes linger on your cunt, glistening and eager, just for him, and you can see the sheer need in his eyes. If he wasn't before, he's completely defenseless against you now, and it scares him how badly he loves and loathes it at the same time.

It takes everything inside him not to cry out as you guide him to your hole, sinking down slow so you don't overwhelm him all at once. Jimmy buries his face in your chest, his breathing labored and stuttering. "I'm right here, I've got you." You kiss the top of this head, petting his hair back, smoothing down every loose strand. Yhe way you're so gentle and attentive with him, handling him with care, it feels maternal. Motherly. Or, at least, what he imagines having a mother coddle you feels like.

You're warm. Comforting. Nurturing. Patient. All the adjectives that describe the parental figure he didn't have. You're what he's been missing, deprived of.

Jimmy holds onto you like a lifeline, helping you lift up, then sink back down onto him in a steady rhythm, your gummy insides pulsing to the beat of your heart around his aching cock. You're pulled flush against him, his lips lightly grazing the area around your collarbones, leaving an array of light hickeys.

"My perfect boy," You let out a satisfied sigh, lifting your bra up and over your body to reveal your chest to him, your tits bouncing at every movement, "Always so good to me."

Jimmy can't take it. The idea that he's perfect? It's so unbelievably rewarding to hear those words directed at him. He lets out a trembling whine at the sight of your newly exposed skin, before immediately burying his face into your tits, a hand moving to grope and squeeze one, his mouth latching onto the other, eagerly sucking and taking your piqued nipple between his teeth.

You let out a few moans of your own, gasping every time he nips you a little too hard. "F– Fuck, that's good, Jim." Your fingers grip the hair on the back of his head, tugging lightly, the way it makes his scalp sting slightly causing him to groan against you, the sound low and gutteral.

He can't think straight anymore, every single one of his senses completely overwhelmed. In the heat of the moment, he finds himself involuntarily crying out something that immediately makes him want to jump into a vat of acid.

"M– Mommy–"

You freeze for a moment, not from disgust or discomfort, just... surprise. Jimmy? Your Jimmy, calling you mommy of all things? You thought you'd entered another plane of existence. After forcing a quick recovery, you notice his own mortification.

"...What'd you say?" You ask, not intentionally trying to embarrass him further, you just wanted to double check that you actually heard what you thought you heard.

Jimmy is currently in a full blown panicked frenzy. He's never called anyone that in his life. Literally, he didn't even have a mother figure to give that title to. Trying to regain his bearings through the hot wash of shame coarsing through his body, his head feeling full of cotton, he stammers, "Fuck, I– I don't know where that came from, I–" he should just get up and go hang himself, he thinks.

"Hey, no, it's fine," You reassure him, even though it does nothing to alleviate his humiliation, "I don't mind, really."

He's expected you to call him disgusting, berate and mock him for being a creep; Anything but being so understanding and patient. "W– Why... Why are you so... you?" He asks, unable to wrap his head around how you haven't broken into a fit of laughter yet.

You shrug, chuckling a little at his impossible question, "Well, I don't exactly have the answer to that," Your hand moves to knead his shoulder, easing the tension away, "But... I do know that I wouldn't mind being your mommy. Not at all."

Jimmy hated how his cock twitched inside of you when you said that, the realization that he actually liked what he's hearing, that he wanted to call you mommy of all things, made him want to bang his head against the wall until it splits.

"...Just, don't– don't fuckin' make fun of me for this." He grumbles, burying his face back in between your soft tits to hide himself. He couldn't possibly maintain eye contact right now.

"Never." You shake your head, returning to riding his dick, slower and softer than you've both ever been in bed. It felt nice, to give up control. To let you take your time with him, whispering praises into his ear, leaving sugary sweet love bites on his neck.

This, he believes, is true bliss.

Being pampered like this... It's addictive, and he's not letting go of it now that he finally has a taste.

"Th– Thank you," He whines, low and needy, sounding choked up again, "Thank you."

It's rare to hear him show gratitude for something, especially in a way that's so deep, so genuine. "Thank you... what?" You decide to indulge yourself in this side of him while you have the chance.

