#► you should send me more of these (answered ask)

[tender-rosiey]

king teatime — ryomen sukuna x f!reader

a/n: sukuna forced into playtime with daughter LETS GO

your daughter, a bundle of energy and enthusiasm, is setting up her tea party on the coffee table, her tiny hands arranging an assortment of plastic cups and saucers with meticulousness.

from where you’re seated nearby, you watch the scene unfold with a mix of amusement and affection.

your daughter babbles on, her high-pitched voice bubbling with excitement as she fills the cups with imaginary tea and hands them out with exaggerated ceremony.

sukuna, while visibly disinterested, maintains his position with a begrudging tolerance. his gaze flickers occasionally towards you, perhaps a threat that you roped him into this.

you chuckle and shrug your shoulders, “papa duties, my dear husband.”

he is about to retort, but your daughter interrupts him.

“papa, you have to drink your tea!” your daughter insists, her big eyes shining with earnestness as she thrusts a cup towards him.

sukuna raises an eyebrow, glancing down at the flimsy plastic cup with a look of mild distaste. “right. and what exactly is this supposed to be?”

“it’s tea!” she replies, her voice tinged with a note of exasperation, as if the answer should be obvious. “you have to pretend it’s delicious.”

sukuna’s eyes twitch at the command, but he swallows his protests for the time being. he takes the cup with a practiced air of detachment, bringing it to his lips and pretending to sip.

his gaze shifts to you, catching your eye with a hint of reluctant amusement. you offer him a playful wink in return, enjoying his silent struggle.

“is it good?” your daughter asks, her voice filled with hopeful anticipation.

“splendid,” sukuna replies deadpan, placing the cup back on the table with a precise motion.

she seems to take his words at face value, her face lighting up with a proud smile. “I’m glad! here, have some more!”

as she continues her animated chatter, sukuna’s attention wanders back to you. his eyes hold a crap ton of exasperation. you suppress a laugh. sukuna sends you a little look, and you instantly go quiet.

“brat, can’t you let uraume play instead of me?” sukuna mutters under his breath.

your daughter’s head whips around, her face instantly clouding with indignation. “no! uraume is not my papa! you’re my papa, and I wanna play with you! not anyone else!”

sukuna’s expression remains unchanged, but you can see the faintest twitch at the corner of his mouth. his eyes meet yours again, and this time, there’s a hint of reluctant acceptance in his gaze.

he doesn’t say anything.

you grin, thoroughly entertained by the interaction. “looks like you’re stuck with tea time, honey,” you tease lightly, your tone affectionate.

he narrows his eyes slightly, “I see that.”

your daughter, undeterred, continues to pour imaginary tea, occasionally placing a cup in front of sukuna with a flourish.

“more tea, papa!” she demands with a commanding tone that leaves no room for argument.

sukuna accepts the cup with a resigned sigh, lifting it to his lips and pretending to sip again. “how can I refuse such a generous offer?” his voice is dry, but nonetheless, he indulges her, even if in the tiniest bits.

your daughter beams, and she clicks her cup against his before drinking her tea—very dramatically. your husband places the cup on the table, seemingly have had enough.

your daughter looks at you proudly and declares, “papa has become very good at teatime!”

“right?” you agree, “as expected of the king of curses.”

“do not mock me,” he grumbles, standing up and dusting his clothes. he folds his four arms against his chest. he looks down at your daughter, “that is enough.”

she pouts for a second before smiling mischievously, “papa, how about you wear a skirt?”

“how about I chase you and eat you for dinner today?”

your daughter shrieks and runs out of the room, laughing. she got used to her dad’s empty threats—much like you did—but he still is pretty scary.

you watch her dash out the room before bursting into laughter, “that—” you wheeze, “that was the best entertainment of my entire life, oh god!”

a large shadow looms over your figure, and you cover your mouth. small giggles escape your lips, as you lock eyes with your husband. a scowl is ever-present on his face, and he continues observing you.

he cocks an eyebrow, “looks like you’re having fun?”

you purse your lips and rapidly shake your head. he lets out a breath, obviously unconvinced, “I have been too lenient with you two.”

“we love you too, honey!”

he clicks his tongue in annoyance, but the hand that ruffles your hair speaks a whole different story.

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[pathologicalreid]

extraordinary measures | s.r.

in which your life hangs in the balance after a brutal attack, and Spencer has to hold himself together for the sake of you and your baby

who? spencer reid x fem!reader category: angst content warnings: fetal abduction, potentially inaccurate medical information, entirely from spencer's pov, very violent crime, mom!reader, hospitals, medication, spencer lashes out at jj, rossi's son. word count: 4.41k a/n: the people said dad!spencer angst and i delivered. also! trying something new with formatting my posts. i pay for canva pro and need to get my money's worth.

The hospital staff had moved them into a conference room, giving the BAU more space to spread out – and so Spencer’s pacing wouldn’t disturb the other people in the waiting room. This isn’t real. This isn’t happening. This isn’t real. This isn’t happening. Not to us. Not to me. Not to her.

The statistics on fetal abduction were alarming. Before today, there had only been thirteen cases since Spencer had joined the BAU. Today alone, there had been two.

“Excuse me,” an unfamiliar voice said, followed by two knocks on the door, “I’m so sorry, but have you had the chance to fill out some of the forms that we gave you?”

Answering for him, Penelope grabbed the clipboard off of the table and passed it to the nurse, “The insurance card is on the top,” she informed the nurse. Nervously, the blonde looked between the medical professional and Spencer, “Is there any update?”

The nurse cringed slightly, “I don’t have one. I’ll see if they can send someone to talk to you.” She nodded assuredly before peeling out of the room.

“Can I get you anything?” Garcia asked helplessly. He had already been given tea, water, coffee, and a sandwich, but he didn’t want any of it.

Shaking his head numbly, Spencer dragged his hands down his face as he replayed the events of this morning in his head.

He wasn’t even supposed to be working, you were due any day now, but Emily had called him with the case and gave him the choice of working. He was supposed to go with you to the check-up, but you had encouraged him to go save a life.

The woman who had been found this morning had her abdomen crudely cut open and her baby was born via a botched cesarean section, but her baby was too premature and didn’t make it. They were both found in an alley near the hospital by a garbage man. Then, while he and Luke were at the medical examiner’s office, his phone started to ring.

You had been discovered, bleeding out, outside of your obstetrician’s office, and if you hadn’t been so close to a building full of doctors, you probably wouldn’t have made it as far as surgery right now. The fact that you had been brought to surgery should have been enough to give him hope, but he hasn’t been raised to be hopeful, he was raised to be pragmatic. The reality of the situation was that in cases of fetal abduction, the mothers rarely made it out the other side.

He was left with Garcia to keep him company, she stayed as a watchdog, mainly looking through traffic footage on her laptop as she made sure Spencer didn’t go entirely off the rails. “You’re going to burn a hole in the floor,” she said offhandedly, begging Spencer to just sit down for a moment.

With a huff, he took a seat next to Penelope, leaning his head back on the taupe drywall, “I don’t know what to do,” he confessed.

“We’re going to wait, we are not going to catastrophize, and we will listen to any and all updates that the doctors give us,” she said determinedly, nodding her head as she did so. “We only know what we know and assuming the worst will just lead to feeling worse.”

Closing his eyes, he agreed, listening to the bustle of the hospital from inside the secluded, makeshift waiting space. He wished he knew more about your status when you came in, there were the crime scene photos – which Penelope was under strict orders not to show him – and a quick mention from a resident about blood loss, but nothing else.

