#to your will to make you happy. don’t depend on them for YOUR happiness! that’s not their place!!!!!

[eris-abomination]

A few additional red flags to look out for:

- Lovebombing. This usually happens before the abuse, but can also be used between outbursts to keep you confused and dependent.

- Badmouthing your friends and family in an attempt to make you dislike them and distance yourself.

- Being suspicious of, insecure around, jealous of, or outright hating your friends because they’re close with you.

- Having violent outbursts, hitting/kicking/throwing things when they get angry and lashing out at you.

- Telling you you’re lucky to have them, nobody will love you like they do, you’d be nothing without them, etc.

- Acting like a completely different person behind closed doors vs. in the presence of others. Most abusers seem like kind and sweet people to outsiders.

- “All take, no give” relationships where your partner expects you to do all of the labor (physically, emotionally, financially, and/or sexually) and never reciprocates.

- Attempting to control your actions: who you hang out with, what times you leave the house, what your interests are, what language you use, what music you listen to, etc.

- Asserting control of your finances.

- Making deprecating jokes about you or repeatedly putting you down as a “joke.”

- Ignoring or disrespecting your boundaries.

- Disrespecting your privacy or monitoring you by going through your phone, eavesdropping on conversations, insisting on staying with you when you go out, installing trackers, stalking your social media, etc.

- Any and all relationships where you feel scared, doubtful, insecure, exhausted, or unsafe. Healthy, safe relationships don’t feel like this.

And especially to the men out there, remember it’s okay to ask for help. Needing help to escape an abuser doesn’t make you weak, pathetic, or deserving of the abuse. It doesn’t matter if “I’m a man, I should be able to take it” or “she never hit me” or “nobody would believe me”; you do not deserve this. You deserve a relationship where you feel safe, fulfilled, happy, and unconditionally loved.

I don’t know how many boys follow me, but I gotta bet there’s some. I just wanna tell y’all to be careful.

Abusive girls exist and what they’re doing is seen as like “badass tough don’t take no shit” but your girl should not hit you. Ever.

She should not demand for you to hand over your phone to look through.

She should not yell at you and humiliate you either alone or in front of people.

She shouldn’t make you distance yourself from your friends or family.

She shouldn’t scratch you or twist your arms.

She should not call you names.

She shouldn’t tell you ‘she’ll kill herself if you break up’

These are just a few examples of abuse and it’s just seen as okay when girls do it and god knows I’ve fallen victim to it a few times, but you shouldn’t have to.

Never worry about not being in a relationship. If they’re worth it, they won’t hurt you.

No one has the right to hurt you.

[revelboo]

Shockwave?

🥺

Point of Extinction Pt 7

TFP Shockwave x Reader

• Moving you to his quarters wasn’t logical. You’re still an experiment and he knows that, but every time he thinks about you, about following through on any of his original plans for you, his processor gets snarled in unpleasant noise. Hurts just thinking about you in pain and that’s not logical, either. He’s started sending the vehicons to fetch things for you. Things that might make you happy, because for reasons he can’t explain he wants you to be happy. Likes when you smile up at him. Knows you get upset when he experiments on animals, so he keeps you in his quarters. Working, but heading back into the adjoining habsuite to check on you. Making you part of his routine to keep himself in check.

• Hearing the door open, you sleepily lift your head. “Hi, Shockwave,” you say as he approaches you, reaches out to lay a servo on top of your head, then turning and heading back inside the lab. Again. Snorting softly because this is the fourth time he’s done whatever this is since he let you spend the night laying on top of him instead of shivering in a box. You really don’t understand him. Sometimes just staring at you with that one optic and you swear he’s mentally dissecting you, other times reaching for you suddenly, servos almost touching you, only to freeze. The only thing you’re really certain of is that your survival depends on his whims.

• Sixteen is unstable, but it survived longer than the last one. But still, it’s so disappointing. This messy organic life resists being remade. Perfected. Dumping the failure in the incinerator, he taps his cannon against his thigh, feeling that frustration tangling in his processor. Sliding into anger. Hears the test tubes shattering against the wall, but doesn’t even remember moving. Servos flexing open and closed as he tries to rein himself in. Instead of cleaning the mess, he wanders back into his quarters again. There you are, little head lifting to find him. “Hi, again.”

• Those antenna are flicking as he drifts closer and your skin prickles all over. Been around him, watching him, long enough to pick up on when he’s not okay to be around. And he’s not okay at all right now. He reaches for you, servos poised to grab you, but then faltering. Servos trembling faintly as they don’t quite touch you. That one optic glowing as he leans closer, illuminating you in bloody light.

• Those little eyes look up at him trustingly, snaring him. Not understanding that trust of yours, because it can only hurt you if you put your trust in others like he’d done. You’ll just end up betrayed and hurt. They’d taken his face and hand. Stripped him of everything, self, memories, hopes. No, that wasn’t him. He’s always been like this. He was forged like this. Wasn’t he? He can’t remember and he should know. “Shockwave?” Your little hands touch him and focus him. He’d curled his servos loosely around you, but not touching you. Frame bowing forward until his head is almost touching you. Trying to gather those confusing thoughts and memories to himself, to make sense of it all. And he can almost catch them now with you touching him. Can almost remember who he is.

Previous

[aheathen-conceivably]

Val’s car was no where to be seen outside the farmhouse, and hadn’t been for weeks. Jo had returned it to her soon after their first tour ended, and day after day it had felt good not to worry about packing her suitcase or driving again. Restful, if she was being honest. Like finding shelter in a windstorm as you waited for it to pass, appreciating simple comforts all the more because you knew you would be out in the open again soon.

When she had gotten home, no part of her had expected the weeks to pass so quickly. She certainly hadn’t expected them to be so enjoyable, especially not after the freedom she had found on the road. Even from the moment she had parked the car, she could still feel the movement of the wheels beneath her heels and the thought of the next tour on her mind. Stepping inside, she was afraid it would never abate; but every passing day since then had been like the best of the years she had spent on the farm, only without the nagging disquiet she had felt then.

Maybe it was because part of her knew that she didn’t have to be there. She wanted to. In those moments her happiness felt simple, governed by a quiet and warm joy rather than rushes of success or power. For the first time since she had come here from New Orleans, she felt as though she could truly enjoy it, because the tethers tying her down were those of her own choices and not begrudging dependence.

Even the simple chores she had once hated had taken on a pleasant edge. They had once felt like desperation; small vestiges of survival at the cost of life, or a matrix designed to keep her hands forever busy and her feet in place. Now, if her nails chipped or her fingers cracked, she had not only the time to tend to them, but reason to. There was an end to it all, a routine of her own making that gave the drudgery meaning and the domesticity warmth.

Perhaps it was precisely because she had been allowed to sate her restlessness that she felt so content to sit still now. Night after night her mind was calm and free from the compulsion to get in a car and drive. Somewhere, just below the surface, she knew that it was there, but she didn’t have to fight it just to be happy.

She actually found herself feeling sorry that her weeks at home were coming to an end; but the excited butterflies at the thought told her that she wanted those weeks of freedom and success just as much as she wanted this. It was like the best of two lives: the one that Gio wanted for himself and she for herself, suspended precariously like a feather on the surface of the water.

She lifted herself up onto his lap, the knowledge that he would soon be here alone motivating her to stay all the closer. The fire crackled quietly in the background as he held her just far enough to look into her eyes when he spoke. “Wait here, okay? I’ll be gone just a moment. Keep your eyes closed until I’m back.”

Perhaps it was a testament to just how happy she was that she didn’t protest. Instead she lifted herself up onto the worn leather couch, crossing her legs in girlish excitement as she blindly listened to him rustle through their bedroom. As his footsteps reentered the room she ignored the temptation to snap her eyes open, instead letting him slip his hand over her face and acquiescing to his request to hold her hands out for him.

As he moved his hands off her eyes and told her to open them, he placed a small, light box into her hands. Before she even pulled at the carefully tied strings, she could already tell that it was something far too expensive to have come from this town. “I know that your birthday isn’t for a few weeks, but since your next tour is before then I didn’t want it to come too late.”

She left the box unopened, instead turning to look at his excited face. “Gio. I can already tell it’s too expensive. Whatever it is. The farm, the tours…and it’s not like I need a present. I - I’ll be closer to forty than thirty. I don’t think it’s much of a reason to celebrate…”

“Nonsense. We’re in a better place than we’ve been in years thanks to you. Besides. I made sure to get something useful. Go on, open it.”

Her worried eyes stayed trained on his, half-heartedly protesting once again before he quieted her by gently leaning her head back toward him. “I’m sure, Jo. Now try them on before I spoil it and tell you what it is.”

She opened the small box to reveal a pair of delicately embossed leather driving gloves, unworn and in such a distinct color that she had to assume they had been custom made just for her. They were red, just like her nails always were now, so that even when she wore them they wouldn’t obscure the color beneath.

Gio rounded the couch as she held them up to the firelight, admiring how the color shined so brightly on the thin leather. As she ran her hand along them, appreciating just how soft and expensive they felt, he dropped to one knee next to her, taking her hand in his as he carefully fitted each glove around her fingers.

As he turned her gloved hand over in his own, it was hard for her not to see the significance of what he was doing. Bent down on one knee, openly and lovingly admiring what could only be seen as a symbol of her independence from him. How much he may have wished it was a ring instead, it pained her too much to ask.

“Do you like them? The saleswoman seemed to think the color was a foolish choice, but I tried to tell her it wouldn’t be for you.”

She could already see one glove wrapped tightly around the black leather sheering wheel, the other dangling delicately from the side of the car. Instead she brought it to Gio’s cheek. “I love them. I love you.” An overwhelming ache filled her chest and threatened to bring tears to her eyes. She wasn’t sure whether to be joyful or terrified; because in that moment, she knew just how much it would always be true.

[captain039]

PART 7 Heal your hurt LAST PART

Viktor x reader

Warnings: Hurt/comfort, angst, health issues, mental health issues, light swearing, chubby reader, intimacy, sexual, friends to lovers, reader has chronic pain, unhealthy dependence xD, self-esteem issues, unhealthy thoughts

Progress Day, a holiday to see a new invention to show the progress of Piltover. You wear a dress, do your hair and put on some makeup. You ignore the protest of your body, you have been for a while. Viktor’s little outburst into your office had forced you to numb yourself and think of nothing. You join Caitlyn for progress day, she wears her formal enforcer gear and her dark blue hair sleeked into a bun some blue shimmer on her eyes. You’re laughing with her and a few of her friends you’ve forgotten the name of. You see the golden boy, centre of attention surrounded by the rich members of Piltover and new buyers from other places. The one person you hoped to avoid is thankfully not here, his gaze not lingering on you whenever you’re in the same room together. You sip on some champagne acting like you belong here when you don’t. This crowd, these high status people it’s so- you noticed the doors open, you figured all the guests were here by now seeing as they closed the doors. Your heart stops though, Viktor walks in. He wears a suit that you’ve never seen, crisp and white with gold accents, his hair is styled lightly slicked back, he looks refreshed as he walks in. He goes to Jayce first who beams at his best friend, arm going around his shoulder as the others look in surprise.

“You’ll catch flys with your mouth open” Caitlyn whispers and you instantly shut your mouth, cheeks reddening as you look away and down to the floor. She smirks knowingly and you want to punch her. You excuse yourself from the group going to grab more champagne, you’d grab a whole bottle if you could. You hear your name being called and frown turning around seeing Jayce coming your way a happy smile on his face. You smile back at him noticing Viktor holding conversation with others. Jayce follows your gaze and chuckles.

“I’m as shocked as you are” he comments picking up a glass. You avoid the comment and look away making Jayce frown.

“Don’t” you say and he looks briefly hurt making you sigh and apologise softly.

“You can’t keep doing this” Jayce steps closer his voice low and you look away brows furrowed.

