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honeydippedfiction · 2 months ago

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Can I get 15. "eyes open. keep looking." and 16. ^ and in the mirror--it's their large hand splayed across your abdomen, another wrapped around your perking nip. as they thrust into you, hard, slow, deep. their teeth sinking into ur neck.

with Joe and Angel, I just know they're nastyyy🤪

Listened to ‘Maybe’ by Teyana Taylor while writing this so everyone say thank you Teyana for the inspo

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#15. "eyes open. keep looking." & #16. and in the mirror--it's their large hand splayed across your abdomen, another wrapped around your perking nip. as they thrust into you, hard, slow, deep. their teeth sinking into ur neck.

Joe Burrow x Angel

• you DO NOT have my permission to copy my work, upload as your own, translate, or repost on any other website •

It was supposed to be a chill weekend.

With baby Zariyah gone to spend two blissful days with Joe’s parents—Robin and Jimmy, who were beyond thrilled to take over spoiling duties—the Burrow household had finally fallen into rare, golden silence. No bottles to warm, no 3 a.m. wake-up cries, no schedules to juggle. Just peace. Glorious peace.

Joe had made plans, quiet ones. Sleep in. Watch a little film. Maybe grill something. Wrap Angel in a blanket and cuddle until neither of them knew what day it was. It was supposed to be recovery—for both of them.

But by noon, Joe was starting to realize something: Angel had no intention of letting him enjoy any of it.

From the moment she rolled over that morning, her attitude had been locked in. Petty. Sharp. The kind of bratty that didn’t come from actual frustration—it came from intent.

“You breathing loud again,” she muttered from her side of the bed, voice low and gravelly with sleep, but lined with attitude like sharp eyeliner.

Joe blinked, still half-asleep. “What?”

“I said you breathing loud. Sound like a busted radiator.”

He frowned, turning his head toward her on the pillow. “I was asleep.”

“Exactly.” She yanked the blanket tighter around her like he’d committed some great offense simply by existing.

Joe stared at the ceiling for a long beat. Okay…

He let it slide. For now.

The day went on like that. Little digs. Passive-aggressive comments with a smile. Petty nonsense that she served up like appetizers at a dinner party. At first, Joe let it slide. He knew Angel. Knew when she got this way it was usually about something deeper—or nothing at all. But this time, there was no mystery. No hidden frustration. She was just�� acting up.

On purpose.

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Later, he padded into the kitchen, rubbing the sleep from his eyes, hoping coffee might at least smooth things over.

Angel was already there. Perched on the counter in one of his old LSU hoodies—bare-legged, smug, and scrolling her phone like she was too cute to be guilty. She sipped from her mug without looking up.

“Morning,” Joe offered.

She made a noncommittal sound in response. Something between a hum and a hmmph.

He tried again. “I made coffee. Want some of mine?”

She finally looked up, blinking slow. “Did you put that dusty almond milk in it?”

“No. I used the new one.”

She took a sip of her own drink, then wrinkled her nose dramatically. “Well, mine still nasty. Probably your fault. You opened the fridge too long yesterday.”

Joe squinted. “What does that even mean?”

“Means now everything taste like fridge air and disappointment.” She hopped down, walked past him, and added, just loud enough, “Don’t nobody ask you to help and you still messing stuff up.”

Joe turned, confused, but she was already halfway back to the living room.

That was round one.

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An hour later, Joe tried to lose himself in film. He pulled up Week 5’s offensive breakdown and plugged in his AirPods. Angel was curled up on the couch beside him, allegedly watching TV—but what she was really doing was finding ways to drive him to the brink of madness without ever raising her voice.

First, she stole the throw blanket from his lap with no explanation.

Then, she took the last two slices of the cinnamon toast she knew he had been saving.

And finally, when he got up to go switch the laundry over, he came back to find the remote gone.

“Angel.”

She didn’t look up from her phone. “Hmm?”

“Where’s the remote?”

“Oh.” She paused for a beat, chewing her nail. “I think I dropped it behind the couch.”

Joe gave her a look. “You think?”

“Or maybe I put it in the laundry basket with the whites. Thought it was a sock.”

He stared at her, deadpan. “You put the remote control in the laundry?”

She shrugged with the exact amount of indifference that could drive a man to madness. “Don’t act like you use it. You just watch the same plays over and over. Ball. Throw. Catch. Repeat.”

He took a slow breath. “You know exactly what you’re doing.”

Angel turned her head and finally gave him her full attention. That familiar gleam was in her eyes—trouble, dressed up as flirtation. “I do. Question is… do you?”

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Later that morning, Joe tried to get a jump on laundry while Angel scrolled through her phone on the couch, pretending not to watch him.

He held up one of his favorite hoodies—the gray Bengals one with the frayed cuffs.

“Why is this in the bottom of the hamper?”

Angel barely glanced over. “Zariyah spit up on it. I used it to wipe the floor.”

Joe looked at her like she’d just confessed to a crime. “You used this as a mop?”

“It was right there,” she said with a shrug. “Quick reflexes. You should be proud.”

“That hoodie is from my rookie year.”

“And? You got a whole closet of free gear. You’ll live.”

Joe closed his eyes and took a slow breath. She’s trying to get under your skin, he reminded himself. Don’t let her win.

He tossed the hoodie back into the hamper and walked away.

Angel smirked.

Round one: her.

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By early afternoon, Joe was back on the couch, trying to reset the day. He figured if he could just carve out an hour—maybe two—to review some film, he could salvage some peace. Angel had drifted into her own little world, tucked into the corner of the sectional with snacks and a blanket, one leg draped over the armrest like she owned the place. Which, in many ways, she did.

Joe slipped on his noise-canceling headphones, pulled up game tape from Week 5 on his iPad, and settled in. All he needed was silence. Just enough to dissect a few coverages, double-check a couple reads.

But it didn’t take long for Angel’s show—some chaotic reality series where every scene sounded like a wine-fueled argument— to start bleeding through the headphones.

He paused the video with a sigh, pulling one earbud off. “Babe,” he said, turning toward her, “can you turn that down just a little?”

Angel didn’t even glance at the remote. “You got headphones in.”

“They’re noise-canceling,” he said, with measured patience, “not chaos-canceling.”

Angel slowly turned her head, one brow raised with deliberate sass. “You mad because my show got drama or because yours is boring?”

Joe blinked. “I’m mad because I can’t hear my tight end’s route because some girl named Shayla is screaming about her eyelash business.”

She scoffed, unapologetic. “Well, maybe Shayla got bills to pay. Unlike some people, she can’t afford to sit around analyzing football all day.”

Joe’s jaw ticked. “I don’t sit around, Angel. This is my job.”

Angel fluffed her pillow, adjusting it behind her like she was settling in for a long, loud binge. “Mmm. And this is my couch. I pay rent in sass and vibes.”

Joe dropped his head back with an exasperated groan. “I’m not asking you to go mute. Just lower the volume like… two notches.”

She turned back to the screen and, with all the exaggerated flair in the world, hit the volume up instead. The surround sound blared a high-pitched “YOU AIN’T GON’ DISRESPECT ME IN MY HOUSE” from Shayla, just to hammer it in.

“Seriously?” he said, sitting up straighter.

“Seriously,” she echoed, cool and unbothered. “But feel free to go in the guest room if it’s that serious.”

He looked at her for a long moment. “You’re doing this on purpose.”

Angel finally glanced over again. Her expression was smug, unbothered, her whole body language reading what are you gonna do about it?

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said, voice saccharine. “I’m just minding my business. Watching my stories.”

Joe stared at her, the tension starting to settle into his shoulders. Not angry—but definitely annoyed. She knew exactly what she was doing. She wasn’t just being difficult. She was playing with him. Poking the bear. Testing how far she could go before he snapped.

Round two?

Definitely hers again.

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A few minutes passed. Joe didn’t bother restarting the film. He knew there was no point. Angel had kicked her feet up now, her legs stretched out across the cushions like a queen on her throne. She reached into the bag of Hot Cheetos next to her, crunching obnoxiously as she side-eyed him through her lashes.

“Hey,” she said, casual as ever.

“What?” he muttered.

“You left the fridge open earlier. Everything’s warm now. Might wanna double-check your almond milk before you start blaming me again.”

Joe turned his head slowly. “You’re impossible.”

“I’m adorable,” she corrected.

“You’re a menace.”

Angel smirked, licking red dust from her fingers. “And yet… you still married me.”

He opened his mouth to respond, but then stopped himself, catching the way her lips curled at the corners—the faintest glint of challenge in her eyes. She was baiting him. Hard. And the worst part? She was enjoying every second of it.

That realization settled in his chest like a match on dry leaves.

She wanted a reaction.

And if she kept going like this… she was going to get one.

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By dinnertime, Joe was running on fumes.

The kind of mental exhaustion that didn’t come from workouts or playbooks, but from one beautiful, petty little storm of a woman who had clearly made it her mission to test every ounce of his restraint.

He’d stayed calm longer than he thought possible. All day, Angel had poked, pushed, and prodded. The smirks. The side-eyes. The backhanded compliments. And the worst part? She did it all with that same effortless confidence, like she was swatting flies for sport.

He walked into the kitchen with the vague hope that a quiet meal might buy him a few minutes of peace. Maybe food would reset the mood. Ground them both.

But the second he opened the fridge, that idea died.

There, stacked neatly on the top shelf, were three sushi containers. His favorites, even. Tuna, shrimp tempura, avocado rolls. Perfectly chilled. Perfectly untouched.

But there were only three containers—and none of them were for him.

“You ordered food?” he asked, already knowing the answer.

“Mmhmm.” Angel didn’t even look up from her phone. She was sitting at the table, one leg crossed over the other, typing away like she hadn’t just committed the ultimate disrespect.

Joe shut the fridge door slowly, deliberately. “And didn’t get me anything?”

“You were busy,” she replied with a nonchalant shrug. “Didn’t want to interrupt your little quarterback study session.”

Joe turned, leveling a look at her. “I’ve been home. All. Day.”

She glanced up then, smile faint and maddeningly fake. “I didn’t think you’d want sushi. You’re always talking about mercury levels. Brain health. All that boring stuff.”

He walked over to the table, jaw tight, frustration starting to simmer just beneath his carefully built surface. He didn’t speak right away—just stared at her, like he was trying to read between the lines of her expression.

Angel finally set her phone down, folded her arms, and met his gaze head-on.

“You’ve been doing this on purpose,” he said.

She tilted her head, mock-innocent. “Doing what?”

“Acting like a brat. All day. You’ve been trying to piss me off.”

Angel leaned back in her chair slowly, the smugness in her expression blooming like a satisfied cat. “Maybe I have,” she said. “What you gonna do about it?”

Joe stepped in, closing some of the space between them, shoulders squaring. “Why?”

She stood up too—deliberate, calm. Not backing down, not flinching. She moved toward him like a challenge incarnate, the edge of her voice dropping into something softer, silkier, yet still taunting.

“Because,” she said, stopping just inches from him, “you’ve been walking around here all peaceful and patient. Quiet. Like you don’t see me. Like I’m just background noise.”

Joe blinked. “You think I don’t see you?”

“I know you do.” Her voice dipped lower now. “But you’ve been treating me like I’m some tired wife with spit-up on her shirt and oatmeal in her hair. I wanted to remind you I’m still me. I still need attention.”

“This was your way of asking for attention?” he asked, voice low, incredulous.

Angel smiled then—but it wasn’t sweet. It was the kind of smile that came with danger. Daring. A trap that she knew he would step into. “It worked, didn’t it?”

Joe stared at her, jaw clenching harder. “You really wanna test me right now?”

Angel lifted her chin, gaze steady, unblinking. “I’ve been testing you all day, baby. The real question is—how long you gonna let me?”

That was it.

That was the moment the tension snapped like a stretched rubber band. Joe moved before he had time to think it through. One hand gripped her waist, yanking her close. The other slid up the back of her neck, into the thick curls she’d piled into a loose bun that was now slipping free.

His voice dropped, rough and warning. “You sure you’re ready for what you’ve been begging for?”

Her breath hitched—but there was no fear in her face. Just desire. Hunger. Victory. She’d poked the bear until it finally turned—and she loved that it was her who brought it out.

“I’ve been ready, Joseph,” she whispered, voice velvet. “You’re the one who's been dragging your feet.”

His eyes darkened. “Say one more slick thing.”

Angel’s grin widened, slow and triumphant. “Make me.”

And that was all he needed.

Joe didn’t just respond—he reacted. He pulled her flush against him, locking her in place with the kind of intensity he’d been holding back all day. Every little comment, every eye-roll, every subtle jab had been leading to this. She’d wanted the fire behind the calm. The man behind the quarterback.

And now she had him.

Fully.

Completely.

Undeniably.

Angel had pushed every button he had. Poked every nerve. And now, as she found herself exactly where she wanted to be—held in place, breath short, eyes wide with anticipation—she knew one thing for certain.

She was finally being put back in her place.

And she was loving every second of it.

Joe moved his hand from the nape of her neck to the front of her throat—not gripping, not squeezing, just placing it there. Wrapping around it. Not enough to even slightly cut off her air supply, but enough to make it clear that he could.

It was enough to send a wave of heat straight to her core.

“You wanna play this game, babygirl?” he murmured, eyes boring into hers. “You think you can take it?”

“I know I can,” she replied, voice steady despite the tremble in her legs. She couldn’t help but smirk. “In fact, I’m gonna win it.”

That earned a snort from Joe, but there was a glimmer of amusement in his eyes. “Big words for someone who can’t even last five minutes without running that pretty little mouth of hers.”

Angel felt the challenge spark between them, hot and immediate. “Then why don’t you shut me up?” she said, voice dropping to a taunt. “If you can.”

Something feral lit in Joe’s eyes, and before Angel could take another breath, she was being turned around, her back flush against his chest. She could feel his erection pressing against her lower back, hard and thick through the thin fabric of his sweatpants. His hand stayed at her throat, keeping her in place, while the other gripped her hip, holding her close.

“Is this what you wanted?” Joe growled, his breath hot against her ear. “You wanted me to lose control, didn’t you? You wanted me to snap.”

Angel licked her lips, her heart pounding. “Maybe I did,” she breathed. “Maybe I wanted to see the real Joe. Not the controlled quarterback, not the calm, composed husband. I wanted the man underneath it all.”

She could feel his grip tighten on her hip, his fingers digging into her skin. “You don’t know what you’re asking for,” he warned. “The man underneath it all? He’s not always pretty. He’s got rough edges, dirty thoughts, and a hunger that never quite goes away.”

Angel shivered, a thrill running down her spine. “Then show me,” she whispered. “Show me all of it.”

Joe let out a low growl, his hand moving from her hip to the front of her thighs, pushing them apart. “Spread your legs,” he ordered, and Angel complied without hesitation, her breath coming faster now.

His hand slid up, fingers tracing along the seam of her leggings, finding the wet spot between her legs. “Look at you,” he murmured. “Already soaked for me, aren’t you? So ready to be fucked.”

Angel couldn’t speak, her voice caught in her throat. All she could do was nod, her hips moving involuntarily against his hand.

Joe chuckled, the sound low and dark. “But you don’t get to come that easy, babygirl. Not this time. This time, you’re gonna work for it.”

Angel felt a surge of heat at his words, but she couldn’t help but push a little more. “Work for it?” she repeated, glancing at him over her shoulder. “I thought you were going to shut me up, not make me work.”

