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#god i need this so bad

esmeislewd · 3 months

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cw:bimbofication, slob stuff

ngl being a pig is kinda natural for bimbos?

Pigs are pink and that's a bimbos favourite colour~

Bimbos love sweets but too many sweets make you fat~

You need to count your calories to stick to a diet but bimbos are too dumb for all that maths~

Bigger curves make for a better bimbo and the best way to get curves is gaining~

Bimbos love to show some skin so why not show off their belly too?

They're meant to be bubbly and happy and you're always happier after a nice meal~

It's hard to walk in heels so why not walk a little less~

It's hard to hold a knife and fork when you have nice long nails so why not just eat with your hands instead~

Even why they're dishevelled bimbos are pretty so don't worry about looking after your appearance you're still gorgeous~

Bimbos are meant to smell nice so why wash off that lovely scent you have when you could leave it a little longer~

As we can see being a pig comes so naturally to bimbos so just give in, it's what you're meant to be, not point resisting just eat and edge and lose yourself to your base instincts~

#esmes lood writings #god i need this so bad #if someone did this to me i'd beg them to marry me #sometimes you just get in the mood for slob and its like omg just make me so messy and depraved and tease me for it~#female feedee #make me fatter

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justmeinadaze · 10 months

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(Not my image)

Eddie fluff; I need this so I wrote it into existence 🥺❤🤕

Eddie was known for being loud. He could scream and shout anything anywhere. Whether it be a campaign during a Hellfire meeting or his feelings on his school and the students that attended it's classes.

He could play the guitar with an amp at full blast at 2am and not care what people at the trailer park thought.

So, of course, he would fall for a girl with chronic migraines. People including his friends thought you two would never work but what they didnt know was where the metalhead could be loud, he could be equally as soft and quiet.

When you woke up practically hissing at the sun, he shut the blinds and blocked off all the light he could find, sometimes even covering your eyes with his bandana to help. When you cringed at the sound of the tv in the living room as his uncle relaxed on his day off, Eddie shut the door and blocked the bottom with his sheets to muffle any extra sound.

He always made sure to have ice cold water and a cold damp cloth nearby to place over your forehead while he held you as you cried over the pain. When you were finally able to fall asleep, he remained silent; reading a book he was behind on or working on a new campaign.

His friends always asked if he hated these moments of silence and Eddie always responded the same.

"Yes but I hate them because I know she's hurting."

#god i need this so bad #my migraines fucking suck #eddie munson #stranger things #joseph quinn #fan fiction #eddie fanfic #eddie munson fluff #eddie stranger things #eddie munson stranger things #eddie munson blurb

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vivvy-of-the-lake · 11 months

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feeling very subby rn and just want to be bound, gagged, and literally served on a silver platter to a mean lesbian so she can use me O_O

#not even in a vore way (although if that's your thing this is also a good concept for that)#god i need this so bad #vivi's neediness

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punkybearboy · 9 months

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I need to get clicker trained so bad. To just get reduced to a whimpering needy mess at the sound of a click is so fucking hot to me. Yes please make me so dumb that i have to bark and whine!! Make me cum hands free while i give you head please!!

mdni, terfs dni, and wlw dni

#god i need this so bad #puppy nsft #transmasc #trans nsft #nsft #t4t puppy #gay #mlm #🎃

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lgbtlunaverse · 1 month

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The world exists in such a baffling state of simultaneous sex-aversion and sex-hegemony. Every social platform on the internet is trying to banish sex workers to the shadow realm but I can't post a tweet without at least two bots replying P U S S Y I N B I O. People are self-censoring sex to seggs and $3× but every other ad you see is still filled with half-naked women. Rightwingers want queer people arrested for so much as existing in the same postal code as a child and are also drumming up a moral panic about how teenage boys aren't getting laid enough. I feel like I'm losing my mind.