“Ok” Jayce sighs softly, Jayce hugs you gently and you tense and feel yourself wanting to cry at the contact, wishing it was someone else. Jayce walks away joining up with Caitlyn and you rush out of the event unable to hold it together anymore. You go to your office, you pace a moment kicking off the stupid heels you thought were a good idea. Your body screams in pain, you let yourself feel, let it wash over you like a full body ram. You lean against your desk and feel tears roll down your face and onto the wood you let out a cry and swipe everything off your desk which is very little but it still feels good. You’re close to fall to the floor when arms wrap around you. You go to fight but the cane that clatters on the floor beside you tells you who it is. You feel yourself sob your hands going to his arm holding them tightly. You turn around in his hold, bury your face in his lightly cologned vest and soak it with your tears. Viktor tightens his hold, one hand on your neck fingers up your scalp, the other splayed on your back. You stay like that for a while, your crying slowly drying, your body trembling lightly with each shaky breath you take. You look to his fancy vest and suit shirt under it.

“You look nice” you whisper voice a little hoarse.

“So do you” he says softly his hand giving your neck a soft squeeze. You sigh though sagging a bit.

“What do you need?” He asks.

“To go home” you mutter he nods and soon you’re leaving the building and heading back to your apartment. You hurt inside and out, your brain is slowed down to just making sure you don’t fall over your feet, Viktor’s free hand holding yours tightly making you focus on his warmth. Once home you want to go and collapse but don’t until Viktor guides you to your room, he takes your heels and puts them away while you take off the stockings you wore off uncaring. Viktor takes them and puts them in your laundry hamper. Viktor stands in front of you, leaning against his cane under his armpit while his hands go to your hair. He takes out the bobby pins and hair tie lying them on your bedside table before running soothing finger tips over your scalp.

“Do you want to lie down or shall I run a bath?” He asks and you blink back into focus looking up to him. Science. He’s so handsome, sharp cheekbones, his hair slicked back suits him, the suit hugging his body and neatly pressed. The last few weeks go out the window, you need him. You open your mouth but look back to your lap shaking your head. A finger tucks itself under your chin and forces you to tilt your head up.

“We’ll speak in the morning, tell me what you want” he says voice dropping a few octaves. You take a small breath, a clench in your stomach makes you flush and you watch his pupils dilate in response.

“Y-you” you manage wanting to look away but his finger under your chin keeps your gaze on his.

“Lie down” he orders eyes flicking to your pillow as his fingers leave your chin. Your heart pounds in your chest your pain forgotten out the window as you shuffle back and lie down. He sits down on the edge of the bed toeing off his shoes and taking his leg brace off before lying his cane against your bed side table. You lie like a statue mind running too quick for you to process. Slender fingers touch your arm and you jolt looking back to Viktor. His eyes are on your arm where his fingers trail over your skin. He lets out a small sigh and lies down, you watch as his face comes into view so he’s all you see face inches apart. He kisses you slowly lips melding together tongue sliding across your lips for entrance which you grant to easily. You try to tug him closer but he pulls back leaving you panting.

“Sleep” he orders and your mouth falls open and closes again. He lies on his side beside you and rests his hand on yours. You watch him close his eyes and you let out a small huff his hand clenching yours gently before you give in with a sigh. You roll over facing him your eyes studying his face, the few moles that grace his face, his cheekbones, his nose, lips.

“You are not sleeping” he comments, but you hear the light tinge of teasing under it. You glare at him before you sigh and close your eyes.

You wake up a little groggily, you lay on your side your knee hiked up the other stretched out. You’re not facing Viktor anymore but you can feel him behind you, his hand on your waist his breath against your neck again. You dread waking up, you can already feel your emotions boiling through the seams. You don’t want to move, knowing this is the first good rest you’ve gotten in a while, you’re relaxed, not stiff feeling like you’re made of wood. The dull ache in your body is less. You roll over though, Viktor’s hand lifting momentarily before it rests back on your waist. He opens his eyes, golden gaze meeting yours.

“Morning” you whisper.

“Good morning” he reply’s and you sadden, a sweet good morning.

“Would you like breakfast?” He asks and you shake your head, your anxiety crowding your stomach.

“You?” You ask back.

“No” he mutters a small frown going to his brows.

“I like this” you mutter running your hand over his suit vest for a minute. He doesn’t answer and you nod sighing rolling onto your back.

“What happened?” He asks voice softer, hurt and you clench your eyes shut taking a deep breath.

“My brain” you mutter it’s not exactly a good or serious answer, but it’s the truth. He doesn’t ask explanation, he waits patiently.

“You- I-“ you clench your jaw for a moment voice breaking.

“I felt this dependence, an over taking need to be with you, by you, touching you, I just needed you” you sigh.

“I got angry with myself, hated how the first time in years someone’s shown me interest I latch on like a leech and suck dry till there’s nothing left but burnt out feelings and desires. So I closed myself off, if I wasn’t available you wouldn’t be there, you’d leave me alone and this need would leave. My mind took over with self hatred, I’m not something one desires unless forced, or dared, or as a joke, second choice, a useless messenger” you mutter the last few words not daring to look at his face.

“I threw myself into something I’d hate so I’d be consumed by that instead, I forced my body past its limits and beyond to focus on the pain then the reeling in my mind” you feel tears rolling down your cheek before you quickly wipe them away.

“I’m not someone to desire” you whisper.

“You don’t want to be with someone like me” you add with a shaky voice.

“You know Sky? Sky Young? She has a crush on you” you let out a small humourless laugh.

“She’s smart, kind, funny, socially awkward like you, she’s perfect for-“ your words are cut off by a hard crash of lips and a painful clench of your hand.

“Miss Young is a student of the academy with a bright future, however if you say one more word about her I will not let you leave this bed till I’ve proven I don’t want Miss Young and you’re begging for me to stop” his voice takes on a dark tone that sucks your breath away. You nod hesitantly seeing the look in his eyes your heart pounding in your chest. He nods curtly back lying back to where he was.

“As for your explanation, I understand” he says his voice softer and normal now making you blink back to reality.

“You do not want the weakness with someone helping you even though it isn’t weakness” he adds.

“You view yourself unworthy of affections because boys have toyed and used you for their own entertainment and I hope they rot in the sewers” you watch his jaw clench lightly before he continues.

“As for needing me” he mutters.

“Did it occur to you that I need you just as feverishly?” Your eyes widen and you stare at him seeing no hint of toying or lies.

“You consume my every thought and these last few weeks of watching you drive yourself into the ground has been agony, I could not do anything without breaking trust and a process. I could not provide you with what you needed nor could you provide me with what I needed. I admit I half expected something however I did not think it would take such a harsh turn when I thought you were… enjoying me” he whispers the last words and you forget to breathe for a moment as you listen and repeat his words.

“I’m an idiot” you mutter more tears rolling down your face. Viktor sighs softly tugging you under his chin his fingers going through your hair.

“Only for a moment” he mutters and you huff out a small laugh.

“You needed to go through a process and you did even if it was destructive” he adds.

“Why?” You mutter.

“Why what?” He asks.

“Why did you stay? You could’ve thrown me under the rug” you add quietly fiddling with his vest.

“And miss out on a future with you always by my side? Never” he says almost offended a soft smile going to your lips.

[theresattrpgforthat]

THEME: Lesser Known Solo Games

Hello! I’m not sure how many of these are lesser known, but many have been added recently to my Solo folder, so why not talk about them?

Death Knight, by Lucas Rolim.

Death Knight is a solo tabletop RPG that plunges you into a dark and immersive world where a once noble knight fights against a curse in a land ruled by terror and despair.

As the Death Knight, you’ll journey through shadowy caverns, cursed forests, and desolate wastelands, battling the malevolent forces of a powerful lich lord. Magic, tainted by corruption, adds an unpredictable edge to every encounter.

It is a hack of "Against the Wind" by Cezar Capacle, this game blends modern and traditional RPG elements, giving players narrative control as they explore a world steeped in darkness. Face your curse, forge bonds with allies, and embark on a legendary pilgrimage to cleanse the land and seek your ultimate destiny.

If you want a big solo game, Death Knight has you covered. With 196 pages, it’s a grim and gritty adventure game, about a knight fighting a curse in a world that just wants them to give up. The layout of the game reminds me of plenty of old-school sword & sorcery games, but with a class that reminds me a little bit of Mork Borg. The game describes itself as procedural, with a flow and tables to help you generate new things so that you don’t run out of ideas, with a focus on exploring the dark world around you. It also comes with a neat hex crawl for you to track your progress, although I wouldn’t exactly describe it as print-friendly.

Laika, Come Home, by Master_Bishop.

In this game, you will experience the final hours of Laika orbiting the Earth, but unlike the real world, you’ll have the chance to create a different ending for this story. You will witness the wonders of space and memories of your life on Earth, but be careful! There might also be problems on the ship.

All you need to play is: a deck of poker cards, a d20, and something to record your logs.

This game looks to be in part educational, as it includes information about other that have been sacrificed in the name of science. You use a deck of cards as an oracle, as well as a way to track the events of your story, while you roll a d20 to determine whether the event or problem has a happy or not-so-happy outcome. You end the game when you have 5 highs and 5 lows, and your ending depends on the nature of your records by the end of the game. Because the ending can be different from what actually happened to Laika, I think it makes the history a little more personal to the person who plays this game.

Forest Burial, by nealyboy.

You’re another fool on a quest to the center of the forest. The deeper you go, the greater the dangers will become. Ancient powers. Monstrous guardians. Strange landmarks. Villages make terrible pacts. Heroes die.

Forest Burial is a TTRPG for one player, designed to fit into a gum case. Just get a 35 pack of Extra or Five gum,  and print, cut and fold.

This neat little game is meant to be printed out, cut up and slotted over (and inside) a case of gum, great for a game that you can carry with you. The inspirations are from games such as Cairn and Tunnel Goons, and like both of those games, it packs a lot in very little space. There’s mini hex maps, cards for characters and quests, and roll-tables to give you new obstacles when you need them. Overall, the game feels rather low-magic and high-danger, so if you want a fantasy game that will not treat you kindly, consider Forest Burial.

Dark Tides, by The Gaudy Goblin.

Something or someone is trying to warn you. It is written in the tides, in the eddies formed in the sand as the waves push to and fro as you walk past the docks. But you cannot read these signs.

You are the proud captain of a trading vessel soon to set sail from Europe to India in the year 1903. You have sailed this route before and you know it can take over a month. You command one of the finest ships at the dock (it’s even equipped with a telegraph!).

Your ship will mysteriously disappear on this voyage. Your ship’s log will be the only record of what happened, and hopefully, someone will find it to learn what fate befell you and your crew.

Dark Tides uses a journal and some dice, which is to be expected of many solo games, but it also makes use of a tarot deck. This means that the acts that you play through can be rather interpretive depending on how you decide to use the meanings of your tarot cards. You’ll be rolling to generate a ship and events, but your tarot cards will determine motivations, and what your crew’s final fate is. If you don’t have your own preferred oracle for the different tarot cards, the game has a page with a guide to various meanings, as well as archetypes attached to the Major Arcana.

The Fairy King’s True Name, by emigiosia.

The realm of the fae is closer than most people know, but you are intimately familiar with it. You are the consort of the Fairy King, a position you neither asked for nor necessarily wanted. Everyone in the fae realm, especially the mortal humans, know it is unwise to deny the Fairy King. And so you agreed, regardless of how you felt about the idea.

The Fairy King, a dour-looking creature of pale skin and luminous eyes, with black hair, soot-coated fingertips, and a crown of bone, is not known for being gentle. They are known, instead, for their cunning and their cruelty. 

If you are to escape them, you too must be cruel and cunning. If you are to escape, you must slay the Fairy King. Escape is not your only choice, however… Your future is yours to decide.

