#or he forgets after a while. on purpose most of the time

[solarstranger]

You just know Bakugo mentally catalogs every little thing he learns about you. Especially your type/dating preferences

It's cute to imagine him comparing himself whenever you mention something you find attractive

And if it's a body part? He's suddenly showing it off more

and he tries to convince himself he's not doing any of that on purpose!!!! it's not his fault he's got superb acuity and is good at memorizing things. 😔

bakugou katsuki is a smart man.

sure, he may be as subtle as a gun when it comes to some—okay, most—things, but he can definitely be inconspicuous when need be.

things like his feelings, or whatever the fuck these sensations that never fail to spring violently up in his chest when he so much as looks at you mean.

and it’s not like he’s being obvious, he thinks. he’s not even doing any of this on purpose. it just so happened that the one time you told mina in passing during one of your weekly dinners that you thought guys with glasses were cute, his eye clinic ran out of his prescription contacts the day after when he was supposed to pick them up, and he was forced to start wearing his reading glasses to work.

or the other time when he heard you excitedly mention a band he hadn’t heard before in a conversation with sero, he accidentally clicked on their latest album that was featured in his spotify account’s new music friday and wound up listening to the whole thing.

or the other time when you praised kirishima about his arms looking so good, he was in the middle of sprucing up his workout regimen with his trainer, and ended up adding more exercises for his biceps and triceps.

all of which are things he’s kept to himself, because while he knows deep in his heart that these are all merely funny coincidences, it might not seem that way for dumbasses looking from the outside.

dumbasses like—

“man,” kaminari drawls, pointing at your tv screen from where he’s plastered comfortably on your living room couch, “i wish i had michael b. jordan’s guns.”

“that’s what you’re staring at?” sero laughs from the other sofa, mouth half-full with popcorn.

“what?” the electric hero asks defensively, glancing at sero with a pout, “there are two of them. it’s hard not to stare.”

“i agree,” you chime in quietly, nodding, “it’s admirable. he must’ve worked so hard to get those.”

“thank you,” kaminari huffs, vindicated, and tosses you a grateful look. you grin at the blonde in response, just as bakugou feels kirishima stir right beside him, turning towards you.

“bakubro’s been working on his arms, too,” the redhead adds proudly, before glancing back at the ash-blonde, a knowing glint in his eyes. “isn’t that right?”

“uh, yeah,” is the only thing bakugou manages to say after a beat, acutely aware of your curious eyes on him, and it takes everything within him not to shoot the man with a warning glare.

“really?” you ask, struggling to mask your surprise. bakugou feels himself flame despite himself. “i thought you were gonna focus on your legs?”

“i just felt like mixing it—”

“oh, he wanted you to—ow!”

as if on cue, kaminari groans dramatically, the pillow that mina just flung straight at him now lying flatly on the floor.

“i didn’t get that,” you frown, eyes darting between bakugou and kaminari. “what did you two say?”

“nothing,” kaminari croaks just as bakugou grumbles a “forget it”.

“do you guys mind?” mina interjects, but not before secretly flashing bakugou an apologetic grimace, probably on behalf of the man. “i’m trying to watch a movie here.”

so, yes. bakugou can not be as subtle as a gun.

but his friends apparently couldn’t.

a/n. this one's pretty stupid but i wanted to whip something up based on this ask because i fuck with this headcanon so bad. thank you nonie for the input!!!! had to throw in a little bit of bakusquad because why not >:)

[lemonlimestar]

see i can never truly fully enjoy teenage timkon bc 1) they’re too repressed for that and 2) comphet koncassie the world 3) steph, zo, and tam (assuming it’s post-ariana) the world

[dan-crimes]

LMAO so funny thing is everyone knows the whole Sonic and Shadow looking alike thing is total bullshit and I totally agree those comments they try to pull in the games and show(s? I'm not technically a Sonic fan I dunno if it's multiple) make basically no sense to me but then my Mom comes in while watching Sonic Prime and says "So what, Sonic has a brother or something?" and this whole other world has opened up to me and I've seen the truth of it all

[holeforzenin]

𝜗𝜚˚⋆ “I DON’T NEED GOOGLE, MY HUSBAND KNOWS EVERYTHING”

You’re sitting on the kitchen counter in an oversized shirt— his shirt. Your legs are swinging idly while you’re scrolling on your phone as he cooks. “Do you think cats can see ghosts?” you asked aloud, eyes squinting at a Reddit thread.

Nanami didn’t even look up from where he stood at the stove. His sleeves are neatly rolled up to his forearms, his tie loose around his neck and his glasses were sliding slightly down his nose. “They can. Their pupils can pick up ultraviolet light, which some believe contributes to sensing energies humans can’t”.

You blinked, taken aback by how he knew the answer to such a useless question like that. “Okay, how do you know that?”

He finally looked over at you with one brow raised. “Because you asked me that last year at 1 a.m. after watching that horror movie. You were scared to go to the bathroom”.

You flushed in embarrassment from the memory, making a face as you tossed a kitchen towel at him. “Shut up, I forgot”.

“You always forget”. He caught the towel effortlessly and set it aside, walking over to you with that steady, unhurried pace that made your stomach flip. “That’s why you don’t need Google, right?”

You smiled, your eyes bright as you looked at him. “Exactly. I don’t need Google. My husband knows everything”.

“Hm,” he murmured, slipping his hands to your hips and standing between your parted legs. “Maybe. I do have a few things memorized by now”.

His lips brushed your temple, his nose dragging down your cheek to the spot just below your ear. You melted instinctively, leaning into the comfort of his touch. “Like how you always get pouty when I win an argument,” he whispered against you, softly kissing your jaw. “Or how you kick your feet when you’re excited”.

You gasped playfully. “That’s not knowledge, that’s slander”.

“And yet…” He lifted your chin with two fingers, thumb brushing your bottom lip as he stared into your eyes. “I know what this means, too”.

He kissed you softly and passionately, like time didn’t exist beyond the press of his lips against yours. You sighed into him, wrapping your arms around his neck as he deepened it, his tongue teasing yours with lazy confidence as his palm splayed warm and heavy on each side of your thighs.

“I think,” you murmured between kisses, “you just like proving me right”.

He chuckled lowly, voice deep but still soft as always. “Mm. And what am I proving now?”

“That you do know everything,” you breathed in desperation, tugging gently at his loosened tie. “Especially when it comes to me”.

That was all the invitation he needed.

Nanami eased you back, laying you down across the countertop with a careful hand behind your head, kissing down your throat as he nudged the hem of your shirt up past your hips. No panties. Of course. You knew he liked easy access.

“You did this on purpose,” he muttered, dragging his knuckles along the inside of your thigh.

“Because I knew you’d come home early”.

“And what does that say about you?” he asked, smirking.

“That I know you, too”.

He hummed softly, slipping two fingers through your folds and groaning softly at how wet you already were. “Smart girl”.

You whimpered as he teased your clit, lazy circles designed to drive you insane. His lips met yours again, his other hand pressing your wrists gently above your head.

“You always ask the most ridiculous questions,” he muttered, lining up against your wet entrance without warning, which is crazy because you didn’t even notice when he reached into his pants and pulled his cock out till you felt the weight of him pressing against you. It’s so thick and hard and sooo warm that you squirmed. “But when it matters— when your body’s desperate for something real, you don’t need answers”.

He slid into you slowly, making you gasp at his size, your back arching by the stretch and your legs are wrapping tightly around him.

“You just need me”.

You nodded, completely breathless. “Always you”.

Nanami kissed you like a promise like he had all the answers in the world— and you didn’t need a single one of them as long as he was yours.

[bvrnesher]

❝ 𝒫ull 𝒪ut 𝒢ame ! ❞ ― marvel !

summary: just what I think of each of these characters when it comes to pull out 🗣

— 𝒮teve ℛogers ;; He likes to think he’s good at it. And honestly? He is. Respectful, controlled, painfully self-aware. The second he feels himself getting close, he speeds up, grits his teeth, and pulls out right on time—usually on your stomach or chest. Gentleman. HOWEVER—deep, deep down? He does have a breeding kink. He just won’t admit it. The day you whisper “it’s okay, I’m on the pill”? He hesitates just long enough to ruin his perfect record.

Rating: 10/10. Practically flawless. Just a little too responsible.

— 𝒯ony 𝒮tark ;; This man cums like he’s paying rent. He could pull out. He knows how. Won’t. He’s like, “You knew the risk,” and just lets go. Finishes inside you with a smirk, kisses your temple like he didn’t just pump you full, and asks for another round like nothing happened.

Rating: 7/10. Could pull out. Ignores it. Still makes it hot.

— ℬucky ℬarnes ;; NO WAY this man is risking it, but for the sake of the game, let’s say he tries. He means to pull out. He really does. But the second you tighten around his cock when he’s close? Too late. He’s already twitching, already filling you up. Feels guilty after, mutters apologies, but ask him for another round and he forgets all about it.

Rating: 5/10. Tries. Fails. Feels bad. Does it again.

— 𝒯hor 𝒪dinson ;; Sweetheart himbo with the pull-out instincts of a golden retriever. You tell him “pull out,” and he’s like, “But why, beloved?” while thrusting deeper. His idea of affection is cumming in you until it’s leaking down your thighs and calling it “a gift from the gods.”

Rating: 0/10. He means well. That’s the problem.

