#{{One of these things is NOT like the other}}

[mohntilyet]

caterina's datamined character description calling her korean-italian and early lucanis designs having him look east asian . i'll just do everything myself i guess

assorted thoughts: caterina is fully 'korean' or whatever the thedas equivalent would be in this design, and clawed her way to the top of the crow food chain after years of work. their armor is something caterina forcibly incorporated to distinguish house dellamorte from the other crows, and a symbol of their status because they get it custom made or imported. of course race-equivalents do not really exist in thedas or this world but i also will never forget how gaider just implied (east) asian people don't exist in thedas because it just so happens that there are no asians on the continent of thedas (guy who forgot about boats) . explode and die. there's not the same kind of discrimination as exists irl ofc (and the dellamortes are actually treated fine, much better than a mage or elf) but a level of xenophobia against foreigners from a different continent. illario looks the least like her, and passes for being fully antivan, which changes how he is recieved by the other crows.

and sorry if the korean is bad please actually let me know if it's horribly translated i relied on google translate . if you are one of ten asian dragon age fans feel free to talk to me at any given moment.

[plutonious]

Art rec! Lady Sneasler with her warden and the Shiny Warden? (If Emmet also fell with Ingo?)

BIG FAN OF THIS ACTUALLY. quite enjoyable. Ingo and Emmet got separated when they first fell, with Ingo getting picked up by Pearl Clan and Lady Sneasler dragging Emmet around for about a week until Ingo woke up in a cold sweat realizing there was something he left on Mt.Coronet(at the time not realizing it was his brother).

Irida went with Ingo till they stumbled upon eachother. Irida thought he was a fucked up Zorua or something until the twins started circling eachother like really excited dogs and realized oh. okay never mind there's just another one now.

since Emmet had such a swell time with Lady Snealser and she quickly takes a liking to Ingo as well, Irida finds it easy enough to appoint them as her wardens when they get acclimated, probably the weirdest ones in the history of the clans.

they both are missing their memories; when they first stumbled upon eachother they were sputtering trying to say eachother's names they gave up and went "YOU!!! I KNOW YOU!!!!". Emmet ended up introducing himself first when he caught Irida saying Ingo's name. and got excited that he had it again.

RUBBING HANDS TOGETHER. I LOVE TO THINK ABOUT THINGS. I LIKE WENT PEOPLE SEND ME THINGS TO THINK ABOUT AND DRAW.

[greengoblinswifey]

Beneath Chaos—Hwang In ho/Player 001 x Fem!Reader

summary— as the two of you become more intimate, you uncover Young-il is not who he claims to be. He’s revealed to be the Hwang In-ho, the mastermind behind the entire game. As he manipulates you with his affections, you begin to question everything you thought you knew about him with the line between love and manipulation becoming increasingly blurred

warnings— age gap(reader is in her 20s, he’s in his late 40s) the usual squid games violence mentions, manipulation and deceit, fingering, choking, nipple play, oral(f!receiving), praise kink, body worship, mirror sex, unprotected sex, creampie, aftercare.

a/n— requests are open but i take a while to get to them, patience <3 like and reblog <3

Part I

It was a war zone. Screams and shouts echoed through the space as players turned on each other, desperation driving them to violence. You’d managed to stay out of it for the most part, keeping close to the quieter players, but tonight, the group had decided it was time to go after the organizers of the game.

“Stick with me,” Young-il, the player who had stuck by your side since the start, urged.

You nodded, clutching your arm. “Where are we going?”

He tightened his grip on your wrist. “Trust me. I’ll get you out of here.”

The two of you weaved through the chaos, narrowly dodging bullets as guards closed in. One of them lunged at you after having their gun taken, and before you could react, Young-il used a gun to shoot them.

“Keep moving,” he barked, his voice unusually firm.

As the two of you made your way through what you called a maze, a steel door loomed and you couldn’t help but notice how methodical Young-il was. He fought with precision, taking down and guards and helping the group as you pressed forward.

“In here!” he said, dragging you through a hidden corridor behind the door.

Your heart pounded as the sounds of chaos grew fainter. “Where are we going? How do you know about this place?”

He didn’t answer, his jaw clenched as he led you through the dimly lit hallway. When two guards appeared, you froze, expecting them to attack, but Young-il stepped forward, raising his hands.

“It’s me,” he said coolly.

To your shock, they stepped aside, lowering their weapons.

“What the hell?” you whispered, staring at him in disbelief.

He turned to you, his expression unreadable. “I’ll explain everything. Just stay with me.”

You followed him through the hallway, each step filling you with dread. At the end of the corridor, he pushed open a heavy door, revealing a sleek, high-tech room filled with monitors.

You froze in the doorway. The screens displayed every corner of the facility, the dormitory, the games, the guards. It was the command center.

“What is this?” you demanded, turning to him.

He didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he reached to a table and picked up a black mask that had been hidden.

“You’re the organizer of the games?” you whispered, recognizing that he was what they were after.

“I wanted to tell you,” he said quietly, stepping closer. “But I couldn’t. Not yet.”

“You’re the Front Man?” Your voice trembled as the realization hit you like a freight train. “You’ve been running this whole thing?”

“It’s not that simple,” he said, his tone laced with guilt. “I didn’t want you here. I never wanted you to get hurt.”

Tears blurred your vision as you stepped back. “You lied to me. All this time, I thought—I thought you were one of us. I slept with you!”

“I did what I had to do to protect you and—forget that,” he said, taking your hand firmly.

You pulled your hand away, anger bubbling to the surface. “And this is your idea of protection? Letting people die?”

“I’ve kept you alive, haven’t I?” His voice softened, and for a moment, you saw the man you thought you knew. “I brought you here because it’s the only safe place left. Please, just trust me.”

The heavy doors to his quarters slid open, and he guided you inside with a hand on your back. The room was cold and sterile, lined with screens showing every corner of the games. You felt a shiver crawl up your spine as you realized how removed this place was from the chaos you’d just escaped.

He stood by the console, running a hand through his damp hair as his chest rose and fell with controlled breaths. He was fighting to keep his expression neutral, but you noticed the faintest flicker of something else, a strain, like he was holding back.

“I need to explain,” he said, his tone carefully measured.

You crossed your arms, your voice trembling. “Explain what? That you lied to everyone? To me?”

He exhaled sharply, his jaw tightening as he walked closer. “I had no choice. My name isn’t Young-il. It’s Hwang In-ho. I entered the game for a reason, to infiltrate and dismantle this from the inside.”

There it was again—that careful modulation of his voice, as if he was reading from a script. But the way he avoided your eyes gave him away.

The real truth you were unaware of was that he didn’t care about dismantling anything. The truth was, the deaths, the violence, it didn’t matter to him. The only thing he cared about was you. His sweet, pretty little thing.

“What about our friends?” you asked, cutting through the silence. Your voice cracked as you thought of the people you’d fought beside. “What happened to them?”

His lips pressed into a thin line. “Don’t worry about them,” he said coldly. “It’s just me and you now.”

“Don’t worry?” you repeated, your voice rising. “They were our allies, our—”

“They don’t matter,” he interrupted, his tone hard. “You matter. I’ve done everything to protect you. Every choice I’ve made, every lie—it was all for you.”

You stared at him, unsure whether to believe the man in front of you. His eyes softened as he stepped closer, his fingers brushing over your arm. “I know it’s hard to trust me right now. But you’re safe. That’s all that matters.”

You shook your head, your mind racing. “I don’t even know who you are right now.”

“You’ll see,” he murmured, his thumb grazing your knuckles as he took your hand. “You’ll see that everything I’ve done has been for you.”

He straightened, his voice firm again. “You can get cleaned up. There are clothes for you in the bathroom.”

You walked into the sleek bathroom, its stark white tiles almost blinding under the fluorescent lights. A stack of fresh clothes sat neatly on the counter, along with a towel. The sound of water running filled the room as you stepped under the stream, letting the heat wash away the violence of the night.

You hadn’t heard him enter until you felt his hands on your waist. “In-ho?” you gasped, turning to see him standing behind you, naked, water dripping down his hair.

“I told you,” he murmured, his lips quirking into a faint smirk. “I’m not leaving you alone.”

Before you could respond, his hand tilted your chin upward, and his lips were on yours. The kiss was slow, his fingers tangling in your wet hair as he deepened it. You felt his other hand slide to the small of your back, pulling you closer until there was no space between you.

“Is this your way of making me trust you?” you whispered against his lips, your breath hitching.

He chuckled softly, his forehead resting against yours. “Maybe.” His voice dropped to a near whisper. “Or maybe I just can’t stay away from you.”

For a moment, you let yourself get lost in it, the warmth of his lips, the weight of his arms on your naked body. But in the back of your mind, the doubts lingered, like a dark cloud that wouldn’t leave. As his lips trailed down your neck, you fought to push the thoughts away, telling yourself you could question him later. You really wanted to argue, to pull away, but the warmth of his hands against your wet skin, the way his breath fanned across your neck, made your protests dissolve before they even formed.

“I can feel how tense you are,” he continued, his fingers tracing slow circles along your hip. “Let me take care of you. You don’t have to do anything.”

You swallowed hard, the heat from the water mixing with the heat of his touch. “I don’t know,” you whispered, your voice shaky.

“Yes, you do,” he countered softly, his lips skimming your jaw. “You know I’ll make you feel good. I always do.”

His hand moved lower, his fingers slipping along your thigh and feeling a slick wetness completely different from the water, and you couldn’t suppress the shiver that ran through you. “See?” he said. “Your body knows. It always knows.”

His fingers teased higher, the pads of his fingertips grazing your clit with a deliberate slowness that made your breath hitch. You leaned against the tiled wall for support, your knees threatening to give out. Pleasure ran through your body and you opened your eyes to stare into his dark ones as they locked on you. They broke away from you, looking down at your breasts that were cascaded in warm water before leaning down and swirling his tongue over them, his fingers still rubbing your clit.

Soft whimpers left your lips even though you tried your hardest to suppress them. You bit your tongue as he took your nipple between his teeth and bit down gently, a finger now slipping inside your wet pussy.

“Look at you,” he whispered, his voice filled with quiet praise. “So beautiful. So perfect for me. Your body is a masterpiece.”

Your head tipped back, water running down your face as his fingers found your sweet spot, the pressure just enough to make you gasp. “In-ho,” you breathed, your voice trembling with equal parts of protest and need.

“I’ve got you,” he murmured, his free hand moving to cradle your face, tilting it toward him. “I won’t let you fall. Just trust me.”

He moved his hand back down to your breast, kneading it as you involuntarily arched into his touch. A small smirk played on his lips and he leaned down, placing a kiss on yours. Another finger found its way inside your pussy, as his thumb skillfully rubbed your clit, increasing your pleasure. His fingers curled, and he used his free fingers to gently pinch and pull on your nipples as you tried to stop the soft moans from leaving your lips.

The sensation was overwhelming, his touch unrelenting, and the praise spilling from his lips only heightened it. “That’s it my good little girl,” he coaxed, his lips brushing against yours before capturing them fully, swallowing the sounds that escaped you.

His kiss was possessive, almost desperate, as if he couldn’t bear the thought of anyone hearing you but him. His fingers thrusted faster inside you with an expert rhythm, sending sparks of pleasure through your body. “You’re such a good girl for me,” he whispered against your lips, his voice low and intoxicating. “So perfect, every part of you. All mine.”

You clung to him, your nails digging into his shoulders as an orgasm built inside you. “That’s my girl,” he murmured. “Let me see you cum, just for me.”

His fingers went faster and your body gave in, the release was swift and all consuming, leaving you trembling and moaning his name in his arms. He held you close, his hands steadying you as your breathing slowed.

“See how good that felt?” In-ho murmured, his lips curving into a small smile. “It can get even better.”

A flicker of shame passed through you, how could you let him do this, knowing what was happening just outside these quarters? The chaos, the danger, the people you had left behind. But the moment his hands trailed down your waist, firm and grounding, the doubt began to dissolve.

“In-ho,” you whispered, though your voice betrayed you, shaky and soft.

“I know angel,” he said gently, his forehead resting against yours for a moment. “But don’t think about anything else right now. It’s just you and me here. No one else matters.”

Before you could reply, he dropped to his knees. The sight of him kneeling before you, his dark hair dripping with water, made your breath catch.

His hands found your thighs, spreading them slightly as his lips pressed kisses on your pussy. “You’re so beautiful,” he murmured, his voice husky. “Let me show you.”

Your hands instinctively found their way to his hair, your fingers tangling in the damp strands as his lips engulfed your throbbing clit. He worked with slow, deliberate care, his mouth trailing heat over your pussy.

“You’re perfect,” he whispered between kisses, his breath warm against you. “So good for me. You always are.”

His tongue flicked over your clit fast, better than your fingers or anyone else could ever feel on you. He licked from your entrance back up to your clit, swirling his tongue and suckling like a starved man.

Your grip in his hair tightened as a low sound escaped you, and he let out a quiet chuckle, clearly pleased with your reaction. “That’s it,” he murmured. “Don’t hold back. Let me hear you.”

For a moment, all thoughts of the world outside were forgotten. The only thing that existed was the feel of his lips and the steady stream of praise falling from them.

“You’re mine,” he whispered, his voice reverent yet commanding. “I’m not letting you go anywhere.”

He ate you out like he had something to prove. Like he was showing you that no one else could care for you so much that it reflected in how they pleasured you. His tongue slipped inside your pussy, thrusting gently as you shivered and let out soft whimpers that made his dick hard. All that clouded your mind now was his tongue, exploring every inch of your needy, quivering pussy, licking up and down and slurping on your clit.

Your grip in his hair tightened again as your breaths turned shallow, your body trembling under his touch. He moved with such precision, as though he knew exactly what your pussy ached for. The sound of the water cascading around you only heightened your senses, every touch, every flicker of his tongue sending waves of pleasure through you.

“Come on sweetheart,” he murmured against your skin, his voice a low, rumbling praise that sent a shiver up your spine. “Just cum for me. Be good for me.”

Your fingers clenched in his wet hair, and your body obeyed, your orgasm spilling over as the pleasure became too much to contain and you squirted in his mouth.

“Good girl,” he whispered, his lips brushing against your clit one last time before he stood, his hands trailing up your sides to pull you against him. You could feel the strength of him, solid, grounding you as you tried to catch your breath.

He leaned in, his mouth capturing yours in a heated kiss, his hands sliding down to your hips. “See how good I can make you feel?” he murmured against your lips.

Before you could respond, he turned you gently, guiding your hands to brace against the tile as the warmth of the water poured over you. His lips found the curve of your shoulder, trailing kisses along your neck as his hands explored your wet, naked body.

“You feel so perfect,” he whispered, his voice filled with quiet reverence. “I won’t stay away from you, you know that?”