Joe’s eyes narrowed, a dangerous glint in them. “That’s it,” he growled. In one swift motion, he picked her up, tossing her over his shoulder like she weighed nothing. Angel let out a surprised squeal, her legs kicking instinctively.

“Joe! What the hell—”

But he ignored her protests, carrying her out of the dining room and down the hall to their bedroom. Angel’s heart raced, her mind buzzing with anticipation and excitement. She’d pushed him, and now he was pushing back.

Hard.

Joe kicked the bedroom door open, then slammed it shut behind him. He set Angel down on her feet, then sat down on the edge of the bed, looking up at her with dark, hungry eyes.

“Strip,” he said, his voice low, not playing around.

Angel felt a shiver run down her spine, but she didn’t hesitate. She reached for the hem of her shirt, slowly lifting it over her head. Joe’s eyes followed her every move, drinking in the sight of her exposed skin.

“Faster,” he ordered, his voice rough.

Angel bit her lip, her hands moving to the waistband of her leggings. She hooked her thumbs underneath and began to push them down, slowly revealing her panties. Joe’s eyes locked onto the sight, his jaw clenching.

“Keep going,” he said, his voice strained.

Angel stepped out of her leggings, then reached back to unclasp her bra. She let it fall to the floor, her breasts bouncing free. Joe’s gaze was fixed on them, his eyes dark with desire.

“Panties too,” he said, his voice husky.

Angel complied, sliding her panties down her legs and stepping out of them. She stood before him completely naked, her heart pounding, her body trembling with anticipation.

Joe didn’t move for a long moment, just looked at her, his eyes roaming over every inch of her exposed skin. Angel felt exposed, vulnerable, but also incredibly turned on. She’d never seen Joe look at her like this before, with such raw, unfiltered desire.

“Come here,” he finally said, his voice low.

Angel took a step forward, her legs trembling. Joe reached out, gripping her hips and pulling her closer. He looked up at her, his eyes locked on hers.

“You wanted to know the real me?” he said, his voice dark. “This is it. This is the man you married. Now bend over my knee.”

Angel felt a surge of excitement mixed with a hint of fear. She knew what Joe had in mind, and while part of her was nervous, another part of her—the part that had been poking and prodding all day—was eager to see where this would go.

She bent over Joe’s knee, her ass up in the air, her face burning. Joe’s hand rubbed over her buttocks, the touch firm but gentle.

“You ready, babygirl?” he asked, his voice low.

“Ready for what?” Angel shot back, her sass coming through even in her vulnerable position.

Joe’s hand stilled, then he brought it down hard on her ass. Angel let out a yelp, her body jerking at the sudden impact.

“What was that?” Joe asked, his voice firm.

Angel bit her lip, trying to catch her breath. “I’m ready,” she said, her voice muffled.

Joe’s hand rubbed over the spot he’d just spanked, the touch soothing. “Good girl,” he murmured. Then, without warning, he brought his hand down again, this time on her other cheek.

Angel let out a moan, her hips moving instinctively. Joe spanked her again, and again, each blow landing in a different spot. Angel’s ass began to burn, the pain mixing with pleasure.

“You gonna keep being a brat?” Joe asked, his hand pausing to rub over her heated skin.

Angel nodded, her eyes squeezing shut. “Yes,” she whispered.

Joe let out a low laugh. “We’ll see about that,” he said. And then he started again, his hand coming down hard and fast, alternating between her cheeks.

Angel’s moans filled the room, her body jerking with each impact. The pain was intense, but so was the pleasure. She could feel her pussy throbbing, wetness dripping down her thighs.

After what felt like an eternity, Joe stopped. Angel lay over his knee, panting, her ass on fire.

“How many was that?” Joe asked, his hand rubbing over her sore skin.

Angel tried to think, but her mind was fuzzy. “I… I don’t know,” she admitted.

Joe let out a sigh. “Then I guess we’ll have to start over,” he said.

Angel groaned, but before she could protest, Joe started again. This time, he made her count out loud.

“One,” she said after the first spank. “Two,” after the second. She made it all the way to eight before losing count again.

Joe sighed again. “You’re not very good at this, are you?”

Angel shook her head, her face burning with embarrassment.

“Well, we can’t have that,” Joe said. “So for every time you lose count, you get five more.”

Angel groaned again, but didn’t protest. She knew she’d asked for this, and a part of her wanted it—wanted to be pushed, wanted to feel the sting of Joe’s hand on her ass.

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Joe made her start over three more times before he finally stopped. By then, Angel’s ass was bright red, the skin hot to the touch. She lay over his knee, breathing hard, her body trembling.

Joe’s hand moved over her sore flesh, then dipped between her legs. Angel let out a gasp as his fingers traced over her slit, feeling her wetness.

“You’re soaked,” Joe murmured, his fingers teasing her entrance. “So wet for me, even after all that.”

“You want to come, babygirl?” Joe asked, his fingers continuing their torment. He circled her clit with one fingertip, feather-light. Angel jerked at the touch, a small sound escaping her.

“Yes,” she said quickly. “Please, I need it.”

He chuckled, the sound low and dark. “I know what you need. But do you know what I need?” He didn’t wait for her to respond, dipping two fingers inside her again. Angel’s back arched, a whimper escaping her lips.

“You need to admit it,” Joe continued, his fingers moving just enough to tease but not enough to satisfy. “Tell me what you are.”

Angel frowned, confusion cutting through the haze of pleasure. “What I am? What are you—”

“You know what I’m talking about,” he interrupted, his voice firm. “Tell me why you’ve been acting out all day.”

Angel bit her lip, trying to focus through the pleasure. “Because I… I wanted your attention?” It came out like a question, uncertain.

Joe shook his head, fingers stilling. “No, that’s not it. Try again.”

She squirmed under him, trying to get him to move his fingers. “I was bored?”

Another shake of his head. “Wrong again.”

“Then tell me!” Angel snapped, frustration mounting.

Joe leaned down, his face inches from hers. “You’re a brat, Angel. You love pushing my buttons because you want me to put you in your place. You want me to remind you who’s in charge. Admit it.”

Angel glared up at him, her cheeks flushed with a mixture of anger and desire. “Fuck you, Joseph.”

But even as she said it, she knew he was right. She had wanted to push him. She’d craved this—his intensity, his dominance. She’d missed it, truth be told. With the baby, they hadn’t had much time for anything like this. And she’d been getting a little… restless.

Joe’s expression didn’t change. He didn’t get angry like she expected. Instead, he just sighed, resigned. “Alright, Angel. If that’s how you want to play it…” He pulled his fingers out of her, ignoring her whimper of protest.

“Joe, wait—” but she didn’t get to finish. In one smooth move, he threw her to land in the middle of their bed, flipped over on her back, pulling her to the edge. Before she could even process the move, he’d knelt on the floor.

He found his home between her thighs, and he made sure she knew it. Every lick, every suck, every tease was deliberate. It was a promise of what was to come—and a punishment for what she’d put him through. Angel had wanted a reaction? She had it. And more was yet to come.

Her hands fisted in his hair, pulling hard enough to make him grunt against her pussy. The sound vibrated through her, drawing a guttural moan from her throat. He licked a broad stripe from her entrance to her clit, slow, savoring the taste of her. The way she shuddered, the way her breath caught—it was all fuel to the fire he’d been stoking all day.

Angel gasped, hips bucking involuntarily. Joe’s hands clamped down on them, holding her still with a grip that was anything but gentle. She tried to move, to grind against his mouth, but he was immovable. His control was absolute—and she hated how much it turned her on.

“Joe, please—” she broke off with a sharp cry as he sucked her clit between his lips, tongue flicking mercilessly. Her thighs trembled around his head, the muscles taut with the effort of staying still.

He pulled away, a string of spit still connecting his lips to her pussy. “Please, what? Tell me exactly what you want, Angel.” His voice was a dark rumble, eyes glinting with a mixture of desire and something far more dangerous.

Angel’s chest heaved, trying to catch her breath. “I want—I need—” She couldn’t find the words, her mind a haze of pleasure and need. But she didn’t have to find them. Because Joe knew. He always knew.

And with that, he leaned down and licked a long, hot stripe from her entrance to her clit. Angel cried out, her fingers tangling in his hair.

Joe didn’t stop there. He continued to lick and suck her, his tongue delving inside her and then moving up to circle her clit. Angel writhed beneath him, her hips bucking up to meet his mouth.

“Joe,” she cried. “Oh god, Joe. Don’t stop. Please don’t stop.”

Joe hummed against her, the vibration sending shocks of pleasure through her body. He continued to eat her out, his tongue and lips working her into a frenzy.

Angel was close, so close. She could feel her orgasm building, coiling tight in her belly. She was almost there, just a little more…

But then Joe pulled away. Angel cried out in frustration, her hips chasing his mouth. But Joe held her down, his grip firm on her thighs.

“Not yet,” he said, his voice husky. “You don’t get to come yet, babygirl. You have to wait until I say so.”

Angel whined, her entire body shaking with need. “Please, Daddy,” she begged. “I need to come. Please let me come.”

Joe smirked, his thumb brushing over her clit. “Not yet, we have all night. And I plan to take my time with you,” he repeated. “But soon. I promise.”

Without another word, he dove back in. This time, there was nothing teasing about it. It was all consuming, relentless. His tongue worked her clit in tight, focused circles while his fingers pressed inside her, curling just so. Angel arched off the bed, back bowed in a perfect arc of pleasure.

“Yes, yes, yes—” she chanted, hips moving of their own accord now. Joe let her, one hand releasing her hip to grip her thigh instead, spreading her wider. He sucked her clit harder, fingers thrusting in time with his tongue.

She was close. So close. She could feel it building, that coiling tension in her lower belly, the sparks of pleasure that started at her core and spread out to her fingertips. She was almost there—

Joe stopped. Pulled back completely, leaving her empty and gasping. His fingers slipped out of her with a wet sound that made her face burn with embarrassment and need.

She propped herself up on her elbows, glaring at him. “You can’t be serious.”

“Oh, I’m very serious.” He leaned in, crowding her space until she was flat on her back again. His weight pressed her into the mattress, his erection hard against her hip. “You’ve been a little brat all day, Angel. Pushing my buttons, testing my patience.” He nipped her lower lip, none too gently. “Now it’s time to take your punishment.”

Angel’s breath hitched, a thrill of excitement mixed with trepidation racing through her. She knew that tone, that look in his eyes. He wasn’t joking. And as much as she wanted to keep pushing, to see how far she could go… part of her wanted this. Wanted to give in, to let him take control.

Because when Joe took control, it was never just about him. It was about her pleasure, her needs, her desires. It was about pushing her boundaries and bringing her to heights she hadn’t known existed. It was about trust and vulnerability and connection on a level that transcended the physical.

And right now, she wanted that connection more than she wanted to keep fighting.

She whined in frustration, her hips bucking against his hand. “Please touch me,” she begged. “Please make me come.”

Joe’s chuckle was dark and sinful. “You’ll come when I’m good and ready for you to come,” he said. “Now be a good girl and take what I give you.”

Joe didn’t let her rest for long. His hand slipped between her legs, his fingers finding her clit. Angel let out a moan, her head falling back.

Angel wanted to argue, wanted to push back, but the way Joe’s fingers were moving between her legs made it impossible for her to think straight. She could feel her orgasm building, could feel it just out of reach, and she was desperate for it.

•´¨*•.¸¸.•*´¨.¸¸.ପໄଓ࿚ପଓ•´¨*•.¸¸.•*´¨.¸¸.ପໄଓ࿚ପ��

Joe kept her on edge for what felt like hours, his fingers teasing her, bringing her close to the edge, only to pull back every time. His mouth found her, tasting her, devouring her, but always stopping just before she could tip over into climax. He played her body like an instrument, knowing exactly which buttons to press, which strings to pull.

He looked up at her, lips glistening, eyes dark with lust and a hint of amusement. “What’s wrong, baby? Cat got your tongue?”

Angel groaned, frustration and desire warring inside her. “Why did you stop?”

Joe sat up, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “Because you were about to cum. And you don’t get to cum until I say so.” His voice was calm, almost conversational. But there was an undercurrent of steel in it that made Angel shiver.

He started again, this time with fingers first. Two, thrusting deep, while his mouth found her clit. Angel’s head fell back, a low moan escaping her. He was relentless, working her up again with practiced ease. She was sensitive now, her nerves alight with the aftershocks of her interrupted orgasm.

This time, when she started to get close, she felt it sooner. The tension built faster, the pleasure sharper. Joe noticed it too. He could read her body like a book, every twitch, every tremor. And when she was on the edge, he pulled back again.

Angel whimpered, hands reaching for him. “Joe, please—I need it. I need to cum.”

He caught her wrists, pinning them beside her head. “You need to learn your place. You think you can push me around all day and then just get your reward? That’s not how this works.”

His hips settled between hers, the hard length of his erection pressed against her thigh. Angel tried to tilt her hips, to get that friction where she needed it most. But Joe held her still, her wrists immovable in his grip.

Angel bit her lip. She wanted to come so badly, but a part of her didn’t want to give in. “I… I…”

Joe raised an eyebrow. “What’s the matter, babygirl? Too fucked out to speak? What happened to all that back talk earlier?”

Angel glared at him. “I don’t want to admit it.”

Joe shrugged. “Then you don’t get to come.”

Angel let out a frustrated growl. “That’s not fair,” she said, stamping her foot.

Joe chuckled. “Life’s not fair,” he said. “But if you’re a good girl and admit what you are, I might let you come on my cock.”

Angel’s eyes widened. The thought of taking Joe’s thick length after all this foreplay was too tempting to resist. Slowly, she nodded.

“I’m a brat,” she said, her voice soft.

Joe smiled, his eyes crinkling. “Good girl,” he praised. Then he stood up, lifting Angel onto her feet. He kissed her deeply, his tongue invading her mouth.

When he pulled back, Angel was breathless. “Now,” Joe said, his voice low. He began to strip off his clothes, his eyes never leaving Angel’s. Once he was naked, he laid back on the bed, his back against the headboard.

“Come prove to me you’re sorry,” he said, his cock hard and ready.

Angel didn’t hesitate. She crawled up the bed, straddling Joe’s hips. She reached between them, gripping his length and lining him up with her entrance. But before she could sink down onto him, Joe gripped her hips, stopping her.

“Only good girls get to look at my face,” he said, his eyes dark. “Turn around and watch yourself in the mirror.”

Angel bit her lip but complied, turning her back to Joe. He helped her, placing his hands on her hips and lifting her, then turning her so she faced the mirror that hung on the wall across from the bed.

Angel’s breath caught as she caught sight of herself—naked, legs spread, Joe’s thick cock nestled between her thighs. Joe’s hands gripped her hips, holding her in place.

“Bend forward,” he ordered.

Angel did as she was told, bending at the waist. Joe’s cock slid between her legs, the head catching on her entrance.

“Now ride me like you mean it,” Joe said, his voice rough. “Show me how sorry you are for being a brat all day.”

Angel didn’t need to be told twice. She slid down onto Joe’s cock, taking him to the hilt. The stretch burned, but it was a good kind of pain. She began to move, lifting herself up and sliding back down.

Joe let out a groan, his hands gripping her hips tighter. “That’s it, babygirl,” he praised. “Just like that. Show me what a good wife you can be.”

Angel rode him hard, her hips slapping against his. She could see herself in the mirror, her tits bouncing, her face flushed with pleasure. Behind her, Joe was moaning, his hips meeting her thrust for thrust. Suddenly, his hand came down on her ass, the slap ringing out in the room.