— ℒoki ℒaufeyson ;; Oh, he can pull out. He just won’t—unless it’s to tease you. Otherwise? He stays buried until the very end, groaning in your ear about how good you feel while he fills you up. He wants to watch it drip out. It’s about power. Ownership. Ruin. You say “pull out”? He says “make me.”

Rating: 0/10. Wicked.

— 𝒫eter 𝒫arker ;; He’s studied the theory. He wants to pull out. He really does. But the second things start getting too good? He’s whimpering, cock twitching, finishing inside you before he even realizes it. Apologizes mid-orgasm and offers to run to the pharmacy still inside you.

Rating: 3/10. He tries. He panics. He fails.

— ℰrik 𝒦illmonger ;; Pull out? Babe, he hears you say it and smirks. Doesn’t even pretend to listen. Holds your hips down, grinds in deeper, and finishes inside like he means it. Tells you “You better take all that,” like it’s a challenge and a threat. Might pull out once—just to finish on your face and call it a reward. But most nights? He’s filling you up like it’s his personal mission.

Rating: -100/10. He’s doing it on purpose. You’re not walking right tomorrow.

[presepohne]

Husband!John Price x Wife!Reader

cw: nsfw, minors dni, 18+ | John Price himself is the trigger warning. choking, p in the v, buff arms, made her recite her wedding vows because the reader was being a brat, married man and filthy married man John Price. 1.15k words

note: you need to know how much i need an older man and that older man needs to be JOHNATHAN PRICE. RAWR. also I'm bad at marriage vows :(

You have been on it for a while. Maybe more than a while.

John is sitting adjacent to you, evening you as you huff and puff around, slamming drawers, aggressively chopping the vegetables for dinner, and snapping at him any moment he even breathed near your direction.

And it has been bothering him a lot. His sweet wife, always calm and composed, easy going most of the time— here, acting as a brat around the house. Almost breaking his favourite mug as you slam it on the counter to pour him some tea.

He cocks and eyebrow at you, as if saying You gonna drop that attitude?

He also knows the reason why you were acting such, as silly as it may be. You had asked him to come back home on time. Asked politely that morning, as every morning you did— with a kiss on his lips and a murmur against them; Be back soon today? Please.

And he did say Sure love, I will.

But he didn't. His excuse was a valid one, got stuck in traffic.

It didn't get a reaction out of you simultaneously, but there were after effects and he was very certain at this point you were acting like a brat on purpose. Brushing off his touches, muttering curses on him, slapping his hands away.

The audacity.

You were pushing him again.

Snapping back. Eye-rolling. Throwing out half-serious insults with that scowl that said, What are you gonna do about it, Captain?

He’d already warned you once.

But now?

Now you've crossed the line.

“I hate you, John. You’re a selfish, arrogant bastard who only knows how to give orders. If I wanted to be married to a dictator, I would’ve signed up for the bloody military myself.”

He stood there for a moment, eyeing you. The silence lingered long enough.

You felt the shift before you saw it.

He was across the room in three strides. You barely had time to gasp before his body was on yours, heavy and hot, pinning you to the counter.

“Oh, is that right?” he said, voice calm—too calm—as his knee forced your legs apart, his forearm sliding up to press firmly across your throat. Not cutting off your breath entirely. Just enough to remind you who the fuck you belonged to.

“You hate me so much you wear my ring to bed?” he murmured, glancing at your hand crushed against the sheets.

You arched up, defiant.

“I don’t wear it for you.”

“Oh, love,” he rasped, tightening the pressure slightly. “You wear it so you don’t forget.”

You struggled—not because you wanted him off—but because you wanted to feel how much stronger he was. How easy it was for him to break you down without even trying.

He dipped lower, lips brushing your ear. “You wanna mouth off, brat? Fine. You’re gonna earn every bloody second of this.”

You squirmed under him, half-laughing through the tight grip around your neck.

“Can’t even talk, John,” you whispered, voice strangled and teasing. “How the fuck am I supposed to mouth off now?”

That earned you a low, dangerous chuckle. “Then I’ll make it easy for you.”

His free hand curled into your hair, yanking your head back, exposing your throat even more. You were breathless now—but not from fear.

“Your vows,” he growled. “All of them. From the top. Or I won't let go.”

Your eyes met his—dilated, dark, daring. You were burning alive under the weight of him. You wanted to spit something bratty, something cruel—

But your throat clenched when his free hand pushed down the waistband of your panties. You hadn't realised yet, but you were dripping, cunt exposed to the cool air as a defiant pout made its way to your face.

“No”

You meant to be a brat, really. You wanted to piss him off as bad as he had angered you, you wanted to get to his head and fry his nerves away with your mouth and actions. Act like some immature kid just to get him all riled up.

Now you think that might have been the greatest idea because your husband, John Price has never looked so good and so worked up because of you. And certainly turned on because of your behaviour.

His hands unbuckled his belt, a forearm still choking you. You squirm as he increases the pressure slightly. Patience brat, he snaps. He unbuckled his belt, languidly and helped his semi hardened cock out.

Rubbing the tip on your entrance as he pushed in slowly making you whine, Not fast enough. You try to push your hips back at him but he has one leg between yours and you pinned to the counter.

You whimpered.

“Come on brat, speak up” he grunted, the pink head of his tip stick rubbing against your folds to gather all the slick before he pushes in, “Come one don't make this hard for yourself baby girl, just obey” he huffed, softly pushing in and then pulling out again, leaving you empty.

“John please—” you whine, wiggling your hips again. He chuckles before pushing himself in you in one string thrust and pulls back out again, expect the tip, “Come on sweet thing, don't make it hard for both of us”

And you obeyed, nodding with a moan as he pushed in.

Through gasps, half-choked, you whispered them.

“I… I choose you.”

The pressure didn’t lift, his other hands now rubbing your clit in slow circles.

“I… follow you. Trust you.”

Still nothing. He keeps himself inside, deep as you can feel him— he hums praising you a little, urging you to say more.

You reached for him, fingers curling into his shirt like a white flag.

“I love you. Even when I hate you. Even when I wish I didn’t. Even when it hurts.”

Finally—finally—his grip eased, his hand replacing his forearm, rough fingers stroking the flushed skin of your throat. He looked down at you with something like pride. Or possession. He pulls back his hips and snaps softly, a slow rhythm. Nothing close to satisfaction between your legs and in your belly.

“No more of that hate talk, sweetheart,” he said, voice low and hoarse. “You don’t hate me. You just want me to remind you.” He chuckles, increasing pace as his forearms tighten again, making you go lightheaded.

His thrusts are relentless, making you gasp and claw at his shirt. Mouth slack open as you gurgle on your spit and beg with sweet whines and please of John please please please. But to a certain extent, the brat in you still there reveals itself.

Your lips trembled.

“Remind me again tomorrow,” you whispered, lips curling faintly followed by a moan.

That grin—the dangerous one—came back.

“Oh, I will.”

[narnian-neverlander]

Jason Todd, in all his 6’ 1’’ and 220 lbs glory, who likes to throw his weight around - quite literally, to your absolute dismay.

Jason Todd, who will put things on shelves just outta your reach, simply so he can offer to get them down for you, gentleman that he is, with a smug grin on his face - but only if you ask nicely, of course.

Jason Todd, who, completely out of the blue, will decide to use you as a support, like he’s just casually leaning against a wall, and not his significant other who barely manages to stay upright; arms crossed over his broad chest as he asks if something’s the matter in a chipper tone, while you struggle not to go down.

Jason Todd, who will just flop himself down on top of you when you’re curled up on the bed or couch, big arms locking around you to keep you trapped, no matter how many times you complain that his dumb ass is squishing you. You swear he makes himself heavier on purpose when he does this, but of course you can’t prove that.

Jason Todd, who uses his height and weight to be a menace and pester you from time to time, cause he thinks you’re adorable when you’re annoyed.

And then there’s the times when it isn’t about the teasing.

The times when a mission went south and he couldn’t safe someone. When he got hurt beyond just the regular bruises and cuts you’ve come to expect after almost every patrol. When a spat with his family turned into something more bitter and vile. When the damn heater in your old apartment is out yet again and the cold from Gotham’s freezing winters comes creeping in through the cracks.

The times when he’s reminded of your childhood: curled up with you under newspapers in some back alley, old soggy cardboard beneath you both, trying to keep some semblance of warmth, knuckles raw and scabbed from his last fight and stomach so empty it stings almost as bad the cold.

During those times, there’s no snarky comments or mischievous glint in his green eyes, just slumped shoulders and a shadow over his handsome face and everything about him screams defeat and weariness. It’s in the way he doesn’t actually drop himself on purpose, but instead collapses on top of you more than anything else, an invisible weight weighing heavily on him. In the way his arms come around you, tighter than usual, fingers digging into your skin hard enough to bruise as he hides his face in the crook of your neck.

Somehow, oddly, sadly enough, those moments are easier to handle than his teasing. Because some things never change: after everything you’ve both been through, after all the time that’s passed, he still needs you as much as you need him. And it’s oh so obvious in the way he clings to you in those moments, it makes your heart ache and swell all at once, and it’s like you barely feel his weight on top of you and his nails digging into your skin.

And it never takes much, never takes long; some whispered, hushed assurances and quiet declarations of love, coupled with lazy patterns drawn into his back, and then his grip loosens, calloused fingers gently smoothing over forming crescent indents in apology, shuffling about until he shifts most of his weight off you, but never fully letting go, mumbling thanks into your skin, interspersed by little kisses scattered everywhere he can reach without moving.

