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aethelwyneleigh27 · 8 months

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Cod Characters General Dating Headcanons (part two)

+ Random and Some bits of Chubby Fem S/O Headcanons with mentions of different nationality S/O

+ What type of BF/GF they would be

Including Valeria Garza, Farah Karim, Kate Laswell, Alex Keller, Gary "Roach" Sanderson, Nikolai Belinski

+ Some Poly! Farah x Reader x Alex Headcanons

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3

Fem terms and pronouns like she/her are used for the reader

ꕥ HOPE YOU ENJOY! ꕥ

My rules for requests and characters I can write for

Please comment if you want to be added to the taglist, the next part or cod content alone. I also have content for TLOU and Resident Evil, so please specify.

Taglist: @marshmallowinamess

A/n: Hi lovelies! It's me again Lia, currently working on this one while I haven't even posted the other yet because I wanna post early and I love Valeria. Y'all don't got shit on me, I'm writing this shit while I'm in class AHAHAHA. Btw more Resident Evil content soon...

Disclaimers/warnings: Typical Cod things, OOC characters???, Unrealistic, Some suggestive themes and language, I'm so sorry but English is not my first language so please don't come after me. Most of the content I've seen are on TikTok and Tumblr I don't actually play the game but I love the characters so much, same with any other content I have for other video games.

Tiny sidenote: the reader in this has been describe to be shorter than the characters and has been mentioned to have a soft body rather than the muscular type.

Valeria Garza

ꕥ (Just saying, I'd let her step all over me)

ꕥ The El Sinombre falling in love? No shit she's... semi-normal??

ꕥ Black cat/Doberman girlfriend for sure. She's extremely protective and extremely terrifying when she wants to be. Scary dog privilege if you get it. (Occasionally it's funny to imagine her as a Chihuahua)

ꕥ Dates all kinds of women, body type and other things don't matter to her because she doesn't have a type. If you catch her attention then that's that.

ꕥ Loves spoiling you in everyway possible, just sit pretty for her and she'll take care of everything. Doesn't give a shit on the amount of money she spends on you, you want it? You got it.

ꕥ Loves it when you need her, it's one of the ways she feels loved and appreciated. Would never say it out loud but loves it whenever you show her your appreciation by doing manual labor.

ꕥ The idea of you being her pretty little housewife is sending her to heaven.

ꕥ Spanish pet names galore, culture is something of importance to her so will definitely teach you Spanish if she had the time.

ꕥ Would be interested learning about your culture as well because if you're gonna know about hers then she ought to know what to call you in your language. (Definitely not self-indulgent because I'm Filipina and I know she'd pronounce it somewhat correctly)

ꕥ Doesn't ever let you know about her cartel business. You can never know and she will never allow you to get ever get involved. You're too precious to her and god forbid anything will happen to you, she will destroy the world if she had to.

ꕥ She's more of a masc lesbian, she's the type who likes to be in charge in a "I'm the one who wears the pants in the relationship" way. She's very dominant.

ꕥ Doesn't ever even consider to be submissive, with the amount of shit she's been through. She can be vulnerable with you but in no way, shape or form could you ever top.

ꕥ You're an escape from the life she knew, it was peaceful with you. At first she wasn't used to it, definitely has reoccurring thoughts of something going wrong. You dying, getting kidnapped, falling into the hands of her enemies so constant reassurance.

ꕥ Would absolutely kill for you, no hesitation. The literally definitely of "I would burn this world for you", would absolutely deny it but you know otherwise.

Farah Karim

ꕥ Tabby cat coded girlfriend, she's down to earth and chill. She's that one neutral person everyone adores, she puts her best efforts into a relationship for sure.

ꕥ Has and will help you do your make-up all the time, doesn't matter whether you asked. She'll observe the specific way you do it and do it perfectly.

ꕥ Sweetest girlfriend ever, she has dominance tendencies but it's mainly because she's quite assertive and often makes the decisions. Can't help it, after all her field of work requires her to one up egotistic men.

ꕥ That being said, I think she's had some mild PTSD about how they treated her. Sure it made her tough and she didn't like to be bossed around (unlike angry Mexican man) but I like to think she keeps you out of it as much as possible.

ꕥ Chubby!Reader headcanon is that she literally would adore you, compliment anything and everything. Insecure? Not on her watch, she just makes you feel so loved.

ꕥ Most definitely has introduced you to Price (I feel like he's everyone's father figure except los vaqueros and characters he hasn't interacted with) and don't worry he's already looking after you as well.

ꕥ Poly! Farah x reader x Alex headcanons:

ꕥ You guys following whatever Farah says, towards relationship decisions anyway because you and Alex tend to be indecisive.

ꕥ Lot's of communication between the three of you even if it's just a small thing, consent is always key.

ꕥ Alex following his two wives around a lot, he's mostly behind you guys all the time.

ꕥ Farah is patient when it comes to a lot of things but especially you and Alex.

ꕥ You get head pats from both of them, Farah is in a more praising manner while Alex tends to be in a comforting manner.

ꕥ You cannot tell me these two won't be down to cuddle in any position because I know damn well they would be. More often it's just Alex wanting to be a little spoon.

Alex Keller

ꕥ Golden Retriever boyfriend FOR REAL. This man is the type of man to kneel down and clasp the strap of your shoe or heel when he notices it.

ꕥ You know when you pick up something near a corner of a table or underneath it? He's the type of boyfriend to subconsciously cover the edge or corner of that table so that if your head bumps into it then it wouldn't be as painful or even at all.

ꕥ Having said the first one, he also guides your head whenever getting into a vehicle because god forbid you actually hurt yourself. Not on his watch.

ꕥ Understands why you're insecure and definitely offers a lot of verbal reassurance.

ꕥ Is the type of boyfriend to say "Yes Ma'am" when you ask him to do something, doesn't matter whether it's a small thing or labor intensive. It's kinda become your guys' thing now since people take notice on it.

ꕥ Pouty kind of jealous? Not necessarily whiny but makes this sad upset face at you when jealous instead of something like Ghost or Valeria would do where they'd be glaring the person down jealous.

ꕥ Very thoughtful, he pays attention to what you want and what you need and knows the right timing.

ꕥ Forehead kiss giver, you cannot convince me this man doesn't love doing it. Especially when you're shorter than him, loves resting his chin on top of your head or burying his head in your neck.

ꕥ HATES seeing you uncomfortable, absolutely despises it. That's the last thing he wants you to feel when you're around him. Would understand if there's imminent danger around but it would literally being him back to life if you felt safe enough around him even if there was danger because you're confident in his capabilities to keep you safe.

Kate Laswell

ꕥ (LOVE THIS WOMAN, SHE'S FOR THE GIRLS BECAUSE IT'S CANON. ARGUE WITH THE WALL)

ꕥ She only ever let the TF141 and Nikolai meet you because of course she trusts them enough.

ꕥ They were like "So you're the infamous wife of Laswell huh?"

ꕥ Even before you were married, Kate called you her wife because she was ✨manifesting✨.

ꕥ She loves using it though, sometimes she'd be with coworkers and they'd invited her to go out to pub and drink but she'll refuse saying "Can't, my wife is waiting for me". She'd really rather just spend time with you anyway.

ꕥ Congrats, you made her quit smoking or at least she's trying to. She still does every once and a while when shit gets really bad but never around you because she knows that secondhand smoke is just as bad for you.

ꕥ She doesn't have a type when it comes to people so body is out of the question, if she feels a connection then she feels it.

ꕥ Anything and everything to keep you safe, if something were to happen to you, trust that she'll either get it down herself or if she can't then she'll turn to Price and Belinski for help.

ꕥ As much as possible, she keeps you away from everything. The job she has is just too dangerous and she can't risk you, not when you're one of the only good things in her life that keeps her happy.

ꕥ Definitely a workaholic, something as simple as asking her to eat or rest, maybe take a break. She'll do it, for you and because she knows you care for her.

ꕥ Doesn't half-ass anything, full effort when it comes to you especially when there's a special occasion between you two like holidays, birthdays and anniversaries.

ꕥ Also she loves making you laugh, more often with stories of her experiences with Price and also about how they met.

Gary "Roach" Sanderson

ꕥ (I CANNOT FIND A DECENT GIF OF THIS MAN FOR THE LIFE OF ME... Here's the credits to where I found the photo)

ꕥ Get this man a makeshift antenna, he would adore it. You made it for him because of his call sign.

ꕥ He sometimes wears it on missions but mostly keeps it so that it doesn't get damage because this man is definitely a horder, not in a bad way just anything you give to him is something worth keeping in his eyes.

ꕥ Gary definitely gives you handmade gifts back, when he knows you'll like something or even if it's at a random, he loves making them for you and he cried when he found out you kept those all in it's own box labeling it your treasures.

ꕥ Very shy and reluctant at first but once he's comfortable, he is tackling you for a hug when he gets the chance.

ꕥ Doesn't talk a lot, (it took me to Google when I saw that many people hc him communicating through BSL) but I like to think he does talk. It's just really selective, like a few words.

ꕥ The first time you heard his voice, you looked at him like "???". He looked at you confused at your reaction and he only realized it when you told him.

ꕥ Think that he'll try to learn sign language within your mother tongue you know, it's too cute not to think about.

ꕥ He gives off soft lover vibes, definitely far more on the gentle side compared to his comrades.

ꕥ Something in me tells me this man rambles but only and I mean only when he's already extremely comfortable around you, not used to using his voice much so expect a bit of stutter. Which by the way, he does this without knowing he's rambling and will profusely apologize with his tone of voice slowly getting more quiet. (This is your sign, comfort this man)

ꕥ Likes to crawl around and climb things for fun, another one of the reasons his call sign was formed. The first time Ghost genuinely screamed was when Roach was stuck on the side of the wall and Ghost saw him there. Kinda like when you see a roach climbing up a wall and it flies straight for you in your direction. (Happened to me by experience when I was taking a shower)

ꕥ He also likes crawling around, like this I mean. Hacker!Reader seeing this on the enemy's security camera while she tries to shut them off is just funny to me idk why.

