#will never get over it until it's resolved

[torchwood-99]

Downton: The Grand Finale Spoilers,

From previews found on Barnes and Noble

(First things first, Edith in stripes! Edith in stripes! Sorry, I just adore stripes, so I love this look on Edith.)

So it seems like the big drama with Harold and money is going to revolve around there no longer being money to repair some cottages, and turn a library into a music room to honour Violet and Martha (who is now confirmed to be dead).

I always suspected that the selling Downton hints in the trailer were misdirection, and as the family is considering a sentimental (as opposed to practical) measure like making a music room, it suggests that the family, although banking on Cora's family's money, does not start of in grave financial peril

Mary is given a particularly bold and confident look for a very exclusive ball, which she wears unaware that her world is about to come "crashing down", so it seems like this happens in the early days of her divorce, and she's just beginning to realise what the consequences are.

Mary will buy that dress while on a shopping trip with Edith. Will never say no to a shipping montage. Will be fun to see these two out shopping together. We saw they were already on good terms by last movie (Edith helped Mary with initial negotiations over the film). I wouldn't be surprised if this is the opening sequence. Mary and Edith swanning about shops, looking glamorous, feels like a fun way of opening things. Then that tea shot will be used for exposition. That's my betting anyway.

I called it that the hostess is hurrying Mary out of the room because there is royalty on the way. There's no way Mary's divorcee status wouldn't otherwise be known, and the hostess would have known Mary was present until now, so the arrival of royalty makes sense for the hostess trying to hastily get her out of the way.

We've got confirmation that Henry had an affair, which I suspected it must be, as adultery was really the only way of getting a divorce back then, and it was Mary filing for divorce. It'll be interesting to see if Henry still wanted to stay with Mary or not.

I'm very interested in that line about Henry "hiring and naming someone else in court", does that mean he hired someone to pretend to be his affair partner? I hope this means we get a look at the legal technicalities of getting divorced back then.

The winning back the county through "special guests" makes me believe they use their celebrity ties through Thomas and Guy to have a celebrity party. This will be the dinner party we see at the beginning of the trailer, where Robert does the toast for Mary. We see Mary and Edith wearing the same dresses at that dinner, later on as they're clapping Guy and random hot guy (who was making eyes at Mary because of course she would have another love interest) playing piano (Thomas is at that party too). So I think that the social scandal in Yorkshire will be resolved that way.

Going downstairs, we've also got confirmation that Mrs Patmore and Daisy are separating.

My bet is that Daisy will be taking over the kitchens, while Mrs Patmore retires to her Bed and Breakfast with Mr Mason.

There's going to be Ascot drama, which will be fun! I speculated early on that Mary's exclusion from the Royal enclosure will be brought up, and some sharp eyed fans noticed that everyone except Mary is wearing name tags for the Royal Enclosure (including Tom, which is...something)

A big cheer for Bertie, who has arranged a lunch for the Granthams in White's Marquee, where Mary is watching the race. Lovely, lovely Bertie, sorting out lunch for everyone. I'm expecting (demanding) some close ups of the food.

Here we get plot hints for Tom and Edith! Yay! I wasn't really expecting them to have a "plot", so much as just watching them react to the drama going on with Downton while generally vibing. Edith having a "showdown" with a "trickster", new character Gus Sambrook, sounds fun, and Tom meets an old friend. The reference to America makes me think this friend is someone he knew when he was in Boston with Sybbie. Whoever this Gus is, it sounds like he is seeking introductions at the race. I don't know how much screentime this plotline will have, but if Edith is to have a specific reasons for being the one to have a showdown, then it might be because she and Bertie, as the Marquess and Marchioness, might be particular targets of his. I hope Edith gets to have fun with her showdown, and I'm looking forward to Tom meeting an old pal. I also hope that the business Tom shared with Henry gets brought up, so it isn't entirely forgotten. Considering Henry has been travelling, Tom will have been the one running it anyway.

And the movie will end with Robert and Cora moving to the Dower House, where Violet used to live. I'm sure that Robert will have bittersweet feelings about this, and that Hugh will bring all the pathos.

[nayrawrites]

Wanda Maximoff x Fem Oc

Title: Three Simple Knocks

Summary:

Wanda unexpectedly gets a new roommate, and doesn’t know that the stranger isn’t who she claims to be. Secretly, the woman is there to give Wanda Maximoff the happy ending she deserves

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Female OC

Status: Ongoing

Words: 23k+

Tags: strangers to lovers, roommates, slowburn, soulmates

Ao3:

Wattpad:

Chapter 1: A Stranger

The weirdest things happen on the most ordinary days.

And it was one of those ordinary days when the witch heard a knock on her untouched door. Just three simple consecutive thuds on dusty wood. The sound of it was so unknown to her, it took a while until she was capable of placing it.

The visitor waited patiently, as Wanda made her way to the door in caution, her steps hesitant. She'd never really liked visitors and she liked the unannounced kind even less.

It could've been anyone from S.W.O.R.D. or maybe even a former colleague from her time as an Avenger — though that was unlikely, given how little of them were left, and how even less of them cared to think about her.