Jason Todd, who sometimes genuinely forgets he’s no longer that small, scrawny, malnourished boy struggling to survive and simply wants - needs - to be as close as possible to his favorite person, his safe haven, his home.

[sttoru]

 𝝑𝑒 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐒. boob obsessed!nanami kento x wife!female reader. smut, pwp. fīngering, (big) tīddy appreciation. reader gets called ‘sweetheart, dear, adorable’. not proofread !

“lay still, sweetheart,” kento murmurs as he presses a sweet kiss against your forehead. your back arches off the couch as your cunt eagerly swallows two of his callused fingers. while his hand is busy stimulating your lower body, his mouth refuses to detach from your chest area.

you can’t possibly comply to his command with all the mind blowing stimulation you’re receiving. a choked up moan escapes your throat when kento gently tugs one of your nipples between his teeth, “c-can’t, ken. can’t stay still.”

your husband doesn’t respond to your whines. he isn’t ignoring you on purpose—that he would never do—he’s simply too occupied shoving his face between your tits.

this is perfect to him. kento had been tired ever since coming back from work - but now that he has his adorable wife beneath him, praising him for all which he’s doing - he’s energised once again.

the sight of him freeing your breasts from the bra you were wearing, was more than enough to make him forget all about his previously experienced stress. the blonde man is weak when it comes to you, but especially when it comes to your perfectly shaped pair of tits.

“mmh, can’t get enough of you,” kento sighs in content while his tongue flicks back and forth over the same nipple, circling the areola right before sucking it. his free hand squeezes your other boob—his brows furrowing and his eyes closed as he loses himself in the feeling of your plump flesh in and around his mouth.

your hips buck against his fingers that are knuckles deep into your pussy. your wetness sticks to his index and middle finger until they’re glistening with a coat of your slick. “y-you’re gonna make me lose my mind, hubby,” you mewl as your head lolls back and your lips fall apart to let out the most erotic sounds that kento has ever heard.

his wrist moves back and forth slowly before changing pace again, quickening the tempo as his fingertips reach the deepest point they can. he curls them and rubs against your velvety walls, trying to find that one spot that makes you come undone beneath him.

“that’s all right, dear. it’s all right if you do,” kento replies to your soft cries, reassuring you that he’d love to see you lose your mind over the pleasure he is giving you, “mhh—i want to feel and see my wife cum, okay? do it for me.” his mouth doesn’t stop placing kisses and hickeys over your beautiful tits.

every time you look down at his handsome face, you’re met with the arousing sight of his green eyes darkening with lust. the way he stares down at your chest to admire his work - the saliva and hickeys staining the flesh - is so hot. it’s a mix of a loving, lustful and possessive look.

“i’m all yours, you know that right?” kento asks after detaching his lips from your left breast, his tongue still lightly peeking out, a trail of saliva still connecting your chest and his mouth. he brushes some hair from your face before his eyes dart back down to your tits,

“mhm,” you nod, to which your husband smiles. he presses a couple pecks all over your breasts, hoping to kiss the soreness away. no matter how rough kento is, he always makes sure to let you know that he still loves you all the same throughout the intimacy.

he cups your right breast and sucks on it a couple times, his eyes closing and his brows furrowing to appreciate the taste of your flesh. a low groan leaves his lips before he releases your nipple with a soft ‘pop’, taking a deep breath in to calm himself down.

kento can be here all day if you let him. attached to your tits, sleeping on them, sucking on them, watching them jiggle and bounce when he’s thrusting inside of your warm pussy . .

“i’m all yours, too,” you add after taking a couple breaths as well. you’re so flustered, embarrassed by how much you’re going crazy over his mouth and finger work. the squelchy sounds of your cunt echo throughout the living room.

kento hums in appreciation to your comment. his thumb presses down on your clit before he slides his other two fingers out of you. he spreads your folds, lubricating your entrance with your own sticky juices.

“good . . . then,” he starts off, taking a second to look you in the eyes, leaning down to press a soft kiss to your lips. kento muffles your little whines before pulling back slightly, putting his forehead against yours while he prepares to ruin you after making you feel loved and appreciated;

“i’ll show you what it truly means to be mine, sweetheart.”

[lovelycandie]

Forgotten Items

Leona Kingscholar is a lot of things, but forgetful isn’t one of them. So why does he keep leaving behind his wallet at your dorm?

Leona Kingscholar x gn!reader. Unestablished relationship. Leona cares about you more than he wants to admit.

A significant amount of time had passed since you and Grim first started fixing up the guest room in Ramshackle Dorm. The two of you had worked tirelessly (or rather, you had done most of the work while that lazy furball lounged around devouring endless cans of tuna leaving the empty ones scattered everywhere, creating even more work for you…) But, despite the setbacks, you managed to gather the right materials and use your newly acquired magitool to craft intricate pieces of furniture. Eventually, you furnished the guest room exactly as you envisioned, feeling satisfied with how everything had come together.

But what was a guest room without guests? Naturally, you began inviting your friends over to hang out. The Heartslabyul duo, Ace and Deuce, were among the first, followed by plenty of others. Soon enough, you had a steady stream of visitors from all seven dorms

With guests came feedback, and you gladly considered their suggestions to improve the space. This was especially important to you because there was one particular guest you hadn’t invited just yet — this was none other than Leona Kingscholar, the notoriously picky Savanaclaw dorm leader.

You knew Leona had high standards when it came to his lounging spots, so you wanted to create a space even the particular lion prince would find comfortable. Once you were satisfied with the room’s cozy atmosphere, you extended more invitations — including one to Leona himself.

What was his reaction to the guest room you ask? Well in his exact words:

“Hm. It's less dusty than the lounge. Guess you're serious about hostin' people here.”

He said with a sly, teasing smile, his gaze sweeping over the room with apparent indifference. Sure, it wasn’t exactly glowing praise — but coming from Leona, you’d take it.

However, despite his seeming indifference to the room, after the first few invitations, Leona started showing up frequently — and unannounced. Not that you minded. In fact, you found it pretty amusing (and oddly endearing) to see the lion prince sprawled out on your couch, napping away as if the room were his own. Chances were, he was dodging his dorm leader responsibilities. Or maybe Ruggie’s nagging — but either way, you didn’t complain.

As more of your friends would visit you and use the space as either a hangout spot, a place to relax, or as a study room it wasn’t uncommon for them to leave things behind. Some of the things you would find ranged from Ace’s playing cards (that boy never tired of showing off his card tricks), Vil’s mauve nail polish, Ortho’s power cable, Jade’s tea guide and…Trey’s portable dental hygiene kit? (Okay…well someone certainly cares about their teeth it seems! That’s not weird at all…Good for him!)

Like the good host and friend you were, you always made sure to return everyone’s belongings as soon as you saw them again. And after misplacing their things a couple of times, most of your friends got the message and stopped forgetting their stuff so frequently.

Except for him…

Leona, for some reason, no matter how many times you returned his designer wallet, would always, always, always forget it somewhere in your guest room. It was strange, really. There was no way he was that careless. Aloof as he may be, he wasn’t the type to be so absentminded, especially with something as important as his wallet.

But, little did you know that the lion prince was doing it on purpose. Obviously, someone as observant as Leona wouldn’t constantly leave his belongings behind unless… it was intentional. And in this case, it definitely was. Just like how he’d “accidentally” overpay Ruggie or “carelessly” leave his wallet out in his room for his sticky fingers to find, he was doing the same thing with you. He wanted you to take the hint and use it to fix up this dingy dorm of yours. But you just weren’t getting it.

The first time you returned his wallet, he was a little confused but didn’t outright show it.

“My wallet? Oh, I left it in your dorm?… thanks I guess…”

Alright. Maybe it just didn’t click for you yet. He’d try again.

“Ah, again…thanks…”

The second time, he expected you to understand. But no. You just handed it back to him like before.

Fine. Maybe he had to be more obvious. This time, he’d leave it right in plain sight—on the coffee table that Grim had proudly dedicated to displaying his empty tuna cans (his contribution to the décor, if that wasn’t obvious enough).

But there you were, cleaning the guest room again only to find that once again, Leona had forgotten his wallet. You have to return it to him of course!

And so the cycle continued. Over and over again. Each time, he made it more obvious, certain that this time, you’d finally take the hint. But no. You just kept giving it back.

At this point, Leona was exasperated.

Alright, herbivore, just how dense are you?! Do you seriously need me to spell it out for you?! He thought internally.

He felt like his intentions were so obvious. But was he going to outright tell you? No, of course not. He’d rather keep up this nonsense than admit—out loud, that… he cared about you enough to want to subtly provide for you. He wanted you to have enough to buy yourself something nice, to make this dorm a little nicer, or even buy Grim that fancy tuna if it makes you happy. But since you were clearly too dense to understand, he’d just keep “forgetting” his wallet until you finally got the message.

Or were you really that dense?…

Little did the poor, frustrated lion prince know—you were well aware of what he was doing. You had figured it out long ago. But, well… watching the gradual frustration build on his face every time you handed his wallet back was just a little too entertaining for you to end the game so soon!

So, you decided to keep it going.

Whether you’d take pity on his frustration or wait until he finally snapped and admitted he cared about you—that remained to be seen. But for now, you were more than happy to let him suffer just a little bit longer.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ ⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ .

Author’s Note: So I was struck with inspiration to write! My school work lessened up a bit too! I wrote this based off a post I saw that said that Leona leaving his wallet behind in the guest room in the game was really on brand for him. So, I came up with this! I hope you enjoy! - 🍬 (also posted to ao3 :)

[lay-z]

Soft domming the 141's golden trio, because they need it.