ꕥ Chubby!Reader? Sign him the fuck up. You once sat down near him and he saw how you thought spread a bit and it was so close to his that he was just resisting the urge to touch. The voice in his head shamelessly thinking of what it would be like if you suffocated him with them.

ꕥ He loves peppering kisses, doesn't matter whether it's receiving or giving this man would straight up take your hands and use them to cup his face, his hands still being over yours and would with wait for you to kiss him or kiss you himself.

Nikolai Belinski

ꕥ (I have no clue how to write for nik but I'll try my best)

ꕥ We all know him and his jokes about his "wives" which by the way is not true and you know it.

ꕥ He's husband material however he is quite busy, not that he'd barely spend time with you but he is away a lot. There's an upside to this, he constantly calls you (Let's be real, he prefers calls over texts) just to check on how you're doing and he tells you when he's going to come home.

ꕥ Despite all his jokes, he'd never actually make fun of you. Sure he's sarcastic and talks to himself a lot but he'd never go as low as actually making an offensive joke to his lover.

ꕥ Speaking of joking, your laugh is music to this man's ears. Don't matter if you sound like a dying cat, he's still gonna make you laugh.

ꕥ Surprisingly really sweet, people are often surprised to see that man with a lover. He's very thoughtful in a sense that he's observant, sure he's quite absentminded when around you because that's the only space he's comfortable enough to do so but also because he likes listening to you.

ꕥ Does every safety measure in a helicopter possible if he knew you or Gaz would be in that helicopter, he also makes improvements to it and calls it Gaz-proofing because we all know how Garrick fell off a damn helicopter TWICE. (Idk how he does it, Gaz has some serious plot armor)

#cod x reader #cod mw2 #cod mwii #valeria garza x reader #farah karim x reader #alex geller x reader #kate laswell x reader #gary roach sanderson #roach x reader #gary sanderson x reader #Nikolai Belinski x reader #nikolai cod x reader #farah x alex #cod x female reader #cod headcanons #Aethelwyne Lia writes

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mackjlee9 · 8 months

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Hello! It’s my first time requesting something here, so sorry if it’s weird or if it makes you uncomfortable.

I would like ftm (power bottom) Leon Kennedy with a sub top male reader, also smut if possible.

So reader if fucking Leon gently. Leon has a creamy, soft, wet pussy while reader is breeding him and reader is in love with it.

If it’s possible some feminization where reader calls Leon mommy while sucking his chest.

Thank you! Again if it made you uncomfortable feel free to ignore.

I'm so sorry this took me so long to write :')))) and I apologize for how horrible this turned out to be

FTM!PowerBottom!Leon Kennedy x Sub!Top!Male!Reader [Smut]

Masterlist.

Resident Evil

(M/n) wasn't sure how he should feel at that moment.

It was clear he and his boyfriend, Leon, were gonna go further than just some kisses and touches, and that was the problem right now. He didn't know what to do, he was scared, he felt nervous about disappointing Leon because... Who likes a virgin?

With his mind out of it, (M/n) pulled away from their kiss, his hands fidgeting with the fabric of Leon's shirt, a way to try and calm his anxiety. Of course, the blond male noticed (M/n)'s uneasiness, and he worried, his hands holding his face gently.

"Hey... You alright? Is anything bothering you?" He couldn't find it in himself to speak, so he silently shook his head as a response, "Are you sure?"

And then (M/n) opened his mouth but hesitated for a few seconds, so now Leon knew something was going on, and he tried to be as reassuring as possible.

"It's okay, you can tell me," (M/n) looked down and took a shaky breath in, nibbling his lips nervously as he struggled to find the right words.

"I- uh... I'm- I-..." His stutter made him close his eyes tightly, feeling like an idiot at not being able to speak correctly, grimacing at the sweat he felt on his palms, "Sorry, Leon, it's just... That..."

Leon placed a peck on his lips and gently stroked his face, watching with a small smile how (M/n) opened his eyes, "We don't have to do this now if you don't want to, darling."

"But I do want to, it's just that..." He looked away as he paused, "I'm a virgin, and I... Don't want to disappoint you, love."

Leon couldn't help but chuckle, and (M/n) was sure he was a second away from being kicked out, Leon probably wanted nothing to do with him now that the truth got out. He could cry right that moment, but that would be even worse, so he stayed silent and shifted on the bed, ready to get up and leave as soon as he was told to.

"Well... We can fix that," (M/n) felt as if all thoughts left his mind, did he hear that correctly, or was he delusional all of a sudden? It had to be a joke, "Would you mind if I take control instead?"

Leon made (M/n) look at him, feeling how his face got warm against his palms, and he watched how, at a loss for words, he nodded a few times slowly.

"Alright then..." Leon leaned closer until his lips were gracing (M/n)'s, "Just relax, and let me do everything, darling."

//////

"Okay, you ready?" His voice was quiet, a mere whisper in (M/n)'s ear, his legs on either side of his hips as he straddled him.

(M/n) nodded, his hands holding tightly onto Leon's waist, biting his lips as he felt how his pussy grinded against his cock.

With a light hold, Leon reached between them and held (M/n)'s leaking dick, before easing it inside him, lowering his hips until he was sitting on his lap, feeling how (M/n)'s grip got somehow tighter. He just couldn't help it, Leon's pussy felt so good, fluttering around his cock like that.

Keeping his hold, (M/n) started thrusting his hips up, whining as his whole body trembled under Leon, who was releasing moans and mewls next to his ear, calling his name in a whimper. With gritted teeth, his cock throbbed as his cum started filling Leon's pussy, leaving scratch marks on his skin as he continued riding him, milking his cock and taking all the cum deep inside him.

(M/n)'s eyes rolled into the back of his head, "Fuck..." It was just too much for him, he felt like he was gonna go crazy, "Can I... Can I fuck you, mommy? Can I fill you with my cum?"

Leon whined at how desperate and whiny (M/n)'s voice sounded, he loved it, all he could do was nod, his back arching as that sweet spot inside him was stimulated, his blue eyes getting glossy with tears and his thighs quivering at the pleasure surging through his body.

(M/n) shifted their position around on the bed, pressing his body flush against Leon's, every inch of their skin touching. His thrusts were gentle and deep, savouring the feeling of his wet pussy clenching and twitching around his throbbing cock, gasping at how the friction sent shivers down his whole body, Leon's cunt felt so fucking good and it was driving him insane.

"Oh, fuck- your pussy feels so good, mommy, I love how your tight pussy takes my cock," Leon's hands hold onto (M/n)'s back, leaving scratch marks on his skin, his legs wrapping around his hips to keep him close, the feeling of his pussy being filled by his cock numbing his mind.

Wet kisses and soft bites were placed on Leon's skin, making a path from his neck to his chest, groping his chest and kneading it, leaving sweet kisses on his scars before latching onto his perked nipples, swirling his tongue around them and playing with it.

The movement of his hips came to a halt, keeping his entire length inside Leon, moaning every time his mushy walls clenched and twitched around his cock.

(M/n) kept fucking him, deep and slow, playing with his nipples and hitting his sweet spot over and over again. Leon couldn't believe how good he was being fucked, and (M/n) wasn't doing anything amazing, he was just so eager to please him and he wasn't ashamed to admit how much he loved. He wanted more of him, of his hard cock, of his hot cum, of his soft kisses and sweet words.

Leon wouldn't be surprised if he got infatuated with (M/n) after this, he doubted anyone could make him feel as helpless yet satisfied as he could.

#leon kennedy x male reader #leon kennedy x reader #re x male reader #re x reader #resident evil leon #leon kennedy smut #leon s kennedy #leon s kennedy x reader #trans leon kennedy #leon kennedy #sub top male reader #male reader #reader insert #x reader #smut #.mackjlee9 writes

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d10nyx · 19 days

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resident evil bot drop // character.ai

ft. leon kennedy and carlos oliveira (requests in italics)

cw: kidnapping, ddlg, obsessive behaviour, potential non-con(kidnapper leon, obsessed bsf's dad leon)

bot one: fae prince leon capturing a human princess

If there was one thing your father had always made abundantly clear to you, it was to make sure you stay away from the forest. Just because it was a neutral zone by name did not mean the fae could not lure you towards their territory. They were a cunning and powerful people - you'd stand no chance.

You'd wished you'd listened to him now. Your trip to the forest was meant to be some innocent fun. You'd always enjoyed exploration. The last thing you remember before blacking out was an overwhelming sense of tiredness that tended to appear out of nowhere before you were lifted into strong arms.

When you came to, you felt yourself surrounded by warmth. You opened your eyes, taking in the sight of an unfamiliar bedroom. Next to you was a man - no, his ears were pointed. A fae. Suddenly, fear takes ahold of your senses, leaving you frozen as you stare at him. Without even turning to look at you, he speaks up. "Haven't you been told staring is rather rude, princess?"

bot two: best friend's dad!leon likes you a little too much

Leon isn't sure when exactly his obsession developed. His daughter, Sherry, bought you home one day when she was off college - saying you were her dorm mate and new best friend. You were cute, sure, but he hadn't thought much of his initial attraction.

That was until you kept coming over. You were so sweet, this innocent aura surrounding you that was so rare to find in his life with his line of work. He tried to suppress the feeling, to bury it deep inside of him and ignore it like he did with everything else...

He couldn't help himself. His obsession felt like an itch, one he couldn't scratch without getting close to you. He started small, taking an item of clothing or two when you were staying over, something small you would think you'd misplaced. It escalated quickly to him watching you around his house, peeking through doors when you were changing.

It's getting to the point he recognises the way your perfume smells subconsciously, noticing the second you step into the kitchen with him without looking as his nose picks up your scent. He takes in a deep breath to calm himself before turning around, offering you a weak smile. "You couldn't sleep, sweetheart?"

bot three: ddlg with kidnapper!leon

“You have a good day, sweetheart? You do any coloring in those cute little books I got you?” Leon asks as he approaches you after work. His hands come up to your cheeks, gently stroking his thumbs back and forth across your cheekbones. You shake your head, gritting your teeth to stop yourself from saying something.

