crimson--nightmares
this is not a place of honor... what was here was dangerous
secret tumblr- trauma dumping- true crime- mediocre poetry-
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tcc meetup and we all just sit on a large comfy bed and play with plushies :3
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you should carve your name into a bullet so you are the last thing going through my head when i kill myself
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you should carve your name into a bullet so you are the last thing going through my head when i kill myself
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GUYS LOOK !!!
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my parents are good people im just a shit daughter
#been thinking about my mom a lot this week#i am so lucky to have her in my life and she's going to die someday#and we fight and i can't stop thinking about her dying without me making her proud#banjax screams
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something about taylor swift is just so uninteresting boring and dull. i don't know what it is, and i'm not saying she's an awful person or untalented or whatever. but something about her just bores me to death. she's just so.... tame
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you should like smash my head against a wall and then uh i dont know man tell me i look pretty covered in blood or something and then like kiss me or whatever
(i love saying shit that doest make sense rock on brother)
#me when#i need a boyfriend to pistol whip me and kiss me with blood all over my face#jason dean#heathers#mecore
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He's insufferable and egomaniacal and emotionally unavailable oh my GOD i want him so bad it makes me look stupid
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There's something so detached and intimately voyeuristic about thigh riding... like I'm gonna get myself off using your body, and you're going to have to watch (and feel me doing so), but you don't necessarily get anything out of it except the pride of getting me off. delicious
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gimme your fuckin phone, I’ll tell her for you, I type faster anyway baby (only ever call you that when you got your hands and your mouth on me, fuck), c’mere, fucking missed you way too fuckin bad, need you. don’ stop, fuck, keep doing that, yeah. kiss me. you still taste the same, mmh, fuck. love you, love you so much. fuck, good boy- do that, mmmh, fuck, do that again. yeah. love you so fuckin much, never letting go again. don’t let go.
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Don’t fucking touch him. Get your eyes and your hands and the ends of your hair and the whisper of your breath away from him. I don’t have any right, no right at all, I have every right, I’m not an “anyone”, I’m the one who’s fucking been there. I was at the hospital, the dinner table, the long walks in the cold, the warm afternoons, the shaking crying phone calls. I was there. Not you, me.
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Detrans/misgendering kinks DNI
i think if i got my fuckin boycunt fingered in a church it would fix me.
You shoving my back against the podium, my jacket shucked off and my pressed shirt already rumpled.
Your eyes roaming over my flushed face, a smile tugging at the corners of your mouth.
"God," you take the name in vain, and it's all the sweeter on your tongue. "You look so fucking good right now."
My breath is coming faster, chest heaving. I can't seem to meet your gaze, my own eyes flickering wildly between you, the ground, the walls, anywhere but your eyes. I'm a mess, and you've barely done anything. It doesn't take much, you've learned
You reach for my belt, and my hand shoots out to stop you, catching your wrist and holding your hand where it is, fingertips just brushing my waist.
"No?" You ask softly.
"I-" I fumble the first word. "We.. we shouldn't."
"To hell with what we should do." You scoff. "Do you want this?" Your finger dips just barely into the waist of my trousers, and I jerk at the touch. You run your finger along the hem of my binder where it's tucked into my pants.
"Please," I whine. "We can't."
"That's not what I asked." You press in further, tracing the dip between my hip and my stomach. My skin is warm to the touch. "Do you want it?"
I've let go of your wrist, my hands falling uselessly to my sides as I squirm, leaning back against the podium. My face flushes redder, head tipping back as I squeeze my eyes shut and will myself to be still, to be composed. To have a little fucking decorum.
"Darling." When you slowly begin to pull your hand back, I jolt up with another whimper. "If you don't, we won't. Shall we go?"
"No-" My voice breaks as I grab ahold of you again. "I do, I want it."
You smile. Because of course I do.
You and I both know that I have no decorum. That I will not be composed. That I'm your desperate little slut.
"Then you'd better make it quick, angel." The petname is new, and I bury my face in my hands.
"Please," I mutter again as you start undoing my belt. Then the zip of my pants. Your hand slips easily into my boxers, and you're not surprised to find that I'm wet.
"You little whore." You hiss as a finger finds my tcock. I have to clap a hand over my mouth at that one. It's almost amusing, how turned on I am. You rub my cock, watching me struggle to keep quiet, to keep it together.
"This does it for you, huh?" You press harder and I arch into your touch with a muffled gasp. "You nasty little slut. This is fucked up." My thighs are shaking as you move faster, feeling my tdick hardening. "Can't believe you wanted this."
When you abruptly stop and shove two fingers in, I can't shut myself up in time. A cry escapes, reverberating around the empty hall, rolling off the walls like a preacher's words ought to.
Hey, it's still a show of devotion, isn't it?
You pump your fingers in and out rapidly, watching my hips bounce in tandem, all cares about propriety and consequence gone. I used to be so scared of these halls, of the god they claimed to house.
There's a little bit of pride to be had in that, you think. In how quickly you can break me down. How quickly you can wipe away my worries. You're the only one who makes me feel that way.
There's nothing in these halls but you and me. And nothing can take that from us.
I cum with another moan, eyes shut and head thrown back. You slowly pull your fingers out lf my cunt, smiling at my red cheeks, strands of hair clinging to my forehead. Was it always this warm in here?
You pinch my tcock once, sharply, and another cry falls from my mouth as you draw your hand back.
"What do you say, darling?"
"Thank you," I mumble before you hold your fingers up to my lips. I open my mouth almost immediately and begin licking your hand clean.
You gently fix my belt, re-tucking my binder and shirt. My boxers are soaked and my collar is wrinkled, my hair's a mess. But I'm smiling at you, face still pink. We get to our feet slowly, and you drape an arm around my shoulders. We're a pair of fucking sinners, and we wouldn't have it any other way.
Detrans/misgendering kinks DNI
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