#ye olde sprout

[randomomoripolls]

who would sunny's favorite omori boss be?

oooh interesting!!!

tumblr ate all my tags

[laughable-umbrella]

i’m sorry. you’re telling me that at split river high school, on separate occasions, various students have been electrocuted in closets, chrushed by stage lights, tackled to death, KILLED BY GUIDANCE COUNSELORS, had deadly allergic reactions, and died in a mysterious fire. also the bUS CRASH THAT KILLED SIX KIDS??

hate it break it to you, but your school is for sure cursed

[tubbytarchia]

i know u arent doing art fight but i wanted to doodle miwa anyway............ i love him so much. i hope this is at least a little bit in character

UWAH? UUUU? .?????????? ITS SO IN CHARACTER WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA oh my godddd this goes onto the pile of like 4 other OC fanarts I have that arent my sona. oh my GODDDDDDD. BOATEMBOYS...JASPER.........WHAAAAGH I love him. I love him so much. You don't understand how much I love him. Oh and the autism creature form is fantastic too lmao

[judas-had-a-crown]

I wanted to be loved so badly that I disrespected myself.

– Dorn

[blujayonthewing]

nyssa eats the old flowers in her hair while she's druidcrafting fresh ones

[mavlotov]

i turn 26 in a week

[eeby-deeby-dark-and-creepy]

Anything canned you can probably find frozen for a similar price, and frozen vegetables have the same nutritional value as their fresh equivalent (canned veggies do not!) (also frozen taste waaaay better imo. Green bean casserole with frozen green beans is actually amazing I never get to eat leftovers of it at thanksgiving anymore)

Most frozen vegetables are available in packaging that you can pop straight in the microwave to steam in-package, or you can buy the (usually cheaper) normal version to cook on a stovetop or zap in a bowl if you want larger quantities. Some things like frozen peas are fun to snack on straight out of the freezer!

Remember when you’re cooking veggies like asparagus, broccoli, or peas to stop cooking when they’re still bright green — an army-green asparagus spear is overcooked, it will be sad and flaccid, have the “bad veggie” taste you may have associated with them as a kid, and most importantly overcooked vegetables have leeched out important vitamins.

So many people hate vegetables because they’ve only experienced them cooked badly - if something is new and you don’t know how to cook it google is your friend! Check images to see what it should look like and find recipes that come with good pictures of bright vegetables not sad ones.

Veggies taste better and are better for you when they’re prepared and cooked properly, and even things you’ve previously called an “ick” might be your new fave. (Someone ask me for my seared brussels sprouts recipe I’m begging you)

i mean this in the gentlest way possible: you need to eat vegetables. you need to become comfortable with doing so. i do not care if you are a picky eater because of autism (hi, i used to be this person!), you need to find at least some vegetables you can eat. find a different way to prepare them. chances are you would like a vegetable you hate if you prepared it in a stew or roasted it with seasoning or included it as an ingredient in a recipe. just. please start eating better. potatoes and corn are not sufficient vegetables for a healthy diet.

[corkinavoid]

DPxDC John Constantine's How To: Ghost Kids (pt.2)

[<- part 1]

"Oh, yeah," John jerks his head up like he just remembered the fact people are supposed to have names at all. He gestures to the kids, pointing to each of them as he introduces, "Daniel, Daniel, and Danielle."

This time, all three kids flip him off simultaneously. Bruce clears his throat, trying to figure out if Constantine is messing with him and, if so, in which parts. Since, so far, everything the man has said sounds like a poor attempt at pulling his leg.

"I don't think they like those," he cautiously says, and the kids whip their heads at him, nodding furiously. Bruce can't help but be just a little enamored with the way they behave.

"Of, sod off, at this point I don't care what they like," John straightens up with a dismissive, albeit weak, wave of his hands, and rubs his face, "They are menaces. Sometimes by accident, but mostly on purpose. Their grandfather thought it would be easier to handle them if they were not teenagers, and while I agreed with his reasoning at the time, I-" he glances at the kids, who all have displeased grimaces of various levels on their faces, "I have been made to reconsider. I swear that ancient bitch is laughing his ass off wherever he is now."

The kids suddenly grin. They are not very friendly, nor polite smiles - if anything, they look a bit nightmarish. An old grandfather's clock in his study makes a very loud ticking noise.

"See?" John whips his head to look at said clock, the expression on his face bordering on insane. His eye twitches.

If Bruce doesn't do anything now, he might become one of the very few people who managed to witness John Constantine, the Laughing Magician, have a meltdown. So he sighs and decides to solve the problems one at a time.

Which means that no matter how alarmed or suspicious he is, his first move would not be to interrogate either the man or the kids.

"You can sleep in one of the guest rooms, I trust you can find it on your own," he tells John, almost softly, as he catches the girl from slipping away from his lap, "Is there anything I need to know about children before you fall unconscious?"

John slumps with relief, so obviously that Bruce almost smiles. Hardships of raising - or, watching, for that matter - kids, he understands.

