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gojorgeous · 1 year ago

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"sure thing"

pairing: target!gojo x assassin!fem!reader summary: you've been hired to kill the satoru gojo. how will you pull it off... and what will you do when he figures it out? content: MDNI (18+ only), nsfw, darkish content (all is well in the end), no established relationship, assassins/organized crime, blackmail, mention of a “suicide mission”, attempted murder (uhhhh), hidden identity, intended use of sex as a means to an end, mating press, unprotected sex, p->v, creampie, oral (fem!receiving), praise, pet names (gorgeous/sweetheart/baby), slight aftercare. a/n: me 🤝 describing gojo as having dimples welcome to my second 1k followers event fic! At this rate tho i’m going to hit 2k before i finish the 1k event LMAO. not that i'm complaining hehe. thank you for being patient and for all the support on my recent works! i really appreciate every ask, comment, follow, reblog, everything. they mean the world to me. check out the rest of my 1k event here. enjoy and remember that ALL AGELESS BLOGS WILL BE BLOCKED! creds: twitter template by @cafekitsune wc: 7.8k

“Who?!”

No fucking way. There’s no way he just said what you think he said.

“You heard me,” he scowls. He glares at you from across the desk. His seat is one of those cushy little office chairs, of course. Yours is plastic– cold and hard.

“Are you fucking insane?” you hiss. There’s no other explanation for what he’s asking you to do. He’s lost his fucking mind.

“We have a client willing to pay big money for this. Big money for just an attempt,” he answers.

You laugh, but there’s absolutely nothing funny about this conversation. “Oh, I’m sure you do. Probably because he’s practically invincible. I’ll never even lay a hand on him.”

Your “boss”, for lack of a better term, only scowls harder, the wrinkles forming near his eyes etching deeper in his skin. “Well, you’d best find a way to make it work. You’re taking this job. That’s final.” You scoff. Maybe you should recommend he see someone… “No. There’s no way. I’m not doing this.” You stand, grabbing your bag and slinging it over your shoulder. “Get someone else to go on your suicide mission.” You take a couple strides toward the door before two very large men move to block your path.

“Not so fast,” your boss calls. You pause, eyeing up your competition. You could definitely take them if you needed to. You sense only a very faint amount of cursed energy coming from each of them– not even enough to make you blink– but something in your boss’s tone makes you turn back.

“Yes?” You cross your arms over your chest, fingering a blade hidden in your breast pocket.

He fiddles around in his pocket, pulling out a cigarette and lighting up right there in his office. You don’t try to hide the way your nose scrunches up. “You want to do this job.”

Your eyes narrow. Something tells you you’re not going to like what comes next. “And why’s that?”

He takes a long puff, letting the smoke flowing out of his lungs with a slow exhale. “Because otherwise that little brother of yours is gonna be…” he pauses to give you a smile that makes your stomach churn. “Hmm… a lot smaller, shall we say? Maybe in several limb sized pieces?”

You think your heart stops. Time halts as ice runs through your veins. Nobody knows about your brother. At least, they didn’t.

Your boss’s smile grows even wider. In all your time as an assassin, you’ve never wanted to kill someone more. But you know you can’t. Just an attempt on his life will end your brother’s.

“Don’t worry. He’s all tucked away and safe at home where you left him.” Just a tiny piece of your heart thaws with relief. “But try to run with him, or run yourself, and he won’t be safe much longer.” Your pulse pounds so viciously you’re sure everyone can hear. A bead of sweat rolls down your neck. “Now, will you accept the assignment?”

Your jaw clenches. He got you. In all these years of working for him you’ve been careful, meticulous about hiding every piece of your personal life to avoid situations just like this. But he still got you. He got you.

“Yes,” you breathe. You have no choice. You will either kill Satoru Gojo or you will die trying.

“Good,” is all he says, and then you’re being escorted out of the office wondering where the hell you went wrong.

It’s been three weeks since that fateful meeting with your boss. True to his word, your brother has remained unharmed, but you see his lackeys lurking around every corner. Neither you nor your brother are truly safe and you never will be again unless you can pull this off and then put together some plan to escape your boss’s clutches.

You’ll fail. You know you will. The thought eats you up inside with every waking moment.

You’ve done your best to learn every possible piece of information about Satoru Gojo in the past two weeks. You know you can’t tail him closely– he’d pick up on your cursed energy and notice your incessant presence, so you’ve had to study from a distance with only minimal moments of proximity. You know where he works, who he works with, what restaurants, bars, and clubs he frequents and what days of the week he tends to visit. You know what his order is at his favorite ramen restaurant, where he lives, what time he wakes up. Hell, you know what fucking brand of dish soap he uses. He lives a surprisingly… predictable lifestyle. He makes no attempt to switch up his schedule or cover his tracks. In any other situation he’d be every assassin’s dream, but this is Satoru Gojo and Satoru Gojo doesn’t need to worry about assassins– assassins need to worry about him.

It took you the first week to come up with a plan. You had no clue how you were going to get close to him, much less kill him, and his infinity technique was going to prove particularly problematic. How were you supposed to kill him when you couldn’t even touch him? You had to get him in a situation in which he would willingly let his guard down for you.

You’d been on the subway when it hit you. Sex. You’d get him to have sex with you. If you could get him to take you home, he’d have to turn infinity off for at least a short time. That would be your time to strike.

You’d spent the next two weeks primping yourself. You’d bought the most expensive dress you’d ever owned, got a mani-pedi, whitened your teeth, and spent a small fortune on makeup. Considering your circumstances, you thought your plan was quite a good one. You knew when he’d go out to the bar with his friends, which bar he’d go to, how long he’d stay, how he’d get a taxi home. You also knew when you’d arrive, how long you’d stay, and how you’d get a taxi with him– everything planned perfectly to best catch his attention. But for all your planning, there was still one thing you didn’t know. What kind of woman did Satoru Gojo go for? Someone submissive? Teasing? Aggressive? Playful? In all your time tracking him you’d never seen him take somebody home. It struck you as… odd. He was Satoru Gojo, renowned for his power, wealth, and good looks– surely he had women falling at his feet. Maybe he was just a little more… selective. If that was the case you’d have to be even quicker on your feet when you finally met him. And that time is now.

You’re in your bathroom, checking your makeup one last time before heading out the door. Your brother sleeps soundly in the room down the hall, safe for the time being. You’ve contacted a friend, one who is at least willing to try to get him out if– when– you fail. You doubt it will be enough.

You make your way to his room. A quick peek inside reveals he’s snuggled up with a plushie elephant that he carries around like they’re attached at the hip. You creep inside, a sad smile on your lips. This may very well be the last time you see him. You brush a stray lock of hair from his eyes and press a kiss to the crown of his head. With one last whispered ‘I love you’, you’re out the door. If you linger, you won’t be able to go– and you have to. For him.

The streets of Tokyo are cold tonight, like the weather knows what you’re about to attempt, like it’s preparing for death, for failure. For your failure.

The club you arrive at is upscale, and one where you’ve already tipped off the bouncer to let you bypass the line. You hear a few groans from the people behind you as you saunter straight inside.

You’re conscious of every little move from the second you step inside. At any moment, he could see you and it could make or break your entire plan.

You press your shoulders back. You have a plan– stick to it.

You make your way over to the bar, weaving your way between groups of people who are somewhere between giggling a little too loudly and tripping over their own feet.

You find a free space at the bar and lean up onto your elbows, your eyes screening the bartenders. You smile when you see a familiar face.

“Hey, Dean,” you call.

He turns and the sight of his friendly green eyes sets you a little more at ease.

“Oh, shit. Hey!” He slings a towel over his shoulder and comes to stand across from you. “You’re back,” he says. You nod and smile softly. Ever since you’d determined this would be the place you’d been coming periodically, chatting up the bartenders. The last thing you needed was to stand around in a corner alone with seemingly no friends. That wouldn’t attract anyone, much less Satoru Gojo.

Out of all the bartenders, Dean was your favorite– and you’d been oh so happy to learn that his schedule put him on every Friday night.

“Yeah. Long day at work.”

A smile pulls at his lips, but there’s a hint of sympathy in his eyes. “The usual, then?”

You nod solemnly. “That’d be great. Thanks.”

You watch him prepare the drink for you, feeling a little bad that it’s all a lie. There’s no bad day at work, you didn’t just happen to come in here one day and strike up a conversation with him. All of this is premeditated, planned, and it feels… lonely. It feels lonely to know that on what is probably your last night on earth you are surrounded by people who only think they know you.

“So, anything new happening?” Dean drops your drink in front of you and you have a feeling it’s filled with a little more vodka than he’s supposed to put in there.

Your eyes shift around the bar as subtly as you can manage. As much as you want to seem like you fit in, you also need to find Gojo. It’s a fine balance.

You shrug. “Yeah, I guess I just feel like a lot of things are going to be changing for me pretty soon.”

His brows pull together and the look he gives you is one of genuine interest and concern. It makes your heart wrench. “How so?”

You swallow. “Dunno. Just… everything.”

There’s a moment of silence and then the tapping of a finger on your glass. “Damn, girl. Drink up. You need it.”

You can’t help but smile. You have a feeling that Dean would have been a good friend of yours in another life.

You take his advice, though, and bring your drink to your lips and force a smile. You can’t be moping– not tonight.

The next twenty minutes are spent with Dean. Even when he’s making other drinks he’s still chatting with you, still being a good… friend. You dread leaving your little haven at the bar. The time is coming when you’ll have to seek out your target.

You’re shocked when it’s the other way around.

“Hey, gorgeous.” There’s a light brush on your shoulder and you turn. It takes all you have to keep your features schooled and calm. Satoru fucking Gojo just tapped your shoulder.

Nothing prepared you for how handsome he is up close. All those days of research, of tracking and tailing– none of it does the real thing justice. Even with those stupid sunglasses inside… he’s fucking beautiful. “I’ll pay for all of your drinks tonight if you let me skip this hideous line,” he whines.

You give yourself no more than a second to recover. You school your features into a smirk. You glance at Dean with an ‘is this okay?’ look. He just smiles and shrugs.

You turn back to Gojo, bracing yourself this time for the beauty you’re about to face. You meet his gaze and know you could get lost in it. “Be my guest.”

His smile nearly blinds you and his dimples nearly make you pass out. Still, you keep your cool.

“Yesssss!” He looks like a puppy just offered a bone.

He spills his drink order to Dean and it’s far more than could possibly be just for him. He’s here with his friends, then. Probably the blonde man who always looks too tired to be here and the girl with the brown hair who always seems like she’s just along for the ride.

You bite your lip to hide a laugh when he orders himself two strawberry daiquiris. Somehow you still catch his attention.

“What?” he pouts. You can’t help but feel a small stirring of surprise in your gut. He’s far more… relaxed than you’d expected him to be. He’s almost… childish?

You press your lips together and shake your head. You’ve reached the point where your research can’t take you any further. From this point on, it’s up to you to discover what Satoru Gojo likes in a woman.

You debate how to answer. Play coy? Tease him? Stay silent? Any option could be as correct as the next. You didn’t know where to start… so maybe you’d just start by being yourself.

“Just, um… not the order I was expecting,” you laugh. It’s halfway genuine. With the way he’s acting, it’s hard to remember that he’s the most powerful man alive.

His pout only intensifies. “Well, what’s your order?”

His question is answered when Dean sets another cosmopolitan in front of you. You laugh. “Never said I was judging, just that it wasn’t what I expected.”

Another smile tugs at his lips and something stirs in your gut that you try your very hardest to ignore. This was a job. There was no room for actually enjoying it. This man was probably going to kill you later, in a matter of hours.

There’s a beat of silence, and then a slight shift in his demeanor. He leans closer and you see a twitch of his lips. Your heart jumps.

“You’re a sorcerer,” he says.

You hold back an exhale of relief. You thought he might be onto you. If he is, he’s choosing not to reveal it yet.

You nod and take what you hope is a casual sip of your drink. “And you’re Satoru Gojo.”

A brow arches high enough for you to see it over his sunglasses. “You know who I am?”

You force a chuckle, smirking despite the pounding of your heart. “Who doesn’t?”

You’d decided long ago to tell him that you knew exactly who he was. It would seem more suspicious for a fellow sorcerer to have no idea what the Satoru Gojo looked like.

He flashes you a smile full of white and stupidly fucking perfect teeth. “That’s true, heh.” You press your lips together to avoid a smile. Not too humble, then…

“So, what’s your technique”

You shoot him a glance that questions his sanity. Asking a sorcerer what their technique is… is personal. It’s not information you give out to a rando at the bar– even if it is Satoru Gojo.

“Wouldn’t you like to know.” You take another sip of your drink, trying your hardest to remain somewhere on the border or interested and casual.

“Bet I could find out.”