The Fairy King is a journaling game that uses 2d6 and a prompt table to navigate the story of escaping and/or killing the King in your attempt to gain freedom. You roll the dice to find a spot on the grid, and use the corresponding prompt to jump-start your journal entry. Most of the items are freely up to interpretation in terms of what they mean for your journey, but there are a few that will help you defeat the Fairy King. When you gain a special item, you write one final entry to determine how exactly you bring about his ruin - or whether you decide to kill him at all.

I Love You, Alive Girl, by anna anthropy.

In the nightmare future of 2026, the last remaining avenue for communication out of Lockdown City is in reviews of online products. If you want to reach your lover in the Outlands, you’ll need to hide your messages in reviews of products - from sites like Amazon and Ebay - you’ve never owned.

I LOVE YOU, ALIVE GIRL is a cyberpunk epistolary game. You play by writing internet product reviews that contain coded messages to your partner in the Outlands. Metaphor, allusion, and subtext are your palette, as the Algorithm that swallows inappropriate messages isn’t subtle enough to detect them.

I really love the idea of the setting for this game. I don’t own it, so I can’t tell you how it works, but it looks like involves writing product reviews using a series of Subtle Messages provided by the game in order to be able to reach your lover. I think that this game can technically be played as a two-player game, but if you don’t have a partner, you can still write the reviews and keep them in a journal.

Also…

You can check out all of the Solo Games posts I’ve recommended before by checking out my Solo Games Tag.

I've been running a casual solo ttrpg club (pretty much like a book club) lately on my discord.

Anyone have any good recs for lesser known solo ttrpg's? I'm always down to expand my list of options

[joelsfavouritegirl]

domestic young!joel headcanons (i wanna be his housewife)

. for joel, if the domesticity isn’t there, he might not wanna be in the relationship and i’m not kidding

. why do i think that? for one, he’s definitely the type of guy to have grown up in your average family-type-shit household; dad wakes the kids up, mom makes breakfast, everyone sits together at the table and eats and chats. i like imagining that joel and tommy actually have a really good relationship with their parents (fully functional family, wow). the second reason is because i think joel just wants to be with someone. i don’t mean be in the dating sense, but just coexist with someone. somewhere where he’s able to say ‘yeah, that’s my girl, and i go home to her every day/night, and we live/cook/clean together. i do shit around the house, she does shit around the house, and we’re damn happy the way it is’.

. so here’s the shit i think joel would adore doing with you (or js watching you do them, or doing them for you)<3

. cooking (i have to get this one out of the way first bc you alr know what i’m boutta say); this man can. not. cook. no matter how capable he is in other fields, cooking is NOT one of them. he’ll try his very best, and he’ll prepare something if you’re too busy to do it, but you shouldn’t expect to be eating a fully edible meal once he’s done. baby boy will burn/spill anything you give him, and he feels bad every time. so, in order to prevent getting poisoned or having to clean up a huge mess every time, he’ll usually leave the cooking to you (or you’ll just order takeout, depends on the day)

. he does however love watching you cook. type of man to lean against the counter, arms crossed as he just watches his girl focus. whether you’re making something complicated from scratch or a simple grilled cheese sandwich, he’s thanking you for it and kissing you on the cheek, offering to clean up the dishes later on so you don’t have to do it

. the only way he’ll (somewhat) succesfully make something is if he’s doing it with you. baking is probably the thing you’ll do most together; pancakes, muffins, brownies whatever it is, he won’t mind making it with you. sure, he’ll be more of a distraction than help but if that’s not the greenest flag i’ve ever seen then idk what is

. another chore i think he’d love is changing the bed. idk why, it’s a very simple and small thing, but he knows how to make it fun. he gets a kick out of it when he sees you struggling to put the sheets on the mattress, cursing and grumbling to yourself. he’ll tease you, poke and prod at your side before pulling the thing down, then smothering you with kisses (which will probably lead to other things, and sometimes you need to switch the brand new sheets with other ones because this man is messy during sex and we love that here)

. another thing he loves? doing the laundry. why? because it’s easy to bend you over (just being honest)

. apart from cooking, i think he knows his way around the work around the house. his mama was a stubborn woman, and she’d be damned if she didn’t teach her boys how to take care of their own homes (which she (relatively) succeeded in doing)

. after you guys move in together (or you just start spending more time at each others places) he starts liking chores a lot more because he gets to do them with you<3

disappeared for 3 months and i’m sawry🫠 classes have been kicking my ass and i’m trying to get my shit together b4 i christmas hits. woke up and decided to write smth cuz i haven’t posted in a while, i apologise for the quality not being fantastic<33

[boycunt-toy]

wait actually hold on (puppy bath anon)

he’s scared at first so he tres to run away and cowers from the detachable shower head but your much stronger so when you hold him still so you can clean every inch with the warm water he just can’t get away. when you touch and rub him all over with soap he starts to relax and he looks so sweet and pathetic all sopping wet and nervous, so you tell him not to worry bc you’re in control, and he really needed this as you start to finger him while your sitting on the edge of the tub. you make sure to angle the shower head right at his little puppy bulge but he starts to whine and squirm as he tries to hump the shower head, after all he’s just a greedy pup who needs to be put in his place by a big strong alpha dog.

so you give up on the shower head and your dry clothes and pull down your sweats to slide into him so he can fuck himself on your dick while you rinse him off. he bounces back on you happy and stuffed full, no longer thinking about the water you carefully spray over his back and behind his ears while he moans and whines. he begins to beg you to cum, now you want to be a good boy? it’s too late, i’m done bathing you, pup

you pull out of him and he whines and begs to touch himself. no you tell him, we’ll just have to try again another time. don’t worry, you’re such a filthy mutt, you need this all the time anyway

"concept: giving your puppyboy a bath/training your puppyboy to let you bathe him"

ohhhhhhh anon I love the way your brain works. your puppyboy squirms too much so you have to go and put his collar back on, leashing him to the shower bar so he can't escape you. Chastising him because you have to be extra careful to clean under his collar now, just excuses to make sure your pup feels strong hands threateningly protectively around its throat.

Such a filthy mutt can't be trusted to bathe itself. They start associating the bath and getting soaped up with the showerhead pointed at their puppy parts and your fingers filling him. Soon the suggestion of a bath has your pup involuntarily hard and dripping, he starts bringing you a washcloth when he isn't even dirty to see if he can get pinned in the tub by a bigger dog

Training your pup that getting clean is a reward, but also training them to depend on you for their basic needs like a bath is so *chefs kiss*

[quietwingsinthesky]

Have you ever played/watched a playthrough of the game 12 Minutes? I think you'd like one of the reveals in it.

I did watch a full playthrough a while back. Unfortunately for this recommendation, I thought it was <3 stupid <3 No offense to anyone who likes it, I just thought the design of the loop in the first place was a bit clunky, the characters were sort of eh, and then the reveals themselves were, as I remember and as they played out on whatever stream I was watching, just kind of bad? A poorly put together story surrounded by poorly put together gameplay, but. like. willem dafoe was there 👍

[venting-town]

And I still hate how my bio father is STILL ( not surprised ) dependent on me for his happiness and expects me to answer him and talk with him or else he’ll be sad and even then he still whines about how he misses me because he decided it was okay to base his main happiness source on his kid

[caffeinewitchcraft]

AITA for divorcing my vampire husband because he lied to me about his human job?

I (542 vampire) and my husband (260 vampire) have been together for a little over two centuries. There’s a saying in the vampiric community that it takes a century for a tryst to become an enduring partnership and another century to become soulmates. I thought that was true and that Matthew (using his real name because fuck you, Matthew) and I would be together forever…until this week.

First, let me explain a few things to the mortals here. I don’t mean that negatively – I came here specifically to get the opinion of those with a finite lifespan. However, I want to be fair to Matthew as much as possible and some of his decisions are very immortal-minded.

Both Matthew and I are vampires who have chosen to forsake some of our powers in exchange for the ability to daywalk. We made the transition together on our 100th anniversary almost 115 years ago. It wasn’t an easy transition for me. I was very dependent on human blood and I spent the first twenty years in almost constant sleep as my body adjusted to running off of less lunar magic and more solar magic.

It really felt like I was losing everything. My body got physically weaker and my powers began to disappear one by one. It felt like every time I woke, another part of me was missing. One day I could turn into a wolf, the next I could barely turn into a vapor. I could command a legion of undying servants, and then I could barely convince the mailman he didn’t see me levitate down from the second floor.

Matthew, however, took to daywalking like a werewolf to a sheep farm. He barely seemed to feel the pain of losing his power, maybe because he was so much younger than me. Whatever the case, he was out all the time once he stabilized. He would be gone for days sometimes and when he came back it was with fantastic stories about the humans’ new inventions or the new structures being built in whatever town we were in.

I’m not saying I regret transitioning. Just that Matthew and I had very different experiences. It felt like he barely changed at all while my entire being got rewritten. Being immortal makes you comfortable in your own skin. I never doubted myself or my power after I turned 100. But becoming a daywalker made me feel like I was being born as a human again. It was humiliating and vulnerable. I have to admit there were times I resented how easily Matthew did it. I blamed him for not supporting me like I thought he should. I would daydream about draining a human in front of him, showing him what I thought of his fascination with them. I had all sorts of vile and vengeful thoughts. I’m not proud of the person I was and now I’m grateful Matthew wasn’t there to see the lows I sunk to.

Despite all my awful thoughts, I didn’t quit. I don’t know why, but I didn’t. I stuck with it and, day by day, things got easier.

After 26 years I began to stabilize. The benefits of being a daywalker slowly blossomed before me.  Now I can say that I am completely happy with my daywalker status and all the changes it’s brought.

I am the most mentally stable I have been since my Turning in 1482. It’s like I’m awake. The fits of rage that used to consume me for months at a time have completely disappeared. I don’t experience the same level of obsession I used to which has freed up a lot of my time that I used to spend stalking my victims.

However, that drastic of a change would be challenging in any relationship. Matthew and I ended up together because of my obsessive nature. Our relationship became strained when that part of me went dormant. He expected me to follow his immersion into the human world just as I had followed him in his revenge quest against his Master. He expected me to support him wholeheartedly and with everything I was. He wanted sacrifices from me that I used to not even flinch at before making. But something was just…different. We wanted different things. I wanted different things.

Matthew was obsessed with being the perfect human. He craved full immersion. He still makes it a point to get a human job every twenty years or so. Me? I’m happy to live off our investments and some mild mind control while enjoying the art and theater community the humans have evolved.

It got bad. Some years, we spent like ghosts in our own house, drifting by each other without a glance. Other years, it was like we were spies behind enemy lines. He would do whatever he could to thwart me and I would go out of my way to ridicule him. Our vitriol poisoned the earth. Matthew didn’t speak to me for a full decade when that poison killed off an entire town.

About twenty years ago, it all came to a head. We had a serious sit-down talk about our relationship. It wasn’t easy. What they say about teaching an old dog new tricks is sometimes true. Matthew wanted me to be as involved with the humans as he was. He wanted me to care about them like he did. I wanted him to travel with me like we used to and not just hop from town to neighboring town (which he did to maintain a human identity with references so he could keep working). When it became clear that we were at an impasse, I brought up the idea of separation.

Separating in the vampiric world isn’t easy. There are a lot of alliances and blood oaths to be considered. Over the two centuries we spent together, we became known as a unit to a number of supernatural entities that we maintain an uneasy truce with. Separating would mean creating new oaths and alliances with the same individuals. And there was no guarantee that those individuals would make new pacts with both of you. A LOT of vampire couples end up in blood feuds while separating. Neither of us wanted that.

There was also, of course, the emotional side of things. While a lot of immortals tend to only feel muted emotions (especially vampires as old as me), Daywalking had made both of us more sensitive than we’d been before. We were both attached to the memories we shared and neither of us could imagine life without the other. After 200 years together, it felt like Matthew was my right arm, and I his. When I brought up separation, we both felt it like we were discussing an amputation.