“No? Why not, baby? You don't like them? I got the one with lots of kitties. Pretty girls like you like cute things, don't they?” He coos, squishing your cheeks in his hands to make your lips all pouty so he can lean down and give them a little kiss, letting out a loud ‘mwah’ as soon as his lips make contact.

“You eat at least? I left some food in a lunchbox for you.” You shake your head again, and this time it seems to elicit a worse reaction. His brows furrow, and his hand grips your face even tighter. “No? Silly baby… can't do anything without daddy, can you? Come on. Daddy'll feed you, cutie.”

bot four: farmer!leon x chubby bunny!user

When Leon bought you, you were fully intended to be for his farm. You seemed sociable enough, so he had no worries about you getting on with the other bunny hybrids when he brought you back.

He hadn't expected that he'd be the issue. He found himself visiting you every day, drawn to your personality and pretty face. You were just so cute - all soft and round, your floppy ears always framing your face. It was always hard for him not to reach out and stroke them.

He really couldn't help himself. He hadn't had time to look for a partner with how much time he spends on the farm, and you seemed like you'd be the perfect little thing to cure his loneliness. So, one day when he's done with the work needed on the farm, he leads you into his home.

"C'mon, darlin'." He coos, his hand looped with yours as he leads you to the living room, a small smile on his face. He sits you down on the couch, rubbing behind one of your ears to soothe your nerves. "You're gonna be stayin' here with me, alright?"

bot five: leon's new therapy dog hybrid

Every mission weighs on Leon more than the last. He hasn't been the same since Raccon City, and every year seems to put more strain on him than the last.

He's getting older now. His line of work has never given him the opportunity to settle down and start a family - not that any girl would want a guy who drunk himself half to death so he could pass out every night and avoid the nightmares.

The last thing he expected his government given therapist to prescribe him with his government given paycheck was you. A cute, puppy hybrid to help him adapt to his retirement. An emotional support dog in a way. You seemed sweet, but he wasn't exactly sure how you were supposed to help him. At the very least, it was nice not to be alone all the time.

He sets up a little corner for you in the living room for now. He didn't have the energy to clear out the spare room, and he doubted you'd mind. He got you lots of toys, a comfy bed. Hopefully, everything you needed to be happy.

"Alright. C'mere, pup. This alright for ya?" He asks, gesturing you over towards him.

bot six: vendetta!leon with bimbo!user

Leon got used to knowing the bottom of the bottle more than what it was like to have friends or someone to come home to. His attempts at flirting tended to leave him either embarrassed or with a smack across the face, so he'd given up trying. Some people were cut out to be alone, and he was looking to be one of them.

When you approached him at the bar, you were seriously hot. There wasn't much going on upstairs, but he didn't exactly expect to keep you around for long enough to have a conversation, anyway. Just someone to keep his bed warm for the night, and he'd never see you again.

Fate has a funny way of doing things, because he became completely enamoured with you. He was the definition of whipped, his eyes practically heart shaped when he looks at you. He loved watching you get ready(although the man really never thought it was possible to own that many pink clothes) and he was quick to dish out money whenever you needed your acrylics or eyelash extensions done.

You were a pain sometimes, but he was happy you were his girlfriend. He wouldn't want anyone else to come home to after a tough mission or long day at work - even if you left your makeup scattered on his bathroom counter and took up most of the space in his wardrobe.

"Angel," he says with a sigh, moving to sit next to you on the sofa. His arm drapes itself loosely around your shoulders, his eyes scanning your face. He lets out a huff of air, dropping his head into the crook of your neck. "Baby... I'm so tired."

bot seven: mafia husband!leon wants a baby

Leon has never enjoyed lying to you, no matter how necessary it was. His heart aches, knowing he has to lie about where he is every day, to keep his life entirely secret from you. But he needs you to be safe, he doesn't want you to spend your days worrying about whether he'll make it home alive or not - he couldn't imagine putting you through that kind of stress.

He makes sure he knows you're safe at all times. Only the most trusted of his men are permitted to take care of you. He has them watching your every move, making sure they're as close to you as they can be without alerting you of their presence. He has enemies, and he would not like to think what would happen if they tried to get to him by harming you.

As always, before he returns home after a long day, he scrubs the blood from his skin. Changes his shirt to make sure there isn't a stain he hasn't seen yet. He can't bring you into his life, no matter what. You were too sweet, too pure for the world. He couldn't imagine how you'd look at him if you knew...

He sighs in relief once he sees the door to the home, his body relaxing as he pushes it open and notices nothing is out of place. You're safe. Something in Leon always changes when he sees your face. The hard lines of his face fade, his gaze softening as he walks through the door and sees you curled up on the couch in one of his shirts. You look so beautiful that he feels his heart swell. He can't help but imagine how beautiful you'd look as a mother, a thought that'd been playing constantly in mind recently.

He dips his head down as he reaches the back of the couch, pressing a kiss to the side of your neck as his large hands come to rest on your shoulders. "Ciao, mia cara. You look beautiful today."

bot eight: hybrid owner carlos

You'd only been living with Carlos for a few weeks and he was already entirely smitten with you. He'd already bought you more than a few collars in your favourite colour. You had your own room filled with more toys than you'd ever seen before in your life coupled with your own bed, but he still let you curl up with him every night.

It didn't matter what you wanted - it was yours. You didn't even need to ask. If your eyes so much as lingered on something for more than five seconds, he'd already bought you ten of them.

He's always so excited to come home to you. Honestly, he's probably more excited to see you than you are to see him. As he walks through the door to his apartment and spots you, a huge grin overtakes his face. He kneels down, opening his arms wide for a hug. "C'mere, pretty girl. Gimme some love."

#nyx bots #carlos oliveira x you #carlos oliveira x reader #leon s kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x you #character.ai #c.ai bot #character ai bot

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konigbabe · 8 months

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the great war

DAY 3 ⇢ Hate Sex Pairing: Satoru Gojo x fem!curse user!reader Word count: 4k Tags/warnings: no y/n; smut; hate sex; timejump (2007 → 2018); lovers to enemies vibes; angst; lots of self-loating; pronebone; p-in-v; angry (??) Gojo; unreliable narrator Summary: When the news of Suguru Geto's death reach your ears, the weapon in your grasp guides you to the place where the cause lies - to Satoru Gojo. [Part of NSFW Gojo Week 2023]. Divider is mine.

event masterlist • masterlist • navigation • faq • AO3 • ko-fi

His palm presses firmly between your shoulder blades, a commanding touch that demands submission, while his other hand clamps onto your hips, fingers digging into the curves of your flesh with just the right amount of pressure.

September 2007

Buddhists believe that life is filled with suffering and misery. That death, in the end, is not a singular event, but rather a fundamental contribution to the misery of human existence.

It was a doctrine you refused to believe in. Spending days by the side of fellow sorcerers, suffering and misery rarely crossed your mind. It wasn't that you were naive or ignorant – quite the contrary. As a sorcerer-in-training, you were acutely aware of the dangers and horrors that lurked in the shadows. Cursed spirits, malevolent curses, and the constant struggle to protect the oblivious, helpless civilians were all part of your reality.

However, you clung to an alternative belief – that while suffering is an inherent aspect of life, whether it leads to misery rests entirely within your control –

Among your companions, your unwavering optimism often stood out. While others carried the weight of their pasts and the darkness of their experiences, you chose to embrace hope and resilience. This outlook didn't make you blind to the reality of suffering; rather, it gave you the strength to confront it head-on. At least you had something to hold on to.

– How stupid of you.

With Satoru's chest pressed firmly against your back, you watch the night sky unfold its kaleidoscope of stars above you. It's not often that the night is quiet; when even the stars shine through the clouds of haze and graze you with their gentle glow.

Arms casually thrown over your shoulders, his sharp chin digs into the crown of your head as he looks up at the sky. Your face tucked into the crook of his elbow.

Suguru leans against the railing to your right. Uniform rumpled, hair a cascade of frowzled strands; your eyes shamelessly roam over his face – pale (more than usual, and even more visible against the obsidian backdrop of the night), eyes staring vacantly forward, a well of shadows pooling beneath.

His appearance resembles a spectral apparition. Haunting reflection of the turmoil that seems to have taken residence within him. Events from the past emerge into your mind – Tengen' merger, Amanai's death, Toji, Gojo's enlightenment and the last piece, Haibara's tragic end.

Satoru's hand reaches to gently cradle yours, fingertips tracing the contours of the simple, polished ring adorning your finger. A single aquamarine gemstone decorating the silver band, its shape resembling a tear. His touch so soft and tender that it feels almost imperceptible.

"Hey," Satoru's voice tears you from your thoughts. Suguru's eyes dart to yours, a brief contact before he looks at Satoru, "are you even listenin'?"

("So you never thought ‘bout it?" Suguru's head sinks heavily onto his arms, the once-pristine white shirt now marred by wear of time and crinkled as he sits against the classroom wall. Class ended almost an hour ago, with Satoru leaving by Shoko's side to grab lunch.

"I mean," you release a deliberate sigh, ankles crossed on top of your desk with arms folded over your chest, "it might be an option," rising one hand, you point a finger at him, "but it's evil. And unreachable. Like c'mon," you flick your wrist dismissively, "we're talking about a worldwide genocide."

"Not worldwide, just Japan."

A derisive chuckle escapes your lips, laden with incredulity, upon hearing his words. "Just Japan," you look at your classmate, close friend, "are you hearing yourself, Suguru?"

He gazes up at you, eyes heavy with weariness and emptied of their usual vibrancy. The burden of his thoughts etched onto his face.

"Suguru," your tone drops, voice becoming a mere whisper; the man before your eyes being close to a delicate thread on the verge of snapping, "are you holding up okay?"

"No.")

"Yeah, yeah," you murmur into his skin, returning his touch and caressing his wrist.

