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p0orbaby · 3 days ago

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Why Do I Give You the Worst of Me (1)

summary: love and bad decisions collide as you struggle to balance a tour and a relationship that’s spiraling out of control

warnings: 18+ adult themes throughout

a/n: another series i’m hoping i don’t regret committing myself to… not sure how many parts it’ll be, i don’t plan anything

word count: 3.1k

You wake up face-first on a sofa that smells like cigarettes, spilled beer, and faintly, vomit. Not yours, you think. The synthetic fabric is scratchy against your cheek, and when you open your eyes, it takes a moment to realise it’s morning—sunlight cutting through the cracked blinds, striping the floor with dusty light. The sofa is mustard yellow, ugly in a deliberate, trying-too-hard-to-be-retro way. It doesn’t belong to you. Nothing in this flat belongs to you.

There’s a girl in the kitchen, humming softly to herself as she pours cereal into a bowl. You don’t know her name, but you know she wears Chanel No. 5 because it’s all you could smell last night when she leaned too close, whispering something you didn’t quite catch. Her hair’s a mess now—like spun gold caught in a tangle of barbed wire—but her makeup is still pristine. She’s the kind who sets her eyeliner with setting spray before going out, even if it’s just to the pub. You admire the commitment, if not the execution.

Your head throbs—a deep, insistent ache behind your eyes that reminds you of last night in bits and pieces: the gig (decent, though the sound guy fucked up your monitor levels), the afterparty (loud, sweaty, a haze of bodies and smoke), the lines of coke on a chipped coffee table, the bartender who kept giving you free shots because he recognised you from that NME interview last month. At some point, someone tried to fight you, though you’re not sure why. You vaguely remember smashing a bottle of tequila against a wall and laughing as glass shards rained down like confetti.

You roll onto your back and stare at the ceiling, which is peeling in a way that suggests years of neglect, a building held together more by stubbornness than actual structural integrity. There’s a stain in the corner that looks suspiciously like mould, but you don’t care enough to investigate. The flat isn’t yours, after all. You were invited here by someone whose name escapes you now—a bassist from another band, or maybe it was their girlfriend? They’re gone this morning, anyway, leaving behind only the detritus of a night well-lived: empty bottles, crushed cigarette packets, a single black stiletto abandoned near the door like a fairy-tale gone wrong.

You light a cigarette, despite the pounding in your head and the fact that you’re pretty sure it’s technically illegal to smoke indoors here. The girl in the kitchen glances at you but doesn’t say anything. You’re not sure if she’s annoyed or indifferent; you don’t care. The smoke curls lazily toward the ceiling, and for a moment, you let yourself enjoy the quiet. Mornings like this are rare—where everything is still and soft, where the chaos of your life is temporarily held at bay by the thin walls of someone else’s flat.

Your bass is propped up against the armchair, scratched and battered in a way that tells a story if you care to look closely enough. It’s a Fender Precision, black with a white pickguard, the same model Sid Vicious used to play—not that you’d ever admit that’s why you bought it. The neck has a gouge near the third fret from when you threw it at a sound tech who deserved it (and missed). The strap is leather, worn smooth where it rests on your shoulder, and the bridge still has flecks of blood from the time you played so hard your fingers split open mid-song. You keep meaning to clean it, but you never do.

You check your phone, which is cracked and sticky with something you don’t want to identify. No new messages, except for a text from your drummer that reads: “u alive?” You don’t bother replying.

You’ve been in the band for five years now, though it feels longer. It started as a joke—a group of friends fucking around in someone’s garage, trying to see who could play the loudest, the fastest, the most obnoxious. Somewhere along the way, it became serious. There was a DIY EP, recorded in one manic weekend on borrowed gear, and a string of gigs in dingy pubs where the audiences were more interested in drinking than listening. Then came the break—a slot supporting a bigger band, one of those industry darlings who’d already started to hate themselves for selling out. The kind of band that wears matching outfits ironically, even though everyone knows it’s not ironic at all.

Now, you play sold-out shows to crowds who scream your lyrics back at you, though most of them probably couldn’t name your second album. Your face has been on the cover of Kerrang! twice, though you didn’t bother reading the articles. You hate interviews, but you do them anyway because your manager insists. You’re better at the photoshoots—smirking at the camera in a way that suggests you don’t care (you do).

The band is your life, though you wouldn’t call it that. Calling it your life makes it sound like you have some sort of plan, and you don’t. You’re just here, playing gigs and writing songs and doing whatever it takes to keep the wheels from falling off.

Your bandmates are a mixed bag of personalities, each one a walking caricature in their own way. There’s Matt, the drummer, who swears he’s been abducted by aliens and won’t shut up about it. Alex, the lead guitarist, is constantly high and insists on bringing his cat on tour, which you find deeply annoying. And then there’s Holly, the singer, who somehow manages to be both the most chaotic and the most responsible member of the group. She’s the one who organises rehearsals, books the studio time, and keeps you all from self-destructing entirely. You love her for it, even if you’d never say it out loud.

The girl in the kitchen finishes her cereal, rinses the bowl, and leaves without saying goodbye. You watch her go, not because you care but because there’s nothing else to do. When the door slams shut, the flat feels even smaller, like the walls are pressing in on you. You stub out your cigarette, grab your bass, and leave too.

Outside, London is already alive, though you wouldn’t call it awake. The streets are sticky from last night—spilled pints and kebab wrappers crushed into the pavement, cigarette butts floating in puddles of something that smells suspiciously like piss. The air has that distinct urban flavour: exhaust fumes mingling with fryer grease and the faint tang of wet concrete. You pull your leather jacket tighter around you, not because it’s cold (it is), but because it completes the look.

The jacket is vintage—or at least you tell people it is. In reality, you bought it at a high-street shop three years ago, and it’s held up surprisingly well, considering the abuse it’s endured. The lining is torn, the cuffs are frayed, and there’s a mysterious stain on the back you can’t quite place. But it’s yours, and it feels like armour. The boots, on the other hand, are real vintage: a pair of Dr Martens from the ‘90s you found in a thrift shop in Brighton. They’re scuffed to hell, and the left one squeaks when you walk, but you refuse to replace them because they’re authentic.

You head toward the Tube station, your bass slung over one shoulder like a soldier carrying a rifle. People stare, but only briefly. In London, no one has the energy to care for long. The morning commuters are a mix of suits and students, their faces blank, their eyes glazed over as they clutch takeaway coffees in one hand and their phones in the other. You feel out of place but also weirdly superior, like you’ve cracked some code they haven’t even realised exists yet.

You hop on the Northern line, ignoring the signs that politely request passengers to “refrain from eating or drinking.” You’re not eating or drinking, but you do pull out a cigarette, which is arguably worse. It’s a roll-up, so you convince yourself it doesn’t count. An old woman glares at you, clutching her handbag like she thinks you’re about to mug her. You offer her a crooked smile, which she does not return, and you put the cigarette back in your pocket because she reminds you of your nan.

The train screeches into motion, and you pull out your phone. The lock screen is a photo of your bass, which says a lot about you. There are a few notifications—mostly spam emails and an unread message from Holly: Rehearsal at 2. Don’t be late, dickhead.

You glance at the time. 11:47 a.m. Plenty of time.

The rehearsal space is in Camden, a dingy basement that smells of mildew and unwashed socks. The walls are lined with egg cartons painted black in a half-hearted attempt at soundproofing, and the floor is sticky for reasons you’d rather not think about. The room has seen better days—probably in the ‘80s, when it was still a nightclub and not a haven for struggling musicians. There’s a single fluorescent bulb overhead that flickers ominously, and a space heater in the corner that’s never worked.

Holly is already there when you arrive, tuning her guitar with the precision of someone who takes this far more seriously than you do. She’s wearing a denim jacket covered in patches for bands you’ve never heard of, her hair tied back in a messy ponytail. She looks up as you walk in, her expression equal parts exasperation and relief.

“Christ, you smell like an ashtray,” she says, wrinkling her nose.

“It’s called branding,” you reply, dropping your bass onto the floor with a thud.

Matt and Alex show up ten minutes later, looking even worse than you do. Matt has the kind of face that always looks slightly hungover, even when he’s not, and Alex is wearing the same shirt he wore yesterday, now with an impressive new stain across the front.

The rehearsal starts late, as it always does, and quickly descends into chaos. Matt insists on playing a drum solo during every song, despite the fact that no one asked for it. Alex keeps stopping mid-riff to check his phone, claiming he’s “waiting for an important call,” though everyone knows it’s just his dealer. Holly shouts at both of them until her voice cracks, then turns her frustration on you for being “completely fucking useless.” You take it in stride, plucking random notes on your bass and pretending to care.

At some point, Holly storms out, leaving the three of you to your own devices. Matt immediately pulls out a joint, which Alex lights with a lighter shaped like a naked woman. You lean back against the wall, your bass resting against your thigh, and watch as they argue over which fast-food place to hit up after rehearsal.

“McDonald’s is closer,” Alex says, taking a drag.

“But KFC’s got the gravy,” Matt counters, waving his arms for emphasis.

“It’s not even real gravy,” Alex snaps.

“None of it’s real,” you interject, flicking ash onto the floor. “We’re all just cogs in the capitalist machine.”

They stare at you for a moment, then go back to arguing.

By the time rehearsal ends, it’s dark outside. You pack up your gear, ignoring Holly’s death glare as she reminds you for the millionth time that you need to take this more seriously. You nod, mumble something about “artistic integrity,” and leave before she can yell at you again.

Back on the street, the air is crisp, the kind of cold that bites at your skin and makes you wish you’d brought a scarf. You light another cigarette, even though you’ve already smoked half a pack today, and head toward the pub.

The pub is your sanctuary, a place where time slows down and the only thing that matters is the next round. It’s a dive, the kind of place where the carpet sticks to your shoes and the jukebox is permanently stuck on a rotation of The Clash and The Smiths. You know the bartender by name, though you’re not sure if he knows yours.

You order a pint and settle into a corner booth, your bass case propped up beside you. The first sip is like a warm hug, washing away the stress of the day. You’re halfway through your second pint when you see her.

You don’t notice her at first. Not properly. She’s part of the blur—the dim bar lights catching on glasses, the low hum of half-drunken conversation, the vague sense that you’ve been here before even if you haven’t. She’s leaning against the counter, waiting for her drink, and it’s not until the bartender—a man whose name might be Pete but who you’re pretty sure is just “Oi, mate” to everyone who comes in—hands her a gin and tonic that you actually see her.

And it’s a gin and tonic. Not a lager, not a rum and coke, not something ironic like a snakebite or one of those craft beers with names like Hops and Robbers. It’s a G&T, clean and crisp, with a slice of lime balanced on the rim like it’s posing for a stock photo. The glass is crystal clear, and so are her nails—short, practical, painted the sort of soft pink that suggests she doesn’t chew them during stressful moments (unlike you). She takes the drink with both hands, like she’s steadying herself, and there’s something about that—the deliberateness of it—that hooks you.

You tell yourself you’re just looking because she’s there. Because it’s either her or the guy at the next table who’s been droning on about Bitcoin for twenty minutes straight. But it’s more than that. There’s a stillness to her, an odd kind of clarity that doesn’t fit in a place like this, like she’s wandered in from a parallel universe.

She turns slightly, and you catch her profile: sharp nose, strong jawline, cheekbones that could cut glass but probably wouldn’t because she seems far too polite. Her hair is blonde—not platinum, not peroxide, but the kind of natural gold that makes you think of expensive shampoo and childhood summers. It’s tied back loosely, wisps framing her face in a way that seems accidental but probably isn’t.

She’s not wearing makeup. Or maybe she is, but it’s the invisible kind—the kind that takes forty-five minutes to apply but looks like you’ve just rolled out of bed looking flawless. Her jumper is navy, oversized enough to suggest she might have nicked it from someone else’s wardrobe, paired with jeans that sit perfectly at her hips without being skinny. On her feet are white trainers—clean, like freshly ironed bedsheets—Adidas, the classic three stripes in black, laces tied neatly, no fraying ends.