As his hands gently groped your ass, you could feel his hard cock pressing against you. His breath was warm against the back of your neck, his words soft but full of lust. “I need to fuck you,” he murmured, his voice thick with desire.

“Please- please do,” you whimpered.

You could feel the way he was responding to you, his cock against your ass telling you everything you needed to know. Your pulse raced as you gave in to the moment, not wanting to fight the pull between you. You both let out low moans as he entered your tight pussy from behind, halting for a second to give you time to adjust to his sheer size. He was so thick, stretching and filling you in ways you knew no one else could.

He began steadily rutting into you, the sound of skin slapping amplified by the water making him chuckle lightly. His lips pressed against your neck as your pussy gripped his cock like it never wanted to let him go.

His voice was a little hoarse as he whispered, “You feel so fucking good.”

His hands shifted, one sliding around your neck, the pressure just enough to make you gasp. You leaned into it, feeling the pleasure rise inside you. With every thrust, he took his time, drawing out each moan, each squelch of your pussy that sent your heart racing.

He looked down at your ass bouncing against him, and you swore his cock throbbed inside you. With his hand still around your neck, the other reached in front, rubbing rough circles on your clit as his cock hit your g spot repeatedly.

“Relax,” he whispered softly. “I’ve got you. Cum on my cock.”

His words, his touch, it was all part of this undeniable force pulling you closer, and you gave in, your pussy soaking his cock buried inside you, surrendering to the moment, feeling more alive than you’d ever thought possible these last few days.

After drying off, the steam from the shower clung to your skin. The mirror fogged up just a bit from the warmth, but it only added to the intimacy of the moment. His hands gently cupped your waist as he stood close behind you. You could see his reflection in the mirror, his gaze intense as he met your eyes through the glass.

“You’re breathtaking,” he whispered, his breath warm on the back of your neck. His hands traced your sides slowly, memorizing every curve, every inch of you. “From the moment I saw you, I knew I had to protect you.”

The words made your chest tighten, a mix of emotions swirling within you. You’d never felt so seen, so cared for, as if everything about you mattered to him. He continued, his voice low, full of reverence, “You’re my priority. I would do anything for you. No one else matters but you.”

He stared at you in the mirror as his hard length entered you again. He moaned into your ear, the deep sound going to your pussy and making it throb as he began fucking you again. Your mouth fell open, the intimacy of the moment sending ripples of need through you. His large hands cupped your breasts, groping and tweaking your nipples as you met the roll of his hips, fucking him back as he pounded your pussy.

The mirror reflected the way his eyes softened as they traced your brown skin, his admiration for you evident in the way he held you. He kissed your shoulder, your neck and then your temple, the feel of his lips on you making you shiver.

“No one else matters. They don’t fucking matter, only my pretty little angel,” he murmured

With every thrust, he showed you just how much you meant to him, his actions speaking louder than words ever could. You could feel the care, the devotion, and the unwavering desire to be close to you, to cherish you in some lowkey sick and twisted way. It was a rare and overwhelming feeling, one that made your heart race and your pulse quicken.

“Every.part.of.you,” he murmured, thrusting with word, his lips brushing against your ear, “is.perfect.to.me.”

You couldn’t hold on much longer. He was right at the edge waiting too. Your hand reached behind him, bringing his head down to suck on your neck, his eyes still locked onto yours in the mirror as you squirted on his cock. Your pussy drenched him, your juices trailing down your thighs and his as you convulsed with him still inside you.

“That’s my good girl, fuck, I’m gonna cum too, deep inside this tight pussy. Take it for me sweetheart,” he groaned.

He let out a deep, guttural moan and you hummed in content, feeling his hot load fill you to the brim.

As your highs passed, you could feel the air between you slowly easing. His lips brushed against your temple, soft and tender, grounding you. His voice was gentle but firm, “I’m here. It’s just us now. That’s all that matters.”

His words were soothing you in a way that only he could. With delicate care, he cleaned you up, his touch surprisingly gentle despite everything that had just happened. Then, he led you to the bed, helping you lie down as he dressed you slowly, making sure you were comfortable.

“You’ll get all the answers you need,” he said quietly, his hand brushing a strand of your curls away from your face, “in due time. Just trust me. Be patient.”

You let out a soft breath, not fully understanding everything, but something in his words made you want to believe him. Trust. What a word. It was so simple yet so heavy. Could you really place it in his hands, when everything else felt so uncertain?

You looked up at him. “Trust,” you echoed, “you’re really good at making that sound easy.”

He returned your smile, though it was tinged with something darker, something unreadable. “I don’t need you to trust me now. Just know I’ll never let you go.”

[wcnderlnds]

bad idea right? | choi su-bong (thanos)

・❥・ summary: what happens in the squid game bathrooms, stays in the squid game bathrooms ・❥・word count: 1.2k ・❥・warnings: 18+. smut. oral (f receiving), p in v, unprotected sex. female reader. swearing. ・❥・ authors note: i haven't wrote smut in months so you'll have to forgive me if this is awful <3

It had started off like any normal day in the Squid Games. You’d woke up, got traumatised by the day’s game, cast your vote and then ate the meander meal they’d gave you – sandwich and a drink. Nothing out of the ordinary except today had been the day you had officially met Thanos. You had seen him around – his purple hair was hard to miss – but you’d never really spoke to him. In fact, most of the time, you kept to yourself but this game had meant that you had to pair up with people. There had been one moment where you were struggling to find a group when suddenly a flash of purple hair grabbed you by the wrist and dragged you into a room with him and a few other boys. From that moment on, he had stuck by your side during the game even kicking out one of his closer friends. Why he had latched on to you, you had no idea but you couldn’t have been more thankful. If it wasn’t for him, you’d surely have been eliminated by now.

The moment you’d got back to the main holding area, he pulled you into a giant hug. His arms engulfed your body, pressing you flush against him as he rambled about how glad he was that you were safe and how he wanted to be with you and not his friend.

Somehow that had led to where you were now — locked in a bathroom stall with your back pressed against the cool wall, the pants of your sweatsuit down your legs. You weren’t exactly sure how you’d even got into this predicament. Maybe it was the feel of Thanos’ body pressing against yours, maybe it was the attention from the most handsome guy in this place — you had no idea. All you knew was that Thanos was on his knees, his mouth between your thighs devouring you like a man possessed.

His tongue flattened, licking a long stripe up your folds. Your fingers tangled in his purple locks, tugging on them as his tongue swirled around your clit, flicking the sensitive bud. The moans falling from your lips were breathy as you tried to keep quiet. The last thing you needed was to get caught. Having sex in the bathroom was surely grounds for elimination. 

“You’re fuckin’ dripping, baby,” Thanos mumbled against you as he lapped up your juices. “You taste so good, Senorita. Could do this all day.”

His tongue alternated between teasing your clit and licking along your folds before he dove the muscle into your tight hole. A gasp emanated from your lips, your fingers tugging on his hair even tighter as he fucked you with his tongue. 

“Fuck, Thanos,” you panted. “Keep doing that and I’m gonna come.”

Suddenly, he pulled away from you, wiping your juices from his lips with the back of his hand. Damn, could this man get any hotter? He rose to his feet, hand sliding to the back of your neck as he crashed his lips against yours. You could taste yourself on his tongue as he shoved his into your mouth, tangling with yours. Moaning into the kiss, Thanos used his free hand to pull his own sweatpants down just enough to free his aching cock.

“Jump,” he mumbled against your lips. Instantly, you obliged. His hands caught you as you wrapped your legs around his waist. His length brushed against your folds causing a shudder to run through your body. Was it just this place? Because you had never wanted someone so badly before in your life. Never had you felt so desperate. The lingering fear of death was probably a factor – making you crave as much intimacy as humanly possible. “I’m gonna fuck you so good you’ll forget all about these games, senorita.”

Before you could even reply, he nudged the head of his cock at your entrance, pushing into you with one hard thrust. His hand flew up to cover your mouth, hiding the loud moan you’d let out at the feeling of him bottomed out inside you. He drew his hips back until he was almost all the way out then thrust back in, hard. He set a fast past, withdrawing his hand from your mouth so he could grab at your hips. His fingers dug into your flesh hard enough he was sure to leave bruises but you didn’t care. The feeling of him pistoning in and out of you, the draw of his cock along your walls was enough for you to feel like you were in heaven. Nothing else really mattered in that moment.

“Fuck, baby, you’re so tight. Taking me like a champ,” he groaned, his eyes glancing down to watch his dick move in and out of you, the sound of skin slapping against skin echoing through the bathroom stall. His hands slid down your back to grab your ass, pulling your body into him as he fucked into you to take him deeper. 

“Oh, right there, right there,” you whimpered as he hit that spot inside of you that made you see stars. Thanos smirked, covering your whimpers with his mouth as he picked up his pace. He made sure to angle his hips so he hit that sweet spot over and over again to the point you were a whimpering, moaning mess babbling nonsense about how good he felt inside you.

Your hands clawed at his back, head thrown back against the wall as he pounded into you with animalistic speed. He was like a man possessed, fucking you with an inch of your life to bring you both to ecstasy. One of his hands reached up into your hair, yanking your head back roughly. “Come for me, Senorita. Show me who’s making you feel this fucking good.” 

He could feel your walls clamping down around him, bringing his own climax closer. He redoubled his efforts, covering your mouth once again sensing how close you were. His body felt like it was on fire as he thrust his hips relentlessly against yours. His forehead rested against yours as his grunts came more frequently, trying his best to keep quiet himself. Then, he felt it, his balls tightening as he toyed on the edge of ecstasy. 

“Oh fuck,” you cried out, though it was a mumbled against his hand. Your body shook as your orgasm crashed over you, hips bucking wildly against his. The feeling of you coming undone around his cock finally pushed him over the edge.

“Shit, I’m coming. Fuck,” he groaned, burying his head in your neck, his teeth biting down on your skin as he thrust into you one last time, hips stilling as he painted your insides with his release. After a few minutes, he finally caught his breath back, pulling out of you with a hiss. He tucked his softening length back into his pants, leaning back against the wall on the other side of the stall. His eyes watched you as you pulled your own clothes back on. Both of you knew this had to stay between you, if anyone found out they’d surely use it to get you eliminated from the games.

Your fingers ran through your hair trying to at least make yourself look presentable before you went back into the pits of hell. “Well…”

He held his hand up. “No worries, gorgeous. Maybe if you’re lucky, we can have a repeat of this after the next game.” He unlocked the door, his arm outstretched to let you out first. “That’s if you make it this time.”

[classyrbf]

pussy inspection with nanami can we have some degradation please and thank youuu 💞💞💞💞

PRINCESS PARTS! — NANAMI KENTO

SYNOPSIS...nanami always has to make sure that he always inspects his pretty princess

INFO...nanami x fem!reader, slight fingering, spanking, degradation, nanami being a tease, pussy inspection, nanami is kinda mean, not proofread

OTHER...likes and reblogs are appreciated

thank you so much for the request pookie I hope you enjoy it!

as soon as you stepped out of the car from running errands all day (the errands being shopping with your husbands credit card) you got a text a from him asking to come to his office. You weren’t sure what the occasion was, but when you finally made it into the house with the millions of bags, you gingerly made your way over to your husbands office.

For some reason you felt a bit nervous. Nanami always calls you if anything important, he rarely ever texts, but you never question him on anything. “Ken?” You softly call out, seeing his office door is cracked, slowly opening it to see him sitting in his chair, sipping on a glass of whiskey. “Hi.” You smile. “I just came back from the store! I got these pretty dresses I think—”

“Come here.” He sternly spoke, his glass clinking on the wooden table as he set it down. His gaze never left yours, like a predator trying to intimidate its prey. “Come here,” he repeated. The silence was deafening bedsides the wood creaking under your feet as you hesitantly stepped closer. And when you got close enough he pulled you over his lap in the blink of an eye, leaving you breathless. “What’s this?” He held up your panties in his hand. You stayed silent looking down in shame. You could feel his large hand rub over the fabric of your sundress, toying with the hem of it as he lifted it slowly. “Ah,” he let out a chuckle, one that had a hit of annoyance.

“I’m sorry.” Was all you could muster. You knew we’re in the wrong. Before leaving to go shopping, you decided to wear any panties, but stupidly enough you left the evidence in the room for him to find. He fully lifted the fabric, exposing your ass to the cool air of his office.

“You left the house without any panties on? What were you planning to do, huh?” He swatted your ass, making you jump. “We’re you playing with my pussy on the way home? Playing with in the dressing room? Cause you’re that much of a desperate little slut.” He slapped your ass again, a small whimper falling from your lips.

“No, no! I swear I didn’t touch myself! I just…” You didn’t really have an explanation as to why you did it, only making it harder for him to believe your words.

“No? You sure? You know I have to check, right?” He squeezed the plump flesh of your ass, spread your cheeks slightly to get a good look at your cunt. He licked his limps, swiping his thumb over your slit. “Gotta make sure my pretty princess didn’t cum without me, yeah?” He spread your legs farther before taking his fingers and spreading your lips, watching the way your pink hole fluttered around nothing. He could see how wet you were getting, gathering some of your slick and rubbing your clit with it.

“Ken,” you whimpered, squirming in his lap. He ignored you, slapping your ass again as a warning to stop moving.

“I just have to make sure, baby. I know how much of a slut you like to be, showing off your pretty pussy. You’re just a dumb little thing who doesn’t know any better.” He slips his thumb into your pussy, moving it around and rubbing against your g-spot before slipping it out. “Why are you so wet?” He slaps your ass again.

“I’m sorry! It just…feels so good,” you explain, biting down on your bottom lip. You look back, staring up at him was such a desperate look, only to be met with his cold gaze.

“Use your words more. Tell me.” He gently caresses your face. “Is it this?” He slips his thumb back in, watching the way your jaw drops and brows furrow. You nod at his question. “Words.” He spanks your ass harder.

“Yes! It’s that! It’s everything! I like when you inspect my princess parts, and make sure I’m not misbehaving,” you confess. Kento hummed in response, slowly massaging your walls with his thumb.

“So you’ve been doing this on purpose? Leaving your panties around the house for me to find so you can get your pussy touched and looked at. What am I going to do with you?” He shakes his head, clicking his tongue at you. He slips out his thumb, rubbing your neglected clit in slow, agonizing circles. “Get up.”

“Wha-why?” You asked, confused. “Ah!” He spanks you once more. You quickly scurry off of his lap, standing in front of him and pulling your dress down.

He hands you your panties from earlier. “Put them back on and sit in your mess. You think being bad gets you rewarded?” He scolds you, watching as you slip your panties over your legs, pulling them up. “And don’t you dare sneak off and try and make yourself cum like the desperate little whore you are.”

“But, please,” you mutter. “I’ve been waiting all day. I know—”

“Do I need to repeat myself?” He clenches his jaw. You shake your head. “Good. Now, go and grab the new clothes you bought and put on a show for me, yeah? I’ll be waiting.”