Captain Price is nice enough to warn and give you a heads-up as soon as their helo touches ground on the tarmac on base.

Your boyfriends, Simon and Kyle and Johnny, who are so impatient and needy, so depreately riled up and restless—borderline aggressively possessive—since they returned from their last deployment that you have to keep them collared, muzzled and leashed so you can keep going about your day—doing house chores, some home office work, and the likes.

They're a trio of deranged, feral mutts; snarling and lashing out at each other, but you know better than to cave in and let them do as they please or separate them now, because they'd only be whining as badly for each other as they're yowling for you.

It's one of those times when you really have to put effort and nerves into re-socializing and nursing them back to sanity because the mission left them reeling that badly.

Slowly, after much needed nourishment and care, you ease up on their leashes some; letting them sniff your palms until they gentle in their frenzy, drooling on and nuzzling at your skin.

Stripped bare, you make them roll over in submission and wait for them to present their throats and show their bellies so you can inspect the damage they've brought home with them. Deep purplish-blue bruises and angry red scratches covering their skins; a new set of scars adding to the gnarly raised and healed flesh already littering their powerful bodies.

You kiss and caress each small wound and injury while they cling and rub up on each other for comfort, shuddering with whimpers like a bunch of newborn puppies whenever you coo reassurances and words of safety at them.

Once trust is re-established, you allow Johnny to fuck his the little pocket pussy toy that you got him once while you let Kyle and Simon hump your legs, tugging on their collars whenever their meaty paws grip your legs too tightly, blunt nails pinching your skin through your thin leggings. Simon is worse than Kyle as the former forgets his strength and place on purpose sometimes while the latter is all too eager to please and be good for you so sweetly.

That's why Kyle is the first one allowed to lose his muzzle and leash. You let him walk freely, still bare and needy, but a little more composed than his mates.

He's allowed to kiss and touch you while Simon can merely growl with narrowed eyes, sticky cum still staining his pale, beefy thighs, and Johnny grovels as he paints the clear silicone pussy with another milky load of his cum, only to keep rutting into the slick toy as he keeps it pinned on the coffee table with calloused hands, bulky muscles trembling with overstimulation yet too insatiable to stop as he keeps his tearful cerulean puppy eyes trained on you, hoping you'll see how good he's trying to be for you.

It's always the same with Kyle adjusting first like the perfect pup he is, Johnny desperate to follow after him to get the same loving treatment, and Simon fighting it the most—having trouble letting go of his position as leader and allowing you to crack him open like a brittle walnut to take care of him the way he's so needy for.

[weaselandfriends]

Ender's Game (novel)

Is Ender Wiggin (pictured above as the little brother from Malcolm in the Middle) guilty of xenocide?

Actually, let's first answer a different, but related, question:

What game does the title "Ender's Game" refer to?

It's not as simple a question as it seems. There are three games that have a prominent role in the plot, all very different from one another.

The obvious answer is the Battle School zero-gravity game, where teams of competitors play glorified laser tag in a big empty cube. In terms of page count, most of the book is dedicated to this game. It's also the game depicted on the cover of the edition above.

Yet this game vanishes during the story's climax, when Ender is given a new game to play, a game he is told is a simulator of spaceship warfare. This "game" turns out to not be a game at all, though; after annihilating the alien homeworld in the final stage, Ender learns that he was actually commanding real ships against real enemies the whole time, and that he just singlehandedly ended the Human-Bugger war forever via total xenocide of the aliens. This is both the final game and the most consequential to the plot, despite the short amount of time it appears.

There's also a third game, a single-player video game Ender plays throughout the story. The game is procedurally generated by an AI to respond to the player's emotional state, and is used as a psychiatric diagnostic for the players. Of the three games, this is the one that probes deepest into Ender's psyche, that most defines him as a person; it's also the final image of the story, as the aliens build a facsimile of its world in reality after psychically reading Ender's mind while he xenocides them.

Because all three games are important, the easiest answer might be that the question doesn't matter, that the story is called Ender's Game not to propose this question at all but simply because the technically more accurate "Ender's Games" would improperly suggest a story about a serial prankster.

Fine. But why does the title use the possessive "Ender's" at all?

He does not own any of these games. He did not create them. He does not facilitate them. All of these games, even the simulator game, predate his use of them as a player, were not designed with him in mind, were intended to train and assess potential commanders for, ostensibly, the hundred years since the last Human-Bugger war.

It's in this question that we get to the crux of what defines Gamer literature.

These games are Ender's games because he dominates them into being about him. He enters a rigidly-defined, rules-based system, and excels so completely that the games warp around his presence. In the Battle School game, the administrators stack the odds against Ender, thereby rendering every other player's presence in the game irrelevant except in their function as challenges for Ender to overcome. The administrators acknowledge this in an argument among themselves:

"The game will be compromised. The comparative standings will become meaningless." [...] "You're getting too close to the game, Anderson. You're forgetting that it is merely a training exercise." "It's also status, identity, purpose, name; all that makes these children who they are comes out of this game. When it becomes known that the game can be manipulated, weighted, cheated, it will undo this whole school. I'm not exaggerating." "I know." "So I hope Ender Wiggin truly is the one, because you'll have degraded the effectiveness of our training method for a long time to come."

In this argument, Anderson views the game the way games have been viewed since antiquity: exercises in acquiring honor and status. This honor is based on the innate fairness inherent to games as rule-based systems, which is why in ancient depictions of sport the chief character is often not a competitor but the host, who acts as referee. In Virgil's Aeneid, for instance, the hero Aeneas hosts a series of funeral games (the games themselves intended as an honor for his dead father). Despite being the principal character of the epic, Aeneas does not compete in these games. Instead, he doles out prizes to each competitor based on the worthiness they display; his fairness marks him symbolically as a wise ruler. The Arthurian tournament is another example, where Arthur as host is the principal character, and the knights (Lancelot, Tristan, etc.) who compete do so primarily to receive honors from him or his queen.

In Ender's Game, it is the antagonistic figure Bonzo Madrid who embodies this classical concept of honor; the word defines him, is repeated constantly ("his Spanish honor"), drives his blistering hatred of Ender, who receives both unfair boons and unfair banes from the game's administrators, who skirts the rules of what is allowed to secure victory. Bonzo is depicted as a stupid, bull-like figure; his honor is ultimately worthless, trivially manipulated by Ender in their final fight.

Meanwhile, it's Ender's disregard for honor, his focus solely on his namesake -- ending, finishing the game, the ends before the means -- that makes him so valuable within the scope of the story. He is "the one," as Anderson puts it, the solipsistically important Gamer, the Only I Play the Game-r, because the game now matters in and of itself, rather than as a social activity. In the Aeneid and in Arthur, the competitors are soldiers, for whom there is a world outside the game. Their games are not a substitute for war but a reprieve from it, and as such they are an activity meant to hold together the unifying fabric of society. The values Anderson espouses (status, identity, purpose, name) are fundamentally more important in this social framework than winning (ending) is.

Ender's game, as the Goosebumps-style blurb on my 20-year-old book fair edition's cover proclaims, is not just a game anymore. Its competitors are also soldiers, but the game is meant to prepare them for war; the spaceship video game is actual war. And as this is a war for the survival of the human race, as Ender is told, there is no need for honor. The othered enemy must be annihilated, without remorse or mercy.

This ethos of the game as fundamentally important for its own sake pervades Gamer literature beyond Ender's Game. In Sword Art Online (which I wrote an essay on here), dying in the game is dying in real life, and as such, only Kirito's ability to beat the game matters. Like Ender, Kirito is immediately disdained by his fellow players as a "cheater" (oh sorry, I mean a "beater") because he possesses inherent advantages due to being a beta player. In an actual game, a game that is only a game, Kirito's cheat powers would render the game pointless. What purpose does Kirito winning serve if he does it with Dual Wielding, an overpowered skill that only he is allowed to have? But when a game has real stakes, when only ability to win matters, it is possible to disregard fairness and see the cheater as heroic.

This notion of the "cheat power," a unique and overpowered ability only the protagonist has, is pervasive in post-SAO Gamer literature. To those for whom games are simply games, such powers can only be infuriating and obnoxious betrayals of the purpose of games; to those for whom games mean more than just games, for whom games have a primacy of importance, these powers are all that matter.

That's the core conceit of Gamer literature: the idea that the Game is life, that winning is, in fact, everything.

What sets Ender's Game apart from Sword Art Online is that it creates the inverted world where the Game matters above all, but then draws back the curtain to reveal the inversion. The Buggers are, in fact, no longer hostile. They are not planning to invade Earth again, as Ender has been told his entire life. The war, for them, is entirely defensive, and Ender is the aggressor. And due to Ender's singleminded focus on Ending, on winning, on disregarding honor and fairness, he ultimately commits the xenocide, erases an entire sentient species from existence. He wins a game he should never have been playing.

The obvious counterargument, the one I imagine everyone who has read this book thought up the moment I posed the question at the beginning of this essay, is that Ender did not know he was committing xenocide. The fact that the combat simulator game was not a game was withheld from him until afterward. Plus, he was a child.

Salient arguments all. Ones the book itself makes, via Ender's commander, Graff, to absolve him of sin at the end. They're probably even correct, in a legal sense (I'm not a legal scholar, don't quote me), and in a moral sense. In real life, it would be difficult to blame a 10-year-old in those circumstances for what he did. But in the thematic framework of Ender's Game the book, these arguments are completely inadequate.