Jimmy groans, knowing where you're going with this. He's too pathetic to deny himself what he wants at this point, and he whimpers pleadingly, "...Thank you..." He chokes the words out as if he's being forced against his will, but you can practically hear how eager he is to say the next word on his tongue, "...Mommy."

"There you go," You croon, "That's a good boy. You're mommy's good little boy, aren't you?"

He doesn't know why he feels like sobbing.

Everything you're saying is seared directly into his brain, scolding hot, like a brand. "Yeah," He breathes, "Yeah, I'm... I'm your good boy." Jimmy nestles his face into the side of your neck. He's a dog, rubbing against their owner, begging for attention.

As he nears his release, he gradually turns into even more of a mess, his salty tears falling onto your shoulder, arms wrapped so tight around your torso that you fear he'll snap your ribcage in two, babbling a broken, trembling string of "mommy, mommy, mommy–"

"Mommy's right here." You breathe, his cock hitting all the right angles deep inside you, and for once, you're setting the pace, which only enhances the experience for you.

Jimmy knows he'll regret this later. This entire experience will probably turn into something else his brain tortures him with at night, but, at the moment, he's too drunk off your cunt to care. His head is empty for once, fuzzy and blissfully silent. He can't even form a proper sentence anymore, the only words able to make it past his lips are desperate pleads.

"Are you close, honey?" You ask, and you receive a frantic nod from him in response, along with a strangled whimper. "I know, I know," You murmur with audible compassion, "You want to cum so bad, don't you?"

He's sure that this is his new form of worship, his religion. Not that he ever had one to begin with. "Y– Yeah," He whines, breathless, "Please... Please–"

"You don't have to beg," You tell him, even though, truthfully, you were getting off on his begging this entire time, "Go ahead and cum for mommy. Cum deep in mama's pussy, baby."

Jimmy throws his head back, jaw clenched, eyes screwed shut, and as if by your command, he releases inside of you with a drawn out, quivering mewl, hot spurts of his release coating your insides. You can feel him throb, twitch, and tremor, coming undone, all because of you.

He looks more beautiful to you than he ever has, with a tear stained face and red rimmed eyes.

You comfort him as he comes down from his high, leaving a trail of kisses down the slope of his neck, from his adams apple to the area between his collarbones. You're like a soothing balm to an old and rotten wound he's long since tried to forget.

For better or for worse, he's never letting you go.

—

[genesisami]

Hiiidieieisiikaioiiii PLEASEEEEEEEEE MAKE A PART 2 FOR YOUR FIRST POST make the reader lowk fall for rin😭😭😭😔😔

No problemooo! I hope it’s to your liking :3

I can tell some of y’all needed closure after the first one 😅

CW: Pretty much the same as the first some nsfw, aged up characters, Rin might be a lil ooc

As the months went by your relationship with Sae began to falter.

You no longer felt the pleasure and joy you used to when the two of you had sex.

He never did any aftercare, just typically getting up the next morning, cleaning himself up and leaving without another word.

Thats when Rin stepped up, the two of you still had an occasional situationship, when Sae was out of town having a football match or when the two of you fell out.

Rin was always there for you, he tries not to show his desperation when you come around sobbing to him. Saying how much of an asshole Sae is, all he does in return is quietly console you.

To him this felt like a dream come true, were you finally starting to realise how good you and him would be together?

Your and Itoshi Sae’s relationship seemed nothing too far off from typical relationships, is what anyone from outside would assume.

Sae wouldn’t muse you with that lovey dovey shit, he wasn’t a physically affectionate person at all. The most non sexual intimacy you two would have would be when he has an interviews, occasionally holding your hand while the press snapped photos of the two of you.

When it came to private, Sae would begrudgingly amuse you, when your begging became exceptionally annoying he would carry you up to your shared bedroom.

When he fucked you he would just stare at you with that blank gaze of his, maybe occasionally letting out a groan or sigh when your body squeezed his. It never felt like you were both enjoying it, only ever you haphazardly orgasming after he slammed into you enough times.

One day you had enough of his dismissal and broke up with him. Tears welled up in your eyes as you grabbed your belongings from his home, trying not to focus too much on the pink haired male who stared at you. “Just calm down [name],” Sae spoke in an irritated tone as he grabbed your wrist, but you snatched it back just as quickly.