Angel yelped but didn’t stop moving. Instead, she rode him faster, her pussy clenching around his cock. Joe spanked her again and again, the pain mixing with the pleasure.

“Talked so much shit,” Joe growled in her ear, “now look at you. Taking my cock like a good little slut. This all you needed, baby? Your husband to fuck the brattiness out of you?”

“Yes,” Angel breathed. She was close, so close. She could feel her orgasm building, coiling tight in her belly.

Joe’s hand gripped the back of her neck, pulling her up until she was laying back against his chest. His other hand slid around to her front, his fingers finding her clit. He rubbed her in fast circles as he fucked up into her, deep and slow.

Angel could feel tears pricking at the corners of her eyes. The pleasure was overwhelming, too much and not enough all at once. “Joe,” she begged. “Please, I need to come.”

“You need to come?” Joe repeated, his voice mocking. “Well, that’s too bad. I don’t think you deserve it.”

Angel let out a sob, her hips moving faster. “Please,” she begged again. “I’ll be good, I promise. I’ll be the best wife, the best girl. Just please let me come.”

Joe reached his other hand up, wrapping it around her throat. He slowed his thrusts, fucking into her with long, deep strokes. “Hmmm, are you done being a brat?” he asked.

Angel nodded frantically, her eyes wide. “Yes,” she said, her voice choked. “I’m done, I promise. Please, Joe. Please let me come.”

Joe chuckled, the sound dark. “Such a good girl now, aren’t you?” he murmured. “Eyes open. Keep looking.”

Angel did as she was told, her eyes opening to look at her reflection in the mirror. She saw the large hand splayed across her lower abdomen, the other wrapped around her throat. She saw Joe’s broad chest behind her, his muscles rippling as he moved. She saw his thick cock, buried deep inside her pussy.

And she saw his eyes, dark and intense, locked on hers in the mirror.

“Good girl,” Joe praised, his hips never stopping. “Keep those eyes open. Keep watching yourself get fucked. Watch yourself come undone on my cock.”

Angel couldn’t look away even if she wanted to. She was mesmerized by the sight of herself, by the pleasure coursing through her body. Joe’s hand on her throat tightened slightly, and his fingers on her clit moved faster. His teeth sank into her neck, biting down on the sensitive skin.

“Come for me, babygirl. Show me how much you love your punishment.”

Angel couldn’t hold back anymore. She came hard, her eyes rolling back in her head, her scream echoing off the walls. She squirted all over Joe’s cock, her juices flowing out of her and down his balls.

Joe groaned at the feel of her coming, his fingers never stopping on her clit. He kept rubbing her, drawing out her orgasm until she was a shaking, sobbing mess in his arms. Then, after a few more thrusts, he came too, his seed shooting deep inside her.

Angel collapsed against him, her body spent. Joe wrapped his arms around her, holding her close. They stayed like that for a long moment, both breathing hard. Slowly, Joe released his hold on her throat, his fingers gently massaging the skin. He pressed a kiss to her neck, then her shoulder.

“Good girl. There’s the woman I married,” he murmured again.

Angel smiled, her body lax against his. “Thank you,” she said, her voice quiet.

Joe chuckled. “For what? Fucking you into next week?”

Angel laughed. “No, for putting me in my place.”

Joe pulled out of her, then turned her in his arms. He looked down at her, his eyes softening. “You’re perfect just the way you are,” he said. “Brattiness and all.”

Then Joe gently lifted her off his cock and laid her down on the bed beside him.

He pulled her into his arms, kissing her softly. “You okay, baby?” he asked, his thumb rubbing over her cheek.

Angel nodded, snuggling closer to him. “I’m perfect,” she said, her voice filled with satisfaction.

Joe chuckled. “Good,” he said. Then, after a moment, “You’re still a brat, though.”

Angel laughed, slapping his chest lightly. “Shut up.”

Joe just grinned, kissing the top of her head. “I love you, baby,” he said softly.

Angel looked up at him, her eyes shining. “I love you too.”

As they laid there together, wrapped in each other’s arms, Angel knew that she’d gotten exactly what she needed. She’d needed Joe to put her back in her place, to remind her who was in charge. And he’d done just that.

But more than that, she’d needed to be reminded that no matter what, Joe would always love her. That he would always be there for her, even when she was being difficult. That their love was strong enough to withstand anything, even a bratty wife.

•´¨*•.¸¸.•*´¨.¸¸.ପໄଓ࿚ପଓ•´¨*•.¸¸.•*´¨.¸¸.ପໄଓ࿚ପଓ

Just as Angel’s eyes began to flutter shut, the soft haze of sleep tugging at her, she felt herself being lifted gently off the bed. Joe’s strong arms wrapped around her, his chest warm against her cheek as he cradled her with practiced ease. She murmured something unintelligible, half-protest, half-contentment, but he only kissed the top of her head and kept walking.

The en-suite bathroom was softly lit, the overhead light dimmed to a golden glow that made the marble countertops gleam. Steam curled up from the large soaking tub, where fragrant bubbles danced on the surface of the water. Lavender and eucalyptus filled the air, wrapping around them like a warm embrace.

Joe knelt beside the tub and slowly lowered her into the water, careful to ease her in rather than startle her with the heat. Angel let out a long, luxurious sigh as the warmth seeped into her muscles, dissolving the aches of the day. Her head fell back against the edge of the tub, her curls brushing the porcelain.

“Hold still,” Joe said gently, grabbing a silk scrunchie from the counter. He gathered her curls with care, tying them up into a loose bun to keep them from the water. “There we go. Perfect.”

She watched him move around the bathroom, his steps quiet but purposeful. When he turned toward the door presumably to go change the sheets on their bed, she made a small noise of protest, eyes fluttering open again.

Joe paused in the doorway and looked over his shoulder. “Shhh,” he murmured, the corner of his mouth lifting. “I’ll be right back, baby. Just gonna get the bed ready.”

She let him go, the sound of his footsteps fading. In the silence, the soft pop of bubbles breaking on the surface of the water became almost meditative. The warmth, the scent, the quiet—she could’ve stayed there forever.

But only a few minutes passed before he was back, stepping carefully into the room with two tall glasses of ice water balanced in one hand and his phone in the other.

“Hydration, my love,” he said, placing the glasses on the ledge within reach. Then, with a contented groan, he climbed into the tub behind her, water lapping up the sides as his weight settled in.

Angel shifted slightly, nestling herself between his thighs, her back resting against his chest. Joe’s arms came around her, one hand finding hers under the water, fingers intertwining.

He pressed a kiss to her shoulder, then nuzzled into the curve of her neck. “Music?”

“Anything,” she murmured, her voice nearly a whisper.

Joe chuckled against her skin, the vibration of it soothing. “Dangerous thing to say to a man with questionable taste.”

“You’re lucky I’m too relaxed to argue,” she said, smiling sleepily.

He opened his music app and started scrolling. “Let’s see… Jazz? R&B? Or are you in one of those movie-soundtrack-mood kind of nights?”

“Surprise me.”

He started reading off a few titles, his voice deep and warm, the cadence of it washing over her. By the time he settled on a mellow playlist and set the phone aside, her eyelids were already growing heavy again.

•´¨*•.¸¸.•*´¨.¸¸.ପໄଓ࿚ପଓ•´¨*•.¸¸.•*´¨.¸¸.ପໄଓ࿚ପଓ

Minutes passed—or maybe longer—and eventually Joe reached in front her and pulled the plug. The water gurgled and swirled, draining away in a slow spiral. Angel shivered as the steam dissipated and the cool air of the bathroom returned.

Without a word, Joe stood and stepped out, wrapping himself in a towel before returning to help her up. He grabbed a warm towel from the towel warmer and wrapped it snugly around her, patting her skin dry with gentle hands. “You good?” he asked, his eyes meeting hers.

She nodded, still wordless, letting him take care of her.

He lifted her again, as easily as if she weighed nothing at all, and carried her back to the bedroom where the bed now lay freshly made, the sheets crisp and cool. He laid her down carefully, smoothing a hand over her back before returning to the bathroom to hang the towels.

When he came back, he had the ointment in hand. Angel was already on her stomach, her arms tucked under her pillow. He sat beside her, uncapping the bottle, and squeezed a generous amount into his palm. The smell of menthol mixed with something floral rose into the air. He rubbed a generous amount onto her ass, the coolness of the ointment soothing the heat there.

She winced at first as he began to rub it in, but then her body gradually relaxed, melting beneath his hands.

“Mmm… thank you,” she mumbled into the pillow.

He smiled and didn’t reply, just continued the slow, soothing motion of his hands until every trace of tension was gone. When he was done, he wiped his hands off and tossed the towel into the hamper with practiced ease.

Without missing a beat, Joe grabbed one of his oversized T-shirts—soft and worn, smelling like him—and helped Angel into it. Then, from the nightstand drawer, he pulled out her satin bonnet.

She looked up at him with a grateful smile as he gently slid it over her curls. “You know I hate waking up looking like a madwoman,” she murmured.

“Which is why you never do,” he said, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

With that, he shed his towel and pulled on a clean pair of boxers. Then he climbed into bed, pulling the comforter over them both and wrapping his arms around her.

Angel curled into his chest, her cheek resting over his heart. The steady thump of it was her favorite lullaby.

“Love you,” she whispered.

“I love you more,” Joe replied, kissing the crown of her head.

Sleep claimed her swiftly, the weight of his arms and the beat of his heart anchoring her in a safety she never took for granted.

•´¨*•.¸¸.•*´¨.¸¸.ପໄଓ࿚ପଓ•´¨*•.¸¸.•*´¨.¸¸.ପໄଓ࿚ପଓ

The next morning, sunlight filtered through the car windows as they cruised down the highway, soft music playing low from the speakers. Angel’s phone buzzed in her lap. She picked it up, swiping the screen, and smiled instantly.

Joe glanced over from the driver’s seat. “What’s got you grinning like that?”

She turned the phone toward him. A picture filled the screen—Zariyah, their six-month-old daughter, laying on her little baby gym. She wasn’t playing with the hanging toys like usual. Instead, she had her head turned to the side, her eyes closed in serene contentment, a smile tugging at her lips as she sucked her thumb.

Joe chuckled, his eyes flicking from the road to the image and back. “Looks like our girl’s a little brat… just like her mama.”

Angel gasped in mock offense, swatting his arm. “She’s a baby, Joseph! Don’t even start.”

“She is your daughter though,” he teased, clearly trying to hide his grin now.

“Whatever,” she muttered, rolling her eyes—but her cheeks were flushed with affection.

Joe reached over and took her hand, lacing their fingers together with a gentle squeeze. “I love you,” he said, the words simple but deeply felt.

Angel looked at him, her heart full. “I love you too.”

And in that moment—sunlight on their faces, laughter in their voices, and love thick in the air—everything felt exactly as it should be.

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222col · 2 months ago

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patrick zweig x fairy!reader where he just kind of corrupts her and when they're fucking he's like 'you're just so /stupid/' but he's smiling about it all the same

+ FAIRY READER AND PATRICK PLEASE

fairy!reader x patrick zweig

summary: patrick loves making you dumb from his touch

cw .ᐟ nsfw, creampie, slapping

you were the easiest girl patrick had ever gotten. too busy batting your lashes to notice the way he’d ruined you. letting him grope you in public, art’s seen your naked pictures more times than he can count.

you were so fucking cute about it too. always giggling away as patrick shoves your hand down his shorts during parties. pushing you onto your knees in locker rooms, he couldn’t give a fuck that there were still people in there. you looked too pretty with mascara running down your cheeks as you choked around him.

but nothing beat the feeling of you around him. cock drunk and drool dripping down your chin, letting him do whatever he wanted to you. high pitched pants, screams of his name, it was even better when art was in bed five feet away.

“so fuckin’ stupid, baby,” he smirks, hands boxing you in beneath him. cock pounding into you without a care in the world. head empty, filled with only his name. mindlessly nodding along to his words.

you’re always so complacent, patrick eats it up. saying the meanest things while you’re tight around him. “just need my cock, don’t you? nothin’ else.” he taunts, damn near splitting you open.

one harsh slap across your cheek wakes you up from the fucked out space he’s put you in. “hmm, yeah— hnnph! just your— your cock.” you finally answer, jaw slack as moans echo around the room.

“c’mon baby, bounce on it, know you like it.” he mumbles, dragging you into his lap. you’d like anything if he was telling you that you did. your rhythm was off, too dumb off his cock to control your movements. hands groping at the flesh of your ass, forcing you up and down on his lap.

one hand moves to your face, pushing your cheeks together. "such a dumb little slut," he mocks, he fuckin' means it too.

lips too squished by his fingers to murmur out a coherent response, just mumbles of agreement and a nod of your head. "couldn't live without me, could you, babygirl?"

"mm hmm," you mumble, pouting through his grip on your cheeks, shaking your head. his hips start to rut up into you, sounds of skin slapping loud in the small dorm. "know you couldn't," patrick grunts between thrusts.

"too fuckin' stupid." he smirks, both hands digging into your waist, forcing you to bounce up and down. his skin is sweaty, sticking to your own as his hips pump up into you once more. painting your walls white, he loves watching it drip out of your cunt. too dumb to tell him to pull out.

throwing your body down onto the mattress after he's finished, grinning at the wet spot forming on the sheets below you. god, he can't wait to fuck you again when art's back from training.

꒰ taglist ꒱ @khartalks @bluestrd @appleaali @chrattvibe @tacobacoyeet @lexiiscorect @glassmermaids @voidsuites @donteventry-itdude @matchpointfaist @stanart4clearskin @s0ftcobra @artaussi (to be added)

#fairy!reader 𐦍 #anon req ☽｡⋆#fairy!reader x patrick zweig #patrick zweig #patrick zweig x reader #patrick zweig x you #patrick zweig fic #challengers #challengers fic #★ 222col's writing

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secretlyazombi3 · 2 months ago

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UGHH i absolutely love ur fics! they're so descriptive n i love the way u write ♡♡ i was actually wondering if you could do a fic or drabble abt a bratty, pillow princess bimbo reader w a subby leon kennedy, preferably from re2 >_< specifically nsfw but anything else is fine too :33

Plaything ! ⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆

leon kennedy x fem! afab! reader

๋࣭ ⭑⚝word count: 3.4k ๋࣭ ⭑⚝ NSFW!!!!, 2nd person, re2r leon, leon is a whiny pervy sub, unprotected (don't do that), missionary, oral (f receiving), multiple orgasms

๋࣭ ⭑⚝ summary: Leon can't help but be a subby boytoy for his bimbo gf :3

๋࣭ ⭑⚝ a/n: (requests r open) AAA TYSM FOR THIS REQUEST :33 this is my first time doing a request so i rlly hope u like it!!!

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Leon was home from an exhausting day at work, he'd chased down a few fugitives that were on the run, his legs were sore and dragging against the floor each time he trudged forward. The other officers teased him a bit, but it really had been a difficult run for him.

And now he’d been fantasizing about coming home to eat dinner, which wasn’t too out of the usual. That man loved to eat.

You'd had a nice day off, you had only gone out to run some errands but used it as an excuse to dress up, but who could blame you? Your pink yoga leggings and matching cropped zip up needed to be worn out every chance you could get.

Leon looked tired the second he came home, all he wanted was to eat and toss himself on your guys' bed - not without showering you in at least a hundred kisses, of course.

"...'m home..." Leon called out as he shut the front door behind him, kicking off his shoes carelessly and gently dropping his duffle-bag onto the ground, leaving it there for when he left to work again tomorrow morning.