[euthymiya]

i adore you (can’t you see you’re meant for me?) — ft. sylus

sylus likes to sleep late in the mornings, and you like to admire him. the two are just a series of steps that bring you to where you are now: on top of him

— word count: 4.7k words — it’s literally all pure filth with no plot idk what to say atp

— before you read: female reader ; established relationship ; sleepy sylus ; banter and teasing ; reader rides his abs (do not look at me) ; praise kink (it goes both ways tbh) ; blow jobs ; cum eating ; reader has an obsession with his veins (it is her not me okay?) ; sylus wraps his hand around her throat (but no choking) ; body worship + one clit kiss ; nipple play ; morning sex ; unprotected vaginal sex ; creampie ; do not be fooled it is all pretty soft i promise

— comments: i am new to this game and i haven’t gotten too far go easy on me for this one :( i dedicate this to all my sylus loving nonnies in my inbox thanks for helping me figure out this game LOL. and kass. ily kass

Sylus sleeps more when the sun is out than when it’s not. You don’t mind it so much—not when the view is what it is.

(He’s pretty, and so is the sun. The two combined make for an even prettier picture. You think, if you weigh your options, there are certainly worse things out there than sitting beside your sleeping boyfriend and waiting for him to wake up.)

It’s hard to keep your hands to yourself, though. His hair is too tempting not to brush away from his face. And while your hand is right there, it’s a little impossible not to cup his cheek for a moment. And, well, if you’re already touching him, you might as well let your hand slide down to his chest and rub circles against the skin. He leans into your touch subconsciously anyway—it’s not hurting him. It’s helping.

(You like telling yourself plenty of things to justify your hand and his skin having an early morning rendezvous.)

“Bored, sweetie?” His voice is always deeper when laced with sleep than it usually tends to be. You stiffen, moving to pull your hand away, an apology already prepared on your lips for waking him when he catches your wrist, eyes still closed. “I didn’t say to stop, did I?”

“You’re ridiculous,” you huff, letting him guide your hand back to his bare chest. It rises and falls slowly, so warm and firm under your palm that it’s a little dizzying.

“Am I?” He cracks an eye open, “I was just enjoying a little tenderness. I wonder why I can’t ever seem to receive something so sweet when I’m awake.”

“Precisely this reason,” you say flatly. He raises a smug brow. Just to humor him, you add, “Your ego can’t handle it when you’re awake.”

“What, that you find me too irresistible not to touch?”

“Sylus, go back to sleep,” you grumble, shuffling away from him with a face that feels unbearably hot under his half-lidded gaze. “You’re easier to get along with that way.”

“I don’t know,” he all but purrs. In a swift motion—swift enough that you let out a shrill squeal—his hand tugs at your arm and pulls you close enough that he can hoist your body to sit on his lower belly. “We get along pretty well when we’re wide awake, don’t you think?”

His hand hikes up your (well, technically his) shirt and rests on your hip, nothing but the thin fabric of your panties separating you from him as you’re seated on top of him. You shiver lightly when his thumb caresses your hip bone, a satisfied hum pulling from his throat at the feeling of goosebumps rising against your skin. 

“Sylus,” you breathe, squirming over him—but you can’t say much else because you cut yourself off with a soft gasp when you hear the distinct sound of something tearing. 

Fabric. 

More specifically, your fabric. Your underwear—which was a rather nice pair too, you think woefully—is torn into two pieces, one held in Sylus’s hand like some form of victory, while the other falls against his belly with nothing holding it together around your hips. 

You blink. He gives you a large Cheshire grin.

“Sorry, sweetie,” he says, not so apologetically, “They were just in the way.”

“I liked those!” You hiss, glaring at him, “They were nice!”

“What, you don’t think I can buy you more? I could buy them faster than I could rip them, I’m sure.”

You have your doubts about that last part—but it’s still persuasive enough that you’re no longer as mad as you were just a moment ago. But you’re still petulant, pouting as you huff, “You ruin everything.”

“Mmh,” he hums, closing his eyes, voice still a low drawl from sleep as he says, “Are you sure? Because I can feel you dripping already, sweetheart.”

Shame floods your system quickly, but lust is faster. Stronger, too, perhaps—because you don’t have it in you to be ashamed for too long before you grow impatient. With a deeper pout, you press your hands against his chest, leaning lower until your mouth hovers over his. 

“Can you blame me?” You breathe against his lips. “Just look at you.”

He stiffens. Just barely, of course. Just enough that you can hardly even detect it, but you do. You do because you know him. And you know that when Sylus teases, it’s really just to deflect from his need to shift the attention to yours—like he doesn’t want you just as bad. Like he’s not just as hard as you are wet in his boxers. Like he doesn’t need to feel you just as badly as you need to feel him. 

But he likes to keep the upper hand. It starts with two hands on your hips, firmly squeezing them before slowly rocking them against his abs. Your bare cunt (courtesy of him destroying a perfectly good pair of panties) glides along the ridges and indents of his muscle. Very well-defined ridges and indents of muscle, too. You tense, letting out a shaky gasp as your clit rubs against his hard-planed physique. 

“If you like it so much, why stop at just a look?” He chuckles, “You’re more than welcome to feel, too, sweetheart.”

He’s so sickeningly proud of himself, you can’t help but think bitterly as soon as your hips start grinding against him of their own accord. He’s so pleased and amused and deeply content with the sight of you falling apart over him. His eyes are hungry, and they don’t stray away from you for a single second. They don’t miss a single twist in your expression, nor do they have the decency not to stare shamelessly at the image of where your pussy meets his midsection, where your slick pools and coats his skin and makes it glisten as you make a mess on him. 

He hums, large hands leaving your waist buried in their frames as they guide you at a slow, steady pace. “Bet that feels good, doesn’t it?” He grins—and oh, he’s aggravatingly happy as he laughs breathlessly, “You look like you’re about to fall apart. Don’t worry, I’m right here. You can’t fall far.”

You would say something smart if you could. Maybe even reach back and palm over his crotch that’s rudely tight against his boxers. But you can’t. Not when your clit rubs against his warm, heated skin and leaves jolts along your spine. All you can manage is a pathetic, “S-Sylus, please—”

“Oh? Please what? Please more?” He coos.

Something of a dull ache builds into this deep, throbbing need to feel your walls hug around something. To constrict around and latch onto something warm and big and full—something like him. Something like the way he fucks you into the mattress and makes you feel like he’s so deep in you, you can feel him in your throat. 

That’s what you want—but of course, you’re naive if you think that’s what he’ll give. For now, at least. For now, he’ll tease, and tease, and tease until he can watch you crumble just the way he wants to witness. And you’re close to that, too—you know it, and so does he. He can tell by the way your wetness drips onto him in a messy pool, making your cunt drag against him easier, smoother. He can tell because he can all but feel the quiver of your walls clenching around nothing, empty and desperate for some sort of building friction. And he can especially tell because of your face—that devastating look on your face when you’re so close to the edge you can just practically cling to it with the tips of your fingers as it dangles teasingly in front of you. 

“More,” you plead, “Want you. Want to feel you.”

“Oh, but you’re almost there,” he says in faux sympathy, soothing you with a sleepy, smug little grin. “Surely, you can take it just like this, can’t you? You’re better than that—I know you are.”

His words take you to the edge. You plummet off of it, in fact, practically collapsing against his chest as he holds you upright with a firm, strong grip and guides you through your orgasm. You gush around nothing, making a wet, sticky mess on his skin as you cum against him, grinding your clit as much as you can along every indent along his hard, built muscle. 

“Sylus,” you whimper, “oh—f-fuck.” Your body quivers for a few more moments before you slump against him, burying your nose into his neck. “You’re despicable,” you bite the skin lightly.

He laughs. It’s low from the sleep that’s still clinging to his voice but boyish enough that your heart skips a beat. “Am I? You seemed to enjoy it.”

You shuffle to curl into him more, but your leg brushes against the bulge in his underwear—a small, barely-there sound pulls from his throat. Something caught between a gasp and a moan that makes you pause before you grin against the crook of his neck.

“Guess I should pay you back, hm?” 

He watches, pupils dilated and eyes half-lidded as you pull away and kiss from his collarbone to his pecs. A rise of goosebumps litters his skin, too—just like they did on your skin earlier. You silently revel in that victory, making your way lower, lower, lower. But it’s painfully, obnoxiously, ridiculously slow. 

“Don’t be a tease, sweetie,” he hisses, grunting as you kiss down his torso, the well-defined muscle of his abs flexing under every touch of your lips. 

“Who, me?” You blink, batting your lashes sweetly, “Oh, I’d never, baby.”

Your lips graze over the skin that’s still marked with your essence as you kiss and suck along his torso, a trail of marks left in your wake and declaring him yours. You can taste yourself from just a few moments ago—the moments when you rocked your hips into him and fell apart, when he held you through it with a sleepy smirk. The image of his smug face makes you glance up at him with a flustered look, and almost as if he already knows, his gaze is on you. Waiting. Smug here in person just as much as he was in your memories.

“What a naughty thing,” he drawls, teasing glint in his eyes. “Did you get a taste of yourself? I’m sure now you have an idea of why I find it so…addictive, don’t you?”

He’s filthy. Cocky, too. And more often than not, he’s absurdly prepared with smart comments. Just to even the playing field a little, you decide he could use a little relentless teasing of his own. 

“Oh, I can think of a thing or two just as addictive,” you smile innocently—and just like that, you lean in to kiss against a pale, blue line across his porcelain skin, pulling away to admire the veins that mark his body. Something in you aches for him all over again—something that you don’t like to admit happens from just the sight of something like his veins. But you pay careful attention to them anyway, leaning down and pressing soft, feather-like kisses against his lower belly, feeling him stiffen tightly underneath you as his breath gets labored and slightly erratic.

He’s impatient. You glance down at him, cock hard and strained against his boxers, the beginnings of a wet patch dampening the skin from pre cum dribbling from his tip. You almost feel bad. 

Almost. 

“Don’t you ever get tired of your games?” He grits, involuntarily twitching his hips to chase some friction. 

“I could ask you the same question,” you snort. 

“Yet, it seems I’m always the one spoiling you,” he retorts. 

There’s some bit of merit to that, you suppose. So you give in, humming as you kiss along his v-line, one finger looping under his waistband while giving a small tug downwards. He lifts his hips instantly, letting you pull off the offensive piece of clothing that separates him from your touch. 

It’s flushed, his cock. Swollen, flushed with a pretty rosy shade at the tip, and glistening with leaking pre cum. You lean and give the thick vein along the underside a series of kisses tracing upwards before pressing a delicate one to his tip. He groans, and his cock twitches at the contact, his eyes fluttering closed as he bites his lip. 

“Pretty,” you observe, smiling softly at the sight of him. 

He scoffs, lips almost a pout as they curl into a frown. “Then do something about it,” he insists. 

You think you’ve sufficiently teased him enough, so you do—you take him into your mouth slowly, inch by inch, as your tongue and the wet heat of your mouth envelop him and make him tense for a moment before his body goes slack. A deep, throaty groan rings through the room, the sound making something do a flip in your lower belly. 

“Fuck,” he whispers, breathing heavily. “You…you’re so good at this.”

The praise does something to you that you’re not proud of. Some flash of an ache deep in your core that you don’t want to focus on, so you pay closer attention to him instead. Your tongue swirls over his tip as your head bobs up, tracing down that pretty vein of his as you take him down your throat once more. What you can’t fit in your mouth—because there is enough of him that you can’t fit in your mouth—you pump with your fist, wrapped around the base of his shaft. 

Sylus has a lot of veins. You admire them long enough to know them all by heart. The ones along his hands that you love to trace when you hold them in yours. The ones along his arm that you love to eye when he’s working out. The ones along his abdomen that you trace every once in a while with the tip of your finger when you have him to yourself in private. And the long, pretty one along this inner thigh—the one you see only when you’re like this: between his spread-out legs with your mouth around his cock. 

Your free hand moves to lay over this thigh, gently rubbing into the skin as if to anchor him as he throws his head back and groans. Your eyes are trained on him, staring up at the twists of pleasure in his expression and the crinkles in his eyes as he closes them tightly and moans. But you don’t have to look at your hand to know your thumb is tracing along that vein. You know it better than you know yourself, you think—his body is so easy to memorize. So easy to get to know and keep ingrained in your brain forever. 

His thigh flexes under your touch, and you hum around him, the vibrations around his length making his breath hitch as he curses under his breath. 

You pull away with nothing but a string of saliva connecting you to him, his eyes glancing down at you sharply for the interruption. But you smile, equal parts soft and equal parts smug. Gently, you press a wet kiss to his thigh, right over the same pale blue line you traced just moments ago, as you murmur, “You’re so pretty. You know that?”

“I’m flattered,” he says tightly, warily staring down at you with hungry, desperate eyes. “I’m sure you can save the flattery for later, though, can’t you?”

“But what if you think I’m just using you for your body?” You gasp dramatically, “Can’t have that, you know. I have to appreciate you more.”

“Teasing can easily be reciprocated, you know, sweetheart,” he grits, “Or have you forgotten that so quickly?”

“Oh, I’m aware. I’ll take my chances.” Your lips trail up his thigh until it reaches the base of his cock. You press another kiss against it, murmuring a quiet, “I love you.”

His cock twitches—it’s like it responds to every soft word of affection and every littlest bit of praise. For all the denying and for all the impatience, too, Sylus loves the attention. Thrives under it, even—it does something to his ego that you know you probably shouldn’t help stroke, but you can’t help it. 

You press one more kiss to his swollen tip before murmuring, “Mine,” and then you take him down your throat once more—faster this time. Your head bobs up and down his length, lips wrapped around him as you swallow every now and then. 

His hand flies to his hair, tugging at the soft, silvery strands as he groans deeply, hips pushing up to meet your pace and thrust deeper into your mouth. 

“Fuck, that’s it,” he hisses, “Just like that, sweetheart—shit.”

He spills down your throat not too long after. Warm, sticky ropes of cum that paint your mouth with every twitch of his cock, filling you enough that some spills from the corner of your mouth, dripping along your face and collecting at your chin. You swallow what you can, working him through his orgasm, listening to the sweet, lust-hazed sounds he makes as pleasure burns through every nerve of his body. 

He slumps back when he’s finished, panting with an arm over his eyes while you wipe your chin and swallow before climbing up his body and slumping on top of him. He wraps an arm around your waist instantly, humming lowly as his large, warm hand rubs into your lower back. 

“Had your fun?” He raises a brow. 

You grin cheekily, kissing his jaw as you murmur, “I think you had more fun than me, but what do I know?”

He chuckles. It’s low, and the sound vibrates through his chest so that you can feel it under you. There’s a small bead of sweat along his temple, and his face is flushed a soft shade of scarlet that you admire—it brings out the deep crimson of his eyes even more from here. 