She turned the knob and opened the door. However, she was not greeted by either of those options —at least not to her knowledge. Instead, she was facing a beautiful woman in simple attire. Quite young, or maybe that assumption was just the effects of the vibrant energy she exuded.

"Can I help you?"

"Hey, yeah, it's me," silence. The smile she was sporting grew more awkward. the longer the silence stretched. "I'm Lucy." she clarified.

Wanda raised an eyebrow in confusion, as she scrutinized the woman in front of her. But there was no way Wanda knew the stranger.

"What do you want?", no matter how friendly the almost forced smile was, Wanda was not going to let it fool her.

"Oh, didn't Clint tell you? He said I could crash here." Only now did the witch notice the yellow backpack almost slipping down from one of the shoulders and the slightly bigger suitcase leaning against the wall of the house.

"Kinda figured he'd have sorted that out with you first...", she trailed off.

Her stern resolve falters slightly at the mention of him. Though that only added to the prominent confusion.

"Clint Barton, guy with an arrow, hearing aid?" The woman nodded hastily at the description. If the situation had been different, the uncanny resemblance to a bobblehead would've been pretty amusing. But the situation wasn't different and ever since her last fiasco, Wanda had to be on guard.

"Why would he say you could crash here?"

Ever since the funeral, Clint and her hadn't really stayed in touch. She didn't mind. She knew the loss they had both suffered and she also knew that he would use up all his time to be with his family. Five years was a lot to catch up on. She would have done the same.

After the events of the Westview Anomaly, he had texted her.

It'll be okay.

That was all it said and quite frankly, it was enough for her to break down. She assumed, he most likely waited for her to call him, not wanting to pressure her into confiding in him, but the call never came. It's not like she didn't try but no matter how long her thumb hovered over the call button, she couldn't ever actually make herself take that leap. She was too ashamed. And she was too afraid he'd think that sentiment was deserved.

So maybe it wasn't too far fetched for him to send someone. Perhaps this was his way of calling her.

"Well, I'm new here and don't really have...anything actually," she chuckled awkwardly, "Clint found out through a mutual friend and said you'd have some space." Lucy explained.

"You sure he didn't mention me?"

The witch resisted massaging her temple at the womans babbling and just motioned for her to come inside. This required a cup of tea, or five.

"I think I'd have remembered, if he did." She watched Lucy grab her belongings and rush through the door with a small smile on her face. One step closer to the goal, she supposed.

As Wanda closed the door behind Lucy, she pulled her phone out of her back pocket and gestured with her hand to another door further down the house.

"I gotta make a call. Just- stay.", at this point, she could've told her to fetch a stick or walk in a circle too, but she just shook her head and left the room.

Now that she was alone, her back slumped against the door, she took a second to herself and just breathed. She wasn't sure, if she needed that second because she was just blindsided with that strange woman or because she knew, she had to contact Clint now.

Most likely the latter.

Her finger hovered over the call button yet again, and she hated it. Hated her hesitance.

God, just do it.

So she finally did, her phone now resting against her ear, as she waited. Wanda always disliked the beeping of a ringing phone and the anticipation during it. She just wanted to get it over with. The call, however, almost immediately went to voicemail. She tried dialing his phone number two more times but it was of no use.

Sighing in defeat, the redhead went back to the living room, where she left Lucy.

The woman in question was busy inspecting the coat rack, her luggage tossed next to the front door.

"Nice red jacket," she commented, before turning around to face Wanda.

"Thanks, I guess."

She never actually got to give it back to Nat.

"Listen...Lucy, was it? You can't stay here." short but at least straight to the point.

Wow, she could've at least pretended to think about it, Lucy thought.

This was probably the first time she saw an expression that didn't include a smile on her face, her mouth parted and eyes widened instead.

"What? But Clint-"

"I can't reach him and he didn't ask. I don't know what he was thinking but this isn't a bed and breakfast. If what you're claiming is even true." The raise in her voice was more imminent by the end but Lucy didn't let that rattle her. It's not like she had any other options after all.

"It's true! Have I ever lied to you?", she protested.

"Well, no, but we also just met, so."

"Fair point." she sighed.

Lucy took a couple steps closer towards the uneasy woman, her hands lifted, to show that she came in peace. "Wanda, please. I-I could help out around the house, you know, I make a mean bowl of instant ramen. And it won't even be that long. Just until I find something else."

The pleading look was hard to resist but Wanda didn't know her and there was no way to confirm her story. Oh, how easy it would've been to just slip inside her mind for a second. Yet she knew she couldn't do that. She wouldn't, not after Westview. It was her own rule ever since. In no way would it ever redeem herself for all the pain she caused, but it was a start. Besides, it was already difficult enough focusing on her own mind.

Nevertheless, that meant she could only rely on whatever Lucy was claiming unil she got a hold of Clint.

Pinching the bridge of her nose with her fingers, she stepped closer to Lucy and looked at her. She could sense the awkwardness it caused in the woman but chose to ignore it, too busy with making a decision.

She examined her, starting from the dark hair, reaching barely past her shoulders, and trailed her eyes lower, ending at the minions socks on her feet.

If she ever looked back on this moment, she would probably admit that this was the reason for what she was about to say.

"Fine, you can stay."