“Dr. Reid?” A new voice said, snapping him out of his stupor as he rose to his feet, staring at the doctor who came in with his scrub cap on, “I’m afraid there isn’t much news. Things are still touch and go. They’re hopeful that they can get the bleeding under control, once they do that, we’ll know more. I’ll come out and let you know, alright?”

With the doctor leaving, Garcia reopened her laptop, “You see? We can’t assume the worst because we just don’t know enough yet.”

“Garcia,” he interrupted, hopeful for just a moment of silence to digest the new information – if you could even call it that.

Nodding succinctly, she returned to her work, “Right, okay.”

With the arrival of JJ, Penelope left to check in at the office, and since a profiler was bound to know more information, he asked JJ for an update. His baby had to be almost three hours old now, and he knew nothing about them.

He was left disappointed, there was no information on the UnSub or the baby, “What’s the point of it anyway?”

“Everyone is working on it, Spence. No one is going to rest until this case is closed,” JJ tried to reassure him.

Spencer wasn’t sure he was ever truly going to rest again, “Where is someone supposed to go with a newborn baby? The umbilical cord has to be still attached.” Statistically, women were more likely to commit cesarean abductions, and they usually did so after the loss of their own child or because they told someone they were pregnant and needed to produce a baby. “No one can tell me anything about my child, JJ, don’t you understand that? Can’t you try to understand how that feels?”

Bracing herself, JJ nodded, “You’re angry, I get it, you-“

“No, you don’t. My wife is bleeding out in surgery, and I have no fucking clue where our baby is. I have never met them. I don’t know if I have a son or a daughter or if they’re alive and you have the nerve to tell me that you ‘get it’?” He peered over at the blonde profiler. You should’ve been the first person to hold your baby, and instead, you might never live to find out what happened to you.

She was silent for a moment, “You’re right. I- I can’t even begin to process what you’re feeling right now, but all we can do is keep working on the case.”

Dropping his head in his hands, Spencer shook his head, “Then go work on the case,” he insisted, “I don’t… I need to be alone right now.”

Just as the four-hour mark approached, the glass door opened again, and David Rossi walked in.

“Are you here to lecture me?” Spencer asked, his voice raspy from crying in the solitude of the room, he wondered if JJ had told everyone how he lashed out at her.

Crossing one leg over the other, Rossi answered, “Nope,” he said, popping the last syllable. “I’m just here to sit and wait, same as you, kid.”

Nodding, Spencer leaned his head back and closed his eyes as a protection against the fluorescent lights of the hospital, “How did you manage?”

There were some things – life events – that were left unspoken in the BAU. Traumas that people didn’t want uncovered, horrors that the team didn’t need to relive, but Spencer needed answers, and this was the only way he could think to get them. “Manage what?”

“Losing your son,” he answered, crossing his arms in front of his chest as he kept his eyes closed, wondering if he too would lose a child. Birth and death within the same day.

Clearing his throat, Rossi took a moment before responding, and Spencer wasn’t sure if he was appalled at the question or if he simply wasn’t sure how to respond, “Well, I’m not sure I ever really did. Not for a long time, at least,” he admitted.

Digesting the information, Spencer shifted in his seat, “I’m not sure what I’m supposed to do. Everyone just keeps telling me to wait, but…” he chuckled to himself, “Y/N always jokes that if patience is the companion of wisdom, then I have to be the exception.”

He had always been told to wait. Wait for his turn. Wait for the perfect person to show up. He had waited, and he had gotten you, but all of that waiting had led him here. In this beige room where he had signed papers asking doctors to use extraordinary measures to try and save your life.

“Dr. Reid?” One of the doctors from earlier called his name, knocking on the glass door. Instinctively, Spencer stood up, wiping his hands on his pants and looking at the doctor expectantly, “Oh, please,” the doctor said, “Take a seat.”

Hesitantly, Spencer lowered himself back down into the hospital chair, he couldn’t help but feel like that was a bad sign.

“All things considered, your wife is very, very lucky,” the doctor informed him, “She’s not fully out of the woods yet, but they’re setting her up in recovery right now. I’m just waiting on a message from my colleague, and then I’ll be able to bring you up to see her.”

A flurry of questions flew through his mind at once, “What are you still concerned about?” He asked, leaning over and resting his elbows on his knees.

Nodding, the doctor continued, “Y/N lost a lot of blood in the attack. When you factor in the trauma of having a baby and a four-hour surgery, there’s a lot of healing that has to happen, and right now she doesn’t have the strength for it.” His phone chimed, and Spencer jolted, trying not to get his hopes up if it wasn’t about you, “Come with me,” the doctor said.

Rossi offered to let the rest of the team know and Spencer rambled off a random confirmation as he followed the doctor through the doorway, feeling like he was floating. As they walked through the hospital, Spencer grew more and more anxious.

Your hand was cold. In fact, your hand was so cold that Spencer asked the doctor to turn the volume on your vital monitor up so that he could have the constant reassurance that you were alive.

Blood was being transfused still, he had already forgotten the doctor’s estimate on just how much blood you had lost, but if he had the urge to read through your medical chart, he was sure he could find out. The only problem was, ever since the doctor left, he hadn’t been able to do anything except stare.

Every once in a while, he pinched your index finger, testing the capillary refill time out of his own morbid curiosity while blood was being returned to your body. Agents and officers stood outside of your hospital room in a steady rotation. The BAU wasn’t sure if your life was still in danger, but they weren’t willing to take any risks.

There were countless law enforcement personnel involved in this case now, if not directly investigating the case, they were at least contributing to the search. The Manassas Field Office, DC Metro, the Maryland Police – they were all out there looking. Out the window, he could see news reporters gathering out front to start their afternoon broadcasts.

It had been four hours. Four hours and there was still no word on the baby or the UnSub. The baby would need to eat soon, and Spencer found himself depending on the UnSub to have had the forethought to take care of the newborn.

Every couple of minutes, you would mumble something in your sleep, and he willed you to stay asleep. Selfishly, he wanted you to stay asleep until he knew the baby was safe – until he knew he could have something good to tell you.

Penelope was stationed right outside the door. She likely thought he hadn’t noticed her return, but the clicking of her keyboard gave her away.

Infrequently, his phone buzzed in his pocket, and he tried not to concern himself with it. Garcia had made contact with your mom, being sure to reach out to your family before any other news hit the airwaves.

He adjusted the way the nasal cannula rested on your face before bringing your hand to his mouth, pressing a gentle kiss to your knuckles and resting your cold fingers against his cheek, as if his face had the capacity to warm your whole body. Briefly, he wondered if the team would be willing to have a desk agent bring you a blanket from home.

The team would probably find a way to get him a helicopter if he requested it.

Flowers and cards flowed into your hospital room, arriving from people who knew you to people who had seen your story on the news. He had to look away when a small stuffed elephant was delivered by a nurse, knowing that the baby it belonged to was nowhere to be found.

Much to his surprise, he looked away from the stuffed animal just to find you looking back at him. The sorrow in your eyes a staggering reflection of that which could be found in his own. One glance at you and he knew that there was no need for him to break the news to you – you were well aware.

Spencer remained wholly silent as a slew of medical professionals filtered in and out of the room, a cacophony of directives and questions sent your way as tears filled your waterline. He captured your hand in both of his, holding your hand like it was a lifeline to everything he knew as the truth. He was here, you were here, and you were both alive. Tethered to you in the woven web of life, he refused to falter. Not now. Not when you needed him the most.

He answered the questions that you didn’t know the answers to and watched, tight-lipped, as your doctor kept you informed. Dr. Lasher was picking and choosing from your chart, telling you anything pertinent, and leaving out anything that she thought could wait for later.

Once the doctor had cleared through an extensive list of maladies, everyone let you have the room. “Darling,” he whispered, reaching a hand out to adjust the way your hospital gown rested on your shoulder, covering some of the exposed wires.