You’re staring. You know you are. But she hasn’t noticed, so it doesn’t count.

The bartender mutters something to her, and she laughs. Not the loud, performative laugh you hear from most people in bars, but something softer, like it’s meant for her and her alone. The sound is so out of place in this dingy pub that it feels almost sacrilegious, like someone’s brought a cathedral choir to sing in a nightclub.

You tell yourself to look away. You don’t.

Instead, you light a cigarette, even though the pub is strictly non-smoking. You do it for the aesthetic, the same way you do most things. There’s a half-empty pint in front of you—lager, flat and warm, probably with someone else’s fingerprints on the glass—but you take a sip anyway, because what else are you going to do?

She turns then, her gaze sweeping the room, and you’re caught like a deer in headlights. For a second, you think she’s looking at you, but she’s not. She’s looking past you, at the dartboard on the wall behind your head. Her expression is curious, like she’s trying to figure out why anyone would bother playing darts in a place like this.

Then her eyes meet yours, and the world tilts.

It’s not love at first sight, not really. Love at first sight is for Disney films and Hallmark cards and people who shop at Waitrose without looking at the prices. This is something else. Recognition, maybe. Like you’ve seen her before in a dream or a half-remembered story someone told you once. Like you’ve spent your whole life waiting for this moment without knowing it.

She holds your gaze for a second longer than is polite. Then she looks away, back at her gin and tonic, and you realise you’ve been holding your breath.

You don’t approach her right away. That would be too obvious, too predictable. Instead, you wait, watching her out of the corner of your eye while pretending to scroll through your phone. It’s a shitty phone, cracked and outdated, but you’ve never bothered upgrading because you secretly enjoy the low expectations it sets. No one looks at you and expects success when your phone screen is held together with Sellotape.

She moves to a table in the corner, near the radiator, and sits down alone. No book, no laptop, no visible excuse to be here other than the gin and tonic in her hand. She sips it slowly, methodically, like she’s savouring it. Like she’s savouring this.

You wonder what her story is.

Is she waiting for someone? A friend, a boyfriend, a clandestine meeting with a lover? Or is she just one of those people who can sit alone in public without feeling like a target? You’ve never understood that kind of confidence—the kind that lets you exist without an audience, without a role to play.

You take another sip of your pint, then decide, fuck it.

You stand, grab your bass (because leaving it behind would feel like abandoning a child), and make your way across the room. Your boots squeak against the sticky floor, and you curse them under your breath. She looks up as you approach, her expression unreadable.

“Mind if I join you?” you ask, gesturing vaguely at the empty chair across from her.

She hesitates, just for a moment, then nods.

“Sure.”

Her voice is soft, but not shy. Measured. Like she’s weighing every word before she says it.

You sit, placing your bass case carefully against the table leg. For a moment, neither of you speaks. You’re not sure what to say, and she seems content to let the silence stretch. It’s not uncomfortable, exactly, but it’s not easy, either.

Finally, she breaks it.

“You’re in a band,” she says, nodding toward the bass. It’s not a question.

You smile. “Yeah. What gave it away?”

She raises an eyebrow, and you realise it’s a stupid question.

“What’s the band called?”

You tell her, and she nods, like she’s vaguely heard of it but couldn’t name a single song.

“I’m Alessia,” she says, holding out her hand. Her grip is firm, her skin warm.

“Nice to meet you,” you reply, and for the first time in a long time, you actually mean it.

#alessia russo #alessia russo x reader #awfc #awfc x reader #engwnt #engwnt x reader #woso #woso x reader #woso imagine #woso community

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faithshouseofchaos · 2 days ago

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Just a little bit— lando Norris x male!reader smut

Word count — 7885

Warnings — use of drugs (weed) smut brat taming, sub!lando dom!reader hair pulling talks of anal praise/degrading body worship, reader calling Lando a pup/puppy reader taking Lando apart, reader using Lando as a toy, face fucking I don’t remember what else.

@alex-wotton @crispysoup318

The evening had started innocently enough, just the two of you tucked away in the quiet of your shared apartment. Lando had suggested the joint as a way to "unwind," and after a little teasing, you'd caved. Now you were both sprawled on the couch, the air thick with the lazy warmth of the high and the faint scent of weed lingering between you.

"You're staring," you said, noticing the way Lando's eyes had fixed on you, heavy-lidded and soft.

''Cause you're hot," he replied without hesitation, his grin lazy as he shifted closer, resting his head on your shoulder. His curls tickled your neck, and his hand found your thigh, rubbing slow circles with his thumb.

"Smooth," you said, rolling your eyes even as heat crept up your neck.

"Is it working?" he asked, lifting his head just enough to nuzzle against your jaw. His voice was lower now, a little rough around the edges, and it sent a shiver down your spine.

"Maybe," you admitted, leaning back against the cushions as his hand slid further up your thigh, his touch deliberate and teasing.

"Hmm, thought so," he murmured, his lips brushing the corner of your mouth before he tilted your face toward him.

The kiss started slow-soft and exploratory it didn't take long for it to deepen. His hands wandered, tugging your shirt up just enough to let his fingers trace over your stomach.

"You're being bold tonight," you teased between kisses, your own hands finding their way under his hoodie.

"Maybe it's the weed," he said, his grin turning wicked. "Or maybe it's just you." You didn't have to respond before he straddled your rap, his weight pressing down on you in a way that made your pulse quicken. His hands slid over your chest, lingering at your shoulders before curling around the back of your neck.

"God, you're so serious all the time," he said, his voice dropping to a whisper as he leaned in. "But not with me. Never with me."

"You bring it out of me," you admitted, letting your hands rest on his hips, pulling him closer.

"Good," he said, grinding down just enough to draw a low groan from you.

"Because I like this version of you. The one who lets go."

His lips found your neck, warm and insistent as he left a trail of kisses there.

You could feel the smirk on his face when your breath hitched, and his hands wandered again, pushing your shirt higher.

"Lando," you warned, though it came out more like a plea.

Lando's smirk only intensified at your half-hearted protest. He knew he had you, and the way you said his name, all breathless and urgent... well, it only made him more determined.

"What?" he murmured against your skin, his tongue brushing lightly over the spot beneath your ear that he knew drove you crazy. "You don't like it?"

He nipped at your earlobe, his thumbs hooking under the edge of your shirt, teasing the bare skin of your stomach. "You're doing that on purpose," you managed to gasp out, even as your hands tightened on his hips. Lando huffed a laugh, the sound sending a shiver down your spine.

"Of course I am," he said, his lips moving to the sensitive skin below your jaw. "You always get so worked up when I tease you like this."

He punctuated his words with another slow grind of his hips, his grin widening when you arched into him involuntarily.

“Lando I’m warning you,” you say groaning as he slowly grinned his hips against yours. Lando chuckled at your attempt to sound threatening, his eyes dark with desire.

“Is that supposed to scare me?” he asked, his tone dripping with mockery as he ground against you again. His hands slid under your shirt, his palms warm against your skin, and he relished in the way you shivered beneath his touch.

“Because I don’t think it’s working,” he said, his lips moving to your throat, nipping and sucking at the sensitive skin there.

You let out an exasperated sigh, rolling your eyes dramatically at his words. Feeling a rush of defiance, you reached up and wove your fingers through his thick, unruly curls. With a swift, deliberate motion, you yanked his head back, forcing him to meet your gaze. The tension between you crackled, as your fingers tangled in his hair, holding him in place just long enough for the weight of your expression to sink in.

“Lando I've had to let you act out for the past couple of weeks and I’m tired of you acting like a brat you hear me,” you said. Lando’s eyes went wide as you suddenly took charge, his breath catching at the sudden spike of pleasure mixed with surprise. His head was tilted back, exposing the strong lines of his neck, and the way his hair was tousled from your grip made him look younger and more vulnerable.

The defiant expression from before was gone, replaced by a mix of surprise and slight admiration. He swallowed, his eyes falling half-lidded as he tried to regain some ground.

“I… wasn’t acting like a brat,” he protested weakly, resisting the pull on his hair.

You arched an eyebrow, your fingers tightening in his hair enough to draw a sharp intake of breath from him.

“You’ve been a brat,” you said bluntly, your voice firm. “Whining and complaining, trying to push my buttons.”

Lando opened his mouth to protest, but you didn’t give him the chance. You pulled on his hair again, earning a deep, rumbling groan from him.

“I’ve had enough. Tonight, I’m in charge, understand?” Something about the change in dynamic, the way you were dominating him so easily, made heat pool low in Lando's gut. He wasn't used to being on the receiving end, and part of him wanted to resist, to fight back. But the look in your eyes, the authoritative tone of your voice… it all made it so hard to struggle.

He swallowed again, his Adam's apple bobbing in his throat before finally nodding.

“I… I understand,” he said softly, his voice hoarse with desire. A satisfied smirk tugged at the corners of your mouth as you felt Lando submit to your command. It was a deliciously heady feeling, having this usually brash and confident man pinned beneath you, his body already reacting to your touches.

“Good,” you said, your voice still firm. “Because I'm done playing games with you, Lando. And I'm damn tired of your bratty attitude."

Your hand in his hair tightened again, pulling his head back further so he was looking directly up at you. Lando’s eyes widened just a little further, his breath coming in short, ragged bursts now. Being at your mercy like this was strangely arousing, the way you were completely in control made his mind go blissfully blank.

“I’m… I’m sorry,” he gasped out after a moment, his lips parted and his expression more than a little pleading.

You hadn’t even done anything yet, and already he looked on the edge of coming undone. It was a sight you wanted to see more of. Your smirk turned almost predatory as you looked down at Lando, seeing the way he was already starting to come apart. But you weren’t quite done with him yet.

“I know you’re sorry,” you said, your tone still sharp. “But I don’t think you’re sorry enough.”

Leaning down, you dragged your lips over his exposed neck, leaving a trail of light, teasing kisses. Lando shuddered beneath you, his hands gripping your thighs, his nails digging in just slightly.

Lando’s breath was coming in shallow gasps now, the feeling of your lips against his neck driving him wild. The way they were just skimming over his skin, never lingering long enough in one spot to give him any real relief… it was torture.

He tilted his head to the side, his hips shifting restlessly, seeking friction. But your grip on his hair kept him from being able to do much else, leaving him helplessly at your mercy. You continued to trace kisses over Lando’s neck, savoring the way he writhed beneath you, his body tense and quivering. You could feel the heat of him, the way he was straining against the fabric of his jeans, and it only fueled your sense of power.

“Look at you,” you said, your voice a low, satisfied murmur against his skin. "Already so worked up and I've barely even touched you."

“If I didn’t know any better I’d say that you like the feeling of your hair being pulled on?” Lando let out a low, guttural moan, his eyes shutting tightly for a moment as you tugged on his hair again. The sensation was sending sparks of pleasure straight down his spine, and it was getting harder to ignore the fact that he was very much enjoying this loss of control.

“I… I don’t…” he protested weakly, but it was a flimsy cover at best. It was obvious from his rapid breaths and the flush on his cheeks that he was thoroughly enjoying this little game you were playing. “Oh, you don’t?” you said, your tone teasing as you leaned in, your mouth hovering just scant centimeters from his. “Then why are you getting so excited, hm?”

Lando didn’t answer, his eyes fixed on your mouth, his breathing a little faster than normal. His thighs were tensing and shifting under you, his whole body silently begging for more contact than you were allowing. You pulled back, just enough to keep your lips teasingly out of reach, and tugged on Lando’s hair again. He made another one of those beautiful, strangled groans, his hands clenching reflexively on your thighs.

“You can deny it all you want,” you said, your tone almost sing-song, “but your body is very honest, Lando.” Lando swallowed hard, his eyes half-lidded and his expression slightly dazed. The way you were so calmly in control, with your hands in his hair and your body straddling his, was making coherent thought increasingly difficult.

“Y-you’re being cruel,” he said, his voice wavering just slightly. “I'm being cruel?” you repeated, your tone innocent and slightly mocking. “Is it really cruel when you’re enjoying it this much?”