A woman with a pair of minion socks couldn't possibly harm someone.

She really hoped she was right.

Lucy let out the breath she was holding and a bright grin adorned her face. She clasped her hands together in exuberant glee.

"Yay," a tad too much excitement, "you won't regret it, I promise."

And there was something —maybe a glint in her eye, that showed the determination and certainty behind that declaration.

Wanda almost believed it.

If you liked it, feel free to check out the whole ongoing fic

[vfx-batman]

I’m always thinking about Jason in Countdown to Final Crisis. It’s a vital Jason story to me. Everyone mentions Bruce of Earth-51 which, fair enough, he’s important + their story together is compelling. But what I’d love to see is someone address how Jason’s late 2000s tailspin ties directly into how CtFC resolves:

Across CTFC, Jason has given teaming up with the heroes a go. And it hasn’t gone well. But he sticks it out until, in the final act, it all goes horribly wrong — to his mind, as a direct result of him choosing to listen to the heroes when they said, ‘we’re heroes so we can’t kill anyone. not even if they’re already dying + their continued survival will unleash a 100% fatality universe-destroying plague.’ I think his reluctant acceptance of their rules here is important b/c it comes after alternate Bruce’s death kicks off his steady disillusionment-with-heroism arc. Though he’s seriously shaken, this Jason still wants to save people + he still wants to do that by working with the heroes. An extension of Winick’s Pay As You Go Jason who sees much value in helping the heroes to free one of their own from false imprisonment. In CTFC #10, Jason tries to blow up the OMAC that’s taken over Una to save Karate Kid’s life, + is stopped by Karate Kid — which leads him to leave, saying, ‘the hell with you. I’ve never been much good at rescuing people anyway.’

Yet after this condemnation of his own capacity to be a hero, Jason still doesn’t overrule the heroes — not when they want to keep the sick Karate Kid alive. He argues, but he ultimately relents, + as a result, he stands in #6 on the recently reborn Earth-51’s Gotham rooftop (a city where the reborn Earth-51 Bruce is waiting) + all his attention is taken up by watching as the city’s people succumb to the virus. The one Karate Kid was the incubator for. The one that cannot be stopped. These people start tearing themselves + their loved ones apart in an absolute frenzy, + he is utterly powerless to intervene in any way that matters. And for a guy who considers inaction culpability, he must see himself as responsible for this epidemic starting.

Crucially, b/c the story doesn’t end here, I think it’s important that he doesn’t get any time to process either alternate Bruce’s death, the planet’s destruction, or the entire universe’s obliteration after the Green Lantern of that world takes the plague off Earth. Not before the adventure ends + he quits the group in #4, yelling on the way out that he’s done with this ���cosmic anomaly garbage’ + he wants to get away from the group + he ‘learned the cape-and-cowl-game’s for suckers’. This directly ties into his decision later that issue to dump his Red Robin costume (the symbol of the heroic future Earth-51 Bruce had in store for his Jason) into the dumpster before staggering off with Harley + Holly. He then re-appears once more in #1, narrating about how Batman’s playing ‘Faux Hero’ before interrogating a guy whilst his full face is showing. He’s seemingly abandoned the costume game.

Which makes his appearances in increasingly ostentatious super-villain costumes in Robin 1993, Battle for the Cowl, + finally, Batman and Robin 2009-11 so tricky to reconcile with what came before.

Starting with the first story chronologically speaking, I think it’s hard, but possible to reconcile the traumatic state Jason is left in at the end of Countdown to Final Crisis with his suggestion to Tim that they team up + use children as shields in Nicieza’s Robin 1993. This arc exists — as Tim’s narration so helpfully makes clear — to remind us (much like Brothers in Blood did for Nightwing) that unlike Bruce who was emotionally affected by Jason in UTRH, his protégés are much better. (Ignore how this comes by massively nerfing their adversary + casting Jason as the idiotic brute that we all hate to see in canon/fanon today.) But setting that aside, I think the fact that Jason returns from the Countdown travels to find his own Bruce ‘gone’ (dead as far as he knows), is what tips him over into 1. Picking back up the mask in an attempt to be emotionally close to him, 2. Desperately seeking a connection with whoever’s left in the Robin role (a theme which will recur when he asks Dick + Tim to be his Robin), + 3. Thinking that it doesn’t matter the innocence of those it is who die — whether they’re established heroes like Karate Kid + Una, or child gangsters like in Robin 1993 — so long as peace is restored after saving the maximum number of lives in the process.

Here are the obvious psychological ramifications from watching billions of people die after not killing one good guy — all in order to maintain a relationship with heroes who don’t even like him.

He’s then captured + put in jail + he seems cordial with Tim. Until he reads the will. What’s important to clarify from hereon-in is that both Daniel + Morrison utilise psychophobia in their framing of Jason as having gone ‘psycho’. And that this vilified mental health episode was canonically triggered when he viewed Bruce’s will at the end of his Robin 1993 appearances. And triggered again in BFTC when Dick showed it to him multiple times to defeat him by forcing him to confront his past (+ the fact that Bruce thought him broken / Bruce didn’t bother to get him therapy for implied CSA when he was younger). Jason ends that story by trying to kill himself by falling from a great height.