“No, Sae. I’m tired of this one sided relationship!”

His eyes widened for a moment, ever so briefly, before going back to his half lided manner and turning around. “Whatever,” Was the last thing he said to you before you slammed the door shut.

Time had passed since then, Sae hadn’t even left you the occasional weekly message that ex’s usually did. You couldn’t help but break down and cry often when you thought about him, all those years you crushed on him, just to finally realise how much of an ass he is.

You didn’t have to look far for comfort, Itoshi Rin always being there to support and comfort your needs. Your relationship with him bloomed from just one night stands, he still loved pumping you full with his love but also found it comforting when you would share your problems with him.

When you were feeling significantly down, Rin would always offer to try out something new with you, whether it be a new position in which you can be in control or even just going bowling.

You no longer pretended that he was Sae, instead seeing him for his own person. His hair, his body, his voice and his tantalising sapphire eyes.

You also began to notice the amazing physique he had, when his chest heaved above yours while he demonstrated his stamina. Was he always this fit?

Or when he hit that one spot that made you swoon, causing you to make a lewd face at him as you locked your legs around him, something you almost never did. Was he always this good?

He would bring you to a nice restaurant one day on your birthday, gently easing you in rather than artificially love bombing you Sae did. You began to fall for him, finding comfort in his presence.

One evening after a particularly erotic night in bed, Rin confessed to you. He poured out his feelings for you and how you used to make him feel, his towering figure ontop of you making you feel very aware.

“[name].. I feel so drawn to you. We make eachother feel so good, don’t we? How you moaned my name just now, I can tell you feel it too.. Seeing you with Sae… it made me feel pathetic. I just want to be the one for you, the only one.”

After he spoke he waited for your response, his eyes analysing your face for a shift in expression.

“Rin.. why couldn’t you have told me sooner?” Your eyes closing slightly as your lips spread into a gentle smile. Rin, feeling his heart for once, his feelings, acknowledged, brought him relief. He whispered a low “I love you” before connecting his lips with yours, bringing a hand up to squeeze your chest and causing you to moan, letting him slip his tongue into the kiss.

The two of you stayed in this moment for what seemed like hours, his hands caressing your body in a tenderness that you’ve never felt before and his tongue exploring you like he wanted to devour you whole.

With your newfound love and relationship with Rin you felt happier than ever, moreso than both Your makeshift relationship with Sae and Rin combined.

[tommyssupercoolblog]

Edit I didn't see ur reblog. This is awkward now. Um. POG. ✌🏻 Scuttles away /gen /nerv

Leaving my original response under the cut for anyone who needs it but uhm I HAVE DONE AN AUTISM AND MISUNDERSTOOD THE SITUATION...... Glad u r okay and not sad /gen

Fuck that shit yes you will. Every day I log onto phannie Tumblr and people are like "no one loves each other as much as they do" and I have to physically stop myself from shouting "ME AND MY GUSBAND!!!! HUSBAND!!!! HUSBAND MY HUSBAND ;!!!!!!!!!"

BUT IN THIS CASE UR SELF DEPRICATING SO MY URGE TO CORRECT IS ACTUALLY HELPFUL THIS TIME I WILL AVOID SHUTTING UP

There are MILLIONS of people on this silly ass little planet. Love like that is OUT THERE. is it rare? Absolutely. Is it to be treasured? Absolutely. BUT IT IS ATTAINABLE.

Stop telling yourself that you can never have a love like that because you weren't born as one half of an emo twink duo on Myspace. I KNOW YOU LOVE AND CARE THEM. ME TOO. BUT YOU CANNOT LET YOUR PARASICAL LOVE OF THEIR RELATIONSHIP TRICK YOU INTO THINKING YOU CAN'T HAVE A SOULMATE