That makes you turn fully, angling your body toward his. “Oh yeah? You challenging me to a fight?” You smirk and shake your head. “I’ll pass.”

He pouts again, but you see a hint of a smile peeking through. “Aw, come on. That’s no fun…”

You chuckle and take another sip of your drink. You’re not sure you’re sipping just for appearances anymore. You think you probably just need a little liquid courage to see this thing through. “Sorry. I value my life.”

You watch as he slides his sunglasses down the bridge of his nose, just enough for you to get a glimpse of what’s behind. You nearly choke again and this time you don’t manage to hide your nervous swallow when he smirks.

“You’re so sure you’d lose?” His voice is teasing now and you hate that it’s actually having an effect on you. Job, job, job, just a job…

You clear your throat. “I like to think I’m not stupid enough to think that I could win.”

His eyes are blue– so fucking blue– and you feel like he’s seeing straight into your soul. Can he see? Can he see your filthy intentions? Your plotting? The rottenness of what you’re going to do? “What if I promise to take it real easy on you?”

Your drink is forgotten now. You’re lost in what he’s saying– in him. “No thanks.” Your voice is growing lower and you feel like there’s some magnet forcing you to lean into him, to seek his warmth.

“So you like it rough, then.” The trance is broken and your blood runs hot. Holy shit. This man is flirting with you and you hardly even had to try. He's trying to take you home. Little does he know, you’re a sure thing.

You watch as he throws back the rest of his strawberry daiquiri with a pleased “ahhh” at the end. When he turns back to you his eyes have a certain spark in them that makes your thighs press together. “You wanna dance with me?”

Fuck. This is going too well to be real. But you’re not about to pass up a good deal.

“What about your friends?” you ask and eye the several untouched drinks still left on the bar. It’s risky– giving him an out, but you can’t seem too eager.

He follows your gaze only to bounce his eyes straight back to you. “I’m sure they’ll get a look at ya and understand.”

The smirk he’s giving you is making electricity shoot straight between your legs. Damn. You really wish you didn’t have to kill him– or at least try to.

When he extends his hand you only hesitate for a second. Your heart leaps when you feel his skin on yours, knowing he’s let infinity down. He pulls you onto the dancefloor and it’s not long before he’s running his hands all over you– groping your ass, pinching your thighs, nipping at your neck. Pretty soon the dancefloor evolves to a dark corner of the club with his lips on yours and goddamn he’s a good kisser. You’ve got your fingers in his hair and his hand way too close to your boobs when he whispers those fateful words– “let’s get out of here.”

You can only hide your swallow and nod before he’s pulling you through the crowd, leaving the club behind. He hauls you both into the backseat of a taxi and the door’s barely closed before he’s all over you again. You think you hear the taxi driver mutter something about ‘staining the seats’ but you’re too far gone to give a shit.

Fuck, he feels good. He’s kisses you like he’s starved and your lips are the fountain of fucking life, like he’s never felt something so good and now he can’t get enough. And, god, he’s handsy. You’re forever grateful to your past self for discreetly hiding your blade in your bra– he would have felt a holster on your thigh at least ten times over by now.

He groans when you arrive at what you know is his apartment building, though you don’t let on that you recognize the place in the slightest. The look on his face makes you think he’s feeling actual physical pain at the prospect of having to peel away from you for even a second. Nonetheless, he tosses a wad of cash at the taxi driver and pulls you straight inside.

He can’t even wait for the elevator to come, groping your waist right there in the lobby and then when the elevator finally does come, shoving you up against the metal wall a licking stripe across your collarbone.

You can’t deny how nice it feels to be so desperately… wanted. Never once has a man made you feel this way– so consumed by him, him, him. Once again you curse the universe that you’re here with a mission other than getting laid.

You find yourself giggling when he pulls you out of the elevator and presses his palm to a fucking scanner to get into his apartment. You try to pull yourself together, but when he laughs with you, you can’t help but melt into him a little more.

As soon as the door clicks shut behind you, he’s got you up against another wall with your legs wrapped around his waist and his face buried in your neck. His sunglasses are long gone and you pull at his shirt, popping the buttons straight off the fabric until you slide the shirt down his shoulders and onto the floor.

“That was Versace,” he whines.

You plaster your lips to his. “I don’t care.” All he does is chuckle.

“So gorgeous…” he breathes and your head slumps back against the wall, giving him better access to the soft skin of your neck. Any minute now. Any minute he’s going to start stripping your clothes off and you’re going to have to let this charade crumble. You don’t want to. He’s practically worshiping you. It’s perfect, it’s amazing, and you don’t want it to end.

His fingers dig into the flesh of your ass and suddenly you’re moving again– moving, moving, moving until your back is bouncing against the softness of a mattress and you’re fucking giggling again like a lovesick idiot. Maybe you’d had a few too many sips of those cosmopolitans.

He’s smiling as he crawls over you and the sight makes your heart flutter with both lust and terror. Lust because he’s so fucking beautiful and terror because you know that any moment now you’re going to attempt to end that beauty forever.

A lump forms in your throat and you try unsuccessfully to swallow it. You have to do this, have to try. There’s no other way, no other option. Not for you.

Your thoughts must not have been as perfectly concealed as you’d thought because he quirks a brow. “Something goin’ on up here?” His lips slide across your temple in a touch that feels far too tender for a hookup. “Don’t worry, baby. It’ll fit.” He snickers at his own joke before burying himself in your neck. His hand slides down your side, pressing you up into him until you can feel every curve and cut of his muscles.

You bite your lip. You’ve already slipped enough for him to notice your nerves– you can’t let it happen again. You have to do it soon. Now. As soon as you see an opportunity you have to strike. You have to.

You arch up into him, scratching your fingers down his back, trying to seem as invested in the moment as you can. He gets greedier, leaving open-mouthed kiss down your neck, across your collarbone. You nearly freeze up when he kisses low into the valley of your breasts– as low as your dress allows. Then he moves over your clothes, kissing down your stomach as his hands rub your thighs.

Now. Now, while he’s not looking.

You slide a hand into his hair and another up to your chest, trying to play it off like you’re touching yourself. You sneak your fingers into your bra, feeling the cool metal of your blade glide across your thumb. Now.

You fist your fingers in his hair, holding his head down as best you can while you arc the blade toward his neck. Just one good hit, please…

You think you’re going to strike true– you’re so close– and then a firm hand wraps around your wrist, stalling your attack just as it was about to land.

Fuck.

He doesn’t look up right away, but you hear him sigh, feel his hot breath fanning over your thighs and stomach. When he finally does look up it’s with the eyes of a teacher who’s disappointed his student didn’t do their homework.

“Come on now, baby. I was really hoping you’d forget about all this and we could just have a good night together…” He’s pouting, whining, like a child who’s been told he can’t have dessert before dinner. Your shock stills you long enough that he easily maneuvers the blade from your hand, throwing it with a thwack into the wall to his right. It lands perfectly.

This is it. You’re going to die now. But not without a fight.

You spring up from the bed, kicking him a couple times in the process. You’ve missed your only chance. Now, if there’s even the slightest chance of escape, you have to take it.

You bare feet hit the carpet. No time to find your shoes. You dart for the door and hear him groan behind you. For a second you think you might actually make it, but you should know better.

He appears in front of you, straight out of fucking thin air, and his pout has transformed into something a little more sinister. “Come on, gorgeous. Let’s talk it out, yeah?”

You take a shaky step back, but you know it’s no use. He’s got you. It’s over.

You swallow and lift your chin– you at least want to die with a little dignity. “Just make it quick. Please.”

He sighs again and slides his hands in his fucking pockets, like this is just a stroll down the street. He stalks toward you, forcing you back until you’re pressed up against another wall. This motherfucker really likes walls.

His pout shifts to a smirk that borders far too closely on a grin. “Oh, no. I’ve always had a thing for taking it slow.”

You nearly snort. He certainly hadn’t had a thing for taking it slow just a minute ago. His arms cage you and your world grows infinitely smaller until it’s just him and those blue-ass eyes staring you down. Some distant part of you thinks you might not mind if it’s the last thing you ever see.

“Damn, I really thought you might give it up and just let me fuck you,” his pout returns. “So disappointing…” he sighs.

Your lips part. “You knew?”

That lights his face up like a Christmas tree. “Sensed you tailing me these past few weeks. Started on theeeee– 21st, no?”

Fuck. You’d been so careful. You’d only tailed him in public spaces, where your energy would be more diluted by the crowds. You’d stayed far enough away that he should only have caught mere glimpses of you, even suppressed your energy. He should not have been able to sense you. But he was Satoru Gojo– things people were not supposed to be able to do came easily to him.

But you have one thing on him.

“The 18th,” you whisper. “Started on the 18th.”

There’s a beat of silence and then his smile is growing wider, wider, wider, until it’s practically blinding you. “Well, shit,” he laughs. “You’re pretty good.”

You let a tiny smile slip through your terror. “I try.”

His eyes travel up and down your body, his pout slipping away to a frown. “What to do with you… hmm…” You lift your chin, taking shallow little breaths through your nose. You’re looking death in the face, but you’d never thought it would be so beautiful. He sighs. “I guess I could let you go.”

You freeze. He notices.

He quirks a brow, another smirk sliding across his lips. “What? Didn’t think that was an option?” You stay silent. No way he’ll let you go. It’s a bluff. A cruel trick. “It’s not like you could try again, gorgeous. I know your energy now and what you look like. Sorry, but your chance is gone.” That was fine by you. Your breaths come a little heavier, hope pulsing in your veins. “But–” shit. “Letting you go is so… boring. Especially after where we left off, yeah?”

Your jaw drops. “You cannot seriously be suggesting that we–”

He cuts you off with a kiss, one that makes your toes curl in the carpet and your stomach clench in anticipation.

“Oh, yes I am,” he chuckles. You feel his hand sliding down your hip, cool and calculating. “I know you weren’t faking the whole thing, gorgeous. Nobody makes out like that when they’re faking it.” You feel your cheeks heat. “And nobody gets this wet-” his fingers snake beneath your skirt, pressing to the wet patch on your panties. “When they’re faking it.” You gasp and reach out, hands clasping onto his shoulders for support. He only chuckles. “No worries, gorgeous. No need for any more faking tonight. I’ll make sure it’s all real.”

Somehow you’ve got your legs wrapped around his waist again and you’re headed to the bedroom– again. It’s like a replay– a redo.

“Let’s keep it less killy this time, yeah?”

Your back hits the mattress, your body bouncing lightly on its softness before he’s crawling after you. It’s simultaneously the best and worst deja vu you’ve ever experienced.

His hands slide down your body again, fingertips hooking beneath the hem of your skirt and shimmying it up your thighs until your panties are on full display.

“Shit,” you breathe. He’s moving so fast, like he’s desperate to go further, to get his greedy hands all over your bare skin.

You can’t say you blame him. You feel the same.

His thumbs hook under the fabric of your panties and you know it’s over for you. You can feel his warm breath skating across your thighs, feel the calluses on his hands scraping against your skin. You reach a hand down, tangling it in his hair, and you nearly faint when he smirks and looks up at you with those blue fucking eyes.

“I think I’ve seen this film before, sweetheart.” He tilts his head, resting his cheek on the plush of your thigh. “No more knives hiding anywhere, yeah?”

You clench your jaw, trying to control your pounding heart. You can’t believe you’re doing this. Why are you doing this? You wish you had a better answer than he’s beautiful and sexy and just a glance at him makes you want to rip his clothes off and climb him like a tree.

“Silent, hm? Guess I’ll just have to check myself…”

He’s pressing up the hem up your skirt, more, more, more, until he’s pulling your dress straight up over your arms and running his hands down your bare sides.

“None there…” His fingers cup your breast and you gasp, unable to contain your shock and the jolt that just rushed through you. He traces the outline of your bra. “You had the last one in here, no?” Your chest heaves under his touch, pressing the flesh of your breast up into his fingers. He smirks. “Best check again.” You feel an arm slide beneath you back and then your bra loosens before it’s completely gone.

There’s a beat of silence, of admiration. He gazes down on you and you see his snark falter for just a moment, replaced by a sparkle in his eyes. It makes your skin heat. His fingers brush the swell of your breasts, thumb trailing down over a nipple. You arch and gasp again.

“Fuck. Quit teasing so much.”

He chuckles and the sound washes over you until it settles in your bones. “Sush. I’m not done checking for weapons yet.”

You scowl but before you can even move to open your mouth he’s sliding your panties down your legs, hooking them around your ankles and tossing them somewhere on the floor.

His tongue darts out to wet his lips and you watch him settle himself down between your thighs, eyes never once leaving your center. “Don’t see any knives here, either, but maybe I should double-check…” he breathes.

He hooks your legs over his shoulders and you shudder, your breaths shaky. Fuck. You were supposed to kill him tonight but if he keeps going like this you’ll be the one deceased.