After about a year of talking, we finally reached an agreement. We didn’t want to separate, and so we would compromise. I wouldn’t interfere with any of Matthew’s human jobs for the 15-17 years if he could hold them without arousing suspicion. In exchange, he would take a year off to go traveling with me before finding another town for us to live in. In between my trips, he would go to plays and galas with me to enjoy human artistry at least once a month.

Maybe our deal was in his favor. At the time, it felt practical and fair. A year of traveling wouldn’t undo Matthew’s string of connections. We would still see each other frequently by going on dates that I liked. Matthew would get to stay immersed in the human world at the level he wanted, and I could stay within my comfort zone.

Which brings me to my current problem.

We are currently at the start of one of Matthew’s work cycles. He’s been everything from a fireman to a politician to a subway worker to a barista. He craves knowledge and connection to a terrifying degree. If it weren’t for how we move every 20 years and he goes without protest, I’d call it obsession.

This cycle, Matthew told me he was going to be a teacher. I was hesitant. While the humans have become more tolerant and less violent over the years, that doesn’t mean they will tolerate us near their young. Enough humans know about vampires that staking in the modern era is a real possibility. Matthew could incite an angry mob against us or, heaven forbid, get a vampire hunter on our tail. I have yet to be shot, but I hear that they have silver bullets that hurt like Hell.

When I voiced my protests, Matthew reminded me about our agreement. He said that I wouldn’t interfere with his jobs and he’d go to all the plays I liked. He even pointed out that, as a teacher, he could get us into high school plays and expositions. I was uneasy, but agreements are penultimate to immortals. I silenced my objections and let him get a job as a science teacher at a local high school.

When Michael has had jobs in the past, I’ve never really paid attention. One time he was a state senator for ten years and I never even heard him speak. I didn’t consider it worth my time to hear whatever his facsimile of a human would say. Real humanity is in the art they create, not in the parody Michael enacts.

But this one…I couldn’t ignore this one. Maybe it was because I was still uneasy about his proximity to human young or maybe I could sense his lies even at the beginning. Whatever the case, I watched him.

The first thing I noticed was the hours. He would go to work early and would often come home when it was time for us to sleep. When I asked him about it, he said that he wasn’t used to grading and that he had underestimated what it took to put a good lesson plan together. I visited some online forums and that’s apparently reasonable for first year teachers.

He would also sometimes go in on the weekends. He missed one of our dates because there was a “grading emergency” that needed his immediate attention. Something about a student’s test getting lost and then found and he needed to input their grade before the deadline which was on Saturday. Humans like silly rules like that so I didn’t even look that one up. I just reminded him that he couldn’t miss our dates again or else he was breaking our deal. He apologized and said it wouldn’t happen again.

Then about three months into his new job, the phone calls started. We have a private room in our house for when we need to talk without any visitors overhearing. Michael moved all his school supplies in there, saying that he needed a silent space to concentrate on his grading. Whenever he got a call, he would never answer it in front of me. Instead, he’d say “Sorry, work” and just go into his office.

I also noticed that he didn’t dress very professionally. Human fashion changes quickly so it didn’t register at first. A sweatshirt here and there slipped past me, and also the Gucci slides. When he started wearing baggy jeans and jerseys to work, I noticed. I may not be up to date on all the newest fashions, but I do go to classy events. I know what a slob looks like and it didn’t sit right with me that he was wearing that to school. When I asked him about it, he always had an excuse. “This is what everyone wears” and “It’s a theme day” or, bafflingly, “It’s spirit week!”

I tried to leave it alone. The reason we have stayed together for so long is because of our agreement to not interfere in each other’s lives. But between his hours, the phone calls, and his appearance, something didn’t add up.

Then, last Thursday, he missed another one of our dates. We were supposed to go to the Nutcracker together. Even though I prefer matinees (when the cast is fresh), I agreed to get us tickets for the evening show so that he wouldn’t have to leave work early. When he wasn’t there at 7pm, I called him and he didn’t answer. Then, when I called him again, his phone was switched off.

I was furious. I spend nearly two decades in these tiny towns so he can live his human fantasy and he can’t even show up for one two hour show? It was the first time since becoming a daywalker that I felt that angry. I was scared about what I might do, so I made myself go home to wait for him.

Only, he never came home that night. At 3am, he sent me a text apologizing and promising to make up our date on Saturday. But the Nutcracker was only playing until Friday and that would be too little, too late. To be honest, it already was. I texted him that and he never responded.

He never ended up coming home last weekend. I texted and called him probably a dozen times and he never responded. I got angrier and angrier as the days dragged by. Did he think I was someone to be taken lightly? Did he not realize that the fragile agreement between us was all that was keeping us from separation?

Yesterday (Monday), I couldn’t take it anymore. If he wasn’t going to come home or respond to my messages, then I would go to him. If he was so obsessed with this new job that he would ignore me for it, then I knew exactly where to find him.

I arrived at his school at 10am. I researched enough to know how to go to the office and sign myself in. I asked the office assistant which room Mr. Duetto was in.

The lovely young woman looked confused. “I’m sorry, but I can’t give that information out to anyone but family,” she said.

“I am his only family,” I said.

She clicked a few more keys and looked more confused. “His paperwork only shows his mother, Delilah Duetto.”

That’s right. His mother. But I still didn’t understand then.

“That’s me,” I said.

“You are not the mother of 17-year-old.”

“I’m his wife,” I said.

She was upset by that. I won’t bore you with every detail, but I had to alter her memories so she wouldn’t call the police. I may not look like someone who has a teenager, but I also don’t look like a teenager. I ended up having to alter her memories so she wouldn’t call human CPS on an apparent adult swearing she was married to a minor.

I went home and broke into his office. There weren’t any lesson plans. There were no graded papers. There were syllabus from different classes, homework with his name on it, and a few polaroids taped to the bottom of his desk of him at a party with children.

Human children. I don’t honestly know which is worse.

(EDIT: I know the child part is the worst part. I misspoke because of my anger. It’s not the humans’ fault that my husband is a pervert.)

I broke into his laptop and used that to check his text messages. He’s been texting like a high schooler. He’s been to parties with them, listened to their problems and even fabricated a few of his own. He’s caught in some sort of weird love triangle where a freshman girl likes him but his “best friend” likes her. He has texted both of them about it, promising his “bro” that nothing is happening and then turning around and leading this girl-child on.

Some choice quotes: I should know better than to get close with you. You and I come from very different worlds

To which she replied, lol maybe we should let our worlds collide

!!!!

I find the entire situation disgusting. Matthew is several centuries older than them and he definitely knows better. He’s literally wearing the sheep’s fleece amongst the flock. He has no business forming relationships with human children and even less pretending to be one of them. He’s not a baby. He is over two centuries old!

What is he doing flirting with a child? It’s vile and disgusting and I was set to kill him for it.

I confronted him about it when he came home last night. I told him that he was sick and dangerous and if he loved humans then he needed to stop immediately. I told him we either left town today or I would make sure he never set foot back in that school in a way he really wouldn’t like.

 He threw a huge tantrum over my invading his privacy. He shouted at me that I had broken my promise to never interfere in his job. He called me controlling and crazy.

I told him he was the crazy one for chatting up a child. He told me he wasn’t, she was just his friend. I asked him to read their texts out loud if he was being so friendly. I also pointed out that there was no way a 260-year-old vampire is a child’s friend.

He told me I was a hypocrite because I basically cradle robbed him (we’re almost 300 years apart.) He said if anyone was disgusting, it was me for taking advantage of him.

I pointed out that he wasn’t a child, he was over 60 and had already been a vampire for four decades. He argued that that was basically being a child in vampire terms.

I was so angry at that point that the house was shaking. I told him if he felt that way, then we could get divorced right then and there. That that was what I wanted to do anyway because I couldn’t be married to a pedophile.

He asked me if I was seriously going to start a blood feud over him immersing himself in human society. I said no, I’m starting a blood feud because he’s become every predatory stereotype humans have of vampires.

He called me a hypocrite again and told me he was leaving. He said not to call him unless I was ready to apologize. I told him that the next time he sees me, he’d better run before I showed him the real difference between us. And it wasn’t just 300 years.

When I calmed down, doubt started creeping in. From an immortal perspective, what he’s doing isn’t really wrong. I hate to say it, but most immortals don’t view human lives as significant. I know a few vampires who would say that divorcing because he’s playing with his food is idiotic.

Plus, there’s the agreement to consider. During our fight, Matthew pointed out that being a student is a job to humans. So therefore I didn’t have the right to interfere. A big part of me thinks that’s bullshit, but a small part of me wonders if he’s maybe right about that?

I also have to ask myself why this even bothers me. I’m the one in the relationship that is aloof from humans. I’m the one that’s always saying we are from different worlds (Yeah, he stole that from me) and for good reason. 

But over the years, I’ve become fond of humans. No immortal makes art like them. I may not remember my time as a mortal, but there are works that give me a sense of nostalgia. Sometimes I think I can remember being a child myself, standing in a field like in Monet painting, staring at the wheatstacks and waiting for the miller to come. 

The thought of Matthew playing with them makes me sick. It’s like even after all the years of him living amongst them, he thinks of them as props in his twisted play. It’s even worse that he’s doing this to children. 

I can’t help but think something went really wrong with my husband when I wasn’t looking. At the very least, I’m planning on divorcing him. But would I be the asshole if I killed him too?

 Separating from him will be violent and messy. There will likely be human casualties. But I don’t see any other way. So, I ask.

AITA for divorcing my husband for lying to me about his human job?

----

Thanks for reading! I loved answering some of the responses I got when I first posted this over on my Patreon (X)!

These collaborative story telling pieces are the highlight of my week. Next week's story is about a witch who wants to know if she should attend her high school reunion even though she's responsible for stripping two former classmates of their magic...

Please check that out here (X) if you''d like early access! Otherwise I'll see y'all next week :)

[arkangelo-7]

I’m sure someone’s already headcannoned this, but Bruce having pet names for the Batkids? Man, those are his babies—you can bet your ass he has pet names for them. He might not be the type of man to show much affection beyond a shoulder pat or the occasional forehead kiss, but he’s determined to parent the crap outta these orphans, and pet names are an easier medium to show that he cares.

Dick is both “chum” and “sweetheart” depending on the context. When Bruce is feeling playful and comfortable (the easy, “your mine and I’m just happy to be here with you” kind of love), he’ll stick with “chum” and Dick absolutely loves it. But when Dick’s sick or has a nightmare or got injured during patrol? It’s sweetheart. It’s default mode for Bruce, because seeing Dick in pain brings up so many raw, intense emotions (Bruce gets scared, goddamit) that it’s easier for him to say “I’ve got you, sweetheart, it’s okay, just keep your eyes on mine,” then it is to say “I’m so terrified that I’m going to loose you, I love you, you’re my everything.”

Jason is“Jaylad.” But it’s less of the name that’s important and more of the story behind it that is. For the first few months that Jason was in Bruce’s care, Bruce didn’t dare call him anything other then his name, in fear that he’d scare him away (he was already so distrusting, so hesitant, so fearful whenever Bruce talked to loud or moved to fast or got upset), but at the same time, he’d seen how pleased Dick had been at being called “chum” and wanted to bestow a similar endearment on Jason. But—he didn’t want to go to far. So instead of calling him “lad” like his own father had once called him, Bruce calls him “Jaylad.” It’s a little more impersonal, but it makes Jason more comfortable. (But when Bruce cradled his son’s broken body he said “no, darling, not you, don’t leave me—” because just how Dick is “sweetheart,” Jason has also always been “darling.”)