Then he randomly returns in Morrison’s Batman + Robin, + that depiction deserves its own post which I’ll compose one day. For now, sticking to the theme of Countdown’s after effects, I’ll just say: Morrison contributed to this extended mental health episode by having him go straight to Arkham. This is a psychiatric facility which, if you read their 1989 Arkham Asylum graphic novel, you will see they consider a site for ‘complete + utter ‘madmen’ who only exist to parallel Batman’s ‘dark side’’ — not the latter catch-all holding centre for criminals which we see in the N52. In the interests of avoiding further demonisation of mental illness, I prefer to interweave some neurological interference by the Pit as glitter-stained explained here. This can account for Jason’s increasing identification with being the dark mirror to Batman, despite having previously sworn off the cape + costume game. But please bear in mind that this was very much not the intended reading of either Daniel or Morrison, who instead relied extensively upon psychophobia.

In summary, Countdown to Final Crisis is unintentionally the key explanatory tool for threading any kind of character journey through Jason’s late 2000s appearances. Until Winick shows up + fucks it up by trying to make Jay into their darling ‘sociopathic’ macho villain, but that’s another matter. 👍

[canonizzyhours]

The thing is, even as a staunch Izzy hater I do get it. I know what it's like to be a villain fucker, to have a guy who's objectively annoying and canonically antagonistic worm his way into your brain until you can't deny his hold on you. It's happening to me currently with a guy who is objectively far worse than anything Izzy has ever done in a different show.

The reason we get so frustrated with some fans isn't about Izzy being awful and unworthy of appreciation as a character in this story. The people who have taken it upon themselves to harass and belittle canyoners based solely on their own dislike of the character do not understand nor represent the core reason Izzy haters first took a stance against certain analysis/meta to begin with.

I remember when this fandom was still small; primarily made up of leftists and BIPOC just kinda vibing in the tags. I remember how this whole thing started. Izzy fans were consistently writing meta and fiction that was blatantly racist toward other characters using Izzy as a scapegoat for thier unchecked biases. And when we tried calling them out entire hoards of people accused us of bullying and block evading over very basic, earnest discussions we were trying to have with them. And this whole thing got blown way out of proportion by people who outright refused to take accountability for their actions.

And then self righteous Haters who thought this justified and moralized their dislike of a fictional character took things way too far and decided to start doxxing canyoners. Which didn't help the movement, and only wound up targeting actual BIPOC canyoners who weren't hurting anyone and were already being forced to play the part of mediater between friends who disagreed on certain important points, and never deserved to be the victims of this misinformation conglomeration in the first place.

And after that things just continued to get more and more out of hand, until we reached a point where everyone had their own misinformed idea of where things started and who the real "bad guys" were.

In the beginning there were no bad guys. There were just groups of BIPOC trying to speak earnestly to canyoners about real harm we were experiencing due to their treatment of characters of color in creative projects and meta/analysis. This was before they were even called canyoners. Which, I understand and respect the need to form a community like that - a safe space where they were not being horrendously harrassed for liking a character. Because those izzy haters were absolutely taking things way too far, and we never wanted things to get like this. We just wanted to have open and honest conversations about unchecked biases based on race.

But now here we are. And idk where I'm even going with this. I just feel like this whole thing went from a few small problems that could have been resolved with a little maturity, to... a huge mess no one really knows how to untangle. And it sucks because I remember how things were before it became a pissing war between canyoners and haters. And that whole mess kind of drove me out of the fandom because it sucked seeing our impirtant and nuanced points being hijacked to create stupid fandom wars of bullshit that didn't even matter.

#543.

[lady-wallace]

Whumpmas In July - Day 3

Day 3 -- "I'm Sorry"

For today's @whumpmasinjuly prompt I have a Love and Deepspace ficlet.