“There are no leads?” You asked tentatively, the pain in your voice exacerbated by the swelling caused by the breathing tube you’d had during surgery. Your eyes were glassy, and Spencer didn’t know if it was from sorrow or pain or fear. It was a question he was afraid to ask.

He shook his head, “Not yet, but everyone’s looking,” he fed you the same reassurances that had been given to him. The same reassurances that he hadn’t believed.

You moved your hands, laying your palms flat on the sterile white sheets and starting to push yourself up, only to be met with Spencer’s hands guiding you back down to the pillows. “I’ve gotta go,” you mumbled, “I wanna help. Spence, please let me help.” Fresh tears welled in your eyes as you looked at him in desperation.

The way your bottom lip quivered was what broke him, he tilted his head to the side, “You can help just fine from right here, okay?” He looked out into the hallway, wondering which member of the team was around for you to talk to. “I’ll be right back,” he told you, squeezing your hand before retreating to the hallway, never letting you out of his line of sight.

“Hey,” Penelope greeted, the compassion in her voice giving him pause, “How is she?”

Exhausted, terrified, in pain – all applicable at the moment. Spencer thought about answering for a moment before skipping Garcia’s question entirely, “Who’s around for a cognitive?”

You didn’t quite have the energy for a full interview, but you were so adamant about helping that he couldn’t refuse you, not today. “JJ’s one floor up, do you want me to call her for you?”

He thought about it for a moment, he hadn’t handled his last interaction with JJ with the most care, but you needed someone to talk to and it couldn’t be him. “Yeah,” he nodded, “Please.”

Spencer sat on the edge of your bed, smoothing your hair as he tried to comfort you. In all of the time he’d known you, he’d never need you so defeated.

Not much came out during your cognitive with JJ, either there was a mental block in the way or you hadn’t seen much when you were attacked. Whichever one it was, Spencer was fighting himself internally on whether or not he should be thankful.

“I’m so sorry,” Spencer murmured, keeping his voice low as you fought off sleep. “Close your eyes, sweetheart,” he cooed, “You need to rest.”

You fought sleep with everything you had in you, which wasn’t much anymore. The cognitive interview had gone too long. Your nurse was the one who put her foot down and ended it, even when you wanted to keep going. “It’s not fair,” you cried, slow tears making their way down your cheeks.

Very slowly, Spencer could feel his heart breaking as your exhaustion and desolation worked together to make you as miserable as possible, “I know, lovey. I know,” he assured you as tears filled his eyes.

Glassy eyes looked up at him, “I just wanted to be a mom,” you whispered, your speech slurred with sleep.

Letting his own tears fall to the white sheets of your hospital bed, Spencer nodded, “You are a mom.”

He didn’t add anything. He didn’t have it in him to make a grandiose speech about how you would always be your baby’s mother, and, luckily, he didn’t need to. Your eyes finally fell shut, final tears falling from your face as Spencer found himself grateful that sleep finally took you.

Never leaving your side, Spencer pulled the chair back up next to you, resting his chin on your bed's armrest and watching you sleep. Very slowly, color was beginning to return to your face, yet you still looked so different from when he had left the house that morning.

Unsure how long it had been, Spencer shot up straight when Penelope came rushing to the doorway, placing a finger to his lips, he nodded toward your sleeping form. Even so, the technical analyst waved him over.

Carefully, he slipped his hand out of yours and walked around your bed to Penelope, “What is it?”

Tears filled the blonde’s eyes as she looked up at him, she put both of her hands on his upper arms and cried, “They found your baby. It- they’re pulling up to the ambulance bay right now.”

Spencer’s lips parted in shock, having fully prepared himself for the day to end in undeniable heartbreak. “Are- is the baby okay?”

Penelope nodded, “They’re going up to the NICU right now to get checked out but apparently the EMTs said the baby looks completely unharmed.”

Turning to look at you, still asleep on the bed, Spencer gave Penelope a quick embrace before returning to your bedside, “Sweetheart,” he whispered, trying to wake you up from sleep that you still needed. “Honey,” he said, gently cupping your cheek with his hands as your eyes fluttered open.

You hummed groggily, squinting up at him under the fluorescence of the hospital.

“The baby’s here,” he murmured to you, making sure you didn’t jump up at his words. “They’re headed up to the NICU for a quick check, and-“

“Go,” you cut him off, your eyes wide and full of tears. “Please go hold them, Spence,” you cried, voice rough with sleep.

His shoulders slouched forward slightly, looking between you and Penelope in the doorway, “I’ll stay here,” Penelope offered immediately. “You go, I’ll stay.”

You nodded up at him, closing your eyes as he bent forward to press a kiss to your hairline. “I love you,” you breathed, placing a hand on your chest as if it would slow your racing heart.

“I love you too,” he responded before stepping out of the hospital room, following the directions that Penelope had given him in order to get up to the NICU.

Adrenaline made his stomach churn as he approached the NICU, wondering what he’d say to the people there until someone recognized him as The Dad. He still had to scrub his hands, but they let him through until he saw the bassinet. Even more, he saw the tiny baby kicking its legs inside of the acrylic container.

Emily stood by on high alert, ready to pounce on anyone who even looked at the baby funny, and Spencer just couldn’t stop staring. “Come here,” one of the NICU nurses said to him, obviously having been brought up to speed on the situation. With a smile on her face, she told him, “It’s a girl.”

“A girl,” he breathed, walking right up to the side of the bassinet.

The nurse nodded and adjusted the hat on her head, just slightly too big for the newborn’s head, “If you want, we can get you set up in a chair here, and you can give her a bottle.”

“Please,” he responded, earning another smile from the nurse, who had him take the crying baby in his arms before handing him the prepared bottle.

It broke his heart to watch how quickly she took to the bottle; he still wasn’t sure if she had eaten anything until this. He knew the nipple wouldn’t let her take in too much at a time, but in his subconscious, he was still worried about it being too much for her.

He rocked gently, “Hi, honey,” he cooed down at her.

“She’s a good eater,” the nurse observes, writing something down on a piece of paper. “We’ll keep an eye on her for just a little while, but we know how badly she needs to get down to her mama.”

Setting the now empty bottle down, Spencer looked up at the nurse, “Is she okay?”

The nurse nodded at his concern, “She’s on the small size, but she’s full term. Of course, not everything is going to be noticeable right away, but we did a full newborn exam on her and all of the tests say she’s a perfectly healthy baby.” She looked on as Spencer gently cupped the baby’s head, “Does she have a name?”

You and Spencer had made a deal, he would pick a boy’s name, and you would pick a girl’s name. Smiling softly, he murmured her name to her for the first time, “Genevieve,” he answered. A big name for such a small baby, maybe, but it was the name you had chosen.

He started making his way back down to you, feeling like he was floating through the taupe hallways of the hospital before he finally made it back to your room. Penelope excused herself when he emerged in the hallway.

“Spence,” you whispered, looking up at him with hope in your eyes for the first time since you had woken up after surgery.

Smiling at you, he sat on the edge of your bed, “Five pounds and fifteen ounces. Seventeen and a half inches long. Perfectly healthy.” He glanced behind him as he heard the wheels of the bassinet coming toward your room, turning back to watch your reaction as you saw your baby for the first time.

He was glad for his eidetic memory, he’d never want to forget the way your face lit up with recognition, “Oh, a girl.”

With the baby settled on your chest, there was nothing better for the two of you to do than watch her sleep. Every once in a while, she’d coo or squawk and immediately capture your every attention all over again. “How are you feeling?” Spencer asked you. The blood transfusions had been completed, leaving you on a course of broad-spectrum antibiotics, fluids, and lots of pain medication – two of which prevented you from breastfeeding. Although, because of her size and traumatic birth, the NICU doctor suggested that some formula would help her grow properly.