#it's bad if you want i have sex it's also bad if you DON'T want to have sex #god forbid if you're a woman in a heterosexual marriage and aren't in the mood #that's 'withholding sex' and you're clearly abusive scum who should be divorced and left without any of your shared assets.#but if you DO have sex now you're a degenerate freak plotting for the downfall of western society #i don't know what to say i'm just so tired #politics #culture #queerphobia #lgbtqia #misogyny #<it's not the exclusive source but let's be honest sooo much of this is integral to the patriarchy #patriarchy needs access to an underclass they can treat like sex objects but they also don't want them to have any human rights #so sexuality is both obligatory and stigmatized #purity culture #i'm really struggling with tagging this because most of the appropiate tags would- in a beautiful twist of irony- get me booted off tumblr

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in-som-niyah · 2 months

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i want a gentle jason

Jason who kisses his way up your body when you're coming down from your high. He whispers a hushed 'you okay ma?' in your ear because he cares

Jason who cleans you up with a soft towel against your delicate skin with eyes burning with just how much he loves you

Jason who will shower with you if you're up for it, constantly kissing your neck, your shoulders, anywhere his bitten lips could reach as his hands lovingly spread suds around your body

Jason who brings you a warmed and fluffy towel and wraps you up in it, making you look like the most adorable burrito he's ever seen

Jason who rubs you down with expensive oils, creams and butters, making sure your skin stays soft for the next time he's itching to devour you

Jason who helps you back into your (his) comfy clothes, while whispering all of the million and one reasons he'll love you forever

Jason who massages your hips, back and thighs, while also smoothing his lips over his previous bites he left on your heated skin and maybe leaving some more

Jason who rubs firm and gentle circles into your lower tummy, the place where he felt his length protruding from mere minutes ago, to soothe the ache he must have left

Jason who kisses you to sleep with his limbs wound tightly around you, mentally praying for your touch to never leave him

Jason who leaves your sleeping body only to make you breakfast the next morning: french toast with fluffy pancakes with syrups and jams of your choice

Jason who battles with his own mind about his self worth and weather or not you should be with someone better. But he would rather (literally) die than have you thinking the same. You're perfect. End of story.

Jason who would burn the whole world down if misfortune ever dared to reveal itself to you. Nothing will ever hurt you. Nothing will ever stop him from looking down and seeing those bright, sparkling eyes and sheepish smile. He swears on his next grave.

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confessedlyfannish · 2 months

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Writing Prompt #12

Bruce is reading the paper when the pour of Tim's coffee goes abruptly quiet. It would be hard to pinpoint why this is disturbing if it wasn't for the way the soft, tinny sound the vent system in the manor makes cuts out for the first time since being updated in the 90s. The pour, Bruce realizes, has not slowed to a trickle before stopping. It has simply stopped. And there is no overeager clack of a the mug against the marble counter or the uncouth first slurp (nor muttered apology at Alfred's scolding look) immediately following the end of the pour.

Bruce fights the instinct to use all of his senses to investigate, and instead keeps his eyes on the byline of the article detailing the latest set of microearthquakes to hit the midwest in the last week. Microearthquakes aren't an unusual occurrence and aren't noticeable by human standards, which is why this article is regulated to page seven, but from several hundred a day worldwide to several hundred a day solely in the East North Central States, seismologists are baffled.

Bruce had been considering sending Superman to investigate under the guise of a Daily Planet article requested by Bruce Wayne (Wayne Industries does have an offshoot factory in the area) when everything had stopped twenty seconds ago. That is what he assumes has happened (having not moved a muscle to confirm) in the amount of time he assumes has passed. His million dollar Rolex does not quite audibly tick but in the absolute silence it should be heard, which confirms the silence to be exactly that—absolute.

While Bruce can hold his breath with the best of the Olympian swimmers, he has never accounted for a need to remain without blinking without being able to move one's eyes. Rotating the eyeballs will maintain lubrication such that one could go without blinking for up to ten minutes. But staring at the byline fixedly, he estimates another twenty seconds before tears start to form.

These are the thoughts Bruce distracts himself with, because he doesn't dare consider how Tim and Alfred haven't made a (living) sound in the past forty-five seconds. About Damian, packing his bag upstairs for school after a morning walk with Titus that was "just pushing it, Master Damian".

There is a knife to his right, if memory serves (it does). In the next five seconds—

"Your wards and guardian are fine, Mr. Wayne," the deepest voice Bruce has ever heard intones. For a dizzying moment, it is hard to pinpoint the location of the voice, for it comes from everywhere—like the chiming of a clocktower whilst inside the tower, so overpowering he is cocooned in its volume.