Warning: vague spoilers for the end of Death and Rebirth if you haven't played though it yet, that's when this is set.

~~~~~~~

Zayne sat by the unconscious girl’s bed, listening to the steady beeps from the monitors, watching the rise and fall of her chest; each breath a blessing he wasn’t sure he had the right to witness. Not after everything that had happened.

He felt the frost creep over his wrist and clenched his hand until his knuckles whitened and his muscles trembled. This loss of control ate at him every second of the day now. He had never been able to truly figure out when his powers would betray him, but now it only seemed to be getting worse. That the gate that used to inhibit the loss of control was broken, cast aside.

The fact was he couldn’t afford to have that happen again. It could be a patient next, he could lose control during surgery, or…it could be her, again, and next time she may not be so lucky.

Zayne was not good at being unable to control himself. He didn’t know what to do, felt like he was in a freefall he had no parachute for. He couldn’t trust himself around anyone if he couldn’t trust himself with his own person, so, though the decision had been hard, he knew what he had to do.

He reluctantly stood, still staring down at the girl’s face. He reached out as if barely allowing himself the right to touch her and grazed his fingers softly over her hand.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I know…that you won’t agree with me on this, but, please, for once, understand that I’m doing this for…”

His final words were choked, stuck in his throat. He pulled his hand away, leaving traces of frost in its wake as he turned away, starting to head toward the door.

He heard a soft inhale from behind him, the brief rustling of sheets. He froze, footsteps halting, before he held his breath and turned.

She was still asleep, he saw with relief and, perhaps, some disappointment.

It was better this way, he told himself. It would only be harder if you had to see her face when you say goodbye.

With that new resolve, he continued to the door, pushing it open and stepping out into the currently deserted hall, heading for the icy, moonlit streets outside.

@whumpmasinjuly-archive

[whyarewecalledtheshipname]

rambled this before but MAN that riku is paralleled to terra who's dad was so extremely aligned with Light that he basically nearly fell to darkness/evil out of his /extreme/ intolerance of it??? Eraqus who totally doesn't remind me of MoM??? GUH RRAHH

[chimerafeathers]

i love that isafrin can be the most straightforwardly romancey, wholesome pairing on a surface level and then you go one (1) level deeper and run into siffrin’s seething guilt and convoluted feelings around touch and intimacy and the extent to which they want or don’t want those things in a specifically romantic way or if he was trying to seek connection and love in any way he could once he knew that Isabeau wanted those things from him in that context, and the combined power trip/self disgust at “manipulating” Isabeau’s desires without his knowledge to make themself feel wanted and in control. and then you keep going and there’s also Isabeau’s own warped self image (still, in spite of all his changes, fearing that he’s someone that would be shameful to know), his “emotionally stable pillar” role and self-taught therapy talk masking his deep fears of real confrontation (struggling loop after loop to confess, not wanting Odile to confront Siffrin about their weird behavior in the sus quest bathroom talk) and how Siffrin’s fear of vulnerability and Isabeau’s fear of Pushing Too Hard allow both of their issues to fester unspoken long after it’s clear that the problems exist.

all this to say. duality of isafrin. makes my heart full and warm and happy to see the sweet, fluffy, silly love and connection between them (mutually romantic or otherwise). and then also. the delicious, delicious complications. gnawing on them like a dog with a beloved bone

[noctlas332]

day three,,,, i would have had liked to work a bit more on this but alas, that did not happen,,

[quietwingsinthesky]

i dont think millie and pre-Got Caged Again lucifer could have gotten anywhere with each other. the context of her as sam’s little sister overshadows everything there: it’s why he has no reason to harm her and every reason to treat her well, the way you’d treat a guest in your house, to prove to sam that he’s capable of that. and it’s why she spends most of the apocalypse treating lucifer specifically as a non-threat, as compared to the actual threats of demons who might not have heard the memo right, angels from heaven who Do Not care about her when getting to sam & dean, and other shit, but also as like. not a person she can communicate with in any meaningful way. he’s a concept, a force of nature, a fairy tale with rules she can understand and survive if she follows them.

post-cage 2 lucifer is a bad roommate but she can talk to him. and he actually learns who she is beyond the context of sam. you know?

[inkskinned]

it's easier to apply for jobs than ever! so what if you lost your insurance, anyone can get a job these days, even without meds. everyone is hiring! there's a "good employee" shortage!

well you just need to revamp your resume, here's a paid app subscription that can read it for you. rewrite the cover letter they won't read. google jobs in my area and then scrawl through Monster/Indeed/worbly. did you want to save the search? this was posted 98 days ago. over 1 billion applicants! this position is trending.

jobs i actively like doing and get paid for. your search returned no results. easy-apply with HireSpin! easy apply with SparkFire! easy apply with PenisFlash! with a few short clicks, get your information stolen.

watch out! the first 98 links on google are actually scams! they're false postings. oopsie. that business isn't even hiring. that other one is closed permanently. find one that looks halfway legit, google the company and the word "careers". go to their page. scroll past brightly-lit diversity stock photo JOIN US white sans serif. we are a unique, fresh, client-focused stock value capitalism. we are committed to excellence and selling your soul on ebay. we are DRIVEN with POWER to INNOVATE our greed. yippee! our company has big values of divisive decision making, sucking our dicks, and hating work-life balances. our values are to piss in your mouth. sign here and tell us if you have gender issues so we can get ahead of the sexual harassment claim. are you hispanic although let's be real we threw out the resume when we saw your last name.