You shifted slightly, grinding down just a little against his hips. Lando groaned again, his head falling back, the line of his neck exposed. You took the opportunity to run your tongue over his Adam's apple, feeling his pulse fluttering swiftly just beneath the surface.

“God…please,” Lando gasped out, his throat working as he swallowed again. His hips bucked up against yours, seeking more friction. The need in his voice was apparent, his facade of cocky bravado all but evaporated.

"Please," he repeated, his hands tightening on your thighs again. "I need… I need more, please…"

The fact that you had Lando Norris, usually so cool and self-assured, begging for you like this… it was addictive. You wanted to keep him like this, writhing under you, his sharp tongue and clever quips reduced to a pleading whisper.

“You want more?” you said, pulling lightly on his hair again. “Then you have to listen to me. Can you do that?” Lando nodded quickly, his eyes dark and pleading as he looked up at you. The way you were holding him, the way you were dominating him so thoroughly, it was lighting a fire under his skin, and he'd do anything you asked if it meant getting more.

“I can… I can listen,” he managed to gasp out, his hands gripping your thighs again. “Good,” you said, your tone approving as you leaned in, your lips almost touching his again. “Because you’re going to do exactly as I say from now on, understand? No more brattiness, no more arguing. Tonight, you’re mine.”

You felt Lando’s body tense beneath you, his breath quickening at your words. His eyes were fixed on your mouth, his lips parted in anticipation. Lando was torn between the urge to protest your command and the burning need to have your mouth on him again. The way you were so in control, your body pressing down against his, the sharp tugs on his hair… it was all driving him crazy.

“I’m yours,” he finally managed to gasp out, his voice raw and ragged. “Yours, all yours…”

You smiled, a sense of satisfaction filling you at Lando’s complete surrender. He was willingly giving in to your control, submitting to you completely, and it was a rush like nothing you’d experienced before.

“That’s right,” you murmured, your lips ghosting over his. “You’re mine. My disobedient little brat, all tamed and obedient.”

Lando shivered at the words, his fingers twitching on your thighs. “I’ll be obedient,” he said, his voice a hoarse whisper. “I’ll do whatever you want, just please… please let me kiss you.”

The desperation in his tone was obvious, his eyes flickering down to your mouth before meeting your gaze again. He looked nearly desperate, his body trembling slightly as he waited for your permission.

The sight of Lando so needy and pliant, willingly letting you dominate him, was intoxicating. You held onto that sense of power for a few more moments, letting him squirm and wait, before finally giving in.

“Since you’re being so good now,” you said, your voice slightly teasing, “I suppose I should reward you.”

And without another word, you leaned down and captured his lips in a bruising kiss. Lando groaned into the kiss, his hands flying up to grasp your waist, pulling you down against him. It was a messy, desperate kiss, his tongue seeking yours with a need that echoed the tension that had been building between you.

His body arched up against yours, his hips grinding up shamelessly as he tried to get closer to you, to press as much of himself against you as he could. You could feel the heat of his skin, the thundering of his heart, and you knew he was completely yours at this moment. You deepened the kiss, your tongue tangling with his, relishing in the sounds he was making against your mouth. He was so reactive, his body moving instinctively against yours, seeking any contact he could get.

Your hands, still gripping his hair, angled his head, giving you better access to his mouth. He opened up to you without hesitation, his breath coming in gasps now as he surrendered himself completely to the kiss. Lando was drowning in sensation, his mind a haze of pleasure and need. The way you were taking control of him, your tongue exploring his mouth, the way your body was pressing him down onto the couch… it was all too much.

“God, you taste so good,” he managed to gasp out, his fingers digging into your waist. His hips were still moving against yours, seeking relief that only you could give him. “Please… please I need…”

“Shhh,” you said, pulling away slightly, your lips trailing down the line of his neck. “I know what you need. And I’ll give it to you, but you have to be patient.”

Lando groaned at your words, his head falling back again to give you more access to his neck. He was shaking now, his whole body tense and thrumming with desire. “I… I’m trying to be patient,” he gasped out, his voice ragged. “But you’re driving me insane here.”

“I’ll give you what you want but first I want you to do something for me”

Lando, his brain still pleasantly fuzzy from the intoxicating combination of the weed and your presence, nodded quickly, eager to please. “Anything,” he said, his voice gravelly and rough. “Just tell me what to do, and I’ll do it.”

“Want your lips around my cock” you replied.

Lando’s eyes widened at your blunt words, a wave of heat washing over him. He’d been expecting you to ask for something more tame, but the request was unexpected… and incredibly arousing.

He swallowed, his throat dry, his hands gripping your thighs. “I… I can do that,” he managed to say, his voice coming out a strangled gasp. “I’ll… I’ll make you feel good, I promise.”

You chuckled, the sound low and tingled with heat. “That’s what I wanted to hear,” you said, your hand gently carding through his hair. “You’re such a good boy right now, Lando. So obedient, so willing to please.”

Lando let out a soft moan, his eyes fluttering shut for a moment. The combination of your words and your touch was sending thrills down his spine, making his body tremble.

“Please,” he whispered, his voice soft and husky. “Please, I want to make you feel good.” Your smirk widened at his words, your fingers still petting through his hair. “Then be a good boy and get on your knees for me,” you said, your tone firm.

Lando’s breath hitched at your command, but he immediately began sliding himself out from under you, his eyes never leaving your face. His hands were trembling slightly as he settled himself between your knees, looking up at you with an expression of eager anticipation. You ran a hand through his hair again, the silky strands slipping through your fingers. “So eager to please me,” you murmured, your eyes locked on his face. “What a good boy you are, Lando. So well-behaved now, aren’t you?”

Lando nodded, his tongue swiping over his lips in anticipation. “Yes,” he breathed out, his hands resting on your thighs, his fingers flexing against your skin. “I want to be good for you, just tell me what to do.”

You held his gaze, enjoying the way he was straining to maintain control, silently begging for your direction. “Unbutton my jeans,” you said quietly, your tone still firm. “Slowly, and carefully. No rushing.”

Lando’s hands immediately moved to your waistband, his fingers deftly unbuttoning the button of your jeans and pulling down the zipper. His touch was so gentle, so careful like he was afraid he’d make a mistake and disappoint you. His breaths were coming faster now as he worked your jeans down your thighs, his eyes tracking the process intently. He was enjoying having a clear directive, his hands trembling slightly as he freed you from the confining fabric.

He looked up at you, his blue eyes dark and intense, awaiting your next command. “Now what?” he asked, his voice a hushed whisper.

You smiled down at him, enjoying the way he was looking up at you, his eyes filled with a mix of desire and submission. “Now show me how good your mouth is,” you said quietly, your hand still playing with his hair. “Show me how much you want to please me, Lando.” Lando let out a shuddering breath, his eyes fluttering shut for a moment. Your words were making his heart race, his body tensing with anticipation. He wasn’t used to this… from being the one on his knees to being the one being told what to do.

But he found himself craving it, wanting to give you exactly what you wanted. He leaned in, his breaths hot against your skin, his hands gripping your thighs. “I’ll show you,” he murmured, his voice huskier than usual.

You leaned back, giving him more room to work, your eyes fixated on his face. “Good boy,” you said softly, your fingers still weaving through his hair. “Just take your time. There’s no rush.”

Lando nodded, his tongue slipping out to moisten his lips. He shifted a little between your legs, his breath coming in soft, quick pants as he positioned himself in front of your hips. His hands were shaking, his fingers tracing light, teasing circles on the skin of your thighs.

He looked up at you again, his eyes meeting yours for a brief moment before he looked back down. He was working himself up to it, his breaths coming faster and quicker, his body tense.

Finally, after a few moments of tense silence, he leaned in, his tongue swiping gently over your tip, testing your reaction. Your breath hitched at the first touch of his tongue, your hand instinctively tightening in his hair. “That’s it,” you murmured, your voice a little huskier now. “Just like that, good boy.”

Lando let out a soft moan at your praise, the sound vibrating against your skin. He continued to move slowly, his tongue exploring gently like he was trying to commit your taste to memory. His hands were still tracing light circles on your thighs, his touches feather-light. It was as if he was trying to prolong the experience, not wanting to rush through it.

His breaths were coming quicker now, his hips shifting restlessly between your legs. He was enjoying this, the fact that he was making you shiver and gasp only spurred him on.

You leaned back more, your eyes closing as you focused on the feel of his tongue and lips on your skin. It was a strange sensation, having him so willing and eager to please you, but it was incredibly arousing as well.

“That’s it,” you repeated, your voice a little breathless now. “You’re being so good, Lando. Just like that, keep doing that...” Lando let out a soft, needy whine at your words, his movements becoming a little more confident now. He’d found a rhythm that seemed to be working, his tongue and lips working together, his breaths coming in quick pants.

His hands, still on your thighs, were gripping you a little tighter now, his fingers digging into your skin. He was enjoying this, the pleasure radiating off him in waves.

You could feel the heat building within you, the sensations of Lando’s mouth and hands sending jolts of pleasure through your body. You felt almost light-headed, the combination of the weed and the pleasure making everything feel hazy and dreamlike.

Your hand in his hair tugged instinctively, pulling him closer, a gasp escaping your lips. “God, Lando, you’re doing so well,” you said, your voice almost a whisper. “Just don’t stop, just like that…”

Lando’s eyes flickered up to yours again, the blue almost completely hidden by his pupils, which were blown wide with need. The sound of your voice, your words of praise and pleasure… it was driving him wild.

He intensified his movements, his tongue and lips working more purposefully, his breaths coming in ragged gasps. He was lost in the moment, completely focused on your pleasure, on pleasing you. You could feel the tension building within you, the pleasure coiled tight in your stomach. You could feel yourself trembling slightly, your hips shifting instinctively under Lando’s touch.

You tugged on his hair again, a soft gasp escaping your lips. “I’m getting close,” you whispered, your voice a little unsteady. “Don’t stop… just keep going, please…”

Lando let out a low moan at your words, his movements becoming even more eager. He could tell you were getting close, could feel your body trembling under his touch.

His hands moved up your thighs, his fingers digging into the soft skin. He was determined to push you over the edge, his lips and tongue moving with purpose now, his goal clear. You gasped again, your back arching slightly, your hand clenching in his hair. The pleasure was building now, your breath coming in short, sharp gasps.

“Lando…” you managed to gasp out, your voice a choked whisper. “I’m… I’m almost…” Using the grip on his hair you push his head further down on your cock his nose brushing against your hair using him like a toy for your pleasure. Lando's protests faded as he surrendered to your demands, a primal instinct taking over. He breathed deeply through his nose, inhaling the musky scent of your arousal, his desire surging.

He was completely under your control now, his body trembling faintly from the sensations and the thrill of submission. His hands moved to your hips, holding you in place. His eyes were locked on your face, watching your reactions, tracking every little twitch and gasp. He was completely focused on pleasuring you, his own needs secondary to yours.

Your grip on his hair tightened again, your breaths coming in quick, sharp gasps now. The sensations were building, pleasure pooling in your stomach, hot and tight.

His tongue flicked out, lapping at you eagerly, his mouth forming a tight seal around you. He could feel you tensing, could sense your impending release. He wanted to taste you, to swallow every drop. He looked up at you, his eyes meeting yours as you neared the edge.

Your breath caught in your throat as you met his gaze, his eyes dark and filled with need. He looked like he was completely consumed by the moment, by the need to please you.

"Lando..." you managed to gasp out, your voice trembling. "I'm... I'm right there, don't stop."

Your body shook with the effort to hold on, to prolong the pleasure for just a few more moments. "Lando... I'm going to..." you gasped, your voice strained and hoarse.

Lando's eyes flashed with triumph at your warning, a wicked grin spreading across his face despite the awkward position. He redoubled his efforts, his tongue swirling rapidly around the tip of your cock while he took you deep, his throat sucking you off expertly.