But it is not spoken loudly, just calmly, and when he puts the paper down, folds it, and looks to his right, a blue man sits in Dick's chair.

He wears a three piece suit made entirely of hues of violet, tie included. He has a black brooch in the shape of a cogwheel pinned to his chest pocket, a simple chain clipped to his lapel. Black leather gloves delicately thumb Bruce's watch (no longer on his wrist, somewhere between second 45 and 46 it has stopped being on his wrist), admiring it.

"You'll forgive me," the man says with surety. "Clocks are rather my thing, and this is an impressive piece." He turns it over and reveals the 'M. Brando' roughly scratched into the silver back. He frowns.

"What a shame," he says, placing it face side up on the table.

"Most would consider that the watch's most valuable characteristic." Bruce says, voice steady, hands neatly folded before him. Two inches from the knife. To his left, there is an open doorway to the kitchen. If he turns his head, he might be able to get a glance of Tim or Alfred.

He doesn't look away from the man.

"It is the arrogance of man," the man says, raising red eyes (sclera and all) to Bruce, "to think they can make their mark on time."

"...Is that supposed to be considered so literally?" Bruce asks, with a light smile he does not mean.

The man smiles lightly back, eyes crinkling at the corners. He looks to be in his mid thirties, clean-shaven. His skin is a dull blue, his hair a shock of white, and a jagged scar runs through one eye and curving down the side of his cheek, an even darker, rawer shade of blue-purple.

The man turns the watch back over and taps at the engraving. "Let me ask you this," he says. "When we deface a work of art, does it become part of the art? Does it add to its intrinsic meaning?"

Bruce forces his shoulders to shrug. "It's arbitrary," he says. "A teenager inscribes his name on the wall of an Ancient Egyptian temple and his parents are forced to publicly apologize. But runic inscriptions are found on the Hagia Sophia that equate to an errant Viking guard having inscribed 'Halfdan was here' and we consider it an artifact of a time in which the Byzantine Empire had established an alliance with the Norse and converted vikings to Christianity."

"The vikings were as errant as the teenager," the man says, "in my experience." He leans back in his chair. "I suppose you could say the difference is time. When time passes, we start to think of things as artistic, or historical. We find the beauty in even the rubble, or at least we find necessity in the destruction..."

He offers Bruce the watch. After a moment, Bruce takes it.

"The problem, Mr. Wayne, is that time does not pass for me. I see it all as it was, as it is, as it ever will be, at all times. There is no refuge from the horror or comfort in that one day..." he closes his hand, the leather squeaking. And then his face smooths out, the brief severity gone. He regards Bruce calmly.

"You can look left, Mr. Wayne."

Bruce looks left. Framed by the doorway, Tim looks like a photograph caught in time. A stream of coffee escapes the spout of the stainless steel pot he prefers over the Breville in the name of expediency, frozen as it makes its way to the thermos proclaiming BITCH I MIGHTWING. Tim regards his task with a face of mindless concentration, mouth slack, lashes in dark relief against his pale skin as he looks down at the mug. Behind him, Bruce can see Alfred's hand outstretched towards the refrigerator handle, equally and terrifyingly still.

"My name is Clockwork," the man says. "I have other names, ones you undoubtedly know, but this one will be bestowed upon me from the mouth of a child I cherish, and so I favor it above all else. I am the Keeper of Time."

"What do you want from me?" Bruce asks, shedding Wayne for Batman in the time it takes to meet Clockwork's eyes. The man acknowledges the change with a greeting nod.

"In a few days time, you will send Superman to the Midwest to investigate the unusual seismic activity. By then, it will be too late, the activity will be gone. They will have already muzzled him."

"Him."

"There is a boy with the power to rule the realm I come from. Your government has been watching him. The day he turned 18, they took him from his family and hid him away. I want you to retrieve him. I want you to do it today."

"Why me?"

"His parents do not have the resources you do, both as Batman and Bruce Wayne. You will dismantle the organization that is keen on keeping him imprisoned, and you will offer him a scholarship to the local University. You and yours will keep him safe within Gotham until he is able to take his place as my King."

This is a lot of information to take in, even for Bruce. The idea that there could be a boy powerful enough to rule over this (god, his mind whispers) entity and that somehow, he has slipped under all of their radars is as frustrating as it is overwhelming. But although Clockwork has seemed willing to converse, he doesn't know how many more questions he will get.

