#hEHHEE >}:)

[smooshednetwork]

AND JUNKO!!!

[skimmeh]

DRAW STAREATER JIMMY PLEASE DRAW HIM HAVING A SNACK

I gave him a lemon :)

[gurokiitty]

Hiii! I read your Jimmy fanfic and I absolutely love it so so so much.

I was really curious as to if you could do a babysitter! jimmy x reader, where reader is Curly’s younger sibling and, despite them being of age, Curly is adamant on them being babysat (just in case because he’s a caring brother ☺️) and Jimmy comes to babysit the reader. They order pizza, put on a Christmas movie and get cosy under a blanket. Jimmy starts to get handsy under the blanket and it ends with the Reader sucking Jimmy off on the living room couch.

Thought a sort of Christmassy fanfic would be good this time of year :3

Lots of love, 🌺 ~🫶🫶

a/n : i'm giggling n kicking my feet, anon <33 i love this idea! thank you for your request :3 AND HAPPY HOLIDAYSSS

DON'T TELL

{ babysitter! jimmy x f! reader ]

word count : 1594

warnings/tags : DUBCON, legal age-gap, pre-tulpar, reader is curly's adopted sister, implied incest, groping, rough n messy throatfucking.

You didn't know what you expected, but it wasn’t him. When you opened the door, he was there—leaning lazily against the frame, all wiry angles and slouching indifference.

Jimmy, you’d assumed, though the man standing on your porch was a far cry from the image you’d pieced together in your mind. The stories your brother told painted him as someone reliable—maybe even admirable, in Curly’s own begrudging way.

But the real Jimmy looked like he’d been scraped off the bottom of a gas station parking lot. His leather jacket was cracked and scuffed, so fatigued it shone in patches. His hair was slicked back, greasy enough to catch the dim porch light like an oil spill. His jaw was shadowed with dark stubble, and his eyes—so dark they almost swallowed the whites—flicked over you with a quick, cutting assessment.

“Curly’s sister?” he asked finally, the cigarette smouldering between his fingers leaving a faint trail of smoke that curled in the frosty air.

You nodded, though something uneasy had stirred in your chest. “Yeah,” you managed, your voice thinner than you wanted. “That’s me.”

You stepped aside, pulling the door open wider, the words spilling out of your mouth before you could think better of it. “Come in.”

“Little old for a babysitter, don’t you think?” he drawled, stepping over the threshold as the faint scent of sweat and smoke trailed after him.

He was right—you weren’t a kid, and yet here you were, playing host to someone Curly had insisted on sending to keep an eye on you. It felt absurd, letting this wolfish man into your home just because your brother trusted him. And yet, you did, because trust in your brother was second nature.

Now, the two of you sit on the couch, the glow of the television casting flickering shadows across the room. The Christmas movie you’d picked plays in the background, all twinkling lights and syrupy holiday cheer, but your focus has drifted elsewhere.

It had started innocently enough—Jimmy stretched out at one end of the couch, you curled at the other, a safe distance between you. But slowly, inexorably, he’s crept closer, his presence consuming more and more of the space around you like mould festering, proliferating, spreading to places that were once unspoiled. His knee brushes against yours, then lingers. The blanket you’d wrapped around yourself is now shared, his hand tugging it over his lap as though it had been his all along.

You barely register the movie anymore—some forgettable scene flashing on the screen, colours bleeding into each other without meaning. The warmth of his body radiates through the layers of fabric between you, but it’s his hand that holds your attention. It rests lightly against your thigh beneath the blanket, his fingers splayed just enough to make your breath waver. He doesn’t look at you—his eyes remain fixed on the screen, disinterested, as though his touch is incidental, meaningless.

But it’s not meaningless—not when it shifts higher, grazing the sensitive skin of your inner thigh.

You should say something, do something, but you sit frozen, your breath shallow, your hands clutching the blanket as though it could shield you. His fingers inch upward, a silent threat to claim the space between your thighs.