He meets your eyes when he takes the first long lick along your folds. You swear he’s smirking.

Your head rolls back and a pathetic sounding groan slips past your lips. You hadn’t realized how much he’d worked you up. Just the slightest touch feels like heaven.

His tongue nudges at your clits and your legs clench, tightening around his head. He laughs into your cunt and his warm breath skates up and over your tummy. Your fingernails scrape his scalp.

“I think you like this, gorgeous.”

Each word sends little puffs of air against your folds. It’s driving you crazy. You stare down at him, letting a smirk pull at your lips. Your eyes dart over his mouth, wet with your slick, and you don’t fail to notice the way he’s struggling to hold your gaze, eyes flickering back down to your cunt every second. Your smirk grows. “I think you’re liking this, too.”

He licks another stripe, from you pulsing hole to your throbbing clit, and this time he’s the one groaning. “Damn right I am.”

He eats you out like he kisses you– like a starved man, like he’ll die if he stops for just one second, like he can’t live without your juices on his tongue.

You whine and bury both hands in his hair, tugging desperately when his lips wrap around you clit and suck. It’s so much, too much, and yet it’s just right.

Your hips buck and squirm, but he’s got his fingers pressed deep into your flesh, holding you down to take whatever he gives. You think you see heaven when he slides two fingers into your walls, curling them into that gummy spot that has an unbearable heat building deep inside you.

“S-Satoru-” you stutter and you hear him moan and mutter into your cunt like he’s unwilling to leave it for even a second.

“Fuck, yes. Say my name, sweetheart.” Who are you to deny him? You whisper, whine, and whimper his name with every thrust of his fingers, every lick of his tongue. It’s delicious. Every so often he swaps his mouth and hand, thrusting his tongue as deep inside you as he can while his fingers rub dangerous little circles on your clit. Whenever things get a little too filthy he laps his tongue across your entire cunt and along your inner thighs, cleaning up every stray drop. You don’t know how much longer you can last under such a complete and total assault.

“S-Satoru, ‘m gonna-” He licks a thick stripe through your folds that makes your sentence end in a whine, his lips settling to suckle on your clit again.

God, it’s messy. It’s fucking disgusting. His whole chin is covered in spit and slick– and you love it. “Cum for me, baby,” he breathes.

You don’t need to hear much more. You let the heat inside you release with a whine, thighs trembling on his shoulders. Your walls pulse and throb around his fingers, sucking him in and never wanting him to leave. His tongue continues to rub lazy circles around your clit, working you through your high and making it last so long you think you might pass out.

Warmth spreads from the top of your head to the tips of your toes and your muscles tense and clench with each pulsing throb. You swear to god you see fucking stars.

It seems to go on forever, leaving you limp and shaking when the last waves finally slip away.

He presses a final kiss to your clit, one that makes your hips jolt from the overstimulation before he’s lifting himself up. “Wow. That looked like a big one,” he chuckles. He runs a soothing hand along your thigh and you don’t even have the energy to give him some sort of snarky reply. There’s hardly even a pause before something shifts in his eyes. “Let’s see if we can get one that’s even bigger, yeah?”

Before you can even process what he’s said you feel strong hands slide under your thighs, pressing them tightly to your chest as he settles himself close to you

You grasp at the sheets, hearing the clinking of a belt buckle and then the familiar pitch of a zipper being undone.

“Fuck,” you mutter. He’s big. Long and pretty and with a perfectly flushed tip. Your eyes are rolling back just thinking about having him inside you.

A strong hand smooths along your thighs, folding you in a way that feels more vulnerable and exposing than anything you’ve ever done before. He pauses for a beat, just staring down at you silently.

“Gorgeous,” he finally mutters, and something in your heart squeezes. His hand grips your hip firmly, holding you in place and you gasp when you feel him prodding at your entrance. It’s pathetic. You’re pathetic. Big bad assassin turned simpering little bitch over some good Gojo dick.

“Just relaxxxxx, baby.” His hand rubs soothing little circles into your side and it’s so divinely distracting that it catches you by surprise when he starts pushing into you. You gasp and he only chuckles. Asshole.

He’s big– really big – and the stretch is somehow both painful and perfect. You groan into the air, struggling to take him. Every inch feels like it must be the last, but then there’s more. Your walls clench around him on instinct, trying to force him out.

“Fuck, baby. What did I say about relaxing?” You hiss when his hand skates down your tummy to rub messy circles on your clit. The relief is instant and you moan when you feel him slide in a little further. “There we go. Good girl.”

He continues feeding his dick into you, inch by inch, until his hips finally press to yours and you think you can feel him in your fucking throat. You hear him exhale, like it’s a relief to finally be fully inside you, like he’s been waiting for ages.

You expect him to not hold back, to let himself go and pound into you relentlessly, but he doesn’t. He only leans down closer to you, settling in when he starts a pace of slow, sensual thrusts. His brows pinch, his eyes hardened in concentration.

“Ah, fuck. You’re so tight.”

You want to shoot something back at him, but you’re hardly remembering to breathe with how deep he’s sliding into you. Instead, you just end up holding him tighter, your eyes fluttering shut.

Lips dust across your cheeks, just below your lashes. “Keep your eyes open, gorgeous. Wanna see you.”

You blink, thinking that it’s a notion that feels a little too intimate for a hookup. Regardless, you do as he wants, opening your eyes and holding his gaze.

A smile splits his lips and he presses his forehead to yours, picking up the pace of his thrusts. It’s not long before the sound of skin on skin fills the room and you’re both panting. His breath skates across your skin, hot and heavy, hitching with the groans and whines that spill from his chest. You can’t help but pull him closer, raking your nails down his back hard enough to leave marks. The action makes him emit a noise you can only describe as a desperate whimper. “Fuck, baby. Yes.”

His lips press to yours in a kiss that’s all desperation and teeth and tongue. You kiss him back with equal intensity, your body rocking with each heavy thrust. He’s pounding into you now, frantic for more, more, more of you. You want him to take it, take all of you.

A familiar heat pinches in your stomach and you know it won’t be long before he’s pushing you to another release. His dick drags in and out of you, prodding at the gummy spot inside you with every thrust and brushing so deliciously against your cervix that you can’t stop the moans spilling from your lips. It has you seeing stars again, has you clawing at him and panting into his mouth.

“Satoru… harder,” you breathe. You need more– more of everything, of him.

He groans. “You got it, gorgeous.”

His hips slam into you and it’s so perfect that you can’t help but whimper beneath him. It only gets worse when you feel his fingers on your clit again, hand pressed between your bodies. “Cum on my dick, baby.” Your eyes roll back, that coil inside you rolling tighter. You feel his muscles tensing and shaking above you and you know he’s close, too. “Where do you want it?” he asks, and from the pinched look on his face you can tell exactly where he wants it. You know you’re an idiot for feeling the same.

“Inside,” you breathe. He groans so loudly it rattles in your ears.

“That’s my girl,” he says, but it’s nearly a whisper with how strained it is. His hand continues at your clit, rubbing perfect little circles that make your legs tremble where they’re pressed against your chest. Your jaw hangs open, but you don’t dare close your eyes. Satoru is still holding your gaze intently, desperately, like he needs to see you. The thought throws you over the edge.

You cry his name, clawing at his shoulder and shaking like a leaf as you feel yourself gush and pulse all over his dick. For the second time that evening you feel the heat inside you swell and burst, washing through you in waves that nearly consume you whole. It’s a struggle to hold his eyes, to not let them roll back into your skull and give into the pure ecstasy of your high– especially when he’s cumming, too. You can hear him moaning in your ear, feel him twitching inside you, feel his hot cum coating your walls and there’s just so fucking much of it. You swear he cums for a minute straight before he slumps down onto you, burying his face in your neck as you pant.

You’re shaking and so is he, breaths heaving in and out. Reality slowly starts to seep back in, even with his dick still softening inside you and his cum leaking down your thighs.

You tried to kill him. You failed. You had sex. Now what? Would he really let you go like he’d said he would? You wanted to believe it, but life hadn’t taught you to be that trusting. You should move, untangle yourself from him and escape before he has time to change his mind.

“You assassins are always thinking so hard,” He mumbles into the curve of your neck. “Maybe you should try to relax for once.”

You swallow when you feel him pressing his lips to your throat, trailing up to your jaw. It’s… tender, gentle, and it feels so nice. You can’t help the way you melt into the touch a bit. You feel him smile into your skin. “There we go.”

His hand settles on your waist, rubbing soothing little circles that send a jolt of urgency up your spine. No. You’re enjoying this– being close to him, laying here with him, breathing him in. That’s not what this is supposed to be.

You tense again, shifting to get away from him, but he only sighs and presses his weight onto you.

“Come on, gorgeous. No need to leave so soon. Just stay for a bit, yeah?” He nibbles at your jaw, but it doesn’t work this time. You have to go. You’ve failed your mission. You don’t know what that means for your brother. You’d never thought this would have an ending besides your death.

“I have to go,” you mutter, pushing at his chest.

He chuckles, but you don’t miss the strain and… hurt? “Got something more important than trying to kill me?”

You clench your teeth, trying once again to shove him away. “Yes, actually.”

He finally pulls back to meet your gaze, brows slightly pinched. “Like what?”

You push in earnest now, anger and panic rising in your gut. You have to go, have to check on your brother, have to figure out what you’re going to do. “That’s really none of your business,” you seethe.

You go for another shove, but strong hands clasp around your wrists, pinning them to the bed. His expression has gone flat now, serious. “Actually, I think it’s completely my business. You going to report your failure? Should I expect another assassin soon?”

You scowl, tugging at his grasp and trying to free yourself. “Yeah, probably. He’s an insufferable idiot. I told him it wouldn’t work and it didn’t, but I don’t doubt he’ll send another.”

His face cracks, his brows pulling together again. “If you knew it wouldn’t work then why’d you take the job?”

You struggle again, less angry and more desperate now. “Because he’s got my fucking brother at gunpoint and I’ve got to figure out how the fuck I’m going to save him!” you shout.

There’s silence for a long moment– a long, uncomfortable beat of it– and then his expression softens into something… tender. It sends a chill up your spine. Satoru Gojo was never supposed to be tender with you, and that’s all he’s been.

“I’ll save him,” he says. Your heart jumps and his grip on your wrists loosens, allowing you to slip free.

“What?” you breathe. He sits back, allowing you to prop yourself up into a slightly less vulnerable position.

He exhales slowly, but you don’t miss the way his hand settles on your bare thigh, a comforting weight. “I’ll save your brother and then I’ll take care of your boss.” A smirk creeps across his lips. “What? Don’t think I can do it?”

You stare blankly, lips parted. There’s no doubt he can do it, but that’s not the question swirling in your mind.

“Why would you help me?” You’d tried to kill the man. You couldn’t make heads or tails of a reason why he’d go out of his way to help you.

He chuckles. “Well, in case you didn’t know, I’m a hero of sorts.” You have to fight not to roll your eyes. “And… there’s something I want from you.”

There it is– the catch. He wants something. You have no idea what you could possibly have to give him, but you’re willing for it to be just about anything. You narrow your eyes. “What?”

He grins, but you can see the glint of mischief in his gaze. His hand slides further up your thigh, up your side, over your shoulder, until it rests at the nape of your neck and his face is only inches from your own. “What’s your number, gorgeous?”

taglist (dm me or send an ask to be added!): @lacheri, @la-undercover-latina, @fushironi, @enchantedsylveon, @keiva1000, @complexivelovely, @httpstoyosi, @bbyxxm, @6kabuki.

link: 1k followers event

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bhaalest · 3 months ago

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god this is so overdue. im finally making a bg3 side blog

for a first post i wanted to list some of the artists i've been (mostly) refraining from reblogging to main for many months at this point. i meant to only do my favorite few but then i couldn't decide who my favorite few were so... here you go

@meanbossart draws absolutely beautiful art of his absolutely beautiful du drow, and also has an amazingly well-written and well-characterized story about what he, astarion, and shadowheart get up to post-game

@kawareo goes deep how his durge strike suffers from both the urge and orin's attack, and into strike before orin's attack. i love the standalone art and comics, so when i say his writing is my favorite thing he's done that's high praise

@velnna's tav staeve is another very pretty man and i don't know how to describe what i like most about his art other than "very pleasantly textured", it catches the eye in a very pleasing way

@lucklessrat has incredible dramatic and comedic timing in their comics of lethean, and i love what they do with leth being old. you don’t see that often

i have a soft spot for half-orcs and paladins so naturally i think about @everchased's finch constantly. they have several of my favorite bg3 comics ever but the SMITE one is... just gonna say i agree with astarion there

there is so much to say about @jeeaark's tav greygold, from the jokes to the relentless optimism to the visceral (in a very good way) art style, but my new favorite thing is the dark urge (godsdammit) companion series, it's really fun to see DUG and greygold interact and i can't wait for more. also, another half-orc!