Leon walked over to the kitchen, immediately reaching for the fridge to find some sort of snack. He deserved a little treat for himself after the day he’d had.

“You’re eating already?” You asked as you walked into the kitchen, tilting your head to the side and pouting your lip slightly. “I was going to make dinner.” you added.

Leon took a moment before finally pausing his adventure in the fridge, stopping his digging through the fridge to glance back at you. “I’m hungry-” he whined, stopping as he looked at you.

“Did you go somewhere today...?” He asked as he looked you up and down, drinking in your outfit with his eyes. “I went grocery shopping.” you answered simply.

“Wearing that?” Leon asked, raising an eyebrow. He wasn’t trying to shame you or anything, it was just… unusual to him that you’d dress up that good to go get some groceries. Seemed like a waste to him. “Why, is that a bad thing?” you responded.

“No, I-I mean it’s…” Leon started, stumbling over his words as his cheeks dusted a light shade of pink. His eyes stopped trailing over your outfit - how the pink clothes perfectly complimented your skin tone, how the fabric hugged your body perfectly - and they got stuck on your chest.

His eyes were glued there, he was staring at the small amount of the skin on your tits he could see, beneath the cropped jacket that was slightly unzipped and pressed tightly beneath a white tube top.

Stop staring. Leon mentally repeated to himself, but he had to repeat it more times than he’d like to admit for the message to finally go through in his head.

“It’s just weird to dress up that much for the grocery store.” Leon finished, swallowing hard, his Adam's apple bobbing in his throat. That wasn’t the detail that gave it away, it’d been dead obvious he was just staring at your tits for the past thirty seconds. His body language made it painfully obvious. The growing bulge in his pants didn’t help much. He was so pathetic; he was getting hard by just glancing at your tits.

You furrowed your brows slightly and glowered a bit more. “Quit being so pervy.” you scolded him as if he were a misbehaving puppy.

Leon hated when you talked to him in that tone - well, to be more honest, he hated how much he liked it when you spoke to him like that. All serious and demanding. He hated how weak in the knees it made him feel.

“Sorry!” Leon apologized, his face turning from a light shade of fuchsia to a deep crimson. Guiltily, he let his eyes drag back down to your chest. He couldn’t help it, they were like magnets, like bees to honey, his eyes were just naturally drawn there like some sort of instinct.

“I just… I can’t help it when you’re dressed like that!” Leon whined. He really wasn’t trying to shame you for dressing like a bimbo to the grocery store, but he couldn’t help the jealousy that arose in him whenever he thought about you going out alone dressed in such a way.

You got to shop all alone, no indication to others that you were taken with a boyfriend, all while showing off your body to strangers. He didn’t want anyone else to see your chest looking all perky and pretty, practically begging to be sucked on. Those were for his eyes only!

“How rude!” You replied to Leon’s comment. He didn’t say it directly, but he was essentially slut shaming you for dressing that way. Couldn’t he just understand that you just liked the clothes, not the attention from other men? You didn’t care if anyone at the store stared at you, you just cared about fashion!

Leon softened his expression a bit, not wanting to argue, especially since his words came out so wrong. He knew he was the erroneous one, he knew better than to question your decisions.

“I’m sorry, I… I didn’t mean it like that.” Leon apologized softly, not liking you being mad at him. He was always quick to bend over to you, he was a softie, he never wanted to be the one to upset you.

“That’s fine. You just know how I feel about comments like that.” You mumbled as Leon pulled you in to wrap his arms around your waist which was exposed thanks to how short your top was. It was silent for a moment before Leon spoke again. “Had a rough day at work.” Leon grunted into your neck as he inhaled you roughly, bathing in your scent for a moment. Your perfume always helped him relax. “Yeah?” You asked as you brushed your fingers through Leon’s hair as he clung to you like a baby. Leon looked at you with his big puppy eyes, he’d been humiliated by his coworkers earlier and had come home and gotten you upset…. All he wanted was to be in your arms.

Leon placed his hand on your cheek, batting his eyes at you a bit before pulling you in for a kiss. He was so desperate for you at this point… and your little outfit just made him lose his control.

The kisses started slow and soft at first, a bit romantic, but each time he pulled away to breathe in some air, he’d come back more aggressive, sloppier, until it was nothing but open-mouthed sloppy kisses.

Leon gently lifted you up by your hips and set you down onto the kitchen counter. He only gave you a second to breathe before grabbing you and kissing you again, harder and more desperate with each kiss, not allowing you to pull away.

His hips move a bit on their own, grinding against you and humping your leg like a damn dog in heat. He should feel shameful, and part of him does, but it just feels so good. He feels the shame slip out of his body with each little piteous hump.

You squirm a bit feeling a hard bulge prodding out of Leon’s pants rubbing against your clothed legs. You have to practically pry Leon’s face off of yours by tugging on his hair. A small string of saliva connects your lips even as Leon’s lips are forced away from yours. “Wha...?” Leon asks you breathlessly.

“You’re humping me like a dog!” You sniveled. Leon stops his movement; he looks embarrassed that you actually acknowledged what he’d been doing.

“S... sorry, I just… I need you…” Leon said breathlessly as he gave you those stupid puppy eyes again. You just can’t bring yourself to deny anything when Leon’s looking at you like that.

Leon’s hand travels down his baggy uniform pants and into his boxers. He lets out a little grunt as he pumps his fist around himself. He was being so pervy, but he couldn’t help it.

He pulled his pants down and let his cock adjust to the cold air all while you sat there on the counter, doing nothing but looking pretty for him. “Let me have you… please?” Leon begs you sorrily, his voice whinier than ever.

You let out a little sigh as you breathed heavily as Leon gently pushed your legs apart for him, sliding off your pretty pink leggings and pushing up your top so he can free your tits and stare at them as shamelessly as he wanted.

"Only if you give me head first. I'm not going to let you just do missionary, that's so boring!" you replied. You knew Leon had a long day at work, but that wasn't an excuse. He'd still be putting in the work.

Leon looked at you pathetically, his lip pouted out slightly. Not being able to fuck you when he so desperately wanted to was probably his punishment for him perving on you earlier.

Still, he gently flicks his tongue against your chest, kissing your nipple before lowering his kisses to between your legs. He starts off with a few kitten licks. Soft, quick licks like he doesn’t know what he’s doing. But he does know, and you know he knows. He’s done it before. He’s just being stubborn.

“Is that the best you can do?” You asked Leon, your tone slightly bratty. He needed to actually put some work in if he wanted to be able to fuck you.

Leon frowned when you asked him that, but he wasn’t one to argue (even if you were being a brat). Leon buried his face between your legs, nose touching your clit as he licked you long and rough.

His hands, which were gloved with those fingerless gloves he wore every damn day, rested on your thighs. As his tongue traced your entrance, your knees buckled slightly, and Leon didn’t want you to trap him with your thighs. “Don’t crush me with your thighs…” Leon mumbled as he glanced up at you.

Leon continued working his tongue, occasionally pushing it inside your cunt, making him whine thinking about how good it’d feel to put his dick in you. Why did you have to be so cruel? He worked all day, and you wouldn’t let him just use you to blow off some steam.

Leon groaned a bit as he continued eating you, shamefully getting a bit pussy drunk. You tasted so damn good, better than anything he could’ve found in the fridge.

He glanced up at you again, you looked so good at this angle, and being able to see your exposed tits like this was… God, Leon could come from just staring at you like this. Not to mention your beautiful moans. You were audibly enjoying Leon’s mouth, and it just made Leon even hornier.

Leon’s tongue moved to your clit, tracing circles around the nerves. Leon heard you gasp a bit and suddenly your breathing became much choppier before bringing your knees together, practically suffocating Leon between your plush thighs.

Leon pushed them away again desperately, pursing his lips. “I told you not to do that.” he bitched as he gave your clit some more gentle kitty licks.

“Sorry.” you replied, but your tone made it clear you didn’t feel any actual remorse.

You always did this - disobey Leon. He hated it, he wished he could punish you. Refuse to let you cum or put a leash on you and walk you around like a damn dog to embarrass you. But he didn’t have it in him to be anything but obedient to you. If anything, he’d let you do those things to him.

You moaned as Leon continued savoring your pussy with his tongue, lapping it between your folds before continuing to stimulate your clit. You leaned your head back, letting your hair drape behind you as he gently grabbed Leon by his hair. You were close, and you didn’t want to let him stop for any reason.

Leon kept flicking his tongue against your clit before removing his right hand from the inside of your thigh, gently pushing two of his fingers in. His saliva coated your pussy; it was easy for his fingers to enter.

You squirmed a bit as you felt Leon’s fingers slide in and out of your cunt all while Leon was still desperately eating your pussy, suckling on your clit. Leon groaned a little as he ate you out.

“Mm, fuck…” You breathed, furrowing your brows as you felt a heat pool in your lower abdomen. You knew you were about to come; you could feel that knot in your stomach only getting tighter with each thrust of Leon’s fingers and lick of his tongue.

Leon felt you get tighter around his fingers, which was how he knew you were about to come. You dug your nails a bit into Leon’s scalp, throwing your head back even more as you squealed from pleasure.

“Leon!” You yelped, moaning like a porn star as you forced Leon’s head down on you, not letting him escape as you came. After a moment of gasping for air from the aftermath of your orgasm, you let go of Leon, his pretty boy face covered in your juices.

“Fuck...” he breathed as he looked down at you, his hand moving to his stiff cock. Once your breathing had returned to a mostly normal pace, Leon grabbed your hips and pulled you close.

“Can I put it in? Please?” he asked you, practically begging, which made him feel pathetic. But he was desperately horny and had no choice. He positioned his dick against your cunt, gently rubbing his tip, which was now an angry-reddish tint from being hard for so long, against your folds.

“You said you’d let me if I ate you out…!” Leon added, whining excessively as he looked down at you.

Your eyes were still half-lidded; you were recovering from that orgasm still as you looked up at him. You inhaled deeply as you nodded a bit. “But only the tip right now, I’m sensitive.”

Leon pouted at that. He ate you out and made you come, and he only gets to let the tip in? Leon slowly pushed his tip in; it was better than nothing. He let out a few grunts as he felt your cunt squeezing around his tip. Fuck, it felt amazing.

Leon leaned forward and kissed your neck gently before burying his face in your chest. “You’re so cruel.” Leon complained as he pushed his tip in and out. No matter how much he wanted to just slam into you, force you to take his whole dick, he couldn’t bring himself too.

“You’re such a baby.” You replied, brushing your fingers through his hair. Leon hated how he always gave you multiple orgasms only for you to give him the bare minimum in return. But he also knew he was a pathetic mess; he could probably cum just having the tip inside you.

He gently placed his hands on your hips as he continued pushing the tip in and out gently. He looked up at you, chin still resting between your tits, batting his eyelashes all pretty at you.

“Can I…” Leon started, grunting a bit as he kept grinding his hips. “Can I push in more? Please? Please, I… I’ve been good.” Leon begged.

He was pitiable, really. All his coworkers would just drag him harder if they found out that he was this submissive to his girlfriend. He was already being called a pretty boy by every other officer he worked with; this would bring him even more ridicule. Good thing they didn’t have to find out.

“Mph. Fine.” you answered him. “I guess you earned it.” It only took Leon a single second to grab you by the hips and force his entire cock inside you. You gasped a bit feeling him push his dick in so roughly, he was acting so feral, like he didn’t have any decency.

You grunted at first feeling his first few shallow thrusts, but those grunts became loud, desperate moans as he began slamming his length in and out of you.

Leon’s eyes were struggling to stay open, fluttering open and close with each thrust. He leaned his head back and let out quiet moans and whimpers, too embarrassed to be that loud.

“Shh, quiet down, you’re… you’re so loud…” Leon complained between little grunts and gasps of air. His cock was practically being choked by your walls, it was hard for him to think straight. Your pussy was practically cutting off his circulation.

“Make me.” You spoke stubbornly, looking up at Leon with a bit of a cocky expression. You knew he wouldn’t.

“You… you...” he breathed out as he kept grinding against you, using his hand to part your thighs even further so he could really submerge his dick inside you.

His eyebrows were furrowed, and he was clearly sulking, but he couldn’t make himself punish you, his brain immediately returning to being filled with fuzzy nonsense. He just kept fucking you at a swift pace.

“That’s what I thought.” you spoke again, your tone snarky, Leon still looking annoyed at you acting so damn bratty. He wasn’t even that annoyed with you at this point, more annoyed at himself for letting you walk all over him. He didn’t have the balls to tame you.

“Mm… shut up…” Leon grunted as he closed his eyes, biting his lip desperately to try and silence his needy moans. But it was impossible to hold it back, so he let a few loud slutty moans slip from his lips.

You just rested back, letting Leon do all the work as always. You weren’t scared to let your moans out, even if it was loud, even if the neighbors could hear. If anything, you wanted them to hear. You wanted everyone on the floor to know that you were getting absolutely piped by your cute boyfriend and they weren’t.

Your knees try to buckle together but can’t, so you just decide to let your legs hug Leon’s waist as Leon keeps pounding you. Sweat was dripping down his forehead at this point, he’d been working so hard while you'd just been sitting there and taking it. And that’s what you expected, nothing less than princess treatment.

Leon was getting sloppier with each thrust, you noticed, you knew he was close. “Rub my clit, baby.” you said to Leon, who was clearly lost in the moment.

“Wha? I… Fine...” Leon replied, not liking having to think about anyone beside himself. He just wanted to be selfish this once and use your pussy like a personal flesh light. But of course, you’d never allow that.

Leon placed his hand on your lower stomach and began gently rubbing your clit with his thumb. Slow, antagonizing circles around it. You whined a bit, feeling Leon tease you. “Faster.” you pouted. Leon grunted, but he obeyed, slowly increasing the pace of his fingers.

Leon kept his ruthless pace with his hips, you knew you were close to getting a second orgasm.

“I…” Leon breathed as his eyes clenched shut. “I… ‘m gonna cum, I’m gonna-” Leon panted desperately, his tone somehow the whiniest it’s ever been. “Inside… let me cum inside… please, please, please-” Leon begged you.

“Fine.” you answered, only agreeing so he’d stop it with the begging, and because you felt more pleasure when he filled you up.

Leon’s hips stuttered and he let out a gasp before shooting loads inside you, his brain completely turning off. You felt yourself climax at the same time, feeling his warm seed in your pussy was overwhelmingly pleasurable. You leaned back and moaned loudly, sounding like a damn porn star as you did.

Leon was panting harder now after shooting such a big load into you than he did after running today. He didn’t care to quiet himself at this point, letting out loud cry-like whines as he desperately tried to recover from such an intense orgasm.

Leon pulled out and watched you drip his semen from between your legs; he watched it drip down the counter. You two had made a mess. Leon knew the kitchen would need to be cleaned after this (and he also knew that’d he’d be the one cleaning it; you were probably going to complain about being sore soon.)

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

It was almost midnight now; Leon had finally stuffed his mouth full of that dinner of yours he’d been dreaming of for hours now. He’d showered and now he was resting in bed, letting his tender body get engulfed by the fluffy blankets.

You came into the room, hair still damp from a shower, wearing a little pink robe as you got in bed beside Leon. Leon glanced at you, visibly a bit exhausted. You simply smiled at him and tilted your head like a dog.

“Ready for another round?”