“Ever been touched like this before?” he murmurs, his raspy voice cutting through the music on-screen. He finally turns to look at you, his lips stretching into something that resembles a smile, though it doesn’t reach his eyes.

You swallow hard, your voice barely audible. “My brother—” The words tumble out, an incoherent plea. "He'd be so angry... I don't..."

Jimmy's eyes narrow, his fingers digging a bit harder into your soft flesh like a warning. "Then don't tell him."

Before you can respond, he leans in, his lips capturing yours with a force that steals your breath. The kiss is all tobacco and heat, and it leaves your head spinning. Your hands hover uselessly in the space between you, caught between pushing him away and pulling him closer.

Somewhere in the back of your mind, your brother's voice echoes—a reminder, a warning—but it’s drowned out by the way Jimmy’s free hand drifts higher, his palm pressing against your chest through the thin fabric of your shirt.

Your body betrays you, your hips shifting, grinding subtly against the palm he’s pressed between your legs as the blanket falls to the floor. The friction sends a jolt of sensation through you, and you squeeze your eyes shut, shame and desire warring. Curly would hate you if he knew, you think desperately. He’d never forgive you. But even that thought isn’t enough to make you pull away.

When Jimmy finally releases you, there’s a faint trail of saliva connecting your lips, glistening like honey. He grips the back of your head, his fingers tangling roughly in your hair, as his other hand fumbles hastily with his belt. The metallic jingle is sharp, invasive, and your stomach knots as he pushes his jeans down just enough to free himself.

“You worked me up,” he mutters, his voice rough, cracking slightly at the edges like something about to snap. "Now you’ve gotta finish the job." His hand tightens, and he pushes your head down toward his lap—toward his hardening cock.

The world narrows to the feel of his hand gripping the back of your head and the press of his fingers biting into your scalp. His scent curls inside you like a living thing, nauseating and strangely intoxicating. The fabric of his jeans is rough against your cheek as you shift, your lips parting hesitantly over his leaky head.

Salty precum stains your tongue before you can think to resist—his palm driving you down his length. Your warm, wet mouth envelops him, his girth stretching your lips as he invades your throat. He worms his way deeper, making you cough and sputter around him, your trembling fingers seeking the edge of the couch for support.

He’s unrelenting, pushing you down until your nose grazes the coarse hair at the base. Your lungs burn as you struggle to keep up, the pace frantic and uncaring, and you can feel spit beginning to drip from the corners of your mouth, pooling in a glossy mess between you. Your body shudders, muscles straining against the force, but he only growls low in his throat, moving you like a doll in his hands.

His fingers knot tighter, and he begins to guide you up and down, each motion sharper than the last. For a moment, your resistance slackens entirely, your head moving in time with the jerking motions of his hips.

His pelvis lifts slightly, an unspoken command, and you obey, your movements automatic, practiced. You can feel your cheeks hollow with effort as you take him deeper still, your lips brushing against his base with each downward stroke.

The slick sounds meld with the movie playing, obscene and rhythmic, each bob of your head sending a fresh wave of spit down your chin. You swirl your tongue around him with precision, tracing patterns you know by rote, and he groans above you, his fingers tightening as he presses you down further, deeper. His chest rises and falls heavily, his breaths jagged, and you can feel the heat of his shaft pulse against your tongue.

"F-Fuck, where’d you learn to suck cock like this, huh?" Jimmy pants, his hips stuttering as your motions turn quicker, more deliberate.

The words lodge in your chest, clawing at your ribs. Your stomach churns, and for a moment, you falter. Your brother's name blooms in your thoughts unbidden, sharp and sour like bile rising in your throat. It’s there, screaming inside your head, his voice intertwined with the memory of his hands—guiding, demanding, teaching.

Jimmy’s grip on you tightens as if sensing your hesitation, dragging you back to the present—to the bitter saltiness coating your tongue and the searing stretch of your throat. “Hey,” he growls, "I didn't tell you to stop."