YOU SHOULD KEEP MAKING GIFS OF THEM AND BEING A PHANNIE FOREVER BECAUSE IT MAKES YOU HAPPY!!! BUT YOU ALSO!!! SHOULD REMEMBER!!! THAT UOU TOO CAN LOVE SOMEONE SO MUCH TJAT BYSTANDERS ARE EITHER SQEUALING OR DISGUSTED BY YOUR OBVIOUS SAPPYNESS. YOU TOO CAN BE SO GAY THAT YOUR GAY FRIENDS REACT TO PHOTOS OF YOU KISSING IN THE GROUP CHAT WITH "oh my god,,,,, I'm not gay anymore I'm homophobic what is this /j" YOU TOO CAN LOOK AT THEM WITH A COMICALLY IN LOVE GAZE THAT LOOKS STRAIGHT OUT OF A FUCKIN CARTOON. BE YOUR OWN PHAN AND STAN AFTUAL PHAN. DO BOTH

I am OBSESSED WITH MY HUSBAND I am mentally ill about him I am insane about him I am crawling up the walls and eating drywall and committing war crimes and shaking violently about him I am so full of love that people do impressions of me at parties and it's just "GUYS HAVE YOU SEEN MY BABYGIRL" AND THEY'RE FUCKING RIGHT. I am a husband guy TM AND I FUCKING LOVE IT. I ADORE HIM AND HE ADORES ME BACK If I killed somebody he'd cover for me. He's insane about me he thinks I'm hot and perfect even when I'm ripping into a rotisserie chicken like a rabid animal

You can find someone you ADORE TOO AND WHO ADORES YOU BACK JUST AS NEURODIVERGENTLY. YOU TOO CAN HE WEIRD AND CODEPENDENT AND STRANGE WITH THE INTENSITY OF YOUR LOVE AND BOND. YOU TOO CAN COMMUNICATE VIA STRANGE NOISES AND ACT LIKE CREACHURES TOGETHER. YOU CAN BE IN A BONDED PAIR.......

Shaking you by the shoulders. That can be you. That can be you. That can be anyone. That IS me and my husband. That kind of love exists in more than one place. It is not only for them.

YOU DO NOT HAVE TO HAVE FOMO

Being a Dan and Phil fan is the WORST because you look at them and go “I will never find another person who loves me in the way that they love each other” because they are truly so unique. An item that is defined as “one of a kind”.

[icewindandboringhorror]

sometimes looking at like Self Help Strategies lists for the symptoms I'm having is always just like:

thing that I already do

thing I have tried 10 times

thing I already do

thing that I don't have the money to do

thing I already do

thing I've been doing since I was 10yrs old to no avail

thing that is impossible given my situation

thing that doesn't apply to me

thing that I already do

thing I have already tried

hrmm, oh wait, maybe finally- OH, yeah.. okay. thing that I already do but it was just phrased slightly differently

thing I have already done

[scare-ard--sleigh]

i think what a lot of people misunderstand about the oz Fantasy(TM) is that it's not about denying that he's done anything wrong -- we fully know that he's made some awful, selfish decisions. the fantasy's more like;; what if my affection was powerful enough to make him into something good (whatever that means)? what if my love could change the trajectory of his life? this is not how it works in real life (and I think we all know that) which is what makes it a really satisfying fantasy <3

[conkreetmonkey]

I wanna make a Conky ref and lore sheet/bio, I'm really growing attached to that goober

[fembutchboygirl]

I just learned something so incredibly fucked up

[im-very-sorry]

im going to scream i just want to play like a farming or life sim where i can have my little guy be in a wheelchair. i cant find any anywhere i hate this i hate this i hate this

[faithisland]

fuck man it's so fucking frustrating how I'd probably love to clean and organize if i were ablebodied (or even just didn't have my specific conditions but still the nd traits)

I just can't be moving my head around like crazy. walking while moving my arms, reaching my arms down and immediately up, lowering my head to the ground to reach something and then standing back up, having no momentary neck support at any time, those are the worst for me. I would do any task, honestly. I just feel so fucking trash every time I do these kinds of things. standing is excruciating, moving my arms while doing it literally affects my consciousness to the point where I lose track of what I'm doing (and not in the typical adhd way).

as long as I can stay stationary, particularly partially lounging, I am capable of rational, logical thought. I can think through long term consequences, remember the basic physics of the universe, generally function like I am not an alien to this dimension.

