#I love my little wife

[honehonn3honey]

[nobleriver]

The Doctor and River Song + Being A Besotted Old Married Couple

I’m all yours, Sweetie.  Only River Song gets to call me that.

Bonus:

[yeyinde]

waking up after a night out drinking in a foreign country only to realise that the bed you're in is not your own. no one is beside you. you try to leave but the doors are all locked. the windows won't open. you're trapped. a pretty bird in a cage.

nothing is in the dressers except large, old shirts. the clothes you were wearing when you woke up disappear after you take a shower. no panties. no bra. food shows up on schedule. you never see who leaves it.

they don't answer when you scream. when you bang your fists against the door until they're bloodied. passing out on the floor when the drugs finally kick in. but the mess you make in the daytime is cleaned up. your hands bandaged. disapproval heavy in the air along with the stale scent of tobacco. smoke.

when you're good, you get things. books. magazines. treats. your favourite food. a laptop arrives when you sob yourself to sleep after screaming yourself hoarse about loneliness, and how this isn't right. this isn't okay. it's restricted, of course. you log into Facebook but the moment you try and ask for help, the internet is turned off. you're being watched. monitored closely.

you learn your lesson slowly, giving nothing away to your family and pretending you're enjoying your holiday. being good. quiet.

instead of treats, gifts, recipe books arrive—some pages dogeared. you start making the food. leaving a plate in the fridge. it's gone the next morning. more recipes appear. you make them, too. an expensive chain comes next. a pretty gold necklace for a pretty bird in a golden cage.

(each meal gets you a strange rash on your cheek, jaw the next morning. beard burn, you think, and try not to shudder.)

lingerie comes after. silk, lace. all of it fits perfectly. you try to avoid it. the idea, the implication, is a knife between your ribs, but the next morning, your laptop is missing. the books are gone. food, too. your clothes disappear until all that remains is the lingerie set and a little black box. one you pointedly ignore. throw out with the trash. chew on gum to make the ache in your belly go away until that vanishes too.

your world is narrowed down to hunger. loneliness. isolation—

(in the corner of the rooms, a red light glints in the dark. lonely, but not alone.)

it persists until you relent. give in. another lesson you learn. you wear the set to bed, and try to think nothing of it—

you wake up to something heavy around you. a warm, thick body pressed against your bare spine. coarse chair tickling the skin between your shoulder blades. a burly arm under your neck, elbow bent to wrap a rough hand around your neck. the other slung over your hip, shoved between your thighs. something hard presses into your ass. a bruising pressure. it aches. you stifle a gasp, but with his long, thick fingers wrapped tight around your throat, he feels it.

everything goes still. quiet. just the faint rustle of sheets. the scratch of coarse hair on silk. a breath. you tremble. fight back another gasp when lips press into your crown with a sharp inhale. scenting you. nuzzling into your scalp. warm breath that smalls of malt and honey. woodsy. tobacco.

your eyes adjust slowly to the dark, and fall on a black box left on top of your end table. velvet, you know. you've felt the softness between your fingers when you threw it in the trash with a sob. no escaping it, after all.

the hand between your thighs twitches. when he speaks, it shudders through your spine, makes your hair stand on end. it's a growling purr. the low roar of an old engine. more grit than comfort in the midnight dark.

"jus' close your eyes, love," he rasps, pushing his thick body tighter against you. coiling around you like a big, hungry bear. "an' go back to sleep for me."

and you do.

[aster-blogging-dracula]

Jonathan Harker really said "The best I can do is act like I don't know what's going on even tho I do" and acted it out so well that more than a century later people will go as far as reading his diary and still think he doesn't know what's going on

[currynatto]

art block so bad so you know what that means right (stardew valley content)

[banjo-bugs]

I truly genuinely believe they would get along so well

[domibomz]

my brainrot for them is so bad i am fucking unwell your honor also mullet harrow

[ceruleanharley]

it's giving king baela and princess jace

[paperglader]

they really put alicent in bridgerton blue on the reunion and genuinely expected me to think that she didn’t in fact march all the way to dragonstone to get wifed up? bfr

[shiroxix]

Space Jesus who can't die for anyone's sins because he's incapable of dying and wouldn't do it anyway. This was supposed to be a quick little doodle so I could mess around with a design for his eyes and it got well away from me during D&D today... whoopsie.

[blackoutbruh]

sis againnn

[ryonello]

oomfie take my hand

[girllookingoutwindow]

Colin and Penelope: choosing each other against all odds.

[elation-station]

the town bisexuals are at your door it is time for you to pick a bride

[ptanalo]

They are forever in their honeymoon era 🫶

[doodleynan]

obsessed with this weird family