Your body responds before your mind catches up, your head dipping again, lips sealing around him with renewed vigour. You move faster now, your tongue fanning over the underside of his cock, pulling needy sounds from him that vibrate in your ears. Your hands find his thighs, nails digging into denim as you try to steady yourself, spittle and mucus bubbling from your nose and mouth, trailing in sticky threads down your jaw.

He holds you there, his breathing ragged as he thrusts shallowly into your throat. You can feel his thighs tense, quivering beneath your fingers as the muscles in his stomach coil tight like a spring. He throws his head back, a steady groan escaping him as his release surges down your constricting throat in thick, pulsing streams.

It floods your mouth, hot and acrid, and you gag as it forces its way through. You tap desperately against his leg, your glassy eyes fluttering open in a silent plea. Finally, he lets you go, and you lurch back, coughing violently as you drag in a breath that burns all the way down. Strings of milky white trail from your lips, and some of it escapes your nostrils to trickle in sticky rivulets down your chin.

Your tangled hair clings to the dampness of your face as you sputter, choking out thick globs of spit and cum. Jimmy leans back against the couch, his breath still heavy, and watches you with a smug curl to his lips. "Shit—if I knew you were such a little slut, I would've babysat more often."

[johnnyclover]

I KNOWWWWW IF PONYBOY WAS ALIVE TODAY WHEN HE PLAYS 21 QUESTIONS HE PICKS THE MOST HARDEST SHIT OF ALL TIME.

“What is it? We give up!”- Steve, defeated on the couch.

“A hint.”- Ponyboy with a smug look on his face.

“What?”- Steve

“The answer, it was a hint.”- AND YOU CAN SEE HIS EVIL EYES BRO.

[codemonki]

COVER THEM UP SLUT!!!!!

[cloverplover]

[technicalgator]

i would die for your sheep soldier, he is everything 🐏💕😭

AHDJDJWJA THAMK YOU!! Sheep Soldier is so SILLY to me I love him so MUCH X3 ✨🐑🇺🇸

He is completely unaware of the dangers Shepherd Dell keeps him from 🐺 >:]

[sillyweirdkid]

since my cat is a mother now w 2 kittens i have the urge to dress her up as penelope of ithaca HEHEHEHEH

[k1ttyc0rner]

more of yesterdays outfit :3

[doormousedreams]

BACK ON MY BS AGAIN HELLOOOO

Jamil taking care of a Poisoned MC??

Tw for obvious reasons

I'm loosing my mind over this

So let's say you regularly hang out in sacrabia after the overblot incident, and just about everyone there gets along with you well and really enjoys your presence, especially Kalim.

On the other hand, Jamil pretty much despises you. You were already basically flaunting the whole "prefect hero" thing, and now you're spending extended time at his dorm? Acting as another mouth to feed and clean up after? He's so annoyed.

You, on the other hand, have a crush in Jamil. And are constantly trying to do subtle things for him. Like cleaning up, Cooking when you can, helping out around sacrabia in general

Jamil notices, and he hates it. He thinks he's being treated like some bomb waiting to set off any minute, by you and the rest of scarabia. He knows he did something wrong, he knows he could've hurt a lot of people, including himself, when he overblotted. But that doesn't mean he's going to just up and do it again. He doesn't need your pity.

Buuttt, little by little he starts to tolerate you.

One day, some way or another, you eat some food before Kalim just because you know how cautious he has to be and want to make sure he's comfortable, and also to make sure Jamil won't have to.

And surprise surprise!! It's Poisoned.

As soon as you start showing symptoms, Jamil is already on it. He's got an anitode ready, your head is in Kalim's lap and Jamil has to hold your nose so that it goes down smoothly.

Jamil starts to realize how panicked he is on the inside, despite not showing it.

Your stomach feels like it's being stabbed violently, and you're curled up and basically immobile. Kalim is panicking and crying, and Jamil is trying to calmly explain to him that you're going to be fine.

Jamil and Kalim end up helping you to a guest room and get you settled in the bed while the poison antidote takes effect.