"Yes," he breathes out with an air of exhilaration and turns to the kids again, pointing to the middle child, "Danny is the original. He is from this dimension and timeline, that is. Dan," he turns his finger to the older boy, "is in the wrong timeline, he's Danny's future evil self redeemed into older bratty brother. Dani," he switches to the girl, "is Danny's clone, made by his arch-nemesis of a godfather. If she starts melting at any point, wake me up immediately. If any of them start floating, sprouting tentacles, speaking to walls in static, or glowing, don't."

Bruce looks down to the kids. So, definitely metas, that would explain the government trying to get them... Or, no, it wouldn't because he is fairly certain no government is going to blatantly ignore the Meta Protection Acts.

"Don't let them raise the dead, and if you give them food, make sure it doesn't have a face. If you find more than three of them, it means one of them has duplicated, don't worry, they will absorb it back later. Absolutely don't let them touch any guns," Constantine is backing down to the door as he speaks, his gaze flickering from the kids to Bruce and back every second. Like he is leaving a ticking bomb in Bruce's lap, and not three children. "Danny is, comparatively, the most responsible one, the other two are up for any dubious trouble they can get to at any moment. Oh, and their memories are wonky because of de-aging, they remember some things but not others, so if they say something particularly disturbing, it's most likely some random piece of knowledge they managed to keep."

Bruce raises an eyebrow. He did get the part about the kids being, well, abnormal in the matters of their origins, but the disjointed set of rules and advices doesn't help as much as Constantine probably thinks it does.

"Allergies, preferences, ages they were before?" He tries to get at least some more info down before John disappears through the door. Actually, maybe he should send someone to handcuff the man to the bed lest he disappears completely.

"None, but don't let them eat cutlery. Danny likes space, Dani has a thing for exploring, and Dan likes violence." The older kid stirs in Bruce's lap and says something in the direction of Constantine. No sound comes out, but the man seems to get what he's trying to say anyway, "Okay, yes, that was rude of me, sorry. Dan likes... exercise," he ends up with, and that placate the boy enough to slump down and cross his arms. John sighs, "They were seventeen, fourteen, and twenty respectively. Now," he snaps his fingers, and suddenly Bruce can hear the girl - Dani - humming a tune under her breath. So, he lifted the silence spell, it seems.

"Good fucking luck," John wishes to Bruce, earnestly, and all but vanishes away.

Bruce sighs and looks down to the kids.

"Are you hungry?" He tries, and all eyes are on him at once, attentive and unblinking.

"Fruitloops," Danny says, and while Bruce is positive that's the name for a cereal, he gets a feeling that's not what the kid meant.

[targaryenluvs]

— BEST LIFE

pairings: spencer reid x fem!bau!reader (past), harvey specter x fem!juniorpartner!reader (present)

summary: you’d once been apart of the bau team, but after a situation and a falling out with your boyfriend you moved on. what happens when the bau needs your help on a case, which your boyfriend harvey is also assisting on?

warnings: angsty, asshole harvey cause duh, jealousy (spencer) kisses, cute harvey

wordcount: 1.7k

a/n: this literally sprouted in my mind and i just needed to write it lmao, if you haven’t watched suits or criminal minds go right now‼️ they’re both my husbands 😋

when jessica had called you into her office, you’d been calm. apparently one of your cases, which had you and harvey working together, was now of fbi interest. your client was currently suing a company for faulty wiring in his home, which caused it to burn down. and it was apparently not the case at all, the home was suspected to be tied into a serial arsonist.

what you didn’t expect was for your client to be accused of being the arsonist.

“you’re sitting here,”

“uh-huh.”

“telling me,”

“yup.”

“that i’m supposed to believe that richard jeena, the fifty three year old little man, is a serial arsonist?”

you shut the file infront of you, meeting harvey’s eye, “sweetheart?” he uncrossed his legs, leaning forwards with a sweet smile, “yes?” you leaned forwards as well, “that, is exactly what i’m telling you.” harvey leaned back into his chair, disbelief riddling his face.

“and the fbi is flying here?” you nodded along, “fbi agents?” you nodded again, “probably field agents or whatever they’re called. they’ll sit in on the trial, survey the scenes, collect evidence and all.” the familiar clicking of donna’s heels brought a smile to your face, “profilers.”

your heart dropped with one word, “what’d you say?” donna made her way to the two of you, plopping herself down in the chair next to you, “it’s those fbi profilers. yknow, they look at the room and can tell you if he’s left or right handed, blonde, mommy issues and all. nice little packaged criminal profile in seconds.” you couldn’t help correcting her, having dealt with your fair share of assumptions in your years as a profiler.

“that’s not how it works,” harvey swiveled in his chair as donna looked your way, “oh?” harvey smirked as you sighed, “that’s not how it works, we don’t just walk into a room and have it speak to us. we survey the place, fresh eyes and open minds. we look for the things that everyone else seems to miss. we put ourselves in the minds of the criminals themselves, to get a better understanding of them, why they did it and all. you work your way back, start from the victim maybe, see where they’ve been, what they did in the last week, who they talk to. sometimes the killers in their personal circle but not always. every case is different, we try our best to provide an accurate, unbiased profile.”

“i want to take you on my desk, right now.” you rolled your eyes at your boyfriends words as donna stared intently, “we. you said ‘we’, as if you know what they do and their job. oh my god, you use to be one. that’s the job you had before coming here! you have a degree in criminal justice, and you said your last job you were at for what, seven years?”

