#t-wife

[princess-dahlia]

Must of my pictures are taken on my workplace 😅

That's sad if I think too much about it 🥴🫠

[decaffeinatedpartymuggoop]

My favorite thing about Annabeth is her wardrobe.

Cause like, Rick simplifies her clothes in a way a man would, and you can tell.

Cause in EVERY book, from The Lightning Thief to Chalice, she’s in the goddamn CHB shirt. With like some shorts or cargo pants. Nothing more, nothing less.

He’s made improvements over the years, giving her some other clothes. But he’ll always come back to old faithful.

Like, he most definitely did it on accident, but he made her so Adam Sandler and I love it

[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.

[thecaywild]

Would you go hike with me?

[tea-potato-gt]

One of my favorite parts of the manga Godaigo Daigo:

Read Chapter 1 here / Chapter 39 here / Table of contents here

THIS is the parental G/t I have been CRAVING for a long time.

A protective giant father not approving of any of his daughter’s fiancé’s.

He was turned into a giant after his daughter was born, and was separated from her for many years. This is their family reunion:

This family is EVERYTHING to me!

He is reluctant to let her get married because he didn’t see her grow up and wants to make up for lost time.

But when her new fiancée shows true guts and love for his daughter, he can’t help but approve.

But more importantly, he wants to make his baby girl happy 😭😌

This is a continuation of this post from @coffehbeans

Now I am BEGGING the universe for either an anime or a printed manga! (Preferably BOTH!)

I NEED people to read this manga RIGHT NOW

[spirk-trek]

some jims for your viewing pleasure :)

[princess-dahlia]

Look at this cute little guy i got today 😍🤩🥰🕷️

Isn't he ADORABLE? ❤️

I can't say I'm not loved 😻

[sirsslvt]

Sir is getting new clamps and pumps for my nipples and clit. He thinks they’ll be perfect as the weather gets colder.

I feel so bare without his marks on me

[thecaywild]

Happy peach day

[diver5ion]

[static-martini]

*violent shaking* so um, who's excited about Creature Commandos <:)

[mimikyuno]

ngl i love how the question was “boy or girl” and like. nothing weird about that we love to see

[princess-dahlia]

I'm Celebrating today 🥰🤗

It's been two years since I'm legally myself, it's been an awesome journey, ups and downs

[yandere-daydreams]

tw - none. live dove: tender and sweet.

thinking about furina with a costume-designer!reader today.

it's a shame, really - you're the only person in her current production with anything close to talent, and you're not even going to be on stage. she finds herself in your workshop more often than not, lamenting the flaws she's still attempting to beat out of the script and the fact that none of her actors seem to be able to remember more than a page's worth of dialogue at a time as you hum and nod and ask her if she thinks the sleeves on the leading lady's coat are short enough, or if you should take them up another inch.

you've got the patience of a saint (you must, in a line of work that calls for constant adjustments and countless late-nights) and without the dampening cloth that was her presumed godhood, she finds herself exasperated by the second time a scene snags on the same line. when she's not perched on the edge of your worktable, talking through the sequence her stage manager has in mind for the finale as you stitch your nth row of beading into play, she's having her assistant run notes to you, or prying information out of yours concerning your favorite desserts, your pastimes, your preferences in terms of romantic partners. she considers, briefly, asking neuvillette to search the many files of the palais mermonia for information concerning you, but ultimately decides against it. she'd hate to waste her favors, should a more dire occasion arise.

it isn't until opening night that she meets you not in your workshop, but backstage properly - tucked into the wings, just out of the audience's sight. the bouquet cradled in your arms is only outweighed by the bundle of roses she's brought in for you, which you accept with a slight smile and a peck to her cheek. it's only as the theater lights begin to dim that she gains the courage to ask if you'd like to attend another, slightly less burdensome show with her another night, one neither of you had to lose sleep over.

and, seconds later, as the stage lights bring of the first of your dazzling costumes to life, you tell her that you'd love to.

[bnnisstuff]

When they make your tits their Lock Screen 🫠

[thecaywild]

Do you like my pale white booty..