sign up to LinkHub to access updates from this company. make a HirePlus account to apply. download the PoundLink app. your account has been created, click the link we sent you in 15 minutes. upload that resume. we didn't read the resume, manually fill in the lines now. what is your expected pay grade. oh actually we want hungry people, not people driven by a salary. cut a zero off that number, buddy, this is about opportunity, and we need to be thrifty. highest level of education. autofill is glitching. here is an AI generated set of questions. what is your favorite part of our sexy, sexy company. how do you resolve conflict. will you get our company logo tattooed on your person. warning: while our CEO is guilty of wage theft, we will absolutely refuse to hire a nonviolent felon.

thank you for your interest at WEEBLIX. we actually already filled this position internally. we actually never had that posting. we actually needed you to have 9 years of experience and since you have 10 years we think it might be too many? we'll be texting you. we'll email you. we'll keep your resume. definitely absolutely we won't just completely ignore you. look at your phone, there's already a spam text from Bethany@stealyouridentity. they're hiring!

wait, did you get an interview? well that's special, aren't you lucky. out of 910 jobs you applied to, one answered, finally. and funny story! actually the position isn't exactly as advertised, we are looking for someone curious and dedicated. it's sort of more managerial. no, the pay doesn't change - you won't have any leadership title. now take this 90 minute assessment. in order to be a dog groomer, we need you to explain cell biology. in order to be a copyeditor, write a tiny dissertation about the dwindling supply of helium on the planet. answer our riddles three. great job! we just need to push this up to Tracy in HR who will send it to Rodney who is actually in charge. and then of course it's jay's decision and then greg will need to see you naked and if you survive you'll be given a drug test and a full anal examination.

and of course you'll be hungry this whole time, aren't you, months and months of the same shit. months of no insurance, no meds, no funding, barely able to afford the internet and the phone and the rent - all things you need in order to even apply for our thing. but do it again! do it again and again and again, until you flip inside out and turn into a being of pure dread!

you're not hired yet because you're lazy. there's over one million AI-generated hallucinated jobs in your area. don't worry. with zipruiter, hiring and firing is easier than ever. sign up. stay on-call.

in the meantime, little peon - why don't you just fucking suffer.

[sukumna]

┌─ .✦ HIS FAVORITE TYPE OF SEX part two

part two bc someone ask and i love this style of rambling about my favs.

꒰ part one | jjk version ꒱

✦ — Kenma Kozume, lazy, demanding sex. He’s the type to fuck you slow, dragging it out like he has all the time in the world, arms wrapped around you, keeping you in place like you belong to him. The type to pull you into his lap mid-game, barely sparing you a glance as he grinds up into you, muttering, “Be good and keep quiet.” He won’t stop playing, won’t even pretend to be fully focused on you—until you start squirming, whining, and then he’s flipping you over, making sure you know exactly who’s in control.

✦ — Kuroo Tetsurou, teasing, drawn-out sex. He’s the type to edge you until you’re crying, to drag things out just to hear you beg. The type to pin your wrists above your head, smirking as he murmurs, “Look at you. So desperate for me.” He loves overstimulation, fucking you until you’re a babbling mess, just to see how much you can take. The type to leave bite marks down your body just because he loves seeing the proof of what he did to you the next morning.

✦ — Kageyama Tobio, frustrated, intense sex. He’s the type to fuck you hard after a bad game, hands gripping your hips like he’s afraid you’ll disappear. The type to lose control, voice rough as he groans, “I can’t stop—feels too good.” He fucks with everything he has, like he’s got something to prove, like he needs to feel you break beneath him. He’s too embarrassed to tell you he wants to be praised, but if you grab his face, tell him how good he’s making you feel, he’ll fuck you even harder, desperate to hear more.

✦ — Hinata Shoyo, eager, can’t-get-enough sex. He’s the type to go again before you’ve even caught your breath, to fuck you so hard the bedframe rattles. The type to moan against your neck, whimpering, “Just one more, baby, I promise.” But it’s never just one more. He’s so overwhelmed by you, so caught up in how good you feel, that he never wants it to end. He’ll fuck you with the same reckless enthusiasm he throws into everything else, like you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to him.

✦ — Tsukishima Kei, mean but calculated sex. He’s the type to tease you until you’re a wreck, to make you beg before he even thinks about giving you what you want. The type to fuck you slow and deep, smirking as you squirm, whispering, “What’s wrong? Isn’t this what you asked for?” He gets off on control, on watching you unravel under his touch. He’ll act like he doesn’t care, like he’s unaffected, but the second you cry for him—whimper, beg, tell him how much you need it—his resolve snaps, and suddenly, he’s fucking you senseless.

✦ — Akaashi Keiji, attentive, make-you-melt sex. He’s the type to hold your face as he fucks you, brushing kisses over your forehead, whispering soft praises. The type to make you come undone with just his words, murmuring, “You’re so beautiful like this.” He makes love to you, slow and deep, like he wants to feel every part of you. But the moment you pull his hair, scratch his back, whisper something filthy in his ear? He snaps—presses you into the mattress, holds your hips still, fucks you until all you can do is moan his name.

[millermouth]

Summary: You’ve never felt fully at home in your own skin, but that has never stopped Joel from showing you just how much he wants you. One night, you gather the courage to show him what you’ve been too afraid to share, and he shows you exactly what it means to be wanted, worshipped, and seen.