Ender has been playing a fourth game the entire story. And this is the only game he doesn't win.

A game is defined by its system of control and limitation over the behavior of the players. A game has rules. His whole life, Ender has been playing within the rules of the system of control his military commanders place upon him.

Their control extends even before he was born; as a third child in a draconian two-child-only world, his existence is at the behest of the government. Graff confirms this to Ender's parents when he recruits him to Battle School: "Of course we already have your consent, granted in writing at the time conception was confirmed, or he could not have been born. He has been ours since then, if he qualified." Graff frames this control utterly, in terms of possession: "he has been ours." He does not exaggerate. Since Ender was young, he has had a "monitor" implanted in his body so the army could observe him at all times, assess whether he "qualifies"; even the brief moment the monitor is removed is a test. "The final step in your testing was to see what would happen when the monitor came off," Graff explains after Ender passes the test by murdering a 6-year-old. Conditions are set up for Ender, similar to the unfair challenges established in the Battle School game; he is isolated from his peers, denied practice sessions, held in solitary confinement on a remote planetoid. It's all in service of assessing Ender as "the one."

Ender wins this game in the sense that he does, ultimately, become "the one" -- the one Graff and the other military men want, the xenocider of the Buggers. He fails this game in the sense that he does not break it.

The other three games Ender plays, he breaks. Usually by cheating. In the single-player psychiatry game, when presented with a deliberately impossible challenge where a giant gives him two glasses to pick between, Ender cheats and kills the giant. "Cheater, cheater!" the dying giant shouts. In the Battle School game, Ender is ultimately confronted by insurmountable odds: 2 armies against his 1. He cannot outgun his opponent, so he cheats by using most of his troops as a distraction so five soldiers can sneak through the enemy's gate, ending the game. At the school, going through the gate is traditionally seen as a mere formality, something done ceremonially once the enemy team is wiped out (there's that honor again, that ceremony), but it technically causes a win. Even Anderson, the game's administrator, sees this as a breach of the rules when Ender confronts him afterward.

Ender was smiling. "I beat you again, sir," he said. "Nonsense, Ender," Anderson said softly. "Your battle was with Griffin and Tiger." "How stupid do you think I am?" Ender said. Loudly, Anderson said, "After that little maneuver, the rules are being revised to require that all of the enemy's soldiers must be frozen or disabled before the gate can be reversed."

(I include the first part of that quote to indicate that Ender all along knows who he is really playing this game against -- the administrators, the military men who control every facet of his life.)

Ender beats the war simulator game in a similar fashion. Outnumbered this time 1000-to-1, he uses his soldiers as sacrifices to sneak a single bomb onto the alien's homeworld, destroying it and committing his xenocide. Ender himself sees this maneuver as breaking the rules, and in fact falsely believes that if he breaks the rules he will be disqualified, set free from the fourth game: "If I break this rule, they'll never let me be a commander. It would be too dangerous. I'll never have to play a game again. And that is victory." The flaw in his logic comes not from whether he's breaking the rules of the game, but which game he is breaking the rules of. It's not the fourth game, Ender's game, but the war simulator game, simply a sub-game within the confines of the fourth game, a sub-game the fourth game's administrators want him to break, a sub-game that gives Ender the illusion of control by breaking. When Ender tells his administrators about his plan, the response he receives almost taunts him to do it:

"Does the Little Doctor work against a planet?" Mazer's face went rigid. "Ender, the buggers never deliberately attacked a civilian population in either invasion. You decide whether it would be wise to adopt a strategy that would invite reprisals."

(And if it wasn't clear how much the administrators wanted him to do this all along, the moment he does it, they flood the room with cheers.)

Ender wins his games by cheating -- by fighting the rules of the game itself -- and yet he never cheats at the fourth game, the game of his life.

In this fourth game, he always plays by the rules.

In the inverted world of Gamer lit, where games define everything, including life and death, it's a common, even natural progression for the Gamer to finally confront the game's administrator. Sword Art Online ends when Kirito defeats Akihiko Kayaba, the developer. In doing so, Kirito exceeds the confines of the game, not simply by ignoring its rules and coming back to life after he's killed, but by demonstrating mastery against the game's God. Afterward, Sword Art Online truly becomes Kirito's Game, with nobody else able to lay claim to the possessive. Kirito demonstrates this control at the end of the anime by recreating Sword Art Online's world using its source code, completing the transition into a player-administrator.

(Though I wonder, how much of a class reading could one give to this new brand of Gamer lit? If classical games were told from the perspective of the one who controlled them, then is there not something innately anti-establishment in Kirito overcoming the controller? This is the gist of many other death game stories, like The Hunger Games, though none of them may be the most sophisticated takes on the subject, more empty fantasy than anything else.)

Ender never fights or defeats his administrators. He never even tries, other than rare periods of depressive inactivity. He doesn't try even though the option is proposed to him by Dink Meeker, an older student whom Ender respects:

"I'm not going to let the bastards run me, Ender. They've got you pegged, too, and they don't plan to treat you kindly. Look what they've done to you so far." "They haven't done anything except promote me." "And she make you life so easy, neh?" Ender laughed and shook his head. "So maybe you're right." "They think they got you on ice. Don't let them." "But that's what I came for," Ender said. "For them to make me into a tool."

Instead, Ender finds comfort in the control exerted on his life. When sent to Earth on leave, he seeks out a lake that reminds him of living in Battle School.

"I spend a lot of time on the water. When I'm swimming, it's like being weightless. I miss being weightless. Also, when I'm here on the lake, the land slopes up in every direction." "Like living in a bowl." "I've lived in a bowl for four years."

Because of this, Ender never cheats against Graff. He could; Graff states several times that Ender is smarter than him, and the fact that they have Ender fighting the war instead of Graff is proof he believes it. But Ender never considers it. He never considers gaming the system of his life.

If Gamer literature emphasizes the inversion of the world order, where games supersede reality in importance (and, as in Sword Art Online, only through this inverted order is one able to claim real power by being a Gamer), then Ender's Game acknowledges both sides of the inversion. For Ender, the games he plays are not simply games anymore. The psychology game, the Battle School game, the war simulator game; all of these he must win at all costs, even if it requires disrespecting the foundational purpose of these games. But his real life? Ender wants that to be a game, craves it to be a game, can't live unless the walls slope up around him like a bowl, can't stand it unless there is a system of control around him. He does what Graff tells him, even though he recognizes immediately that Graff is not his friend, that Graff is the one isolating him from others, rigging things against him. He does what Graff tells him all the way up to and including xenocide, because Ender cannot tell game from real life. That's the core deception at the end: Ender is playing a game that's actually real and he doesn't know it -- or refuses to acknowledge it, since nobody has ever tricked the genius Ender before this point.

Actually, that's not true. They tricked him twice before. Ender twice attacks his peers physically, with brutal violence. The administrators conceal from him that he murdered both his foes; he simply thinks he hurt them. The only way to trick Ender is to do so in a way that insulates him from the consequences of his actions. The only way he will allow himself to be tricked.

So, is Ender guilty of xenocide?

Under it all, Ender believes he is.

The dying Buggers, after reading Ender's mind, recreate the psychology game in the real world. The story ends when Ender finds this recreation, yet another blurring of the lines between game and reality.

The psychology game is different from the other games Ender plays, because nobody expects him to win it. Its purpose is not to be won, simply to assess his mental health. Yet Ender approaches it like the other games, cheats at it and systematically kills all his enemies until he reaches a place called The End of the World. (Another End for Ender.) His drive to win, to dominate, does not come solely from the pressures of the system around him, but from deep within himself, which is what Ender fears the most. But it is here, at The End of the World, where Ender finds atonement, both in the game and in the game-made-real. In the game, he kisses his opponent instead of killing them, and reaches a resolution he is happy with. He stops playing the game after doing this, though the game seems to continue (when an administrator asks him why he stopped playing it, he says "I beat it"; the administrator tells him the game cannot be beaten). It is through this act of love that Ender can escape the game-like system of control that puppeteers him no matter how smart and clever he is or thinks he is.

In the game-made-real, Ender finds his atonement in the same place, The End of the World. The Buggers left for him here, in this place that they (reading his mind) understood as the location of his mercy and compassion, an egg that can repopulate their species. Through this egg, Ender is given the chance to undo his xenocide. But that chance is also contingent on what The End of the World means to Ender, an end to the game, not simply the games he plays but the fourth game, the game of his life. Ender's Game.

[theveryworstthing]

7th Headless Haunting: The Invisible Woman

A ghost's appearance can change over time depending on the emotional connection to their former lives. This change is involuntary and inconsistent. For some, their form shifts to mirror the cause of their death, or emphasizes some other lasting trauma. Others shift into a metaphorical representation of how they view themselves. But most just look like their living forms until time makes the details slip away. Because if there's no one left to remember them properly, and they can't really remember themselves, that can trigger a disconnection from their physical past. This disconnect causes the "sheet ghost" effect, as the soul loses the shape of its previous container.

It's a sad thing, catching a glimpse of a soul losing their face. But that's part of the cycle of life and death. Everything changes. Everything fades.

Sometimes that fading is even done on purpose.

Morgan doesn't call herself Morgan anymore because she doesn't want to metaphysically dox herself.

Through the efforts of the most annoying woman she's ever met, she's become one of the most famous ghosts in the south. She did not ask for this, she does not want it, and every day she wonders how she could have possibly been charmed into a barely 3 week relationship by someone she had to politely ask to stop making tictoks in the crystal shop constantly. It was easy to blame grief and depression for the drastic lowering of standards but still. Good lord.