“You’re so pretty,” you whisper. 

“How many times will you remind me of that?” He asks, bringing a hand to your chin, tilting your face up, and inspecting you carefully. “You’re making me feel bad. I haven’t reminded you how stunning you are nearly enough times.”

“You could always start now,” you wink, “It’s never too late.” He laughs again. Deep, genuine, soft. Sylus is a lot of things. You think your favorite is in love. 

“Do I really have to remind you?” He whispers, voice husky as he slowly shifts your body to lay under his, flipping you over as he hovers over you. “You don’t already know how beautiful you are—how you drive me insane?”

“A reminder wouldn’t hurt,” you blink innocently. “What if you’re secretly getting tired of me?”

His eyes flash with something dangerous at that. You only meant it as a joke, of course—he loves deeply. So deeply, you don’t think you’d escape him even if you wanted to. (Not that you do, of course. You’re quite happy knowing your place is beside him.) You know he’s never tired of you—quite the opposite, in fact. 

But you like teasing him. Getting under his skin enough that his hand moves to your throat and wraps around it firmly—not quite tight enough to block your air flow, but enough to serve as a light warning. 

“You think I would get tired of you?” He challenges. Offended. In disbelief. “Tired of this?”

Just like that, the familiar sound of fabric tearing rings through your ears again. It’s a sound you seem to be getting more and more used to the longer you date Sylus. And yet, every time, it pulls the same sound of disbelief from your throat as you gasp at his audacity. But before you can speak, before you can scold him for ripping your (his) favorite shirt straight off of your body, his hands curve around your tits, molding against them perfectly as if they were made to cup them. His thumbs roll over your nipples, humming in approval as you whine softly at the feeling. 

“Sylus,” you pant. (Regretfully, you think that’s the only collection of syllables you can manage anymore on this fine morning.) “W-wait—”

“Wait?” He pretends to gasp in shock, “But we’re just getting started. I was just about to show you all my favorite parts of you—they never get old. Would you like to see?”

He doesn’t wait for an answer. Instead, he leans down, latching his lips around one pebbled nipple, sucking and nipping lightly at it as his thumb rolls over and pinches the other one. Your back arches into his touch, a soft moan spilling from your lips as he grins against your chest. 

“Here’s a favorite, for starters,” he murmurs. “And here—” he kisses along your belly and makes his way to your hip bone, biting lightly at the flesh and making your breath hitch, “—this is certainly a memorable place too, isn’t it? Can’t keep my hands off of it.”

Finally, his hands slowly pull your legs apart, exposing the wet, dripping mess that is your cunt, folds puffy and waiting for him. He presses a soft, lingering kiss to your clit, smiling at the small whimper you let out from the sensitive touch before he says through a low, breathy whisper, “This, however…this has to be my favorite part of all.”

“Okay,” you whine, pulling at his arms with a plea, “I get it, okay? I need it, please.”

“Well then,” he huffs out a soft laugh, “Who am I to deny?”

He’s level with you before you can blink—mouth on yours with a heavy, heated kiss that sends your brain into a fogged state as you kiss back. All you can register is soft flesh, pressure against your mouth, the taste of his tongue on yours, and hot and heavy breath seeping into your lungs while he inhales yours. It’s slow, the way he kisses you—but still undeniably needy. He chases after your mouth as soon as you pull away to breathe, a soft gasp pushing past his throat at the loss of contact. As if it might kill him. As if he might die without your breath down his throat, keeping him alive. 

“Do you want it, sweetheart?” He breathes erratically, “Because I don’t think I can wait much longer.”

“I want it,” you practically beg, “I want you.”

He’s hard again—stiff between his legs and throbbing at your words enough that his cock does a little jerk on its own, like it’s responding to you itself. He drags it along your entrance, rolling slow circles against your folds and coating his tip in your slick, earning a sharp inhale from you as he groans at the teasing friction against the head of his cock.

“I always want you,” he breathes. 

He pushes past your folds as he speaks the words against your mouth, letting you swallow up the low moan he lets out as your walls wrap around him little by little. It’s painstakingly slow. Inch after inch after inch until the blunt head of his length presses deep into you, nudging against a soft, sensitive spot in your walls that makes your whole body react with a quiver. He curves into you perfectly, thick and deep and so, so full. 

“Ready?” He smiles tenderly, gripping the fat of your thighs and hooking them around his waist, leaning to kiss one of your knees as you melt into the mattress and nod. 

“Please,” you whine, “Need it—need you.”

There’s a sharp thrust of his hips at that—he pulls out until he’s almost completely left your warm cunt before slamming back in past your folds, pressing mercilessly against your sensitive spot. It’s partly because he has your body memorized but mainly because his body is practically made to mold into you. It’s like he fits you perfectly, curves into the shape of your body like the shape of his was hand-made to pair with yours. 

When Sylus fucks you is when you see past his exterior the most. When his eyes hold the most emotion, staring at you like he can’t believe you’re his. When his hands shake for once because he doesn’t know if he deserves the weight of you in his hold. When his breath is the most labored and uncontrolled because you steal every breath from his lungs, and selflessly, he gives up air for you. When sweat coats his skin and makes his hair cling to his forehead because when he loves you is when his body is most responsive, most affected. 

When Sylus fucks you is when you love yourself most. Because how could you not when he pays such close attention to you? Thumb finding your clit, rubbing slow, teasing circles just the way he knows drives you crazy, watching your face closely for every reaction? How could you not when close is not nearly close enough, when he presses his chest against yours and buries his face into your neck to all but melt under your skin? It makes you feel desirable. Beautiful. Lovable. 

So easy to want.

So easy to lose control to.

So easy to need. 

“You feel that, don’t you?” He mumbles, panting harshly as he grunts when you squeeze around him at the sound of his labored voice. “Feel me? How badly I need you? How crazy you drive me? Feel how hard I am for you? Don’t tell me you think I’d ever get tired of that.”

“I know,” you whine, “I know, I know, baby—I promise.”

You let out a small squeal when he angles your leg higher, thrusting deeper into your cunt, pressing harshly where you need him most with his tip in a dizzyingly punishing pace and a harshly rough deepness that makes your vision blur. Almost go blank, even.

“Tell me you love me,” he demands.

“I love you!”

“Tell me you need me,” he adds, so selfish and needy for your approval. To know you’re nothing without him like he’s nothing without you. 

“N-need…fuck, I need you,” you stumble over your words as your orgasm comes closer and closer, creeping up on you enough that you can’t catch your breath fast enough to keep up with him.

“Tell me you’re mine.” This time, it comes out as almost a plea.

“Yours,” you sob, body on the precipice of breaking all over again, “Yours, yours, yours.”

You cum as soon as you say it. Harder than maybe ever—it’s like being reminded that you’re his makes your body react tenfold. You fall apart with a shrill cry of his name, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him into a bruising kiss as your nails press indents into his skin. 

He groans in pleasure at the slight pain, melting against your lips, an open-mouthed, wet kiss working him up to his own orgasm. His first one was a slow build-up—but this one happens quickly, coming out of nowhere and hitting him full force, his hips stuttering for a moment and losing rhythm as he sloppily thrusts into you. 

Yours. Yours. Yours. 

Your voice rings in his ears, aiding him through his pleasure as he fucks his thick, sticky release deep into your folds, sharp thrusts that match the harsh twitching of his cock. 

“Ngh,” he grunts, “Sh-shit, sweetheart.”

Finally, when you’re both done, breaths frenzied and harsh as you try to make up for the lost air in your lungs, he slumps over your body and hides his face into the crook of your neck, practically purring as your shaky hand buries into his sweaty locks and strokes the soft, silvery strands. 

It’s quiet, just the sound of your breathing eventually shifting from heavy to slowed as you finally catch it, the quivering of your body dissipating, too. Your fingers journey their way from his scalp to the back of his neck, lightly making a feather-soft trail along his bare back as he shivers from the touch.

“Don’t fall asleep after I showed you a good time,” you pout, “It’s rude.”

“You were the one that woke me for a good time,” he mumbles, amused. “That’s equally as rude.”

“I did not,” you huff, “You were the one who escalated it. I just wanted a peaceful morning.”

“I don’t know,” he grins against your skin, pressing a chaste, warm peck where it's closest to his lips, “I’m feeling pretty at peace, wouldn’t you agree?”

so uh..........basically i got the card where u measured him for clothes and i saw a vein in his abs and lost my mind. so. here is the product of that. i REFUSE to be told this is not a completely totally normal reaction. thank you!

[chubby-bun-bun]

If there’s one thing about you that Sylus dislikes—a rare feat, considering how much he thinks the world of you—it’s this.

You’re hiding again.

He exhales a measured sigh, gaze fixed on the video feed projected from Mephisto’s surveillance. The camera, angled from a high vantage point outside your apartment window, captures you on your bed, cocooned in a tangle of blankets like some human burrito. The room’s overhead lights are off, the only glow coming from the crow-themed night light he’d bought for you some time ago.

At first glance, it might seem like you’re simply indulging in some well-earned rest—a deserved reprieve from the relentless grind of a hunter’s life. But Sylus knows better. You’ve been like this for days. Occasionally, you surface from your blanket fortress to grab tissues, sneezing or coughing before carelessly tossing the used ones onto the growing pile by your nightstand. Other times, you stumble out of bed, shuffling to the bathroom in a haze, likely to empty a stomach you’ve barely managed to feed.

He pinches the bridge of his nose. What a prideful, stubborn kitten.

Without a word, he grabs his motorcycle keys, slinging on his jacket with practiced ease before heading out the door.

Time to stop by at the supermarket.

other works

[shackleton2]

it's true and I say this as an avid binge-watcher who in the stone age had to look up transcripts of episodes because I couldn't wait THREE ENTIRE DAYS OF MY LIFE FOR NETFLIX TO MAIL ME THE NEXT DVD

Seasons of TV released as one fat drop of 8-12 1-1.5hr episodes, literally being told THIS IS FOR YOU TO BINGE IN ONE INSANE SITTING is the exact definition of my dreams and desires.

......why are they no good??

I can definitely think of exceptions, but "both of them have too much time and not enough time for the characters to struggle and grow and change," as it's well-put above, does seem to be the rule more and more. But what does that phrase really mean??

I saw something recently weighing in on this and saying series in particular seem to think every single thing depicted on screen has to move the story forward, possibly because everything is angled to encourage "binging". It's funny because that sounds like it should do the opposite of making the story feel ponderous and pointless!! So what's going on?

Maybe it's because Real Life™ isn't constantly moving towards one plot resolution, so the more you write a story where that's true, the more impossible true immersion for the viewer becomes?

But also I think actively designing a series to be compulsively watched in one or two massive sittings is hurting them as stories. Maybe it's because bingeing, especially as it's understood in other contexts, is not about enjoying something massively good, at least not after the initial part.

We all know this, right? You don't binge on something because it's just sooooo good. Are there people out there who have never done any kind of binge? Maybe so, so I'll tell you because I surely have: it's inertia. A really scary kind, to be honest, that feels, after a while of getting acclimated to nonstop-consuming the thing, like an absolute involuntary need. Because the second I stop eating the family sized bag of chips, stop taking another drink, stop lighting another smoke, reality will come rushing back in place of the comfort-stimulus. And in reality I am not experiencing joy or even pleasure, I am experiencing the kind of existential horror you get when you try to convince yourself you don't actually have to deal with your own mind. This 100% applies to letting the next episode autoplay after 5 hours of watching one story unfold.

Sorry I got kinda dark there, but the point I'm trying to illustrate is that I don't think you NEED a GOOD PRODUCT in order to get people to binge. And, well, that shows more and more with this "content" streaming services are releasing.

True Blood was a hot mess in so many ways and my mental health sure as shit was too but holy shit watching that obsessively years back was so FUN. That show and other story-loves of mine feel different from stuff getting released in full-season streaming dumps right now, and I don't think it's quality of writing or acting or effects or anything else making the difference as much as whether a show seems to genuinely LIKE itself, or whether it's counting on you finding it preferable enough to reality to let the next episode play and thus get good stats.

we need 15-20 episode seasons again these limited series have the worst pacing in the world and none of the character decisions hold any weight

[thebarneschronicles]

Closer to Home

Pairings: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Synopsis: As you settle into your new role as the team’s “girl in the chair,” helping Sam and Bucky with their missions, you find yourself increasingly drawn to Bucky's intense presence. His brooding silence is matched only by his watchful eyes, and despite his gruff exterior, your kindness begins to chip away at his walls. When Bucky insists on walking you home one night, clyou chalk it up to his old-fashioned sense of duty and think nothing of it. But as the night unfolds, you realize there’s far more behind his actions than just good manners, and your growing feelings for him may not be as hidden as you think.

A/N: This was supposed to be something else ENTIRELY. But it just unravelled and here we are! Please, feel free to let me know your thoughts about it! B xx

--

Your relationship with Bucky hadn’t started with fireworks or dramatic confessions—it began like any other normal relationship: after drinks and a movie.

It was a quiet evening, the kind that felt heavier after long hours at your desk. You were finally wrapping up for the night, shrugging on your coat and slinging your purse over a shoulder. The clock had just ticked past 10 p.m., though it hardly felt late to you. Still, your shoulders sagged under the tension of the day—hours spent poring over intel, trying to uncover scraps of information that might help Sam and Bucky on their next mission.

“You shouldn’t be walking home alone.”

You looked up to find Bucky leaning casually against the doorway, arms crossed. His voice was gruff but not unkind, his blue eyes shadowed but steady.

“It’s just a few blocks,” you replied, already bracing for the argument.

His jaw tightened—a subtle shift, but one you’d come to recognize as the start of his infamous stubborn streak. “Doesn’t matter. My ma would haunt me if I let you.”

That earned him a laugh. “Your 'ma' sounds like quite the character.”

“She was,” he said, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. It disappeared as quickly as it came. “C’mon, grab your stuff. I’ll walk you.”

You didn’t argue further, mostly because you were too tired to win, and partly because there was something oddly comforting about his protectiveness, even if it came wrapped in brooding silences and sharp glances.

Being around Bucky had taken some getting used to. You knew about him, of course—who didn’t? But nothing had prepared you for the sheer intensity of James Buchanan Barnes up close. His unrelenting stares, his quiet presence that somehow filled a room, and the way he seemed to carry the weight of entire worlds on his shoulders.

When you’d first joined their team as the “girl in the chair” (a term Sam insisted on despite your repeated protests that you were, in fact, a woman), you hadn’t known what to expect. Your days as a research journalist had been left behind in favor of a role that felt more like a sidekick to two superheroes. Never the hero, always the support.

“It’s not nothing, though,” Sam had told you once, catching you mid-eye-roll during a particularly grueling debrief. “You’re saving lives too, y’know. Every name, every address you dig up? That’s someone else’s tomorrow you’re protecting.”