You hummed contentedly, “Tired. I hurt just about everywhere,” you admitted, not taking your eyes off of your newborn. “I’m so… just grateful,” you whispered, “Is that odd?”

“No,” he shook his head, “I know exactly what you mean.” For as terrible and horrifying as the entire ordeal was, it could’ve been much worse. He almost lost both of his girls in one day.

“Does the team want to meet her?” You asked, worried about entertaining guests with the baby.

Spencer chuckled softly, keeping his index finger pointed within Genevieve’s reach, testing her palmar reflex, “I’m sure they do, but we’ll wait and see how you feel tomorrow and revisit. Okay?”

Your head bobbed in confirmation, watching as your daughter very slowly woke up, “Hi, Vie,” you greeted her quietly, gently rubbing her back with your fingertips. You didn’t have the strength to fully hold her, but she was more than happy to just lay on you, “Sweet, sleepy girl.”

“Do you want me to take her, and you can get some sleep?” Spencer offered, noticing the way you were trying to hide a yawn from him. “We aren’t going anywhere, we’ll stay right here in this chair,” he reassured you based on the apprehensive look you were giving him.

Slowly, you nodded, helping as best you could and pouting in sympathy when Genevieve – Vie – cried out at the sensation of being moved from her warm spot on her mother’s chest to the warm spot in her father’s arms. Thankfully, the newborn calmed down just as soon as Spencer settled her in his arms, “Don’t go,” you whispered, letting your eyes fall shut as you allowed sleep to wash over you.

He hummed, “We won’t,” he muttered in response.

Sleep took you with little resistance, leaving him with Genevieve in the silence of the hospital room – save for all of the machines that you were still hooked up to.

She wouldn’t be up for much longer herself – newborns spent most of their day sleeping – so Spencer took his opportunity to watch her eyes wander around the hospital room. “You can go back to sleep too, little love. I’ll watch over the both of you,” he spoke to her in a reverent tone and adjusted the hat on her head.  “I’ll keep you safe, Vie. No harm will come to you, not as long as I’m your dad.”

[lena-in-a-red-dress]

Musician Age Gap AU Pt 10

Kara sets her phone on do not disturb the instant the first unrecognized number flashes across the screen. Keeping hold of Lena's hand, she sits them both on the edge of the bed as she dials the only other person she wants to talk to.

"Kara!" Alex exclaims. Her voice then dims as she turns to call the others. "It's Kara!"

"Hey," Kara says, keeping her voice steady. "You're on speaker. I've got Lena with me."

Lena leans closer to the phone, resting against Kara's side in the process.

"Hi."

"Hi, Lena." As Kara expects, it takes more than a global superstar to faze her sister. "Are you two okay?"

Kara nods. "Yeah. We're okay."

"We're more concerned about you guys." Lena glances at Kara. "I'm worried your family might be pulled into this."

It will only be a matter of time before internet sleuths find Kara's old social media, and for her identity to be shared with the entire world. But where Kara had consented to her relationship with Lena, her sister's family hadn't agreed to be drawn into it along with her.

"We'll be okay," Kelly chimes in.

Lena shakes her head. "Let us send a car. We can get you to a hotel until we see how far they'll dig."

"Oh, I don't think that's necessary..."

"But what if it is?" Lena asks softly.

What about Esme, goes unsaid. A long beat of silence passes, and Kara imagines Kelly looking to Alex for guidance, and Alex's own indecision.

"Lena's team has more experience and greater resources to handle this sort of thing," Kara adds. "They can book you guys under fake names, assign security--"

"Security?" Kelly interrupts, her voice laced with fear. "You don't think..."

"We don't know anything at this point," Lena rushes in, doing her best to allay the immediate worry without downplaying the risk. "But I don't think we should assume the best, either."

Alex is the next to speak. To Kara's surprise, her sister doesn't speak to her.

"Lena."

Kara glances at the woman beside her. Lena's features are as somber as Alex's voice sounds, but her brow is creased with thought.

"How bad can this get?"

Lena takes a deep breath.

"I can't say for sure."

While it's not a firm answer, Kara knows Lena isn't sugarcoating anything-- it's just too soon and too volatile to anticipate an outcome with any kind of certainty.

"You've had high profile relationships before," Alex counters.

"Yes," Lena concedes. She takes a breath, shoulders sagging as though in defeat. "But this is different."

Alex makes the connection before Kara does.

"Because you're women."

A jolt travels down Kara's spine. She shoots a glance towards Lena, who looks at her helplessly.

"Yes," Lena confirms. "I've been in relationships with women before, but not publicly."

"Do you intend to hide this one too?"

Lena glances at Kara, cheeks flushing with guilt.

"That decision hasn't been made." That the option is even on the table sends a frission of displeasure through Kara, but Lena's tone-- while conciliatory-- is pragmatic. "But even the implication could make a lot of waves. And if people get angry, and they can't get to us..."

"They'll go after us," Alex finishes for her.

Lena nods, her features mournful. "It's a possibility. Online, in the media, or even picketing..."

Kara knows Alex's decision before she says it.

"Okay." Then, "just until we know more."

"Of course."

Alex sighs over the line. "Any other recommendations?"

"I would limit screen time; things might get... nasty. And the less you see, the less you might be tempted to join the fray."

Kara's thoughts turn to Esme, and as though reading her mind, Lena continues.

"Alex... Kelly... I know you don't know me. But-- I want to protect you and your family as much as I can in this. I wasn't much younger than Esme when all this started for me, and-- I don't want to make this any harder for her than it has to be."

Kara gives Lena's hand a squeeze, prompting Lena to lean a little more of her weight against her shoulder in return.

"Thank you, Lena," Kelly says, voice soft. "We appreciate your guidance on this."

Kara leans forward intently, bringing the phone a little closer.

"Lena's team will coordinate everything," she offers, "and I'll be in touch with more details as soon as I have them. We'll take each day as it comes, and adjust however we need to."

"Kara can send you my number," Lena agrees. "If any of you need anything, at any time, please call me."

"We will," Kelly promises.

Alex sighs. "We should go tell Esme."

Kara bites her lip. "She's seen?"

"Who do you think showed us?"

Shit. Kara's teeth grind in frustration. "Is she upset?"

"Nah. Not really. I think maybe a little hurt that she found out with the rest of the world, but mostly thrilled?" Alex sighs. "I don't know. Teenagers are hard."

That makes Kara chuckle. She wipes a tired hand over her face. Barely an hour had passed since she woke up, but it feels like a lifetime. "Yeah."

"We'll let you two go. Stay safe."

"You too," Kara returns. "We'll be in touch."

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Bad Guy 1

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, age gap, power dynamics, cheating, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: The men your mother brings home rarely stick around, but her latest catch can't seem to unhook himself from your life.

Characters: Destroyer!Chris

Note: I'm going to a physio today for the first time.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

The house is quiet as you come out of your room. The single floor is just enough room for you and your mom. You’ve never needed much else and all your life, you’ve made do with what you have. It’s just the way it is.

You stretch your arms and arch your spine as you stop in the doorway of the kitchen. You yawn. You fell asleep reading outdated discussions about your most recent syndicated obsession. You should know better by now, that thorn in your neck is only driving deeper. 

You bend at the elbows to rub your neck and drag your feet over the cold tile. Your nipple poke rigidly against your cropped tank top and goosebumps raze up your bare thighs. You open the fridge and pull out the bottle of orange juice, your panties riding up with your movement.  

Before you can stand straight, a sharp strikes snaps against your ass and radiates through your flesh. You yipe and grip the bottle by the neck as you jump and turn to face the culprit. The strange man stares back, his brows twitching. 