For Tim… it’s more complicated. He shoved his way into Bruce’s life and he’s forever grateful, but it wasn’t the same as it was with Jason and Dick. He sees Tim as his son, of course, but their relationship was built on the darkest, most despairing part of Bruce’s life. But even in that terrible season, Bruce would look over at Tim working on a case or cleaning his suit and say, “Good job, sport.” It doesn’t happen often, but Tim is “sport.”

Cassandra is “love.” Bruce has never said it to her, aloud, but he knows Cass can read him well enough to hear the unspoken endearment, to see how much he longs to protect her, bring her joy, fill her heart with all the love she’s filled his with.

Steph is “duck.” And not necessarily because Bruce decided that it was, but because 9 times out of 10 he finds himself screaming, “Robin, get down!” because Stephanie will not for the love of God follow his orders, and end up right in the line of fire. To save time he eventually just started saying “Duck!” It keeps Steph from getting whacked to high heavens and saves Bruce (another) heart attack, but over the years it’s also become somewhat of a ritual to say “duck” whenever Steph walks in the room. Bruce secretly wants to call her “ducky” (which is what his mother called Kate), but he’s never worked up the nerve.

Duke is “kid.” By the time he’s in the family, Bruce has loosened up and lightened up, especially with everyday affection (which is to say, he’s not avoiding it like the plague). He’s quick to say “Good job, kid” whenever Duke had an accomplishment or ask “how are you today, kiddo?” when they see each other in passing in the Batcave.

Damian, lastly, would never allow Bruce to call him anything other then his name. But every once in a while, Bruce can get away with saying “son.” And it’s the best thing in the world.

[agirlwithglam]

How to make life a little better

(I’m looking for something prettier to name this so if u have ideas spill!!)

Stop trying to impress people you don’t even like

Stop caring about being judged by the most boring, lame human beings ever (there’s 8 billion people on earth)

It’s immature to keep hating on yourself or others. Like what’s the point? It’s just making u miserable

Always give kindness and love.

It’s the small choices and actions you take everyday that make huge differences

Try to get into the flow state more

Get a diary and write all ur girly nonsense in it

Stop wondering if you’re good enough for others and start wondering if they’re good enough for you

You shouldn’t assume someone doesn’t like you unless they’ve directly told you.

Learn to observe and not absorb

Remember you don’t need to accomplish something in one sitting- whether it’s learning the guitar, crocheting, let yourself take time.

Even if you think ur life is boring and there’s nothing exciting abt it: would u rather mope and sulk or get unreasonably happy about the small mini things?

Life is 20% what happens to you and 80% how you react to it.

Be your own best friend! Push yourself on, cheer for yourself, be there when you cry.

Consciousness if everything.

You may be more inclined to reach your goals if you know someone else is depending on them.

If you don’t want to dwell on things, have things that get ur mind of it. Be busy.

[ghost-with-a-teacup]

𝐖𝐡𝐚𝐭'𝐬 𝐈𝐧 𝐁𝐞𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐧

Pairing: Miguel O'Hara x F!Reader

Summary: Everyone at HQ was convinced there was something going on between you and Miguel. Just...no one knew what. But one group of spiders were determined to figure it out.

Warnings: None! Just a lot of goofiness and a whole lot of fluff :3

When you have a superhuman with superior senses, they’re bound to be perceptive to their surroundings. Now when you have an entire lobby the size of multiple football fields filled with superhumans with superior senses, very few things will go unnoticed.

It’s why people very quickly realize that you and Miguel have…something between the two of you. It’s just that no one is quite sure what.

Camaraderie? Maybe, you were one of the first spiders to join the society.

Friendship? Perhaps, but it was known that Miguel wasn’t one to do friends. Not with the amount of loss he has gone through.

A relationship? This one seemed the most unplausible. Miguel was, well, Miguel. Stoick, cold and calculating. Meanwhile, you were you.

You had a light that drew people in, kindness that knew no bounds and warmth like a fire on a cold winter’s day.

Everyone knew the saying ‘opposites attract’, but it was like comparing night and day with the two of you. Regardless, a small little group within the society were set on trying to figure the two of you out.

~

“Ain’t no way the two are together, she’s too good for him!” Hobie argues, his legs kicked up on the table in front of him.

“I don’t know, maybe that’s why they work together. Because she makes him better?” Miles says, but his tone of voice failed to hide his skepticism.

“I think you should just leave the two of them be. Besides, what happens if you figure it out or not anyway?” Peter says, feeding Mayday as he does. Immediately a chorus of arguments breaks out from the group.

“OKAY! Okay, forget I asked,” he says with a shake of his head, while Mayday just laughs at the commotion.

They spot the two of you walking into the cafeteria making conversation none of them could make out.

“Look at them,” Gwen says, “have you ever seen the guy happier than he is with her?” she asks, and Hobie snorts.

“C’mon mate, you call that happy? Mans got that frown tattooed on his face, can he even be happy?” he says, but they all continue watching intently.

You glance over to the table they were surrounding, and they all brush off your gaze pretending as though they weren’t just studying the two of you like specimens under a microscope.

You wave your hand, a bright smile on your face while Miguel only glances over for a moment before continuing to walk. You jog to catch up to him, grabbing a tray and picking up things you wanted for lunch.

They watch as they see Miguel pick up the empanada, the last one left. He pauses for a split second, holding it before turning to place it on your tray. Almost as though they were straight out of a cartoon, they freeze at the interaction.

You seem to be slightly surprised as you, saying something to him but he only brushes you off before continuing on.

“Did…that just happen?” Pavitr asks. Everyone at HQ was aware of Miguel’s fondness for the food (even if he did hurl one right at Miles when they first met), there was no way he would give one away so easily for just anyone, right?

“Somebody pinch me,” Gwen says, and Hobie jumps at the request.

“OW!”

~

Miguel never lets anyone help him out when he’s injured. That was just a known fact. He could walk into HQ battered and bruised and wouldn’t even look in the infirmary’s direction once. After depending on himself for so long, he wasn’t going to stop now. Besides, what were First Aid kits for after all?

The only way he was going to the infirmary was if someone dragged his unconscious body there themselves.

Well, unless you were there.

“Miguel O’Hara I swear to god, you better get your ass to the infirmary or so help me I will tie you up and drag you through the halls myself,” you say sternly as you both reemerge in the Lobby. The rest of the Spiders there continued with what they were doing, but their attention was zeroed in on you both.

“I’m fine,” he says, glaring at you as if trying to say ‘Just try’. Had you been anyone else, you would have backed down by now but you didn’t.

“You wanna test me right now? That was a nasty hit, I will not be letting it get infected under my watch,” you retort, and he puffs.

“This is nothing, I’ve dealt with worse,” he scoffs, and in an instant your finger shoots out, making contact with the side that got hit with the anomaly’s flames. Miguel can’t help the sharp intake of breath as the pain from the impact hits him.

Your eyebrow raises, an expression of disbelief on your face before it softens. Murmuring softly, you say something that only he can hear.

For a moment he studies your face before sighing, finally relenting. With a triumphant smile, you place a hand on the man’s broad back, leading him towards the infirmary with a gentle but firm hand.

There, Pavitr is laying in bed recovering from an awry mission of his own. The doctors had ordered bedrest for the next 2 hours at least. Superior healing or not, they were not going to risk it. So there he lay, slinging his golden bangles up and down bored before he hears the two of you come in.

“Mr. O’Hara-" a doctor’s voice can be heard, but he is quickly interrupted.

“She’s got it from here,” he says, Miguel’s tone final. A small “yes, sir” can be heard before footsteps fade away, the doctor’s office door closing once more.

“You know, you should really let the professionals help you,” your voice can be heard.

“You dragged me here, you can deal with the consequences,” he says, and you just laugh fondly before your voices quieten, murmuring too quietly for Pavitr to hear.

Curiosity builds as he recalls the conversation he and his friends had, and before he can stop himself he shifts silently to the side, just enough to be able to catch a glimpse of you both from the small gap between the hospital curtain and the wall.

There, Miguel sat on the bed, a disgruntled expression on his face but his eyes were soft as he watched you fuss over his side.

He only watches for a few seconds before pulling away, this being a clear invasion of privacy, and his boss’ privacy no less.

It wasn’t going to stop him from telling everyone else though.

~

“This is a bad idea. This is a really, really bad idea,” Miles says, grasping onto the ceiling like his life depended on it.

“It’s only a bad idea if we get caught, so Shut. Up,” Gwen says sharply, hanging from her place on the ceiling as they watched the fight from above.

Gwen had come up with the mighty fine idea of sneaking into a mission between the two of you. It wasn’t often that it happened, Miguel more often than not only went on missions with only Lyla by his side. But when he needed a partner, it was always you.

“Why did you have to bring me with you,” he whispers, “Miguel already doesn’t like me. He doesn’t need more of a reason to.”

“Because I needed backup and you can turn invisible. And let’s be real, Hobie would be laughing his ass off getting us caught, Peter would bring Mayday which would get us caught, and Pavitr is already on a mission, now shhh,” she whispers, turning back to watching the scene below.

You swung from pillar to pillar in the abandoned factory with practiced ease, a carefree laugh escaping your lips as Miguel stands on the ground fiddling with his watch.

“The anomaly’s last known location was here,” Lyla’s voice echoes out, and you let out a sigh.

“Why can’t villains have easy powers. Maybe a giant blob that is easy to take down? Why do they have to be so complicated? What’s this one again, a freaky shadow monster?” you think out loud.

“Where’s the fun in that?” Miguel retorts, glancing up toward you for a moment before turning back to Lyla. “Do a scan of the place, will you?”

“What do we say~” Lyla responds, and you giggle softly while Miguel huffs.

“Please,” he mutters.

“What was that?”

“Please, Lyla,” he says a little louder now, irritation growing in his voice.

“Already done,” the AI snickers, and he groans out loud as your laughter bounces off of the walls, a fist held out for Lyla to bump.

“The two of you will be the death of me,” he says lowly.

“Oh, don’t be like that, grumps. You’d be too stubborn to die,” you retort before tensing up, the hairs on the back of your neck rising with the familiar feeling of your heightened senses at work. The moment you sling yourself up is the moment a loud thud sounds out from where you once stood.

“Oh, I forgot to mention that the anomaly was in the far right corner,” Lyla says before disappearing.

“I really need to do a rewrite of her code,” Miguel mutters to himself.

In your previous spot emerges a dark figure, plumes of smoke emerging and dissipating from its form and allowing it to disappear into the shadows with ease.

With a simple nod, you get to work. Like a well-oiled machine, you work in practiced synchrony, bounding across the walls and slinging webs.

And just like that the anomaly is captured, the force field around it effectively trapping it for the ride back to HQ so it can be sent back to its own universe.

“That was…kinda lame,” you snicker, pulling off your mask

“Told you so,” Miguel says as he opens up a portal for you both, dragging the anomaly behind him.

“Don’t say that to me,” you pout.

“What, can’t handle the truth?” he retorts, a smirk playing across his lips as your bickering voices fade through the portal.

“…was that a smile,” Gwen asks as she watches the spot where they both had stood.

“Was that what it was?” Miles asks, a shudder racking through his body.

~

It was late at night at the HQ, and at this time everyone else had already gone back to their own universes. The few that lingered were the ones finishing up after a late-night mission.

Or, you were Peter B. Parker frantically searching through the kitchen for a bottle of milk for Mayday after a playdate with a select few spiders that went on for way longer than expected.

Mayday was an easy baby. Always happy and smiling, but that all disappears when she was hungry and you did not want a spider baby on a rampage.

“Alright, alright, give Daddy a few seconds to warm up your milk please?” Peter pleads as Mayday continues to babble angrily, crawling all over him.

She pauses for a moment, attention drawn elsewhere as she hangs off of her father’s back before leaping.

“Hey, lil spider!” You say with a laugh, catching her in your arms. “What are you doing here so late?” you ask.

“Playdate with Miles, Gwen and Hobie. Time really flew and she refused to leave until now,” Peter sighs tiredly, and you pat him on the back before putting her up onto your shoulders. “What are you doing here so late?”