Kalim stays by your side basically the whole time, and even though Jamil is trying to continue his afternoon where it left off, your condition is nagging him.

Eventually he goes back to your room as it gets dark, and reassures Kalim that he can go to bed, and that you'd be alright.

He stays for a moment after Kalim leaves.

"How are you feeling?" Jamil asks, walking to your bedside and pressing a cold, callused palm to your head to check your temperature. You whine in pain, and Jamil feels a small twinge of dread in his stomach. His face is passive as ever as he gently moves your face, opening your eyelids to look at the blood vessles, opening your mouth to make sure it wasn't miscolored, various other tasks to make sure the antidote was working. You hardly register anything he's doing, and it almost scares him to see you so weak. So pained.

He should be annoyed, right? You carelessly did something for the ever oblivious Kalim, and poisoned yourself in the process. You just ended up being another responsibility to shoulder.

But he's also so scared. Your pained breaths increase as you roll to your side, curled into a fetal position.

"It hurts..." You whisper. The words are pitiful, and they sharply pull at his heart. He sits on the bed, brushing your hair out of your face and pressing his cool palm to your head again, and this time, you lean into the touch.

"Do you want me to hynotise you?" Jamil asks, gently. He doesn't know why he asked that, let alone why he said it so tenderly, but you crack an eye open for a minute before shutting it tightly as another intense wave of pain washes over you. Jamil rubs your back soothingly as you curl into yourself more.

"It's just to put you to sleep, and help you sleep well. You won't hurt as much as you are now, I promise. It's just till morning." He clarifies. You're silent for a moment, besides your deep, controlled breaths as you try to work through the pain. And then you nodd.

"-please. please."-is all you manage to get out. Jamil is relived. He cradles your face with both hands, facing you towards him, but your eyes are shut tight.

"I need you to open your eyes, prefect." He says, softly, tenderly. When you do, he's quick to use his unique magic. He's never felt more relived when you start to settle, and calm down under his gaze.

"You will sleep well and undisturbed until the poison passes." He says, and just like that, you're asleep in his arms. He suddenly realizes how close his face is to your own, but he doesn't reel away like he would have before. For a split second, he thinks about kissing you. The thought is like a splash of cold water, and he sits back up again. He doesn't want to leave, so he sits in the chair that Kalim had left behind.

He stayes by your bedside the whole night.

[state-of-franklin]

I ALSO want everyone to remember: Alastor does NOT have his cane (or even the parts) at the end of the season. He LEFT it in his old radio shack at the bottom of a clifface.

I wonder if it’s his ego, his inability to fix it, or something else…

[askdesperado-rocketchairs]

[vinylbiohazard]

i saw this question floating around and thought id ask you it: whats your favorite wind breaker arc?

:O HI

i love all the arcs but tbh it's an easy enough answer: war arc!! OUGH it was just really well-done. we got great character development from our boy sugishita regarding how he feels about Sakura, Takiishi and Endo's WHOLE thing was fantastic and they are some of my favourite characters, plus Umemiya's fight with Takiishi was very very good for his character i think, cause while his backstory was great and very informative, i very much appreciated seeing how he interacted with Takiishi during that. overall!! very great moments for like ALL of the characters (especially Nirei btw, i forgot to mention it but his taking Suo's spot on the bridge was such a hype moment for him) had some great moments, and tbh the author does a really really good job of making all the characters interesting and giving them backstory without leaving any behind. and ofc the fight scenes went CRAZY good, love you wind breaker <333

[swiftmitsu]

:3

OMGO ICED TEAAA?!?

[lordtonic]

HAPPY BIRTHDAY OERMANNNNNNN <33333<33333<33333🎂🎂🎂🎂 @damistrolls go sensitive boy go

[zamjd]

@eyenaku I read the fic, fell in love with them instantly

Apologies if it's very a little messy ^^; correction pen is a challenge to use but was very fun to experiment w/ :>>

Bonus doodles

Also the "Moon's BudBud" was inspired by the idea in Genshin on how characters have "special dishes" for specific characters :>>