#resident evil #fanfiction #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x you #leon scott kennedy #leon kennedy #{¬ºཀ°}¬ z writes ִ ࣪𖤐.ᐟ #fluff #resident evil x reader #leon kennedy smut #one shot

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hanihazeljade · 1 year ago

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Disgustingly Green

Tim got de-aged at the age of 8. The age where he is the exact carbon copy of his parents ruthlessness. Can Batman, Nightwing and Robin can handle him?

(CW: verbal abuse, wrong parenting)

Part 2: Skill Issue

Part 3: Forced Playdate

Timothy doesn't know where he is. He knows that he fall asleep on his bed and not on some clinics. He slowly rise up to look around his surroundings.

His vision is still hazy and he rubbed his eyes with his fist as he yawns. He heard someone cooed before him. It is a grown up man that he doesn't know.

With that in his mind, he shook away all of his sleepiness. Was he kidnapped? Again? Oh no, his parents wouldn't like it.

"Hi Little Timmy, how you feeling?" The man asked him but he just looked at the man. He has blue eyes and black hair and also really really handsome. Maybe he wasn't kidnap?

"I am fine, thank you for asking." he politely replied, on reflex.

"Do you know who I am?" the man smiled at him and he just shook his head. "I'm Dick, your brother." the man, Dick, introduced himself. His face must be formed some confusion when the man chuckled, "My parents doesn't know that there is a double meaning with that, if that really bothers you, you can call me Richard."

"How about we go up? the man—Richard, said. He nodded, he doesn't always like hospital beds.

He was about to jumped out of the bed when Richard just grabbed him and carry him. He let it be, after all he likes it, noone touched him for weeks now and he missed having skin contact.

Going up the stairs and coming out of a grandfather's clock, weird, he look out of the window and he knows where he is. There is only one place like this that he could possibly be. He is still in Gotham, in Bristol still but he doesn't know which house.

The man— Richard— carry him till they end up in a long table, probably the dining room. In there, they're some people seating and he knows the man who is seating on the head seat, it's Bruce Wayne. He knows his face because his mother always pointed out his stupid behaviour but good thing is that he has some good looks.

"Is that Tim?" Bruce Wayne knows his name, holy cupcakes.

"Yep. As cute and light as ever." Richard said as he keep on cooing to him and Timothy doesn't appreciate that.

Richard put him down in a chair and a butler comes and bring him some cookies. "He wants to eat because it seems like he didn't eat for so long. "Go on, dig in Master Tim."

"Is there walnuts here?" he asked and the butler agreed.

"Yes there is a walnuts in there."

Tim pouted, he is allergic to walnuts. "I am sorry, Mister Butler, but I am allergic to walnuts."

The butler seems shocked at his claimed but quickly dissolved his shocked and gave him a chocolate chip cookie. "I hope this one is not something you are allergic with."

"Thank you, Mister Butler." he said as he take a bite. The cookie is delicious.

After the snack, Richard bring him to the room that he apparently has been using here. But he doesn't remember that. But hey, his parents won't be back till Thanksgiving and they have cookies here, he will escaped the week before Thanksgiving.

++++++++

Tim was watching a documentary about the alps and different flora that has been keeping up with the extreme weather of it, when a kid, definitely more older than he is starts bothering him.

"Tt. Of course Drake will be incompetent enough to be a hindrance in his night life." the kid said, behind him is Richard and Mister Wayne.

Timothy Jackson Drake knows that is a jab to him, and all he could remember is that his father kept on saying, "If they hit you as Drake, you hit them back twice." and her mother added, "Not physically, Timothy but rather used highly intelligent words that may hurt them. Unless they do it first." and those words were imprinted on him.

Timothy paused the documentary, and then walked closer to the boy that was insulting him, and when they are foot apart he stopped.

"Mister, you have such a vibrant green eyes." he said, "But my mother said to me that green is the colour of disgust, that's why she gave birth to a blue eyed kid. Is your mother disgusted of you?" he asked. The room was silent, no one decided to say anything after that, the kid who insulted him has a hurt in his face, but Timothy is not done yet.

"But green is also a colour of evil in Disney, like when Ursula is trying to steal Ariel's voice or when Scar pushed Mufasa in the cliff and also the green poison apple in Snow White, so is that why your Mother left you because you are evil and disgusting like them, or you are evil and mean like them because you are disgusting and left by your Mother?" he said. He strike back twice and that is his goal. His mother would be so proud.

"Tim!" a voice behind him yelled, it was Mister Wayne.

"Yes, Mister Wayne?" he smiled at the man.

"We don't insult people here, okay? Apologise to Damian, now." Mister Wayne demanded, making Tim to frowned. He is not in the wrong though?

"I am not insulting anyone, Mister Wayne. I am merely saying my observations of him." he said while looking at the adult that is so much larger than him, but Mister Wayne is a dumb man, he always broke his bones and spills wine to other people so maybe he wouldn't get it.

"However, if it really bothers you..." Tim said and he looked at Damian, "I am sorry that your mother hates you because you are disgusting and mean and evil." he added as he looked back to the stunned Bruce Wayne.

"If you excuse me, I am exhausted to talk to anyone here. You should know better Mister Wayne, you are an adult." he said and then he walked towards to his room, leaving the three stunned. Well at least he made his point.

#tim drake #fanfic #unhinged tim drake #de aged tim drake #cruel tim drake #chaotic tim drake #timothy jackson drake #tim drake wayne #damian wayne #bruce wayne #dick grayson

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koalaflower · 19 days ago

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Hello, I really love your characterization of Kaiser and your writing style! 💘 If requests open I want you to write what is the red flags of Kaiser, Hiori, Ness and Karasu about their red/green flags, thanks for your work❤️

blue lock headcanons ! ⋆｡°✩

includes. michael kaiser, alexis ness, yo hiori, tabito karasu.

a/n. this req was so fun to write !! referenced the egoist bible for this and... ego PLEASE send these boys to therapy. i'm also assuming you meant general behaviors, but i added some relationship hcs too. keep in mind, they're still just teenage boys, and most of the "red flags" are completely normal. i tried to make these as nuanced as i could bc it's unfair to categorize them as either healthy or unhealthy :)

word count. 2.3k

michael kaiser ⋆｡°✩

he’d spoil you rotten. didn’t have the luxury of growing up in a good environment, so he’ll make sure to provide it for you.

financially generous. donates to charities and organizations w/o boasting about it online. it's mostly to domestic abuse cases, animal shelters, or foster homes. causes he can identify with

def has a soft spot for children without wanting any of his own. he's afraid of turning out like his own abusive father. he'll play with them from a distance but that's all it ever is—a fleeting thought.

passionate & ambitious. he has a strong work ethic. dedicating all his time to his career keeps him distracted and gives him a sense of purpose.

painfully self-aware. he knows he's a fucked up shriveled-up piece of shit. but accepting who he is and trying to fix himself are two different things. he'll just keep covering up the bad parts with something distant. normal.

takes good care of his hygiene. now that he's out of poverty, best believe he's soaking himself in bath oils every night. skincare, hair masks, luxurious silk bath robes... i just KNOW this man smells heavenly.

kind with animals, especially strays. they remind him a little of himself, and they love you unconditionally, unlike people.

if you manage to break down his walls, he’ll never let you go. you’re always in his line of sight. he knows you won’t leave him, but he can’t be too sure, can he?

respects your privacy. if you need space, he’ll give you it. surprisingly understanding when it comes to alone time bc he values it too. if you respect his privacy, he’ll give you the same respect.

poor baby just wants to be loved. he craves a love that's domestic, unconditional, and all-consuming. tender kisses, dates to nowhere particular, your toothbrush in his cup, jacket on his chair. It unsettles him, but he keeps making excuses to keep you around longer. kaiser doesn't want a relationship built on lust, he wants to connect. and if you stick around long enough, maybe, just maybe, he'll show you his darkest parts.

🚩 assuming he DOESNT get therapy.

he's into psychology, so his first instinct when he meets someone new would be to analyze them. stance, personality, even the subtle shift of their gaze—it's more than a mere gesture to him, which makes it incredibly hard for him to trust. if he senses someone close to him growing distant, he'll sever ties first. It's a defense mechanism :(

brushes off sentiment. he doesn't want gifts and gentle touches scare him. believes kindness always comes with a motive.

takes his anger out on others. very rarely would his verbal assault escalate into physical abuse. he'd try his best to restrain himself—digging his nails into his palms, scratching his arms, isolating himself. but he's only human, and humans slip. in the case he does slip, you'll find him glaring at himself in the mirror or with his hands around his throat on the bathroom floor. he sees his father in his reflection, and it's daunting.

honestly, dating him would be like mothering him. he didn’t have a significant female figure in his life, so loving him would be cleaning up after him, cooking, etc. he'd start to expect it and depend on you for emotional support.

pulls you close and then pushes you away. def has a disorganized or anxious-avoidant attachment style. you’ll wonder if he loves or hates you on some days.

your relationship would be overglorified or picked apart online. it’s messy. vile. you'd get vicious dms and hate mail from his fan girls on the daily. he’d brush it off, call it the price of fame unless it really upsets you, but you should’ve known what you were getting into.

starts arguments over little things just for the sake of it. it's not his fault people can be so irritating sometimes, and that agitated look on your face is so satisfying.

"you're lucky, schatzi. i'm the only one that can handle you."

he doesn’t get possessive much, but he does get insecure if the threat is someone on the same level as him—a teammate or global celebrity. acts like he’s superior but he’s filled with doubts. would rather choke himself than admit it tho.

temperamental. he changes moods in the blink of an eye. you'll never know if he’ll be good or bad today. it's like waking up to a game of roulette.

dating him (as he is now) would be HELL. there WILL be tears. you’ll hate yourself, hate him, even. but then he’ll kiss you and tell you he loves and needs you, that he’s nothing without you, and you’ll be right back into his arms.

alexis ness ⋆｡°✩

can read people’s emotions like a book. it’s his greatest strength and weakness. your inner thoughts, true emotions, whether you’re uncomfortable or not, you don’t have to tell him any of it bc he can just tell.

values the little things in life & always sees the good in people. he believes in magic the way ppl believe in god, like it’ll salvage him and prove there’s more to life than the harsh environment he was raised in :(

remembers everything! likes, dislikes, anniversaries, it’s all committed to memory, no matter how inconsequential. what’s important to his loved ones is important to him. if he forgot even one thing, he’d beat himself up for not being more considerate.

incapable of lying unless it’d make the other person happy. he’s loyal to a fault (kaiser’s dog).

in relationships, he'd text hourly, just to check in. brief i miss you's and how are you's every minute you're away. ness needs constant reassurance, and unless you tell him he’s being too overbearing, he’ll continue to hover.

def a pda guy only if his partner enjoys it too. hand holding, kissing, showing you off in public, god he’d be whipped.

treats the ppl he cares for like royalty. when he’s in love, he'll devoted his entire life to his partner. there's already a space carved out for you in his mind and soul.

he’s reliable!! adapts easily and adjusts to new situations both on and off the field.

would post you online all the time. he dgaf about soft or hard launches, you’re in all of his posts, whether it’s just a hand or full face picture. his main is probably a fan account.

would tell you when he won’t be able to reply early on. never leaves you second guessing.

genuinely wants everyone to be happy. most of what he does is for the sake of others. would do any favor with a sweet smile like it’s his sworn duty in life.

his love is gentle and tender. he’d hold you close when you have nightmares, press kisses onto your temple, and whisper sweet nothings into your ear when you cry. you don’t have to worry about him crossing boundaries bc he’ll always respect your limits, even when you haven't established any.

your personal barber!! (lwk irrelevant, i just had to add this bonus. he’s so cute)

makes little sacrifices w/o thinking. he’d offer you the last bite of food or give up his seat so you don’t have to stand. it’s like second nature to him.

🚩 his dynamic w/ kaiser needs to be studied.

jealous & insecure asf. in a relationship, he'd trust you, yes, but he doesn’t trust others. they could be seeing you in the same light he does and that makes his stomach churn. wouldn't confront you abt it in fear of annoying you. he’d just stand a bit closer, get a bit clingier, and wear a wider smile as he analyzes the “threat”.

def changes himself according to who he's talking to. little things like speech patterns and texting styles to bigger things like fashion sense and mannerisms. he wouldn't even notice it himself, he's just so used to pleasing.

so passive aggressive. no one knows what’s going on behind that tight lipped v-shaped smile. won’t communicate the issue, just brushes it off with a laugh until it blows over.

codependent and needy. he puts others on pedestals & self-destructs when they don’t reciprocate or acknowledge it. he doesn’t know how to receive love, only give :(

“you won’t leave me, right?”

thrives off external validation. he needs to be needed. feels he has no purpose in life if not given one. he'll spiral if he's abandoned by someone he deeply respects or loves.

yo hiori ⋆｡°✩

sees the big picture. he's not the type to spend time fixating on unnecessary things he can't change. if asked for advice or clarity, he'd be very rational and clear-headed.

kind-hearted and accepting of others bc he knows what it's like to feel trapped. craves understanding and freedom from others.

poor boy just wanted to make his parents happy

an acts of service guy. he’d refill your glass when it’s low or lend you his jacket when you shiver. all with a smile or sometimes even thoughtlessly. it’s second nature.

passionate abt things he cares for.

actually blue lock's nonchalant 6'2 dreadhead king.

extremely loyal. i can’t see this guy cheating unless it’s with a female grand theft auto npc. but also bc it’s already hard enough for him to let someone into his space. MULTIPLE people would drive him insane.

takes proper care of his skin and body (unless he’s gaming). he looks like he’d smell like baby powder.

femboy.

dependent. he’s reliable on and off the field.

🚩 do NOT be deceived by those innocent eyes.

his type is crippled girls… hello???

needs a LOT of alone time. like a lot a lot. it’s not personal, he just feels drained when he’s around other ppl. alone is the only time he can be himself without trying to appease others. so relationships / friendships with him would feel highly unpredictable.

hyper-independent!! enjoys being alone and can handle solitude. prob stems from overbearing / hover parents. a curse and a blessing.

he’s literally a stalker?? read his light novel.

hyperfixates on video games. not inherently a bad thing, but he’d be so locked in he forgets to eat or text anyone for days. not shaming anyone who hyperfixates (im the same way), it’d just be very severe. his coping mechanism when reality feels too real.

def the type to shout slurs and leak ip addresses in cod lobbies if he loses. no wonder he works so well with isagi.

terrible at communication. wouldn’t initiate any personal conversations unless prompted, even if he’s particularly annoyed or irked by smth.

the type to imagine his enemies as video game characters and kill them in-game.

would randomly disappear one night on a random tuesday and reply to your text normally 2 weeks later. no search party is finding this guy once he's out.

def a ghoster. especially when he’s overstimulated and wants alone time. wouldn’t tell anyone, just goes offline until he’s okay again.

everything abt this guy is a contradiction.

tabito karasu ⋆｡°✩

gonna be honest, idk his character that well. pls take this with a grain of salt. there might be some mischaracterization !!

a gentleman (according to the bllk bible). his family is mostly women, so he’s well mannered and raised to be chivalrous. the type to pull out chairs, open side doors, and naturally follow the sidewalk rule. you won’t have to worry about him taking advantage of you. he’s def guarding your drink like his life’s on the line.

fucking nerd. he'd casually reference obscure documentaries or drop random history / animal facts mid convo.

hella observant. can analyze people like a book. he knows what to say to lighten the mood & can easily read the room and adapt.

gets along with ppl in all walks of life. easy conversationalist. neither overly pessimistic or overly optimistic. he's a perfect balance.

blunt asf LMAO. he’s not holding anything back. if you don’t look good in smth, he’s telling you and then helping you look for smth similar. he’d rather hurt ppl than lie to them, and that’s rare nowadays.

extremely self-aware. like kaiser, he knows what he lacks, but the difference is he actively tries to fix it. correcting himself early on, apologizing, etc.

protective w/o being controlling. a “wear whatever you want, i can fight” kind of guy. he SEES everything. if someone’s giving you looks, he’s gently steering you the other way. can’t get jealous if it’s over before it begins.

actually thinks before getting into relationships. he wouldn’t put himself in a situation he can’t get out of. extremely considerate. he’d probably warn you before becoming official.

also enjoys being alone. not out of necessity like hiori but he finds comfort in the dull ache of loneliness. wouldn’t seek it out, but wouldn’t hate soaking in it either.

knowledgable. he’s smart and enjoys learning new things. would search for friends or a partner that intellectually stimulates his brain above all else. late night philosophical talks, heated debates over call, etc.