Your breath caught in your chest, your body arching involuntarily at the sensations coursing through your body. He could feel you throbbing against his tongue, taste the salty drops of pre-cum leaking from the tip. With a muffled groan of encouragement, he took you to the hilt, his nose pressed flush against your pelvis as he swallowed around you, coaxing out your release.

That was all it took before you were spilling your seed down your throat. Lando swallowed eagerly, his throat convulsing around your cock as he greedily gulped down every spurt, not wanting to waste a single drop. As you shuddered through your climax, he continued to suck and lick, drawing out your pleasure until you were completely spent and trembling above him.

With a firm hand in his hair you hold his head still fucking his face riding out your high using him and once you were done You pushed Lando gently but firmly back onto the couch, your eyes fixed on his face. He was still panting from his efforts, his chest heaving, his lips red and swollen.

"Your turn," you said, your voice still a little breathy.

Lando's eyes widened slightly, a mixture of surprise and anticipation flickering across his face. He propped himself up on his elbows, his body tense and trembling slightly.

"My turn?" he repeated, his voice barely above a whisper. "What... what are you going to do?" You smirked down at him, your eyes roaming over his flushed and breathless form. Your fingers traced a light path down his chest, over his abs, stopping just above the waistband of his jeans.

"I think you know," you said softly, your touch teasing.

You position Lando's arms so that his biceps bulge and flex, the muscles rippling under his tanned skin. You can't help but mark him, biting and kissing his arms, running your hands over the defined muscles.

Lando gasped at the feeling of your teeth and lips on his skin, his body arching up towards you instinctively. His muscles flexed involuntarily as you touched him, the combination of your bites and your kisses sending little jolts of pleasure through his body.

He was completely at your mercy now, his body reacting to your touch, his breath coming in hot, quick pants.

Your heart raced at the sound of his plea, the desperation in his voice. You loved having him like this, completely at your mercy, begging for more.

You moved your mouth to his other bicep, biting and sucking at the skin, leaving a trail of red marks. Your hands continued to roam, tracing over his chest, his abs, and the muscles of his stomach. You were taking your sweet time, enjoying the way he was trembling and arching under your touch.

Lando's fingers curled against the bedsheets, gripping tightly as you continued to touch and mark him. His hips bucked up, seeking friction, any sort of touch that would ease the growing heat between his legs.

You smirked down at him, enjoying the way he was growing more and more desperate with each passing moment. You knew exactly what he needed, what he was craving.

But you weren't going to give it to him just yet. Not when he looked so good like this, begging and pleading for your touch.

"Please, please, please," Lando chanted, his voice breaking with desperation. His vision was starting to blur, his mind fogging over with need. He couldn't take it anymore, he needed something, anything, to relieve the pressure building inside him.

Your heart skipped a beat at the sound of his words, his voice thick with need. He was so desperate, so wrecked, and it was entirely your doing.

You ran your hands down his sides, feeling his body shiver under your touch. "You want something, Lando?" you asked, your voice low and teasing. Lando's head thrashed back and forth on the pillow, his jaw clenching as he tried to hold back. "Y-yes," he hissed through gritted teeth. "Please, I need... I need you to touch me. Please." His voice grew quieter, more vulnerable.

“But I am touching you. I just love your arms so much.” You said lightly biting his bicep. Lando let out a gasp, his eyes widening at the feel of your teeth on his skin. He was trembling now, his body tensing and relaxing under your touch.

Lando let out a frustrated sob, his body trembling with the effort of holding back. "N-no, that's not enough," he whispered, his eyes squeezing shut in desperation. "I need you to touch me down there. Please, just for a second, I promise I'll be good."

Your heart leaped at the sound of his words, your breath catching in your throat. You loved seeing him like this, so needy and desperate, begging you to touch him.

You leaned over him, your lips finding his ear. "You want me to touch you down there, Lando?" you breathed, letting your breath fan over his skin.

Lando shuddered violently at your breath against his ear, a choked moan escaping his lips. "Yes, fuck yes," he gasped, his hips lifting involuntarily as if seeking your touch. His eyes fluttered open, hazy with lust, begging silently for your mercy.

You chuckled lightly at his obvious need, his body practically trembling with it. You ran your fingers slowly down his chest, your goal obvious.

"You want me to make you feel good, Lando?" you asked, your voice a low, sultry murmur. "You want me to make you feel really good?"

Lando's response was immediate and desperate, a needy whine escaping his throat. "Y-yes, please," he stammered, his voice barely a whisper. His body was taut, coiled tight like a spring ready to snap. "I'll do anything, just please, please touch me."

Your heart raced at the sound of his words, his voice thick with need. You loved having him like this, completely at your mercy, begging for your touch.

You let your fingers dip lower, tracing over his abs, and his hip bones, before finally coming to rest at the waistband of his jeans.

“god lando have I told you how much I *love* body lately?” you asked looking back up at him.

Lando's breath hitched at the feeling of your fingers dancing over his skin, his body thrumming with anticipation. "Y-you have," he managed to stammer out, his eyes locked on yours as he watched your hands move lower and lower. "But I don't mind hearing it again."

You smirked at his response, enjoying the way he was so focused on your every touch. You teased the skin of his hip for a moment, relishing in the sound of his breathing hitching and growing faster.

"You have a nice body, you know," you said, your voice a low, sultry murmur. "So fit, so muscular...so *toned*."

Lando's chest heaved as he struggled to breathe, his heart pounding in his chest. The way you were talking about his body, the way you were touching him, it was all too much.

“I love your hands too,” you say casually holding his hands and kissing them. “And your fingers,” you said, sucking on one of his fingers, tasting the salt that was mostly from his sweat.

Your heart skipped a beat at the sound of his moans, his body reacting so desperately to your touch. You knew you had him completely at your mercy, that he was helpless under your touch.

You continued to move your mouth over his hand, kissing and licking at his fingers, his palm, his wrist... tasting the salty sweat on his skin and loving every second of it.

Lando's chest heaved with ragged breaths, his heart racing wildly. Every movement of your mouth, every flick of your tongue was sending shockwaves through his body, making him tremble and quake beneath you.

"Please," he begged, his voice a strangled gasp. "Please, I need more, I need you to touch me, please." Lando let out a strangled whimper, his body arching towards you, seeking more of your touch. "More of...anything," he panted, his eyes pleading with you, his voice desperate. "Just keep touching me, please, I can't take it anymore."

You chuckled at his response, unable to resist teasing him a little longer. "Anything, huh? Well, I did say you have a nice body, didn't I...?"

You shifted your position slightly, straddling him now, your hips pressed against his. Lando's breath hitched at the sudden feeling of your weight against him, his eyes widening at the new contact. He let out a strangled gasp as you ground down against him, the friction sending a shockwave of pleasure through his body.

You leaned down, your chest pressed against his, your lips hovering just above his. "You like this... don't you, Lando?" you whispered, your voice low and sultry. "You like feeling me on top of you, don't you? Pressing against you like this...?"

Lando's response was immediate, a desperate whine escaping his lips. He arched up towards you, his hips moving involuntarily against yours. "Y-yes... god, yes," he managed to gasp, his voice thick with need. "I love it, love feeling you on top of me."

“Yeah, I bet you do. You’re nothing but a desperate needy slut who wants to be used any which way don’t you pup?” You say.

Lando whimpers at your words, his body shuddering involuntarily, a mixture of shame and excitement fluttering in his lower stomach. He closes his eyes, not able to look you in the eye as he nods slowly. "Y-yes," he whispers, his voice trembling. "I... I want to be used. By you."

Your heart skips a beat at his confession, your eyes widening in surprise. You hadn't expected him to be so... submissive, but it was clear that he was enjoying every second of it.

You lean down, your lips brushing against his ear, your voice low and sultry. "Are you going to be a good boy for me, Lando?" you murmur. "Are you going to do everything I say?"

Lando's breath hitches again, the hint of a whine escaping his lips. "Y-yes," he murmurs, his voice soft and submissive. "I'll be good, I'll do anything you want, just please keep touching me."

You smile against his skin, thrilled at his response. "Good," you say, pulling back to look at him. "Because I plan to have a lot of fun with you. But let's start with something simple, shall we?"

Lando nods eagerly, his eyes locked on yours, his body trembling with anticipation. "Anything," he whispers, his voice filled with need. "Just tell me what to do."

You sit up a bit, your weight still pressing down on his hips. You reach for his wrists, wrapping your fingers around them and pinning them down above his head. "Keep your hands like this," you instruct. "Don't move them unless I say so."

Lando nods again, his eyes wide as he watches you pin his wrists above his head. He swallows hard, the feeling of helplessness sending a ripple of excitement through his body. "Okay," he whispers, his voice trembling a little.

"Good boy," you murmur, smiling down at him. "Now, don't move. I want to take a look at you."

You shift slightly, your eyes roaming over his body, taking in every inch of him. You love the way he looks like this, his body completely on display for you, his wrists held helplessly above his head.

Lando squirms slightly under your gaze, the feeling of your eyes raking over his body making him feel both exposed and excited. He keeps his hands where you told him to, though it's a struggle to keep them still.

"You're so beautiful, you know that right?" you say softly, your eyes meeting his. "You look so good like this, pinned under me, completely at my mercy."

Lando lets out a ragged gasp at your words, his body arching up involuntarily. "Only for you," he whispers, his voice thick with need. "I'm only like this for you."

"That's right," you murmur, a possessive edge to your voice. "You're mine. Mine to do with as I please."

You lean down, your lips ghosting over his collarbone, your teeth nipping gently at his skin.

“Now what do you want me to do? Hmmm?” You asked adding “Do you want me to ride you or fuck that ass of yours?”

Lando's eyes widen at your question, his breath catching in his chest. He swallows hard, his mind suddenly overwhelmed with the possibilities of what you could do to him.

"I... I don't know," he whispers, his voice a little shaky. "I just want... I want you. I want you to... to do whatever you want to me."

You smile at his response, loving the way he seems so eager to be completely at your mercy. "Are you sure about that, Lando?" you ask, your voice low and silky. "Because I have some ideas."

Lando nods eagerly, his eyes fixed on yours. "I'm sure," he whispers, his voice thick with need. "Please, I just... I want to feel you. In any way you want."

"Then I guess it's my choice then, isn't it?" you say, your smirk widening. "I could ride you...

You pause, letting the image sink in, watching the look on Lando's face as he processes it.

...or I could take what I want from you. From behind."

Lando's breath hitched in his throat at your words, his eyes dilating as he looked up at you. He swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing. His body tensed under your words, his muscles coiling like a snake ready to strike. "From behind?"

"Yes, from behind," you murmur, letting the words hang in the air for a moment. "You'd like that, wouldn't you? Me taking you, using you, however I want?"

Lando's voice comes out as a low, guttural sound, a cross between a whimper and a moan. "Yes... Yes, I would..." He wiggles his hips a little as if to emphasize his point. He's putty in your hands right now.

You smile at the way he responds to you, the way he's so completely at your mercy.

"Good," you whisper, leaning down to brush your lips against his ear. "But first, I want you to tell me something. Something I want to know."

Lando tilts his head slightly, his breath coming in quick little pants as he waits for you to speak. "What... what do you want to know?" he asks, his voice cracking a little with anticipation.

You smirk, your hand running down his chest, your fingers tracing over his abs. "I want to know... have you ever done this before?"

Lando's eyes widen, his cheeks flushing red at your question. He hesitates for a moment, looking up at you with a mixture of embarrassment and shame.

"I... I have," he whispers, his voice barely audible. "Once."

You raise an eyebrow, a spark of curiosity in your eyes. "Oh really?" you murmur. "With who?"

Lando's cheeks flame at the question, his eyes averting yours. "N-never mind," he mumbles, suddenly looking embarrassed. "It doesn't matter. It was just... a one-time thing."

You let out a low chuckle, amused by his reaction. "Oh, but I think it does matter," you say, your hand trailing lower, coming to rest on his hip. "Now I want to know."

Lando lets out a shaky breath, his body tremoring slightly under your touch. "It's... it's not a big deal."