“i graduated high school early, entered harvard at a young age, graduated, entered the fbi at the same time as a— friend. was also studying law, sat the exam in new york since it’s where i wanted to be. finished up at harvard, i was mid to late twenties when i left, wound up here and am now a junior partner, capiche?”

“could just say your age.” mike stood by the door with a wad of files in his hand, “i’d rather die, mike.” harvey laughed, “please don’t incentivise my lovely girlfriend to killing herself mike.”

“as nice as it is to see you all bonding, and trust me, it hits me right in the heart, jessica wants yourself and y/n in the conference room.” louis spoke from the door as you stood up, “first of all, trust with you is fickle, second, tell it to hit you in the face next time lou.” you smacked harvey’s arm as he held his arms up, “friendly fire, i’ll put it out later.” you shoved him by his back before smiling at louis, “i’m sorry about him, he’s not a big fan of the fbi.” louis nodded as he followed you, “duly noted.”

“she’s right, damn pigs.” harvey joked as you approached the conference room, “your highness,” you grinned, “you never treat me so nicely when we’re at home harvey.” he held his hand over his heart, “now don’t lie sweetheart, i’m as nice as mike.” the snort that left your lips had harvey doubling over, “oh please, nice as mike? you wish.”

your giggles were drained from your throat as you stared at half of your old team.

derek morgan, emily prentiss, penelope garcia & spencer reid. the last name, and face you’d still not looked at yet. thankfully, harvey noticed your tenseness, “y/n? sweetheart, you alright?” there it was, that word, sweetheart. spencer couldn’t help but wonder, was it just a word? you always use to call him it, before you dated, teasing of course.

“yeah, i’m fine harv.” he nodded, even if he didn’t believe you he could always ask later on. pulling out his and yours chairs, you sat next to one another. “harvey specter & y/n l/n?” emily questioned as you nodded, “the one and only. and then there’s y/n.” harvey leaned back in his chair, whilst derek stared him down.

what an ass. is what he wanted to say, it was also what he assumed emily was thinking. “emily.” she glanced over at you, surprised at you using her name, “it’s nice to see you all. how’ve you been?” and the bewildered expression was wiped clean off your face, no remnant left. you were a damn lawyer, if there was one thing you’d learned, it was to keep a straight face.

penelope smiled, “we’ve been good, y/n. but we miss you, back home. you’re a lawyer now huh?” you grinned, “the one and only.” harvey squeezed your hand, you squeezed back. “youngest junior partner, ever. my dream. just hoping to make it to senior partner soon, take the title of youngest out from under this guy. i’m happy here, i hope you are too. but down to business.”

and for the next few hours, you’d sat and listened. overlooking the case files, giving statements, reviewing security footage from surrounding houses. at some point mike ended up in the room, having met with your client and being harvey’s associate.

you’d had the pleasure of introducing spencer and mike, the two undeniably similar. you felt comfortable, even betting with penelope that if they touched the world would implode.

“and how much would he loose?”

“127,478.23.” mike and spencer rushed out as the rest of you fought to suppress your smiles, “well y/n, seems like we’ve got a genius-off.” derek laughed as the two men looked towards you, “don’t worry i’ll still love you mike.” mike scoffed at your words, “what makes you think i’d loose?”

“because i know you, and i know reid. trust me, you’d loose.”

reid. not spencer, spence, sweetheart. none of the above, you’d used his last name. as if he was nothing more than a colleague.

“okay, we’ve been here for far too long. and as much as i’d like to sit here and slowly rot, i’d rather do that at the restaurant i have booked for dinner with two lovely ladies. y/n and i have a trial date tomorrow, 8.00am. i think, we bring him along, show him what’s to happen if he doesn’t confess, than toast victory champagne when said confession rolls through. how’s that sound?” if derek’s grin was any indicator, besides a big fat yes?

spencer wanted to puke, ‘lovely ladies?’ multiple women? this man was insufferable. you gathered yourself and harvey’s files, a hand gestured towards you, the last file in said hand. “thanks reid.” he smiled, “no problem-o.” your eyebrows furrowed, “never change do you?” spencer didn’t have time to respond, his brain was too busy blowing a fuse as harvey opened the door for you. “ready for dinner lovely lady?” they all heard harvey ask as you nodded, the four watched as you walked out, his hand on your back as he pecked you on the lips.

“reid, you alright?” derek’s hand rested on his shoulder, “i’m fine, why wouldn’t i be fine? don’t we have places to be? hotch would want to know their on our side, that they reviewed all the information. they’ll help us get a confession out of him.” derek sighed, “because you just saw your ex, who you haven’t seen in years. the one you never got over, happily living in new york as comfortable as possible. a successful business woman and lawyer, happily in a relationship.”

spencer shook his head, “you don’t know that.” emily directed a sympathetic smile his way, “we sat with them for three hours. we watched them laugh, bounce off of eachother for theories, quite literally finish eachothers sentences. order food for eachother without asking, and get their meals right. they held hands when they could, he continued to call her sweetheart. and now they’re going out to dinner.”

spencer’s shoulder dropped, they were right. he’d come here excited at the possibility of seeing you again, talking to you. maybe even beginning again with you. instead, you’re apparently with some suited up asshole. he was annoyingly sweet when it came to you though.

as if the whole three hours weren’t a slap in the face, harvey’s voice rung out through the hallway, “there’s my lovely lady!” rachel, who they’d all met earlier on, was currently guiding a young girl to harvey’s arms. “daddy!” if hearts were boats, than his was sinking. he may have had a chance beforehand, but now?

