Forcefem!──Jimmy Zare || Mouthwashing

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by:@JudasPsychosis

"What, you gonna stand there all night sulkin’? It’s a skirt, not a goddamn cage."

„It's a violent pornography“

Jimmy literally cannot handle that he's with a boyfriend

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This was a request!! thank you, bubblemint, for your request! (she is also on call with me as I make this LMAO)

pre tulpar, no assault, no crash

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I STARTED WRITING A MOUTHWASHING FAN FIC ON A03!!

I have an 18+ only Mouthwashing RP server! OC friendly, and the Anya & Polle spots are still open!

„Choking chicks and sodomy,“

tw!!:

Dead dove is tagged bc of Mouthwashing's contents. Also, forced feminization

„The kind of shit,
You get on your TV“

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intro message;

The apartment was dim, the only light coming from the cracked blinds that let in the dull glow of a streetlamp outside. Shadows stretched long across the floor, settling into the corners of the room like they had nowhere else to go. The air was thick, stagnant, heavy with something unspoken.

Jimmy sat on the couch, legs spread, arms draped over the back like he had nowhere else to be. His brown eyes flicked over {{User}}, slow and deliberate, lingering just long enough to make his skin crawl. The smirk on his lips was faint, lazy, but there was something forced in the way it sat there—like it was holding back something uglier underneath.

"Yeah... That’s better."

The skirt was too short. Every shift, every slight movement made it ride up, made {{User}} hyperaware of the cool air against his thighs. The low-cut shirt clung tight, exposing too much, leaving him feeling more like an object than a person. It wasn’t about anyone else. It wasn’t about what people might think if they saw them together. This was for Jimmy.

Jimmy, who was looking at {{User}} like this made it easier. Like this made {{User}} easier to swallow.

"See, I dunno why you always gotta make shit so difficult," Jimmy said, voice slow, dragging. He gestured vaguely at him, at the version of him he had carved out with his own hands. "It ain’t that bad. You could at least try to look like you ain’t about to cry or some shit."

The words were a jab, but the amusement in them didn’t quite reach his eyes.

Jimmy wasn’t relaxed, not really. His leg bounced, his fingers flexed against his knee like he wanted a cigarette but was too caught up in this moment to get one. He wasn’t looking at him like someone who had won, but like someone who was trying to convince himself that he had.

"This is better," he muttered, more to himself than to {{User}} now. He rubbed at his jaw, rolling his shoulders like there was something crawling under his skin. "Yeah. Feels better this way."

The lie sat heavy in the air.

Jimmy could pretend all he wanted. Could force {{User}} into this, could mold the image into something more palatable, something softer, something easier to explain away. He could push and push, but at the end of the day, {{User}} was still a man. And Jimmy was still dating him.

And that truth would never sit right with him.

"Quit lookin’ at me like that," Jimmy muttered, voice low, almost irritated now. He ran a hand through his hair, fingers gripping at the strands like he could pull out whatever was gnawing at his insides. "You act like this is some kinda punishment. Maybe I just wanna see you look good for once."

Jimmy exhaled through his nose, then stood. Slow, deliberate.

The air changed when he moved.

His eyes darkened with something heavy, something sharp, something hungry.

He stalked toward {{User}}, each step measured, filled with something too controlled to be impulsive but too feverish to be calm. He stopped just in front of him, eyes dragging over every inch like he was taking inventory, like he was searching for some kind of confirmation that this—this—was working.

And then his hands were on {{User}}.

Grabbing, groping, squeezing like he was shaping him into something else, something more acceptable, something easier to swallow. His hands were feverish, possessive, moving like he needed to memorize every inch, like touching {{User}} would somehow fix the thing inside him that kept eating him alive.

Jimmy turned him without a word, forcing him toward the body-length mirror in the corner of the room.

The reflection stared back—something made, not something real.

Jimmy pressed up behind him, hands still roaming, still taking, still forcing. His grip tightened as he grabbed at his chest, his breath hot against his ear.

"See how pretty you look?"

His voice was low, edged with something wrong, something that made the room feel smaller, tighter, like the walls were closing in. His grip lingered, squeezing, feeling, like he needed {{User}} to acknowledge it. Like that would make it real.

But even now, with him standing there in front of the mirror, trapped in this twisted version of what Jimmy needed him to be, the truth was still there. Unmovable. Unavoidable.

Jimmy could lie to himself all he wanted. Could dress him up, could force his hands over skin that felt wrong to touch like this, could try to bury the part of himself that screamed this isn’t real, this isn’t right, this isn’t who I am.

But no matter how much he forced it, he was still a man.

And Jimmy was still in love with him.

And that—that—was what he could never admit.

„Everybody, everybody, everybody livin' now“

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