“Mm, you’re not Gail,” he mutters. 

“No, I’m not,” you press the juice to your chest, overly aware of your barely covered body.  

You don’t ask who he is. You stopped doing that in middle school. She’s another one of her ‘callers’. You don’t usually see them more than once, if at all. Most leave before you’re awake. 

“Was takin’ a piss, heard you skittering around, thought...” he trails off into a shrug. 

He’s shirtless too. He only wears a pair of briefs as he stands shameless before you. A dark tattoo covers half his chest and extends around his shoulder and down his arm. It’s the typical snake and skull aesthetic sported by men like him. 

“Nope,” you reach for the fridge door and step to the side as you close it.  

He doesn’t move. You go to dip around him and he moves with you. 

“Taking all that with you?” He points at the bottle. You look down and sigh. You push it towards him. “Here.” 

He puts his hand under it and you let go. You skirt around his other side and squeeze through the door behind him. You don’t look back as you flee to your room. You resist the urge to reach back and cover the bottom of your ass, not wanting to draw attention to it if he is watching. 

You shut your bedroom door and cringe. Great. You can’t really complain. Your mother hasn’t kicked you out. Yet. Not like half your friends’ parents. She just asks for half the rent and you can manage that. With the rent around here, you’d be on the street otherwise. 

You cross the room and flop on the bed. You pull out your phone and go back to scrolling the old discussion boards. It’s funny. The more recent posts are totally contrary to the ones when the show aired. You’re not sure who you agree with. 

You roll onto your back and drop your phone to the mattress. You have to work at noon. So much for a relaxing morning. You’ll just be hiding in your room until that man leaves. 

A knock jerks you up and you roll your eyes. You search the floor and pull on the wrinkly pajama bottoms. You go to the door and crack it open an inch. It’s him. 

“Uh, hi?” You utter dully. 

“Got you a glass,” he offers one of the cups in his hands. You squint at it then look him in the face. 

“Thanks?” You go to take it but he doesn’t let go as you wrap your fingers around the cold glass.  

“There a problem?” He asks. 

“Uh, no,” you scrunch your nose. “I said thanks.” 

“I don’t like your tone.” 

You let go of the glass and retract your hand. His eyes flick down and yours do too. The white tank does little for your modesty. You cross your arms. 

“Okay? Well, never mind,” you go to close the door and he steps forward, digging his elbow into the wood as he blocks you with his body. 

“Your mom said you’re a nice girl,” he looks you up and down again. “Coulda fooled me walking around like that.” 

You frown. It’s your house. Why should you worry about what you’re wearing? Besides, if you knew he was there, then you wouldn’t wander around in your panties. 

“Thanks for the orange juice but you should just give it to my mom. That’s why you’re here,” you shrug. 

He scoffs. “Got a smart mouth.” 

“No, I—I didn’t do anything.” 

“There you go again. Disrespectful.” 

“Huh?” You shake your head in confusion. 

“That way you talk. Low and flat, like you don’t give a fuck. Maybe you don’t. Would explain why you’re grown living in your mommy’s house,” he mockingly pouts. 

You blink, “you don’t know me.” 

“I know girls like you. Pretending like they don’t care. You care. We both know you do.” He moves a glass closer, “say thank you. Like you mean it.” 

“I don’t want it,” you insist. 

“Don’t want to waste it. Was it you or mommy who paid for the bottle?” He taunts. 

You grit your teeth. What is his problem? Why won’t he just leave you alone? 

You deflate. You really just want him to go. You look at the ceiling then back to him. He’s the kind of man you would avoid on the street. His blue eyes are as cold as ice and his hair is shaved, but a little longer on top, and he sports a goatee amid the short stubble on his jaw and cheeks. 

“Thank you,” you reach for the glass again. 

“Thank you, sir,” his voice grizzles as he corrects you. 

You steel yourself and your lips slant. You really just want him to tell him to fuck off but like you always do, you don’t say what you think. You keep it inside. Put on that face that keeps you safe. 

“Thank you, sir,” you repeat after him. 

“Now smile,” he demands. 

You flinch and look away. You take a breath. That’s you’re least favourite, when they tell you to smile. It happens often at your job and it always sours your day. 

You force a smile. 

“Come on, you can do better,” he snickers. 

Your cheeks tremble and your smile falls. You tuck your chin down. 

“Can you please just leave me alone?” You mumble. 

“Excuse me, girl? I can’t hear you.” 

“I said...” your throat locks up and your eyes singe. God! When you get angry, you don’t get bold, you just get teary. You hate it. “I said ‘thank you, sir’.” 

You grab the glass so abruptly that it sloshes over the side. You don’t stop, you just spin and throw your weight against the door. He lets it close and it slams. You spill most of the juice down your front. 

You hear the friction of his fingers dragging down the wood. It sends a chill through you. You slowly pull away and put the glass down, juice dripping down your arms and chest. 

He’ll be gone soon, just like the rest. 

💀

Your mom’s still asleep when you leave for work. As you sneak out of your room, you listen for any sign of life.  If the man’s there, he doesn’t make himself known. You step into your shoes and leave through the front door without looking back. 

You head down the street with your earbuds in, a podcast about an old show you watched in high school droning on, as you take the shortcut behind the house at the end of the street. It’s almost four blocks to work but you save money on bus fare. You try to only waste the change after dark. 

The ice cream shop is never very busy outside of the post-soccer game crowds. You take your vigil behind the cold counter and bob along with the radio station’s Top 10 countdown. Miley leans in the corner by the till as she chews gum and scrolls through her phone. 

You’re fidgety to do the same, but you hate just letting your eyes glaze over. You pace a bit back and forth until her shift is up. When she’s gone, you feel a little less on edge. You always prefer being alone, you don’t have to worry about performing. 

Customers come and go. You greet them with the usual ‘how can I help?’ You’ve never been very good at the customer service part but you’re not rude. You just do your job, which it to scoop ice cream and toss some sprinkles around. 

You’re entitled to one cone a shift. You rarely have it. You don’t need the extra sugar or the brain freeze. That day, as you close up, the chocolate peanut butter entices you to go outside your routine. You put the lids on all the canisters except for that flavour and do yourself up a waffle cone before you lock up. 

You lick the softening cream and turn to face the dark plaza, lit only by the overhead marquee. There’s a car idling just by the curb. You ignore it. A few neighbouring businesses close up around the same time. 

The engine revs, and it jolts forward. The horn nearly has you throwing your cone. You fall back into step and keep walking. The Trans Am continues to follow you and honks again. The window rolls down as someone whistles. Only your name stops you. 

You turn and bend to see through the window. What the heck? It’s him. The man that invaded your house and threatened you over orange juice. 

You exhale through your nose and stand up. You turn down the pavement and keep going. The bus will be there any moment. 

“Hey,” he barks, “get back here.” 

You keep going. Why is he there? Because of the orange juice? 

The car door opens and closes. You speed up as you hear him following you. 

“Your mom sent me to pick you up,” he says. 

You snort, “sure she did.” 

“Really,” he says as his footsteps echo yours. 

“She doesn’t even know when I work,” you keep going and he catches your arm, yanking you back. 

You spin to face him and yelp. Your scoop shifts precariously in the cone. You try to pull away but not too hard as you selfishly want to keep your treat intact. 

“Alright. I offered. I heard you leave. Figured you could use a lift.” He squeezes and you whimper. “I can be a nice guy.” 

Can be. 

You wince and flutter your lashes, “can you let me go... please?” 

He opens his fingers sharply and lifts his hand, showing his palm. “Since you said please...” 