“is mommy here?” your daughter was currently situated on harvey’s hip, “why don’t you hug her and find out?” your arms were out in the open as your daughter squealed before running to you, “d’you have a fun day with rach?” she nodded her head rapidly as yourself and harvey smiled, he stood behind you, chest to back. his hand rested on your waist as the other moved aside hair from her face, before moving hair from your own.

“now, my lovely ladies, it’s time for dinner.”

lovely ladies, for once, spencer had made a mistake. harvey was going out with multiple women, but not in the way he thought. his daughter and the mother of his child, you.

his words and actions meant nothing, they would mean nothing. you were happy, so happy. you had everything you wanted, a loving marriage and man, a gorgeous family. something spencer hadn’t given you. a man who knew you could hold your own. spencer knew that too, but he couldn’t help himself back then.

right now, you were living your best life.

[obsessivevoidkitten]

Animal Farm: Mondays

Male Yandere Harpies x Gender Neutral Reader (CW: Noncon, harpies, general yandere behavior, captive reader, spit roasting, cum in hair, aftercare, male harem, brief mention of being used as a cock sleeve by bull men.) Word Count: 500 (Here it is! I have had a solid wave of productivity lately answering old asks and now there is this, something I said I would do a long time ago. I said I would make a mini-fic/drabble with every group of monster men from my animal farm fic which can be found HERE.)

You sighed. It was early on Monday morning, the sun starting to stream into the window enough to disturb your sleep. You glared at your alarm clock and preemptively turned off the alarm that would go off at 10:00. It was 9:53. You wanted to cry. You had not fully recovered from Rory, Sev, and Bruc swapping you between them as a communal cock sleeve all day on Friday. You lamented your decision to be a monster man farmer with so many different species. You should have stuck to one or two. Oh well… no use crying over it now. At least you started the week off easy after your weekend break. The harpy men had pretty forgiving cocks. Ugh. Was that what it had come to? Judging how not awful your day was by the brutality of the cocks you were about to encounter? You scarfed down a quick breakfast then enjoyed your last few minutes before you were swarmed by the three harpies that called your farm home, Zan, Xilra, and Elry. They all looked similar, green and blue feathers in their hair, emerald green eyes to match, dark skin, with large angel-like wings sprouting from their backs and their legs ended in the way any bird of prey’s did. Sharp. Talons. When you stepped into the aviary your watch read exactly 10:30, you weren’t giving them a second more than you were forced to. It was like your one shred of resistance, even though it didn’t really matter very much. You also were too scared to be late after what happened the one time you were. You were sniffed out and fucked. Swiftly. As soon as you stepped into the large greenhouse-like domed building, it was like a miniature forest complete with all sorts of trees and plants, you were instantly pounced upon by the three monster men. They wasted not a single second in taking off your clothes and tossing them aside on the dirt while pinning you to the wall. “Hey come on! Those were just cleeeEEEEAAAAAANNNED. H-hey!” Two of them were biting, licking and nuzzling all over your neck while the third was using his mouth between your legs. “W-w-why do we always have to start the d-daaaay like thiiiiis??” “We love you little starling~” “Yes! And we must show you!” “We haven’t been inside you for a whole week love! It was torture~” “We must make up for the lost time sweet bird.” And that they certainly did. A week's worth of the pent up libidos of three tall harpy men unloaded on you and in you within hours. They spit roast you while you were on the ground before taking you in mid air. By the end of their breeding session with you you were exhausted. And this was supposed to be the easy day. At least they let you rest afterwards, washing the cum out of your hair and off your sore body before cuddling you and petting you while they sang sweet little bird songs and praised their darling little starling~

[parkerslatte]

Unexpected

Azriel x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 1k

Warnings: mentions of complications during birth. child with a disability.

Summary: When Azriel is late to one of Feyre’s flying lessons she begins to panic as the shadowsinger is never late. But when he shows up with three young children that look exactly like him, more questions sprout in Feyre’s mind.

A Court of Thorns and Roses Masterlist

•••

Feyre waited exactly where she and Azriel had completed her last flying lesson. He had yet to show up and the longer she waited, the more anxious she became. Azriel was never late, in fact he was always there long before Feyre arrived. Even though she knew he was most likely fine, she couldn’t help but let her thoughts go to thoughts she perhaps wished would stay away. 

Only moments before she was about to lower the walls around her mind to reach out to Rhys, loud happy giggles were heard through the bushes. Feyre sat up on the rock she was perched on. 

A young girl, perhaps around eight years old, stepped through the bushes and Feyre couldn’t help but think the young girl looked awfully familiar. The young girl stilled and shyly stepped back once she noticed Feyre. 