He's trying to avoid answering, but you can see the way he's squirming, the way he's avoiding eye contact. Whatever it was, it must have been pretty wild.

"Come on," you murmur, leaning down to brush your lips against his neck. "Just tell me. It won't leave this room."

Your fingers dance over his skin, trying to coax him to open up. Lando lets out a low, shaky breath, his eyes fluttering shut at the feeling of your lips on his neck.

For a moment he's silent, his head tilted back, his body arching into your touch. Finally, he whispers, his voice barely louder than a whisper, “Max.”

You can't help but let out a gasp of surprise at that, your eyes widening. "Max..." you murmur, your mind instantly conjuring up all kinds of scenarios.

"As in Max Verstappen?"

Lando nods, his eyes still squeezed shut, his cheeks flushed red with embarrassment. "Y-yeah," he whispers. "It... it was a few years ago. We were both drunk. It was stupid."

You can't help but smile at his confession, amused by the thought of the two of them together.

"You naughty boy," you murmur, your fingers tracing over his chest. "Have you done anything else with him since?"

Lando's breath hitches in his chest, his eyes flickering open as he looks up at you. "No," he whispers, shaking his head. "Like I said, it was a one-time thing. It was a mistake. A drunken mistake. It meant nothing."

You can see the guilt on his face, the way he's suddenly avoiding your gaze. "Are you sure about that?" you ask, continuing to trace your fingers over his chest. "Did you enjoy it?"

Lando hesitates for a moment, his lips parted in a silent gasp. He's fighting his own body, trying to resist the truth that's written all over him.

Finally, he nods, his eyes meeting yours again. "Y-yeah," he whispers, a shudder rippling through him. "I... I enjoyed it, yeah. Both of us did."

You let out a low chuckle at his confession, the image suddenly crystal clear in your mind.

"Mmm," you murmur, your hand still dancing over his skin. "I can only imagine."

“Now enough of that.” You said your hand moving from Lando's chest to his pants unbuttoning and then unzipping his jeans.

Lando's breath hitches at your touch, his body arching towards you instinctively as you unbutton and unzip his jeans, his hands still obediently pinned above his head.

He looks up at you, his face flushed, his eyes wide with need. "Please," he gasps, his voice thick with desire.

You can feel the tension in his body, the way he's fighting himself, trying to resist the overwhelming need coursing through him.

"Why can't we?" you ask, your voice low and silky. "You want this. I want this. What's the harm?"

Lando bites his lip, a whimper escaping him as you slowly tug down his boxers, freeing his hard length. He's so big and thick, already leaking pre-cum. "I... I race tomorrow," he stutters, a weak excuse even to his ears.

You let out a soft bark of laughter, amused by his attempt to reason with you when his body was begging for your touch.

"We'll keep it simple then," you murmur, wrapping your fingers around his length and giving him a slow, tentative stroke. "We wouldn't want you to overexert yourself. His head falls back against the pillows with a soft gasp. The warmth of your hand feels incredible, and he struggles to maintain his train of thought. "Simple...?" he manages to choke out, his hips unconsciously thrusting into your touch. "What do you... ah... mean..." Lando gasps at your touch, his hips thrusting involuntarily into your hand. "F-fuck," he stutters, his body arching off the bed. "

You chuckle at his reaction, loving the way he's already falling apart under your touch. You continue to stroke him, your movements slow and measured, driving him mad.

Lando whimpers under your touch, his body tense, his hands still obediently holding the position above his head.

"Please," he gasps, his voice tight with need. "I- I can't... I need..."

"Need what?" you ask, your hand still working slowly up and down his length, enjoying the way he's coming undone under your touch. "Tell me”

Lando shivers, his eyes squeezed shut, his body arching up under your touch. "I... I need you," he gasps. "I need more...please...I-"

You love the way he's begging you, the way he's willing to do whatever you tell him to do just to get your touch. "Mmm," you murmur, releasing your grip on him just long enough to reach down and unfasten your pants. "I'll give you more, pup. Just be good for me, okay?"

Lando nods eagerly, his eyes opening to look at you, his expression a mix of desperation and desire. "Y-yeah. I can be good," he whispers, his voice rough with want. "I can be so good for you. Please..."

"That's what I like to hear," you murmur, straddling him, your knees on either side of his hips. You run your hands down his chest, feeling the way his body trembles under your touch.

Lando's breath hitches at your touch, his chest heaving as he gasps for air. His eyes are dark with desire, fixed on yours as he waits for what you're going to do next. "Now, hold perfectly still for me, puppy," you murmur, positioning yourself above him. "Can you do that?"

Lando lets out a ragged gasp, his hands balling into fists above his head, his body tensing to keep himself still. "Y-yeah," he whispers. "I can do that."

"Good boy," you murmur, a smile playing on your lips. You reach down and guide him, positioning him at your entrance, and feeling the way he twitches and pulses against you. "Now, just relax...and let me take care of you.”

Lando lets out a deep moan at the feeling of you taking him, his back arching off the bed, his hips straining to keep still, as he tries to control himself under the overwhelming sensation. "Oh...oh god," he gasps, his voice thick with desperate need. "You feel...you feel so…”

"Yeah?" you say, grinning down at him, loving the way he's struggling to control himself. "You like that, pup?"

“Uh huh,” Lando said in between the weed and the way you were using him for your gain Lando couldn’t think. His mind was hazy but god he felt good… real fucking good.

#f1 #f1 x reader #formula one x reader #formula one imagine #formula one x you #f1 x y/n #faiths inboxes📥📨#formula one x oc #formula one x y/n #lando norris #f1 x male reader #f1 smut #lando norris x reader #Lando Norris x male!reader #lando norris smut

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superm4ks · 1 day ago

Note

https://www.tumblr.com/maxarchive/767895471901507584?source=share

We've been knew but also I neeeed ur honest reaction lmao

Full post by the goat @rb19 @maxarchive here

BBC always insufferable but this just ridiculous. Asking an F1 driver if he wud naturally give somebody room in a corner exit might be most depressing shit I have ever had to read wid my own 2 eyes. Nvm that he's asking Max Verstappen of all people ... ‘racing another driver' by letting them complete an overtake just because they feel entitled to get to the front is literally antithetical to the whole concept of motor racing 😐 Its antithetical to 'competition' period .. Competition isnt fair, isnt deserved, isnt victimless. If it were, it wud not be ‘competition’, it wud be a game for children. Max was never treated like a child competing against adults and now 9 years later he’s getting grilled on what makes him such an aggressive competitor. I wrote a lil bit on dirty vs clean driving that I think sums up p well why Max will always get these kind of questions and others don’t.

The wdc exists to ensure that the human element remains the center piece of a motorized competition. Without the drivers championship, we wud grade these bitches on one lap pace and long run simulations and call it a day because a machine is easy to evaluate, a drivers handling of said machine over the course of 24 races is a much more interesting and compelling story. 'why wud u as an driver choose to utilize the full width of the track and not just roll out the red carpet for the pookie behind u 🥺' shud honestly get u sh0t as a journalist and I mean it.

If u give the full thing a read ((for @rb19)) Max is quick to mention how he cud tell even back in diapers karts which drivers were like him, and which drivers were more .. passive around the outside. He calls it a 'driver-related' thing. Some allow it, some dont. The ones who dont, who wud push him off track or pressure him into locking up, Max describes as having a lil more of a 'racing instinct'. What he leaves unsaid is that what separates these ‘passive drivers’ from the 1s ‘wid instinct’ is that this instinct is exactly what makes it impossible for him to just allow a driver to overtake him around the outside without putting up a fight to defend his position. It’s built into him. It’s how he races. And believe it or not.. and I’ll hold T Kravitz’ sweaty fucking hand when I say this, that’s completely fine. It’s fine to go racing wid a negative delta and not just roll over and let sweet Lando complete a single overtake. It’s fine to use the car and flirt wid guidelines if it keeps the point deficit as small as possible. It’s fine to fight for position in the. cars fight for position sport. It’s ok. I promise.

And lemme add 1 last thing. What people berate and insult and reprimand Max for now is the same shit they were checking off a list titled ‘future F1 champion’ when he was 13 years old. They knew, like Lauda knew, that to be as fast, as strong, as talented, quick in slow and fast corners, assertive, fearless, you need to be deliberate wid ur car as few in the history of the sport have been. U need to be so deliberate and confident in ur wheel that when someone asks u if u wud consider letting someone overtake u around the outside because 🥺 that’s so UNFAIR that u wud not let a car overtake u in the car racing competition 🥺 u can very calmly say ‘no lol’ instead of snapping ur fingers and unleashing Helmut Mario from a hidden hatch on the ceiling

#long post #verst4ppen #max verstappen #allow it #💎💦🦁#2024 season #f1

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thegreatyin · 2 months ago

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the difference between the scoundrel and the yearner is simultaneously insurmountable and also pretty much entirely artificial. the scoundrel is basically just the yearner without the crucial power limiter of all-consuming depression and apathy. it's like if you took a restraining bolt off a robot. that being said the depression is very much still there it's just in a slightly different (significantly more batty) flavor now

#the scoundrel just unabashedly voices thoughts the yearner kept to herself #and the yearner stopped and thought about things the scoundrel nowadays does without thinking #because it's deliberately going against who it used to be #this is what the yin thoughts tag is really for. completely unprompted thinking out loud abt my made up freaks #yin-thoughts #this difference is also pretty much entirely engineered by the scoundrel themself. literally nobody else cares #they're the one actively carving out a chasm between who they were and who they want to be #except they're really fucking bad with excavation tools so they keep leaving glaringly obvious bits where the yearner peeks through #and the scoundrel is all but dissolved in her wake

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thepromisedbride · 7 months ago

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i don’t talk about bridgerton on here but just to clarify. i will not be having ANY eloise hate on this account. i will bite.

#eloise bridgerton they could never make me hate you!!#addressing the normal talking points one by one to get them sorted:#- no i don’t care that eloise called pen some names after the discovery. she was devastated and furious.#she can apologise in the future but in the moment of course she said it #- yes pen did write about eloise as a way to save her but that doesn’t mean it hasn’t possibly ruined eloise’s life #- similarly: eloise isn’t (just) angry that she was written about. daphne also went through whistledown and it very much terrified her #so have many other women including marina #- eloise is betrayed because she told pen everything and is realising pen told her nothing #(and she’s probably thinking about any secrets she might have said to her best friend that could now be used against the ton and her family)#- as claudio said: being regency gossip girl isnt a moral girlboss thing its deeply harmful tbh #- pen did have reasons to become whistledown! that doesn’t mean that she’s innocent or right!#- eloise isnt now friends with cressida to spite pen lmao she’s alone and scared and cressida was the last person who offered her friendship #she has no idea how to manage society by herself #(and she needs someone to improve the reputation of her and her family)#- im also convinced she has other ulterior motives for befriending cressida. like she’s keeping an eye on her or smth #- eloise didn’t just ignore anything pen said and that’s why she only just figured it out. pen deliberately didn’t speak like lw to hide it #the moment she did eloise was like huh that’s weird she doesn’t normally talk like that. and THATS when she figured it out #- eloise just found out her best friend has betrayed her and been hiding this massive secret #but she hasn’t told anyone. not even her own family. im not hearing out any accusations of HER of being disloyal #- also pen clearly wasn’t that upset at writing about eloise bc the moment eloise and colin upset her she went straight back to it lmao #side note but no i don’t think the queen is going to name her the ‘emerald’ or anything because she’s suddenly in the spotlight #eloise is tbh the only debutante she actually consistently recognised (for good or bad)#a new dress is not going to be interesting for charlotte to change her whole tradition #tl;dr i love eloise and i will die on this hill #eloise bridgerton #bridgerton

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listen-to-the-inner-walrus · 7 months ago