|| smut MDNI 18+, Joel is down bad in love, self conscious reader, no physical description (except 'soft belly') but reader is insecure of their body, no specific timeline, age gap mentioned but not specified, pinv, f!receiving oral, little bit of (f!receiving) ass play, dirty talk, praise kink, daddy kink, soft!joel, he calls you like every pet name in the book. some aftercare || notes: joel miller in reading glasses hello? dont kill me for being a little bit of a cornball in here. joel is a cornball when he's in love. Yes I know I wrote the word pretty a lot! That’s the point!!! Inspired by this request

Joel’s bed became home long before you were ready to admit it.

It’s where you feel safest. It’s where he tugs you into his chest first thing in the morning, rough hand splayed over your back like it belongs there, murmuring something low and sleep-thick against your temple. It’s where you read curled into his side at night, him propped up against the headboard in that worn old Henley, eyes flicking lazily over the pages of whatever book you handed him, while yours is gripped a little tighter, the latest thriller mystery that has your heartbeat ticking up by the final chapters.

He had told you to stop reading them before bed once, but he didn’t really mean it. Not when you curled tighter into him, not when your hand slid across his stomach and stayed there gripping him like you needed to be close to something steady, something warm. Something like him.

Joel loves you like this. Warm and soft and pliant in his bed.

It’s one of his favorite places. Not just for pressing you down into the mattress and filling you, not just for the pretty, breathy sounds you make when you’re too far gone to think about what you look like or where his hands are. No—he loves the quiet moments, too. The ones where your limbs are tangled up with his, hair a mess, lips kiss-swollen, your skin still carrying the ghost of his touch.

And every now and then, when you’re asleep on his chest or laughing at something dumb he said, he still finds himself wondering how the hell he ended up with a girl like you.

You’re so much younger. So much softer. He doesn’t know what you see in a man like him—older, rougher, carved from all the years you haven’t had to carry yet. You could’ve had anyone. But you chose him. 

You’ve been together a few months now, and he still hasn’t wrapped his head around it. Still doesn’t know what he did to deserve your trust, your sweetness, your sharp quick wit when he least expects it.

He tried to keep his distance at first. Tried not to look too long when you smiled, not to follow the sound of your voice like a damn tether every time you were in the room. Told himself it wasn’t right. You weren’t for him. You were good. But you kept coming closer.

And once you started to pursue him—sweet and fearless and so goddamn certain—his resolve didn’t just crack. It collapsed.

The years between you didn’t matter to him anymore. The guilt didn’t matter. The voice in his head that told him to stop, that warned him he was too old, too jaded, too broken to ever deserve you—it all went quiet the second you looked at him like he was worth wanting.

He had to have you. To feel you, hear you, know you. So he gave in.

But there was still something there he didn’t quite understand, even now. Something that never quite leaves him.

Because every time he takes you to bed with the singular thought of getting you naked, of taking you until he gets his fill, until you’re trembling and wrecked and crying out his name—every single time, he sees it.

That flicker of hesitation.

He watches your shoulders shrink inward. Watches the way your hands move to cover your belly the second his fingers slip beneath your shirt. The way your breath stutters like you’re already bracing for something—even if it’s just his eyes.

You never say it out loud. You don’t have to.

And every time he settles over you, broad chest looming, palms sliding down your sides with reverent slowness as he lays you down on his bedspread, you ask him in that sweet, uncertain voice:

“Can we turn the light off?”

And Joel… hesitates.

Just for a second. Just long enough to take one more look at your face—flushed and perfect and lips swollen from letting him kiss them until they’re bruised. He always obliges. Always reaches over and clicks off the bedside lamp without a word, even if something in his chest aches as the room goes dark.

In the low moonlight, he can still see pieces of you. The softness of your belly. The curve of your thighs. The arch of your back when you start to melt beneath his touch. And he reveres it. All of it.

Worships you like you’re something holy.

But even in the dark, he notices everything.

The way your breath hitches when he kisses down your body—not with pleasure, but with discomfort. The subtle tension in your limbs when he trails his lips past your ribs. The way you squirm when his mouth lingers at the tender skin between your stomach and mound. Not because it’s too much. But because you don’t want to be seen.

And it kills him a little every time.

Because he wants to see you. All of you. Wants you to know that there is not a single inch of your body he doesn’t adore.

But still, like many nights before, he obliges you tonight and reaches over to turn out the light at your request.

The room falls into darkness.

Joel wakes to the warm and golden light of the morning, the kind where sunlight filters through the blinds in soft, slatted beams, pooling across the hardwood floor. The kind where the world outside feels far away, like it can wait a little longer while the house stays quiet.

His mind fully catches up to the scent of coffee and the soft creak of floorboards.

The bed is empty beside him, blankets still warm, your pillow carrying the shape of your head. He rubs the sleep from his face and swings his legs over the edge, the weight of last night still humming low in his chest.

He finds you in the kitchen.

You’re at the counter, barefoot, wearing nothing but his t-shirt—one of those older ones, soft and stretched out, the hem barely brushing the tops of your thighs. Your hair’s a little messy, skin still marked in places from where his mouth had worshipped you in the hours of the night.

You’re so focused on pouring coffee into your favorite mug—the pink one with the little chip at the rim, just big enough to catch your lip if you’re not careful—that you don’t hear him come in.

He steps in behind you, silent as ever, warmth radiating off his chest before you even feel his hands.

One arm slips around your waist, the other gliding up beneath the hem of the shirt you’re wearing—his shirt—until his hand splays flat across your stomach. His lips find your neck a second later, soft and unhurried, brushing along your skin as he breathes you in.