"As I was sayin'," your eyes return to Suguru momentarily before flicking to the horizon of darkness stretching above the school's grounds, "once we finally graduate and I become the head of my clan, we could use my estate as our home. Then we can make loads of babies. Pretty sure my father would be pleased if I had a son."

"It's not your estate," you correct Satoru.

"It's a Gojo estate. And I'm a Gojo. The one with Six eyes and the future leader," his fingers sneak under your chin, gripping the soft flesh of your neck to tilt your head to the side and up, gently straining your neck so that you're compelled to look at him. Eyes the same hue of a tranquil ocean under the moonlight.

"I'll put in the work," his tone turns into a whisper, a murmur that wraps around your body like a velvet night, shielding your conversation from intruding ears – including Suguru, who's standing barely an arm's reach away. The man who now feels like an outsider to the intimate exchange of his friends, "get you all full and happy. You won't leave the bedroom until you go into labor."

It's not his words that render you speechless. Immobile. Mouth slightly ajar. Nor the promise they carry, or the weight of the commitment. It's solely the look in his eyes. As if this man truly believes his words. That he sees this not as an equal partnership, but you as the vessel for his legacy, a mother to his progeny, a means to secure his lineage.

The jujutsu society has carved a mark deep within Satoru Gojo's psyche, even if it's been only a subconscious influence.

"Satoru,"a subtle frown creases your forehead, despite the way his words ignite a fire between your legs, make your pussy throb, "I'm not a breed–"

"Some people believe that the stars are the souls of the people who've passed on," Suguru's words cut through the exchange. Pulling your eyes towards his profile, seeing as he continues to watch the night sky, hands tucked away in his pockets. A gentle smile graces his face.

While you're thankful for his precisely timed intervention, Satoru sneaks a hand onto your abdomen, resting in inside your muff pocket with palm squeezing the soft flesh over the clothes. He releases a theatrical breath, capturing the attention of both of you.

"Way to ruin the mood, Suguru," he adds after a while.

"I think there might be some truth to that," you offer a small, appreciative smile.

In the days that follow your conversation, a dark cloud of dread casts its shadow over your every moment, only fueled by the devastating news of Suguru's most recent mission. After that, each moment's laden with a sense of impending unease. As if the future has already been foretold – only a matter of time before the summons arrives, the call to a meeting that you can already taste like the metallic tang of apprehension on your tongue.

Stepping into the room, it's not just the mission that settles heavily upon your shoulders; it's the weight of an unspoken truth that hangs in the air, casting a pall over the proceedings. Staring upon the silver band encircling your finger, cutting off the flow of blood, it's the revelation that has changed everything for you.

The task assigned to you appeared simple, straightforward, presented with a cold and calculated logic: Kill Suguru Geto and return within fourteen days.

(Reality has a way of deviating from the plans made.

It is why you never came back.)

Early 2018

The ghost of Suguru Geto hovers over you like a specter in the periphery of your thoughts. Especially when you stand in front of the man you've avoided for almost a decade.

There's no solid reason for you to be here. In Satoru Gojo's overly expansive, unnecessarily spacious penthouse. His ignorance to wealth and what's necessary versus what's superfluous still glaringly obvious. Especially with his current job; one that back in the day, back when you were all still students, wouldn't even cross his mind.

You weren't entirely certain if he'd be here today. Tonight. Tracking his movements, they'd always end within the barrier of Tokyo's Jujutsu Tech. A barrier that, if crossed, would result in your immediate arrest and subsequent execution. And despite your occasional recklessness, you had no death wish to speak of.

"That's why you're here?" Gojo's glasses now replaced by a black blindfold, folded around his neck. His eyes, shining even in the dim lighting, twinkle with raging stars when they shift to the weapon in your hand, sensing its foreign cursed energy that overwhelms even your own, "to kill me?"

A sardonic snicker escapes you, your laughter bordering mockery as you respond, "Come on, Gojo. Don't get foolish now. I can't kill you."

With a touch of exasperation, you add, "No one can."

"Then why're you here," he demands, his presence commanding the room. Uniform jacket already cast aside, the white button-up shirt partially undone, showing the contours of his clavicles. Time and age have done the sorcerer good; with gained knowledge, he also gained the physicality of experience. Something that creates longing – desire for the past that surges through you. A tidal wave of yearning. A wish that you stayed; that you were there, by his side, witnessing his transformation.

(Could it be the grip of regret? The sting of rue? Perhaps. But the past already happened, ensnared within the grasp on time's flow; its passing moments already etched into the annals of history. Dwelling on it now serves no purpose but to churn the tempestuous sea of emotions.

The sea whose waves are starting to crash against the rocky shores of the present.)

"You disappeared years ago. Without a word. Not even a goddamn ‘Goodbye'."

You watch his cold, distant façade crumble, anger seeping through the cracks as he waves one hand, advancing with measured steps, "I looked for you. Scoured every inch of Japan. For you. Where in the world were you?"

Gojo's eyes blaze with molten determination; boring into your soul, seeking answers you're hesitant, almost reluctant, to provide. Doubt lingers in the air like a heavy, suffocating fog, clouding the once familiar connection between you two.

A connection that you severed with a violent, rapid stroke, leaving nothing but shattered remnants in its wake.

"You had no right to do that," he seethes, words dripping with indignation.

"You are the one to talk," you return his anger, the relentless tide crashing against unyielding cliffs, "you killed him. You killed Suguru, Gojo."

His face contorts with fury, a wildfire raging behind his eyes. The air crackles with tension as your words cut deep, reopening wounds that had never truly healed.

It's then that the distance between you two narrows until he's almost within reach; enough for your fist to connect with him. Fully aware that it would never actually reach him. His flesh. That you won't feel the warmth of his skin. With the jutte sword's blade facing you, fist tightening around the leather handle, you hit and hit a void.

"You killed my friend," your voice trembles with a mixture of sorrow and rage, teeth sinking into your lower lip. The side of your fist repeatedly collides with empty air – it's a cruel dance, truly – a void that fills the space between Gojo and you, a chasm that feels as vast as the abyss, "my friend. Suguru. You killed him–took him away."

Your eyes lock onto his, a desperate search for answers, while Gojo remains a silent and immovable figure. Face resembling carved marble – all solid, perfect yet devoid of any emotion. Letting you spill your anger onto him. You observe as the brilliance in his eyes wanes, those once-vivid blue hues, reminiscent of a precious topaz, gradually losing their luster, darkening, and becoming more reflective of a human's ordinary iris.

Your fist meets the muscle of his chest.

"I hate you," one, two times your fist hits, "I hate you so much, Gojo."

Then his fingers slither around your wrist, twisting it painfully until the loud clank against the floor indicates that your weapon has slipped from your grasp.

"I know," his voice remains monotonous; a mere echo.

He advances, closing the distance between you, his presence a relentless force pressing against you. Eyes a tempest of longing; a tangible aura of desperation that shouldn't flicker across his stoic countenance. All you want to do is stab the look out of his eyes. Gauge it out with your fingers. Stealing away what he so callously takes for granted –

Maybe then he will stop being blind to his surroundings.

– just as he robbed you of your childhood friend. Someone you considered a brother.

"I hate myself too." It's all he mumbles, his voice a barely audible confession, before his lips crash into yours. A tumultuous collision. His hands are everywhere, grasping your shoulders, trailing down your arms, and gripping your hips with an urgency that borders on desperation. Pushing and pulling; body pressed against yours.

Gojo's tongue sweeps over your teeth, the wet tip coaxing yours, drawing forth moan after moan from you, hungrily swallowing every sound you release, trying to quench an insatiable thirst that only your moans can satisfy.

The kiss ravenous, consuming – it makes you unable to resist the magnetic pull of his ardor.

When your name slips between his lips, the reality crashes onto you. Pulling away, you look into his blazing eyes. Lips bruised and swollen, shirt somehow unbuttoned. Showing the contours and hard edges of his chest and abdomen. The scar across his whole upper body, though healed, remains visible. Body sculpted into perfection by years of determined training.

Your hand reaches forward. Fingertips tingling with the longing to make contact, to savor the tactile sensation. And Gojo stands still, a hand resting on your hip, molding your form against the sturdy frame of the couch. Your thighs caught between his, pressed against the velvety embrace of the dark brown upholstery.

Both of your disheveled hairdos mirror the chaos, intensity of the moment, framing your faces with unruly tendrils. Eyes fixated upon his body, hesitating to meet his eyes. Your arm extends more. An outstretched limb seeking connection.

His scrutinizing eyes trace the landscape of your face – witnessing as time stripped away the youthful, once-cheerful smile that had once adorned your lips. Now swollen, hardened lines with two delicate, faint marks traversing your upper lip – a scar. Curiosity gnaws on him, wondering of its origin. If whatever caused it might've been circumvented if you'd stayed.

If you had stayed.

(Maybe if he searched more thoroughly. Fought with greater determination…)

Your hand jerks back. Recoils as if touched by scorching heat. Gaze turning into a torrential downpour as it locks onto his, a deepening frown carving lines across your brow.

"No," he swears he hears you mutter to yourself, lips finding refuge at the juncture of his clavicles. Hands slipping beneath the satin shirt, clenching the taut muscle of his shoulders. One leg draped across his hip, you grind against his thigh without reservation, embracing the sensation of friction against your clothed core, the fabric beginning to absorb your burgeoning desire.

"What–"

"Just fuck me," you nibble at the skin, voice thick with passion, teeth sinking into the flesh and pulling, causing the man to hiss, "fuck me, Gojo."

He grips your jaw. A touch both benevolent and directing. Pulls you off his neck, compelling you to confront the storm of his eyes. Vortex of unspoken emotions. A cyclone of pure desire and passing hesitation. His thumb and index finger press into the soft flesh of your cheekbones, compressing the pliant contours until your lips pucker and part.

"I hate you," you manage to utter, the words emerging as a strained whisper through clenched teeth.