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#still not over the insane george orwell post that got reblogged onto my dash yesterday #i unfollowed the person who reblogged it #because either A) theyre a tankie or B) their criticial thinking skills are sub-fucking-zero #like 1) the OP of that post was just copying Hakims awful video on Orwell #2) to read animal farm and come out of it with the interpretation that Orwell was saying that the animals and hence the proletariat in the #USSR were just innately unintelligent shows a reading comprehension so bad its not even like piss poor. its piss impoverished #3) if a post is like ''also look X said Y Bad Thing'' without providing any of the context as to where that quote comes from theyre likely #being deliberately mishonest. it is easy to take someone out if context to make it look like they were saying something they werent which is #exactly what the OP of that post was doing. they took one sentence of Orwells writing on the nazis and Hitler to make it look like Orwell #thought Hitler was a swell guy when actually Orwells writing was about the dangers of charismatic tyrants like Hitler and their rhetoric #the entire thing was about how Hitler was able to amass such power and popularity and use that to his advantage #not every despot is so easy to pick out as dangerous or so easy to detest. hitler was hardly the first charismatic tyrant in history #OP also conveniently left out the fact that like the next sentence is orwell being like yeah no i would fucking kill this man which wow #thats a glaring omission. imagine if people decided to look up what OP was refetencing to verify irs veracity #4) OP does not mention that Orwell fought in La Guerra Civil alongside communists and socialists and anarchists etc.#he fought against the nationalists. he took a bullet to the neck during the fight. he was very much against francisco franco and his fascist #regime who were allied with Hitler and the Nazis #mentioning orwells participation in the spanish civil war really undercuts any of those arguments #5) you know who was actually allied with Hitler and Nazi Germany? STALIN #at the beginning of WWII the soviet union and nazi germany were in alliance. stalin and hitler did not have fundamental ideological #differences. if hitler had not betrayed stalin the soviet union would not have joined the allied powers #your uwu anti-fascist communist idol joseph fucking stalin was joseph fucking stalin. he was a fascist dictator whose actions deliberately #caused the deaths of hundreds of thousands of people. he like vladimir lenin before him did not care for the ideals of marx #marxism leninism is a meaningless political ideology #the soviet union was not a communist paradise. neither stalin not lenin cared about the proletariat #i said this in my tag ramble yesterday but if you want to see a leader who actually followed marxist ideals go look up thomas sankara #im just rambling in the tags today to get out the lingering frustration i have

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mantisgodsdomain · 11 months ago

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Apparently there's a fic reading challenge thing this year, but after doing a quick skim of the goals... we don't think we'll be touching it with a ten-foot stick. Some of these goals put a VERY bad taste in our mouth. The idea of a "diversity checklist" isn't supposed to be... literal, we don't think? No? We're remembering that one quote about "listening to people of color being like eating your vegetables for white activists" and we're feeling like it may actually have been understating whatever the hell is going on here.

#we speak #also really funny to be seeing shit like “read fic from a fandom with under 250 works”. buddy we're WRITING for one of those #but also like. “read a fic where the main character is BIPOC”. “read a fic where the main character is neurodivergent"#“read a fic that passes the bechdel test”.#like we get the INTENT we guess but we're not in the target audience AT ALL #and a whole fuckin lot of the goals here are very romance focused up against us a guy who deliberately filters out ships #we're also really concerned that “passes the bechdel test” is a bar for fic but also we know The Scene here #and “passing the mako mori test”. is indeed a difficult one to find in a lot of fandoms #as someone who tends to like female characters we notice this. A Fucking Lot #we are so insanely picky with fic bc even with ao3's tagging system we need to slog through dozens of fics to find one good one #and a lot of the time we. REALLY don't have the patience for fic that doesn't have decent depictions for the gals #you have no clue how much zel da fic especially we drop for being Really Fucking Weird About Gender (in a bad way)#sometimes we forget that people exist in bigger fandoms that actually have fic reading habits like this #we feel like we're in another dimension. what do you mean you guys live like this #also what. does “deals heavily (and healthily) with a mental illness” mean. you guys arent just reading this to eat ur vegetables right?#...right???#anyways reading through things like “read fics with all the major LGBTQIA2 identities” is giving us hives #if you read our fic then we beg of you read it because it sounds like it has a nice plot not just like. because Some Guy is ace or intersex #please. gender identity should NOT be that much of a priority. read through and flag on the weird gender shit and go “oh thats queer!”#or “oh thats like me” or “oh (whatever)” but please. there are so many things here more relevant than shit like sexuality.#we need to go read through our fics and make sure we dont have any overly modern lingo in there #if you want to know about a characters sexuality or gender identity figure it out yourself from. fuck we dont know. psychic beams.#though we rationally know the reason that things in modern queer spaces are so often Like This its still poison to our brain #and we want nothing to do with it #negative chatter

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sturionic · 19 days ago

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Activism is not cold-calling.

Activism is not cold-calling, and this is critically important to understand.

I'm seeing a lot of posts on here about 'building bridges' and 'finding community,' and then (extremely valid) response posts saying "BUT HOW??" And I'm going to explain something that can be very counter-intuitive: there is strategy involved in community.

As a longtime volunteer labour organizer, I’ve taken and taught many trainings on the strategy of talking. Something that surprises a lot of people is the very first thing you do in a union campaign. You sit down with your organizing committee, take out pen and paper, and literally map it out. You draw a physical map of the workplace: where are the entrances, exits, break rooms, supervisor offices. Essentially, ‘where is it safe to have a union conversation.’ Then you draw another physical chart of your coworkers. You sort out who is union-friendly, openly hostile to unions, or somewhere in the middle, and then you plan out very deliberately and carefully who talks to whom and in what order.

Consider: If Vocally Leftist Jane walks up to Conservative David and says "hey what do you think about unions," David is going to shut down immediately. He's not inclined to listen to Jane. But if Jane talks to Moderate Jason and brings him into the fold, then Jason is a far more effective strategic choice to talk to David, and David may actually hear him out without an instant reaction.

IMPORTANT CAVEAT: If Conservative David turns out to be Alt-Right David, and could be dangerous to follow organizers, we write him off. We are not trying to reach Alt-Right David. We are trying to reach Conservative David, who may actually be persuaded to find solidarity with other employees as fellow workers. Jason is a safe scout to find out which one he is. It does no one any good if Leftist Jane (or even Moderate Jane who is a visible minority) talks to Alt-Right David and puts herself on his radar. Not only has she done nothing to convince Alt-Right David to join a union - she's probably actively turned him against the idea - but now she's also in danger and the entire campaign is at risk. NOBODY WANTS THIS. Jane was NOT a hero for doing this. The organizing committee was foolish and enacted a terrible strategy to everyone's detriment.

Where you can make a difference is with people who will listen to you. You having a conversation with your well-meaning but clueless Centrist Democrat Auntie, and maybe gently helping her understand some things the media has been glossing over, is way more strategically useful than you marching up to MAGA Neighbour You've Met Once and trying to "build community" or "understand" them. They don't care. They're impervious, dangerous, and cruel. But maybe your beloved auntie will think about what you said, and then talk to her friend Anna who IDs as "fiscally conservative" but didn't vote because she can't bring herself to get on board with Trump. Then perhaps Anna talks to her brother Nic who has MAGA leanings but isn't all the way there yet. Proto-MAGA Nic would not have listened to you, nor would he have listened to Centrist Democrat Auntie, but he might absorb some of what his sister is saying.

This is not a cop-out or an echo chamber. This is you spending your time and energy strategically and safely. You are not a useful activist to anyone if you’re dead. Anyone who is telling you to hurl yourself directly at MAGA assholes like cannon fodder has no understanding of the strategy behind community building, and you should feel comfortable writing them off.

Last point: If you are tired, emotionally devastated, and/or in danger: take a break. This post is for people who would feel better jumping into action, not for people who are too overwhelmed to even think about it right now. You are worth so much even if you’re not actively Doing Activism, and your rest is worth more than “a break period so you can recharge and Do More Activism.” We all deserve the individual dignity of being worthy of comfort, rest & safety just on the basis of being human, outside of whatever we're doing for others' benefit. To deny ourselves that dignity is to devalue ourselves, and that’s the absolute last thing any of us should be doing right now.

#us elections #us politics #community organizing #unions #social justice #current events

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brittlebutch · 4 months ago

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have been thinking about Until Dawn again -- do we ever like, fully understand what Josh had planned for Matt and Emily? Like, did he steal/hide her bag or something to get them out into the woods? Or was that just some kind of coincidence that played out like he hoped it would?

#N posts stuff #outside of that one 'did Josh do that deliberately?' uncertainty i do actually grasp the full implications of his plan #better than i think i did in high school.#(my brother has a playstation he lent to us so i'm finally playing it for myself instead of just watching no commentary vids lmao)#in that like. presuming he Did send Matt and Em out there deliberately then them + Mike and Jessica are on the side of like #Josh is putting them in the same circumstances Hannah and Beth were when they left the house - he's surrendering them to whatever #circumstance and danger that his sisters went through; i watched a couple of like vid essays on the game and someone said that #Jess and Mike in particular were 'spared' by Josh sending them out to the cabin but i don't think that's what Josh was doing #given the level of control he had over everything that happened all over that mountain then I have to assume the busted power #in that cabin was Deliberate and the path they took was very messy and ill-maintained in a way that can get them both Soaked #so to me the cabin is a deliberate exposing them to the elements in a way that may well could have killed hannah and beth #plus Josh did make up some of the 'maniac' lore BUT his parents were in a lengthy legal battle with someone who Did threaten the family #so he's also well-aware that That guy could have had something to do with Hannah+Beth's disappearance and again Josh is exposing #Matt and Mike and Emily and Ashley to that danger because they were the more outward 'antagonists' in the prank on Hannah #so his revenge there is more passive but arguably Way more dangerous than what Josh had set up in the house; because again #Josh had a Huge amount of control over what was going on in there and he kept an eye on everyone the whole time #He's basically the only threat on the field - he can account for the weather and outside threats etc. in a way he Doesn't do for anyone els #and even tho they don't know it JOSH knows that he's not going to physically Harm anyone inside the house. so they're ultimately Safer #his deliberately more Antagonistic 'revenge' on the others who seemed to have less to do with the prank is also kind of double edged #ie; for 1) Josh overall sees the whole thing as a net Positive for them - he was going to post it online w/ the intent of making #them all famous sensations; obviously he knows it's terrifying them deliberately in a real dire way but as a Whole it's supposed to be 'goo #and as for Why he scares them so thoroughly out of everyone i think it's mostly bc Josh does see Himself as culpable that night as well #dr. Hill has that line about how he doesn't know if it's like. worse to threaten someone or passively allow them to come to harm or whateve #so there's a lot of deep self-loathing about the fact that Josh couldn't/didn't do anything to help his sisters that night that he kind of #turns outwards against the other people who were also less Directly culpable in that same way (Sam tries to stop the prank #but fails; Ashley more passively went along with it than deliberately participated; Chris was also drunk + incapacitated)#so it's almost a collective 'WE fucked it up bc we didn't do Enough' kind of punishment hence the invocation of Hannah and Beth's #terror and uncertainty on that night -- We didn't do Enough and so this is what they suffered because of us in that way #but again; Josh had immense control over that house and he Knew everyone was Physically safe so even though he's Scaring them #he's also not putting them In Danger in the same way he does everyone else by shutting them out of the house + out in the snow

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arminsumi · 15 days ago

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Betting your girl's mouth on a basketball game was crazy — and Suguru was all for it.

After taking a loss that may or may not have been deliberate, jock!Suguru wears a dirty grin on his face while watching you suck his best friends virgin cock like a good girl, loving the nasty wet noises you make while slurping up and down nerd!Satoru's pulsing shaft, slowly stroking himself to the sight of you on your knees, making cock disappear in your mouth like magic.