🚩 take his hair gel away.

his fashion style is a red flag. i’m so sorry someone please burn that trench coat.

he genuinely can’t be nice to ppl he looks down on.

sees himself as extremely ordinary :( he’d probably second guess relationships or feel like he’s not good enough for you. doesn’t believe he deserves anything extraordinary.

lwk masochistic??? he likes being neglected.

sarcastic to the point you’d question if he’s joking. comes off as arrogant or rude to some people bc of this.

downplays his emotional needs. he'd cover it up w/ sarcasm and deal with it on his own. prefers not to burden ppl.

has a tendency of dismissing others' feelings or invalidating them. he wouldn’t do this on purpose, he just can’t empathize with some things. he’d drop things like “it’s not that deep” or “you’re doing too much” in the middle of an argument.

overthinker. he’d overanalyze every little thing and miss the big picture.

he’d hate big celebrations like birthdays (his own) or christmas, esp gift exchanges. feels like it’s forced and not authentic. wants to FEEL appreciated, not through materialistic products but authentic intimacy.

#bllk #blue lock #bllk kaiser #bllk ness #bllk hiori #bllk karasu #bllk headcanons #headcanon #anime #manga #michael kaiser #karasu tabito #alexis ness #hiori yo

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sabokunsmalia · 2 years ago

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𝐒𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐓 𝐃𝐄𝐃𝐈𝐂𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍, m. list

featuring: levi ackerman x fem!reader plot: she has been a part of levi's squad for more than six years. most likely the most trusted person for the captain, and a best friend. in his mind, she's more but he would not dare himself to show that behind the stoic behavior and the emotionless face, were hidden feelings for a survey corps member. or maybe would he? content warning: nsfw! (mdni!) + fluff + pet names + depression + soulmates & second chance kind of trope, all warnings will be added before each part. hi it's malia: i just started attack on titan, like almost finished the first season and this is a little part that came to my mind while they escaped the titan forest. so. pretty much, enjoy it's going to be multi multi-chapter.

𝐒𝐍𝐈𝐏𝐏𝐄𝐓:

"We can't fight them," Erwin shouted towards the Captain, keeping his stern gaze forward while leading the surviving soldiers back to the capital. Levi grunted beside him, clenching his fingers tightly around the leather reins. With a broken left leg, he could still endure a fight but it would not be possible to stand long enough to avoid a longer-lasting conflict.

"They're catching up, we can't lose another group," She argued from Levi's left side, squinting her eyes at the commander and captain. The talented, young woman was the last one standing from the squad that once surrounded Levi. Following the Captain with pride and blindly into any kind of battle. Until their inevitable death at the hands of the Female Titan. "Levi!" She shouted, fingernails digging into the leather material of her reins.

Instead of agreeing with her, the black-haired, stoic man simply glared at her, and shook his head. The only answer she received, was spoken without using words. She snorted, glancing over her shoulder when she witnessed how Mikasa Ackerman jumped off her horse and saved a trapped man. "I'm helping them," She stated, letting herself fall back in line to ensure the safe return of more Survey Corps members.

Levi's attentive glare followed her disappearance, scoffing and cursing to himself. The words lost in the wind, they rode against, forcing his head to stare ahead. There wasn't a chance in the world, he would give the Titans to inflict deadly wounds on the talented woman. For over six years, she followed him into each battle, fought side by side with the Squad Captain. A sweet creature, no one believed in. But Levi did, and in the chaos of war, she became his most entrusted person. A thing close to a best friend, but with further interest, he would never allow his emotionless face to show.

"Levi," Commander Erwin stated, sternly staring ahead. "It's been six years, you better get her under your control." Using the leather reins to force his horse to run faster, Erwin did not look back while a small fight happened just behind their backs. The Squad Captain mirrored the resting face of his superior, knowing that he was certainly right about the reckless behavior. But Levi also knew, how courageous she was in battle, how protective of the subordinates and newbies, and how she wanted to place a protective coat over humanity while destroying titan after titan.

𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓: ↷ part one, responsibility for eren yeager.

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frostedsugarcookiehearts · 4 months ago

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¹ㆍ⁵ would it be easier (if there was a right way?)

୨ৎ

the internet did funny things sometimes. sometimes for the better, sometimes for the worse. and people were pretty divided on this— they had managed to set up the "girl jschlatt made cry" (your new official name among all corners of the internet; much to your horror, it had been clipped over and over.)

but this time, the internet made an... interesting decision. chat had insisted so much to the point they finally wore him down to agree to, albeit awkwardly, asking you on a date.

a minecraft date that is! but you responded with a confused:

↳ "minecraft?? what's that??"

schlatt attempted to explain it to you ("y'know, with the blocks and stuff. smplive? survival... multiplayer— no? alright, uhm...") but it was to no avail. so the two of you decided on overcooked instead! how did schlatt come to this decision? he (in a cool, charming way, not a creepy way) stalked your insta and found out you liked to cook. and what better way to someones heart than food? he knew it worked for him!

as your character ran around in circles, making you giggle happily like a little kid, he just gaped at your facecam, looking like a dumbass. mustering up the suavest voice he could, he interjected; "so uh... woman. how're things?"

"they're good." you grin, adding politely, "man."

he cleared his throat, looking around anxiously, tipping his yankees hat down over his eyes. "y'know i studied for this... date, whatever this is. the first time i've studied since a stats exam in college."

your eyes go comically wide, and schlatt resists the urge to slam his head into his desk until it cracks open. he assumes that would scare you off, so he stops himself. "studied? jeez, i didn't. how'd you study? teach me, for next time."

"next time?" schlatt echoed, this time it was his turn to have wide eyes. but whatever, he was gonna ignore that part. "er... i watched the notebook."

schlatt almost started doing a happy dance the minute he heard your adorable squeal of "i LOVE that movie!" he owed tucker so much money. he had begged tucker— since he was the first married guy he could think of— for help, and he imparted the wisdom that chicks digged romance movies. especially the notebook. that was the holy grail.

"what do you want?" schlatt poses, teasing with the same tone that ryan gosling did during the movie.

you burst into a fit of flustered giggles, finishing the quote in seconds. "mister gosling has some competition," you "ooh" and "ahh" as a joke, winking to the camera.

schlatt's flirting had distracted both of you, and now the kitchen was on fucking fire and your customers were angry at both of you. instead of stressing you out and making you cry like schlatt assumed, you just started laughing again.

"you took that pretty well. thought you'd like, burst into tears or somethin'."

"i'm not that much of a crybaby, schlatt." you scoff, feigning that you were angry, huffing and crossing your arms.

"i beg to differ. i have video evidence, actually," he teases, a smirk pulling at his lips.

you roll your eyes. "i hate you."

"yeah, love you too."

divider credits: @bibbleisking

long awaited pt. 2 for money, money money !! :)

#fanfic #fluffy fanfic #jschlatt fanfic #jschlatt x you #schlatt x reader #schlatt x y/n #celeb crush #jschlatt fluff #schlatt #schlatt x you #𐙚 ࿐࿔ sweetheart!reader #⋆⑅˚. ࿐࿔ oc x jschlatt

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queercoshon · 6 months ago

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And here is part three, about a week late lol

Christmas Eve

It takes you a few tries to heave your body out of the kitchen chair, the stove timer sound drilling into your skull. You miss the button a few times, alcohol swaying your hand and concentration. But you manage to hit it and get some peace and quiet finally. You even remember to turn off the stove.

Bending over to get the lasagne out is a little difficult, your gut is still a bloated orb and completely in the way. Your balance is also already off from the copious amounts of intoxicants coursing through your body. Somehow you manage to get it out without burning yourself or falling over.

It still needs to rest though, so you have more waiting to do. You grab some beers from yhe fridge, and the bottle of baileys for good measure, and make sure they're within arms' reach of the couch. Either from a drunken stupor, couchlock, or food coma, you're making sure you won't be getting up again.

You also grab a box of hostess cakes, for when you need a flavour change, and chips for a texture change. Your munchies are killing you now, so you gotta be prepared.

Finally the lasagne is cool enough to cut and transfer to a big serving dish. You don't know if you'll actually be able to eat the whole thing, but the booze and weed are certainly saying you can. You can't keep it in the original pan; you've burnt more than a few pillows by using them as a barrier between your food and your belly table.

Getting the dish to the living room takes maximum concentration. The world is swaying, and the ground feels uneven. How will you keep it level? There are a few close calls where you almost dump lasagne all over yourself and the floor, but you always catch it. Can't be wasting food.

The couch gives an ominous clunk and creak when you lower your girth onto it, but you pay it no mind. You make sure the beers are on the couch beside you; can't have a repeat of last night.

It takes you a minute to start eating. First, you lean back and stroke your belly, rubbing in soothing circles. You're still physically full, even if the weed is telling you otherwise. You're so high, and very drunk, and rubs just feel so good. You were meant to be a fat, drunk pig, just getting fatter and more incoherent.

Your rubs loosen up some burps, and then you feel ready to eat. The pillow barrier is set up on your bare stomach so you don't burn it with the hot serving tray.

You manage to put on a dumb stoner comedy despite really struggling to use the remote. What button did you mean to press again?

Finally, it's time for dinner. You dig in with reckless abandon, burning your mouth just a little bit with the first few bites, and chugging half a beer to cool it down. A massive belch works its way up before you start scarfing down dinner.

You shovel it into your mouth, nearly forgetting how to breath as you focus on consuming as fast as possible. You grunt and groan as your feeding craze intensifies. Your nose flares and snorts as your body fights you for air, making you sound and look like an engorged pig.

You eat three large pieces in fifteen minutes. Your stomach complains under the added pressure of the dish on it, despite it being emptier. Without thinking, you drain the rest of your beer and take a swig of baileys before stuffing your face again.

Getting fucked up on baileys is hot, it's such a sugary, heavy, empty calories drink that is too easy to suck down.

A pressure builds in your gut, and you worry about hiccups or vomiting, but a forceful burp explodes out, your gut feeling euphoric relief. You rub a few more out and realize you're getting really full. A break is needed. You pull out a joint and manage to get coordinated enough to light up. An inhale hits a bit to hard and you devolve into a coughing fit, holding the lasagne so it doesn't fall and your belly so it doesn't explode.

You barely catch your breath before the hiccups start. The tray wobbles dangerously as your gut bounces against your crotch. It haphazardly gets moved to beside you on the couch, and you hold your gut to stabilize it.

Didn't you read somewhere drinking water would help with hiccups? You don't have water, but you do at least have a drink. You crack a beer and drink deeply, until you need air. A few seconds of respite come, but as soon as you dare to believe they're gone, another hic jolts your whole body, sending ripples through your fat. So you drink again, less this time. Didn't work, try again. And again. And finally, they subside. You have no idea that there's basically three mouthfuls in the can. A few burps rumble out and you get right back to your feast.

It's getting increasingly hard to get the food onto your fork. You can't make your hands cooperate, and every movement is clumsy. It doesn't help that your vision is swaying and blurring. Instead of frustrating though, you find it funny. You've gotten so drunk you're struggling to do the most basic tasks, like eat or change the volume on the tv. If you could reach, you would have started getting yourself off, but your gut got too big for that a while ago, so you'll just have to keep eating.

Your pace slows drastically once you get halfway through the fifth piece. It hits you like a ton of bricks just how full you are. Your gut is a solid mass, with barely any give even with the flab. It's now been 24 hours of binging, and you're starting to really feel it. Fucking glutton. You rub your gut, using it to apply pressure to your crotch, trying to create friction. It's not enough tho; the only way you're getting off is if you eat yourself into an orgasm.

You need a break from the lasagne, the tomatoey burps coming up are starting to feel dangerous. So you drain the rest of that beer and start working on the hostess cakes. You still have room in your 'dessert' stomach.

The change in flavour really helps, and you're able to once again mindlessly plow through your food. Your focus is drawn to the tv, each stupid joke making you laugh around a mouthful of cake.

Your head lolls as you look around for the baileys bottle. Found it. Figuring out the screw top is hard, and getting the opening to your mouth is even harder, but you manage, only spilling a few drops down your front. You meant to only take a gulp or two, but it was so difficult to get to this point, might as well make it worth it. So you drink deeply, feeling the sweet cream bloat your abused stomach further, and know you have about five to ten minutes before you'll be completely useless.

Moans blend with panting as you pull your sticky sweet mouth away from the bottle. The cap gets haphazardly twisted on and you prop the bottle up in the corner of the couch. Your gut is creaking again with every breath. Gurgles of complaints get louder the harder it works to digest. Low burps keep coming up, your belly just desperate for any sort of room it can make.

Everything is swaying and spinning, so you close your eyes and your head involuntary slumps forward. Your mouth is open and you can feel drool starting to form, but there's nothing you can do about it. Any noise or movement is purely from instinct now, the soft kneading and rubbing of your belly, moans that get interrupted by belches and dangerous hiccups. You don't register that any of this is happening. The combination of getting incredibly stoned, drunk as a skunk, and stuffed like a pig has made you catatonic.

By the time you come to earth again, the credits are rolling. Fuck it felt good to be that fucked up. You're going to keep going.

It takes a few tries, but you eventually get the remote pointed at the tv and put on a tv show, something that will autoplay for a while.

Before continuing with your debauchery you have to get up to use the bathroom. After working up the momentum to rock your body up put of the indent on the couch, you stumble for far too many steps before barely catching your balance.

On the way back you grab an edible. It'll be hot in about half an hour when it starts to hit. Will you even remember you've taken it? You stand in the kitchen leaning heavily on the counter, but still swaying dangerously, trying to get the stupid package open. You struggle with these things sober, but as fucked up as you are it now seems impossible. Eventually you give up and cut the bag open with scissors and triumphantly pop 5mg in your mouth. You grab a bottle of water and take a swig to wash out the aftertaste. After that it's back to the living room, your feet shuffling and stumbling, never feeling like they're fully under you.

You fall back onto the couch, too drunk and full to do it with grace. The couch gives another dangerous clunk, and the liquer bottle falls out of its crux. It only spills a little from the side of the cap, but you decide it's a bad idea to have it on the couch. The cap comes off, and you let your head fall back as you drink.

Your gulps are audible, desperate, sloppy. Cream drips down the side of your face. You're so fucked you try and gulp a few times after you've drained the bottle. Your arm falls and the bottle rolls off to the side, leaving a little trail of liquid on the couch. A few drunk hiccups rock your body and you seriously worry about the contents of your stomach, but it stays put. The gurgles somehow get louder tho.