You shrug, grabbing two mugs from the cupboard.

“Working late. Like you said, time really flew,” you say, but Peter knew that wasn’t the full truth.

“Working so hard that you need two cups of coffee?” he asks, holding out the bottle for Mayday to take, which is what she does happily as she snuggles up in her father’s arms.

“What can I say, caffeine doesn’t really work on me,” you grin, pouring the coffee from the machine. “Goodnight, Peter, Mayday,” you say, ruffling her red hair fondly.

And as quickly as you appeared, you disappear.

~

People didn’t often disturb the big boss man Miguel when he was working. Not if you wanted to stay on his good side.

It was even less often that someone barges into his room full of screens as he monitors the Archno-Humanoid Polymultiverse, let alone a group of them.

“We heard you talking to someone! And laughing,” Gwen says hesitantly as if she couldn’t even believe it herself. But she was invested in figuring out what the deal was between the two of you now.

“Well, do you see anyone around?” Miguel deadpans, his arms wide and gesturing around broadly. You could barely stifle the giggle as you sat on a beam high up on the ceiling, going unnoticed.

“W-well, no…But!” she says, and Miguel raises an eyebrow which makes Gwen shrink in her spot slightly before recovering. “But we heard you. There was someone here, wasn’t there?”

Hobie, ever the perceptive one tracks his eyes along the ceiling before spotting you swinging your legs with an amused look on your face. It seemed as though no one else had noticed though.

Miguel watches Hobie spot you and his eyes narrow in his direction, as if saying ‘I dare you to say anything’ to which the spider only raises his hands in mock surrender.

“No. There wasn't." He says, his tone final. "If that’s all you’re here for, I have important work to get to. So why don’t you go bother someone else, yeah?”

~

“I give up,” Gwen says, slumping in her chair. “We’re never going to figure it out.”

“Figure what out?” Jess asks, walking up to the group.

“Whether or not there is something going on between those two,” Miles says, nodding towards you and Miguel talking over in the corner of the room.

Jessica only hums, a knowing look in her eyes but she doesn’t say anything. Only asks a simple question.

“What makes you think so?”

“Everyone here knows that there’s something there, even if they want to admit it or not. She’s one of the few people he tolerates, they’re together almost all the time and he actually seems happy around her,” Gwen reasons.

“You could have just asked, you know,” you say, coming up on their conversation with an amused look on your face.

Their expressions range from flustered to simply amused and you can’t help the laughter that bubbles up as you make eye contact with Jess.

“And to answer the question,” you reach down your suit, pulling out a simple chain with a ring dangling off of the end.

“We’re actually married.”

The group goes silent for a moment, eyes wide as they stare at the necklace in your hands, trying to process your words.

Then, all hell breaks loose.

A/N: Hehe, I'm quite happy with this one :3 This is my first attempt at writing Miguel, sorry if I butchered him but I am absolutely hyperfixating on him after seeing ATSV in theatres yesterday.

Based on the prompt by @imslightlycreative though slightly changed :)) I hope you all enjoyed <3

Part two out now!! Read it here.

[andypantsx3]

contents: general bakugou x princess reader; fem + afab virgin reader. nsft; oral (f receiving) & missionary. semi-sequel to this drabble. 3.2k.

Your wedding day arrives far earlier than you are prepared for.

It’s a tense affair, for you at least. The country depends on it, and you feel the scheming eyes of the nobility hot on your skin as you pronounce your vows to Bakugou. They will not take kindly to your having chosen him over their sons and brothers, over their own desire to rise to power. There will be a price they will want you to pay, soon enough.

The chapel is resplendent with sumptuous decor, the court in their finest. But the room is fringed with Bakugou’s men in their military leathers, a reminder that this is not a happy day, but rather a dangerous political stunt. It keeps the noble houses docile while they are in the room with you, but you know they will return to their estates and their plans. 

Your fate is in Bakugou’s hands, now, in more ways than one.

The ceremony is dizzying, and impossible to wrap your head around. The preceptor pronounces Bakugou your prince-consort, ostensibly to remain so while you assume the throne after your father’s passing. You will continue to rule him as his sovereign. But your vows to Bakugou also promise him your obedience as his wife. 

It is a contradiction, an impossible trap, the very reason why the general is the only man you could stomach the thought of marrying. If a husband is to rule you after all, Bakugou will do so justly. 

The thought does not stifle your nerves, however, as you make your way back down the aisle, sit down to the reception, and take your meal. A disquieting, anticipatory feeling settles over you, fizzing under your skin. You barely pick at your dinner, and drink too much of the wine.

You can tell Bakugou notices, scarlet gaze ever-perceptive, though he does not say anything until you are shepherded to the bridal suite to consummate.

Various aides try to follow you in to prepare you, but Bakugou slams the door closed on them, propping it shut with one broad shoulder. He barks at them to scram.

“Lord General—that is, Your Highness,” one of them stutters through the door. “We are required to witness the consummation—to verify that it is complete.”

A bolt of shame goes through you at this, and you catch hold of one of the intricately-carved wooden bed pillars. Bakugou grunts, holding the door closed with one palm while spinning to the nearby dressing table and chair. He grabs the chair, wedging it forcefully up under the door handle.

“You’ll be sure of consummation when I’m done here,” he growls through the door. “Don’t need you little fucking perverts making eyes the whole damn time. Now beat it.”

A weird sound escapes you, something between a gasp and a laugh—at his promise, at his gruffness.

“Your Highness,” comes a plaintive entreaty through the door. Bakugou slams a fist against it, and you hear a squeal and a sound like someone’s fallen over their feet.

An absurd laugh seizes you, and Bakugou eyes you pettishly.

“The fuck’re you laughing about,” he says, but there’s no heat in it.

Your fingers twist on the bedpost, nervously tracing the lines. “You’re taking to your new post well.”

Bakugou’s features twist into something dangerously satisfied, a smirk painting his mouth. Your breath comes short.

“My post,” he echoes, raising an eyebrow. “As your husband.”

Your stomach swoops. The disquiet flames back to life under your skin, settling heavy in your gut like a stone. 

“I supposed it is a post like any other,” you say, fixing your gaze on the ground. “There are responsibilities and… marital duties.”

You hear the soft tread of Bakugou’s boot as he steps away from the door, the rustle of his doublet as he draws closer. His many medals and ceremonial sword belt clink softly. It is a fashion you know he does not prefer, always living in his shirtsleeves—the better to fight in, to train in.

A calloused hand takes your chin, tipping your face up to his.

“You nervous, Princess?” he asks. His tone is obnoxious, as usual, but his crimson gaze traces your face.

You barely suppress a shiver under his touch. Your stomach churns with a thousand emotions and you find you don’t know how to feel. Relieved that you’ve made it this far. Annoyed with Bakugou’s composure and general manner. Apprehensive about what is to come. And warm, suddenly, all over. You do not want to examine why.

“Nonsense,” you sniff. 

A feral smile curls the corner of Bakugou’s mouth like he sees right through you. “You’ve never been with a man.”

Your face burns but you force yourself to return Bakugou’s assessing stare. “I’ve never been to Musutafu, either, but I know it well enough. I should think I am… prepared.”

Something hot alights in Bakugou’s gaze, burning like a coal. It’s not unlike how he looked at you that night in the dark outside his chambers, when you’d first come to him with this wild proposal.

“And what do you think you know,” he says, flatter than a question.

Your nose grows hot. “Enough.”

A thumb slides along your jaw, settling against the pulse in your neck. “Answer the question, angel.”

Your face just might be on fire. You steel yourself, reciting dispassionately. “You will undress me and then… enter me. I shall lie still—they say you can breathe through the pain and it will go away after some time. You will… work yourself to completion. And then we shall be done.”

A snort comes from Bakugou. “Is that how you royal tightasses do it?”

You feel your eyes narrow. “That is how everyone does it.”

Your ladies in waiting had been very emphatic. All of them had spoken of the same mechanics. The initial discomfort, the pain, the way a husband moved upon his wife until he was satisfied.

“You don’t know shit, Princess,” Bakugou says.

You reach up to pull his hand from your face, but he tenses, arm growing solid and immovable. 

“Explains why all you nobles are such fucking tight-buttoned pricks if that’s how you’re doing it.”

Your reply is startled out of you when his hand finds your waist. You take a step back, and then another, startling again when your back finds the wall. Bakugou follows you, eyes hot.

“You are insufferable,” you inform him hotly. “I am sure of the matter.”

“You’re always sure of a lot of things, Princess,” he says. His hand is back at your waist, and suddenly all your skin feels too hot and tight, stifling like a velvet dress in summer.

“I am sure you are the most obnoxious man on earth,” you say. “Now be quiet and commence with it. Let’s have done with it.”

Bakugou’s face is suddenly closer than you’d remembered it being.

“I’ll have done with you alright,” he says. “But I’m not gonna do it like you little uppity prudes.”

You find you can’t think of what he means, all of your thoughts clouded with his proximity, the feeling of his hand moving to your skirts.

“I—but there is only the one way,” you manage. None of your ladies had mentioned anything else.

Bakugou’s mouth cuts into a smirk again, and you hate him for how pretty it is. 

“We’ll fuckin’ see about that,” he says.

And then his mouth is pressed to yours. 

It’s nothing like the stilted peck you’d been obliged to give him at the ceremony—one that still left your face burning, for some unknowable reason. This feels entirely different in its intensity. Bakugou’s mouth is hot and soft and tempting and eager, and your body thrills with it.

Every inch of your skin feels like it zings with lightning when he licks into your mouth, and he presses you harder into the wall. You feel his groan all the way down to your toes.

“B–akugou,” you pant when his mouth leaves yours, only to stifle a yip when he moves down to your throat. He sucks a mark there, laving over it with his tongue, and you feel like you're melting in his hands. “That’s—not my—ah!—mouth,” you manage.

The tiniest scrape of teeth has you yelping again, and you find yourself clutching his bicep for purchase.

“No shit,” he says, leaving another mark lower, mapping his way towards your chest. Calloused fingers come up to cup one of your breasts, thumb swiping over your nipple through your stays. You catch hold of his hair, yanking a fistful of that flaxen blonde, clenching your thighs together.

“What are you doing?” you hiss. 

Bakugou looks up at you, expression annoyed. “Consummating.”

“But you’re not undressing me,” you say. “And shouldn’t we—on the bed?

Bakugou raises a blonde eyebrow. “They tell you it needs to be on a bed, too?”

You blink, momentarily disarmed. It was quite literally called sharing the marriage bed—where else were you supposed to do it?

“Are you sure we’re talking about the same thing?” you eventually ask him.

Both of Bakugou’s eyebrows shoot for the moon, and he looks very suddenly like he wants to laugh. A grin yanks at his mouth, sharp and beautiful.

“I knew you’d be a fucking handful,” he says, his tone somehow both annoyed and delighted. “Don’t even know what the fuck you’re talking about and you’re still trying to give me orders.”

You yank at the fistful of his hair you’re still clutching and he hisses, hand shooting out to grab yours. He works your grip off of him, pinning your wrist to the wall. The air in the room suddenly feels a hundred times thicker, like trying to breathe through honey.

“Listen closely, Princess,” he tells you, leaning in. “We're going to consummate, alright. But I’m not just gonna squeeze my eyes shut and stick it in. I’m going to do what I want first, and you’re going to be good and let me.”

Your face ignites in flame. You want to disagree reflexively. “If it’s going to be painful I’d rather just have it over with, if you don’t mind,” you say.

Bakugou stares back, scarlet gaze roving over you. “It’s not gonna be if you shut up and let me do what I want.”

You blink. You hadn’t heard that there was a way around the pain—why hadn’t anyone told you?

“I—really?” you ask.

Bakugou nods. “Really.”