@ejoym's durge devlin is wonderfully deranged, i love the dark humor in the comics, the art is really crisp, and the artist makes really great use of colors. i love how pointy everyone is also

@ohpsshaw's durge typhus is going through it at the moment. love his expressive face (and the expressiveness of the whole art style) and puppydog vibe, i can't wait to see how much he... enjoys... the rest of the game as daddy's chosen. also check out the artist's entertaining commentary on her main(?) blog

@taygra5shaon's big scary durge jacq somehow can do adorable and terrifying equally well, sometimes at the same time. this is another artist who has great timing in her comics. i especially like the young jacq ones.

@angiemaniac's tavella and durge companion au presents durge from a different and very interesting perspective. and she does a great job including every companion into the story, while tavella is still a compelling character on her own!

cae is the most beautiful durge you've ever seen and @hellothisisangle's art does such a good job of making him feel dangerous. it's incredibly beautifully rendered, the poses and fashion are always amazing, and on top of it all cae's lore is fascinating too

@wellen-katze's comics are really in a league of their own. their comics vary but my favorites are the ones that hurt to read. my favorite series is this one with ascended astarion and a nameless durge dealing with the tragic aftermath of the story. their comics hurt in an incredible way that i can't get enough of.

ghost, aka niro, by @oathbreakerapologist is wonderfully fucked up. he has a really upsetting presence (/positive) and i can't look away from his relationship with orin. this is probably the least sfw blog i'm linking, which i hope comes off as a complement

with @mistercrowbar's aldiirn it's hard to pinpoint specific things i like because the art and comics are so well-rounded, but if pressed i would point to aldiirn's visual design and the skill with which the artist makes his desire for approval and will to break the rules mesh together. i'm not sure if i want to be his friend or study him like a bug

i love @crocodiller's pining dumbass (affectionate) rowan so much. there's a lot to like about the comics but my favorite is rowan's supportive friendship with karlach. they're also very well-paced and some of the crispest art i've ever seen

i found @ryvenarts and sullen literally yesterday but i'm already very interested and excited to see if there will be more

another recent (to me) discovery, thirkuir by @jayfitzmaurice. i really like his design and the expressiveness of all the characters

@quess-art has an adorable baby durge who still has a compelling backstory i'm excited to see more of. plus the wagging tail is just perfect

@3eefstud's durge Einar is really nice to look at, with amazing colors and gradients. i'm surprised i didn't find them until very recently

i thought @panksage's Ebony Darkness D'urge was just a joke at first but no, the comics are sincere (and also funny) and just beautiful, especially the colors!

i do not know if @arianiziolek's durge has a name. catty little murder lizard (affectionate). has some of the funniest comics but more importantly the best durge facial expressions

@bajablast666 is double dipping with durges kaethan and kelrath. both their art and writing have an intensity that i love (the red outlines they use often are so good) and their writing in particular conveys emotion and visceral feeling so well

karl by @beltart is another on the surprisingly long list of people i initially found from their art, then read their writing and was blown away. i don't think i've seen anyone else depict the weight of the urge as intensely as this and i love it

and finally, a palate cleanser from all the durges, @wirywyrm's tav arthur who's in a sitcom as opposed to a horror story. i really like the texture and detail of their art and also how much of a dork arthur is. least smooth bard(adin) in the realms

incredibly i did leave out a few people, mostly people who draw companions rather than their tav/durge because i sort of locked myself into this format, so i may come back and update this later!

#bg3 #bg3 artists

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topherwrites · 8 months ago

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𝘕𝘖𝘛 𝘈 𝘓𝘖𝘛, 𝘑𝘜𝘚𝘛 𝘍𝘖𝘙𝘌𝘝𝘌𝘙

summary - a saturday morning, and I love you on the tip of both your tongues.

pairing - bob floyd x (gn!)reader

word count - 2.1k

rating - nsfw content, 18+, mdni!

content warnings & tags - no use of (y/n) / fluff / slightly h*rny fluff / bob's love language being acts of service / the peak fantasy of homeownership / bob floyd being the ideal man™ / lmk if i missed anything!

a/n: time for my bi-yearly fic drop, lol! i wrote this in semi-conjunction with this moodboard. (a.k.a i started this months ago.) everyone who said they want to live in it... same. reblogs, comments, and likes super appreciated!

TOP GUN MASTERLIST / LIBRARY BLOG

Your boyfriend has disappeared.

Even before your eyes are open and your brain is semi-functioning, you feel the lack of his presence, the sheets next to you devoid of his usual space heater existence. You touch the left side—his side—double checking—hoping, really—that you won’t have to peel yourself out of bed to search for him.

A cascade of orange and pink spills through your curtains, painting your room in soft light, letting you know it has to be before seven. With a groan, you check your clock, confirming your suspicions. The time reads a quarter past six—far too early for you.

Not nearly as agonizing for him, one of those irritating early riser types, but Bob is diligent about letting you know when he’s leaving for his early morning runs, a kiss planted to your temple, and a ‘be back soon’—just a little moment in case you have to leave for work before he gets back.

But it’s Saturday, and you had plans of lazing about in bed until at least eleven, preferably with him.

Your brow creases as you push up onto your elbows, slowly blinking around your room as if your boyfriend will just appear in front of you, and you won’t have to pull yourself out from under the covers to try to coax him back to bed.

As of late, it’s like he gets struck by a whim, and his body is overcome with the need to check it off a list, unable to rest until he does—changing your oil at ten o’clock at night, fixing the light in your fridge that flickers before he heads off for a run, trying to fix the leaky pipes under your en-suite sink—he did eventually give up on that one and call a plumber. Thank god.

Part of you has just taken it as part of his job and personality—he likes getting up as the sun does, he likes fixing things, and his job is a stressor, you're sure. But it doesn't feel work-related, so part of you is beginning to wonder if it’s you.

An ugly little thought that you can recognize has no factual basis. He’s never been anything but honest with you, open and vulnerable, even when you’ve guarded yourself.

As a result, you tuck it away, considering that he’s off on another one of his little quests. They’re things that always make you feel cared for and thought about—weeding or checking the pressure on your tires or rearranging his kitchen so you can reach the things you frequently use.

So, as you begin to pressure yourself to leave your cocoon of early morning sleepiness, a quiet metal-against-metal clattering floats down the hall and through the crack in your bedroom door, catching your attention.

Slipping out of bed, you pad down the hall, sleep shirt brushing your thighs. Growing nearer to the sound of the soft noise—clearly being sensitive to try not to wake you—-you catch soft guitar strings and the twang of John Prine and Iris DeMent coming from your grandma’s old record player.

You cringe as your foot touches the cold tile lining the floor and immediately regret not rummaging around for your slippers.

You find Bob there, posted at the counter as he cuts something at a butcher board, only wearing the sweats he went to bed in. He's still warm despite the lack of clothing and the countertop fan blowing at him.

At the arch entry, you stop and watch him for a moment, entranced by the way his broad shoulders and the muscles of his back move with the motion—by the sight of him in your kitchen. Something so distinctly domestic and intimate about it.

Completely focused on his task, he doesn't hear you come up behind him. He slightly jumps under your touch as your hands slip around his middle, his stomach beneath your fingertips.

He makes a short noise of surprise that washes into a gentle greeting, his voice low, “Hey, sweetheart.”

You press your lips to his shoulder blade, enjoying the feeling of his skin against your own.

You've clearly ruined some sort of surprise, but you can't feel too bad at the sight of his eyes still clouded by sleep and the odd angles his hair sticks up.

Keeping his eyes on the cuts he’s making, Bob briefly twists around to press a kiss to your temple as he mumbles, “Go back to bed.”

You just hum, beginning to press kisses to the freckles that scatter along his shoulders, deepened by the tan he’s obtained from working in the flowerbeds that sit alongside your front door. The beds were slightly tragic before you began dating, some sort of sparse bushes planted there. They were alive at one point, you assume, but lying half dead and bare when you bought the place.

In no time at all, he had the beds torn up and replaced with bright white hydrangeas that now sit in full bloom under your front windows. Pink zinnias, sunny yellow goldenrods, and pale milkweeds—all chosen by him because they attract monarch butterflies during their migration—flank either side of the brown brick pathway. Cheek pressed to his skin; you cast a glance outside just as a small orange and black blur flits by the glass.

“So… where is it?”

Chewing on the inside of his lip, Bob casts a lost glance around the plant nursery’s vast outdoor gardens—bright pops of color among vast expanses of green, the high afternoon sun beating down on them—the acreage of it is astounding and certainly a workout.

You’re supposed to be picking up some mulch for the beds—but you keep getting sidetracked. Half your fault; you beeline for every slightly pretty plant, balancing it on the cart that’s rapidly becoming overloaded. The wheels digging heavily into the gravel pathways, little trenches left in your wake.

It’s early days with Bob Floyd, but he’s sweet and helpful and easy to get free labor out of—a big plus in your book.

On your first date, when he walked you to your front door, sweet and gentlemanly, you made a quick joke, a callback to your hinge profile. There, you had answered the prompt, I'm looking for…, with, ‘someone to put together my ikea bookshelf. seriously.’

Because, after two unsuccessful attempts to put it together and three months of it languishing in the corner of your living room, you were tired of feeling a pang of guilt every time you piled another book on top of the precarious stack teetering next to your reading chair.

Of course, on the date, you didn't actually expect him to do it. You made the joke as a way to test the waters, to see if he was open to coming inside without fully putting yourself out there that way.

But then he followed you in, sat himself down cross-legged on your living room rug, and got to work. You stood there in the doorway for a moment, warming even further to him.

You poured a glass of wine for each of you, and watched his hands as he set joints together and tightened screws with a furrow between his brows. And despite his serious focus on the job, he continued asking you questions about your taste in books, your favorite bands growing up, what you liked about San Diego as you sat near—your only real contribution being the wine, simple conversation, and occasionally handing him a screw.

He’d finished near midnight, asked if you wanted help sorting your books, and when you said no, already mildly abashed at the fact that you’d set him to work on your first date, he’d given you a kiss goodnight on your cheek—chaste and unpresuming—and left it at that.

You’d fallen for him a little bit then and there.

Blinking, he stares down at the map once again—same furrow in his brow—turning it in his hands. Not sounding any more sure than he was a second ago, he points slightly westerly of you, “That way. I think.”

It draws a slight laugh from you. You lightly hip-check him, teasing over your shoulder, “Come on, farm boy, you’re supposed to be helping me.”

The scent of lemon carries inside from the open window over the sink, summer ripening the tree planted in your yard. That’s also when you spy past his shoulder a small stack of the same yellow fruit on the counter. A pancake crackles away on the stove.

Your voice is quiet—reticent to break the seal of this hushed moment—as you ask, “What are you making?”

Hands wandering mindlessly, your touch follows the trail of hair from his belly button, fingers sneaking only just under the waistband of his sweats, loosely hung on his hips.

He seems to part with the idea of whatever he’s doing being a surprise, clear that you’re not going to accede to his request and tuck yourself back into bed, too awake now to do so.

“Pancakes,” he reveals, continuing to whip, “with lemon ricotta whipped cream.”

“Trying out a new recipe?”

His throaty laugh reverberates into your chest, shaking you. Your smile hikes higher before you even know what he’s laughing about—just enjoying the sound, the melody and the slight grit to it.

“Emphasis on trying,” he says, scooping a bit of the whipped cream onto his finger, offering it to you to taste. “Would you?”

You draw his finger into your mouth. It’s slightly sweet with a burst of tang, the sugar and cream mellowing out the sharper edges of the lemon flavor. A success, you think. As you draw back, you flash your gaze up and find his eyes unabashedly caught on your mouth.

You pull off and without breaking eye contact, breathily tease, “Lech.”

With a slight flush to his ears and cheeks, he laughs and leans in, nose brushing yours as he presses his lips to yours. His mouth slants over yours, insistent, his hand finds its way to cradle your jaw, tilt your head just right. It catches your breath, makes your toes curl against the tile.

You're still not entirely used to this, the sweetness of Bob Floyd. His eyes are soft as he pulls back, his thumbs sweeping along your cheeks. He clicks his tongue, cheekily muttering, “I think it’s good.”

His lips move to your cheek next, mumbling between a kiss there, “You're distracting.”

The gesture, so simple, makes your heart flip.

By this stage of dating you're usually spiraling, finding reasons that it won’t work out and tallying up slights so when the expected happens, you're not blindsided. Like it's a game you’ll win; perpetually preparing yourself for heartbreak.

And it’s often been easy, dating men who were noncommittal or uninterested or flippant with affection made it so. They were easy to write off— jettison them from your life and think, onto the next.