[grandwretch]

the world will not be truly free and equal until modes of art like manga and musicals are completely accessible and I Am Not Joking

[therevengeoffrankenstein]

😒

[puppysdog]

sorry for being back on my aftg shit andrew is hanging around and i have brain rot

[archiebaldo1414]

I know this is like, not a hot take at all, but I just find it mind boggling how performative heteronormativity is. More so tho how you don’t realize you are being performative when you practice it.

Like, my mom’s aunt sent over a family Christmas card. On the card are all three of their kids, two of which I have no memory of seeing as long as I have memories. However, I’ve heard endless shit about the oldest daughter. She’s (apparently) this attention seeking, lazy, manly, fake woman who is fooling no one, and her gender is soooo crazy that my family, despite their very best efforts, can’t seem to stop misgendering her! Why must she make things so difficult! Anyways I see the card and am honestly a bit confused for a second as to who the genuinely gorgeous, conventionally attractive woman is until it clicks. Oh right. They’re fucking delusional. So I can’t stop looking at this card every time I’m in the kitchen with the constant internal monologue of “oh god she’s so pretty. She transitioned and she’s gorgeous (I know this doesn’t really matter but still obviously people have goals and she definitely met those damn goals), her family loves and excepts her, and oh right. Mine never will.”

My brother, being the bigoted piece of shit he is, felt the need to come home today, shine a flashlight on the card and start going “hmm, is this a…man?” Trying to get everyone’s attention. He then quickly double checked that the other girl was in fact the cis one, before doubling down becuase obviously HE CAN’T FUCKING TELL. THEY CAN NEVER FUCKING TELL. Just fucking infuriating. He legit sounded like he was reading from a script tho. If any of you have seen that jubilee clip where the woman is like

Such awesome masculine energy in here today🥰😘😊

And then one of the guys was like, so I’m trans

And she immediately cut him off to be like “I’m sooo sorry, but I just don’t see you that way”

It was the same. He has to make sure he was talking about the right woman because lord knows he can’t tell. My sister will talk about how she went over their house for Christmas and suddenly remember herself and go “he she it” and then deadname her just to make sure we all know she doesn’t see her as a woman. Despite clearly referring to her as a woman the rest of the conversation out of instinct.

Again, like I know this is not a hot take, like, at all. There is a reason I read so much fucking fanfic about healing internalized homophobia and transphobia and so much fucking found family. But it’s just like, how the fuck are situations like these not caricatures? How is this over the top shit not a skit and the real stuff more subtle? like I genuinely don’t understand. And this is coming from someone who threw themselves into that awful performance for the first 17 years of my life. Every thought I had had to be justified and checked. Every opinion had to come from someone trusted. I was told the school system was evil and trying to brainwash me and I believed it. Like how is this something happening?

Sry for this I’m just fucking angry. I’m not out, I’m fully dependent on a transphobic and homophobic family due to disability so I won’t be coming out, and if I did I’d be treated like shit no matter what. I could fully transition and be a dad with a beard and I don’t think they’d see me as a man then. I’ll wear something feminine one time and they’ll use it as ‘proof’. I just want to be exposed to some different people man.

[subaru-meteorlight]

.

[euthymiya]

“Did you know—”

“I don’t care,” Sukuna interrupts, wholly disinterested. It’s half past three—(which is, of course, his fault, but that doesn’t mean he’s any less tired).

But you, wholly uncaring, promptly ignore him. “—That some female spiders eat the male ones after mating?”

“What do you want me to do with this information?” He looks at you irritably, glaring at you from the corner of his eyes. You flash him a grin—it’s a mischievous little thing, your lips curled in a cheeky, flirty way that warns him silently that he’s about to risk popping another vein. He seems to do that around you quite often, and it certainly feels like it’s underway once more.

(And, as it always is, his intuition would be right).

“It’s a warning,” you hum.

He snorts, raising a clearly disbelieving brow as he hums, “oh yeah? For what? Are you gonna—wha-hey!”

Not a lot catches Sukuna off guard. You giggle as he barks out a surprised yelp of your name, harshly shoving you away from his chest. There’s a nice, fresh, very crystal and very clear outline of your teeth marked right on the flesh surrounding his nipple.