In the ensuing moment, Gojo acknowledges your declaration with a solemn nod, a silent recognition.

"Good," he then pivots you in one fluid motion. Hands finding purchase on the couch's armrests. Gone is the restraint he's maintained until now. He doesn't hold back. Not anymore, not when you made it abundantly clear how you feel; what you want.

Fingers seeking the buttons on your pants, swiftly unzipping the zipper and tugging both your pants and undergarments down your thighs. Until they lock your knees together. His fingers graze your folds and you feel him hiss under his nose. Fingertip tracing your opening, feeling the slippery wetness, Gojo doesn't hesitate to push one finger in.

And your body eagerly sucks him in. Allows him to thrust his finger in and out repeatedly, making your fingers dig into the cushion, lips parted and shamelessly moaning with hips bucking back, meeting his thrusts. Until he adds another finger, scissors them inside and opens you up.

"Fuck," you hear him breathe out, his hand sneaking from your shoulder blades to your hip, venturing beneath your shirt to caress the exposed skin, "you always sound so pretty. Feel so good."

"Shut up," you scoff at his words, voice laced with disdain, "just–ugh," his fingers curl inside, massaging your walls in harmony with the hand on your hip, tracing tantalizing circles, "ah–just don't–don't talk," and you arch your hips backward, prompting his fingers to delve deeper. Palm completely covering your soaked cunt.

"Don't care," you add when he continues the rhythm. In and out, stretching the limits of your resilience, scissoring to accommodate something far more substantial.

"As you wish," he withdraws. Fingers glistening with your juices. And you can feel the dewy slickness spreading as he toys with your pulsating clit, circling the throbbing bud, causing you to clench around empty air. Every nerve ending in your body awakens, dormant embers being stoked; heat blooming inside.

Then he presses himself against you, hands grasping your shoulder to pull you onto his body as he hovers over you. The close proximity allowing you to feel the hard length of him, thick and pushy, begging for entry.

"Stop teasing," you practically growl at him, an annoyed command laden with unrestrained desire.

"Fine," Gojo lets out a husky huff in response to your impatient plea. Pushing your upper body down, nearly bending you over the plush cushion until your forehead meets the silky surface of his furniture. You can hear the unmistakable sound of him unzipping his own pants, the slide of the zipper seemingly never-ending as your pussy leaks onto your thighs, mind of its own; tugs them down just enough for him to fish out his cock. All hard and swollen, the engorged tip glistening with the telltale evidence of his arousal.

One hand palms your pussy, collecting your juices to spread over his cock. Lube it enough for him to slip inside your awaiting walls easily. Yet he hovers over your entrance, tip kissing the opening before running between your folds. Gojo lets out a sigh upon the long-lost feeling of your wet pussy.

It's been too long.

He wants to savor it. Savor the moment your drenched pussy opens up just for him. Swallows him whole and lock him in, never letting him go.

"Gojo," you push back, hoping that maybe it will cause him to slip in – it doesn't. Instead, the tip of his cock probs at your clit, "fuck me."

"You never shut up, heh," his hand secures the back of your neck, the other guiding his cock to your entrance, feeling you open up around the mushroom head, letting a satisfied moan out upon the feeling.

Gojo doesn't bother. At least he shouldn't, right? It's not like he's your lover. You aren't his paramour no more.

But he does take his time. Every inch a struggle, every second a torture. Until finally you feel yourself split open, the tightest of knots unraveling, and then he's thrusting deep, pushing into you with force. Your body welcomes him, contouring to his shape, embracing him fully. His breath comes out in a rush and you're soon meeting him thrust-for-thrust, hips pushing back.

Blood rushes to your head; bend at an unconventional enough angle that allows him to hit the deepest spots inside you. He pulls back then, his cock easily sliding out of your embrace until only the tip remains inside the cocoon of your warmth. Stretching your inner walls in a way that makes you feel dizzy, mind foggy. Fucked stupid.

Your moans are muffled by the couch cushion, but Gojo pays no attention; his focus solely on chasing his own high, eyes closed to draw your presence out. His thrusts become more powerful and insistent as each one hits its mark with precision.

Your name refuses to leave his lips.

Yet his name sounds like a sacred incantation spilling from your throat.

It makes him push. Hips slamming into yours with enough force to actually send you over the couch's edge; causing you to stumble.

"What the f–"

"Lie down," he commands. Stone-cold and demanding. Your body moves on its own accord as you do what you're told, lying flat on your stomach as his hand guides your body up his couch. Face sinking into the decorative pillows, he lies his weight on top of you without shame. Elbow resting next to your head, fingers tangled in your hair – pushing your face into the pillows.

Slamming his cock back inside, a surprised shriek leaves your lips. His legs on either side of your thighs, one arm holding his upper body slightly off you, the other gripping your hip, fingers biting crescent moons into your flesh.

His breath's hot against your neck, coming out in quick gasps and grunts, the growl in his throat driving you wild and you're not sure how much longer you can take it before you beg for it –

"Fuuck–so tight–ngh–"

His hand is everywhere while yours remain tucked underneath the pillows; nails tracing their way around sensitive skin and curves like a map of pleasure points.

– so you bite your lip. Face flushed against the couch's cushions. Feeling yourself cresting towards the edge. He hitches a breath as your moan’s muffled beneath the pillows, his own rhythm faltering before he plunges deeper.

"M’gettin’ close–"

You can feel the heat radiating from him, sweat dripping down your neck as he takes you higher, presses his forehead against your nape. Heat rises to your face as you feel yourself dripping. Acutely aware of yourself, the slick, shameful squelches that resonate each time Gojo plunges deep inside. Buries himself to the hilt. Pelvis melting with the curve of your ass. Smacks his balls against your thighs.

The air feels thick and stifling as you feel Gojo everywhere. Your entire being consumed by the feverish desire coursing through your veins.

His thrusts become more intense, almost frenzied as he searches for something only he knows and finds it in your body. You're so close now, the pleasure so sweet that it's almost overwhelming.

You swear it feels like an eternity before finally your orgasm rushes over you like an unstoppable tide; overwhelming every single one of your senses as he continues to thrust deep within you. Your entire body quaking beneath him, pulled even closer into him by some invisible force.

Gojo finally lets go with a loud groan and collapses onto your back; leaving him panting heavily against your neck while his cock remains firmly embedded inside of you for a few moments more, painting your walls in translucent white before slowly slipping out with a wet sound akin to pure satisfaction.

You lay there unmoving for some time; eyes closed and lips pressed tight together as if to contain all the pleasure of this moment forevermore in one single solitary heartbeat – before reality comes crashing back in around you both in an instant, making Gojo pull away.

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xoxodiluc · 4 months

Text

beautiful | leon kennedy ( resident evil 2 remake ) x female! reader

genre nsfw, drabble

cw soft dom! reader, oral ( male receiving ), praising, riding / 17+ only please, not proofread

notes idk while i was writing this i thought abt re2r leon

leon was usually the one in charge in the sheets, but today, you just felt like being the dominant for the night.

you sat on his lap, leaving love bites all over his neck. his breath hitched when your hand trailed down to his cock. you wrapped it around your palm and pumped it ever so slowly, making him whimper. "y-y/n... ah..."

you smiled at his expression, "do you want me to suck it, love?" leon shyly looked away. and he looked so cute. "come on baby, use your words."

"please, y/n... please suck my cock." he breathed out and you flashed a satisfied smile, standing up and settling between his legs.

he softly gasped when you licked the tip, "such a good boy for me..." you said then you slowly took his length in, making him groan lowly.

"y/n, f-fuck..." you hollowed your cheeks as you sucked him off. his pretty moans made your pussy wet, so you rubbed your thighs together to create friction.

you looked up at him through your lashes. as your tongue swirled around his tip, you see his face flushed, eyes closed and mouth opened in satisfaction.

when his legs started to shake, you pulled away from his cock and panted, hearing him whining slightly from the loss of pleasure. you stood up and sank yourself onto his cock and he groaned from the sudden movement. "f-fuck!"

once you sank yourself onto him further, you started grinding on his cock. "g-god, leon.." his hands flew to your hips to guide you as he bit his bottom lip. you caressed his cheek and whispered, "you're so beautiful."

he hid his face into your neck, blushing. "that's all you..."

"no, you." you ran your hand through his hair, "so pretty."

he pulled away from your neck and smiled shyly, kissing your cheek. "thank you, y/n..."

you always asked yourself how did you get so lucky to have someone as beautiful as him.

#♡.heather’s writings #♡.smut #leon s kennedy #leon scott kennedy #leon kennedy #leon kennedy smut #leon kennedy x reader #re2 #resident evil smut #resident evil #resident evil x reader #re2 leon #resident evil leon #leon smut #resident evil 2 remake #resident evil 2

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niki-phoria · 1 month

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i love ur resident evil masterlist.... stayed up all night reading those and giggling like a maniac... ANYWAYS could u like write nanami kento (jjk) x reader that has social anxiety (me ermm..) i just want ur persepctive on how u view it CAN BE TOOTH ROTTING FLUFF RGGRGR but ofc!! u can take ur time writing this i'll probably forget abt this but oh well!!!!

WHEN I'M FALLING DOWN, DOWN, DOWN / YOU ALWAYS SAVE ME

pairing: nanami kento x gn!reader (no pronouns used) genre: fluff/comfort word count: 677

notes: tysm it means the world to me !! technically i don't write for nanami but i had an idea for this :) mostly based on my own experiences with social anxiety lol, title from nct dream - breathing

the night air smells of barbeque smoke and beer. laughter from young children and drunken words passed between adults surround you until you can barely hear yourself think over the chatter. the light pink and orange streaks in the sky came and went with the sunset, being replaced instead by the flickering led light shining from the various rides and attractions filling the fairgrounds.

any game and ride you could think of surrounds you. there are street vendors lining the streets selling all sorts of drinks and snacks. nanami has remained steadfast against your side, casually pushing others away from you when they threaten to intrude a bit too close for comfort. but all you can focus on is the people.

they surround you. wherever your eyes turn, there’s always another stranger. another pair of eyes on you.

your heart pounds wildly in your chest. your hands are clammy when you wipe them against your clothing. they tremble a little when you curl them into fists, doing your best to brave the sea of people ahead. after all, of all the terrible things that exist in the world, some strangers enjoying their night off shouldn’t be the thing that paralyzes you with fear.