Another young girl, Feyre guessed she was a couple of years younger than the first, stepped through the bushes. She looked at Feyre and drew back slightly. 

Finally Azriel stepped through the bushes carrying a young boy the same age as the second girl. Feyre looked between the four of them, stunned. 

“Sorry I showed up late,” Azriel said, setting the young boy down on the floor. Feyre noticed the young boy not putting any pressure on his right leg and lent on his sister for support. 

“What is this?” Feyre asked, clearly at a loss for words. 

“They’re my children,” Azriel said as if it were obvious. 

It was in fairness. But the complete casualness in which Azriel spoke was what was off putting to Feyre. The three children were clearly related to Azriel if the wings sprouting from their backs was anything to go off. The oldest girl looked almost identical to Azriel. The same shade of hair, the same colour eyes, the same quiet demeanour. The only thing Feyre couldn’t place was the shape of her nose and lips. The younger girl and boy still resembled Azriel and the other girl but they seemed to inherit most of their looks from their mother, whoever it was. 

“You have children?” Feyre asked. “Since when?”

Azriel looked at the oldest girl. “Selene is seven, so seven years.”

Feyre shook her head. “That’s not what I meant.”

Azriel smirked and it was clear now that he was just teasing her. “I know. The reason why I never told you is because I only tell people I fully trust, and you are becoming that. That is why I brought them today.”

“But Daddy, you said that you had to bring us because Mummy had to work,” the young boy said, limping over to a rock. 

“Shhh,” Azriel said to his son who smiled wide, one front tooth missing. 

Feyre smiled. It was nice to see Azriel in this light. “Who’s their mother?”

A small blush coated Azriel’s cheeks at the mention of his children’s mother. “Her name is Y/N. After Rhys went Under the Mountain, I met her. I did feel guilty because I found happiness in a time where I didn’t know what was happening to my brother. But she helped me through all of the pain and misery she helped all of us really.”

Feyre looked at the three children as they bickered amongst themselves. “What are their names?”

“Well the eldest is Selene, named after my mother. Then the twins are Elowen and Tiberius. Elowen is older by a few hours. There were some complications with their birth, it is why Tiberius walks with a limp. He sometimes cannot gather the strength to walk or stand, though that rarely stops him from attempting to join Cassian in training.”

Feyre looked at the young boy who was smiling widely. “You are lucky, Azriel.”

Azriel smiled at his children. “I know.”

“Will I be able to meet Y/N at some point?” Feyre asked. “She sounds wonderful.”

“Yes you can,” Azriel said. “In fact she has asked about you on a few occasions.”

“Why have you never brought her to a family dinner?” Feyre asked. 

Azriel folded his arms across his chest as he looked at his children. Within his eyes Feyre could only see the pure love he held for them. Only a singular shadow lingered around Azriel’s shoulders, the rest of them were surrounding his children, both playing with them but protecting them first and foremost. 

“It was more to do with trust than anything else,” Azriel answered. “I don’t let just anyone around my family. It took me nearly three years to even introduce Cassian, Mor and Amren to Y/N. I am a protective male, it is in my nature. Even though I am sure Y/N can protect herself– she teaches self defence classes for anyone who believes they need them.” At the mention of Y/N, Feyre noticed the shift in Azriel’s tone. He sounded softer, more thoughtful– he sounded in love. 

“Anyway,” Azriel continued, “when Selene was born, I knew at that moment I would stop at nothing to protect her. I wouldn’t let anything harm her or even come close to hurting her. The same goes for Elowen and Tiberius. I am nearly five-hundred and fifty years old, I have made a lot of enemies over the years. If any were to find out about my family then they will all be put at risk and everyone knows I will slaughter a path to get to them, it doesn’t matter who is in the way. I know I should have told you about them before now as you have done far more than exceed my trust.”

“It’s okay,” Feyre said in reassurance. “You had your reasons for not introducing me. Valid reasons at that.”

Azriel only nodded and straightened his posture. “Now, are you ready for that flying lesson?”

“Are you going to go easy on me since your children are here?” Feyre asked, hoping to fill her heart.

Azriel snorted. “Absolutely not.”

Feyre sighed before feeling a small comforting tap against her arm. She looked down to find Elowen. 

“Good luck,” the young girl said with a tight lipped smile. 

She was most definitely Azriel’s child. 

[barleyo]

678-999-8212.

Real Dad! Leon Kennedy X F! Reader (smut)

A/N: part two for my last fic!! ermmmm once again ily if you know the title's reference :3 this is a short addition too but idk i don't think part one required a super long part two! please read the tags, leon is mean in this one :c

Part One: here

Tags: incest (daddy-daughter), age gap (21-50s), degradation, choking, hate-sex, orgasm denial, unprotected sex, non-con, striking/smacking of the face, alcohol mention

Wordcount: 1k

Leon had never driven this fast before. To hell with every red light in his way, he needed to get home. Foot sat firmly on the gas pedal, inching further and faster the more he thought about the series of events that led him here. 

His daughter was an absolute slut. How many men had you 'entertained' like that before? How many filthy calls had you made to men who were possibly even older than himself? More than that— how had he fallen into your trap? 

He made a silent promise to himself to put the bottle down, seeing as it left him in that situation. A promise that was an empty one, but it offered him solace in the moment as he pulled into his driveway. 