“Oh,” you say. “Well then… you may proceed, I suppose.”

“You suppose,” he echoes, staring you down. The look on his face makes you want to lean forward and bite it off.

“Well get on with it,” you say, arching your eyebrows.

Bakugou looks for a moment like he wants to shake you. But he ducks his head instead, lowering his mouth to yours again.

“Gonna fuck that bossiness right out of you,” he mutters, low like he’s promising himself and not you. But then he kisses you again, muffling your gasp in his mouth.

You’ve never kissed another man, and do not have a frame of reference for what he’s doing. But Bakugou is a good kisser, you think. Every flick of his tongue feels like someone has uncorked champagne and poured it beneath your skin, and every brush of his mouth against yours sends a liquid heat racing through your veins.

You moan into his mouth when calloused fingers delve beneath the collar of your gown, dipping into your stays and pinching a nipple. He rolls it carefully, and you arch against him without any say-so from your brain. 

“Been thinking about this, Princess,” he says. “Ever since I saw you in that little nightdress. Gonna show you what it really means to be with a man.”

You’re excused from answering by his mouth back on yours. Not that you think you could, with the way his fingers feel in the cups of your stays, or the press of a strong thigh between your own.

“Bakugou,” you gasp when he peels off of you, only to sink to his knees before you.

“It’s Katsuki,” he says, busying himself with the hem of your skirts. 

“B–Katsuki,” you say. “What are you doing?”

Long fingers roll up the hemline of your dress, then yank at your underthings, exposing you to him. You gasp again, moving to cover yourself, but Bakugou pins you to the wall with an arm across your stomach, catching your thigh and pulling it over his shoulder.

“Husbandly duties,” he replies, another smirk on his mouth.

And then your head thunks against the wall as that mouth moves, pressing to you.

“Katsuki!” you shout, biting off into an embarrassing moan when he laves over you. No one had told you about this part—about how a man’s mouth there would make you feel like fireworks had just been lit off in your veins. About how a man’s mouth could even go there at all.

Bakugou doesn’t reply, kissing you there as he had your lips. A delicate suck from him over the cleft of you has you arching in his hands again, and you can quite literally feel him smirking against you.

He works you thoroughly, licking and sucking for what feels like torturous hours, but must only be minutes, until you’re a writhing, panting mess, only held upright by the arm he has banded across your lower stomach. There’s a pressure rising within you, pooling in all your limbs, making you shake and shiver with it, and what feels like no way to release it.

“Katsuki—I feel strange,” you say, bucking against his mouth. “Oh—oh!”

“Just hold on, sweetheart, and let yourself feel it,” Katsuki tells you, before licking back over you. A finger presses up inside of you, foreign but strangely good in conjunction with his mouth. Then another one presses in and they curl as if seeking something, making you twist in his grip.

And then something makes you jerk—the press of Katsuki’s fingers inside you in just the right spot, while he sucks on you, feeling like he’s touching the same place inside of you from both sides.

Something inside you snaps, uncoiling, pleasure flooding down you like a mudslide. You cry out Bakugou’s name, tears in your vision, riding out your pleasure against his mouth. Bakugou licks you through it, groaning low in his throat with appreciation.

“That’s it, Princess,” he says, tone rough. “Now you’re ready for consummation.”

You hear his words as if through a haze, and it’s only once you’re moving—being picked up and carried over to the bed—that you register what he’s saying.

He frees himself from his breeches, and stretches out over you, kissing your mouth. You’re embarrassed to taste yourself on him, but the press of him to you overrides that concern. In one smooth stroke he presses in, and you are shocked to find that he slides home easily, your core slick and ready.

It feels strange, but not at all unpleasant—absolutely nothing like what they’d told you.

“You alright, Princess?” Bakugou asks.

“I—yes,” you say, voice fluttering off when he flexes his hips, moving inside of you. The slide of him inside of you is unexpectedly good, especially when he lowers a hand to your core, pressing a thumb to that bundle of nerves at the hood of you.

“Feel good?” he asks, his eyes hot on your face. You cling to him, hips lifting into him unthinkingly as his thumb pets over you again, as he presses in and out of you a few more times.

You nod, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of saying it aloud.

He grins anyway, feral and fever-bright. His pace picks up into something faster, and you’re embarrassed to hear the slap of him against you, the eager way your body welcomes him in.

The band of pressure builds up inside you again, slowly, with every sure stroke of Bakugou inside you. He’s hot and hard and heavy over you, pressing you into the mattress, and the tops of his cheeks are flush with effort—the way he looks sometimes when he’s just come in from the training pitch.

He’s beautiful—handsome and strong and hot-headed and determined. And it dawns on you that he’s yours now—not just your subject but your husband, your prince consort, and now your lover.

It makes all your skin turn molten hot again, especially when you look down and see your knees have rucked his shirt up. You can see the flex of his abs as he thrusts between your thighs, all that golden skin and dense muscle.

The slide of him inside you and the sight of him over you is suddenly too much, and you feel yourself tip right over the edge again. Bakugou catches your hand as you lift it to muffle your cry, kissing over your knuckles.

“That’s it, Princess, that’s it,” he says again, ducking his head to kiss you.

You moan into his mouth as he fucks you through it, and he groans with the clench of you.

“Feel so fuckin’ good,” he says against your lips, pace picking up faster. “Knew you would, sweetheart, yeah.”

Embarrassingly you feel almost like you could come apart again with the praise. Bakugou groans once more, and you can hear his grip tighten in the blanket next to your head. His hips buck and flex, wildly uncontrolled now, until he gives one final hard thrust.

His weight pins you down when he relaxes over you, his breath tickling over your shoulder. You find you like the weight of him on you, covering you, like a shield against the rest of the world.

Apt, for a general.

“Better than how you wanted to do it, wasn’t it, Princess?” he asks, smug.

You scoff, but you catch the flash of a white grin in the corner of your vision. There is really no question that he’d had the better of it, this time.

“Knew you’d see it my way,” he says.

Over him, you can hear the flutter of feet outside the door, some muffled discussion. Heat rises to your face when you realize the castle aids most definitely heard you cry out under Bakugou’s ministrations. There will be no doubt of your consummation now, regardless of whether you were observed.

“Nosy fuckin’ perverts,” Bakugou says, rolling off of you. You catch another flicker of his chest with the way his shirt gapes, and he looks doubly smug when he notices.

“Not done yet, angel?” he says.

“I am, thank you.” You flush, embarrassed at having been caught. But Bakugou stretches an arm out to yank you over him, pressing you down over his hips.

Your stomach flutters.

“Give me a couple more minutes, Princess,” Bakugou says, scarlet eyes flashing with heat once more. His hand raises to trail through your hair, catching in the wedding hairstyle they’d pinned you into. 

“Five more minutes,” your new husband promises you, with a grin like the devil. “And then we'll give them something to really listen to.”

[mooooonnnzz]

Platonic ask for gravity falls 🩷

The twins with a mother figure? Those kids are all around saving the world, someone needs to seriously worry about them and make a little fuss lol maybe the mother figure is Stanley or Stanford new wife? I just imagine the twins coming back next summer and boom new mother/aunt

Heartbreak, Heartbreak

Stanford x Reader / Dipper & Mable x Mother!Reader

✦ your stanfords wife whaatt?!

✦ i feel like this is one of my weaker works, i apologize

✦ 2,5k words

✦ fem reader

✦ gulp i hope i did ur request justice 😭

✦ mable goes "stop fighting!!" at some point

✦ requests r still deliciously open

꣑୧ Coming back to Gravity Falls was a dream come true for the twins. What they weren’t expecting was to see their Great Uncle Ford walk in the Mystery Shack hand in hand with you. Mable was the first to bombard you Grunkle with questions; which stemmed from “Oh my god, when did you guys meet?” to “Oh my god, oh my god, am I going to have Great Cousins? That sounds weird, doesn’t it?” Ford had to calm her down before she got too rowdy with their questions and overwhelm you. 

꣑୧ Once Mable was calm enough to sit down in the same room with you, without bursting in her seat with excitement, was when Ford broke the news. “Mable, Dipper. This is my wife,” He said, wrapping his arms around you, his hand moving up and down your arm in a soothing manner. You introduced yourself to the twins who were more than happy to meet you. 

꣑୧ “Did our Grunkle by some chance, manage to hypnotize you into dating him with a book?” Dipper asked with an analyzing stare. His lips were puckered, pointer finger and thumb on his chin, tapping it curiously. Not expecting a question as absurd as that, you let out a laugh. Shaking your head, you smiled at Dipper. “Not at all,” You respond, taking Ford’s hand with yours, intertwining your fingers together. “He just won me over with his nerdy charm.” You say, your eyes locked on Ford. A rush of blood swarmed Ford’s cheeks. A chorus of groans echoed in the shack. Stan appears behind the kids, resting his arms on the top of their chairs. “See, kids,” He motions over to you and Ford with a swipe of his hand. “This is what I had to deal with while you guys were gone.” With a sympathetic look, Mable rested her hand on his arm, shaking her head sorrowfully. “I’m so sorry, Grunkle Stan.” 

꣑୧ After the initial shock wore off, Dipper and Mable began to grew skeptical of you. What if you were one of Bill��s goons disguising yourself as a human? And your goal was to take down their Grunkles and start Weirdmageddon 2?! Rushing up to their room in the attic, they pulled out their trusty 8-ball, the one they used the first day they arrived at Gravity Falls and when they were unsure if they were safe to stay with Grunkle Stan. They both sat down on the floor, 8-ball in Dipper’s hand. “Okay, magic 8-ball!” Mable boomed loudly with a weird amalgamation of a British and French accent. “Mable, keep it down.” Dipper shushed. “Oops,” Mable giggled. “Okay, magic 8-ball,” She whispered, her head uncomfortably close to the 8-ball. “Is Grunkle Ford’s wife evil?” With a rapid shake, Dipper and Mable peered into the ball. A pyramid accompanied with words appeared. “Don’t count on it.” The twins read out loud. “Huh…” Mable slowly nodded her head, eyes squinted in thought. “Well,” Dipper tossed the 8-ball behind him. “The magic 8-ball never lies.” 

꣑୧  Getting along with the twins wasn’t hard. All you had to do was grab your car keys from your purse, jingle them as if they were a bell and wait. Few minutes later, you’d hear their feet stomping down the stairs and a flash of colors swarming the living room. “I heard keys jingle, I heard keys jingle!!” Mable’s eyes darted around the room in search of the keys and when her eyes landed on you, her eyes sparkled with joy and anticipation. “Are you taking us somewhere, Great Aunt [Name]?” You smiled, spinning the keys around your finger. “Depends,” You pretended to think for a moment, just to keep them on their toes. “Where would you guys like to go?” A laugh escapes you as Dipper and Mable attack you with where they want to go. “Alright, let me tell your Grunkle that I’m taking you guys out.” Digging through your purse, you fish out your phone. You turned it on and went to your contacts. With a tap, you dialed his number. He picked up almost immediately. “Yes, dear?” You could hear his pencil scribbling on a piece of paper. “I’m taking Dipper and Mable out for the day.” You tell him, mouthing to the kids to get in the car. They scampered out of the living room and to the hallway. You could hear the door open and their hushed voices as they made a beeline to your car. “Okay, be safe when you’re driving and call me whenever you can, okay?” You hummed in response. “Of course, I’ll keep you updated on the kids.” You say, walking out of the shack and to your car. “I want updates on how you feel too,” You could feel the love dripping from his tone. “I will, my love.” You blow a kiss into the phone, wishing Ford goodbye. He blows one back and the call ends. Entering the car, you look behind you to see the twins all buckled up and ready for their adventure. “You guys ready?” “Yeah!” 