He looks at you like you’ve lost your mind.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” He asks incredulously.

You let out a soft, amused little giggle that sounds through the room before he feels your weight shift and fall onto him, making him grunt as his arms steady you and his eyes stare up at your hovering face with an agitated purse of his lips.

“I’m eating you,” you say cheekily, “see?” For emphasis, you leave an equally as shocking bite to his bicep, your head leaning down to get a mouthful of his bare arm. He lets out a low, startled grunt before one large and very firm hand grabs the back of your neck and yanks you off.

“Have you completely lost it?” He hisses.

“We just mated—”

“Who on Earth talks about sex like that? We are not animals who—”

“—And now I’m going to eat you after mating. Like a female spider.”

“If you’re going to be weird, just go the fuck to sleep,” he grumbles lowly.

Sukuna is tired.

(And yes, the reason is partly because he’s a bit inexhaustible once he’s felt the velvet heat of your walls, and yes, it’s technically his own greediness that’s worn him out so physically for the night. But that’s all been the cost for something of greater benefit to him. Something he doesn’t exactly mind draining his energy for.

Bur your odd, unsettling, abnormal and very plainly weird schemes are not a part of the list of things he’s willing to sacrifice his energy for. There isn’t much pleasure in entertaining your nonsense most of the time.

If anything, there’s pain—the stinging bite marks on his skin can attest to that.)

“I’m not tired,” you hum.

“Then let me make you tired,” he offers smugly, lips tugging into a cocky grin as he looks up at you.

“If you didn’t manage that the first time, what makes you think that’ll work the second?” You tease.

He doesn’t seem to like that very much, because with a growl, he pushes the back of your neck until your face falls into the crook of his neck, a strong, bulky arm wrapping around your waist and keeping you in place against his body.

It’d be awfully intimate, and awfully sweet if he didn’t mumble, “I love when you sleep because it’s the only few hours of the day I get to hear you shut the fuck up.”

“Maybe if you’d just appreciated my fun fact—”

“You bit my fucking nipple.”

“I could bite the other one, too, if you want,” you pipe up with an excited grin. He can feel it pressed against his skin as your face buries deeper into the space between his neck and shoulder.

Sukuna is tired. Most of the time, it’s because of you. All of the time, he chooses to allow it because he likes having you around for a good fuck.

(And, of course, there’s all that bullshit about love and affection, too. But that’s just that odd stuff you like to babble about—that odd, unsettling, abnormal and very plainly weird emotional part of you that somehow ropes him into being the same way every once in a while.

He doesn’t like it.)

“You need a lobotomy,” he mutters, wincing when you bite the skin of his neck in response. Not in a manner he likes, either—very much in a manner that makes sure he feels the sharpness of your incisors.

“Don’t be rude,” you scold, “I’m biologically meant to be your predator.”

“You biologically give me fuckin’ migraines.”

You grin—it’s a smile that’s easy. Smooth. Maybe a little giddy, too. It comes out only around Sukuna. Him and his gruff, rugged way of accepting your affection, and his double as rough and crude way of giving it back. His callused hands and toughened knuckles that brush along your cheeks carefully. His crass and undignified words that are carefully thought out enough to never cross the line. His downturned lips and narrowed eyes that only ever soften at the sharp corners around you.

“Next time, I’ll eat you for sure,” you murmur, settling against his chest and getting comfortable. He wraps both arms around you, warm and tight enough that you almost think you can forgo the blanket altogether. “Assert my dominance.”

“You can’t even open the pickle jar.”

“That’s different.”

“It’s only a matter of time until natural selection gets you,” he snickers quietly. You huff, biting back a smile as he yawns.

Gently, with a kiss over the bite mark you left against his neck, you say softly, “goodnight. Love you.”

“Night.”

“I love you.”

“For the love of—love you too, holy fuck. Go to sleep.”

[drop-dead-dropout]

traumatized by involuntary psychiatric treatment. oh she's just like me fr

amy pond + involuntary / coercive treatment

( the eleventh hour / the girl who tore through the universe by nikita gill / dead of winter by james goss / the big bang / the girl who tore through the universe by nikita gill / the girl who waited / apollo 23 by justin richards / the big bang )