Leon's feet struggled against the pavement. He was still unbearably drunk and dizzy, now with added anger and unfounded horniness. He felt gross, disgusted by the erection popping in his slacks, but he couldn't help it. He was fathering a damn siren, and god did you know what you were doing. Your sickening voice, overly sweet moans, and your slick and noisy cunt that cried for him over the phone. It was all too much.

"You fucking slut!"

Leon had never been a rough dad. He wasn't a yeller, not one for heavy discipline. After his unfortunate discovery about you, though? He was quick to slam the front door shut and run up the stairs, feet clashing against each step with a violent speed. 

Whatever you had been watching on your television was quickly shut off when you heard his tone. You scampered under your blankets and feigned sleep. You had zero clue what he was on about, but you knew it would turn ugly just by the sheer anger in his voice. He couldn't yell at a sleeping beauty like you, could he? 

Yes, obviously he could and would. Stubborn old man.

"I know you aren't asleep," Leon spat, ripping the covers off of you. You stayed still, breath pausing in your chest. "Don't act innocent, brat."

Fine, so there was no escaping this. Damn it, what was this all about?

You begrudgingly relented and opened your eyes. Arms crossed defensively over your chest, an equal mix of fear and discomfort on your face as you scanned over your dad. 

You took in everything about him. His eyebrows were drawn together. His jaw was clenched tight enough that you thought it could pop at any minute. Fists balled up at his sides. Eyes dark. Dick hard— oh. Oh?

"You wanna tell me what you were doing earlier? Any specific calls y'made?" 

"Say it."

You had never heard your father speak so roughly, and anything close to the tone he used was never directed towards you. You were his sweet girl, daddy's baby forever. Now, though, each slam of his hips into yours made you feel like a cheap whore. 

"It's not true," you said. "I'm not a slut! I'm not, I promise."

You felt his large hand's grip over your neck tighten. Tears were threatening to spill, to run down your red, stinging cheek where the mark of his hand was freshly placed. You held it in. Daddy told you not to cry, that you had no right to. 

"Was just a mistake. I'm sorry!"

"Yeah, real convincing." Leon sneered down at you. It stung more than the unrelenting thrusts, more than the way his palm met your cheek. He never looked at you like that, like you were nothing. You wanted it to stop. "I didn't raise you to be a whore. You think you're fuckin' grown, huh? Showing off for whoever rings you up like some call-center bitch?"

You wanted to kick and cry, but the words stopped in your chest. Shameful wails sprouted from you. It was all true, every word he said.

"I just wanted attention," you were finally able to make out, despite the ever firmness of his hand around your throat. "I'm sorry, I'll never do it again. Promise."

Deep down, Leon felt awful for treating you like this. He tried to reason with himself. You needed to learn. How could you learn from a 'mistake,' as you called it, without a proper punishment? He was doing the right thing. He was sure of it. He couldn't have a whore-daughter, at least not such a shameless one. 

"Yeah? How's it feel now? You're getting all the attention you want now. Not enough for you, greedy bitch?"

Thankfully for you, he released you from the chokehold he had you in. He internally winced at the already forming bruise he left. His hands found your lower stomach and he pushed down. Hard. 

"There you go. Feel every bit of my cock."

God, he was so mean. His head knocked into your cervix roughly, no regard for your pleasure. It hurt, but the friction of his girthy cock dragging against your abused walls helped a little. 

Small flutters of pleasure peaked through the rough treatment, making it semi-worth it. Maybe if you came, if you focused real hard on getting over the edge, then maybe you could forget his awful words.

He wasn't nearly that nice, though. He kept grumbling under his breath, spitting out vile insults about you. Even as his voice cracked, he couldn't help but let his hips stutter forwards into you, whispering the harshest things. 

With a final, especially rough thrust, he came. He didn't bother to pull out, he didn't even try. Rather, he burrowed further into your sore walls and marked you with his seed, claiming you like the territory you were. 

As you tried to pull away, feeling utterly used and unsatisfied, you felt his strong arms yank you back. 

"Where do you think you're going?" 

His face softened a little. Good, at least he wasn't scowling at you any more. 

"We aren't done...?"

"Not even close." He pushed your legs back, resting them over his shoulders. "Whores don't get breaks. We aren't done until I'm good and fucking satisfied."

He leaned down, dipping his head so he could spit. He watched the dribble of saliva coat your hole. 

"If you aren't gonna be my good girl anymore, the least you could do is put out."

[sandwitchstories]

Precious Two

Here is the first of the promised new creations in my series of drabbles, headcannons and one shots about Dad!Sukuna!

For more adventures with Mouse and Dad!Sukuna, check out my Daddy Duty Series on my AO3 - Here! )

Summary: While settling into this wholly unplanned role as a father, you knew Sukuna would have some speed bumps. You just never thought that nicknames would be one of them.

WC: 785

CW: female reader, mother reader, breastfeeding, new born baby, true form Sukuna (4 arms, 2- oh wait this isn't that type of story...) some slightly suggestive humor (other than that horribly lame joke I should probably apologize for), it's just plain Dilf Sukuna fluff and crack

“I shall call her precious two,” Sukuna said from where he laid on the bed beside you, holding your 2 day old daughter while she slept. 