But everything has changed with him. There’s an ease to the intimacy, a frankness to him that makes that defense mechanism very difficult to muster. You're… settled.

And it should scare you, the way your heart is fully on the line, but then you catch sight of one of his dogeared-to-hell paperbacks in the living room or the little date night notes he leaves scribbled on the calendar that hangs next to the fridge or his mismatched colorful socks mixed in with your laundry and it doesn't. As simple as that.

You haven’t said the L word yet. But it’s there, dancing on the tip of your tongue every time you look at him.

Bob is near certain that this is love.

No, he supposes, he is certain. He’s mulled this particular topic over too much in his mind not to be.

It's love—the big kind. He’s just not certain when he should let you in on that fact. Release it out to you and see if it comes back returned.

In the past five months he’s undertaken a million little projects to keep his hands, mouth, and mind busy, working out all that excess energy. All he’s doing is kicking the can down the road, trying to find “the right time”.

He's gotten close more than once, yet every time it catches in the back of his throat, his tongue an uneasy ally in the venture. The words, three simple ones, are left as something uncomfortable to swallow down at each abandoned attempt.

And yet, virtually all that discomfort is eased by the way you say his name, catching his attention when they nearly slip, nearly an endearment all on its own.

His call sign being his name means that Bob hears it alot, from a considerable amount of mouths. Shouted, whispered, whooped. In a variance of forms, he's heard it. But it's never sounded so important, so weighty, then it does as it falls from your lips. Like you're speaking a dialect only the two of you hold knowledge of, his name equivalent to the word in the forefront of his mind.

"Bob."

He hums, certain that his face gives him away; 'Whipped' as Mickey called it or 'in love' as his mother did the first time you met.

This is the sort of thing that his parents have, the ease, the humor, the affection. It permeates every space of his life, the knowledge that you're here, with him, choosing each other easily.

Eight letters.

I love you.

He lets temptation run wild, hands glancing down your back and tugging you right into him. He takes a moment just to look at you, your bright eyes, and the sweet shape of your lips as you smile up at him. Your hands slide around his neck, gently teasing the hair at the nape of his neck, his stomach swooping at the feeling.

Three syllables.

I love you.

He lets them swirl in his head, settle in the back of his throat as he prepares his tongue.

Your thumb runs along his cheekbone and he opens his mouth, readying himself, just as your lips part, and twice at once, I love you, becomes tangible reality.

Like a held breath released, a smile, broad and uncontrollable, spreads over his face, mirrored on yours as everything comes into view.

Just as Bob leans in to brush his lips against yours, higher than he’s ever felt, the smell of rapidly burning batter hits his nose.

"Oh, shoot."

a/n: thank you for reading!

#bob floyd x reader #robert floyd x reader #top gun maverick fanfiction #bob floyd fic #top gun fandom #bob floyd fanfiction #bob floyd x you #robert bob floyd x reader #top gun fanfiction #top gun maverick fic #my writing

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cultistic-ann-aka-sannaliel · 2 months ago

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666 followers DTIYS

Oh my god 666 followers when and from where-

It feels like I just started this blog yesterday and it's already so alive.

I want to say thank you to everyone who likes, reblogs and comments on my posts, your support is really important to me! OwO

In honor of 666 followers (because I accidentally skipped 400, 500 and 600, it wasn't on purpose, I swear), I decided to make a dtiys!

SO.

The rules are simple:

You can change the background (make changes to small details or draw your own from scratch)

You can change the canvas format (for example from horizontal to square 1:1)

Don't change the character design (reference is below); however, you can change the hairstyle (if it's too difficult you can leave them loose, I even allow you to make a short haircut, the main thing is don't forget about the red ribbon, it must be there)

You can change character pose (for example, change the position of the hand)

Okay, now to the most interesting part! Prizes!

There are 10 prize places in total, 3 of which are main and 7 additional. 3 main places is fully rendered art pieces and other 7 is cute chibis.

If I have intrigued you and you want to participate, then leave your art under the hashtag #sanna_dtiys666_cotlub and of course don't forget to @ me

Deadline June 10 + 3 days for checking, results June 13 (I give so much time considering that there may be someone who are still studying somewhere. After all, the end of the semester is starting now)

Please reblog this post so more people can see it and thanks in advance to anyone who decides to participate!

#sanna_dtiys666_cotlub #cotl #cult of the lamb #cotl narinder #cotl ub au #sannaliel full art #sannaliel art

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the-tarot-witch22 · 10 months ago

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Physical Appearance of your future spouse! - Pick a pile

Pile 1/ Pile 2/ Pile 3

My Paid Readings | My insta

Liked my blog or readings? Tip me!

Hello everyone ! This is my another pick a pile or pac reading so please be kind and leave comment or reblog, and let me know if it resonated with you!

Note : This is a general reading or collective reading. It may or may not resonate with you. Please take what resonates and leave what doesn't. And it's totally okay if our energies aren't aligned!

How to pick : Take a deep breath and choose a pile which you feel most connected to! You can choose more than one pile, it just means both pile have messages for you!

I worked really hard on this pile please show some love by leaving comments, likes and reblogs!

Pile 1 :

(Knight of pentacles, the moon, 3 of wands and 5 of pentacles)

Okay so the very first thing i felt from this card you future spouse seems very masculine like their features and overall vibe of their look seems so manly, or it can be you who prefers very masculine man, this pile's energy seems so mysterious and private, your future seems like someone who is quite private or mysterious when it comes to their personal relationships or affairs they are not very open with every people they meet, their gaze seems so sharp like if he looks at you for more than few seconds you will just look away, the dressing sense could be like comfortable wear or formal wear, like oversized hoodie or sweater or under a shirt, trousers below, i see lots of brown and colors that are quiet darker in shade, with contrasting white or off white, their eye colors could be (blue/green/brown), eyes could be foxy or smaller in shape, there could also be a dimple and it could be you guys too, he might like to wear rings, their hands seems veiny and bigger in size , long fingers, height is above than 5'10, they might also keep a beard, skin color could dark tan to fair/ pale, they seems foreign than you or could unusual type, as might their eyes are intense it also seems that there is some vulnerability inside them. Their build seems toned or athletic but not many abs, they could also have muscles, his biceps would be big, lol they seems to tell me just to say that, for some of you i see lean physique for your future spouse, they might also like to go to gym. Or keep their health in check. They might also exclude that rich vibe, their perfume could also be very unique! Their hairs could be black/brownish shade but wavy! Their lips seems fuller.

Okay that was all for pile 1! Your fs seems to be very attractive honestly, good for you guys!

Pile 2 :

(The hierophant, page of pentacles, ace of swords and the magician)

Okay so the very first thing i feel for you guys that your future spouse seems like a nerd hehe, like with glasses and who seems to have knowledge of everything and definitely do, they might wear glasses too, they could also be a gamer or like to play games in their free time, their face is structured not that defined jawline but definitely there, their hair seems thick and luscious, and big almond eyes, with long eye lashes, their could be thin or medium pouty, heart shaped lips ifykwim, their eye color could be hazel, brown, black, or bluish/green, they might like blue color a lot because i see lots of blue color, prominent chin and nose, long nose, but won't look weird, it matches with their face structure, the hair length could be long and they might wear it in bun or medium length, their build seems big i am channeling the song "big boy by sza", they seems to like a smarty pants, they might even be in touch with their feminine side, for some of you, your fs seems soft, their is something soft about them , like baby features could look younger then they are, their teeth are definitely very white, their voice seems to be deep or very unique, for some of you it seems like a high pitched voice too, or it could be you, they seem to be quiet spiritual or religious, i also feel they might like to go to church or believe in god or upper power? but anyways, height is average to tall 5'9"-5'12". They seem to have a unique charm about their appearance. Their face could be oval or square too. For some of you your fs could have a athletic or sleeper build. They or you might have had self image issues in past, or some of you still feel that, but i feel you and your fs is working on that part. I feel there might have been someone in your life that has made them feel like that or you. (this may or may not resonate with you) , this message wasn't for everybody but i wrote what i channeled. Their skin could be brown/white/dark. They are attractive in their own way.

Okay that's all for pile 2! They seems quite cute yet smart~ love that for you guys! and remember you guys are beauiful!

Pile 3:

(king of wands, the lovers, 8 of wands, 8 of cups, and the devil)

Okay so the very first thing i hear for you guys is your future spouse is very sexually appealing and attractive, and they know they are sexy, when they walk in a room you can feel their presence, the aura is very confident, they seem to be very confident in themselves, very good looking honestly, their eyes are intense and beautiful, like someone could lose themselves in their eyes, they even might seem intimidating to you because of their physical appearance, their dressing sense is also very good, they seem very fashionable or has unique taste, they also seems to turn heads while they walk in a certain room, or people talk about their good looks, their masculine and feminine energy is very balanced, they are tall possibly 5'11"-6'0" or could also be above, if not i feel 5'8 or 5'9 their height that is, they might also seem like a Greek god or that type of attractiveness, their jaw is structured or has and defined jawline, they keep their hairs short and styled in a slick style for some of them they might also use gel, their face is very proportionate, very sharp nose or straight nose, could wear glasses or watches, for some of you your future spouse could have curly hairs, skin could be pale/dark/tan possibly olive. They workout a lot, could have a dad bod with muscles too, but nevertheless very attractive, they also seem quite dominating, their eyes color seems to be blue/black and brown or unique color of sort, they might take care of their self quite good. They might like to wear sport shoes a lot. They really look like a model honestly.

That's all pile 3! Your fs is very attractive inside and out, love that for you guys~

Thank you for stopping by! Take care and remember you are loved <3

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osamucide · 4 months ago

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⊹ THE FIRST TASTE

LET IT BEGIN, HEAVEN CANNOT WAIT FOREVER . . . ft. Osamu Dazai

wc: ~3.6k

cw: NSFW CONTENT—MDNI (I BLOCK AGELESS+BLANK BLOGS), ada+masc!reader, reader has a tongue piercing, pet names (pretty boy and cutie for u), romantic and sexual tension, established flirtationship->new relationship?, a lil alcohol, making out, oral fixation/finger sucking, oral sex (Dazai receiving), cum eating (Dazai lol), patheticzai makes a spectacle of your shyness even though he can't just ask for what he wants good thing u have telepathy with him /j

reid: trade w my sweet friend @rossithepixie / @selfindulgentpixies who masterminded some beautiful osareid art for me <3 (if u havent seen it yet dw i will be reblogging it a million more times but also check out rossi's work neow cause he's super talented). thank you for trusting me with this rossi—it was such a blast to do a little lovesick dazai desperately chasing ur cute lil self into a corner (i listened to fiona apple's song with the same title a lot while i wrote this—is it obvious? lol). i hope u enjoy so much <3

It’s a cute little habit of yours. Unconscious, he knows, but that makes it no less cute. No less dangerous.

Everyone notices you do it—Atsushi pointed out the jewelry poking from your mouth with awe when he first caught you fidgeting with it (“People can have piercings there? That’s so cool”)—but Osamu highly doubts anyone finds it nearly as charming, as endearing as he himself does. After all, he’s the one consistently wheeling over next to you on his chair to fold his arms under his chin on your desk and admire you unashamedly while you tie a loose end around a sentence in whatever report you’re writing before even thinking about turning your attention to him.

So diligent.

That’s another cute thing about you. You've been a star worker, really, since you started. In the months since you got hired, your reports have been nothing but thorough and on time; even your first steps into fieldwork as a detective have been spotless, practiced, as if you already know this work like the back of your hand. You’re personable yet serious, easygoing and dedicated all at the same time, continually proving your worth as a voice of reason and contribution around the meeting table as well as a supportive, kind, all-around more than pleasant coworker on and off of crime scenes. Not to mention, your ability’s nothing to scoff at.

You’re a true asset to the Armed Detective Agency.

Which is why Kunikida’s glaring Osamu down again, threatening him silently with an HR department that unfortunately doesn’t exist—because, yes, you are for all intents and purposes perfect for this workplace and the blond man will simply not have you driven off by his partner’s insufferable tendencies.

Even Kunikida’s wrath, however, is scarcely known to deter Osamu Dazai, and that is why, when he notices you doing it again—toying with the metal bar through your tongue in an absentminded display of your oh-so-coveted concentration on and application to your task, he scoots himself right over, rowing on his heels, brushing admonishing stares like he might dust off his shoulder and settling next to you, chin in his palm, feet knocking into yours beneath your desk.

As expected, you don’t turn to him immediately. All the better. Gives him a few seconds more to admire you, your parted lips, the glint of the metal and your pretty teeth against the natural light streaming into the office on this lovely day, made all the lovelier by the vision of your adorable expression.

But when you do, it’s melt-worthy.