"You have the power to stop time," he decides on, "why don't you rescue him? Would he not be better suited with you and your people?"

"Within every monarchy, there is a court," Clockwork. "Mine will be unhappy with the choice I have made," he looks at Bruce's watch, head cocked. "In different worlds, they call you the Dark Knight. This will be your chance to serve before a True King."

Bruce bristles. "I bow to no one."

"You'll all serve him, one day," Clockwork says, patiently. "He is the ruler of realms where all souls go, new and old. When you finally take refuge, he will be your sanctuary." He frowns. "But your government rejects the idea of gods. All they know is he is other. Not human. Not meta. A weapon."

"A weapon you want me to bring to my city."

"I believe you call one of your weapons 'Clark', do you not?" Clockwork asks idly. "But you misunderstand me. They seek to weaponize him. He is not restrained for your safety, but for their gain."

"And if I don't take him?" Bruce asks, because a) Clockwork has implied he will be at the very least impeded, at worst destroyed over this, and b) he never did quite learn not to poke the bear. "You won't be around if I decide he's better off with the government."

"You will," Clockwork says, with the same certainty he's wielded this entire conversation. "Not because he is a child, though he is, nor because you are good, though you are, nor even because it is better power be close at hand than afar.

"I have told you my court will be unhappy with me. In truth, there are others who also defend the King. Together we will destroy the access to our world not long after this conversation. The court will be unable to touch him, but neither will we as we face the repercussions for our actions. I am telling you this, because in a timeline where I do not, you think I will be there to protect him. And so when he is in danger, even subconsciously, you choose to save him last, or not at all. And that is the wrong choice.

"So cement it in your head, Bruce Wayne," the man says, "You will go to him because I tell you to. And you will keep him safe until he is ready to return to us. He will find no safety net in me. So you will make the right choice, no matter the cost."

"Or, when our worlds connect again, and they will," his voice now echoes in triplicate with the voices of the many, the young, the old, Tim, Bruce's mother, Barry Allen, Bruce's own voice, "I will not be the only one who comes for you."

"Now," he says, producing a Wayne Industries branded BIC pen. "I will tell you the location the boy is being kept, and then I would like my medallion back, please. In that order."

Bruce glances down and sees a golden talisman, attached to a black ribbon that is draped haphazardly around the neck of his bathrobe, so light (too light, he still should have—) he has not felt its weight until this moment.

Bruce flips the paper over, takes the pen, and jots down the coordinates the being rattles off over the face of a senator. By his calculation, they do correspond with a location in the midwest.

"You will find him on B6. Take a left down the hallway and he will be in the third room down, the one with a reinforced steel door. Take Mr. Kent and Mr. Grayson with you, and when you leave take the staircase at the end of the hallway, not the elevator."

The man gets up, dusts off his impeccably clean pants, and offers him a hand to shake.

"We will not meet again for some time, Mr. Wayne."

Bruce looks at the creature, stands, and shakes his hand. It feels like nothing. The Keeper of Time sighs, although nothing has been said.

"Ask your question, Mr. Wayne."

"I have more than one."

"You do," Clockwork says. "But I have heard them all, and so they are one. Please ask, or I will not be inclined to answer it."

"What does this boy mean for the future, that you are willing to sacrifice yourself for him?"

There is a pause.

"So that is the one," Clockwork says, after a time. "Yes. I see. I should resolve this, I suppose."

"Resolve what?"

"It is not his future I mean to protect," the man says. "It is his present."

"You want to keep him safe now..." Bruce says, but he's not sure what the being is trying to say.

"I am not inclined," Clockwork repeats, stops. His expression turns solemn, red eyes widening. In their reflection, Bruce can see something. A rush of movement too quick to make heads or tails of, like playing fast forward on a videotape. "Superman reports no signs of unusual seismic activity. With nothing further to look into, you let it go in favor of other investigative pursuits. You do not find him, as you are not meant to. He stays there. His family, his friends, they cannot find him. His captors tell him they have moved on. He does not believe them, until he does. He stays there. He stays there until he is strong enough to save himself."