She realized her mistake pretty quickly, but then "Luna's" roommate supposedly kicked her out with no warning and a sick cat named Quartz. And past!Morgan, who vividly remembered how much being homeless sucked, didn't want her out on the street.

(Okay, mostly she didn't want Quartz out on the street. He was goofy and sweet and the knowledge that she liked him way more than her new girlfriend made her feel guilty.)

This was a mistake.

She opened her home to them. Payed for emergency cat surgery. Dealt with arguments over filming in the house and random strangers coming over for "guided group spiritual exploration" sessions that she wasn't allowed to be in the room for because Luna was "working". Scrubbed Luna's essential oil covered bare ass marks off of her kitchen counters. And in return, she got this woman inviting something into her home.

One night while Luna was out with friends, it came into Morgan's bedroom and left her head on the other side of the house.

She never figured out exactly what got her, but the dark twisted shape made sure to find her terrified spirit before it left, and she could feel its irritation as it inspected her. She wasn't the right target. Luna owed a dept that she probably didn't even comprehend to something very pissed off.

All this would have been bad enough, but none of it was really worth being a ghost about. She'd had worse relationships, and since grandma was gone, almost all of her loved ones were dead anyway, so she really should have left.

But what about Quartz?

 She was the one handling all of his post operative care, and after watching Luna forget time after time to feed him or give him his meds or even really pay attention to him when he wasn't serving as a cuddly toy to cry on or an aesthetic set piece for videos, she decided to hang around until he was either stable or dead.

Which is how she found out about the haunted house tours.

Luna had been doing this for a while. It seems that every place she had ever lived was "haunted" and she made sure that the internet knew about all the trials and tribulations of being so spiritually gifted in a world filled with such trauma laden souls. She'd been kicked out of her last place for having a pretend spectral affair with her former roommate's dead best friend, and when she moved it didn't take a day for her to "sense something..." and start secretly profiting off of made up shit about Morgan's grandmother.

But now that Morgan was dead she had a goldmine on her hands. The gory, violent, locked room mystery death of a fairly attractive woman wearing nothing but a low cut night gown was already pretty good, but add in the lesbian romance, Morgan's family history, and the fact that Luna's True Love had recently Saved her from an Abusive Environment and Certain Homelessness? Well, that's money baby.

Morgan's friends, bless 'em, had stopped Luna from livestreaming the funeral, and got as many pictures of her body taken down as they could.

Sadly, the fundraiser to purchase her family home for "spiritual conservation" was successful.

She had no idea that her following was that big.

She really should have checked.

Anyway.

Because of Luna she's spent the last 8 years being stalked by the living. Strangers pay to sleep in her bed and record the ambient noises of her room hoping she'll show up and talk to them. They buy books made of private poetry stolen from her journals. They demonize her dead family members and speculate on horrific abuse that didn't happen because "if you pay attention to how she dressed/read between the lines in her writing, there are clues she had serious daddy issues".

Recently, there was a shitty romance novel published based on her death, implying that whatever killed her was simply mad with lust and wanted to make her his dark bride in hell.

Yes "his". Her proxy was straight in that one.

And way slimmer.

That's a reoccurring thing that she tries not to think about too hard.

But the point is that all this mess keeps her from moving on. She just... can't. She spends all her time trying to sabotage Luna's grift as best she can. She exposes all the little tricks Luna uses during her seances to show she's not talking to anyone. She actively keeps other spirits away from the house just in case any of the ghost hunting gear people haul into her living room actually works (it doesn't but better safe that sorry). She never speaks just in case a recording picks something up and she's thrown away chunks of identifying features like her face and most of her tattoos so that if she is spotted, she's harder to identify.

She's spent years staging the most intensive anti-haunting she possibly can.

Quartz died 6 months ago and walked right past the entrance to the rainbow bridge to settle in her lap, just like old times. He tries to lead her away from the house a lot. Into the sunrise, towards her grandma's loud bright laughter and the bustling sounds of a family reunion in full swing.

She wants to follow him so badly.

She just.

Can't.

[loveanddeepsecrets]

Aftercare after surgery 🦷

How the LADS men would care for you right after you get your wisdom teeth removed.

OG credit goes to @jinwoosbabyboo. Ty anon for making me aware of this!

tags: sfw, fluff, gn! reader, Sylus, Rafayel, Caleb, Zayne, & Xavier x reader

word count: ≈1,045

Caleb

He'd be the most entertaining knowing how you bore easily. From card games, to video games, to tv marathons, the first few days of recovery fly by.

Insisted you get the procedure done in Skyhaven so you can recover at his place, it’s a lot roomier anyway

Is in stitches laughing on the ride home as you both joke around while you’re still high from the anesthesia

Bought a special recliner for you to sleep on the first night post op

Very attentive caretaker; routinely fluffing your pillows, changing your gauze, and refilling your glass of water 

Likes the challenge of cooking a “no solid foods” meal

Is absolutely teasing you over how swollen your cheeks are

Still makes a point to tell you how beautiful you are

Boy, can this man YAP 

He knows he can be quite chatty, but can’t resist annoying you a little when you can’t talk back. “…There was that one time I lost a bet with Gideon, but that’s a story for another day. I’ve been talkin’ your ear off for 10 minutes.” “mmph..” “What’s that? You wanna hear more about the bet?  Okayyy pipsqueek…”

Massages your temples when the pain meds wear off before you can take them again 

Ends up falling asleep next to you in the giant recliner during a Food Network marathon 

Rafayel

Raf’s probably the most smothering of the five since he admits he’s not the best at taking care of others and would be mortified if he had any part of your recovery not going well. He’s a lavish man after all, your comfort is important to him.

You resting anywhere other than his California king bed is out of the question!

Is incredibly gentle and soothing when changing out your gauze; lots of words of encouragement

Constantly checking in to make sure you’re comfortable 

Tries really hard not to laugh when he uses bags of frozen vegetables as cold compress on your cheeks. Says you look like a cute puffer fish 

Keeps forgetting you shouldn’t talk for the first 24 hours but then gets mad when you try answering him when he asks you something 

Is really excited for the next couple of days when you can eat more solid foods. He’s been meaning to make you a special fish soup he discovered on one of his exhibitions abroad 

Drew a tiny sketch of you as a sleeping puffer fish during your nap

Would literally fan you if you felt too hot 

Loses kitty cards on purpose 

Since he has you bedridden, he bought several magazines to take silly quizzes bc “That’s what they do in the movies, yeah?”

Zayne

Easily the most equipped to take care of you in this situation let’s be fr. He’s firm, yet gentle and your downtime is quick and painless.

Has you on a tight schedule: nap, rinse, gauze, meds, nap, rinse, eat, gauze, repeat

You don’t even bother trying to speak. He already had a white board and marker placed on your nightstand when you got home from surgery

Has you pick whatever drama you want to watch when you finally slept off the anesthesia 

Is even more lenient with the amount of sweets you can have since smoothies are the only “healthy” meal you can eat right after surgery 

Is really all cuddles outside of the strict routine of dressing your wounds/taking meds

Shadow puppet show (again 🥲)

Lots and lots of kisses! Cheeks, forehead, eyelids, nose; he just wants you to get better

Places his hands on your cheeks and uses his evol as a cold compress just this once

Secretly counting down the days til he can properly kiss you again 

Is still a workaholic and reviewing reports on his laptop, but takes your temporary silence as an opportunity to listen to some of your favourite music together. In a way, it’s like you’re still talking to him

Xavier

He's no medical professional by any means, but he's not as clueless as he lets on. When it comes to your safety and well being, he takes looking after you pretty seriously. Under his care, you get the most sleep you've gotten in your life.

Sets up the pull out couch so you won’t have to walk around as much

Still brought you flowers and a “Get well soon” card, despite the fact that he’s the one taking care of you 

Thinks you look especially cute with swollen cheeks and surrounded your sleeping form with plushies mid nap 

Is especially proud of himself for making you breakfast and dinner— it’s really hard to mess up instant oatmeal and mashed potatoes 

It takes everything within him not to poke your cheeks and say “chubby bunny”

Chooses to play collaborative 2-player games bc he knows you hate it when he lets you win

Gets in bed to join in on your (med induced) naps

Has you snuggle his waist as you two look through comic books

Follows along with your mushy diet because he’d feel so bad eating solid foods in front of you

Thought refrigerating a face mask would be a relaxing alternative to cold compress packs (and of course he tried one too)

Sylus

Full on princess treatment. Quite literally wouldn’t let you lift a finger. It’s as if you had hip replacement surgery.

Refuses to let you walk, even after the anesthesia wears off. He carries you to any and every room

He knows it’s a minor surgery, but it didn’t stop him from buying the fluffiest pillows, comfiest weighted blankets, plushiest robe, and smoothest silk eye mask 

Brushes/ plays with your hair while you sleep 

Despite your temporary dietary restrictions, you still eat like a Michelin inspector thanks to his private chef

Spoon feeds you 

Is the only LI aside from Caleb who can understand your muffled speech 

Programmed Mephisto to set reminders to take your meds and switch out your gauze

Tucks you in *every time* you decide to lay back in bed

Turned one of his rooms into a spa. Dark, yet calming from the soft lighting of candles, crystal singing bowls from a white noise machine, and aromatherapy 

Relishes in you earnestly needing his help

Bought out a full service salon for the next day to give you every service they offer

fic dividers by: saradika-graphics, adornedwithlight, strangergraphics, & natimiles-edits

Thanks for reading all the way through :) Any interaction is greatly appreciated!