“y/n,” nanami’s voice is soft - comforting - when he leans in. it’s a nice contrast to the loudness of the world around you. dark eyes meet your own when you glance over at him. anyone else would’ve missed the soft curve pulling his lips into a frown. the way his eyebrows are furrowed slightly, studying each minute detail of your expression for any signs of discomfort.

but you’re not anyone else. you can read nanami’s thoughts like they’re your own. you can feel his concern when he leans in a little closer to whisper in your ear. “are you feeling alright?”

you bite down on your bottom lip, taking another cursory glance at the crowd surrounding you. another person carelessly brushing past you is all it takes before you make up your mind. your hand is shaky when you curl your fingers around the hem, tugging his arm a little closer to you. he takes the initiative, ignoring the people shoving past him to step a little closer towards you. “can we go somewhere quieter?”

“of course.” nanami’s hand finds your own without you realizing; his fingers link with yours as you slip through the crowded street. you keep your eyes trained on the ground below, studying the scuff marks decorating your shoes instead of the faces of the strangers that surround you.

the fairgrounds feel more like a maze as nanami carefully guides you towards the exit, pushing through the worst of the crowd until you reach a more quiet area in the corner. the thin metal barrier sways in the wind as you slip out through the opening until you’re finally able to take shelter on a little metal bench away from the crowd.

“how are you feeling?”

you sigh, finally relaxing against the cold metal. if nothing else, it serves as a nice reminder that you’re temporarily safe from your own anxieties. “i’m fine. i just got a little overwhelmed.”

he hums in response. his eyes drift away from your face to the goosebumps that line your bare skin. without another word, nanami slips his tan blazer off, carefully draping it across your shoulders. you smile softly, wrapping it further around yourself as he sits down beside you.

you sit together in a comfortable silence, silently observing the way the led lights illuminate the night sky above. nanami’s hands feel warm when he intertwines your fingers together. you softly smile, pressing a chaste kiss against his cheek before leaning over to rest your head against his shoulder. in the distance, you can see the flashing lights of the ferris wheel lighting up the night sky. “thank you, kento.”

nanami smiles. under the cover of darkness, nobody witnesses when his lips brush against the crown of your forehead for a brief moment before he murmurs, “i love you,” except for the stars.

taglist (open! send an ask/dm to be added): @sunoooism @vamxpi @sad-darksoul

if you liked this fic, please consider leaving a like, comment, feedback, or rebloging !! and if you want to support me, check out my jjk masterlist <33

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ruby-the-kaiju · 1 year

Text

Having pea brain thoughts here but I propose the idea and hear me out…

Throat pouch

Will having the ability to safely keep Sherry and Annette safe HEHEHEHEHEHE SORRY

I am NORMAL I promise

#safe vore #soft vore #g/t vore #v.ore #sfw vore #v0re #protective vore #vore thoughts #extreme cuddling #protection vore #vore tw #resident evil

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enigmatist17 · 3 months

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When Gale of Waterdeep returns to his home, he's arrived with a pale companion with red eyes.

Red eyes that study, taking in a city he's never seen while daring wandering eyes to look at the wizard. Most people are happy to see their wayward wizard has returned home, eager for tales of his adventure and defeat of a great evil. Gale is only too happy to do as such, a tavern that seemed to hold far too many people than it should have been able to filling when news of his return spreads through town. There are questioning eyes for the man who all but sits on Gale's lap, long nails drawing mindless shapes along Gale's neck as he starts from the beginning, his wine glass ever so slowly draining until Gale stops for the evening. Gale, not usually one to follow the whims of another, stops his tale right before their battle with Ketheric Thorm (much to the taverns dismay), bidding a good night before trailing after the pale man and into the night.

It doesn't take long for Waterdeep's residents to see the pale man for what he is, watching the figure prowl the (admittedly slightly safer) streets of Waterdeep at night. He's clearly learning what the city has to offer, all glittering smiles and firm rejections when he's invited into homes, those red eyes sometimes the only glimpse one would catch down a dark alleyway. Sometimes, Gale is with him, the two sitting in a park chatting away into the night, a campfire appearing from nowhere to further remind them of their fellow companions. The pale man looked softer in that light, gaze soft as he listened to Gale ramble on about something, or laugh at an unexpected joke.

His name is Astarion, the information circled around the townsfolk who are more eager for the gossip than they're letting on. Astarion turns out to be much the gossiper himself, the older ladies of Waterdeep willing to get up a little earlier to catch up with the pale man before he has to vanish to the rising sun, Gale often teases Astarion when he learns of his new pastime.

It's not long before news spreads of the man beyond Waterdeep, and those who knew little of Baldur's Gate figured Astarion was something to hunt. Gale is aghast at the idea of hunters coming to his city to go after the vampire, but Astarion merely giggles and silences the angered stutters with a deep kiss. It's a challenge, something that gets his (figurative) blood racing, poor hunters who thought they knew better vanishing with a cut-off scream if they were lucky. Others were left to run for their lives, the vampire chasing and tormenting the poor fellows until daylight bathed the city, wondering if the chase would resume the next night.

Usually not, but Astarion wasn't complaining.

Gale would just insist on no bloodstained clothes littering the floor after said nights.

The college Gale begins to teach at is more than happy to accommodate the man, Astarion hiding up in the rafters and listening to Gale terrify his students due to reputation or coursework in amusement. In turn, Gale uses him as the occasional "volunteer", students trying not to laugh if the pale man seemingly appearing from nowhere would float in the air at times, ruby eyes all but shooting daggers as Gale lectures without a care in the world.

No one can remember the depressed Gale from what felt like so long ago, a man so desperate to please a goddess that had held him from childhood. He had been changed into someone who smiled with genuine happiness, leaning into the lithe arms that were always draped around Gale, as if claiming the man for his own from wandering eyes. Reddened eyes always behind his shoulder became an accepted part of Gale's life now, taking on a subtle shine whenever Gale laughs at something Astarion says, and sometimes people wonder if they were ever apart.

No, no particularly.

#baldur's gate #baldur's gate 3 #bloodweave #astarion ancunin #gale dekarios #gale of waterdeep #bg3 astarion #bg3 gale #I had a plan and then I ended up rambling

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putting-it-into-parc · 1 month

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pastry's girl (papaya problems - part 2)

masterlist

continuation of papaya problems (part 1).

Lando x reader, Oscar x reader (4.3k words)

summary: dating lando is not the worst thing that’s ever happened to you. until it is. oscar’s there to pick up the pieces.

warnings: cheating (not by reader), just the teensiest bit of smut (lol finally did it, nothing too explicit), angst, mild violence, colorful language, evil lando (i promise i love him irl)

pastry’s girl

There is, mercifully, a two-week break between Monaco and Canada. Several times, George invited the entire gaming squad over to his place (probably to show off how nice it was—and sometimes his cooking skills, which Oscar had to admit lived up to the hype). One night, they played a heated round of Call of Duty which resulted in a drunken Alex locking Lando inside of a massive pantry…and Lando drinking a fifty-year-old bottle of Cabernet in the wine cooler within. George had kicked Lando out for the night, rolling his eyes as he called his driver and asked him to please remove this miscreant from my residence. The rest of them fell asleep in various empty rooms around his massive house.

Oscar rubbed his eyes the next morning as he made his way to the kitchen, following the scent of pancakes that George was undoubtedly conjuring up.

“Well, don’t you look pretty today,” he heard George say.

“Thanks!” she chirped.

Oscar stopped dead in his tracks.

Wow. Her hair had been freed from its normal messy bun; soft, shiny waves cascaded down her back. She was wearing—not a dress, exactly, but a dusty blue top with scalloped sleeves and a neckline that plunged so deeply he felt a little like hyperventilating, flowing seamlessly into shorts that had the same lacy hem.

Oscar decided in that moment that dusty blue was his favorite color.

She turned to face him, and he saw her eyes, fringed with coal black lashes, widen. Her pink, glossy lips parted in a smile. As devastating as ever.

Oscar swallowed hard. “You look—” he forbade himself from glancing at her long, tanned legs, or that illegal neckline, “—really nice. What’s the occasion?”

“I have a date later,” she announced proudly.

“Oh,” he squeaked.

George’s eyes burned a hole in the back of Oscar’s neck.

“Lucky bloke,” Alex jumped in, casually raising a mug to his lips.

“More like,” George said, “who’s the lucky bloke?”

She blushed. Oscar stared at the ground. “Lando.”

Alex choked, spraying coffee everywhere. “Lando? Like, our Lando? McLaren Lando?” he spluttered.

“What are you gonna say next, McLaren Racing, thirteen-time podium holder, British Formula One driver Lando Norris?” George mocked, making all of them laugh.

“That is so weird,” Alex complained. Then he noticed the hurt look on her face. “Sorry, I didn’t mean it like that,” he quickly backpedaled. “Just more that Lando would never just ask someone out. He’s more of the type to just drunkenly hit on a girl in a bar, you know?”

“It’s okay,” she said with a shrug. “You’re right, he doesn’t seem like the most…romantic type.”

“Well,” George said, “I say good for you. You’re killing it.” He flipped the last of the pancakes on top of a neat stack, slid the plate smoothly towards Oscar, and patted her on the head as he left the kitchen. Alex trotted after him, the filthy traitor, leaving Oscar alone with her.

Last season, Oscar had been engaged in a rather physical match of football against Logan, Alex, and Lando, when Logan had kicked the ball way too aggressively, and it had shot out and hit Oscar right below his ribcage. Naturally, it had knocked the wind out of him, and a few of his ribs were bruised for ages.

He felt a lot like that right now.