Still, the job came with its own toll: exhaustion, migraines, and a constant ache in your wrists from hours of typing. But it also came with a quiet sense of purpose—and Bucky’s occasional company.

At first, his silences had been intimidating, his brooding presence almost oppressive. But you met him with unwavering kindness—bringing him coffee when he looked like he needed it, or letting him retreat into your office to escape Sam’s chatter. Slowly, the silences grew shorter, and the stares softened into something more watchful.

Now, walking beside him under the soft glow of streetlights, the quiet felt less like distance and more like understanding.

“So,” you said, breaking the silence, “is this a one-time chivalry thing, or do I get an official escort service from now on?”

Bucky snorted. “You’re assuming I’m doing this for you.”

“Oh, really?” you teased, grinning. “Who else is benefitting from my safe arrival home?”

He glanced at you, a spark of humor flickering in his eyes. “Sam’ll never let me hear the end of it if something happens to you. Man loves his lectures.”

“Ah,” you said, mock-serious. “So I’m saving you from Sam’s wrath. Got it.”

He didn’t answer right away, but his pace slowed slightly, his hand brushing the base of your spine as you turned a corner, like he was directing towards home. “Maybe I just like making sure you’re okay,” he muttered.

Your heart stuttered at his words, a quiet ache blooming in your chest, but you didn’t dare press him further. Hope was a dangerous thing, a fragile spark that had burned you one too many times before. It was safer to tuck it away, to pretend his words meant nothing more than what he’d said—a simple gesture of kindness, nothing deeper.

You were friends, after all... right? Or at least, friendly. He was kind to you, yes, but Bucky Barnes was kind in a way that felt carefully measured, like a soldier fulfilling his duty. He was a gentleman through and through, the kind who’d been raised to believe it was his responsibility to make sure no lady faced the dangers of the night alone.

“His mah would’ve expected nothing less,” you thought wryly, your lips tugging into a faint smile.

He was a man out of time, after all. Decades removed from the era he was born into, yet somehow still anchored there, even now. You wouldn’t have been surprised if the rules he followed were the same ones ingrained into him all those years ago. And maybe, just maybe, it was easier to believe that than to let yourself hope he cared for any reason beyond habit or honor.

“Almost there,” he said, his voice breaking through your thoughts. His hand hovered near your elbow, steady and sure, as if ready to catch you should you stumble.

The steps to your door loomed far too quickly for your aching heart, bringing an abrupt end to your time with the brooding soldier. Each step felt heavier than the last, as if your body was reluctant to leave his quiet, steady presence.

You paused on the final step, its height almost eliminating the difference between you and Bucky. It gave you just enough courage to look up at him, your fingers nervously twisting around the strap of your purse.

“Thank you, Bucky,” you said softly, your voice barely above a whisper.

He dipped his head in a single nod, his icy blue eyes flickering down to meet yours. His expression, as always, was unreadable, cast in shadows under the dim streetlamp. “Anytime.”

The simplicity of his reply made your chest tighten. You nodded in return, swallowing hard as your heart hammered in your throat. Turning away from him, you fixed your gaze on your front door, willing yourself to move forward, to end the moment before it unraveled you completely.

Friends. That’s all this was. It had to be.

So why did it feel so wrong to turn your back on him? Why did it feel like you were forcing yourself to betray something deeper, something unspoken, simply by walking away?

Your hand was on the doorknob before you realized you’d stopped moving, the quiet war between your heart and your mind reaching a fever pitch. You squeezed your eyes shut, battling the urge that rose in you like a wave.

Don’t do it. Just go inside. Let him leave.

But the battle was already lost. Before you could stop yourself—before logic could wrestle control away from the reckless beating of your heart—you turned. Your feet moved without permission, carrying you back down the steps toward him.

It wasn’t a decision so much as a pull, steady and undeniable, the words slipping from your lips as if carried on a tide of longing you couldn’t resist.

“Would you like to come up for a drink?”

The words tumbled out unbidden, your voice trembling just enough to betray how desperately you wanted him to say yes.

His reaction couldn’t have been more Bucky if he tried. His eyes shifted, and you swore you could see every emotion flash through them—surprise, hesitation, something a lot like longing—before they settled back into the stoic mask he always wore. Quiet. Unimpressed. Broody. And yet…

“I wouldn’t mind a beer.”

A laugh bubbled up in your chest, shaky with relief, and you motioned toward your door. “Well, come on then. I’ve got a six-pack that’s been waiting for some company.”

His presence filled the small apartment in a way that made your breath catch, the air somehow heavier, more electric. How many times had your silly, stubborn heart conjured up this exact scenario? Late at night, Bucky standing just inside your door, peeling off his worn leather jacket and tugging off the gloves that shielded both metal and flesh. Then, as if he’d done it a thousand times, he’d settle into a corner of your couch, legs spread, shoulders sinking back into the soft fabric like he belonged there.

“There's Heineken, Bud, and Corona,” you said, your voice only slightly betraying your nerves as you toed off your shoes and dropped your keys and purse by the door. “I think I might even have some whiskey stashed away somewhere. What’s your poison?”

He hesitated for a moment, his gaze trailing lazily around the room before settling back on you. “I’ll have what you’re having.”

Your stomach flipped, and you nodded, biting back the grin threatening to stretch across your face. “Sure thing,” you said casually, though you were certain the flush creeping up your neck gave you away.

You turned toward the kitchen, your heart doing an embarrassing little leap as you busied yourself rummaging through the fridge and cabinets. The clink of bottles felt absurdly loud in the quiet apartment, every moment stretching with the weight of his presence just beyond your line of sight.

“Nice place,” he called from the living room, his tone casual but laced with something warmer.

“Thanks,” you replied, grabbing two beers and popping the caps off with practiced ease. “I’d say make yourself at home, but it looks like you’ve already got that covered.”

When you re-entered the room, there he was—exactly as you’d imagined so many times before. His jacket was draped over the back of the couch, his gloves neatly set beside it, and Bucky himself sprawled out comfortably. His metal hand rested casually on his knee, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at his lips as his eyes met yours.

“Here you go, Mr. Barnes,” you said, forcing a steady smile as you handed him the green bottle.

“To your first visit,” you began, raising your own bottle in a toast. You couldn’t help the way your gaze lingered, taking in the sight of his broad frame on your couch, the casual way he sat, the sheer presence of him filling the space. Warmth pooled low in your belly, and before you could stop yourself, you added, “May it be the first of many.”

His smirk deepened at that, a flicker of amusement flashing across his features. He raised his bottle silently, going for a sip—but you stopped him, your hand darting out to rest on his.

“Wait!” you blurted, your palm lightly pressing against his larger one.

His frown was slight, his gaze shifting between your hands before settling on your face. “Why?”

“You have to look at me when we cheers,” you explained, your voice a little breathless, a little unsure of what you were doing but too far in to back out now.

His brow arched. “And why’s that?”

“Bad luck if you don’t. Years of it.” You shrugged, suddenly feeling the ridiculousness of your own words but refusing to back down. “I mean, I can’t even count how many years... Probably best not to risk it.”

For a second, you thought he might argue. But then he chuckled, a soft sound that sent a flutter straight to your chest. “God knows I’ve had enough of that already, haven’t I?”

You giggled, your laughter bubbling out, light and carefree. The fact that he played along felt like a victory, a small but monumental crack in his stoic armor.

With a glint of something softer in his eyes, he tilted his head toward you, his gaze locking with yours. “Alright, doll,” he said, his voice quieter now, warmer. “Let’s do it properly.”

Eyes steady on yours, he clinked his bottle against yours, the sound sharp and satisfying in the quiet room. And then, he didn’t look away—not for a second—as he took a slow sip.

You followed suit, the contact between your eyes and his making your heart race so fast you thought it might burst. The heat in his gaze was steady, grounding, and yet it sent a thrilling, electric charge through you that made your knees nearly buckle.

“Better?” he asked, his voice low, the faintest curve to his lips as he lowered his bottle.

“Much,” you replied, somehow managing to keep your voice steady, even as your pulse thundered in your ears.

The air between you seemed to shift then, heavier but no less comforting—a new tension that simmered beneath the surface. If Bucky noticed the way your gaze lingered on him, the way your breath hitched every time his hand grazed your knee as he reached for another beer, he never said a thing.

He was the perfect gentleman, as always. Even when you slid closer on the couch, settling beside him on the plush cushions - even though there were a whole three other seats available to you. Even when you turned toward him, resting your head on your palm, your eyes tracing the strong lines of his face while you rambled about the mission reports piling up on your desk. He didn’t even glance at your neckline when you leaned over him to grab the remote, though you couldn’t help but steal a quiet inhale of his scent—clean, warm, unmistakably him.

“Alright,” you said, breaking the quiet. “I feel like I’m torturing you by making you listen to all this. Do you feel like watching something?” Your tone was cheery, light, but your heart raced at the thought of sharing something as simple and intimate as watching a film together.

With your eyes fixed on the TV, you missed the brief hesitation in his expression—the flicker of doubt that crossed his face and quickly vanished. Yet, neither the guilt, the fear, nor the pain that lingered in his soul seemed strong enough to stop him from embracing what you offered so openly: a chance to simply be. For the first time in what felt like forever, Bucky seemed just a little less burdened by the shadows of his past, a ghost of his old self and a lot of his new one urging him to give in.

“What’s on Netflix?” he asked, his voice low and casual.

Your head whipped around so quickly you nearly gave yourself whiplash. “How do you know what Netflix is?”

His lips quirked into a rare, genuinely amused smile, the kind that made your stomach flip. “I’m old, but I’m not that old, doll.”

“You’re 106,” you shot back, arching a brow.

“And yet, I still know what streaming is,” he countered, the smile growing. “I’m not living under a rock.”

“Well, I am impressed, Mr. Barnes,” you teased, settling back into the cushions. “What else do you know about modern technology? Please tell me you’ve at least heard of TikTok.”

His expression shifted into something closer to a scowl, but the playful glint in his eye betrayed him. “I know about TikTok,” he said, sounding almost offended. “And dating apps. God, the horrors,” he added, shaking his head dramatically as he glanced at his phone like it was some sort of ancient relic.

You couldn’t help but laugh, the sound warm and genuine, filling the cozy space between you. But beneath the humor, your stomach twisted with an unexpected knot. Dating apps?

“What about dating apps?” you asked, trying to sound casual, but the curiosity in your voice was hard to hide.

Bucky groaned, slouching deeper into the couch as though the thought of them physically pained him. “I don’t know, doll. They just seem... unnatural. All these profiles and swiping left or right, like you’re picking a product instead of a person. Not my thing.” His voice held a certain distaste, and the casual way he said it made you wonder if he was speaking from experience—or just his own strong sense of principle.

You bit your lip, trying to suppress the questions bubbling up inside you. Had he ever used them? Was he speaking from personal experience, or just from watching the chaos unfold around him? Your thoughts shifted uncomfortably, and you tried to steer the conversation back to safer waters.

“I get it,” you said, trying to sound nonchalant. “It’s... kind of weird, honestly. It’s like shopping for a date, but with less... quality control.” You shot him a teasing grin, but the tightness in your chest was hard to ignore.

Bucky chuckled, the sound a low rumble that was soothing, even though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Exactly. I mean, if I’m gonna meet someone, I’d rather it be... I don’t know, real? Not behind a screen.”

For some reason, his comment made your heart stumble, a traitorous beat skipping out of rhythm. You quickly dropped your gaze to your beer, hoping the reaction wasn’t written all over your face. Was he hinting that he preferred real, in-person connections? That he’d rather... meet someone like that?

You cleared your throat, feigning casual interest to mask the swarm of uncertainty rising inside. “So, how would you go about it? Finding a date, I mean. Is Sam your wingman?”

Bucky nearly choked on his beer, shaking his head vehemently. “God, no! Can you imagine? He’s too busy being Captain America to care about my love life... except when he’s accusing me of flirting with his sister.”

The corner of his mouth lifted into a smirk, and your chest tightened with something sharp and unwelcome. Jealousy. You bit down on your bottom lip, trying to chase it away. “I didn’t know you liked Sarah,” you said, and to your horror, the disappointment in your voice was impossible to hide.

Bucky raised an eyebrow, clearly catching the shift in your tone. “She’s great,” he said with a thoughtful nod. Then his lips curved knowingly. “But not like that.”

The heat crawling up your neck to your cheeks was impossible to ignore, and Bucky’s sly grin told you he’d noticed. Your relief collided with your curiosity, the two tangling into a dangerous need to know more. “Oh,” you started hesitantly. “So... if not her, then who?”

He took another sip of his beer, the pause deliberate. “Had one date with the waitress from that Asian place we always order from. It… didn’t go well.”

Your brows furrowed. “And you haven’t tried again since then?”

“Not really.” He shrugged, leaning back in his chair, the movement deceptively casual. “You know how it is these days—apps, algorithms, everyone judging you by a couple of photos and a bio. And who’s lining up to date a former assassin, huh? People know too much, too soon. Real connections don’t happen that way.”

The self-deprecating edge in his voice made your heart ache. You tilted your head, studying the way his vibranium fingers tapped lightly against the beer bottle. “Maybe,” you said softly, your voice steady despite the nervous thrum beneath your skin, “you’re looking in the wrong places.”

His gaze snapped to yours, sharp and searching. “Oh yeah?” he asked, voice low, almost daring. “And where do you think I should look?”

You swallowed hard, feeling the weight of his question, his attention. “Maybe a little closer to home,” you murmured, eyes resolutely fixed on the beer bottle in your own hands.

The silence that followed was electric, charged with unspoken possibilities that hung in the air like static. His gaze lingered on you, steady and intense, and you could feel it even without looking up. It made your pulse race in a way you didn’t dare acknowledge.

The truth was, you weren’t sure if you were just caught up in the moment—or if there was something more lingering in his words, in the way he was looking at you now.

You wanted to ask. The question burned on the tip of your tongue, begging to be spoken. But a part of you hesitated, afraid of the answer. What if this was nothing more than friendly banter? What if pushing further shattered the comfortable connection you’d built?

“Closer to home, huh?” Bucky’s voice was a low rumble, breaking the silence but not the tension. He leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on his knees, and for a moment, it felt like he was closing the space between you. “And what does that mean, exactly? You got someone in mind for me, doll?”

There it was—that nickname. The one you pretended to hate but secretly adored. It sent a shiver down your spine, and you could feel the corner of your mouth twitch, betraying the smile you tried to suppress. His voice was so close it warmed you from head to toe. “I’m just saying,” you replied, forcing your tone to stay neutral, “maybe you’re overthinking it. Sometimes the best things are right in front of you.”

His lips quirked, his expression softening as if he’d caught onto something unsaid. “You think so?” Bucky asked, his voice quieter now, almost thoughtful.

You dared to turn your head and glance at him, and the way his blue eyes locked onto yours stole whatever breath you had left. “Yeah,” you said, your voice barely more than a whisper. “I know so.”