“Hi, Osamu,” you mumble, turning your eyes to him and tucking your tongue back in to offer him that sweet but aware, workplace-appropriate smile that makes him grin even further. You’d have to be naive not to know he wants to strip you of that professionalism, but you make sure to give him time of day in only the most graceful way when you’re both at the office; for as charming as he is, and for as much as you must shyly admit you find him endearing just the same, you don’t turn a blind eye to his cunning nature.

And like so many things, it’s a bit of a game that he enjoys—seeing what he can do to crack that competence of yours.

But today he’s restless, so he punches low from the jump.

“Hi, pretty boy,” he purrs, gaze searing into you. Signature.

And just like he hopes, your brow raises and you look away, pursing your lips to mask your reaction to his antics. He usually toys with you a little longer before he brandishes the pet name he knows all too well gets your cheeks glowing pink in an instant—and that’s exactly what they do. Your coyness can’t hide that.

“Eager today, are we?” you fill the silence with the lighthearted accusation, busying yourself on your keyboard so as to fight off the squirming you’re sensing will be futile to escape this afternoon.

“Yup.” When he pops the p, he nudges your ankle with his own.

But in your busying, the tip of your tongue flicks out again, and Osamu’s seemingly-aimless display of fluster-inducing attention surges toward its goal, which he’s been contemplating for a few days now, actually: getting you out of this stuffy office (or the all-too public nearby bar you’ve started frequenting with him after hours, strictly as friends it seems—if friends tangle their fingers together after a few cocktails and then don’t make mention of it the next day, anyway) and into his dorm, which he actually tidied up because he calculated with most near-certainty there couldn’t possibly exist a world in which you’d turn down such an invitation. So he hopes, anyway. For as player as he acts, the way you make him feel sows seeds of doubt in him and his usual methods of seduction. You know full well how sincerely captivated he is by you… right? You must. You have to.

“You know,” he continues, “I was wondering…”

Mincing his words is never part of his plans. Unless, of course, it’ll draw a desired outcome closer than being direct will. But now, Osamu finds himself almost hesitating, with no prior inclination to do so; he’s wondering, not thinking, like he seems to do so much when you’re near him, and he doesn't know if you fully realize it, but you might have more control over… whatever this is between you than he does.

You tilt your head, still turned to your screen, as if it begins to occur to you.

“...Drinks at my place?” he spits out—pointedly dropping the “double suicide?” intonation so it’s clear he’s serious—before he can give any more indication that he’s slipping.

When you look to him again, Osamu’s filled the space of his doubt with that low-lidded grin once more.

“Tonight?”

“Tonight? Oh—” You clear your throat in a way that sounds oddly affirmative, as if you’re trying to keep it from bubbling out too soon. You’re so assured in everything else you do around here, so Osamu, ever the contrarian, regains his balance on the premise of your shyness. When you go to confirm, you’ve all but lost your teasing lilt. The flush on your face doesn’t miss him. “Yeah, that’d be nice, Osamu.”

Nice. If he didn’t have an image to upkeep, he’d leap up and fistpump the air like a cartoon character. Perhaps, if he were more in tune with his hand-to-god emotions, he’d crumble to the floor in a ball wondering what the hell he’s getting himself into.

He doesn’t do this. He doesn’t clean his dorm, much less invite romantic prospects over to it. You’re new territory in the way he feels freshly determined not to mess up, so he keeps himself composed behind that smile. “When are you out of here?”

“I can be out of here whenever you’re out of here,” you mumble, your lips pressed into a smirk you won’t let unfurl fully. He wishes you would. He’ll get you to. If he had it his way, he’d whisk you out of here now, clock be damned, and pop open that red dessert wine he picked up specifically for the event in which you would land on his uncomfortable little couch with your tongue lingering in, hopefully, closer proximity to his own. He’s seen you tipsy; you don’t suppress that air of sheepish enthrallment so much when you are, and he’s impatient for it. He needs more of you.

But it’s three in the afternoon, and Kunikida’s abruptly dragging Osamu by the collar of his shirt like a puppy on a leash to roll him back over to his own damn desk, muttering something about how if he had any decency he’d leave you the hell alone and if he wasn’t going to contribute anything of worth to the Agency’s productivity yield, the least he could do was not disturb those who are.

This makes you chuckle fully as you shake your head. Osamu eats it up—and he doesn’t hide it, eyeing you with something most akin to yearning in his gaze. You have such an effortless knack for putting hearts in his eyes in a way he’s not used to.

The rest of his shift dawdles by; as a way to pass the time, Osamu volunteers himself to run out and pick up the Thai takeout for those who will be clocking out later than he hopes he will. Kunikida so graciously (read: reluctantly and irritatedly) let him order on his card, so he claimed it as repayment; really, he needed to get out of his desk chair.

He feels insane watching you play with that piercing of yours, his stack of unfinished reports (or, pre-construction paper planes) serving as no distraction.

He delivers your spring rolls to you with a wink. He eats his pad thai and fools around on his desktop. He watches the sun streak down the window.

He actually considers getting some work done. It’s nearly torture.

He gets up to leave the second the clock strikes eight. If he was bad at focusing on work before, you’ve ruined him.

The implication’s all too clear when you’re stepping into the evening air behind him. You don’t mind—it’s evident in your reserved but knowing smile, the one he so terribly wants to unravel.

His place is threadbare, but cozy. You curl yourself up on one of the two couch cushions while Osamu sets two empty glasses and a bottle on the low table before you—he’s eager, too, for the wine; he’s aching to dispel both your timidity and his anxiety that it feeds. Maybe it’s just that he can’t seem to handle himself positively spiraling over you while you remain enchantingly reticent, quiet in the desire he knows flows between you both. Usually, he’s the one with all the self-control. Tonight he’s counting on you missing the tremble in his fingers as he pours.

“Kunikida’s such a hardass, isn’t he?” he muses while he tucks a glass into your hand and draws himself up onto the couch, facing you, leaving a respectful but still considerably involved distance between you. Your knee almost touches his. “Berating me for something as little as asking such a cutie to come over for drinks. It’d be more criminal not to, I think.”

You chuckle at his dramatics, taking a sip. It’s sweet, red. You remind him, “We are coworkers, Osamu.”

He cocks his head, drinking deeper than you do, with a thoughtful look on his gorgeous face. He hums and reminds you, “We’re not just coworkers.”

Your chuckle becomes a giggle—one less dubious than the short, amused headshakes you save for the office—and with your next question, he knows he’s pulling you in. You’ve been dancing around each other long enough; he’s warm, trying not to overflow when you speak—you finally sound ready to acknowledge what’s been turning him into a mess for you when you hum and press skittishly. If he had a tail, it’d be wagging.

“What else are we then, hm?”

Your bashfulness reads so seamlessly as effortless wooing—he wonders if you’re so purely humble, or actually a mastermind of coquetry. The way you keep yourself veiled, thinly enough to keep him pining for more of you but staunchly too so that he constantly doubts whether the cat or the mouse has the upper hand, turns him to mush—absolute pathetic mush—and he answers a question with a question. You’ve got him going against all sorts of personal philosophy.

“What else do you wanna be?”

The answer gets lost between shifting hands, closing space, conversation and jokes that relax further and further as you both stabilize into one another over the following hour or so. A couple more glasses of wine are poured, drank, tasted—at some point in the blackening night you end up astride his lap in the dim lamplight with your glass in triumphant hand, tucking his hair behind his ear while he cups your face, simpers out another remark that makes you blush and wave him away; Osamu looks at you with something you can only construe through your buzz as pure want. Coming down from laughter that screws your eyes shut—he’s never short on humor, which is one of the things you think you love—love? about him, you say it aloud, tell him you do in fact love that about him and if he was all pure want a moment before, now he’s pure shock.

But he plays it off in his way; you watch the intricate way he takes no more than a half-second to collect himself, just tipsy enough to get snagged on the words love that about you that the half-second seems a feature-length film to you—one you would watch over, over, over again.

Osamu slides four fingers on one side of your jaw, thumb on the other—holding your chin gently but firmly in place so he can bore like fire into you.

“Do you have any idea what you do to me?” he asks, half sincere, half flirtatious. Your gaze scatters momentarily beneath his; you take a second, copy his recovery.

You hesitate before you say, “I think I have some idea,” fully sincere, fully flirtatious. When you pinch your bottom lip between your teeth—not an unconscious habit but an intentional move in this game—he thinks this is what middle school boys must feel like the first time they get close to their crush. It sickens him so sweetly, like he’s swallowed a lump of sugar. He wants more.

Your breath coils around his between your noses, between your mouths. The wine in your glass sloshes and settles.

“Can I tell you what drives me crazy?” he breathes.

You nod like you’ve been waiting lifetimes to know.

He answers not with words but a touch to your lip—a stroke back and forth that leaves you parting for him. He leaves feather-light fingerprints on the sharp of your front teeth, pushing, slowly, forward until the hot muscle in your mouth cradles his thumb and he’s touching that devil-sent piercing of yours, the ball all at once cool and warm as it twirls to evade him.

“This,” he whispers, chasing the metal back and forth. “This drives me crazy.”

You don’t respond with anything but suction, a soft bob of your head like you understand, and a hmm.

Osamu thinks he might implode beneath you.

His attention has hardly ever felt so streamlined as when you search his face, circle his thumb, wet it for him to retract and drag down your chin while you draw your brow together like you miss it—his eyes are all yours, wide and waiting and holding the answers to all the questions drifting around, surrounding both of you.

The kiss is searing as he pulls you into him—or, hardly has to, rather, as your eyes flutter shut and you lean to meet him, five of your fingers matching his grip but on his shoulder while you suffocate that mingled breath so it becomes mingled spit, mingled tongues. He worms himself past your lips, into you—he almost moans when the tip of his own tongue brushes across the jewelry sitting on the pad of your tongue like a pearl in an oyster. He’s finally cracking you open. It makes him smile wickedly into you.

Your arms locking around his neck leave him rolling into you hotly, asking for you with anything but words which escape him again now—so uncharacteristic, but he’s lucky you’re both too entangled to notice, for words aren’t necessary right now; he’s ushering your wine glass out of your hand, setting his, too, onto the table so you can wind your fingers in his hair and tug, prompting the sweetest gasps that you echo back into him while he guides your hips across him. The fervor either of you holds is indistinguishable from the other; you grind, he grips you, the harder he grips you the harder you grind and vice versa until he’s biting down the column of your neck toward absolution.

He mutters your name through an umph; you pick his lips back up the second he goes for air, and he goes for your tongue. When you pull back to observe him, mirroring you in kiss-puffiness and staccato breath, he’s wild between your eyes and your lips.

“That’s all for you,” he tells you when he grabs your wrist and guides you to palm his cock before you hit him with another question for the ages—one that will not receive a verbal answer but a noise from his throat he swears he’s never heard himself make before.

“Wanna feel it?”

God, has he ever wanted anything more in his life? The erection he’s built up just from kissing you, moving you against him, is all the evidence either of you need.

Regardless, Osamu’s nodding fervently, chocolate locks swaying.

So, you take your turn kissing down him until you’re pooled at his feet, between his knees, with devoted fingers undoing the button on his pants; the task at hand, so sweetly and circularly, has your tongue poking out in concentration as you work his waistband down. Osamu twitches at the sight—he doesn’t mean to mutter you’re so fucking adorable but he does, he does. It’s your turn to grin wickedly as you take his cock out, your turn to tease with your thumb on his drooling tip, your turn to explore with your mouth.

You’ve had the reins all this time, really—from the first day you sat at your desk, making that attentive face. He must be the luckiest sucker in the world to have ended up here, with your shining eyes watching him fall apart as your honeyed lips guide him toward sweet devastation.

The first stripe you lick up his underside sends Osamu’s head flying back, jaw falling slack on the end of a breathy “fuck!”

And he feels every stride of your tongue piercing when you wrap your lips around his tip and swirl.

The sounds you draw from Osamu’s open mouth are like song; diligent in this task as you are every other one, it’s hardly a minute before he’s tangling his fingers in your hair, crooning your name between broken praises that come naturally as you hold him, lick him, look up at him with eyes that he thinks could turn him to stone—if only you had been evil, that is, but realistically, you can’t be anything other than an angel.

“Pretty boy, you—”

At that name, you groan. Take him further.

And through how good it feels, he laughs.

“Oh, you like that? Huh?” He could pull you off him if he wanted a response, but you’re too heavenly to interrupt—anyway, he already knows how you feel about pretty boy.

You hum around him—another sensation that sends him reeling with oh, god on his lips.

“That’s it… Feels s’good on me. Unh—yeah, like that…”

Indirectivity and grandeur has always been something Osamu considers himself a professional in—everything you do throws him for a loop and the way you bob up and down does him no favors. He whines in the way he does when he’s already going to finish all too quickly, but the fact that it’s you bringing him to his end—his cute coworker he’s been pining after since your first day on the job, the one that’s inspired such foreign feelings of wonder in his long-gone-cold heart—has him unreservedly bucking his hips into your mouth as you rake your nails down his thighs, ardent in this undertaking, bobbing frantically like all you’ve ever wanted was to have him noisy and messy underneath you like this.