You look over your shoulder then back at him. Finally, you glance at your cone. You weigh your options. You’re not a quick runner. 

“I appreciate the ride but--” 

“I appreciate the ride, sir. Like I said, I can be nice, but respect is earned, girl.” 

You swallow tightly, cheeks pinching. 

“Sir, I appreciate the ride but I have money for the bus--” 

He clucks and points over your shoulder, “that bus?” 

You turn and watch the headlights blow by the stop. You flick your eyes to the sky and face him again. “Mmhmm.”” 

“So, is that a ‘thank you, sir’ on your lips?” He challenges. 

You slant your lips back and forth. You fight back a wave of hot frustration. You’re used to feeling powerless but he is suffocating. You nod. 

“Thank you, sir,” you choke out. 

“See, not that hard to be a good girl.” 

He waits until you move. You head back towards his car, and he gets in the driver side. As you claim the passenger seat, he huffs. He looks at you as you try not to acknowledge him. 

“Don’t like food in the car. Try not to get it all over,” he snarls. 

“I can--” 

“Just be careful,” he snips. 

Just be quiet, you tell yourself. You pull the seatbelt down and stare through the windshield. You lick around the cone as the cream threatens to melt onto your fingers. The car idles and you glance over. He watches your tongue as you lap up the trickle.  

You sit back as his eyes cling to your lips. He lifts his chin and turns straight. He grips the wheel and cranks the volume on the stereo. He speeds off and you struggle to keep from doing just what he warned you not to. You’d tell him to slow down but not only will he not listen, but the sooner you’re home, the better. 

[yuurei20]

Malleus Facts Part 66: Malleus and Riddle (pt1)

Riddle is Malleus’ interviewer for his second birthday. When asked who he would take with him to a deserted island, he answers that he would take Riddle himself.

Riddle realizes he is being teased and asks, “It wouldn’t actually matter who came with you would it?” and Malleus responds, “Should an occasion arise where we wind up adrift together, by all means rely upon me, Rosehearts.”

Malleus says that he would be housewarden of any dorm he joined and tailor the environment to his liking, and “that includes Heartslabyul, of course.”

Riddle says he would welcome the challenge of Malleus attempting to take the Heartslabyul housewarden position from him, as beheading Malleus would earn him great prestige. Malleus says it is bold of Riddle to assume he would win, “but it would hardly be entertaining otherwise.”

Malleus is Riddle’s judge for the Culinary Crucible. He compares Riddle’s misshapen cabbage rolls to “a parent and their tottering child,” an assessment that Riddle says “is as biting as it is accurate.”

Malleus says that while the dish is edible, as a meal prepared by the student with the highest marks in the 2nd year he had been prepare to be blown away by a masterful display of technique. “But the flavor and plating are both entirely pedestrian. Perhaps I expected too much.”

Riddle thanks him for his honest feedback.

Malleus gifts Riddle with tea leaves for his birthday that are popular with the fae. Riddle says it tastes like medicinal herbs, and must be very healthy.

Riddle’s birthday gift to Malleus is an ice cream dish with matching spoon, ordered from the same vendor that supplies Heartslabyul's tea party tableware.

Malleus is impressed by the dish, saying Riddle has excellent taste.

Malleys says he will look into acquiring more, as “fine tableware should serve to elevate (his) spirits somewhat,” and Riddle offers to provide him with a catalogue.

Riddle is openly unafraid of Malleus, stating so himself during Spectral Soiree when Rook asks if he is frightened.

This come into play during Phantom Bride when Malleus visits Riddle alone in the Heartslabyul rose garden, escaping Silver to do so.

Riddle’s immediate response is to tease him about sending a frost upon their roses (from a classic Thorn Fairy anecdote): “The poor roses are cowering in fear.”

(Malleus: “You can relax. That’s not why I’m here.”)

[cleo-writes]

ﾉﾉ Training with Percy Jackson xx

A/n: I swear I accidently started writing like it was a fic ... oh well

Warnings: none!

Enjoy!

He would looove training with you

Just getting to help his friend

(His friend that he so dearly loves)

Percy is head over heels in love with you

But that's not the topic right now.

He's just gonna help you train bc the dummy's are literally just loose hay in a potatoe sack

And you need a moving target to get any real practice in

He'd love it, though

Him teaching you what stance you should be in, gently guiding you with hands on your waist

It make him so flustered on the inside

Of course, he'd be asking if you were okay with this

Constantly.

He puts a hand on your waist

...

Just to get you in the best fighting position for upclose combat, of course

He would say something along the lines of:

"Is this ok? You're sure?"

( Consent is key guys )

( our man gets it )

He's also kinda scared to hurt you :(

He goes pretty easy on you at first

Stiff movements, slow reaction times, etc.

He's just so so afraid

He can't hurt you!! He'd be blaming himself for an eternity!!

But once you guys warm up to it, he's not as restrained

There's a little more flow in his movements, feeling like this is a real fight

He's still careful with you

But he's having a little more fun once he loosens up, and he's smiling

At some point during your training, you end up on top of him,

straddling his lap with the flat of your dagger/sword pressed against his throat

You could practically feel the heat from his cheeks, the cold from your blade heating as soon as it laid against his neck

Both of you panting, breaths dancing together while you held his gaze

He didn't mind that you had beat him,

He would've let you kick his ass a million times just to end up like this

He was so flustered.

It was like he couldn't move, or see

Like all of his sense had gotten distracted,

Focusing on you

This boy is so in love with you

Percy wouldn't have it any other way

Gods, you looked so hot above him

Although you were sweating, out of breath, tired

He didn't care.

It was all so lovely until you got up and demanded another round.

He would be ready this time

(Percy purposely ends up in the position again)

He definitely teases you.

Smug smirks,

the little 'come and get me' gesture with his hand,

Obnoxious comments on how your stance is messed up,

(It's not)

The boy just loves getting in your head.

He says it's just a part of the training

Obviously, monsters are gonna tease and pick at you by saying how you look so pretty today

That's definitely how they're gonna distract you so they can attack

Definitely.

...

Anyways by the end of it, you send a full wave of anxiety through him by saying with a smirk:

"Next time, I'm getting someone else to train with me."

His answer was ..

...

Well, unusual for him

"... did I do something wrong..?" He asks in a quiet voice

Ngl you kinda expected him to say something snarky

Either scoffing and rolling his eyes with a comment

Or overdramatic begging and pleading for your next training session to be with him again.

But he was all out of it after you straddled him like that.

.

It took a while of convincing and soft talking on your end for him to really believe he didn't do something wrong.

Guess what yall I have a mini taglist now. :)

@thementallyillapollochild @daonedaonlyskh

If you want to be added or removed pls let me know<33

[princelylove]

Creep yanderes that just won't. stop. messaging you.

They just don't let up. Message after message after message of utter nonsense- it used to make sense. In the beginning, it was just double texting. Texts asking what you're doing, if you want to play a game with them, when's the next time you two can do something together, hey look an instagram reel or tiktok about some running joke you have together, or a funny tweet.

When you keep rejecting them, maybe even non intentionally, they start to get more passive aggressive. Why don't you ever want to talk to them anymore? Why are you acting this way? Did they do something, are you mad at them?

It's kind of insane how the same person can send a bunch of heart emojis and a "I fucking hate you you're a stupid whore" message in the same day. It's pure delusion. Your lack of a response allows them to project whatever thoughts they want to- if they're insecure, you obviously hate them and they're not enough and you should just block them already. If they tend to project, you're such a dumb whore that can't get somebody's dick out of your mouth for five seconds to answer them. It depends on the individual.

This concept reminds me of Pesci, Pesci, Pesci. He's worse than Ghiaccio. At least Ghiaccio has a sense of pride and boundaries- Pesci is about thiiis close from snapping on the daily and flat out killing his darling in a moment of passion.