The moment stretched between you, fragile and heavy with unspoken words. You swore he was leaning closer, his gaze flickering briefly to your lips before returning to your eyes. And suddenly, the question burning in your chest felt inevitable.

“Bucky…” you began, voice trembling slightly, unsure of what you were about to say—or what he might say back.

“Yeah, doll?” Bucky’s voice was gentle, a thread of warmth in the charged air between you.

You hesitated, but the weight of your emotions was too much to carry any longer. “Is this a date?” you finally blurted, the words tumbling out before you could second-guess yourself.

For a moment, his expression didn’t change, and then he shook his head slowly. “It’s not,” he said, his voice steady but quiet.

Your chest tightened, and the disappointment hit hard, like a blow you hadn’t braced for. You tried to mask it, but your face betrayed you, your shoulders sagging under the weight of the rejection. The ache in your heart grew with every second of silence that followed, the room feeling colder with each passing beat.

What you missed was the storm raging behind his steel-blue eyes—the internal battle he fought against his demons, the ones that screamed he wasn’t good enough for you. Wasn’t good enough for anyone. He’d carried those ghosts for too long to ignore them now. But he wasn’t blind.

He’d noticed the way your smile softened when it was meant for him, brighter and warmer than it ever was for anyone else. He’d seen how you fretted over him after missions, your hands fluttering with concern even at the smallest scratch on his skin. And he’d felt the hope radiating from you tonight when you’d invited him over, your words laced with a vulnerability you rarely showed.

Bucky knew. He’d known for a while. And that knowledge both terrified and thrilled him. Love, in any form, was fragile—he’d learned that the hard way. But tonight, sitting here with you, he realized he couldn’t keep running from the possibility of it.

He wanted you. Your laughter, your kindness, your stubbornness, your touch. He craved all of it. And maybe he didn’t deserve it, but for once in his long life, he wanted to try.

Bucky set his beer down, his movements deliberate, and leaned closer. His flesh hand brushed against the back of your arm and the touch sent a shiver up your arm. 

“It’s not a date,” he repeated, voice low but filled with a quiet resolve that made your breath catch, hurt twisting at your heart.

Your brow furrowed, the downturn of your lips impossible to hide. “Heard you the first time…”

“This isn’t a date,” he pressed on. Then, with a small, almost shy smile, he added, “But it could be.”

Your heart skipped, his words hanging in the air like a lifeline. “Bucky…”

Cutting through your hesitation, his gaze locked onto yours, unflinching, steady. “If you want this… if you want me, I’m yours. I want to try.”

The vulnerability in his voice left you breathless, stealing any coherent thought you might have had. For the first time in what felt like forever, hope blossomed in your chest, warm and radiant. You didn’t hesitate this time, your lips curving into a soft, trembling smile.

“Is this because you’re afraid of the apps?” you teased, the quip breaking the intensity just enough for you to breathe. But your voice wavered slightly, and your eyes glistened with the tears threatening to spill. “Aren’t you afraid I’ll steal your virtue?”

Bucky chuckled, low and genuine, the sound sending warmth curling in your chest. “I’m not a damsel in distress, doll,” he said, his tone playful as his fingers brushed a strand of hair away from your face. The simple touch sent shivers down your spine, and you leaned into it instinctively.

“And you’re also not the big bad wolf you think you are,” you countered softly, your voice tinged with both affection and defiance.

“Well, technically…” His lips quirked into a lopsided grin. “I am the White Wolf.”

You rolled your eyes, the tension breaking into something lighter, something safe. “He jokes,” you said, shaking your head. “He could be kissing instead…”

His grin softened, and for a beat, he just looked at you, his hand still lingering near your face. Then, as if your words had given him permission, he leaned in, closing the space between you in a way that felt both inevitable and extraordinary.

“Guess I’ll take your advice for once, doll,” he murmured, his breath brushing against your lips.

The moment his lips touched yours, the world seemed to shrink to just the two of you. His kiss was gentle at first, a question rather than an assumption, as though he wanted to be sure this was what you truly wanted. His warm hand cupped your cheek, his thumb brushing softly against your cheekbone, while his vibranium hand rested lightly on your knee, grounding him in the moment.

You sighed into the kiss, your hand instinctively reaching up to thread through the short hair at the nape of his neck. The movement drew him closer, and he obliged, deepening the kiss with a soft groan that sent a shiver down your spine. His lips were soft yet firm, moving against yours in a way that spoke of patience and restrained hunger, like he was savoring every second of this moment.

His vibranium hand finally moved, finding your waist with surprising tenderness. The cool metal was a stark contrast to the heat of his other hand through the fabric of your shirt, but it pulled you to the reality of him—both the man he was and the one he’d fought so hard to become.

When you parted briefly for air, his forehead rested against yours, his breaths mingling with yours in the small space between you. His eyes fluttered open, heavy-lidded and brimming with emotions he didn’t have to say out loud.

“Doll…” he whispered, his voice rough and full of awe, like he couldn’t quite believe what had just happened.

But you weren’t done. You weren’t ready to let the moment slip away. Sliding your hand from his neck to his jaw, you tilted his face back toward yours, brushing your lips against his again, slower this time, savoring the taste of him. He responded immediately, his grip on your waist tightening as his mouth moved against yours with more certainty, more passion.

The kiss deepened, growing warmer, more insistent. Your bodies angled closer together, his presence consuming your senses. You could feel his heartbeat against yours, steady and strong, and the faint rasp of his stubble as it brushed against your skin only made the experience more intoxicating.

You weren’t sure how it happened—one moment you were pressed against the back of your couch, his hands and lips demanding your full attention, and the next, you were straddling his thighs. Your arms wrapped tightly around his neck as your harsh breaths mingled, the taste of his tongue intoxicating and impossible to resist.

For all his claims of being a man out of his time, Bucky Barnes knew exactly how to touch a woman. His hands were a perfect dichotomy: one warm and strong, the other cool and unyielding, but both equally firm and commanding. His touch left no room for doubt or hesitation, responding to every unspoken plea you hadn’t yet found the words for.

And his kiss? God, his kiss. You could write sonnets about the way his lips moved against yours, the way his tongue teased and claimed you, coaxing a need from you that you hadn’t known you were capable of. None of your wildest fantasies could compare to the reality of him, his body pressed against yours, solid and capable. The things it could do—what it was doing, what it promised to do—set your whole body alight with yearning.

You kissed him harder, deeper, needier, your hips moving instinctively against his. His groan rumbled low in his chest, a sound that only made you crave him more. But just as your movements grew more desperate, his vibranium hand clamped firmly on your hips, halting your rhythm. His flesh hand cupped your jaw, gentle but insistent, forcing you to break the kiss.

“Doll…” His voice was rough, laced with a warning that sent a delicious shiver down your spine.

You blinked at him, still dazed, heat crawling under your skin as you realized what you’d done. “Yes, I’m sorry, I know—I’m sorry,” you stammered, your cheeks burning with embarrassment.

His breaths came heavy, his chest rising and falling against yours as his steel-blue eyes bore into yours. The hunger there mirrored your own, and the restraint in his grip only made you want him more.

Your lips quirked into a small, teasing smile, your own need warring with the desire to break the tension. “Seems like I really am trying to steal your virtue, huh?” you joked, your voice light but shaky as you turned your head to press a soft kiss to his palm.

His lips twitched, the faintest hint of amusement breaking through the hunger. “You’re gonna be the death of me,” he muttered, his hand slipping from your jaw to trail gently along your cheek, his thumb brushing over your kiss-swollen lips.

Your free hand wrapped around his vibranium one, your thumb tracing the grooves of the metal. “Wouldn’t dream of it,” you murmured, your voice soft but laced with promise as you leaned in, resting your forehead against his.

For a moment, neither of you moved, the charged silence stretching as his hands anchored you, holding you steady but never pushing. His restraint was palpable, and you knew without a doubt—if you wanted more, he would give it to you willingly. But only if you asked.

You wouldn’t, though. Not tonight.

Instead, you leaned in, brushing soft, sweet kisses against his lips, your movements unhurried and tender. Each kiss felt like a promise, an unspoken assurance that there was no rush, no need for anything more than this moment. It took superhuman strength—the kind he had—not to let it escalate.

When you finally pulled back, both of you were breathless, your lips tingling and your cheeks warm. His eyes searched yours, and the way he looked at you—like you were the most precious thing in the world—made your heart swell. His thumb grazed your cheek, his smile soft and genuine.

“How about that movie?” he murmured, his voice low and teasing, though his eyes betrayed a depth of emotion that made your breath catch.

You laughed, the sound breaking the last remnants of tension and filling the cozy space around you. “Alright, fine. Let’s find something to watch, then. Any preferences?”

“Anything but those baking shows Sam keeps trying to get me into,” he muttered, his lips quirking in faint exasperation.

A giggle bubbled out of you at the mental image of Sam dragging Bucky into a world of frosting, sprinkles, and delicate pastries. The idea was so absurd yet so perfectly Sam that you couldn’t help yourself. Leaning in, you pressed a soft kiss to his jaw, your lips lingering just long enough to feel the faint rasp of stubble. “Deal. No baking shows.”

As the two of you settled back onto the couch, scrolling through movie options, the tension between you shifted again—this time, it was softer, lighter, wrapped in a warmth that felt safe and steady.

Bucky stretched his arm along the back of the couch, his fingers absently brushing against your shoulder as you leaned into him, your body naturally seeking his. And for the first time in a long time, you noticed something different about him. The shadows that usually haunted his expression seemed to have lifted, replaced by something quieter, something calmer.

Here, with you, Bucky wasn’t the broken soldier or the ex-assassin haunted by his past. He was just… himself. And in that moment, you realized that’s all you’d ever wanted him to be.

[mattodore]

you're begging me to take a bite

[motorsportbarbie13]

A Package Deal - Part 3

In which things are made official.

Warnings: smut in the middle. lando being jealous. Pairing: Lando x SingleMom!Reader Word Count: 4.6k words

(a note: happy new year loves!!! hope you enjoy part three!!)

- A Package Deal - A Package Deal - Part 2 - Master List

yourusername (private) posted

yourusername testing testing... BFFSarah so jealous! >>>yourusername miss you! ❤️ landonorris stalker >>>yourusername 😘 >>>BFFSarah 👀

"I'm funnier than Greg, right?" Lando grumbles, not even bothering to take his eyes off of you.

"Mate, what?" Oscar replies, eyes narrowed, totally mystified as to what the hell his teammate is talking about. "Like, Greg, the guy on the strategy team Greg?"

"Yeah, him." Lando raises his chin towards where you stand opposite of said strategy Greg, laughing (even louder this time) at something he's said. Lando knuckles go white on the counter he's standing when Greg leans in just a bit too close for his comfort.

It was the first day of testing in Bahrain and Lando had just come in from his first test stint of the 2025 season. When he'd walked into the garage a few minutes earlier, he'd instantly clocked where you stood near the back of the garage staring up at a few computer monitors beside his newest nemesis, Greg. At first he hadn't thought anything of it but then he heard you laugh, a sound that was quickly becoming one of his favorite things, and he had stopped what he was doing to stare.

"I don't think I know Greg's sense of humor well enough to be the judge of that." Oscar responds, still confused as to why Lando was asking him such a random question. When Oscar follows Lando's line of sight though, everything clicks into place and starts to make a lot more sense.

"Oh..." He mutters, unable to quell the smirk that surfaces.

"'Oh' what?" Lando snaps, still attempting to assassinate Greg with a glare.

"You're jealous." Oscar practically giggles. He might be the quieter one of the driver duo, but that quiet demeanor meant that he noticed a lot more than other people gave him credit for and Oscar had caught onto Lando's crush after the first time he had stumbled into your office and disappeared on him for hours.

Lando finally tears his eyes away from where you're standing, still staring up in rapt attention to Greg. "I most certainly am not." He huffs, crossing his arms over his chest in a move that is very reminiscent of a Stella temper tantrum.

"You two aren't even together, are you?" Oscar reasons, doing next to nothing to reassure Lando that he has nothing to be worried about.

Lando narrows his eyes at the Australian as he fights a pout. "I mean, no. Not technically, I guess."

And that was the problem, wasn't it? You two had been on a few dates and he'd been coming over to your house to hang with you and Stella more and more but a serious discussion of what was happening? He'd been too scared to have that kind of talk with you so quick. You made him nervous but being rejected by you sounded even worse.

"Maybe you should like, talk to her about it then? If that's what you want? I mean, I've never seen the sight of a girl talking to someone else send you into orbit like this before. You really like her, don't you?"

Oscar had worked hard to keep his opinion of you and Lando together to himself. He hated when people commented on his relationship with Lily, which was a big reason why they were so quiet together, so he had made it a point not to press when it came to you. He'd spent most of the morning with you though, while Lando was in the car and he could see why Lando was so attached to you already. You were wicked smart and the program that you had been writing for the team was impressive. He knew there were other people in Lando's life that didn't think the driver could handle being with someone like you but the more Oscar got to know you, the more he could see why you two got on so well.

Lando's gaze slides back to you then. "I do, yeah." He murmurs, a sudden sense of determination settling over him. Before he has the chance to chicken out once again, he pats Oscar on the back and starts off towards where you and Greg are still huddled together in front of a computer screen.

"Greg, can I steal her away from you real quick?" Lando says by way of greeting, his tone needlessly possessive. "Will and I wanted to go through last sessions data with you before lunch." He lies.

You hadn't noticed the way Lando had been staring daggers at you and Greg up until that very moment but the feral look he's giving you takes you by surprise. Greg had approached you as Lando's session had wound down and your new program was stretching its legs on your laptop. He wanted to talk about the inputs you were adding in for this year and give you some feedback on the initial data capture of this morning's session. It was totally innocent and when Lando had slid up next to you practically breathing fire, you had been a bit caught off guard.

"I'll see you at the cocktail party later tonight, Greg." You give him a smile before turning back to Lando. "Where do you want to go, the debrief room?"

"Sure." Lando huffs, giving Greg a fake smile before grabbing your elbow and leading you towards an empty conference room. Like hell you were going to see Gregory at any point for the rest of the day.

You're totally confused at the way he's practically dragging you down the hallway and even more perplexed when Lando nearly slams the door closed behind him and you find the debrief room completely empty. "Where's Will?"

"What?" Lando frowns.

"You said you and Will wanted to go over some data after your session." Annoyance moves through you. What in the world was going on?

"Oh, yeah no. I lied." Lando glares at you like you're the insane one, frown deepening.

"Lando!" You sputter, resisting the urge to chuck the nearest laptop at his head. "I was in the middle of a conversation with Greg."

When he rolls his eyes, you swear you see red. "Yeah, I know. We all saw how endlessly entertaining the conversation was."

The pout that finds it's way onto his face is what unlocks everything for you though. Sudden understanding washes over you as it all finally clicks.