[jinwoosbabyboo]

"Love and Brat Taming"

How I imagine the LADS Men brat tame and the type of dom that they are. Artwork @/osk_purinnumee on twitter ‼️ MDNI ‼️ This for the freak nasty mfs in my inbox … I love y’all hope you can lucid dream about this 😘

Zayne

Type: Edging | Voyeurism | Restraints | Temperature play??

Sweet stoic Zayne....Mr. "watch your hands" in public but completely different behind closed doors. Now let's say you decided to spend all afternoon being very handsy. He would warn you multiple times and of course you'd keep going even when he glared at you.

I feel like Zayne is definitely the type to .... watch. He would one thow-wow percent sit you on his lap with your hands tied in front of you and make you play with yourself while he watched.

What did he use to tie your hands? The tie that you kept yanking on all day in public to whisper in his ear.

"Since you can't control your hands I'll control them for you" He would watch you play and squirm on his lap and the minute he sees you're on the brink of climax he'd whisper a stern "Stop." snatching your wrists away, holding them above your head in one hand, making you whine. "Deep breaths ... there you go ... now start again"

He would do this again ... and again ... and again until you're spouting apologies and begging him to let you cum. He's not rough as a matter of fact he's so gentle it almost makes this punishment that much hotter, I mean worse.

Don't forget he's touch starved so while you're playing he's busy having his fun exploring your body stimulating every part of you. He'd go back and forth from just watching you to devouring your neck and pinching your nipples using his evol make them pebble faster and then taking them into his warm mouth.

By the time he lets you cum you're a sweaty puddle of pure bliss. He'd definitely talk you through it and end it with "next time heed when you've been warned"

Now next time he tells you to watch your hands you're torn between wanting this punishment again or wanting the sweet Zayne that gives you what you want without making you beg.

Sir?! Wtf you mean heed when I've been warned I'm acting up on your next day off fym

Rafayel

Type: Sense Deprivation | Overstimulation | Manhandling | Breeding Kink

Raf is the type of tamer who makes sure you can't walk and you're sore as hell the next day. He's merciless. He takes you how he wants you.

For example...

"Will you like me no matter what I become?" You promised. Such an innocent question. No.

You should have read the fine print because you had no idea it included the dominant powerhouse he'd become when you decided to ignore him after you went to bed mad at him and proceeded to ignore him for a full day.

"Don't play with me we don't do that we don't go to bed upset with each other because shit like this happens" He doesn't give more than half of a warning. He gives just one and that's it and its hardly a warning.

Raf doesn't get upset with you often but he's a whole different person when he does. He is definitely the type to blindfold you and tells you to be a good girl and no touching. "Keep your hands above your head"

He'd flip you back and forth between being sprawled out on your back and being flat on your stomach with a pillow tucked under your hips and much more. You're getting fucking rag dolled so hold on tight.

To start he would touch you everywhere except where you wanted most however he still would have you dripping wet and I mean dripping. I imagine once he gets you to that point he's the type to eat you out while making you explain why you decided to ignore him when you know he hates it. He'd edge you a little every time your hands strayed too close.

You would have absolutely no good reason for ignoring him for a whole day on purpose so he'd keep going snatching orgasm after orgasm from you until you're pushing his head away. Big mistake because he said no touching and keep your hands above your head. Be ready to get pounded into the mattress until dawn. For sure the type to fill you up over and over again just to watch it drip out so he can push it back in with his fingers.

"Raf I can't- " he'd cut you off "You can take it ... gimme one more I know you can do it" he would make sure you can't walk the next day so you have to spend the entire day with him to make up for lost time.

I need this man to take a sip of wine and let it flow into my mouth through a kiss and bite my lip after.

Xavier

Type: Edging | Bondage | Spanking | Dacryphilia | Sadism

Alright I know you just read sadism and you wanna jump me now let me explain hold on HOLD ON! Relax! Put the bricks and tomatoes down let me explain. I can feel it in my BONE MARROW that Xavier knows how to perfectly mix pleasure and pain. He's literally likes it rough talking about some "You'll have to do it harder" bro imagine him being able to do it harder to his girl? HES ON THAT ! Man I kinda just wanna yap about him.

He would give you a safe word he would immediately stop if you use it don't worry. He's a calm cool collected Prince that fucks you like you're a slut. He doesn't give you a warning because he knows that you know better.

If you decided to test his patience and be a brat ALL DAY he's throwing you over his lap and spanking your ass until it's red while he's two knuckles deep inside of you and that's not even the main course.

He would tie your hands together (Just like he's threatened multiple times). He would definitely tie them to the headboard and he'd eat you until you're crying from pleasure, but no you're not allowed to cum yet. "You're so pretty like this" as he wipes your tears before going back to nip and bite at your thighs.

He would rag doll you as well untying you and flipping you over into doggy style and just teases you by rubbing his tip against your folds and just slightly pushing in before backing out and continuing his teasing giving your ass solid slaps when you push your hips back at him.

He would edge your soul out of you for hours and he's gonna wake you up a few hours later with his tongue after you fall asleep.

I need Xavier to rag doll me expeditiously.

Sylus

Type: Bondage | Spanking | Dacryphilia | Overstimulation | Breath Play

I know y'all have seen that one picture pose called "Dancing with you" and Sylus has his hand around your throat?????? What are we dancing to???? Are we naked????

Anyway....

Now maybe this is self indulgent but he's definitely using his evol to hold you in whatever position he wants you in. Since you couldn't listen to him we won't listen to you. He's two knuckles deep in you and is making you do all the work. He would have you ride his hand and make you work for it while he has the other wrapped around your throat cutting off your air and right when you cum he'd let go making you see stars.

Did he just make you experience euphoria?? You bet your ass he did.

He's not done with you though don't forget you were a brat throwing a fit in the middle of his meeting and couldn't keep your hands to yourself. He would eat you out till you're in tears "Keep your eyes on me" the second your head fell back in bliss he would stop causing you to snap your head up. "I gave you simple instructions sweetie" When you hit that point where you start trying to run from him he would stand up and tell you to "Keep it wet you know what to do" (Shout out Professor Cal) releasing only one of your hands and leaving to go finish his meeting.

YES! He would definitely tell his business call or whatever to give him a minute and he'd handle you then head back. Once he's done he's coming back and teasing you with his tip with his hand around your throat again. He doesn't mind spending the whole night taming you.

Side note: Sylus hates to see you cry .... unless you're crying from pleasure. "Fuck you're beautiful like this" he'd say and he'd kiss your tears as they run down your cheeks. Something about that dazed-euphoric look in your watery eyes and your wet cheeks gets his Ca-Cawk jumpin'!

I need Sylus to wrap those big ol hands around my throat and tell me "Relax you can take it princess"

[bambieyedoll]

⋆·˚ ༘ * WOLFPACK HEADCANONS 𐚁̸.ᐟ — you take them lingerie shopping with you.

synopsis: how they'd react if they went shopping with their s/o and they see them looking for a new pair of lingerie/cute underwear.

pairing/s: paul lahote, jacob black, embry call, quil ateara, jared cameron, seth clearwater, sam uley, leah clearwater

masterlist | check out my other work !

paul lahote

paul wasn’t even paying attention to what aisle you wandered into until he noticed you slow down—then stop—in front of a wall of lace, silk, and soft pastel fabrics.

at first, his brow twitches. confusion turns to amusement fast. “wait—this is what you were looking for?” he asks, voice low and already laced with mischief.

when he sees you pick up a delicate little set—lace-trimmed, pale blush—his entire demeanor changes.

smirk mode: activated.

he steps closer, arms folded across his broad chest, head tilted slightly as he watches you pretend to inspect tags. “i mean… if you’re trying to kill me, just say so.”

he doesn’t get shy. not paul. if anything, he enjoys the idea that you’re looking at something sexy for yourself—because he’s the one who gets to see it.

picks up a darker, more sultry pair and holds it out to you with a grin: “this one. definitely this one. you should try it on. for research purposes.”

if you so much as blush? he’s thrilled. will lean in and murmur something like, “don’t get all shy on me now. you started this, sweetheart.”

absolutely insists on buying it for you and wants to carry the bag out, pride written all over his face. you’re his girl—and he’s not quiet about how lucky he is.

jacob black

jacob’s totally content following you around the store, not really paying attention, until you veer off into a corner he wasn’t expecting.

the lingerie section.

his steps immediately falter. he doesn’t want to seem weird about it, but the moment he sees you scanning a rack of lacy bralettes, his ears turn bright red.

“uh… this the right aisle?” he asks, trying to sound casual, even though his voice cracks a little at the end.

you don’t even respond—you’re already holding up a set to inspect. and that’s when jacob’s brain starts to short-circuit.

he can’t stop glancing. can’t stop imagining. you in something soft and sheer, maybe in his hoodie right after.

“you… you’d look really good in that,” he mumbles without meaning to. the second he realizes it, he groans and covers his face. “shit, forget i said that.”

you laugh, and that only makes him more flustered. you teasing him? game over.