Clockwork speaks stiffly, rattling off the chain of events as if reading a Justice League debrief. "He is King. He will always be King. He is strong, and good, and compassionate, and he is great for my people because yours have betrayed his trust beyond repair. He throws himself into being the best to ever Be, because there is nothing Left for him otherwise. We love him. We love him. We love him. My King. Forevermore."

The red film in his eyes stall out, and Bruce is forced to look away from how bright the image is, barely making out a silhouette before they dull back to their regular red.

"I am not inclined," Clockwork says slowly, "To this future."

"Because of what it means in the present," Bruce finishes for him. "They're not just imprisoning him, are they."

"They will have already muzzled him."

Clockworks is right in front of him faster than he can process, fist gripping the medallion at his neck so tight he now feels the ribbon digging into his skin.

"Unlike you, Mr. Wayne," and for the first time, the god is angry, and the image of it will haunt Bruce for the rest of his life, "I do not believe in building a better future on the back of a broken child."

"Find him," the deity orders, and yanks the necklace so hard the ribbon rips—

Clack!

"sluuuuurp!"

"Master Timothy, honestly!"

"Sorry Alfred!"

#i feel like I'm going to reread this and want to add other stuff #but I also just want to post it and get it out there #fun fact i scribbled a bunch of lines down at 2am bc i didn't want to forget them #im bad at multiple drafts #my writing #dp x dc #dp x dc au #dp x dc prompt #dp x dc crossover #danny phantom #batman #i live to make everybody dramatic #but also i subscribe to a world where clockwork doesn't know how NOT to be dramatic #lol he's a ghost from all of time he doesn't know how to speak to humans and tailor it to the century let alone the decade #and his favorite little girl who calls him clocky loves how he speaks so #he doesn't need to change for nobody #nor feels inclined to #also I feel like as god he's way more inclined to threaten to get what he wants than like...be vulnerable #jazz: let's unpack that #clockwork: we never do #jazz: are you saying that because it's true or because that's what you want to be true?#clockwork: ...#also I cannot take credit for BITCH I MIGHTWING #wish i could #that is cash money right there #shoutout to 11thsense

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hxltic · 9 months

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Matsukawa has the nastiest deepstroke and nobody can tell me otherwise. Especially front. He curls his hips just right to make that fat tip hit the perfect bundle of nerves inside you. He whispers to you in missionary, one large hand hooked under your leg and the other rubbing your forehead and holding his weight. He makes you look at him, which would be so funny with how lovey dovey he gets when the squelch of your pussy echos in the background, and you’d laugh if all your energy wasn’t clenching your toes. It’s a slow pace, speeding up to about a medium every now and then, but it’s so constant it feels like it’ll never stop. Though you are in heaven and the only thing you can see is the blur of his face.

When you can’t look at him, if holding your head up is too much, he’ll grab your hair and tip your head back to tilt your chin up to him. He may let closing your eyes for a bit slide.

The moment is still in all the world—just you and his words as you let him drag you through your orgasm. Faint yes’s and head nods tell him you can still somewhat function.

“That feel good?”

“Yeah? I know how to take care of this pretty pussy.”

“Fuuuck. You just gonna clamp down on me like that?”

“Pussy’s a mess. So fucking wet.”

He doesn’t even need to roll your clit like he usually does. Him hitting the spot repeatedly is enough to get you to squirt. Proven the last time you came.

Mattsun says he has to take care of his girls.

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tojisun · 9 months

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i cant even finish my work because all i keep thinking about is simon

the way he loves picking you up or throwing you over his shoulders or burrowing his face on the crook of your neck, breathing you in. the way when you two cuddle, he presses his hand flat on your belly to push you closer to his body because he loves feeling the way your warmth seeps into him. the way he murmurs his words on your skin because he loves kissing you and he doesn’t wanna stop kissing you. the way he nips your shoulder or your cheek because you are just so fuckin adorable. the way he holds your hands, fingers slotting perfectly against yours, or the way he hooks his pinky with yours. the way he makes you kiss his dog tags before he leaves because that’s his damn good luck charm.

cant stop thinking about the way he loves.

#suns.hc #it’s incomprehensible pls dont mind me #god i want him so bad. i love him. i need him its not AHHH i cant even explain shit anymore #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley #suns

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