And Satoru — the poor boy — is losing his mind because he's never felt a woman's lips around his dummy big cock before. He used to tell you that sex is beneath him — now he's throwing his head back, gritting his pearly whites, curling his toes and biting his bottom lip 'till it's all red, totally surrendering to your little mouth — it's just so funny to you, 'cause he's been the know-it-all bastard telling you "... you're just Suguru's slut. If you paid as much attention in class as you did to my best friend's dick, maybe you'd amount to something. Do you even remember what we learned yesterday? Exactly. But I do — that's why I'm the top student and you're just — "

Bla bla bla... Satoru's now showing you how much precum his dummy big cock leaks — it's a sticky mess oozing out of his tip all over your quivering tongue. You looked up at him and winked, and he seethed inside because god he's hated you for so long but now your lips are wrapped around his cock and your mouth is taking him to heaven.

He's whining, biting into his fist, knees all wobbly. the texture of your tongue drives him nuts — then it clicks. oh, this is why my best friend is obsessed with his girlfriend. This is why he can't shut up and stop oversharing his sex life with me.

'Cause heaven really does exist on her tongue.

"fuck, slow down..." Satoru tries to ease his cock out your mouth, feeling his orgasm threatening to erupt at any moment.

But Suguru pushes you back down on his cock, filling your cheeks again, "nah, keep going baby, he's gonna cum — aren't you Satoru? You're gonna cum in my girl's mouth, huh? Come on, big boy, I know how long you've wanted this. Fill this little slut's mouth with your cum."

Those taunting words push him over the edge. His heavy balls tighten up as he feels you suckling his swollen head, and then white ropes come bursting out.

"Ahh—gh! Fuck... nn!"

Satoru's legs give out and he moans like you've never heard a man moan before, releasing all the cum he's worked up for you like he's been waiting years to do this. Actually, he has been waiting years — waiting patiently to find an opportunity to make your jaw ache and eyes well up with tears.

"Baby, you gonna swallow my best friend's cum f'me?" Suguru encourages, stroking his cock lazily against your cheek now.

He watches you compliantly swallow Satoru's seed, and Satoru twitches at the sight.

Huffing, Satoru comes down from his high and brushes his white wispy bangs out of his eyes. He's glaring down at your mouth.

"... still fucking hate you... " Satoru mutters to you in a voice still shaky with the after-effects of his orgasm.

"I still hate you, too." you smile back at him.

His heart flutters and bottom lip twitches. He can't stop staring at your lips, your eyes, your hips, your thighs.

"Ah, Satoru, quit your act — you're the one who proposed this idea in the first place."

You went red in the face. It was Satoru's idea? The mister goody-two-shoes, know-it-all, all A+++ report cards, 'sex is beneath me' Satoru?

"Huh? I thought this was your idea..." but before you can express your surprise you're already feeling Suguru nudge his cockhead against your lips.

"Sh sh, now it's my turn, baby. Open wide."

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doux-amer · 2 months ago

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#there’s still time to kill myself over this#and. calling logan by his first name when you’ve known him since approximately 9 years old.#imagine the first time stewy decided to drop ‘mr.roy’#logan coming at a young adult stewy with ‘how was your summer stewart’#and stewy (has been psyching himself up for this all summer): it was great logan. how was yours?#and they just stare at each other like that one gif of pd*ddy and the american idol contestant (via @stewkablooey)

#yes these tags #and doing this out of disrespect not because of intimacy #all because of how much he cared about ken #which is a big deal for kids in general unless they grow up with (white) adults who insist they call them by their first name #but listen...as a poc it's a bigger deal. you wouldn't even dare to do this #it's ingrained in you to use honorifics for strangers especially older strangers #and even people you know personally no matter how many years pass #it's hard even when someone encourages you to call them by their first name even if you're on good terms with them #when there's a power imbalance or you want to show respect (mostly when i was a kid and much more infrequently now as an adult)#like all the teachers and random classmates' parents who would say this and i'd politely smile and think in my head 'no'#or it's someone from your own culture (not like this with most adults now and this is one of the only exceptions)#or maybe it's easier when you have nothing but disdain for someone but for a young stewy #he'd still have to go against what he's been taught since day 1 to do this #this isn't a peer he met as an adult whom he's trying to do business with; this is his friend's dad who's a hulking titan #in both your friend's life and on a global scale whom you've known since you were a kid #this is a deliberate choice you're making and one you have to psych yourself up as prev said to do #things the succ writing room probably didn't think about #i wonder if he ever speaks about the roys to his parents and if he does if he refers to logan as 'mr. roy' or 'logan' to them #even as an adult

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thepersonperson · 2 months ago

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Why the hell is JJK 270 called Dream's End?

JJK 270 being titled Dream’s End is so fudging ominous. That’s some Umineko type beat. I’m not sure if I should even judge this chapter as presented because of this. In fact, I'm holding off on posting the other analysis I had for today since I no longer am certain of what JJK 268–270 are.

There's two lines of thought I have:

1) Gege suffering from burnout and bad working conditions plus rushing has caused the writing to decline.

2) Gege still has a hidden ace saved for the final chapter and the weird writing is deliberate.

I'm going to humor Option 2, but only because the title of this chapter is called Dream's End.

(The most 'hear me out' discussion under the cut. Using TCB scans and leaks. Click images for captions/citations.)

[Small Update: Follow-up Discussion on why everyone feels OOC.]

Preface

"Without love it cannot be seen."

This is a phrase and philosophy I have borrowed from Umineko since I've started these JJK yapfests. It essentially boils down to 'discard your negative biases and try to examine things in good faith.'

JJK 268 & 269 have fudging tested that for me. I've been giving Gege and the characters a pretty hard time with the caveat of knowing how exploitative the manga industry is. I initially rejected the idea that these chapters were to be taken at anything other than face-value because of this. In fact, I cited the JJK 268 chapter title of Finale as a reason I've accepted things as is.

And with that same logic, I'm now doing the opposite... So hear me out! I've got some pretty good reasons to be doing this.

What's wrong with JJK 268–270?

There's a lot of things in these chapters that are fundamentally inconsistent with what's been established in throughout the manga. If we use Option 1 to explain these contradictions, these are last second retcons because Gege forgor.

Option 2? We're about to have the rug pulled the hell out from under us because the last 3 chapters have been delusions.

What first tipped me off to something possibly being wrong on purpose was the fate of the incarnated culling game players in JJK 270. Not too long ago it was established that the souls of non-sorcerers in vessels were unsavable.

The souls are suppressed in a way that distorts them permanently or their consciousness is outright destroyed. They were gambling on Megumi's survival due to him being a sorcerer and Sukuna's incarnation method being unique. 99% of them will die and those who survive will likely be vegetables, so why is there a sudden gamble on their survival in JJK 270?

It's such a neat and fine bow to tie this mess up that goes directly against existing lore. It's so ideal that it has me suspicious.

Brain damage from sorcery on non-sorcerers has been established as extremely taxing. I think about Gojo's Unlimited Void (UV) the most when it comes to this. Non-sorcerers were hit by it for 0.2 seconds and required medical intervention for 2 months to fully heal from it. Sukuna, the absolute strongest, tanked some of it and it affected him for the rest of the battle. ...And then we have Megumi who was under it for about 6 minutes and seems to have very little problems from it.

This is bizarre. Someone who underwent the month long bath and UV without Reverse Curse Technique (RCT) should be struggling to even stand after waking up. Sukuna had RCT and the Gojo brain damage still took him out. This screams of inconsistent writing unless...this is a deliberate hint that something is amiss.

I want to draw attention to the panel Megumi's UV damage is addressed. Just about everyone has been seemingly waiting around in the same spot for him to wake up. It's a bit weird given that sorcerers don't usually do that. They usually get a move on asap. And after the destruction of Shinjuku and the Culling Game Players still running about, why would they take a breather to discuss their plans that worked?

But that's not what started bothering me about that panel after reading JJK 270. It's that characters who aren't in the room, start appearing without warning. Look who is behind Maki and to the left. It's Kusakabe. And to her and Yuta's right? Inumaki. So why is it that Hakari, Kiara, and Ino are in Kusakabe's place while Todo spawns where Inumaki is? (And Yuta is facing the wrong direction too.)

That's pretty fudging weird right? You can chalk it up to Gege forgor but it doesn't stop there. Higuruma enters the discussion in a way that causes Yuji to pause.

Why is Yuji surprised to see him? (And where the fudge did he come from?) Shouldn't he know of his survival by now? And why is he in a cast? Higuruma had learned RCT and fully restored his arms before leaving the battlefield. If he's conscious, then he should be able to heal himself fully no problems.

And that got me thinking... Why is Yuji still missing his fingers?

It was established that he kept his fingers unhealed to help with Yuta's plan. This means that if he won, he has no need to keep them missing. Yuji has fully regenerated missing chunks of his face, including his eye, and stomach. He has RCT just like Higuruma. But it doesn't end there either. Yuji's number of fingers on his left hand keeps changing.

4 fingers, 3 fingers, dubious amount of fingers, 5 fingers. Once again, you can chalk it up to Gege forgor, but JJK 270 came out and the same problem started happening with Megumi's scars.

The same mistake is made within the same set of panels and very big page. That's weird.

ONCE AGAIN, you can chalk it up to Gege forgor, but when these errors occur, like with Yuta mistakenly having his ring on in JJK 251, Gege will note the mistake outright. Gege has made no such comments for Yuji's fingers or the scars. This many “errors” in row when Gege has otherwise been careful with these features could indicate it really is on purpose. (Kind of like Sukuna's everchanging mask. The thing was just moving around and pulsing. That was deliberate not inconsistency.)

What does this mean?

I think it means what we are seeing isn't reality. After all, the most common way to tell if you're dreaming is being unable to count the number of fingers on your hands. Another way to tell is the distortion of faces.

Readers have noticed that something is wrong. The weird timeskips, the lack of lasting consequences, design inconsistencies, characters behaving like similes of themselves, death and pain being glossed over like it's nothing. It all feels so off. But it's still close enough to the original to be somewhat believable. ...Is that not what it's like to dream and not know you are dreaming?

Why is it that the chapter titled Dream's End ends with the hunt for a curse user whose ability is to distort the perception of reality?

Dreams and Delusions in JJK

We already know Gege weaves Buddhist symbolism and ideas heavily into JJK. I'm not an expert in Buddhism at all, so there's a lot of it that goes over my head. I decided to look into if dreams are significant in Buddhism and boy howdy are they. Quoted directly from the source:

"Dreams can be a message from a Bodhisattva, an ancestor, or a god, The intent of the dream may be to test the dreamer’s resolve: is he non-retreating (avaivartika) from Bodhi (enlightenment) even when sleeping? The purpose of the dream visit may be to communicate information vital to the dreamer’s well-being. The Buddha himself had five dreams of catastrophes, falling stars and worlds in collision just before his enlightenment. The dreams were sent to him not by a benevolent Dharma-protector, but by an malevolent sorcerer, intent on disrupting the Buddha’s samadhi and preventing his awakening."

In summary, (correct me if I'm wrong) dreams appear to be seen as another state of being just as valuable and impermanent as reality.

There's also this other bit I'll quote directly.

"The most common use of dreams in the literature of the Mahayana, or “Northern School” of Buddhism in China, Tibet, Japan, Korea, and Vietnam is to see dreams as a simile for sunyata, (emptiness) the hollow core at the heart of all component dharmas (things). For example, in the well-known Vajra (Diamond) Sutra, the Buddha taught that:

“All conditioned dharmas, are like a dream, like an illusion, like a bubble, like a shadow, like a dewdrop, like a lightening flash; you should contemplate them thus.”"

That's starting to sound like what Yuji's Domain does, right? He projects memories that did happen and mixes them with delusions and dreams. Sukuna and Megumi both experience this in full.

It's incredibly suspicious that it hasn't been named yet. Yuji is the son of Kenjaku who has a domain based on the Womb Sutra/Realm...which is paired with the aforementioned Diamond Realm to encompass the entire Dharma. It's very likely this is what Yuji's domain is—a realm of dreams and reality combined as one.

Unreality Runs in the Family

When Sasaki Setsuko "wakes up" as the Culling Games begin, Kenjaku explains her situation with this:

What follows is a sequence that cannot be described as a dream. It seems to be a blend of reality and hallucinations. But that's not anything strange, Sukuna does it too with Kashimo in reverse.