“That is a terrible nickname,” you screwed up your face at him.

“How so? Do I not call you precious one?’

“You do, and I love it,” you smiled, leaning over to press a kiss to the side of his face.

It never failed to do something to his insides that you kissed the malformed side of his face as if it were the same as the other. Though he would rather have his toenails plucked off one at a time than admit that out loud. 

He turned his head and cupped the back of your skull with one of his free hands. “You are my precious one. Always.”

At that moment your daughter decided to give her lungs a stretch, alerting that she was hungry. She was her father’s child. Girl got the hangry from her Papa. A demand feeder and a bottomless pit. Come to think of it, both of them did also share the trait of calming down once a boob was in their mouth…

“Alright, precious t… child, we are all aware you are hungry, you can stop the noise now… now… as in this instant stop it…”

You chuckled as you fixed your pillows and opened your robe in preparation as you stretched out your hands for her. “Come here, little one. Mama's ready for you.”

Sukuna handed her over, watching you and her with so much love in his eyes. There was something about the sight of you breast feeding his child that filled him with something akin to a warmth. He scooted closer, wrapping an arm around you back, resting another one on top of your head, and another giant hand moving across you to run his fingers through the thick pink hair sprouting from his daughter's impossibly small head.

“Drink up, little princess of curses and deadly poisons. A world of curses will be under your command, you must be strong to keep them in line,” he said, love in all 4 his eyes as he watched her suckle at your breast. He sat back and smirked at you. “Is that better, precious one?”

“Let's shorten it to just Little Princess, hmm? We don't want to put too much pressure on her this young,” you turned your head and kissed his chest before snuggling into him.

“She should get used to her title now. She is the first born child of the King of Curses.”

“First born?”

“Yes,” he said, like it was a dumb question. He looked down at her and one corner of his mouth quirked up in a smile. “Precious two came out pretty damn cute. Things only get better with practice. So by the time we get to Precious Fo-”

He grunted, entirely for show, when you lightly thumped your fist against his chest. “What the hell was that about?”

“1. I told you precious two was a no go, so there is no chance I will endorse precious three or precious four. Get that through your thick skull now. And 2. PRECIOUS FOUR? Are you going to carry any of these babies?”

“I have 4 hands don’t I,” he gave you a droll stare.

You turned your face into his chest and groaned. “That’s not what I meant…”

He grinned from ear to ear. He knew damn well what you meant, it was just too much fun to fuck with you. He kissed the top of your head before resting his head back against his head board, resting on his arm folded behind his neck, he pretended to be lost in thought, musing softly aloud.  “Little poison princess? Poison princess? Princess curse? Little curse?”

“Sukuna. Didn’t we just agree on it being just little princess?”

“No, we did not agree. You just merely stated your opinion,” Sukuna replied, struggling to keep the smile out of his voice.

“Sukuna… do you want precious three and precious four to even be a consideration?” you tried to sound threatening.

“Oh so it’s okay when you call them that?”

“Sorry, little princess, looks like you’re gonna be an only child,” you smiled at the way her little hand fisted around your finger. 

You watched her eating, glancing up to see Sukuna looking at you and you knew the truth. You would give that man as many babies as you were able to. Not only because he was gorgeous and you thoroughly enjoyed the act of making babies with him, but also because you knew the truth - that ‘monster’ you married was going to be the best father in the world.

[lilac-gold]

Hey tumblr! A couple of fanfictions @charismabee and I completed/have been working on have been posted on AO3 (we go by lilac_the_book_lover and thefearisred there :]) if you want to check that out!

If you like magical girl aus and kel angst, these stories are for you! >:)

The Magical Girls AU is literally just called "Magical Girlz: OMORI', and the one where Basil's missing & something's up with Sunny is called 'Wilting Flowers' if you don't want to follow the links lol. We'd love to hear your thoughts :D

[p0orbaby]

Pitch Invader

summary: barça’s twelfth (wo)man

warnings: nothing

a/n: thank you for the request !

word count: 1.6k

-

There are certain truths universally acknowledged: gravity exists, toddlers are irrational, and the Putellas genes are a force of nature.

Today’s a big day: Alexia is playing one of the most important games of the season, and you’re in the stands with your two-year-old daughter, who, despite being the tiniest human in the stadium, possesses the energy of a thousand deranged squirrels. You are, in a word, nervous.

Your daughter, however, is anything but nervous. She’s strapped into her tiny jersey with Putellas scrawled across the back in letters that are nearly as big as she is. Her hair’s up in a ponytail, more like a pineapple sprouting out of her head, but you know that’s the only way she likes it. You’ve brought snacks, water, an iPad loaded with Paw Patrol, and a collection of those little rubber animals she’s obsessed with. You are prepared for every disaster except, apparently, the actual one.

The game kicks off. Your daughter’s glued to the action, her eyes tracking the players with a focus you wish she’d bring to bedtime. She’s screaming "Mami!" like she’s the head of the Alexia Putellas fan club. Which, let’s be real, she probably is.

