Am I The Problem? - Tumblr Posts

So most nights when I say goodnight to my family it's pretty early, like 8 o'clock, and every time without fail my mother is like "You're going to bed now?"

NO MOM I'M NOT I JUST DON'T PLAN ON SEEING YOU FOR THE REST OF THE NIGHT AND I'M TRYING TO BE POLITE

Like this happens so often and I genuinely don't understand why she does this??? Like sleep? I don't know him! I just want to be all nice and cozy and alone in my locked bedroom!!!

I am saying "Good night" I am not saying "I'm going to bed"

I'M WISHING YOU A GOODNIGHT??? MAYBE WISH ME A GOODNIGHT IN RETURN IDK

Like I love you I want you to have a good night you deserve a good night I deserve a good night GOOD NIGHTS ALL AROUND

JADE! Congrats on 1K!!! As a treat, can we have NFWMB (Hozier) smut with Jimin and either brat or dom!reader? PM sent for age verification <3

me, rubbing my hands together like a mischievous lil raccoon upon receiving this. you get me, anon. tbh i’m not going to track the word count, so this may very well be way longer than a drabble should be 😂 this is going to be in jimin’s pov due to the nature of the lyrics. also it’s in present tense, which i literally never do!

listen here.

cw: SMUT (18+ - minors dni or you’re grounded!) body worshipping, unprotected sex, domme!reader, sub!jimin, thigh riding, oral sex (f receiving), face sitting, orgasm denial, mild degradation, cockwarming, masturbation (f,) jimin is p obsessed with you so you can decide for yourself whether it’s a toxic relationship dynamic or he’s just v deep in sub space & completely in love.

if i was born as a blackthorn tree / i’d wanna be held by you / felled by you / fuel the pyre of your enemies

When Jimin walks into the bedroom, you’re sitting at the small, velvet stool in front of your vanity. One elbow rests daintily on the ivory top. The fingers of that adjoining hand hold dark waves back at your ear. You don’t look up, or otherwise acknowledge his presence, but he can’t blame you.

He wouldn’t take his eyes of you, either.

The diamond earrings he bought for you swing ever-so-slightly with your subtle movements. Catching the light emanating from the mirror’s frame, they send a flurry of sparkling, soft white across the expanse of your neck. It twinkles up to the curve of your jaw, now even sharper with your chin angled just so towards your reflection.

Your eyes eventually flicker over to study him through the glass. He doesn’t need to see it to know it; he feels your gaze burning white hot on his skin. No, he was too preoccupied with your other hand - the one holding that tube of Russian Red, swiping it slowly and expertly over your plush lips.

Do you know? Do you have any idea of the power you hold? Not just over him, but anywhere - any time. One look from you could very well split the Earth into pieces; level the entire city. And if you ever did, he’d lay his body down over the cracks like a bridge to give you safe passage through the rubble.

There’s a small twitch at the corner of your perfect mouth that tells him yes, you absolutely know what effect you have on him. Any doubts he may have had drop dead at his feet when you your eyes trail downward from his face to the erection making itself known behind the grey fabric of his slacks.

“Is it really that easy?” Your laugh is pure ice, but it scorches all the same. He swallows hard - he has no response - and then you coo at him, “Poor baby. It must hurt to want me this badly, huh?”

Yes.

Yes, yes, yes.

It aches.

But nothing he could think of to say would matter much at all. All he wanted was whatever you did, even if that meant he wouldn’t spend a second inside of you.

He’d light himself on fire to keep you warm.

When you unexpectedly stand from your seat, your hair spills over your bare shoulder. The thin strap of your dress - the one you’ll ask him to tighten, he’s sure, when you’re done with him - follows suit off the edge.

You turn to face him and you may as well have turned him to stone. Waiting so patiently for direction, he’ll go wherever you want him to. Your side, outside, straight to hell.

“Then lay down, pretty baby,” you gesture to the nearby bed with a manicured finger. Your nails are sharp, matching the glint in your eye. “Rest that empty head on the pillows.”

He’s too eager.

Has he ever moved so quickly?

When your directive has been carried out to the letter, he blinks up at you. Not expectant, but confused.

Why are you still so far away?

“Aren’t you coming, love?” He asks shyly, truly afraid that you’ll say no. It sounds more like a whine than a question, but for you, he’s never been too proud to beg.

You’re sauntering over to him when you reply and the wickedness of your smirk stings, “I intend to.” Carefully, you hike up the hem of your dress and climb atop the mattress. You settle with one leg on either side of his slightly bent knee. “Jury’s still out on you, though.”