“‘m gonna—oh, fuck!”

But he doesn’t have to tell you; you feel him, spasming on your tongue against the otherworldly friction your jewelry provides—his true downfall, that thing, and the image of you formed around it—you pursue his climax like a predator pursuing prey, pulling away to give him that false sense of security as you rise to your feet, pounce back over him and kiss him so intensely while you handle him, jerk him to orgasm between your bodies; Osamu’s hoarse, aching as he humps the hole you make with your fist and chants yes, yes, yes, please! into your mouth, tasting metal, never wanting it to leave.

He settles into soft panting as you draw your fingers up; he’s beginning to speak— “You’re so—” but you’re cutting him off so he can suck your fingers, taste himself and the way you’ve shattered him so beautifully. And he does, he laps like a man possessed, obsessed with the flavor of himself if only it’s leaving your skin, before you let him continue. “You’re incredible. You and that piercing.”

You huff out a laugh, but it’s true. He’s convinced you’re a dream in every sense of the word—how did he get so lucky, no—how did the earth get so lucky to have you dropped upon it, right here in Yokohama, doing such scandalous things with that godly mouth of yours?

“I try,” you quip with a half-shrug, smiling softly, kissing him just so.

“Do you, now?” Osamu Dazai, who so often loses those good things before he can really grasp them, takes note of another new sensation—unwavering resolve, in the amorous sense—and concludes that if he can help it, this dream will not slip away so quickly. He can’t possibly send you back up to heaven.

He grabs your hips, pulls you onto him.

Everything you are—all hard working, handsome face, sweet disposition, and tongue ring—he’s wanted it for so long; it would be nonsensical, a tragedy, to let the same evening air you stumbled in on steal you away again.

This is a dilemma he doesn’t have a solution to; not immediately.

But he speaks anyway, smirking and toying with the button on your pants, overwhelming your frame to put your back to the cushions—turn you into a mess for him.

“Your turn, pretty boy.”

#dazai smut #bsd smut #dazai x reader #bsd x reader #bungou stray dogs x reader #bungou stray dogs smut #with love—reid #reid try to write smut without referencing religion challenge (impossible) (failed) (not clickbait)

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newtlesbian · 7 months ago

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urgent list part four

many messages are coming in. i apologize so deeply if they aren’t answered right away. i promise everyone will be given attention.

everyone who sees this please dont scroll away. the people in these lists are in horrible conditions and in desperate need of help. please give something to them it is very urgent.

food is very expensive and they are starving. it is becoming cold and they need warm clothes and blankets. these people need medical treatments. they need money to evacuate. i want everyone to really give something and not only reblog. please.

CLICK FOR PART ONE

CLICK FOR PART TWO

CLICK FOR PART THREE

check back for part five

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OLD LIST 1

OLD LIST 2

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1. URGENT. please send help immediately to khawla’s family. she is supporting her husband and three young children. she reached out to me saying she has an appointment tomorrow and needs money asap. this is a very serious situation and i want everyone to send something asap.

kawla-gaza05.tumblr.com is her blog please reblog the posts.

please send something now

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2. URGENT. abood and his wife maria reached out to me asking for help asap. they need 150 to buy flour as it has become overpriced. if everyone sends some help now they can reach this goal and this family will not have to go hungry.

abood-gaza21.tumblr.com is his blog. please reblog the posts

please send something now

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3. URGENT. fahed shehab is supporting a family of 8 people. this family needs your help as they are very close to reaching their goal. send something to them to help reach it now and end the wait.

fahedshehab-new.tumblr.com is his blog please reblog the posts

please send something now

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4. URGENT. majed is supporting a family including young children after losing the house they all lived in due to genocide terrors of the occupation. please send help with this link

@majedgerbawi on here. please reblog their posts

LOW. 8k out of 70k

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5. URGENT. mohammed salem is supporting his parents and 5 siblings while they all live in a refugee tent together. now his young son is in the hospital with a chest infection and they all need help

@s-sa-mo on here. please reblog their posts

CLOSE. 7k out of 10k

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6. URGENT. ahmed totah is supporting his family of 7 people including his parents, disabled grandfather, and sister. they have no blankets or shoes for the winter and are in dire need as the weather gets cold

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LOW 85 out of 100k

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7. URGENT. muhammad is supporting his family with this link. He and his wife have 3 young children all under five years of age. they need your help to buy necessities like milk and food and to find safety.

@mohamed-resh9900 on here. please reblog their posts

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8. URGENT. abdul rahman hilles is the surviving husband of the martyred journalist ola al-dahdouh after they and their young child karam were targeted in another disgusting missile strike from the genocidal occupation paid for by a country you likely read this from. he and karam have been left damaged from the strike and the loss of their wife and mother. please help them recover and find safety together

@abedhilles on here. please reblog their links

LOW. 4k out of 35k

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@reemfamily on here. please reblog their posts

LOW only 30 out of 25,000!

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10. URGENT. Amany Ubeid is a 40 year old mother of 3 children ages 16, 14, and 9. they have lost their home and way of life. her husband has a skin disease and needs to pay for treatment. send help to this family asap

@amnyaburas on here. please reblog their posts

LOW. 2k out of 65k

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#dimension 20 #star trek #lesbian #election day #newmann #💌

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russellsppttemplates · 1 year ago

Text

We don't fit together (Lando Norris)

Your lifestyle is so different to Lando's that maybe everyone else is right

Note: english is not my first language. I'm not sure how I feel about this, it's like a love hate relationship with it to be completely honest... I hope it's still enjoyable to read! Update: there's a part 2 here !

Thank you so much to everyone who likes and reblogs, your feedback is appreciated 🤍 and I'm taking requests so if you have any ideas or concepts you want to share, feel free to do so as I'll try to get to them the best I can!

my masterlist

Tw: mentions reader's insecurities about herself and about her relationship with Lando, alcohol consumption

Tag list: @myloverjk-blog @hiireadstuff @c-losur3

Lando facetimes and he's going to a club wherever he is

"Hello, baby!", Lando greeted with a bug smile when you picked up his video call.

"Hey love, congrats on your podium!", you smiled back, now able to congratulate him face to face even if through a screen, "Don't you look handsome, hm?", you bit your lip once he set the phone and clasped his bracelets on his wrist.

The outfit was simple but he made it look so good. He was wearing black jeans, a white t-shirt and a backwards black cap was covering his curls. Had he been right in front of you, you would have already laced your arms around his neck and littered little kisses along the tanned skin.

"Thank you, baby", he blushed slightly, "Max and Kelly are also going to the club where Martin is playing tonight", he smiled, "it's really good and it's supposed to have the craziest nights out in town, so we're going to check it out - I miss you loads, can't wait to go back home", he mused.

"Me too, but I'm glad you're having a good time out there! I'm not going to say I wish I was there because it doesn't look like my scene, but I can't wait to have you with me, love", you giggled.

"That's true, I don't think it would be very enjoyable for you", Lando agreed, "we're leaving in the morning, which will be night time for you, so I'll text you updates and then when I arrive we can have an early dinner in that restaurant you really like near my place and then you could spend the night. How does that sound?", he suggested.

"Sounds good to me", you smiled at the prospect. Time couldn't go by faster.

"I have to go, baby - Max and Kelly are already downstairs waiting for me! I love you and I can't wait to kiss your gorgeous face", he winked.

"Go enjoy yourself, Lan, you deserve it! Give my congratulations to Max and send Kelly a hug from me. I love you!", you blew him a kiss before he ended the call.

Work commitments and some family situations had kept you from going to the race weekend. It was a common thing to happen but it still left you missing Lando like crazy, counting down the hours until he was on your arms again.

You finished cooking your dinner, ate it and then headed to the living room, ready to unwind and start your bedtime routine, getting a selfie from Kelly with Max and Lando in it too, the club lights illuminating then enough to tell them apart.

When you woke up, like promised, Lando had sent you a text saying he had boarded the jet and everything was on schedule. Opening the text, you saw that a few hours before he had also sent you a video.

It was less than a minute, but you could see Martin and Lando at the DJ table, happily interacting with the crowd before mixing some music up and dancing along, "I love you, baby!", Lando said into the phone before he ended the video.

You did your morning workout, showered and while you were having breakfast, you scrolled through your social media, seeing some edits from the race and a couple of videos from the club Lando, amongst other drivers, partied in.

The first one was a different angle from the one you had been sent, someone on the dance floor recording it and sending it to a fan page.

They usually didn't say much other than stating facts about the video, where it was taken, who was in it and who had sent it. This one, however, seemed to spark up the conversation as a lot of people had opinions about it.

He just looks so good 🥵 I'd never be able to leave his side if I was with him!

He always has the best night out spots

He just looks so happy when he's doing it, it's great he has friends who support him in it outside of racing

Scrolling down, a gossip page post popped up. Unlike the other videos, this one was in a controlled environment and it seemed to be from someone on the VIP area. You could see Lando and Martin talking to a group of people before the girl flipped the camera, speaking into her phone as subtitles showed "I can't believe this, it's Lando Norris! Fp you think we should go up to him? I bet he's here alone as usual", the blonde girl said as she swept her hair over her shoulder. She looked stunning, hair curled to perfection and make-up done in such a complementing way it showed skills you knew you didn't have yourself, "I've seen Max and Kelly, and Carlos was just at the bar I think", another girl with short black hair said.

"You know what I mean, he's never here with what's her face", she giggled tipsily.

Dating Lando meant that you were exposed to these type of interactions from people online on a daily basis, more frequently whenever he posted you or you joined him for the race weekend. On the comments, some people alerted the page admin and the girl who sent the video about how offensive it was and how they didn't have the right to talk about you like that, but it didn't seem to do much as other people left their opinion.

He'd be so much better without her, did you see the article where someone at the club said he left with another girl? She's done for...

It wouldn't surprise me tbh, there's only so much it can work before you realise you don't have similar interests and things are not making you happy

Lando would be so good with someone who is in the public eye, can you imagine all the content we would get?

Shaking it off of your body, you closed the app and locked your phone, taking a deep breath as your mind started filling with all sorts of doubts.

At the start, noise from the media was easy to reason with, but lately it was all you could think about. Every week with every interaction Lando had with another woman, they would suggest he was in a relationship despite knowing you were dating eachother. You didn't understand why, but they had even taken the extra step of having someone comment on it and give their opinion on it, as if there was an opinion to give on who he dated and didn't date.

Getting up, your put some music on your headphones and started tidying the house. You couldn't sort your thoughts out, so might as well deal with the mess on your apartment.

"I missed you so much", Lando said once you opened the door, his arms instantly wrapping around your body and walking you backwards, closing the door with his foot, "hello, my love", he said, nipping a few kisses on your neck before he looked up, finally kissing your lips after having spent so long away from you.

"Hello, Lan", you cupped his face, kissing his lips again as his hands roamed along your waist and back, "I'm so glad you're back home", you smiled.

"Me too, especially when I'm greeted like this", he smirked, looking you up and down. In the last two years, you still hadn't gotten fully used to the way he would look at you.

His heart swelled with pride because you were his, all for him and no one else, "I love this colour on you", he kissed your exposed clavicle, "as much as I'd love to continue this, we have reservations to get to", he smiled before licking the spot he just kissed, "let's go, gorgeous", he encouraged, making you get your coat and bag and put on your shoes, ready to go.

Lando got VIP entrances to a fairly new club, and since Max was in town, too, you decided to join them on a night out. Despite the opinions everyone on the internet seemed to have, you did enjoy going out, just not every week or even every month. Shutting down your laptop after sending the last e-mail, you went to shower and start getting ready.

Making sure the towell was secure on your head and the robe was soaking up all the water remnants from your skin, you walked up to your wardrobe, running your fingers through the options you had for tonight. Settling in an outfit you felt both comfortable and beautiful in, you were quick to dry yourself and change, grabbing a simple black bag out of your closet and then heading to the bathroom for hair and make-up. You clipped your loose waves away from your face once they were dry while you applied some foundation to even out your skin tone, hiding the dark circles that came with the little sleep you'd gotten that week, bronzing, highlighting and contouring what needed, doing your brows and applying some mascara to your lashes. You weren't too fussed about makeup, choosing to stay on the simpler side of things, not bothering with the little moles and pimples that still showed through as you'd end up with your face resembling a pancake instead.

Checking if you were on time, you grabbed your watch and bracelets and clasped them to your wrist before clasping your necklace on your neck and putting simple hoop earrings, appreciating your final look in the mirror.