Her eyes roamed his face. “You okay?” she asked uncertainly.

No. I’m really not okay. Even though I knew this was coming.

“Yeah,” he said, forcing a smile. “I’m excited for you.”

She twirled a piece of hair around her pointer finger. Anxiously, Oscar thought. He watched her thin gold ring with a tiny jeweled flower set into it, flashing as she spun her finger around and around. “You know what Alex said?” she asked, frowning a little. “Do…do you think it’s true?”

Oscar sighed. Part of him wanted to tell her, Yes, it’s true. That’s just how Lando Norris operates. He doesn’t know how to commit, he’s always just looking for a good time, and he could think you’re hot even if you have absolutely nothing in common. But he knew he’d be a pretty shitty person if he said that, a terrible friend to the only person he truly had in McLaren—his own teammate. And as much as he hated to admit it, part of it would be out of selfishness.

So he tried to keep his face as impassive as possible as he responded, “What I can tell you is that Lando does really like you. And he knows you better than any girl he’d just meet in a bar.” He took a deep breath. “And if he means it in the slightest, he better treat you like it.”

She smiled, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Thanks, Oscar.”

You had suggested to Lando something chill, something low-key, for your first date, but he would have none of it. He takes you to dinner, a fancy French bistro where you definitely used the wrong fork at least a few times. He compliments your outfit, tells you that you look gorgeous and sexy and how-could-he-be-so-lucky. Then he takes you in his Spider—it’s custom, he says with a grin—to Jimmy’z, a luxurious nightclub illuminated by neon circles in the ceiling, moving strobes encircling a massive disco ball smack in the center. He brings you whatever drink you ask for, twirls you around on the dance floor, even whispers to the DJ to request your favorite song. He doesn’t get drunk, not in the way you were scared he might.

At the end of the night, he kisses you, tasting faintly of Jack Daniels, and you think his lips feel a little sloppy, but nice. You watch him drive away in the Spider, wondering if Oscar ever did finish watching Killing Eve, wrapped up in his blanket like a burrito.

Juggling being both a pit crew member and a driver’s girlfriend is...interesting, to say the least. You beg Lando to keep it quiet, at least for a little, and he agrees reluctantly. Alex and George are a tougher sell, requiring several thinly veiled threats and a few pointed glares during close calls. You know inside, for some reason, that Oscar would never gossip about you two.

Lando does tell Andrea, the team principal, who you know absolutely dotes on Lando like a son. Like the golden boy of McLaren that he is. Andrea looks surprised when he meets you, tells you he’s glad Lando finally has what appears to be a “smart, levelheaded girlfriend.”

Lando takes you to more fancy dinners, more bars, clubs where he occasionally DJs. Once, he takes you golfing, laughs at how inept your swing is, guides your arms with his. You ask Lando if he’s seen Killing Eve; he’s never heard of it. He’s not the biggest TV guy, prefers to spend his time streaming on his Twitch. The dates are fun, you suppose, but some nights end in you quite literally dragging yourself into bed, totally spent after an entire evening trying to match Lando’s energy. You know Lando’s face wears a look of disappointment on those nights.

You still game with Alex, George, Lando, and Oscar, and things are…well, mostly normal. Alex and George bicker like they always used to; if anything, they gleefully snatch any opportunity to poke fun at the two of you, liberally making kissy faces and rude noises. You don’t mind that. Lando is touchy as hell, perpetually leaning against you or putting his head in your lap or kissing you on the cheek. You don’t mind that too much, either.

But Oscar is different. Oscar is not normal. He stops laughing at Lando’s jokes, stops laughing at George and Alex taunting you two. And eventually, something you dreaded the most: Oscar stops coming to game altogether.

On the third night in a row without any sign of him, you wait until Lando makes a mad dash for the bathroom before confronting George and Alex about Oscar’s absence.

Alex looks uncharacteristically grim. “I mean, what did you expect?” he asks. “He doesn’t want to see you two making eyes at each other over Rocket League.”

“He's not blaming you,” George cuts in quickly.

“I blame Lando Norris,” mutters Alex under his breath.

“Tell him to come back,” you plead. “If we’re being annoying and couple-y, we can—we will—stop.”

Alex smirks. “Tell that to Norris. You’re not the one being annoying and couple-y.”

“Listen,” George says, suddenly serious. “I know we were giving you a hard time about Oscar earlier this season, and to be totally fair, he’s not exactly the most forthcoming guy about his feelings. But it felt pretty obvious to us that he was into you, and Norris just snatched you up out of nowhere.”

Alex nods in agreement. “Oscar never talks about girls. Or at least never talked about them, until you came around. Norris on the other hand…I mean, by now I’m sure you know his reputation. So can you really blame us for feeling bad for the guy?”

Your heart sinks. It can’t be. You open your mouth to protest, but Lando comes barging back into the room right then, and plants a big kiss on your forehead as Alex makes gagging noises in the background.

There was no winning. Not for Oscar. He could sit there and watch Lando manhandle her on a weekly basis, or he could spend Tuesday nights wondering about what stupid joke of Alex’s she was laughing at, what new show she was raving about that Oscar would promptly Google (and sometimes binge) over the following race weekend. To the great credit of George and Alex, they still made the time to game with him, separate from the happy couple.

So when he crashed out at Silverstone on Lap 45, having taken a hit to his rear left from Esteban, even he was surprised at the string of swearwords that he spit into the team radio. (He was pretty sure that fucking-10-second-penalty-for-fucking-Ocon was among them.) The silence from his engineers told him that they were just as shocked by the normally mild-mannered driver. Oscar instantly regretted it; angry radios were a one-way ticket to Memeville. He didn’t know how Yuki and Max cursed with such abandon.

Lando finished P3, narrowly snatching a podium over a soulless Charles Leclerc, whose team robbed him of a crucial pit stop. Oscar watched him shake Lando’s hand, eyes devoid of any emotion, and privately felt a bitter kinship with the tortured Monégasque.

She had sprinted over to his car as soon as he had driven it into the pit lane, fretted over whether he was okay. Helped him out of the car. As the drivers milled around the paddock after the race, she slipped a bar of Cadbury Dairy Milk—his favorite—into his hand, and asked him to tell Lando that she had a bad headache and that she’d try to get to the hotel. Oscar nodded silently, handing her the keys to his driver’s room so she could at least take a nap in the meantime, watched her eyes light up in gratitude.

He begrudgingly relayed the information to Lando, who didn’t seem to register a word of what Oscar said as he raised his trophy victoriously, greeting his adoring British fans.

“Did you hear me?” Oscar growled. “She’ll be in my driver’s room. I told her you’d come see her as soon as you could.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Lando waved him away.

George and Alex walked over after the race and clapped Oscar on the back in sympathy; they’d both had their fair share of crashes on Silverstone. Sensing that Oscar was in no mood to celebrate, the three of them decided just to go get dinner post-race instead. They followed George down to the Mercedes motorhome to grab a set of keys when, almost simultaneously, the three of them all noticed a flash of papaya among the black-and-teal-clad Mercedes crew.

Oscar froze. The papaya was Lando. And he was pressing up against some Mercedes girl, her smiling, him caressing her teal collar. Oscar knew George and Alex were both gaping next to him. He turned away in disgust as Lando leaned down to press his lips onto the girl’s.

So he had been listening, after all.

“Oscar, wait,” Alex’s voice floated behind him as he stalked out of the Mercedes motorhome and towards his own.

“I’m not going to dinner,” he snapped.

“I know, mate,” said Alex sympathetically. “This whole thing is such shit, and Norris is a little bastard.”

George caught up. “Someone’s got to tell her, don’t you think?”

A wave of nausea hit Oscar. He could already picture the look on her face, see the disbelief and betrayal and heartbreak.

“Let me do it,” Alex said gently. “If she wants to shoot the messenger, way better me than you.”

Oscar swallowed. “She’s in my driver’s room,” he told Alex. “She probably will want to go back to the hotel, though, if you don’t mind—”

“Yeah, mate,” said Alex definitively. “I’ll take her where she wants to go. And I’ll let you know what happens.”

“Thanks, man.” He closed his eyes, rubbed his throbbing temples. He felt Alex touch his shoulder briefly, then disappear. When he finally opened his eyes again, George was looking at him, face lined with concern.

“We should go on a walk,” he said quietly, and stood up.

Oscar numbly followed his lead.

“Or not,” George muttered, as Lando and his entourage of McLaren staff—including Andrea—sauntered into the motorhome.

Lando’s face wore a look of gleeful triumph as he made his way towards the two of them. But Oscar saw a flicker of something else—smugness. I always win, it seemed to say. And better yet—I can get away with anything.

And it was that tiny, tiny flicker that compelled Oscar to step forward, raise his right arm, and smoothly drive his fist straight into Lando’s nose in one fluid motion.

The entire room went silent.

“What the FUCK, man?!” Lando screeched. He covered his nose with his hands. Blood seeped out from between this fingers.

“You had no right,” Oscar snarled viciously.

“I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about,” Lando hissed back.

“We saw you kiss her, you piece of shit. In broad fucking daylight. In the fucking Mercedes motorhome, of all places.”

Oscar expected Lando’s face to crumple, whether in genuine or feigned shame, but not to glare defiantly back.

“Yeah, that’s rich, coming from you,” Lando snapped.

“What?”

“Don’t pretend like you didn’t know she was obsessed with you,” he sneered. “You’re just as much of an asshole to her as I am.”

“I’m not,” Oscar said, stunned. What did Lando mean, obsessed? After that night—he winced at the memory—it looked like she was doing everything she could to avoid Oscar. And then, Lando told him that he wanted to ask her out. So he’d kept his distance. Didn’t Lando see that?

“Oscar and Lando,” Andrea said sternly. “I’ll be seeing you two in the office. Now.”

Oscar stared back at Lando unflinchingly.

“I did it for you,” he spat, before following Andrea to the back of the motorhome.

“MY drivers,” Andrea fumed. “MY FORMULA ONE drivers, punching each other out in MY motorhome! Would somebody care to explain what the hell happened out there?”