You, meanwhile, are half-watching the game, half-watching her, and half-wondering when you’ll get the time to sleep ever again. The maths doesn’t add up, but then again, neither does the toddler logic you’re about to encounter.

In the 30th minute, the snacks run out. Which, you should have known, is a harbinger of doom. Your daughter, little genius that she is, finishes her juice box and immediately hurls it to the ground. She gives you the wide-eyed innocent look that usually precedes a request for more snacks or a sudden need to use the bathroom. But not this time.

This time, she leans in conspiratorially, whispering, “Mami!” It’s a statement, a question, and a declaration of war all at once.

“Yes, baby,” you say, patting her hand, thinking she’s just expressing her undying adoration for Alexia. You know what’s coming, but you’re oblivious. Blame it on the lack of sleep or the adrenaline of the match.

“Mami!” she repeats, louder, with more urgency. You’re too busy trying to figure out if she’s got another juice box somewhere in the black hole that is your nappy bag to notice that she’s been scoping out her escape route. You’ve taught her well: always look for the exits. You just never expected her to take that lesson so literally.

“Mami!” And before you can register what’s happening, she’s off like a shot, little legs pumping with the determination of someone who’s just discovered that the world is a lot more fun when you’re not stuck behind bars. Literally. Because she’s somehow squeezed through the railing and is now sprinting toward the field like she’s got the ball and is gunning for the goal.

There’s a split second where time stops. The crowd noise fades, the players blur, and you’re left watching your tiny daughter make her bid for freedom. Then, the panic sets in.

“Oh my God, she’s on the pitch!” you scream, leaping to your feet. Your heart's in your throat, and your legs feel like they’re made of concrete, but you move. You have to. Alexia is going to kill you. No, worse, she’s going to tell your mother.

This is it. You’re going to die. Not because your daughter’s about to get trampled by a bunch of world-class athletes, but because Alexia Putellas is going to murder you on the spot for letting this happen.

“Don’t move!” you yell, as if your two-year-old is going to suddenly develop a sense of self-preservation and stop in her tracks. You leap over seats with a grace you didn’t know you possessed, and suddenly, it’s you versus the grass, a race you never wanted to be a part of.

The security guards, bless them, are as stunned as you are. They’re used to dealing with rowdy fans, not rogue toddlers. One of them starts to move, but you’re faster. You vault over the barrier like an Olympian, not caring that you’ve just flashed half the stadium. Your brain is a mess of conflicting priorities: get the child, avoid the cameras, don’t trip, for the love of God, don’t trip.

“Mami!” Your daughter’s scream pierces the air as she beelines for Alexia, who, by now, has spotted her and is having her own heart attack on the pitch. Alexia freezes, eyes wide, mouth open in a soundless yell. You can see her future flash before her eyes: headlines like “Star Player’s Toddler Takes Over Match” or “Tiny Terror Halts Game, Becomes Internet Sensation.”

The ball is at the far end of the pitch, and most of the players haven’t noticed yet. But one of the defenders has. She’s staring, and then she starts laughing. You can’t blame her. You’d be laughing too if you weren’t about to faint from the sheer absurdity of it all.

Finally, you reach your daughter just as she reaches the center circle. You scoop her up, her little legs still kicking as if she’s going to make a break for it again. She’s giggling, thinking this is all the best game ever, and honestly, you’re too relieved to be mad.

Alexia, however, is sprinting toward you like she’s about to dropkick someone, probably you, into the next century. You flash her an apologetic smile, holding up the wriggling toddler as if to say, “I found her! Look, I’m a hero!”

Alexia doesn’t look like she agrees. Her face is a mix of horror, relief, and something that might be love if you’re lucky. She reaches you, breathless, eyes still wide as saucers. “What… the… hell…?”

“I took my eyes off her for two seconds!” you pant, defensively. “You try keeping up with her!”

Your daughter, oblivious to the chaos she’s caused, throws her arms around Alexia’s neck and says, “Mami, I won!”

Alexia softens instantly, her expression shifting to one of pure adoration. She holds your daughter close, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “Yes, you did, mi amor. You won”

The crowd, which had been holding its collective breath, erupts into cheers and laughter. You’re pretty sure you see a wave of camera phones aimed in your direction. Great. You’ll never live this down.

But then Alexia grins at you, and it’s that grin—the one that says she’s both exasperated and completely in love with you—that makes all of this worth it.

“I’m going to kill you,” she whispers, but she’s smiling, and you know you’re in the clear.

“Totally fair,” you agree. “But can we do that after the game?”

With a resigned laugh, Alexia turns to walk you both off the field, your daughter still happily babbling about how she’s the best player ever, better than even Mami. And you? You just can’t wait to tell her how this day was 100% her fault when she’s old enough to understand the concept of consequences.

As you reach the sidelines, you catch the eye of the commentator, who’s openly laughing now. “And that, folks, is what you call a family affair!”

You wave awkwardly, knowing you’re going to be a meme by the end of the day. But as you hand your daughter back to her seat, watching Alexia return to the pitch with a look of determination that’s all business now, you can’t help but feel a rush of pride.

Sure, you almost derailed an entire match. But on the plus side, you just might have discovered a new sport: Toddler Sprinting, with a side of Parental Panic. Gold medals all around.