His entire body shudders when your palms press against his abdominal muscles, smoothing up the fabric of his white button-up only to slide back down again. As you paralyze him with your touch, you swirl your hips against his thigh.

Fuck.

You lean in and whisper with red lips hovering close to his ear, “There’s nothing between my cunt and your trousers.” You exhale intoxicating heat against his skin as you grind against him a second time. “I’m wet enough to ruin them, baby. Can you feel it?”

His whole body jolts when you do it again, this time with your teeth nicking his lobe. Your pointed acrylic nails rake down his neck as his head lulls back.

Fuck.

“I said -“ you press yourself down more forcefully onto his thigh. His muscle tenses involuntarily underneath you; the dampened fabric chills his impossibly warm skin. You continue pleasuring yourself as you repeat between heavy breaths, “Can you feel it?”

The stain your arousal is leaving on his thigh matches the spot of pre-cum seeping through the crotch of his slacks. A helpless whimper flees from his mouth as you fuck yourself faster against his taut quadricep. Your knee just barely brushes against his cock, but it’s touch enough to make him stammer, “Y-yes.”

Without thinking, he releases the duvet he’s clinging to and brings his hands to rest on your bare legs. At this, you raise your own hand and grip his flushed cheeks, pushing his lips into a pathetic pout and guiding him to sit upright. “Oh, my beautiful, brainless boy - do you want to touch me?”

Breathless and at a loss for words, all he can give is a frantic nod. To touch you is all he ever wants; to worship like a dog at your altar; to give you his best and all the rest of him, too. You could have his still-beating heart if you gave him a moment to pry it from his chest. You had his soul wrapped around your finger already.

“You want to taste me,” you moan with your whole, heaving chest as your feverish pace slows. It isn’t a question because you already know the answer. You then stop your movements entirely and the sudden stillness is jarring - until your hands push hard against his chest. As his head hits the pillows, you smirk at his startled gasp, “Then don’t waste a drop.”

You grip the bottom of your dress with one hand and shimmy it up to be held at your waist. Simultaneously, you use your other hand to steady yourself.

You ascend over him easily until your knees rest at either side of his head. Even without your core pressed at his mouth - or your thighs squeezing tight against his head - he struggles to catch his breath.

He wasn’t asked for his thoughts, but they spill out anyway. He couldn’t keep them to himself, not when the glistening slick above him made his mouth water. It was a whisper - no, a prayer: “You’re perfect, every part of you. Please, baby, let me taste you.”

When you graciously oblige and begin to lower yourself onto him, he sucks in a breath. He doesn’t care if he suffocates, but he refuses to disappoint you.

His tongue finds your clit easily, and he greets it with little kitten licks while his hands slide up your naked thighs to grip your hips. Gently, he pulls you even closer; any distance - even microscopic - is too much to bear.

He feels you shiver, hears your faint mewl when his lips encircle that swollen bud of nerves. You gasp at the pressure of his suckling mouth; and you grind against the tip of his tongue as it flicks slowly over his target.

Thighs clenching against his head, you jolt when he releases your clit with an obscene, wet pop. And when the flat of his insatiable tongue laps up your arousal, you hiss through gritted teeth, “I knew there had to be a purpose for that fucking mouth. Not completely useless, huh? Are you my little fuck toy, baby?”

His eager reply darts from between his lips, through yours, and penetrates your hole. You gasp at the intrusion and sink further down onto him whether or not you mean to. He doesn’t mind; you could crush him and his last breath would be spent thanking you for it.

Every time the tip of his tongue enters you, it flips a switch. If he keeps going, he knows, your climax will rip through you like a power surge. Crackling, electrifying, and paralyzing.

Your shuddered moans increase in frequency while the pace of your writhing intensifies. He wants you to unravel into his open mouth. His dutiful ministrations, interrupted only by brief gasps for air, tell you as much.

The cry that rings out when you orgasm hits him like a thunder clap. It rumbles through his bones and unsettles every already-dizzy part of him further. He doesn’t let up until you decide that you can’t take his continued assault anymore.

Pulling yourself off him, you press up on your knees only to sit back against his chest. His gaze can’t decide between your sodden cunt as it drips onto his shirt, or your flushed face. In the end, it’s the painted lips that win.

If he had to kill a man just to kiss you, someone wiser would have to talk him out of doing so.

You reach backwards once you catch your breath and then you catch his swollen dick in your hand. You squeeze suddenly, firmly - but not cruelly - and he bucks against your touch.