Both Lando and Oscar stared at the floor.

“Yeah, about that,” said George, somehow having invited himself into the meeting. “Sooooo….Lando here decided to suck face with one of the staff over at Mercedes while his girlfriend is dying of a headache back in the driver’s room.”

Andrea’s nostrils flared.

“Did I mention his girlfriend?” George added, clearly trying to get a point across.

Andrea stalked around his desk and leaned in, face close to Oscar’s. He’d never seen Andrea this mad before, and he had to admit, he was a tad afraid of what the principal might do to him.

He squinted. “Did you put your weight behind it?”

“Excuse me?” Oscar said, not sure if he heard correctly.

“Did you put your weight behind it, Piastri?” Andrea repeated impatiently.

“Uh, yes, sir.”

Andrea gave a singular heaving sigh, rubbing his hands together. “Well. Alright then.” And he gestured for the three of them to leave his office with a flourish.

In your hotel room, the only source of light comes from your laptop, which is playing The Art of Racing in the Rain. Despite it being a tearjerker of a movie, you always felt compelled to reach for it whenever your own life felt like it was crumbling into dust.

Denny is taking Enzo for a run in the rain when your phone lights up with a text.

Oscar Hey Alex told me he brought you back to the hotel Me yeah he did

Alex had been incredibly kind as he broke the news to you, wiping your tears with the sleeve of his undersuit, borrowing a Williams staff car to drive you back to your hotel instead of calling you an Uber, buying you a little pack of extremely overpriced hotel Advil for your headache. He asked you if you wanted to be with anyone. You briefly considered the people you knew on staff, the drivers, thought about whether any of them could make you feel…if not better, at least comfortable.

But really, there was only one answer.

Oscar Can I come in?

And for only the second time ever, you open your door to Oscar standing there. As soon as you see him, gazing at you with the most heartbreaking sadness in his eyes, you start to cry.

“Shhh,” he says, wrapping his arms around you. “Let’s sit down.”

You nod, sniffling, and Oscar eases the door closed behind him, joins you on the bed.

“Art of Racing,” he notes quietly. “It’s a good movie.”

You admit that it’s your go-to sad film. Oscar offers up an arm, and you slide in next to him, letting him wrap it around your shoulders.

“Thanks for coming.” Your voice is shaky.

Oscar gives you a light squeeze. “I’ll always come,” he whispers.

You sit there, side by side, watching Enzo’s golden ears flap in the wind of Denny’s racecar. Oscar orders food, and as you pull a slice of Hawaiian-without-the-pineapple from the box, watching the cheese stretch into thin strings, you wonder how things could have changed so much since the last time you ate pizza together. Before everything went so terribly, horribly wrong.

“Are you tired?” Oscar asks you a few hours later. Killing Eve is playing on the TV, even though you’ve both watched the whole show now. Just background noise. It's what you need. You’re lying on his arm, face nestled between his neck and chest. Not unlike the morning you woke up to him.

“I don’t know if I can sleep tonight,” you admit. “So feel free to go back if you want to go to bed.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” Oscar says, gently but insistently. Warmth fills your body at his words, which gives way to longing. You want closer. You want him. You press yourself against his chest, angle your jaw upwards, closer to his lips…

And Oscar pulls away, his body suddenly rigid.

An icy chill pours into your stomach, supplanting the warmth that had filled your body just a moment earlier.

“It’s my fault,” mumbles Oscar, barely comprehensible.

What? “What are you talking about?” you eke out.

“George’s kitchen,” he says.

You shiver, feeling like you’re in a dark cave, and Oscar’s holding the sole flashlight between the two of you. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Oscar.”

“In Monaco. I told you that Lando likes you. I told you that you should go out with Lando.”

Your heart twists. “Oscar,” you say fiercely, “you can’t blame yourself for that.”

He just shakes his head.

“It’s only Lando’s fault,” you insist. “And honestly…I shouldn’t have gone out with him in the first place. I didn’t feel it...for him.”

“Lando came up to me one day,” Oscar says slowly. “He asked me about you, about that night I slept over. He asked how I’d feel about him asking you out…”

The ice climbs up your arms, down to your fingers that are still touching Oscar’s jawline. You wrench them away, knowing what's coming.

“And you told him you’re okay with it,” you whisper dejectedly. You understand now.

You need to tell him.

“Oscar…all this time, you’ve been so sweet and kind and caring…” You furiously blink back the fresh tears gathering in the crevices of your eyes. “And since basically day one, I’ve just been letting myself read into it, letting myself think that you weren’t just being nice. I let myself think that you wanted me…because I wanted you.”

Oscar’s eyes widen. He looks almost fearful, you think.

“And when Lando asked me out, I said yes thinking that dating him…would help me get over you,” you continue. The tears have long since started streaming down your face; it’s all you can do to stop your voice from shaking. “To get over how badly I wanted you, but you never wanted me—”

You gasp as Oscar grabs you roughly by the waist, a stark contrast to the gentle arm around the shoulders earlier. He presses his body right up against yours, and what you feel on him—on his body—may well be lighting you on fire.

“Look at me,” he says. A shiver runs down your spine. “I said, look at me,” he repeats, more forcefully.

You obey, looking into his eyes, and are met with something so raw and ferocious, so unlike the Oscar that you've known, that you’re afraid you’re going to faint.

“Still think I don’t want you?” Oscar asks in a low voice.

A small choke escapes your throat. Wordlessly, you bring your hand back up to his jaw, tracing the bottom edge of his lips.

Oscar needs no more invitation. He seals the chasm between you.

His mouth explores yours, tentatively at first, then hungrily. Your lips part as a breath hitches in your throat, and Oscar uses the opportunity to slip his tongue in between them. His hand slides up your back from your waist, around your neck, then dances around your jaw. You play with that perfect, smooth wave of hair near his temples with one hand, feel the tension in the muscles of his shoulders, his back, his abs with the other. Playing with the hem of his white t-shirt.

As soon as he feels your fingers graze his stomach, Oscar breaks the kiss, looking at you imploringly with those beautiful brown eyes.

“If you’re okay with it,” you whisper.

Oscar answers by tugging the shirt over his head, letting it dangle from his fingers, landing with a soft thud on the floor. He leans in again, but his lips are now everywhere besides your lips—your neck, tracing your collarbone, moving up your jaw. An involuntary hiss escapes you as he takes your earlobe between them. The sound seems to energize Oscar, his own breathing growing ragged as he slips the silky straps of your top down your shoulders and kisses you dangerously low on your chest, thumbs brushing little circles on them, making you whimper.

“Tell me when you want me to stop,” he murmurs into the fabric.

You never want him to stop. You need all of him, need him like a wilting plant needs water, like a blazing fire needs oxygen.

You have no idea…

You shake your head, and all restraint is gone. Oscar makes up for all the ground he’d been holding back on, with his hands, with his lips.

…how long I’ve been waiting…

You pull off his shorts, sigh as he reciprocates. There’s not a stitch of clothing left in between your bodies.

…for you to be here.

One more pleading look, one more fervent nod, and Oscar, so tender even in the middle of an aching, desperate storm, finally closes the gap.

Freckles. Three of them. But there’s no t-shirt this time.

“Wake up, sleepy,” you whisper.

Oscar stirs. “You must have mistaken me for your pillow,” he says, smiling at you. Your stomach flutters.

“I hope you didn’t mind,” you tell him. He laughs, pulls you fully into a hug, kisses you gently on the top of your head.

“So, I got an interesting text from George yesterday…” you trail off.

“Uh oh,” Oscar says.

You show him your phone, where George had outlined the events that took place in the motorhome in great detail.

“I can’t believe you socked him,” you say, a little incredulously.

Oscar rolls his eyes. “I’m not proud of it, doesn't mean he didn't deserve it.”

Then he sees something on your screen, and grabs your phone. “Wait a sec.”

Me i asked alex to ask oscar to come to the hotel is that bad George Russell Nah. You’re Pastry’s girl. Always have been, always will be. 😏

“I didn’t come up with that nickname,” you protest, blushing. “In fact, I told George to stop calling me that ages ago.”

“Pastry’s girl,” Oscar muses. “Pastry’s girl…I gotta say, I like the sound of that.”

And the sound of his laughter as he scoops you into his arms is, really, as sweet as pastries.

notes:

just realized how real of homies george and alex are…like they also totally get involved with charles in jealousy jealousy 😭 i’m highkey procrastinating on the george x alex fic bc i will not settle for anything less than stellar w those two…

the scene where andrea starts to chew them out? fully stolen from grey’s anatomy, of all places 😂

10 second penalty for ocon

chuck leclerc is soulless fr

yuki and max raging on team radio

part 1 here! more fics here!

#f1 #formula one #f1 fanfic #oscar piastri #oscar piastri x you #lando norris #lando norris x you #oscar piastri x reader #lando norris x reader #op81 #ln4 #thank you to the two dms i got asking for a sequel and my inability to sit down and work on my one long george x alex fic #i will atone for my actions with a fluffy lando fic i promise

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cissyenthusiast010155 · 1 year

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Rafael Barba

Taking Care of My Girl ~Dom!Rafael Barba xFem Sub!Girlfriend!Reader

My Guardian Angel ~Broken!Rita Calhoun xFem Younger!Investigator!Reader (Liz Donnelly x Alex Cabot) feat. Rafael Barba & Olivia Benson

Cruella

Baroness Van Hellman

Only Murders in the Building

Jan Bellows

The Good Wife/The Good Fight

Diane Lockhart

Doors Closing

Flux Gourmet

Jan Stevens

The Beekeeper

Jessica Danforth

Stranger Things

Joyce Byers

Doctor Who

Amy Pond

River Song

Homeland

Elizabeth Keane

In Her Time of Need

House of Cards

Heather Dunbar

Hannibal

Frederick Chilton

Elementary

Cassandra Walker

Joan Watson

~~~

That’s all for now, ciao ciao lovelies! 💞💞

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