He gets insecure fast. Well, "getting" insecure suggests that he was ever secure. Pesci is constantly comparing himself to the people he's closest to- Prosciutto, mainly. He misses the point of Prosciutto's philosophy entirely because he's fixated on what Prosciutto is to him instead of what he actually is.

Pesci is very pathetic. No matter what he does, he'll never be Prosciutto. He's just not the same kind of man. Not the type man to not fret about getting a text back, not the type of man to love his own reflection and check himself out every time he passes something shiny, not the type of man to just do what he wants and worry about consequences later, or never.

He's not really a texter- he's more of a an 'in your face, exhibiting worrying behaviors' type of nice guy. He psychs himself up to actually show up at your apartment but worries all the way up the stairs. Pesci is in a constant state of distress until he manages to shift his mindset. It's like a switch. A switch that's hard to break out of once he's in.

A mindset that doesn't mind breaking your front door, because mafiosi take what they want.

Not to mention someone like Hazamada. It's too obvious to be enjoyable, isn't it? He fantasizes about raping his classmate but he's too much of a pussy to do it, he gets into heated arguments about his favorite idols and anime in canon (if I'm remembering correctly, I don't pay attention to short 'men' often). He has the set up for this specific type of creep. It's a shame he's such a coward about it. And everything else.

Not on the phone, though. Or online in general. The beauty of going on anon, you can send whatever you want and never have to see the consequences for it. Not man enough to flat out tell you he's interested, not man enough to confront you about your "other" boyfriends, he's not even man enough to defend his own interests under his own name. None of his accounts have anything personal tied to it, he'll even use an alternate email to sign up.

He'll just keep buying burner phones to text you when he needs to get something off of his chest. Your outfit looked great today. He knows it's a uniform, but the way you wear it is adorable. He hates your friends. They're ditzy bimbos that are ruining you by association. Why don't you watch anything he likes? Your interests are trash, you should check out peak for once.

Josuke is a serial text spammer, but he doesn't quite fall into the 'nice guy' territory. He doesn't blame you for anything, but he does not respect your do not disturb, so it's yes and no.

It's debatable. Josuke doesn't say things that could be taken as insults, he'd never go for you personally when he's pissed off, but he's known to be a little passive aggressive in person. His texts are seemingly innocent enough- memes, tiktoks, asking what you're doing later, telling you he misses you, sending you something he thinks you'd like, picture of what he's doing, picture of something that was deep in his camera roll that he 'forgot' to send you a while ago. He hits your interrupt do not disturb button as a joke.

Heeey, it's super serious. It deserves to interrupt your whatever-you're-doing. Look, it's a fat baby animal. What are you doing, again? Why's your location off? You okay?

[thecuriousbeauty]

Edging- Harry Styles Blurb

Warnings: Oral(f receiving), fingering, pussy slapping and edging, of course.

Word count: 657

______________________________________

He was driving you crazy.

You should have known he was up to something when he flashed you a cocky smirk the minute that he got you alone, and tugged your tight little shorts down your thighs. You knew what those shorts did to him, and you had been teasing him in it, all day. 

But now, you regret it.

“Harry..”, you whine, trying to buck your hips to meet his mouth that’s hovering over you. He gets you close and pulls away just when you’re about to release. 

“What’s wrong baby? Can’t take it?”Harry asks, who had you spread open for him on the bed, his large hands holding your thighs apart, fingers digging into your skin as he devoured your pussy. He looked beautiful with his pink lips moist and dripping with your juices. His head was a mess of curls because you kept tugging on them and running your hands through them. You felt like you could cum with just the sight of him pleasuring you. 

That is, if he lets you.

“You shouldn’t have walked around in those tight little shorts around me all day, darling.”, Harry says, grinning at you with hungry eyes. He could keep going at this for a long time. He loved how you were a shaking, whimpering mess under his mercy. He loved that he could make you feel like that. 

“I-I’m sorry babe, p-please..”, you beg, trying to move your hips and Harry brings one hand down to your lower belly to keep you in place. “You look so hot like this.” 

Your cheeks were flushed, chest heaving up and down quickly, making your breasts bounce a little. “Now lay still and take what I give you. You’re my good girl, aren’t you?”

You nod fervently, hoping that he would let you cum at least this time as he brings his mouth down to your weeping hole again. “Fucking perfect pussy.”, he groans, nudging his nose against your mound, inhaling your sweet must. He brings his tongue down on your clit, making you moan and throw your head back against the pillows. Harry strokes his fingers over your swollen pussy lips before slipping them inside your hole. 

“Feels good, baby girl? Tell me how bad you wanna cum.” Harry curls his fingers inside you, stroking your g-spot and you let out a small scream from all the sensitivity. It might just have been minutes, but you feel like you’ve been here for hours. 

“P-Please, Harry, please..I-I need to cum..ah!” He works his fingers faster and laps his tongue over your sweet little bud, sending massive waves of pleasure crashing down on you. You could feel the fire-like sensation at the bottom of your stomach and you arch your back, lifting your bottom from the bed, moaning his name.

Harry pushes you down immediately, moving his face away and giving your pussy a sharp slap with his hand. This makes you scream, not with pain, but with the pleasure it leaves behind. 

“Told you to lay still, baby. Do that again and I’ll leave you right here with your tight little pussy aching all night.” He wouldn’t, but he likes how it makes your eyes widen and your lips jut out as you mumble apologies. “Sorry..sorry. I-ll be good, p-please I’m s-so close..”

You gasp as his fingers go back inside you and his mouth leaves vibrations on your clit as he speaks. “You know, I’m having so much fun watching you beg and scream..I don’t know if I wanna let you cum yet. I know you can take it for some more time, can’t you, pretty girl?” He kisses your inner thighs, pulling his fingers away just when you’re about to climax, again.You’re sure you’re about to cry.

 “Yes, you can.”, he answers for you, shushing your whines with a kiss as he brings his lips to your mouth. “Such a good girl for me.”

_______________________________________

Taglist:-@livypops12352568 @harrydeary, @harryswifee, @harrysbxtchh, @gracelovesethan, @kiwitsayedsugar, @angeldavis777

[r0semultiverse]

[ganondoodle]

okay, bc i have seen this argument alot now (and it also seems to be the view point of aonuma himself..) is that "zelda cant do everything link does bc whats the point then"

and i take personal offense on that bc its a stupid argument (in. my. very. personal. opinion.- not judging people for liking it. its a ME thing)

whats the point? its that its her. its still a different character, different in story, background, personality, but i WANT to play zelda and she can do everything link does, why does she have to be so restricted and be bend over backwards to find some new way to make her 'useful' when link gets to do basically everything no questions asked (the only thing thats hers is like .. sealing power and sacrificial maiden, which i find a little underwhelming to say the least), if theres no point to it why are there always modders that model swap link with someone else, and in that case it has even less impact bc its an artificial model swap with no changes to the story (which can and should still be different when its the vanilla game with a different protagonist... its still a different character), clearly theres joy in just the model being a different one- and that isnt even to mention the story possibilities, since, again, its stil a different character

if we ever (never ... i know who we are talking about here) get to play as ganondorf i want to him to be just as versatile and active as link is, if we got a point and click adventure game for him instead bc 'whats the point' id be disappointed too- you can find any sort of excuse/explanation for zelda to be singled out but the fact remains it tracks with how female characters are often treated, and that hits a very sore spot for me

i guess i am unfortunately one of those annoying people that want to see female characters be treated exactly the same as male characters, possibly bc i am myself afab but identify as agender and have a deeply personal dislike for anything 'traditional' feminine bc i cannot and never will be able to truly live as myself in real life, it influences all of my work, my work is as just as much as my opinion on this, very personal

and in line with my point about modding, i see theres joy in just beign able to play as her even if its like this, i get that, i also get it for the creative aspect (though that mechanic worries me even more for the future bc it really seems to be the path now that -freedom = good, linear anything = bad-) it is a different idea and its not like i cant see that value- im not trying be "right" either, just bc i have that opinion doesnt mean i need everyone to agree, its a very personal thing, if you like it good for you! not for me though, and i think both of that is equally valid

i just personally wish she was allowed to be just like link, fight just like him but be different bc its still her and not him in the end- to be physically/playstyle like jsut like him, but you know ... as her, i dont think shed stop being zelda if she could wield a sword just like him

i dont really know how to get my point/feelings across, i dont want to step too much into personal stuff nor spam people with something that ultimately doesnt interest me alot, im just saddened by it really