"You're jealous!" You gasp, desperately trying not to burst into a fit of giggles.

Lando at least as the decency to look a bit ashamed of his behavior but attempts to deny it. "I am not."

You arch an eyebrow at the man standing across from you as if he's not the easiest book in the world to read. "Lando Norris, you were jealous of a man who was telling me all about how his boyfriend took him on a trip to the Bahamas over the holidays and got bitten by a wild swimming pig."

The way Lando's cheeks go scarlet as he crosses his arms over his chest nearly has you doubled over with laughter.

"Oh."

"Oh is right, you muppet." You chuckle, using the term of endearment he's become famous for. In a few strides, your within arms length of him, tugging at the waist of his half unzipped race suit. Lando takes a step forward as you pull him closer.

"Jealously looks good on you, Norris." You smirk before giving him a quick peck on the cheek, mindful of the fact that you're still at work.

Lando settles his hands on your hips, drawing you even closer to him, seemingly forgetting that he's still at work. He grins down at you, a flirty glint sparking in his eyes.

"Yeah, well. What can I say? The sight of some idiot flirting with my girlfriend kind of set me off."

Your hands slip around Lando's waist. Heart hammering so fast you're amazed Lando can't hear it, you beam up at him. You'd never experienced the kind of contentment and safety you felt whenever you were with Lando before. He frequently caught you off balance like this and had you feeling like you were a teenager again, still believing in fairy tales and happy endings.

"Girlfriend, huh?"

"That's right." He whispers. The rasp in his voice has you pressing your hips into his, seeking friction from his body.

"Well, since I'm your girlfriend then I guess you’ll be needing this for later tonight." Reaching into the back pocket of your jeans, your fingers find the thin plastic card you'd stashed there to slip into Lando's hand sometime this afternoon.

Anticipation sparks between your bodies as Lando figures out what you've just pressed into his palm. All this time he'd been building up this big conversation that he thought had to be had and nervously putting so much pressure on himself to do this all the right way. It had only taken a matter of seconds though and you had reminded him that it like most everything that happened between you and him, this was easy too. There's a silent understanding that passes between you two then that maybe this was how it was supposed to be from the beginning and that sometimes wires get crossed and we meet people later than the universe intended.

"I have to get back to work and you should really find Will and actually debrief but I think I'd like to skip tonights cocktail hour if that's okay with you."

Lando reluctantly lets go and nods, swallowing around the thick lump of emotion stuck in his throat.

"Yeah." He croaks before reaching back out to bring your face to his, kissing you so intensely your knees buckle. "I'll see you tonight."

Not even five minutes after Lando responds to your text, you hear the beeping of the lock to your hotel room door and it swings open moments later. Anxiety flows through you despite the flirty text you'd just sent. This kind of thing was totally out of your wheel house, with most of your adult life spent focusing on your daughter and not dating. It had been Sarah's suggestion to send that risky text but after your conversation with Lando earlier, you were briefly confident that it would be well received. And judging by his response, you were right. That didn't do much to calm your nerves though so the knock on your door sends the butterflies in your belly flying around in what feels like a category five tornado.

"Are you trying to kill me?" Lando groans when he sees you kneeling on the bed waiting for him. Every thought tumbles straight out of his head at the sight of you waiting for him in nothing but black bits of lace. If he had known this was what had been waiting for him all night, he certainly wouldn't have gone to dinner with some of the team.

"You like it then?" You ask, barely resisting the urge to dive under the covers you feel so exposed under his gaze. Lando can't stop staring and it's starting to make you nervous, the way he's dragging his eyes up and down your body without making an attempt to move from where he stands just inside your hotel room.

"Like it? Baby, are you fucking kidding me? I don't think I've ever seen a prettier sight in my entire life." The rasp in his voice drags down your skin like sandpaper.

"Then stop staring and get over here."

Lando obeys immediately, toeing off his shoes before joining you on the bed. His hands find your hips and before you can make a sound, he's pulling you into his lap and attaching his lips to your neck.

"I think everyone got the impression I was about to be sick or something, I got up from that table so fucking fast." He mumbles against you. "Also, give me some warning next time you're going to send me that kind of thing, Osc nearly got an eye full of something that is for my eyes only."

Lando had been attempting to show Oscar something on his phone when your text had come through and the moment he'd swapped over to his iMessage app he was glad that Andrea had picked that exact second to call Oscar's name. He had shut down the message app so fast, all of his blood rushing straight from his head to below his belt.

"Oops." You giggle. "Sorry."

"You're not one bit sorry, don't lie."

All you do is shrug as you preen under his attention. He eyes drag lazy lines up and down your body, stalling when they fall on the black lace barely hiding your most intimate parts. The heat of his gaze has fire stoking deep in your belly and for the first time in years, you feel desired and wanted. It's an unfamiliar feeling that you're still getting used to but with Lando, it feels safe. You feel cared for and it's unlike anything you've ever experienced with anyone you've slept with before. Which, to be totally honest, wasn't a lot. You haven't been in a serious relationship since Stella's dad, the only dates you've gone on in the last six years usually ending in casual flings that don't end up meaning much outside of the bedroom.

This though? This feels different and you know Lando feels the same.

Lando's hands grip at your hips as he moves you off his lap briefly and stands up. Your eyes nearly roll back into your head when he unbuckles his belt with one hand, tugging it off in one smooth motion, the leather slapping against itself and echoing throughout the otherwise silent room. 

“Jesus.” You breathe and desperately try to catch your breath as he reaches for the hem of his shirt. You've known that Lando has a sinfully good body for a while, his entire career is centered around his body afterall so naturally, he is in amazing shape. There’s a reason that women will do next to anything to get any of the drivers in their bed. Nothing prepared you for the hard planes of his chest and the insane cut of his abs though. The way his waist nips in to show off a deep V cut of his torso makes your mouth water. With both his jeans and shirt now discarded, he stands in front of you in just a pair of gray boxers that do absolutely nothing to hide how rock hard he is.

Fuck. 

Before you can stop yourself, you rise up on your knees and move towards him, needing to get your hands on his body. On your knees before him while he’s standing, you only come up to his collar bones but that’s enough. You drop kisses on his heated flesh and relish the way his breath hitches in his throat when your lips make contact. He allows you to continue kissing him for several moments, his hands roaming all over your body. You don’t know how long it is but after his hands have taken full a full tour of your skin, he pulls back and looks at you with a primal glint in his eyes. “Lay down." He orders "I need my tongue on you. Now.” 

You obey and crawl back, watching him prowl after you. Your head rests on the pile of pillows as he covers you with his body and suddenly, the insecurity and anxiety from earlier flashes through your mind. You've never been with anyone who seemed to want to do anything but fuck you and then be done with it. This reverence for your body is completely foreign and the reality of what is about to happen crashes through the haze of lust that clouds your mind.

You must stiffen a bit because a frown appears on Lando's face as his arms cage you in and he hovers over you. “Baby?” 

You shake your head, refusing to let your insecurity ruin the night. Your eyes close and you take a deep breath to steady yourself.

“I’m fine.” You whisper but Lando doesn’t believe you. He drops back onto his knees and straddles you, drawing back so he can see your entire face. 

“What’s wrong? We don’t have to do this tonight if you’re not ready.” 

Your face heats, but from embarrassment this time. Fuck. You do not want to ruin this.

“No. It’s okay. I just…I’m just not used to this kind of attention.” You don’t tell him how your're used to being used for your body, for whatever pleasure your partner can get out of me and nothing more. You don’t tell him how insecure it makes you to think that he could do the same thing to you too, despite how safe and good he makes you feel no matter what. Sometimes, habits are hard to break. Especially habits that are born out of trauma. You can't tell him any of that though because you think it might break his heart. 

Lando tilts his head and seemingly understands what you're saying. “I don’t know what the fuck the guys in your life were thinking, having you in their bed and not treating you properly, but baby, I am not them. This is not about me, this is about you.” His fingers trace long, lazy lines from your shoulder down over your bra and continue down your body as you shudder with pleasure.

“That’s it." He coos. "I know you’re scared but I swear to you, you are safe with me.” His voice is barely a whisper but you can hear the sincerity in it. Your heart thunders in your chest as you hover between wanting to stop and throwing every bit of caution away and allowing him to do whatever he wants to you. 

“I know I am. I always have been.” You hum.

“Do you want to stop? You just have to say the word and we will. This is yours to control.” 

Your eyes search his for any trace of anger and when you find nothing but honesty in his face, you shake your head. “Please don’t stop.”

You desperately do not want him to stop. 

Once he’s sure you're okay, he crashes his mouth on yours once again and you melt into him. His body is so heavy on top of you but it feels oh so good. You never want it to end. You never want tonight to end. Lando presses kisses into your skin all down your body, starting at your jaw, moving slowly downwards. Kisses on that dip between your neck and shoulders, lower to your sternum, even lower to just above where your bra still sits. He stops then and snakes a hand behind you, lifting you up momentarily, and unclasps the back with surprising ease.

“Okay, that was way too easy for you.” You accuse, laughter bubbling up as he tosses the bra across the room. 

His eyes find yours and he shrugs casually, “What?” He feigns innocence, “Lucky first try?” 

“Oh, whatever. Get back to work.” You order, laughter teasing at the edge of your voice. 

Lando shakes his head again, dropping his head back where he had left off and turns his attention to one of your nipples, taking it fully in his mouth. You inhale a sharp breath at the sensation coursing through you. It feels like your skin is on fire, all leading down to a single throb between your legs. He hums in satisfaction when your back arches off the bed. A moan escapes your lips when he scrapes his teeth against the sensitive skin, the pain sends a jolt of electricity straight to your core. After what feels like an eternity, he turns his attention to the other nipple, already pebbled and hard, aching for the same attention. Your mind goes blank as you focus on the jolts of electricity coursing through your body. Your hands tangle in his curls, gripping at the tangles of brown hair, needing something to latch onto. 

“Lan.” His name is a whispered prayer on your lips. 

“Fuck. Baby.” He comes up for air briefly to look at you again and you almost can’t stand to look at him, he looks so good. His lips are swollen from kissing you for so long and he's got this heavy lidded, lustful hazy gaze in his eyes that you've never seen from him before.

“You taste so good.” He rasps before shifting back up to land kisses on your lips. You're so focused on what his lips are doing that you completely miss his fingers digging into your hips. You let out a startled cry when the sound of ripping fabric cuts through the breathy sighs that have filled the room. 

“Lando!” You whine, “I liked those!” You look at the torn bits of black lace that he’s dropped next to him on the bed and sigh dramatically.

“They were in my way. I’ll buy you fifty more tomorrow.” Without waiting for a response, his hand dips down towards your pussy and anticipation climbs in you. You gasp when he sinks not one, but two fingers into the heat between your legs.  Your entire body aches off the bed towards his hand. “Christ. Baby. You are fucking soaked for me, aren’t you?” 

It’s all you can do to just nod an affirmation as he swirls his fingers in achingly slow circles. His thick fingers inch closer to your clit but manage to avoid it and you know he’s doing it on purpose. You wiggle your hips in search of that friction you crave so badly but every time you get close, he moves his fingers out of the way. By the fourth time this happens, you're a whimpering mess underneath him and Lando is clearly enjoying it. “Lando.” You whimper. “Touch me.” 

“I am touching you.” He drops another hot kiss on your jaw and traces his tongue down your neck. You swear you're going to explode from the sensations coursing through your body. 

“You know exactly what I fucking mean.” You snap and move your hips again, only to find his fingers just short of the destination you want them in yet again. 

An evil chuckle tickles your skin. “I like you like this. A pretty little mess underneath me. My girl is so wet for me, isn’t she?” 

His girl. The emotions crash through you at his words and every other thought beyond those two words leaves your brain. 

His girl. 

His girl. 

Your brain chants the all consuming phrase. 

Just when you think you can’t take it any more and you feel that familiar tug at the base of your spine and Lando finally gives you what you've been aching for. The pad of his thumb brushes against your clit and your hips fly off the bed towards his fingers. A cry escapes your lips as you claw at his back. He keeps up the same pace and you can feel yourself barreling towards a delicious release.

“Please. Don’t. Stop.” You pant, breath coming in short gasps as you rock your hips against his hand. Thankfully, he keeps his hand exactly where it is and allows you to grind against it, knowing that this is exactly what you need from him. His lips come down on yours again and when he sucks your bottom lip into his mouth, you fly over the cliff.

Sweet release shatters your entire body and you stiffen against him. Your nails dig into his back, leaving little half moons embedded in his flesh. He’ll have red welts there for days and he couldn’t be happier about it. You don’t know how many times you cry out his name but he keeps completely still, allowing you to get the relief that you desperately need against him. 

When your orgasm subsides, you practically melt into the bed, mind too muddled with pleasure to talk. You open your eyes and grin lazily at Lando, who has shifted so he’s lying next to you on the bed. He’s grinning right back and tracing shiver-inducing lines up and down your naked skin.

“Fuck. Lando. That…” You are completely lost for words so it takes you a moment to form a complete sentence, “That was the first time anyones been able to make me come with just their fingers.” 

“Well, I’m glad I could be your first.” He smirks, dropping a kiss on your temple as he pulls you closer to him.

You turn to face him and you're struck at how handsome he is. His curly hair is messy from when you pulled at it while he was getting you off, his eyes glassy with satisfaction even though he hasn’t even come himself yet. He seems to get off just watching you and that is a completely foreign concept.

You reach out and feel the light stubble that covers his jaw, enjoying the rough feel against your fingers. You idly wonder what that stubble would feel like against your thighs and decide that you're just going to have to find out exactly what it feels like soon. That one single thought sends heat flooding through your veins once again and you're surprised. You've never considered myself to be one of those girls that could go several rounds. Usually you were finished after one orgasm, most of the time it was faked anyway. But with Lando laying next to you, you feel like you could do this for the rest of the night. A mischievous grin slips across your face as you reach over and push him back into the pillows.

Before you allow yourself to think about what you're doing, you straddle him and relish in the feeling of his dick that is now nudging against your ass. “I think I need you inside me now.” You tell him and squeal when his pupils blow and he flips you onto your back without warning. 

Hours later, you fall into such a deep sleep you don't notice Lando slip out of bed to get a drink of water from the bathroom. You'd spent the better part of the evening underneath him as he gradually worked you over so good you had lost count of how many times he had made you come.

The mattress dips when he joins you back in bed and Lando is surprised to find that he doesn't want to leave you. Up until meeting you, Lando had been more of a one night stand, never sleep over, kind of person when it came to sex. Getting back into bed with you and pulling you close so he could fall asleep with you tucked next to him was something he never thought he'd want but now that he had it, he knew he'd never be able to live without it again.

When Lando pulls you towards him, you stir a bit, enjoying the way the heat of his body warms your naked skin. You're so fucked out from everything Lando did to your body, your brain is a little sluggish but you turn into him, burying your head deep into his chest.