As you can see, both the positions of the characters and even the backgrounds change suddenly from reality to ??? and from sequence to sequence. It's all incredibly dream like.

Another strange thing about this space is Kenjaku creating it as a part of an escape route Binding Vow. You know, the kind Sukuna uses for Malevolent Shrine.

What I want to draw attention to here is this reality-dream state somewhat requires consent (in the loosest possible definition) to appear. The person entering this state has to desire it themself. We see this with Jogo and Gojo who are mutually interested in having a relationship of somekind with Sukuna. (Same with Kashimo.)

(It's also very hard to tell if they are dead or still in the process of dying during this.)

This is where the delusions Yuji projects differ. They are forced onto others when he is near death or severely injured, seemingly as a defense mechanism.

And would you look at that...the syntax is identical for Todo and Choso's Brother Yuji Delusions. "At that moment, a memory was born inside X's brain...of a past event that never happened." It's kind of like how Yuji replaces Gojo in Megumi's memory to reach him. It's also very strange that Sukuna, Choso, and Jogo go "What is this?" to this in-between space.

My point here is that Yuji having access to this space has been hinted at since the start of this manga and that it was inherited it by blood. (Totally Not Kenjaku showing up with Takaba Mr. Reality Warping CT in JJK 270 supports my case too I think.)

What does this mean for JJK 268–270?

The battle ended in JJK 268. Of that I'm certain. What I no longer know is if anyone survived.

A common complaint about Sukuna's death is his lack of an afterlife scene. Everything ended so abruptly. And then Megumi wakes up.

It's so jarring in out of place. ...But that's how all scenes involving the space between dreams and reality begin. Sasaki Setsuko "wakes up" once and then again. Most of us have experienced those kind of dreams right? (They made a whole movie about it called Inception which is based on the movie Paprika.)

There's one other thing I need to draw attention to. Yuji's Domain shattered after Sukuna cast Domain Expansion (DE).

When a sorcerer withdraws their domain voluntarily, it does not shatter. Gojo has demonstrated this for us in quite clearly.

When a domain is broken by force, it will shatter and shards will scatter. When a domain is withdrawn, no shards are left behind. Yuta uses these facts as a part of his plan. In JJK 252, it's revealed by Kusakabe that Yuta shatters his own domain on purpose to trick Sukuna into thinking he won.

What this means is that some kind of violent action needs to be taken to shatter a domain. Yuji's domain is massive and his attacks only targeted Sukuna. What could've shattered his domain all at once? He's not had the time to practice shattering parts of it like Yuta.

Gojo has shown us what a uniform domain shattering looks like—it happens when Malevolent Shrine activates. (Please note that the sfx used for Sukuna breaking Gojo's domain is カシャア. It's the same one used for Yuji's domain shattering.)

I'm proposing that we've been in unreality since the end of JJK 266. Sukuna and Yuji are both severely injured, on the verge of death, and have a connection with each other. These are all conditions that trigger the space between dreams and reality.

And I must remind you that Yuji first triggers this event with Todo after a severe head injury. Right before Sukuna casts his domain, they do this to each other.

Everything that has come after has been perfect for Yuji to a unbelievable degree. Everyone whose death was uncertain is alive and the living are getting exactly what they wanted. The effort behind it and the logistics are all missing. And yes a rushed ending can explain that, but that too can be part of the ruse.

Another massive complaint is that mourning has not occurred. Not for Gojo or Choso despite how much Yuji cherished them. It's like they're being willfully forgotten by the cast despite being crucial to their success in Shinjuku. It feels out of character, especially since Yuji is of the few that showed concern for them no matter what.

But if this is a delusion on the brink of death designed to bring happiness, why would Yuji think of the dead? He's always been so avoidant with it. When his grandpa is dying and trying to talk about his parents, Yuji tells him to shut up. When Nanami dies, he thinks of him then and then never again directly leading up to his talk with Sukuna. When Megumi tries to discuss Nobara's fate, Yuji ends the conversation as quickly as possible.

The only people in this world are the ones who may or may not be dead. He saw Yuta in Gojo's corpse. The only way that can happen is if Gojo is dead. Yuji has no choice but to believe it. Choso burned away before his eyes. Yuji has no choice but to believe it. He went through some of Megumi's memories and saw Tsumiki's corpse. Yuji has no choice but to believe it.

And since Tsumiki is the only person Yuji wasn't close with, she's the only death that has been outright acknowledged. But not for too long! That would make Megumi sad.

Another complaint is that Sukuna really didn't kill anyone in the final battle outside of those two and Kashimo. The dudebros call it Disney Kaisen. But the fairytale-like idea that everyone is ok? Todo was the one who put that idea in Yuji's head.

And Yuji has always been one to fall to story-like logic when things look like they're finally wrapping up.

"And then everything will be just fine." (Yuji before the worst possible outcome for both him and Megumi happens.)

This is similar to the line Gakuganji uses in JJK 270. "Everything is fine." This line is the whole reason I sat down and wrote this all out without stopping. I know Gakuganji. He'd never say that. This man has been in a state of worry over Jujutsu Society since his first appearance. He doesn't even fully believe in Gojo's cause as someone who values tradition. He's a stickler for details and will do everything in his power to ensure stability. For him to toss Sukuna and Tengen's remains in a shrine and call it a day? Who is that? He's changed but not that much.

And so I compared the raws.

It is very much the same 大丈夫 (Daijoubu). These are Yuji's words.

What I'm proposing is that JJK 267–270 are Yuji's delusions of the happiest possible ending. It's a picture perfect little end where all the trauma and death has no effect on the living and people move on like nothing happened. I don't know if this means he's dead or if Megumi's dead or if they're all dead. But what I'm seeing now? I don't think it's real.

Reexamining JJK 269

CW: Brief discussion of suicide.

Even if this turns out to be a part of the smokescreen, I'm always going to hate JJK 269. But I do want to give it some grace under the assumption this chapter titled Examination (which can also be translated as Reflection) is about Yuji's guilt. Both him and Megumi's tbh. I think their feelings for each other and their situations are driving these delusions. That's one thing about this space that's real—the feelings behind them.

Yuji has a lot of guilt surrounding his existence after ingesting Sukuna, Megumi does too. Straight up Yuji has been seeking death over it since JJK 9.

He struggles to forgive himself for being the centerpiece to violence he had little to no control over. The only thing that upsets him more than that is knowing that his death will break Megumi's heart. He doesn't want Megumi to feel any guilt for it whatsoever.

The kicker is, Megumi already knows Yuji is planning to die. And he wants to do everything to rid him of that guilt. Up until they connect inside of Yuji's domain, they were unaware they shared the same goal for each other.

And that's what JJK 269 is. It's a very cold and harsh breakdown that allows them to forgive themselves. Blame is passed around and ultimately pinned on a combination of Gojo and Kenjaku. (It's really weird Sukuna isn't blamed either, but that's not the point of this for now.)

Kusakabe's comment is especially harsh. Telling Yuji point blank he should've died and that both sides on the issue were valid? He may have believed that to an extent, but he made a point of not telling it to his face. Why have a whole chapter discussing how kind he is only to turn around and do this?

If this is all a delusion, a manifestation of Yuji's guilt and trying to absolve himself of it for Megumi's sake, that makes sense. This version of Kusakabe is what Yuji feels guilt over the most—Everyone's lives being better if he died.

In the same breath Kusakabe tells them to solely blame the adults. It's very reminiscent of Nanami telling Yuji that being a child is not a sin.

It should also be noted that every single time Megumi tries to apologize for being possessed, he's stopped. Maki tears into Yuta without checking in on him, but she asks if Megumi is ok and tells him to not blame himself. JJK 270 is full of this too. He tries to apologize to Tsumiki at her grave and Shoko tells him not to sweat it. He tries to apologize to Hana and she hits on him instead.

This delusion is crafted out of love. It allows Megumi to live in a world where he can move on from the guilt surrounding his possession and saving Yuji. It's all Yuji has ever wanted for him. And now that Yuji knows Megumi wants him to forgive himself, he has no choice but to do that too.

It's a perfect ending for Megumi that's too good to be true.

It must be a dream...

There's another thing I can't reconcile about JJK 269 unless it's a delusion—Todo's explanation for Yuta's plan. It's another one of those glaring contradictions.

In JJK 269 Todo claims Boogie Woogie can't target Maki. But in JJK 259? Todo makes plans with Mei Mei knowing that it works with her.

Either Todo lied...or Yuji never fully knew the plan and that Boogie Woogie could target Maki. Otherwise she would be dead. Her surviving Sukuna's flames would be impossible.

I've already talked about how Yuji believing those who may or may not be dead are alive is Todo's doing. He's always been the one to save Yuji from his breakdowns. But let's talk about his speech in Shibuya.

"Looking for meaning or logic in death...can at times defile the memories of those we've lost!"

Everyone who has read these past 3 chapters has really felt the defiling of Gojo's memory. And it was all in service to a strange logic that helped them cope with all this death. Acknowledging how massive Gojo's sacrifice was would riddle both Yuji and Megumi with immense guilt, so it's best to ignore it for Megumi's sake. (And perhaps that's why Yuji replaces Gojo in that memory.)

"What have you been entrusted with? You don't need to answer right now. However... Until you find your answer, never stop moving."

In a way, JJK 269 is an answer to the question Todo proposed. Yuji was entrusted with saving Megumi. Saving Megumi requires Megumi and Yuji forgiving themselves. And Yuji won't stop moving until it's done. All these time jumps and rushed developments are Yuji moving Megumi forward. He's getting that happy ending even if it's to the detriment of everything else.

What about Sukuna?

When Sukuna respects his opponents and they have a connection, he gives others these dreams before they pass. He's been very impressed by Megumi since JJK 9. It's not out of the ballpark for him to allow Megumi to die satisfied in the way Gojo did. Yuji also seems to understand that Sukuna was manipulated by others just as much as he was. I think that's why Sukuna is spared of the blame for the most part.

I don't think Sukuna won. He's probably dead. But he did warn Yuji not to underestimate him. I think the worst absolute last fudge you to Yuji he could give is this happy ending dream before ripping it all away as he dies.

In Conclusion...

I'm not sure that we're going to get that happy ending. Reggie Star warned us not too long ago.

"...it all comes down to a sorcerer's lies."

Reggie is a lot like Sukuna here, outwitted by modern sorcerers and dying to someone he loathes. Sukuna is good at tricking people. He let Gojo think he won before tearing it all away. Yuta did the exact same thing to him. Or did he?

"Can you do me a favor? After all, you've killed me. Let fate toy with you, become a clown, then die."

If the last 3 chapters are delusions...Megumi will be playing the part of a clown.

Gege said the manga would end with either 1/4 or 3/4 of Yuji, Megumi, Nobara, and Gojo surviving. This of course, could be changed throughout its development, but Gege said the manga is ending in its original vision. There's a real chance that it's only Yuji or Nobara surviving.

Remember, Gege is a troll first and foremost. Somehow Gojo was revived, but in the worst way possible (Yujo). Somehow Gojo did tell Megumi about Toji, but in the worst way possible (dead man's final letter).

Gege also said this about the final chapter:

"I am working hard to create a final chapter that will (hopefully) satisfy as many people as possible who have supported Jujutsu Kaisen. So everyone, please bear with me!"

I can't think of a better way to appease everyone than by making the last 3 chapters nothing more than dream.

#cactus yaps #I asked Gege for an Umineko reference and BOY did I get one. There is a nonzero chance Yuji is doing a Battler here and that terrifies me.#I'm actually excited for next week's chapter. Gege will you follow through on what you've put down... We will see...#This is a post that will either age really well or really bad. My final gamble before the end.#This chapter brought back my ''Fever'' for JJK. Let's fudging go!#I should tag this as itafushi probably.#itadori yuji #fushiguro megumi #ryomen sukuna #jjk 270 #jjk 269 #jjk meta #jujutsu kaisen #jjk spoilers

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