Time for another break. You don't mean to take one, but you can't move anything voluntarily now. You just cradle your aching gut, unable to figure out how to move your arms to soothe it. Every once and a while another glorp will push up another burp, making your head bounce and then loll back to the side. Sometimes you moan, even if you don't know it. Your eyes close, and you let the sensations of being a glutted pig wash over you.

Aches radiate from your poor belly, so overfed for so long that every part of it is completely rounded out, making it look like a completely separate part of your body. You can't help but pant, your lungs far too encroached upon to breathe regularly. You feel like a cartoon character, gut enormously stuffed, woozy and out of it, completely round after gorging for days. And you still have another full day to go.

You rouse a little to your stomach growling. You're starved, but you're as round an full as ever.

The edible. It's starting to hit, and the overstuffed ache in your belly is dulled to a soft throbbing, and somehow that's pleasurable for you.

Any normal person or sober person would be concerned about the amount already packed inside of you, but you know you can handle it. You spent the last year going from just overly chubby to a full on fatty; you know how to keep pushing, so you do.

The lasagne is too heavy now, even in your reinvigorated state, so you alternate between chips and hostess cakes, enjoying the sweet and salty flavours. Strings of little burps spill out, your gut desperately trying to get any relief. Itchy pain shoots over your skin as it stretches, your stomach visibly pressing against it. You can feel new stretch marks coming in, and you still keep going. Your pants turn to moans and gasps, and you literally gorge yourself to climax for the first time.

You barely finish by the time you pass out in a drunken food stupor, dead to the world until tomorrow.

#queer feedism #intox kink #intox feedee #stuffed fatty #feedism story #intox wg #stuffing literature

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di-42 · 7 months ago

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Unfortunately once again I've only had time and mental energy for very short fictions that could fit in a commute or two this month. But, as it's always the case, there are a few wonderful gems among these!

Please don't be fooled by the number of Kudos! Ao3 is not Amazon!

As always I'll tag the writers whose tumblr usernames I know. If you're a writer and you want your story removed from this list please let me know.

And now, without further ado, let me tell you about the wonderful stories I've read this month, and the things I loved about them! ♥️

November’s Notable Fictions

WIPs:

Wavelengths & Frequencies, by @shadesofecclescakes and imposterssyndrome @maaikeatthefullmoon Rated E, chapters 15/?

This story is such a warm, cozy, comfort blanket. Enemies-to-lovers human AU where Aziraphale and Crowley work as DJ for the same media corporation. They have a history, but we don't know what it is at the beginning. Great story, great humour, great characterisation, great fuzzies, absolutely great banter! I look forward to every update and do a little joyful dance every time I get an update notification. This fiction is becoming one of my all time favourites.

You're The Bad Guys, by Nebz_AlphaCentauri @alphacentaurinebula Rated E, chapters 20/?

Cold war human AU in which Aziraphale is an MI6 agent and Crowley is a KGB agent. Each of them is assigned to a mission in Berlin, from opposite sides of course. Great characterisation, suspense and references to canon.

My own WIP, And I Did, rated E, chapters 14/15 (nearly there!)

In my not-a-summary I say that this is a story about faith, about love, and about choices. Which is true. But I have come to think of it also as my apology dance to Crowley. My headcanon about Aziraphale has always been clear, but at first I wasn't sure about what Crowley would do after the final 15. I didn't see Crowley drinking himself oblivious or taking a road of self destruction. But I didn't know what he would do. Then it hit me, and that was when I started writing And I Did. I knew what Crowley would do. Crowley would do what Crowley does. And what does Crowley do best? This is a story about faith, about love, and about choices. Aziraphale is Supreme Archangel, Crowley is Grand Duke Of Hell, and they have to bring about the Second Coming. And of course they're not talking.

Complete stories:

The Small Ad by ladydragona and SylWritesStuff, rated E, 32k.

To overcome boredom, Crowley offers his services as a hired partner. Aziraphale is need of someone to pretend to be his partner. The rest is history. This is a lovely, hot, and sweet fake relationship fiction. Very interestingly, the POV changes at every paragraph, and because the story has two authors it left me wondering whether one wrote Crowley and one wrote Aziraphale, but kind of in real time.

The Angel’s Gambit, by Augenblickglotte, @dragonfire42 , rated T, 9k.

Aziraphale has been playing chess with the angel of Death for over 1500 years. You'll have to read it to find out why. I loved the banter between Aziraphale and Azrael.

Percy, by Jackie Thomas (Jakie_Thomas), not rated, 10k.

This is the story that touched me the most this month. It's set 100 years in the future. Aziraphale leads a quiet existence in a cottage. When Adam Young dies of very old age, Crowley picks up Aziraphale to go to his funeral. He doesn't stay after that, and you'll have to read it to find out why. The story does have a (kind of) happy ending. Or a hopeful one, at least. But it digs deep in some of my very real, very human fears. Fear for the planet, fear of growing old, fear of growing apart, fear of everything ending without us ever getting a second chance of fixing things. I really loved this story and will go back to it again. It also gets extra points for reversing the roles of how the fandom usually see Aziraphale and Crowley! Top marks!

Caramel Delight, by AJ_Constantine, rated E, 16k.

Lovely neighbours to lovers human AU. Crowley is instantly attracted to the new neighbour and his -oh, lord- forearms (and, I mean, who wouldn't?). But he's determined not to make things awkward, they are just friendly neighbours. That's why Aziraphale keeps knocking on his door for more of that caramel sauce Crowley makes so well. One of the tags in this fiction is: Aziraphale is bad at flirting. I very much beg to differ.

One shots and short stories:

Can I Have Your Number? by AppleSeeds, rated G, 1.8k.

Aaawww. Aziraphale goes to order drinks for him and Tracy, and writes down his number for bartender Crowley. Crowley asked for it, right? RIGHT?? All well that ends well, this story is brief and sweet.

Angels Don't Blow Their Own Trumpets, by shaggydogstail, rated E, 8k.

This story had me cackle! Crowley poisons himself by accident (well, by trying to be cool, point is he didn't mean to) and there's only an antidote that can save him. Please DO READ the tags for this one.

Anthony J. Crowley, Retired Demon And Airbnb Superhost, by TheOldAquarian, rated G, 3k.

A selection of reviews by guests who rented Crowley's flat on Airbnb. Very funny!

Proving One’s Loyalty, by @indigovigilance , rated E, 4k.

Set towards the end of season 1, Aziraphale goes to heaven to speak with a higher authority only to find that Gabriel has taken Crowley prisoner. Aziraphale has to torture him in order to prove himself to heaven. Smut ensues.

You Can't Un-See A Dog, by Dannye Chase (HolyCatsAndRabbits), HolyCatsAndRabbits @holycatsandrabbits rated T, 4k

This was one of the highlights of my month, fiction-wise! Crowley is summoned by two humans to be offered in sacrifice. Aziraphale knocks on their door within, like, 3 minutes. I just loved this story: The light banter and the interactions between Crowley and Aziraphale are chef's kiss; the adorable domesticity of their relationship shines through in a situation that really is not domestic at all; Aziraphale is being his incredibly brilliant self; AND there's a little mystery-solving thrown in for good measure! Top marks!

Hold The Phone, by theRavenMuse, rated E, 1k.

Crowley listens in on Aziraphale having intimate moments by himself. But phones work two ways. Lovely and hot!

Plausible Deniability, by GayDemonDisaster (scrapheapchallenge), rated E, 5k.

This story was so, so lovely! Set before and after the first failed Armageddon and not season 2 complaint, but to me it really feels like it goes very well with my personal headcanon regarding season 2 in general and the final fifteen in particular: they do communicate and they don't need words. The story itself is about Aziraphale denying to himself that things are happening by pretending it's all a dream. The writer illustrates their deep connection and mutual understanding beautifully.

The Co-Pilot, by beardo @e-rated-beardo rated E, 4k.

Incredibly hot human AU. Eh, I say human AU… incredibly hot AU. Tony is attracted to Az, but is afraid of acting on it because of what the author describes as an ‘overfamiliar demon’ who sometimes took the wheel for a minute. So he's content to just chat to Az at the pub. Yeah, like Az is ever going to shy away from an encounter with Crowley's inner demon.

Presque Vu, by NaroMoreau, rated E, 9k

Human AU. College student Aziraphale sees his ex Gabriel at a party he didn't want to go to to begin with, so of course he hides in the kitchen. Until his (and everybody's) impossible crush offers to pose as his boyfriend. This story is incredibly lovely and heartwarming!

Masturbation (Doesn't Count As Sex, Surely?), by Hellsgardener @hellsgardener01 (I think it's you?) rated E, 1.3k.

Very few fictions manage to convey such intense feelings of sweetness and hotness alike in such a short tale as this one! Aziraphale asks Crowley if he's ever had sex and reminisces about his own solo experiences.

To Bind Them, by LCwrites, rated E, 5k

Human AU with a lovely enchanted/supernatural/faerie element. Aziraphale is tipsy at Anathema’s Halloween party and when he overhears Crowley talking on the phone he wants to find out what he's up to. But that's not even the half of it.

Our Homeward Steps Were Just As Light, by On1OccasionFork, rated T, 7k.

I've seen this little gem recommended a lot recently, and with very good reason! Human AU where Pepper works in a nursing home. Anthony is a beloved guest prone to causing trouble, Aziraphale is a new guest. It's tender, deep, funny and original. Stirs things in you, a fiction like that. I loved it. Extra points for being in Pepper’s POV.

Hot Blood, Hot Thoughts, Hot Deeds, by Supergeek21, rated E, 3k.

This story was really up my street! Crowley is a vampire in search of a bride. Aziraphale should be scared, but he's too busy being aroused instead. Sweet, funny, and sexy.

A Newsworthy Affair, by @waitingtobebroken rated T, 1k.

A funny, adorable, fluffy fiction told through newspaper ads that the editors of the newspaper never authorised publishing. If you're in need of something to put a big smile on your face, this is it!

Merry Christmas, Hellspawn, by Libbyfay, rated G, 4k.

Beautiful Warlock’s POV fiction. It's the first Christmas since nanny and brother Francis left without a word, and Warlock feels lonely. He goes to what used to be brother Francis’ shed, goes through the box of Christmas decorations and reminisces about the past, until someone knocks on the door. I am quite partial to the few, precious Warlock’s POV stories, and the author does an excellent job at depicting the pain of an 11 year old and that casual, matter of fact way 11 year olds deal with great pain. This story is delicate, and beautiful and deeper than it might seem.

Series:

Wrong Number AU, by GaryOldman, rated T.

This was the loveliest, sweetest, fluffiest series. Best to read the stories in order to fully enjoy it. In Text From An Unknown Number (12k) Aziraphale text Crowley’s number by mistake. They hit it off straight away, but of course things are never that simple. Most of the story is told via the texts they exchange (between themselves and with others) and it’s amazing how the author manages to convey excitement, feelings and a little angst in that way. I loved this fic, but I feel I have to give a little warning that the Harry Potter series is heavily used and referred to in this story. Sorry, Right Number (2.5k) is the super fluffy Christmassy continuation of TFAUN. Aaaaww, lovely! He's My Wrong Number, (1.6k) is possibly the fluffiest of the three and it's a real treat to read! A very happy ending to the series!

Poems:

DEATH Grinned-HE Didn't Have Much Choice, by @isiaiowin rated T.

Very evocative and powerful poem about Death.

Thinking Of Nanny, by @the-ineffable-dance

Another incredibly beautiful Warlock's POV fanwork to end this list. Warlock is all grown up and goes for a walk in St. James’s Park, where he sees someone familiar. The only complaint I have about this poem is that it was so difficult to read through the tears, really.

October's list here.

December's list here.

#good omens #fictions I've read and what I love about them #November's notable fictions #good omens fanfiction rec #good omens fiction #good omens ao3 #ineffable husbands #good omens fanfiction #good omens fanfic #good omens poetry #good omens poems

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tb3ih · 1 year ago

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growing pains | geto suguru

[ GIRL DAD!SUGURU doesn't think he can handle his growing girls ] fluff!!!

"kohana, hold still," suguru pleads, voice muffled just slightly by the hair tie clenched between his teeth, brows creased together in concentration as he attempts to tame the locks of onyx silk on the little girl sitting not-so-still in front of him. the poor guy still had her omelette in the pan when she came begging to have her hair done the way she saw you do yours.

and of course, suguru being the softie he was, could only hold his large hand out with a sigh as she dropped a few accessories in his palm to adorn her hair with. you had a stressful night at work last night, a meeting run overtime well past the girls' bedtimes (which he knew put you in the worst of moods because you absolutely adored your little ones), so he knew he had to take over the morning shift with the girls today.

perhaps it was your absence which left the two girls a little more chaotic than usual, their normally neutralized demeanors suddenly nowhere to be seen. luckily he was able to convince the youngest, kaiyah, to finish her breakfast with the persuasion of some cartoons, not to mention, her short hair needed nothing more than brushing and the correctly colored bow.

your oldest on the other hand was a little tricky. though independently dressing herself now, she didn't quite have the skill to do some of the hairstyles by herself. and because you were nowhere to be seen, it only seemed reasonable to ask her papa.

"daddy, i'm hungry!" though she's not as loud, kohana resembles you in both her stubbornness and pout, a look she wears as often as the slight furrow in her brow when she disapproves of something.

suguru can only hum, tying the last bit of hair up to resemble the look she wanted. the lotus hairpin was the last bit of decoration he added before finally allowing her to hop up from her seat and join her sister at the kitchen island for breakfast. when he stands, the dark-haired male is quick to help his eldest to some utensils before placing her plate in front of her, moving to start the dishes while the two eat.

"itadakimasu~!" kohana begins digging in without a second thought, a small smile coming to pull at the tired man's lips.

when the two girls finish, they place their plates by the sink, allowing suguru to retrieve them for a rinse before being placed in the dishwasher. "alright girls, go get your shoes, please."

there's giggling followed by small footsteps as the two go rushing to the front closet where all the shoes are kept. he finishes soon after drying his hands on a towel before going to check in on the girls, two backpacks in either hand. velcro in place on both of their shoes, kaiyah and kohana are already reaching for their bags, smiles on their faces as the oldest laughs out a "thank you" and the youngest mutters a small "thank you, daddy".

"alright girls, are you ready?"

"mhm!" kohana replies, turning to her sister and grabbing her hand. "let's go!"

they're just stepping out of the door when kaiyah, your youngest, turns to look over her shoulder at her awaiting father, causing him to halt in his follwoing footsteps. "daddy, you don't have to worry about us, we can go by ourselves!"

and this moment only leaves him dumbfounded, as he had planned to walk them to their usual bus stop like always. when did this routine stop? had you known about this?

"w-well, are you sure?" suguru scratches the back of his neck, thinking of the worst of this proposition, "i don't mind, i love walking with you girls..."

kohana only giggles at her father, urging her little sister by where they are linked at the hands. "we'll be late daddy, we have to go!"

and so he lets them, his waving hand slowly coming to a stop when he sees the two skip out of sight and into the street from the front door. it's not a big thing, but it's something, and poor suguru who didn't think much of the idea of letting his daughters go but if it felt this way when they were this small, he wasn't sure if he could keep doing this.

and so when he finally closes the front door and moves back to the kitchen to clean up, he finds a little bit of relief for his aching heart, settling back into the comfort of the sheets with you in the master bedroom. you stir a little, sleepy eyes finding his with a soft smile.