"You left me." You whine sleepily.

Lando slots his leg between yours, hitching your top leg up over his waist. "I'm sorry, baby." He whispers against your hair. "I needed a drink but I'm not going anywhere."

"I thought you left." In your sleepy haze, the words you probably would've tamped down slip out. "Please don't leave me."

Lando knows you're more than half asleep and probably don't realize what you're saying but something in your words has him feeling you don't just mean for the night. "I'm not going anywhere, sweet girl. Not ever." He whispers, listening to the soft cooing sound you make in response before you drift right back off to sleep.

Tag list: @shelbyteller @formulaal @martygraciesversion381 @longhairkoo @samantha-chicago @stelena-klayley @dark-night-sky-99 @luckylampzonkland @chlmtfilms @aykxz98 @forensicheart @cheer-bear-go-vroom @lieutenantchaos @willowsnook @linnygirl09 @meglouise00 @mixedstyles @secret-agents-stole-my-bunnies @mrosales16 @charlesgirl16 @leclercdream @daemyratwst @dramaticpiratellamas @mochimommy2002 @llando4norris @chelseyyouraverageluigi @iamaunknownsecret @maxivstappen @imlonelydontsendhelp @nina-or-anna-or-nora @a1leexxa @littlegrapejuice @sunflowervol18 @freyathehuntress @finn-dot-com @swiftie-4-lifes-stuff @chirasama @lauralarsen @dr3wstarkey @saskiaalonso @rbv3rstappen @ilovechickenwings @guaaafiiburg @mcmuppet @glitteryturtledeer @mindless-rock @piastei-fvx

[iregularlyevadetaxes]

come on I JUST logged on

I looked into this https://www.yahoo.com/news/telegram-rape-chat-groups-70-142422399.html

when I first saw this headline I thought that reminds me of "the nth room" sex crime case in south korea, well reading the article it turns out it's essentially the same thing but on a global scale! what an activity to bond over. if you don't know the details of these situations and don't want to read further - it's chatroom discussing rape and torture methods and spreading pictures/videos raping women and girls. the korean chat room discovery resulted in conviction, but that's also due to the involvement of blackmailing and other cyber crimes.

and no, I don't think it's an issue with telegram. you know some of us grew up around men like this. it's easy to pretend the issue is one app, or this or that country, or deviant sexuality, but no, it is just a pure hatred for women. now I have my own theories on what particular life experiences lead to this particularly sexually sadistic manifestation of misogyny (I think it begins with a certain parental dynamic) but that's a whole other can of worms.

[gaymelie]

I also want to add that the whole „Dopamine addiction“ was pseudoscientification of something that might be a real and harmful pattern of behaviour but sure as hell has little to do with dopamine. Dopamine is involved in brain processes including smaller or larger bits of „happiness“ but you cant be addicted to the actual neurotransmitter.

Framing it that way was pseudoscience from the start and basically immediately led to some really weird behaviours about it and given how versatile it is (due to being fake) of course all manner of scammers immediately picked it up. If someone tells you theres one simple neurobiological explanation for some really common issue they are basically always simplifying things to the point of falsehood.

I’m taking the words “cortisol,” “dopamine addiction” and “vagus nerve reset” away from marketers and influencers and putting them on a shelf.

[whorelaud]

pornstar!rafe fucking staff!reader in the bathroom during filming break  warnings smut, unprotected p in v, bathroom sex, creampies, slight degradation & praise 

Three minutes. The announcement made you clench around Rafe’s cock, chasing after your climax as it builds with each time the latter buckles his hips inside you. Your fingers seeked his shoulders, holding him close while he still thrusts into you, attention fixed on his sweaty figure as it slams onto yours.  

“Hurry, we’re going to get caught.” You warned, throwing your head back when Rafe’s hand cupped one of your tits, taking it in his hold as he rolled your now hardened nipple in between his fingers, admiring the way you squirmed underneath him; rolling your hips up to chase after the fraction. “Rafeeee ‘please.” 

“Such a fucking slut.” He grunted, inserting his fingers in your mouth, a mere attempt of blocking your muffled whines from getting you caught. Don’t get him wrong, he loves hearing you moan his name while he fucks you senseless, the thrill of knowing others could walk in at any given moment, well aware you’d let him continue, desperate to have his cock inside you, however, he wasn't risking it, not when this bond was forbidden, out of the picture. “Look at you, moaning my name like I fuckin’ own you, huh? You’ve been eyeing me this whole time, couldn't wait to have my dick inside you, did you?”

You nod in response, unable to coherent a proper sentence without crumbling in his hold; though his fingers were part of the reason why. You pressed your back to the wall, wrapping your legs firmly around his waist, the gesture causing Rafe to fasten his pace, his thrusts instantly growing sloppy inside you. You would've fully screamed, if not for the digits in your mouth. 

You couldn't believe this was happening, Rafe?

You’ve been working under Rafe’s management for a bit over a year now, wanting nothing more than to get a taste of him, admire from afar in hopes of ever having his cock inside you, knees growing weak each time he’d brush past you, as you later found yourself in your bed, pumping your fingers into your soaked cunt, wishing it was his throbbing cock instead. 

And now, it was finally happening, as Rafe dragged you to the bathroom, giving you no time to process the situation before his cock was pulsing inside you, filling up your insides as your hole swallows his length whole. A whine muffled its way out of your throat, digging your nails into the blade of his shoulders, when you felt your orgasm building up. 

“I’m close.” You announced, breath heaving when Rafe’s hips slammed into you, thumb trailing down to your core, with the intention of finding your clit. He rubbed circles to your nub, smirking when you grew sensitive in his hold. 

“Think you can handle it, hmm?” Rafe questioned, teeth grazing over the lobe of your ear. “Want me to cum inside you and make a mess out of your needy pussy, baby? You' gonna walk out there with my cum inside you?” 

“Rafe please.” You mewled, “Jus’ do it.”

That’s all it took before Rafe was cumming inside you. The latter buckled his hips into your cunt, groaning as your legs trembled in his arms, announcing your orgasm in the process. Your heavy breaths were the only thing heard as you came down from your high, slowly fluttering your eyes open to meet Rafe’s. He was already staring at you, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips upon seeing your flustered expression. 

“We’re fucked if the director finds out, you know that?” You whispered, shying away from Rafe’s gaze. 

“Oh, I know.” He emphasized on the ‘know’, leaning down to plant a soft kiss to your lips. “You’re lucky I love your pussy, baby. I’m willing to sacrifice my job for you.” 

“Do you say that to every girl you fuck?” 

[thankskenpenders]

The mystery of that random magenta-haired Sonic woman: solved?

For almost three years now, there's been a little mystery in the Sonic franchise: who the hell is this lady?

Well, it seems like fans have collectively pieced together the answer. And it's more interesting than I expected.

For those who don't keep up with Sonic lore minutia like I do, this is a screenshot from the very first episode of TailsTube, released on YouTube back in March 2022. When Sonic and Tails were explaining the basics of their Earth and the fact that humans and anthropomorphic animals coexist, Tails showed a slide of some human NPCs from Sonic Unleashed. But the slide also included this never-before-seen character design, drawn in a conspicuously different, more anime-influenced art style from the Pixar-esque Unleashed characters. So... where's she from?

At the time, it was assumed that she was probably from an upcoming project. She looks like she could be an explorer of some sort, so maybe she's just an NPC from Frontiers, I thought. And then she wasn't in Frontiers. Sonic Prime, maybe? Nope, no humans in Prime. Okay, well maybe the IDW comics are going to start incorporating humans, now that the "two worlds" thing has been undone and humans once again canonically exist on the same planet as Sonic and friends. Well, if she's gonna show up in the comics, it's been almost three years and we still haven't seen her. That'd be a hell of a lead time for comics, where production cycles are typically a matter of months, not years. Time continued to pass, and we still hadn't seen her. We just had Ian Flynn teasing us with a #KnowingSmile, assuring us that she existed for some reason, just one that he couldn't talk about yet.

Fast forward to late 2024, and she suddenly makes an appearance in the last place anyone would have expected: the third live action movie, via an electronic billboard in Shibuya.

At this point it almost felt like the lore team was trolling us. Is this just a scrapped character design that's become fodder for inside joke cameos or something? Surely all of this teasing couldn't have been for a throwaway character design on a billboard in the background of a movie.

But actually, this billboard gives us an important piece of information: her name! She's labeled here as "Professor Tori." This is important because it connects her to a previous release. In Shadow Generations, Gerald's journal is prefaced with a note from the person who recovered it, addressed to the GUN Commander. In the English version, it's simply signed "T," but in the Japanese version... it's signed "Tori"!

This gives us some actual info about Professor Tori. For one, she seems to work for GUN in their Archival and Requisitions Department. She's apparently also interested in learning about Gerald and Maria's lives, like their old friend Abe is.

Jump forward again to the New Year's episode of TailsTube, and this appears in the background.

Her full name is officially given as Professor Victoria, and she's a historian. So, that seems to confirm everything we've pieced together so far.

As far as things we can reasonably assume to be correct go, this is everything we know for certain about Victoria. She's a historian working for GUN. Cool! But that's not what really fascinates me about her. For that, we have to do a little more speculation based on conjecture.

See, Shadow Generations also establishes information about the Robotnik family tree. Gerald had two sons. One of them took after Gerald's love of technology and became an expert in the field of robotics, and would go on to be Eggman's father. The other son took after Gerald's love of archaeology. This man would go on to be Maria's father. But, as Maria mentions in Shadow Generations... she also happens to have a little sister we've never met before.

So now, the question is: is this Maria's sister, Victoria Robotnik?!

We can't be 100% certain right now, but honestly, until proven otherwise I'm assuming that Victoria is Maria's little sister, now all grown up and working for GUN. It all lines up too neatly. The conspicuous reveal that Maria has an unseen and unnamed little sister, in the same game that establishes her dad was a history guy and also that there's this new historian working for GUN who just so happens to be really interested in her life. And also their names both end in "-ria." Come on!! Putting her in the Robotnik family would also explain all these cryptic clues about her identity. If she was just some random GUN agent, why be so coy and make fans piece it together?

I guess the most odd part here would be, y'know, Victoria working for the organization that killed her sister and grandpa. But Sega's been pushing the idea that GUN is trying to do better for 20 years now, ever since they established that the GUN Commander was Maria's childhood friend on the ARK and had him make amends with Shadow. Hearing that Maria's sister had joined GUN to try and gain access to information about her family history and undo the elaborate coverup of the previous administration would make sense to me, personally. And lest we forget, this would also make Victoria Eggman's cousin, giving him a family member in GUN. And that's a pretty cool storytelling tool to have on hand!

So, that's where we're at now. We have no idea where Victoria will pop up next, whether it's a game or a comic or another TailsTube episode or something else entirely. But it seems like she's fairly important, even if this speculation about her being a Robotnik somehow ends up being wrong. (But I'm pretty damn sold on this theory, personally.) Either way, it's exciting to see the human cast get fleshed out in fun ways again. If we're gonna have humans in Sonic stories, I'd rather they have anime-style designs and interesting connections to the narrative, rather than just being generic humans for the sake of having humans. I'm looking forward to seeing whatever the lore team's been cooking up here.

[dear-ao3]

friends, besties, worsties, davids, and meow meows of the jury. i have a tale for you. while i claim to be no bard (like saph, the queen of very long dramatic tumblr stories that make your heart weep), i must spin a wee bit of yarn in the form of a story. what story? a story of the green cake.

we shall, as most stories do, start almost at the beginning.

the date? january 2nd.

the time? late.

the occasion? saph comes home the third.

the problem? i have no butter or sugar.

now, saph's birthday was recently, so like any other best bud i said i was making a cake. i believe my exact words were 'i'm making you a cake whether you like it or not."

now, gang, i must level with you. this is the fourth cake i've made in my life. i am a reasonably good baker (i can bake a Mean Loaf of Bread), but i'm not a very experienced baker. 3/4 cakes were reasonably good, and only one was just slightly off. so, my track record is mixed, but i am hopeful.

now, let me take you to the present.

i am sitting at my dining room table, typing this post. i am wearing a shirt covered in flour, the green cake is in the oven.

how did i get here?

well, we won't go to the beginning. we've already seen what was basically the beginning, with me having no butter or sugar. the real story begins the morning of january 3rd. which is today. which is when saph comes home, expecting a green cake. as most reasonably well adjusted people do when their roommates parents are visiting, i stressed cleaned the entire apartment at 4am, after realizing the mice in my walls are fucking. i did not leave them a condom. i did not have one that would fit them. i can only hope they have plan b. so naturally, i went to bed at 6am.

and i still had no sugar or butter for the green cake for saph.

and i needed to get started on this cake before 10am, or saph would be here before it was finished.

and i went to bed at 6am. so naturally i set my 9:00, 9:02, 9:04, 9:06 alarms, and hoped i'd lock in when i woke up.

friends, i hate to admit it, but i did not lock in. nay, i slept through all of my alarms and woke up at roughly 9:45. it was cold, damp, and the mice were still probably fucking. i threw my hair into a messy bun, and ran downstairs, only to find my mom was selling me to one direction.

jk. it was far worse.

because saph said she had sent me something.

what did saph send me?

a full poster of david malukas! do i know why? no! but he lives in my kitchen now, providing me with mental support. thanks david!

so, i begin to make the cake after laughing for about 10 minutes about why david is now in my apartment. it starts off surprisingly well. i have not forgotten the salt.

everything is normal.

until i remember.

the cake needs to be green.

why? idk thats what saph said she wanted so i am just going to do what i was told to do and make this damn cake green.

but its now late in the process, and if there is one thing i have learned in all my years of watching the great british baking show with my mom, it is to never over beat your cake.

and my cake, right now, was perfect. trust me. i ate plenty of dough to know it was wonderful.

so now i am trying to figure out how to make the most perfect shade of nico rosberg green, feeling a bit like an alchemist. david malukas is staring me down. my time grows shorter and shorter with each beat.

and then, gang, i had to give up on this being nico rosberg green. i did not want to kill my cake. my green cake. my now mint-green cake that i am baking for saph. so naturally i'm like, okay, time to pour this.

easy, right?

WRONG.

so one thing to know about me is i suck at cutting things.

it's unfortunately a key ingredient in cake making that you have a stupid little circle on the bottom of your cake tins. i cut it the best i could. which was bad. so i'm already fighting demons trying to get the stupid parchment paper from sliding every which way, and then, my friends, i realized something horrible.

the batter had not mixed at the bottom. so now i was fighting even more demons and trying not to get loose flour in my cake.

i think i succeeded. only time will tell. david is watching. the cake is almost done.

i am setting the green cake free.

look upon him now, and weep. the green cake prevails! even though he doesn't look very green yet.

and now, for the hardest part. frosting.

let's see how that goes.

david still watches.