(EDIT: bc i forgot to add this on here again; this isnt as much of a problem as it might sound like here, just the main topic i wanted to talk about; why im so uninterested in it is MAINLY bc i dont trust them to write anything interesting/care about lore anymore after totk, im always on the more pessimistic side that thinks its most likely worse than id hope and i know even the past games arent perfect or super interestingly written, but now its much more just a general distrust, together with everything like the price ... im just much less hopeful and cant get excited until i see more of it, like im waiting for the game to get out and reveal that its just as much of a mess and money i regret spending- kind of fear)

[beanghostprincess]

Sorry I really didn’t mean I’m attacking you or your ship. I also don’t think it’s a red flag, most gay men I saw don’t really like shuggy either. I mean, probably the entire world prefers any other shanks ships? On almost every site, con or store there’s always tons of mishanks and Bennshanks and never shuggy. I get it’s also about dynamic and connection those two pairs have, like with the parallels to other ships the base for them is extremely strong. But the minimal shuggy does speak volumes. I genuinely wonder about this. Shuggy is unpopular and again while I do agree there’s strong connection between “rival ships” I don’t think that’s the only reason… and like…. Buggy is ugly, isn’t he? He doesn’t have cool style, doesn’t look cool, makes ugly faces all the time, also is a coward. I like him as comedy character and shanks brother though!

I understand where you're coming from when you say Shuggy is unpopular amongst some people (actually, before anyone says anything. It IS an extremely popular ship in Japan but I have seen A LOT of hatred towards it in this side of the fandom, so that's what I'm talking about when I say it's unpopular). I have talked about this before. And I have said a lot of times that the reason why is often because people only focus on looks and Buggy is not conventionally attractive for the fangirly twinkified sexualized gaze numerous sides of the fandom and the general audience seek. Like, I am not forcing people to ship them, but I have had people admitting the only reason they don't is because of the looks, and I personally believe that is a very (despite valid, of course) dull way of seeing ships. And respectfully, I don't care that other gay dudes or all the people in the world agree with you. It's not a red flag to not like Shuggy, what it is a red flag, though, is to come into people's inboxes to do what you're doing!

I know you don't mean to attack me or anybody who ships them but your tone does wonders showing otherwise. Your perception of shipping is just based on looks and the fact that you came here, to a blog that explicitly ships these characters and is fond of Buggy, talking shit about one of the characters' looks... Is just straight-up mean and not following the social etiquette this site should follow, which is "let people do whatever the fuck they want".

So with all due respect, what makes you think I won't find your questions offensive in any way? Because you keep talking bad about a character I like in my inbox for literally no reason. Do you expect me to admit that the ship is unpopular because Buggy is ugly and boring? Well, I do admit people view him as ugly and only a comedy relief, but I don't. Expecting others to find beautiful and interesting the same things you do is having a very close-minded vision that One Piece's plot itself is against.

By the way, you're showing that you clearly don't like Buggy in the slightest because you're only talking about the traits that you find negative about him. But of course, you like him as comedy relief. Of course, you like him as a character in Shanks' story and not as a character himself. Despite Buggy having lots of depth. Your perception of these characters seems, in my opinion, extremely empty and, as I said, only based on looks. And you're free of shipping whatever you want however you want! But please, please, don't do this anymore. This is just petty high school mean girl behavior. Even Regina George would word this in a more polite way.

So, as a little advice for you, let people ship whatever they want without questioning their favorite characters! I am sure you will live a more peaceful life!

[fredwkong]

Even though Mexican is winning can we please see Japanese or just see more Asian tfs?

Seems like someone decided to be a bossy boy. You'll have the chance to see Japanese even if it doesn't win, as long as you ask for it after I post the next segment.

As for Asian tfs, I'll do more when I feel inspired to. There will be more of every kind of tf I've written, I promise. If you like, you can message me some inspo pics and send me other polite messages like a good boy. But bad, bossy boys who try and rush me don't get to do that, do they? I have zero tolerance for bossiness from my boys.

You're finding it hard to think, aren't you? That's okay, maybe taking a whiff of your sweaty armpits will help? Wow, you're absolutely pouring sweat, and your muscles are looking really pumped. I love how smooth and perfect your skin is, and that sweat really makes it shine. Those white briefs you're wearing are looking really overstuffed. Maybe all your brains went in there? Yeah, you think with your dick now, just like a good Vietnamese hunk. All you need to worry about is keeping your hair and muscles perfect, and getting dicked down as often as possible. Now you're a good boy ;)

[starflungwaddledee]

[complicitgirlfrot]

Being spit roasted by two trans girls who keep talking about what a cute slut you are and how they’re going to fuck you hard enough from either end so they can frot in the middle

Kink rating game, send me any kink and I'll rate it with this scale:

Anti-kink | Soft limit | Neutral | Oh fuck | NEED

NEEDNEEDNEEDNEED

God i think i'd do anything for this to happen. One of those things that makes my heart race and head spin if i think about it for any more than a second.

Just.... the sweat pouring off them as they pound into me. The air getting muskier as time goes on. Getting teased for my moans muffled by the girl in my mouth. Their hands pulling me in opposite directions as they get more and more desperate. The stream of degrading praise as i take them so good. The intermittent pauses as they lean in to kiss each other over me. Being made to cum all over myself again and again. Feeling their hot thick girlcum fill me up and cover me. Shoveling as much of it as i can into my mouth. The gentle shower afterwards for cleanup followed by ice cream and a cuddle puddle in a golden hour sunbeam. The promise to meet up and do it all over again the following week....

Yeah i think i'm on board with this one

[bowsnbots]

Hey, Vigilante…. I'm sure you've noticed this yourself, being as… well, vigilant as you are, but Omino's got an alter-ego. Sometimes he changes up his appearance a little and calls himself 'Man.' Definitely the same exact guy, though

—Furiously taking notes. Like... furiously. Smoke coming off the notepad and everything. The shadows cast over his eyes look pretty intimidating, but.

"Thank ya kindly, stranger! I reckon this'll help me finally catch that sumbitch."

...I guess it's not directed at you, at least.

[lonicera-edulis]

9 and 22 [Thorin or Bilbo] thank u!

9. "Write a recommendation of someone else's fic you enjoyed!" - Oh, I saved some that I was able to pick from 2012-2016 on AO3. I have no good memory and need to take a quick look what I saved for a moment... Ok, I like Twelve Months and Fifty Years (Sansûkh: The Appendices) by determamfidd focusing on Thorin and his brother in afterlife.

22. "Give us a headcanon for [character]" - I still think that Bilbo, who can mesmerize kids with an interesting story, is not able to keep up with baby raising. But he is good with taking a teen (tween) under his wing (like it happened with Frodo).

I am sorry if these answers weren't good enough, I usually go "brain empty" when I am asked questions of this sort.