Not too much, not too little, but you didn't look like the girls your boyfriend was rumoured to be dating. The article came from a magazine where they had analysed everyone they thought would suit Lando and his lifestyle, and even though you tried yo ignore it, Lando was the first to come to your place and tell you, in person, that he had nothing to do with those girls and most of them he didn't even knew personally anyway, spending the rest of the night in your bed reminding how much he loved you and only you.

Lando was coming to pick you up soon, so you headed to the living room to wait for him. A knock on the door announced his presence, "I'm here to pick up the most beautiful woman in the whole wide world - my girlfriend", he charmed before taking a good look at you, "you're stunning, baby, breath taking", he gasped.

"C'mon, let's go", you urged, your cheeks blushing at the attention he was giving you, "Baby girl, a little twirl for me first", he smirked, as you did it, "we're both one good looking couple, aren't we?", he added, kissing your cheek as you played with the thin chain around his neck, "you look great, handsome, so great", you kissed his throat before closing the door behind you.

As you walked inside the club with Lando, who laced your hand in his as soon as he saw the crowded place, you took it all in.

It would be a lie to say that your senses hadn't been invaded all at once when you stepped into the VIP area of the club, different kinds of substances in the air and some perfume notes invading your nose, lights flashing your eyes as the loud music rang in your ears and drummed on your feet.

Lando carefully guided you through the people - the less crowded zone helping your movements -, always keeping you close as he looked for Max and Martin.

"Hey! You finally made it!", Max said as he greeted you, "Y/N, fancy sering you here! You look amazing as always", he complimented your black pants and emerald green one shoulder top outfit.

"Hi, I'm Martin, have we met before?", he asked after he pulled you for a half hug, "I don't think so, no, I'm Y/N", you smiled at his kindness and welcoming demeanour.

"You weren't joking when you said you were going to bring special company tonight", the dutch DJ nudged Lando with his elbow before fistbumping his hand.

"My special lady only goes out when the music is really good, so you should feel honoured, mate", Lando tsked, kissing the side of your head and smiling down at you. He was so happy you were there with him.

"The bar is over there, c'mon! Let's go and get something", Max suggested, leading the way with Martin right behind him as Lando's hands squeezed your waist again as he guided you to the bar, occasionally nodding to acquaintances you two bumped into.

Getting yourself a drink and Lando grabbing something non-alcoholic for him, "I'm driving us both home tonight, I don't want to do anything irresponsible", he reasoned as the four of you engaged in conversation about the set Lando and Martin would be doing. You had always been a kept to yourself type of person, not really letting people in until you knew for sure what their intentions were, but having Lando and Max there gave you enough ease to chat with Martin too while you waited for them to go up to the booth.

Granted this wasn't your usual choice of plans, you had been out enough times to know what it entailed and what to expect, a lot of people you didn't know coming up to greet your boyfriend, some seeming closer friendships to him that others.

"Are you okay, baby? We'll have to go up in a bit, do you want to stay here or go up there?", he questioned, "I need to go to the bathroom, I won't be long hopefully, but I can meet you up there when I come back - do you think that will be okay?", you wondered, "yes, of course! Just wave at me or Max if anyone gives you any trouble, beautiful", he kissed you, "I love you", he mumbled against your lips, squeezing your hips softly before Martin pulled on his arm.

On your way to the bathroom, you accidentally touched the railing on the stairs when you were set your cup down on the designated area, the liquid on it making your squirm a little as you held out your hand like you had touched poison. For all you knew, it could be something like that.

There were two girls waiting to use one of the stalls, prompting you to gently slot yourself in front of them, "sorry, but do you mind if go first just now? I just need to wash my hand and then I'll be back to the line", you asked politely as they nodded, the first one going to the stall that freed up and making room for you as the other girl stepped out. Her face was familiar as you took a glance in the mirror, and from the smile she gave you through the mirror, you assumed she probably recognised you too.

Washing your hands again when you came out of the stall, you walked to the bar and got yourself a bottle of water, noticing your boyfriend already pressing and tapping the buttons on the mixing table as everyone danced and many captured the moment on their phones while you waited. The booth looked tight and, truthfully, quite exposed, so you decided to stay where you had been previously, still able to enjoy yourself and dance while you watched Lando and Martin.

Max must've thought the same as he spotted you a few minutes later, twirling you around before he set his drink on the high table.

"Ruby!", Max yelled as the girl from the bathroom walked up to him and gave him a hug followed by another girl you assumed was her friend, introducing her to Max before turning to you.

"You're Y/N, right?", she asked, noticing your surprised expression, "sorry, I didn't mean to be so blunt - I'm Ruby, this is my friend Katie", she introduced, "we bumped into you in the bathroom, and it looked like you knew who I was", she clarified, still noticing apprehension from you, "I know Lando - we're acquaintances, I guess", she said.

"I'm so sorry, your face was familiar but I didn't know where from", you apoligised, "I kept going over in my head but I couldn't pinpoint where I knew you from", you gulped.

Up close and in the club environment, you were now sure of why her face was so familiar. She was one of the girls the gossip magazine page mentioned. She was gorgeous and from the way people greeted her, she seemed to attend many parties and nights out at that club.

"It's okay - Lando has told me about you, by the way", she smiled before her friend pitched in, "it's so nice to finally see you here, it's a good thing you came here to see him. I didn't think it would suit you, but it does look like you're having a good time", Katie offered before sipping from her drink.

"Yes, it's quite fun actually, Martin and Lando are a good duo I'd say", you smiled, pushing the backhanded compliment to the back of your mind for now.

"Do you want something to drink, Y/N? I can get it for you!", Max offered and you shook your head no, thanking him for his offer but politely declining as you saw him walk to the bar with Ruby.

"How has your night been, Y/N?", she tried to start up a conversation and appear put together even though it was clear she had drank over her limit, "I never see you here with Lando - he usually hangs out with us when he isn't pretending to be a world famous DJ", she giggled, "so are you enjoying it? I know it's not really your scene".

"It's not my usual, no, but I enjoy a night out every now and again", you remained polite, "He's really happy when he does it and he gets to relax a little and forget his troubles for a bit, it's a good thing".

"He's really funny, yes, and charming too", she hiccuped, "I'm sure people come here for a good night out anyway, but I just know that most of these people here", she pointed to the people dancing, "are here for him because they know he enjoys a good party and they do too - I guess they're hoping their similar interests will cross paths", she smiled.

She was really trying to get to you, and much to your disappointment in yourself, she was successfully doing it.

"That's how he is wired, you know? Parties after parties, living it up with all the luxury he has access to, and at such a young age, he has everything on his fingertips, anyone even! It's just a matter of him choosing what he really wants", she added, straightening herself against the table when Ruby walked back with Max.

"What were you two chatting about?", Ruby asked as she set the drinks on the table, Max doing the same with his.

"I was just telling Y/N how it usually is around here, but tonight they've upped their game because Lando is playing, look at him!", Katie pointed at your boyfriend before she started dancing around.

"He's really fun at these functions", Ruby offered, "looks like it is something he enjoys doing", she said in an earnest tone, and for a few seconds, you wanted to believe she wasn't digging at you like her friend was and was just stating a fact.

Lando had a big smile on his face. His skin was glowing both from his tan and the sheen of the sweat from how warm it was up there, occasionally holding Martin's hand when he hugged him from behind and rested his hand on his sternum. All troubles were put to a halt when he enjoyed his time off with friends doing things he loved.

Once the set was over and the speakers played what you assumed was some random playlist for the moment, Lando and Martin came back to join you at the table, "did you enjoy it, Y/N?", Martin asked.

"I did, it was very good!", you smiled, feeling Lando's hands on your waist before his mouth whispered on your ear, "Hi, baby" and kissed your neck.

"Did you stay here for the whole set?", he wondered, "yes, it looked a little cramped up in there so I stayed here with Max, then Ruby and Katie joined us for a bit", you nodded with your eyes as Katie seemed to notice your eyes on here, waving back at you and Lando.

"Oh, Ruby - she's nice, I met her girlfriend the last time I was here - so that's her friend?", he mused turning fully around to face you.

"Should be, we didn't really talk much", you shrugged your shoulders.

"Did you really enjoy it, Y/N? You can say no and we'll be out of here of you don't want to stay", Lando offered, "I myself am getting quite tired actually", he said as he rested his hand on top of his stomach.

"I did, you did really well up there, and you looked really handsome", you smirked, twirling a curly lock that fell on his forehead.

It didn't take long before people started leaving, the night already mostly done with after Lando danced with you for a bit, noticing you seemed to also have spent most of your battery and wete in deep need of going back home. Bidding goodbye to everyone, you and Lando made your way to his car as he drove you back to his apartment where you had planned to spend the night.

Taking your heels off and putting on your slippers, you waited for Lando to lock the door and join you in the living room, thumbs fiddling with eachother.

Noticing your behaviour, Lando knocked on the door and approached you gently, "You alright, baby? You've been quiet since before we left the club. Is there anything I can do to make you feel better? Is your tummy upset? Or is it your head", he listed the possible causes of your discomfort.

He was however missing the point. It seemed you both missed it until now. For you at least anyway, he still didn't notice it.

Better late than never.

"I'm not judging your choices, it's not my place and definitely not on this... but... do you think we work?", you quesioned, your lips trembling slightly as all emotions seemed to come back to the front. How different you were, how his interests weren't similar to yours, how his happiness was something you were getting in the way of.

"What do you mean if we work?", Lando asked, genuinely not understanding your question.

"We're so different, Lando. Your lifestyle has nothing similar to mine, and I'm not even talking about money - that's a pretty obvious one and something not most humans can do anyway -, I'm talking about being the soul of the party, always ready to go on to the next night out and plan everything surrounding it. I don't do nightlife like you do, I barely do it at all. And that's okay for me as it is okay for you with what you do", you clarified.

"What are you saying, Y/N?", he inquired, a new tone of defensiveness in his voice.

"I'm saying we don't fit together like that", you let the words out, your heart shattering as each syllable came out.

"Y/N, that doesn't mean anything", Lando began, "sure, there are different interests that we don't have in common and that we don't share, but that doesn't make it not work between us! Why would it?", he argued, "it sounds to me like you're calling our relationship out because I like to go out and you don't and I don't agree with it".

"Lando, it hurts, it's painful", you stated, tears falling from your eyes at your admission.

It caught him off guard and his brain shifted somewhere else. To the promise he made you and the promise he made himself. He would never make you hurt and he would never be the cause of your pain.

"Y/N, baby, we can talk about this better when we've gathered our thoughts", he tried even though any suggestion he could make would potentially increase your pain. And he couldn't bear to do that.

"No one would ever see you and see me and say that we were good together, it just took us longer to see what they have noticed so long ago - so much so that they think you deserve someone else", you murmured.

"But I don't need anyone else's opinion when I have you", he mused softly, wanting to take your hand in his but you still fiddled with your thumbs before wiping your cheeks.

"Y/N, I promise that whatever is going on in your head is not the truth - your mins is telling you awful lies. I love you so much and I don't think like that", he tried to reason, "That's not what we are".

"I want to go home", you gulped, "I'm going to get an Uber", you announced, looking at a broken Lando.

"Can I drive you there, please?", he asked, himself feeling like prolonging the argument would only lead to worse but needing to make sure you felt he wouldn't give up, "I'd feel better being in charge of the car taking you home than anyone else at this time", he reasoned.

"You won't ask me anything else? Can we do it in silence?", you asked. The words had a bitter taste on your mouth like they didn't belong there. Chatting with Lando was one of your favourite things in the world, hearing his voice and his giggles, those were the best sounds ever known to man.

"Okay, if that's how you want it", Lando assured, grabbing his keys while you put your shoes back on along with your coat.

The drive to your apartment was agonisingly silent. Lando wanted to ask you where this left your relationship, you wanted to ask him if what he said was true.

"We're here", Lando announced, stopping the car and getting out, waiting for you to get out and meet him by the driver's seat door, "I- Y/N, is this goodbye?", he worked himself up to ask, "because I don't want that, we can talk about his and sort it out, please, this is what we do, love", he pleaded.

"Can we talk about it another day? I can't think straight tonight, and I don't want to say things that will hurt you because of that", you suggested.

"Sure", Lando sighed, "whenever you're ready. I love you, Y/N", he looked into your eyes, refraining from kissing your forehead even though that was all he wanted to do.

"Thank you, for this and for bringing me home, Lan, I love you", you looked back into his eyes.

He was hurt, too, and the last three words you said seemed to have brought anger to the mix as well. There was a grey hue and the sparkle was lost despite the moon glistening.

"Have a good night, baby, I love you more than words can say, and I will fight for you and for us, even if I'm the only one in the battlefield, I'll fight for both of us", he assured.

Part 2

#lando norris imagine #lando norris fanfic #lando norris x reader #lando norris fic #lando norris fluff #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #f1 fic #f1 fanfic #f1 fluff

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