Shit, shit, shit.

“Do you deserve a reward?” Your tone is innocent but the tilt of your head and your patronizing doe eyes paint a different picture. He doesn’t know how to traverse this minefield without losing a limb, so he says nothing.

You squeeze him tighter and he can’t keep from groaning, thrusting his head back against the pillow, screwing his eyes shut.

You perfect, torturous thing. How did you end up in this bed with him, so far from heaven? Did you fall like Lucifer, you beautiful devil?

His eyes fly open when your presence on his chest disappears. When they re-focus, you’re shifting backwards down the length of his torso, stopping to loom over his pelvis. His cock twitches, so acutely aware of its proximity to you.

You say nothing as you undo his belt. You stay silent when you slide it through the loops of his slacks and cast it aside. When you address his button and zipper, all he hears is his pulse hammering in his ears.

The warmth of your fingertips only graces him briefly - in the moment before you sink down onto his length without hesitation. He moans loudly when you bottom out in an instant, velvet walls gripping tight.

The only move you make is to slip your hand between your spread legs. Your middle finger swirls over your clit, but you’re otherwise still with his cock buried deep in your wet heat.

He’s throbbing inside you despite it all; he aches so badly for friction you won’t share. It’s just you, the pad of your fingertip, and the gaze you have handcuffed to his.

Your eyes struggle to remain open as your nimble finger inches you closer to your next orgasm. All he can do is watch as your lids flutter shut. Withstand the way your cunt squeezes him tighter and tighter.

Feeling you come around him would’ve been enough for him to follow you off that ledge, but mere moments before he could catch up, you quickly slide off of him.

Oh, it hurts, it hurts, it hurts to love you enough to let you slip away like this.

His parted mouth fails to keep his whimpering breaths a secret. Your hand - still wet with your own juices - returns to his face. There you capture his jaw in the space between your thumb and index finger.

When you lean in with puckered lips, he thinks you might finally kiss him. Please, for the love of god, just kiss him. And you do, but not where he craves it.

You slink away, leaving devastation on his face and a bright red stain on his crisp, white collar. With satisfaction twinkling in your eyes, you hum, “There. Ain’t you my baby?”

He is, he is, he is, he is.

it sucks so much when you love someone and you know they love you too but they just can’t do it the way you need it. Like this is genuinely a different kind of heartbreak. What do you mean love does not in fact conquer all? Why isn’t it enough? Why can’t you just show me you love me the way I need it? Why do I keep having to beg for it if you are feeling that way about me? Why is it so hard?

Am I the jerk, am I in the wrong, ya know I really hope not! My family brought me up to be super religious, and I was for a long time, but I have too many negative experiences with the church. I have a lot of self doubt and anxiety that comes from the christian religion. I’m agender and gay, and I hated myself and genuinely thought that I was a disappointment and that I was nothing but rubbish, a failure, that I didn’t deserve to live because I couldn’t even get myself to stop thinking about girls in a way that I believed at the time was sinful. I literally lived in constant fear that my parents would kick me out for my sexuality from the time I was eleven to the time I was eighteen, because my parents are extremely homophobic. I constantly looked for ways to ’fix’ myself, and I was miserable! Not to mention that all my friends had to be christians according to my parents, and they all basically stabbed me in the back and gave me major relationship anxiety that I’m still trying to deal with to this day! I still can’t make a friend without hearing that little voice in my head telling me that they don’t really like me, they just feel sorry for me, they just need someone who’ll do what they say, they just want you around so they can laugh about you, so they can gossip, for money, they just want you for something and then they’ll get bored and leave you, they always do! That church was always the root of it! But my parents think I’m being rude when I come home from college and don’t want to go to church on the weekends, they’re making me go tomorrow but it’s Christmas and I really don’t want to get up and go somewhere that gives me so much anxiety that it literally disrupts my blood circulation and makes my fingers hurt! I’ve went to church with them for the past two Sundays! Am I really the asshole for not wanting to go back to that place?

{what if. i rp'd eren. what then}

I finished listening to red valley a while ago and am I the only one that is having trouble differentiating between Gordon and Warren's voices. Or is this where I find out I'm tone deaf

I've found it increasingly harder to connect intimately and emotionally with people in my real life, to share parts of my soul and inner most thoughts and desires, and I have to wonder if this is a side effect of being burned by giving too much of myself in relationships of the past, or just a part of growing up

Is it really too much to ask for someone who will be absolutely 100% devoted to me ..?