"mm, suguru? what's wrong?" the male doesn't make much of a reply, only sighing as you pull him into your embrace, your warm chasing the tension from his frame.

there's a moment of silence before you hear him inhale, letting out a small sigh before his violet irises meet yours. "you didn't tell me they walk themselves now..."

and you smile, teeth pulling at your lip to bite back your laugh. you loved your husband, but this was too damn adorable. "hmm, they're growing up, huh?" you bring a hand to thread through his hair, and he closes his eyes for a second, his lips pressing a chaste kiss against your forearm as you continue your ministrations.

"i... knew this would come, but i didn't think..." suguru doesn't have to finish what he's saying for you to understand, because you felt the same thing when kohana asked to dress herself or when kaiyah started putting her dirty dishes on the counter to help you after dinner. "is it supposed to hurt?"

you laugh a little, your hand pressing against his face before offering him a small kiss. "it's just growing pains, honey," you say softly, "it doesn't get better but it'll make your memories happier."

your husband sighs, pulling you closer to settle into the crook of your neck. he breathes you in deeply and the two of you lay for a moment together in your little world of peace. "...okay."

you hum, "okay?"

"okay," he replies.

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cluelessatthispoint · 7 months ago

Note

I love dad!medic or dad!spy bc there is SO MUCH opportunity for angst and pain and sometimes a little sprinkle of happiness.

I just love the idea of them leaving leaving their child for some reason like to protect them from their job or something, only for some years later theiy discover their child is not only also working for the Administraror, but they are also on the battlefield.

Just imagine Spy almost backstabbing his child but immediately stops and starts scolding them for working for such a horrible purpose(hypocrite).

Or maybe Medic just walking around the battlefield after hours to try and look for some body parts to experiment on and now he is stuck with the talking head of his own child in the fridge because they are grounded for forever because how DARE they join such a aggressive and nonsensical battle just for the benefits!?(hypocrite number 2)

Do you think you could write something about any of those two?? Sorry for the long request 😔

Those are good ideas, I can't imagine how much trouble Medic or Spy's kid is gonna be in. Especially if they're on opposing teams.

~~~~~~~

Platonic Yandere Dad Spy x opposing team child reader

You never thought that you would meet up again like this. The idea of seeing your father again after all these years is like a dream come true. Only, it's more of a nightmare than a dream with how you can see the instant rage in his eyes as he recognizes your face from across the terrain. At first, the Spy on the enemy's team didn't bother you at all, rarely seeing him as you were much more concerned with the six foot something tall Russian man gunning everyone down from a balcony. But of course the Spy noticed you, it's his job after all to gather intell. Intell on the rival team as well as the actual intelligence.

From the moment you first started working for the Administrator he already had tabs on you.. like a ping sounding on radar.. All grown up and changed with time from the small child he once knew. All those happy memories of tucking you in before bed, the soft comforter wrapped around your tiny form as he did his best to make his voice as gentle and soothing as possible when reading one of those silly little bedtime stories from a brightly colored picture book. Eyes flashing, and his face draining of color, the harsh way he sets his jaw as he runs over to you before using his Invis watch to cloak. You can feel his eyes flickering down in shock to your shirt. Imagining the distaste that the color brings to his matured, weary face.

Spy's thin lips curl up in a grimace. No, no, he can't have that. His precious little one all grown up. Unfortunately on the rival team, no, he'll have to correct that. His mind wandering to a million plans to get you to what he considers is "safety". Having already added an extra bed adjacent to his own in his room. Catching up and learning everything there is to know about you. Your favorite books added to his bookshelf. Your favorite drinks have already been privately ordered in along with his next shipment. Spy plans to take care of you as best he can, because clearly your team runs you ragged.

As soon as you both make eye contact on the battlegrounds of Sawmill it's all over. Utilizing the cover of the falling rain as it comes down from the heavens in a torrential downpour. The rest of your team don't even hear you scream from your spot on the roof as you feel the biting sensation of a tranquilizer digging into the meat of your thigh with a vengeance. The first jarring thing you think about is the fall from such a hight and how it would painstakingly send you back to respawn.

Your thoughts are quickly interuppted by a pair of sturdy arms catching you under your armpits as you fall backwards against a warm chest. The hitch of your breath pierces the air, oxygen filling your shuddering lungs as you slowly drown in the scent of petrichor and the acrid odor of a French brand of cigarette.

Just like how he used to lull you to sleep as a child, Spy softened his tone, his warm moist breath tickling your left ear as he ushered you to your drug induced sleep. The only coherent thought that flashes through your mind before sleep claims is the amount of trouble your going to be in once you wake up.

~~~~~

Well, I know it's not my usual writing style. But I thought that I would have some fun with it. I hope you enjoyed it anon. Because I certainly enjoyed writing this.

#tf2 mercs #tf2 #team fortress two #team fortress 2 #tf2 fic #tf2 x reader #platonic yandere #request #spy x reader #dad spy #x reader #yandere #platonic yandere spy #writing request #anon requests #asks

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love-toxin · 5 months ago

Text

babysitter -> blake endon

a/n: this was supposed to be my intro piece for blake but better late than never !!

(cws: some alcohol use, blake being slightly inappropriate)

word count: 2.4k

"...He can go down for his nap around noon, he usually gets tired after lunch."

The man whose ad you responded to stands with the four-year-old in question balanced on his hip, the little boy wiggling around in his father's hold as he mimics the thrum of an engine with a little plastic airplane in hand. He's pretty loud, but that's because the cochlear implants he's got in only work so well, if they're even on right now.

Siri, the boy you offered to babysit, is a little more excitable than you thought he'd be–he ran up to you the second the door opened like a madman, totally undeterred by the idea of a stranger in his house, and immediately started pulling on your hand to come see his action figures before his dad could even get out a hello. But you're used to that, and you wouldn't have picked up the phone to call in your services if you didn't think you could handle one rowdy toddler. This thing with his dad, however…you dunno, you can't place it, but something's just different.

Blake had given you the briefest once-over when you showed up at his front door–probably just to make sure you fit the description you gave–but even so, the look in his eyes gave you a tugging sensation at your nerves. Like he was really looking at something else, or maybe even checking you out…but that's just ridiculous. He probably doesn't have a wife considering the distinct lack of a feminine presence in the house, but he might have a girlfriend or another partner that would nip those possibilities in the bud. Oh, and he is a bit older than you, plus he's frustratingly handsome and charming to the point that he's completely out of your league.

He sets down the kid just for him to go running off to his toy box, eyebags dark and prominent as he runs his fingers through his hair tiredly. Yet, when he looks at you, he's inclined to smile a little lopsidedly.

“Thanks again. He's a handful, but he shouldn't give you much trouble. Right, Siri?” He turns to the boy and taps him on the shoulder, and when he whips his little dark-haired head around his father gestures the warning to him. “Right, Siri?”

The little boy fingerspells back. “Yes, papa.” Satisfied, Blake gives him a kiss on the head and stands up to pluck his jacket off the armchair as he walks by, ruffling his hair while you follow him to the front door of the apartment.

“Alright, that should be everything-” He pats his pockets and digs in them for his wallet, from which he starts thumbing out crumpled bills with a dab of his finger on his tongue. “-Twenty, thirty–here, forty.” He claps the money down in your palm and gives it a gentle squeeze. That, paired with a wink from his green eyes as he opens the door has your heart fluttering in your ribcage like a bird thumping on bars. “Anything goes wrong, call the restaurant. I shouldn't be too late.”

“Have a good shift, Mr. Endon.” You smile with bright eyes. Blake lingers in the doorway with his hand on the knob like he's rethinking his leave altogether, but soon enough, he's on his way.

“Thanks, doll. See you soon.” He grins right back, and steps down the hall backwards just to catch one more lingering look at you before turning on his heel and bounding down the corridor to the elevator.

***

Over ten hours later, the sun has set over the horizon outside, and you've only just managed to put the little firecracker to bed.

After lunch, Siri had dashed around the apartment several times in an attempt to get you to chase him–and when you tired out, he'd sat down in the living room and gathered all his toys together to make a sort of kaiju simulator. At least that was simpler for you to entertain, as all you had to do was take a break on the couch to catch your breath and watch the little guy stack up his blocks to make buildings and arrange all his planes and cars on pretend roads, so he could smash through them like godzilla. Once you'd managed to get him to clean up the aftermath of his ruined city and put all his trucks and trains and rubble back into the toy box, he took a while to pass out on the sofa and you had some respite, just as Mr. Endon had promised.

Once he'd expelled all that energy, the late afternoon had gone by in a much calmer state. You put some canned spaghetti on the stove and frozen meatballs in the toaster oven, and after you coaxed him into eating his fill and cleaned up the mess left behind, Siri crawled into your lap and signed that he wanted to watch cartoons. So you did, and he cuddled with you so sweetly you weren't sure he was the same rowdy maniac you'd run after earlier. But all was well, and he went down easier than you expected, though the boy clearly wanted his dad to tuck him in and a few tears were shed when he realized he wouldn't be. Yet, still, he went down like a babe eventually and you bummed out on the couch for an hour now with no sign of Mr. Endon's return.

He said he would be home by 9. You think to yourself, sighing softly as you weave a thread from your sleeve between your fingers boredly. Part of you wants to call the diner, see what's taking so long, but would that be over the line? You have a life, after all. But you're nervous, and unsure, and before long you have the phone to your ear and the line is ringing to the other side.

“Hello?” A woman's voice picks up on the third ring. However tired you feel, she sounds twice as much. “How can I help you?” She tries to put a cheery spin on her words.

“H-Hi, um…is…is Mr. Endon-?”

“Oh–Blake?” You stutter in trying to answer, but she speaks again. “You wouldn't happen to be Blake’s sitter, would you? He said you might call.”

“Uh…” You twist the phone’s cord around your fingers. “...Yeah. Is he, uh–he was just running a bit late, so I was wondering if, y’know, everything’s all right.”

“Yeah! Yeah, everything’s fine. Well, uh, he’s fine–we just got hit with a health inspection unexpectedly, so they're doing a deep clean. He tried going home early but, honestly, the kitchen would probably kick his butt if he skipped out.”

“I understand, yeah–that’s fine.” You stammer out. Why didn't he call you? You silently wave the thought away. “Sorry for bothering you.”

“It's okay!” She replies, kindness creeping into her voice. “They should be done pretty soon. Want me to tell him you called?”

Just as you're accepting her friendly offer, someone calls out to her; Lil, is that for me? And with a sudden swap of the phone you can hear the huff of Blake's low voice hit the receiver, your hairs raising on your neck at the thought of him getting annoyed with you calling his work. Even though he gave you permission to.

“Hey sweetheart,” He breathes into the phone. Your skin prickles for an entirely different reason at that affectionate nickname. “Sorry, I got caught up. Siri doing okay? Are you okay?”

“Yeah, uh…yeah, we're fine. Siri's in bed. He ate all his dinner–uh, except for a meatball or two.” Blake laughs gently on the other end.

“That's great. He's never that good for me. He must like you.” The way he sighs betrays the front he's putting up, and that he's really just running on fumes. “Can you hold out just a little longer, honey? I'll be home right away. Ten minutes, tops.”

“No, of course! Don't rush, we're doing okay.”

Honey?

“I'll pay you extra when I get back, promise.”

“It's really okay, Mr. Endon.” Your lips twinge upwards into a smile despite trying not to let it show. “Siri's great. I really don't mind staying longer.”

“You're a gem.” He sighs in relief. “Okay, I'm on my way. See you soon.”

“See you.” The line clicks, and you force yourself to hold in a squeal when you set down the phone. He's really fucking you over, and if it were anyone else you'd be pissed, but how could you be mad when he's so…so…ugh!

Despite trying not to get too excited about it, you hop up off the couch and hurry to the bathroom to check your hair, splash a little water on your face, and clean up as best you can before you hear the key turning in the front door. Your feet pound the wood flooring as you hurry back, and manage to hop over the couch arm and lay back semi-casually just seconds before Blake walks into the front hall of the apartment. He moves to shut the door behind him with his foot, obviously unworried about making noise–it's not like Siri will hear him, anyways. As he hustles into the living room, hair still tied up and away from his face, he stops at the sink to splash some water on his cheeks and wash away the sweat dripping from his forehead. The residue of the hot kitchen lingers on him still when he meets you at the edge of the couch.

“That's my bad, sweetheart.” He breathes, and gently shakes a bag at his side before setting it on the coffee table. “Brought you some food that was left over. There's wine in there too,” He calls over his shoulder, walking back into the kitchen to crack open the cupboards. “Have whatever you like, you can take home the rest. Want a drink?” He taps on a wine glass on the upper shelf. With a shake of your head, he relents and goes for the fridge to crack open a beer.

“Thank you, Mr. Endon. It was really no trouble, Siri's a great kid.” You smile as you stand from the sofa. As if sensing that you're gearing up to leave, Blake steps around the counter to meet you.

“I should be thanking you. It's tough for us right now, and you're really doing me a solid.” He takes a sip from his drink, his green eyes piercing yours for an instant. “I'd like to see you–have you here again, y'know. For Siri.”

“I'd love to.” Oh, now you're really beaming. He must think you're so naïve and too bubbly, but Blake doesn't seem bothered. No, he seems more interested as he leans against the counter, surveying you as his fingertip mindlessly traces the mouth of the can. After a touch too long of just silence, he reaches behind himself and you immediately try to wave off his gesture.

“Really, Mr. Endon, it's fine!” You insist with a warm face. “You don't need to pay me back.” He raises a brow, wallet in hand, and chuckles as he sets his beer down.

“Maybe I can pay you another way, then.” He murmurs with a glint in those piercing eyes.

To say your heart skips would be an understatement, because it jumps into your throat the moment those words leave his mouth. “Ah, you're funny!” Your laugh comes out so awkward and high-pitched you can feel it in the back of your head. There's no fucking way he meant that.

With another beat of silence, Blake finally laughs and flips open the leather pocket, two crisp 20s pinched between his fingers that he presses into your palm. His insistence, paired with your embarrassment, ensures that you clench them in your hand and take the extra pay without much more resistance, and before long you're ushering yourself out of his apartment with a few more pleasantries exchanged before the door finally clicks behind you.

While you make your way down the hall towards the stairs, your heart pounds in your ears so loud you can barely hear anything over it, not the padding of your footsteps or the soft ding of the elevator as you step inside. The bag sags heavily in the crook of your arm–you can feel the bottle of wine in there, a whole bottle it seems like–and what the hell were you thinking? Either that last comment was straight-up harassment or you were an idiot to brush it off like it was nothing. Blake clearly enjoys your company yet you just had to fumble the bag like always, and you shake your head with a sigh as you wonder whether he was really hitting on you or not.

Your phone vibrates in your pocket and you fumble around to reach for it, finally slipping it out and balancing it as you hold up the bag of food. There's a text from Blake.

- Hey sweets. Thanks again for helping me out. Siri let me know you're his new favourite sitter haha :)

- I need a sitter on wednesday, too, if you're interested?

Without an ounce of hesitation you type out your reply with your thumb, and feel a familiar flutter in your chest as you send off your “of course!” faster than your brain can even catch up. Just as you're registering it, your phone buzzes once more.

- Perfect. Can't wait to see you again <3

- **siri, I meant siri can't wait to see you haha

- But I can't wait either :p

And god, you're so easy. Because despite the fact that you'll have to change your plans, regardless of whether or not you really need another 60 bucks to supervise a reckless toddler in your off time, that last text and that dumb little emoji has you hooked from the jump. You just have to see Blake again, you've got to catch these moments with him whenever you're able–and maybe this time, he won't be joking when he asks you that silly little question of payment.

#blake endon #blake endon x reader #yandere ocs #yanverse #ellie writes #2k

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