“this is so unfair,” he grumbles under his breath. “you’re not even doing anything, and i’m losing my mind over here.”

he walks out of the store with his arm around your shoulders and the most intense internal monologue of all time.

embry call

embry’s always been a little awkward with attention—especially when it comes to you. so when you intentionally drag him into the underwear section while out shopping? he’s already sweating.

he tries to play it cool. tries to keep his hands in his pockets, tries to hum some tune and look away. but he fails instantly the second you lift up something silky and say, “do you think this color would look good on me?”

he makes a choked noise. his whole body jerks slightly like he’s been electrocuted.

“i—uh—y-yeah. that’d look amazing. wait—i mean good. just—good. totally appropriate.”

he’s so red in the face. you could probably fry an egg on his cheek.

he peeks at the tag like he’s examining battle strategy, then whispers, “are you getting that for…you know. wearing around the house? or…like. just…wha—what’s the purpose?”

you tease him about being flustered and he covers his eyes.

but even through the nerves, he genuinely thinks you’re beautiful no matter what you wear. so when you ask which one he likes, he points to something soft, cozy-looking, not too flashy.

“this one,” he says quietly, handing it to you like it’s a sacred artifact. “you’d be comfortable in it. and you’d still make my heart stop.”

jared cameron

jared walks into the lingerie section like it’s the highlight of his day.

he’s not shy. not even close. “oh, we’re going in here? finally,” he jokes, grinning.

the moment you start flipping through the hangers, he’s already at your side, picking out options. “okay, but look at this one. it’s got your name all over it.”

jared treats it like a fun game. he’ll toss out ridiculous suggestions just to make you laugh, then sneak in one that actually makes you blush.

“you keep reacting like that and i will ask you to try it on right now,” he teases, voice low and teasingly serious.

he watches your face more than the clothes—lives for your flustered expressions.

if someone else walks by and gives you a look while you’re holding something sultry? jared steps closer, voice dropping: “keep lookin’ and you’ll go blind.”

he pays for it all without hesitation and tucks the bag under his arm with a proud smile.

“don’t worry, babe,” he says with a wink. “i’ll help you decide which one’s best later. in private.”

seth clearwater

poor seth. the minute he realizes you’re looking at underwear, he nearly combusts.

“oh! oh—uh—y-you’re shopping for that kind of stuff?”

he stands a full foot away from you like he might get struck by lightning just for being near a pair of lacy panties.

he keeps trying so hard not to look, but curiosity always wins.

when you hold up a cute, pastel bralette and ask what he thinks, he freezes. his mouth opens—no words come out. he just nods rapidly.

“yep. cute. definitely cute. super… lacy. i mean—lovely.”

if you tease him by grabbing something bolder, like red lace or black satin, he gasps. “that’s—um—that’s—wow. you’d—uh—you’d wear that? for… like… sleep?”

later, as you’re checking out, he tugs at your sleeve and whispers, “i think you’d look beautiful in anything… but that one? that one’s gonna live in my head forever.”

his honesty is so endearing, and his face is red the entire drive home.

quil ateara

quil’s the type to notice instantly what aisle you’re walking into—and make a comment before you even grab something.

“ohhh no. you’re doing this to torture me, aren’t you?”

he follows behind you with a dramatic sigh, hands in his hoodie pockets, eyes twinkling.

“i swear, if you hold up something with bows or frilly lace, i’m going to melt into the floor.”

and then you do—and he does.

he pretends to faint. literally leans back like he’s about to collapse. “have mercy.”

picks out a ridiculous novelty pair first (think: glitter hearts), just to make you snort. but then he finds one that’s genuinely sexy, holds it up thoughtfully, and gets weirdly quiet.

“you’d look so good in this. like, dangerous.”

when you actually buy it, he jokes the whole time—but his hand stays firmly at the small of your back.

that night, when you wear it? his first words are, “okay. yep. dead. you killed me. worth it.”

sam uley

sam is calm, composed, and entirely unreadable—at least on the outside.

the second you start browsing lingerie, he’s beside you with one eyebrow lifted. “lingerie shopping, huh?” he murmurs, voice deep and smooth.

there’s something in his tone that makes the back of your neck heat up.

he doesn’t tease. doesn’t get flustered. he just watches you with this quiet, intense gaze that says everything.

when you lift a black lace set to inspect, he steps closer. “you’d look stunning in that,” he says simply, like it’s a fact.

if another guy walks past and looks at you too long? sam’s hand tightens slightly on your hip. that protective, alpha instinct doesn’t sleep.

helps you find your size without hesitation and is absurdly practical—until you try to call him out on enjoying it too much.

“maybe i am,” he says, low and husky. “but you knew what you were doing bringing me here, didn’t you?”

by the time you leave, his arm is around your waist, and he’s leaning down to murmur in your ear, “you’re wearing that for me later. no arguments.”

leah clearwater

leah doesn’t usually linger in stores longer than necessary. she likes getting in, getting what she needs, and getting out—especially if the store’s crowded.

so when you pull her gently toward the lingerie section, she blinks, glances at the signs overhead, and says with a dry laugh, “oh, so we’re going there today?”

her tone’s light, a little sarcastic, but not biting—because even if she doesn’t say it aloud, she’ll follow you anywhere.

she stands at your side as you browse, arms folded and eyes scanning the displays with a raised brow. you half-expect her to scoff at the lace and silk, but instead, she just murmurs, “some of this stuff looks like it’d fall apart in the wash.”

still… she lingers. quietly. watches you sift through colors and fabrics like she’s memorizing which ones you’re drawn to.

when you hold up a soft, lilac set—more cute than bold—leah’s eyes soften. she clears her throat. “that’s nice. you’d look really good in that.”

there’s no teasing in her voice, no biting remark—just quiet honesty.

and when you smile at her reaction, she shifts her weight awkwardly, glancing down. “what?” she mumbles. “i’m allowed to have taste.”

you ask if she wants to help you pick one out, and she hesitates. for a second, you think she’s going to say no—but then she reaches for a muted wine-colored bralette and matching bottoms. “this one,” she says, holding it out gently. “i think it’d suit you. strong. subtle. pretty.”

she says the last word a little softer, barely audible, and you catch her biting the inside of her cheek when your eyes meet.

leah’s not used to softness—not the romantic kind. but around you, it leaks through in little glances, brief touches, and quiet protectiveness.

when you head to the register, she walks close beside you, her hand brushing yours until she just grabs it outright.

“you don’t have to dress up for me,” she murmurs once you’re alone again. “i already think you’re beautiful.”

but then—just a beat later, a small smirk tugs at her lips as she adds, “still. if you do wear that one tonight, i’m not gonna complain.”

[randofics]

Dante x reader headcannons

18+ MDNI

Sorry ya'll, I'm still working on Pain and Warmth pt.2. I figured yall could use some headcannons in the meantime. Some wholesome and spicy.

Link to Pt.1

-------

Sweet

He can't ever say no to your puppy dog eyes when you ask him to buy you something just as long as he can afford it. But if you aren't wanting for much and you mention something you thought about getting off-hand, he'll definitely get it for you even if he has to save up for it.

---

You definitely have competitions to see who can say the most one-liners before the other can't think of any more. You compliment each other for especially good ones.

---

Dante, ever the romantic, has definitely picked you a bouquet of wildflowers at least once. Maybe you're allergic or maybe not, but either way, you think it's sweet of him.

---

If he wants to do something for you (aside from cooking cause that didn't go well), you had better let him do it! He won't take no for an answer unless you give him good reason not to.

---

If you're ever under the weather, he'll wait on you, hand and foot. He's never really been sick, so just seeing you out of commission with a cold or stomach bug, and he wants to make certain you'll survive it. He's basically immortal, so he doesn't want you going into any afterlife before your time.

---

He loves your food. And even though he still eats a lot of pizza, if you plan on cooking, he won't even think of ordering any pizza. He also makes sure to ask you whether you plan on cooking or not.

---

While most people see Dante as an ignorant playboy or jock you know just how nerdy he can be. He's pretty well read, and while he mostly flips through magazines, you've seen him with a few novels in hand around his place. He's even gone to the library with you on occasion. The first time you saw him with an actual book, he smiled. "People really shouldn't let someone's looks fool them."

---

Spice

Dante definitely has a thing for short girls. He's 6'3". That's a whole inch taller than Ghost from COD. If you're any shorter than his chin, he'll definitely tease you about it. But it also means you get to use him as a ladder to reach stuff. He doesn't really complain, especially when your thighs are squeezing his head as you dust the top of the shelves.

---

He loves making you squirm and writhe for him in bed. To him, it's all about you. He sometimes actually forgets that he can have pleasure as well, but you're good about reminding him.😏

---

He's definitely one to mark you on purpose. Hickeys or bites on your neck, chest, and thighs are his preferred spots, but he has left some on your back and abdomen in the past.

---

He prefers the missionary position because he can see your reactions easier, and he loves it when you wrap yourself around him. Nails digging into his back and teeth in his shoulder as you move your hips with his.

---

One time, you stole his coat while he was taking a nap at his desk and put it on over a brand new pair of lingerie. You found red with black lace that matched his coat and immediately bought it. After letting him sleep a while longer, you woke him wrapping your arms around his neck from behind his chair. He almost immediately looked to the coat rack behind him and realized it wasn't there. "Is my coat in the wash?"

"No..." he spots the red sleeves on your arms as you run your hands over his chest. "Hey! Wha'cha wearing my coat for?" You stand, and he spins the chair to face you. It's wrapped around you, so he can't see what's underneath. Moving between his spread legs, you let it fall open. His jaw practically hit the floor at the sight of you. "Holy...Wow! You look gorgeous in my colors, baby!"

It's safe to say he enjoyed getting you out of that lingerie just as much.😏