꣑୧ “So, Dipper, what’s with those dots on your arm?” You point at the four dots on his arm with a fry. Dipper looked down to his arm. His eyebrows rise in shock. “I-I completely forgot I had these,” Dipper’s thumbs the scars, an uneasy look on his face. Your heart stops in your chest. “I’m so sorry, Dipper. I didn’t mean to make–’ Dipper’s hands raise up to his chest, waving them side to side, dismissing your concerns. He assured you that your question didn’t make him uncomfortable. “No, no! It’s just…” He rubs the back of his neck anxiously. “He got possessed by a demon!” Mable blurts out, stuffing her face with a greasy burger. “Mable!” Dipper whines. “I’m sorry! I couldn’t handle you beating around the bush any longer.” She says with a mouthful of chewed up food. You leaned yourself back in the booth, trying to assess what Mable just said. “Dipper got possessed?” You repeated in a question. “Yeah, I kinda did.” Dipper said with a slight voice crack. “Can I know how?” Disbelief was thick in your tone. You didn’t know whether to laugh or walk away in shock. They don’t look like they’re telling a joke? The way Dipper has his head slightly hung low and a tiny frown on his face proved that. But Mable seems as jolly as ever. You fight with yourself, trying to make sense of what happened when Dipper spoke up. “Have you heard of the name Bill Cipher?” Shaking your head no, the twins dove straight into a very long story pertaining to Bill Cipher and how he tormented them throughout summer last year and ultimately led to the world almost ending. “Wow,” Was all that you could mutter. You never got your question about Dipper’s scar answered that day. 

꣑୧ Laying in bed, you eyes drifted over to Ford who was brushing his teeth in the bathroom. “You wanna know something crazy the twins told me earlier today?” Ford spat out the toothpaste into the sink. “What did those knuckleheads tell you?” He said, cupping his hand under the running faucet and filling his hand up with water. “It was this really crazy story,” You started. Ford nodded, dunking the water in his mouth and sloshing it around. “They told me about this interdimensional demon named Bill Cipher?--” Ford spit out the water in shock, spraying it everywhere on the mirror. You sat up in surprise. “Ford?” You pushed the blankets off of you and walked over to Ford, your hand on his shoulder. “You okay?” With a forced, “mhm,” he wiped the dripping water from his lips with his forearm. “Y-yeah, no. I’m fine.” He waved you off, nodding his head vigorously, almost as if he was convincing himself that everything was fine. “Are you sure?” Concern laced your voice. Someone who’s fine wouldn’t spit out their water like that at the mention of…Bill Cipher? That’s when it clicked for you. “You have history with this demon as well, don’t you?” Ford groaned, running his hands down his face. “Those kids can’t keep their mouths shut, can they?” He mumbled to himself, his head turning to face you. “What else did they tell you?” That night, you spent it horrified with the tales he told you regarding the past summer and his time with Bill. “And you never told me this, why?” Ford nervously pushed his glasses up, his eyes looking everywhere but you. “Because I…” He trailed off. “I don’t know,” He stops for a moment, inhaling deeply before continuing. “I didn’t want to scare you off. My past...isn’t something I could easily tell you without having a second thought.” A frown pulls to your lips. “Were you ever going to tell me?” You ask, your voice frail and quiet. “Yes?” His tone was full of uncertainty. You didn’t know what to think. One side of you wanted to be mad at him for keeping all of this from you, but on the other hand you felt sympathetic. You knew this wasn’t an easy topic to discuss normally. And you could tell it took him a lot of courage to admit a side of him that he wasn’t fully ready to reveal. But you were deeply hurt that he kept such secrets from you for a long time. And considering how he responded to your question, you weren’t even sure he was going to tell you any time soon. “What are you thinking about?” Ford’s voice ripped you out from your thoughts, grounding you back to reality. “I’m thinking about how crazy all of this is. I didn’t know. The kids went through so much at a young age. A-and you act like it was nothing, they could’ve died Ford.” Your hand rested on the side of your forehead. “You also made a deal with a demon? I…” You let out a sigh. “I don’t know, Stanford.” Ford cringed at the use of his full name. “I can go, if you’d like me to.” You raised your hand up to stop him. “No, I don’t want you to go. I just need time to process this,” You offer him a weak smile. “That’s all I need right now my love, just time.” 

꣑୧ “You what?!” Mable and Dipper both screech at the same time. “Yeesh, Ford. And I thought I was a screw-up.” Stan chuckled, elbowing Mable to see if that got a rise from her. It did not. “I thought I was protecting her from all of this madness!” Ford’s elbow rested on the dining room table, fingers pinching the bridge of his nose. “Grunkle Stan tried doing the same thing, did you see how that almost ended for us?” Dipper said. “I know, I know.” Ford weakly muttered out. “Then, why did you keep such important details away from her?” Stan argued. “Because I was trying to protect her!” Ford yelled, slamming his hands on the table. That seemed to get a rise from Stan. “Well, maybe you weren’t trying hard enough! Now, look at what you did. You fucked everything up.” He shouted. “Oh!” Ford stood up from his chair. “That’s hilarious coming from you!” Scrambling up the table, Mable slammed her foot down, gaining the attention from Ford and Stan. “Fighting isn’t going to fix things, guys.” She said, “Ford had his reasons, like how you had your reasons for hiding Grunkle Ford from us, Grunkle Stan.” Ford adjusted his sweater, sitting back down on his chair. “Now, Grunkle Ford. What did she tell you?” She asked, turning over to Ford. “She told me that she needed time.” Sitting crossed-crossed, she nodded her head intently. “That’s good, right?” In return was silence. “Right, guys?” Both Dipper and Stan agreed. “Great! Now while we wait, can we apologize to each other for acting so mean and for swearing.” She directed a look to Stan who scoffed. 

꣑୧  And wait they did. After a couple of days, Ford’s phone randomly started ringing. Rushing to pick it up, he lifted his phone to see you calling him. He gulped nervously, suddenly second guessing himself. Should he pick up the phone? If he does, what if it’s you telling him that you want a divorce? Or that you need a break, or that– “Grunkle Ford!” Dipper snapped his fingers in front of his face. “Answer!” He pointed to the phone. “I got it!” Mable sang out, swiping her finger to the right. There was a beat of silence. Mable and Dipper anxiously waited for at least you or him to speak. One of them was about to intrude, no longer able to withstand such silence when you spoke up. “My love?” Your voice was timid. Ford’s heart lunged to his throat. How he missed your voice. “Y-Yes?” He mentally punched himself for stuttering like a complete fool in front of you. “Can you open the door for me? It’s locked.” Without a second thought, Ford practically ran over to the door and whipped it open for you. The twins watched you and him silently talk to each other from a distance. After a few tearful words and hugs, they recoil in disgust when they see Ford swoop you in for a kiss. “Oh my eyes!” Mable dramatically exclaimed. “Gross.” Dipper made a face in disgust. 

꣑୧ “I’m still mad at Ford for roping you kids into all that madness.” You tell the kids, mindlessly scrolling on your phone. “Dawww, don’t you worry about us.” Mable put a hand to her cheek bashfully. “We can handle it.” You found that hard to believe. “Is Gravity Falls still…crazy?” You whisper the last part, in case Bill Cipher is listening. You’ve only heard stories of him, but hearing what he has done rooted a new fear in you. “Kind of? There’s still weird things that happen here, but not as bad as last summer.” Dipper said, jotting down a few notes in his journal. “How come I’ve never seen anything weird?” You wondered. “Because you’re too busy making out with Grunkle Ford to notice anything!” Mable chirped, kicking her feet as she drew on colored piece of paper. That elicited a laugh from Dipper and a “What!” Ford walked in with an eyebrow raised and breakfast in hand. ”I heard I was mentioned in a conversation. Are you guys talking crap about me?” Ford places his food on the table and pulls back a chair. He sits right next to you and before he dives in on his breakfast, he gives you a quick kiss on the lips. “You wish!” Mable says, flipping her paper on its backside. “I do not.” Ford said quietly. “So, kids saving the world, huh? That has to count as some kind of child abuse.” You half said seriously, half said jokingly. Ford rolled his eyes. “What? Are you gonna arrest me?” You glared at him. “I might…” 

[what-even-is-thiss]

Have you never spent a lot of time around cats but want to be friends with one? Some cat communication basics. Because I feel like it.

A cat approaching you doesn’t necessarily mean they want pets. They may just be inspecting you or hanging out.

If you want to pet a cat you need to ask permission first. The way you do this is you offer a finger or the back of your hand for them to smell. If the cat wants to be pet they’ll generally push their face or head and neck into your hand. If they don’t want to be pet they’ll generally walk away or just sit down.

Cats will usually ask for pets by rubbing up against you or possibly standing at your feet and meowing. When you think a cat is asking for pets hold your hand out and see if they rub up against you. That means they want pets. If they start walking away with purpose instead that means they want to show you something. If they meander off that just means they’re hanging out. No pets needed.

If a cat likes the way you’re petting them they’ll probably lean into it. If they like it a lot and you stop they might try to pull you back over with a paw. They might also squint close their eyes. If they don’t like it they’ll lean away or swipe at you a bit or show their teeth if they really don’t like it.

When they’re done being pet or sitting in your lap they’ll probably just peacefully walk away. This is good. They trust you but they’re done hanging out now. If their ears flatten or they start bristling and hissing you’ve done something very wrong or they’re afraid of you and it’s probably best to leave them be.

A relaxed cat’s ears usually point forward and are upright. If their ears flatten or point back they’re angry or scared and they’re serious.

Cats can purr for any number of reasons. If they’re sitting on your lap with completely relaxed posture (in a loaf with tail curled up, eyes happily squinted closed, maybe actively looking for pets from you and giving little cat hugs in the form of rubbing their face on you) that’s probably a sign of contentment. They can also purr to calm themselves down or try to heal themselves or others. Purring is one of those things that needs the surrounding context to be understood.

When a cat shows their stomach they’re comfortable around you but not looking for pets. Most cats don’t like belly scratches. Some do, but if you try to scratch a cat’s belly and they start acting angry it’s because from their perspective you’re the one violating personal boundaries here.

If a cat doesn’t like being picked up they’ll probably start struggling. If they’re very stressed out they may get violent but if they know you that probably won’t be their first choice unless said cat has a short temper. If the cat is neutral to happy about being held they probably won’t do anything at all. You can carefully drop cats when you’re done holding them. In fact they may prefer that to being carefully set down depending on the cat. Angle them down just a little when you drop them so they can land on their front paws first. This also gives them a bit of warning that they’re about to be dropped.

Most cats won’t lick you but if they do they’re trying to groom you. This means they see you as part of the family. This is fine. A bit weird but they’re trying to help.

If you try to act like you’re small and out of the way and avoid eye contact with a cat, the cat will see this as an invitation to hang out. This is why if you don’t understand or like cats and try to avoid them at parties or at friends houses they might try to hang out with you a lot. Lots of eye contact and making a lot of noise and making yourself bigger is the way to scare a cat off. Slow blinking and not acting excited is an open invitation.

Some cats have been trained a little bit by their owners. They aren’t obedient 100% of the time like dogs but they can be trained to know what some things mean and get accustomed to certain situations. Cats can be trained to like a certain noise like kissy noises or tongue clicking by making those noises when you feed or pet them when they’re young. It can also be demonstrated to them that patting the couch or other surface next to you is an invitation to come over. These are the most common things most house cats that grew up with humans know about. You can also ask their owner if there’s a noise they come to but if you don’t know, kissy noises, tongue clicking, or the cat’s name or saying something like “here kitty kitty” are the most common things a cat might understand as a request to come over.

When playing with a cat, moving your hand around on the ground for them to pounce on, waving a feather toy around, rolling a ball towards them, etc. they generally won’t use their claws. If they want to play they’ll start playing. This can look like their eyes going wide and them paying attention to the plaything, doing the prey butt wiggle, and swiping at the toy. If they don’t want to play they usually just won’t react to what you’re doing or watch you with disinterest and neutral eyes.