You stiffen, just a little. It’s not resistance, you could never resist him, but your body goes still beneath his touch, that automatic flicker of self-consciousness rising to the surface like it always does when he touches you in the daylight.

Still, you don’t move away.

Joel’s voice is low and rough in your ear, all gravel and morning warmth, “‘Mornin’, darlin’.”

You smile, small, a little sheepish, but it’s there. “Morning.”

His hand drops lower, fingers brushing the curve of your hip, then sliding up again, slow and lazy. His other arm tightens around your front, keeping you pulled against him as his lips trail from your neck to your cheek.

“Joel—” you murmur, half a protest, half a laugh, squirming under his touch.

“You look so pretty like this,” he says, voice thicker now, rougher with sleep and want. “So sexy in my shirt, honey.”

You go quiet. Not because you don’t like it. But because it still hits that spot—the part of you that flinches at being seen. You press your lips together, focus on the coffee in your hand, as if the words might disappear if you just don’t look at him.

But Joel sees it. Feels the shift. The way you tense ever so slightly when he calls you nice things. Like the words don’t fit, not yet. Like you still haven’t figured out how to wear them.

He kisses your cheek again, slower this time.

“I mean it,” he adds softly.

You nod once, a breath catching in your chest before you murmur, “I know.”

Joel leans in and kisses the back of your head, just behind your ear, then murmurs against your skin, “Put the coffee down for a second.”

You glance over your shoulder, suspicious but smiling. “Why?”

“Just do it, baby.”

With a soft sigh, you set the mug back on the counter. Before you can ask again, he’s turning you in his arms, hands firm but careful on your hips and over the shirt, as he spins you to face him.

He steps in close, real close, until the backs of your thighs press against the cabinets and his hands come up to cradle your face. Big, warm palms on your cheeks, thumbs brushing the softness there like he’s memorizing the way you feel under his touch. 

Then his hands squish your cheeks between his hands, just enough to puff your lips out like a fish.

Your brows furrow as you try in vain to pull away. “Joel—!”

“Say it,” he says, dead serious despite the ridiculous hold he has on your face.

Your eyebrows knit further as you still. “Say what?”

He smirks, dipping his head until your noses bump. “Say: I’m pretty.”

You groan, giggling despite yourself as you try to wiggle free. “Joel, oh my god—”

He holds on, pressing exaggerated kisses to your squished face—your cheek, your forehead, your nose and your puffed out top lip. “Say it. Go on. I’ll wait all day.”

“Fine!” you huff, lips barely moving from the way he’s still holding your face. “I’m pretty.”

He grins, loosening his hold just enough so you can speak properly, though he keeps his hands right where they are. “Didn’t hear you.”

“I’m pretty,” you repeat, cheeks heating as you say it, soft and unsure but not sarcastic. Not deflecting.

Joel beams, eyes crinkling at the corners, kissing your lips as he loosens his hold on your face. “Damn right you are. Prettiest girl I ever saw.”

You can’t help but smile now, wide and a little bashful. You duck your head, but he catches you again, presses a kiss to your lips again, sweet and unhurried.

And when he backs away and you finally reach for your coffee again, cheeks still warm, he’s watching you like he’s already counting the seconds until he gets to do it all over again.

That night starts like any other night.

Late, quiet, the house dipped in soft shadows. The windows are cracked just enough to let in the evening breeze, the hum of cicadas drifting in with the warm air. Joel’s in bed already, reading glasses sliding down his nose, thumbing through the same page of his book he’s read three times without taking in a single word.

He’s waiting for you to join him, your book is still closed on the side table. You’d excused yourself to the bathroom before you could even cuddle up in bed beside him. You had said you needed two minutes.

That was fifteen minutes ago.

He figures you’re brushing your teeth. Or lost in one of your little bedtime routines—rearranging things on the counter or doing your 10 step nightly skincare. He doesn’t mind. He’s gotten used to your rhythms the more you stayed over. Grown to love them, even.

But then he hears the bedroom door open, and when he glances up, expecting to see you in one of your usual pajamas, his breath catches. You’re not wearing one of his big T-shirts or those soft cotton sets you like so much.

You’re standing in the doorway in white lace, delicate and sheer and almost ethereal in the low glow of the lamp light.

It damn near knocks the air out of him.

He forgets all about the book in his lap—doesn’t even feel it fall to the mattress as his gaze rakes over you, slow and disbelieving. His jaw goes slack as he removes his glasses and sets them on the side table.

The bra—he doesn’t know what it’s called, not that it matters—looks daintier and more delicate than anything he’s ever seen in his goddamn life. Feminine in a way that hits him right in the chest. It wraps around you like it was made for your body, hugging your curves in all the right places. The straps are thin, dipping into the softness of your shoulders, and the lace cups give just enough to let his imagination blur with what’s already in front of him.

The matching bottoms sit high on your hips, scalloped lace tracing the tops of your thighs, giving him a perfect view of the skin he’s only ever touched in the dark.

Your hair is pulled back behind your shoulders—intentionally, he thinks, like you wanted him to have the full view.

Your lip is tucked under your top teeth, and your eyes flick down for a second, uncertain—then back up again.

But then you smile.

Shy, but proud. Like you’re showing him something precious and a little terrifying. Like you finally believe, even just a little, that he might actually mean every word he’s ever said about you.

Joel shifts to the edge of the bed, jaw tight with restraint as he beckons you to him. Slowly, you make your way over, and he soaks in the look of your thighs as you move, the way your body is begging to be marked and taken. His hands curl against his own thighs like he’s afraid to touch you too fast, too hard, and shatter the moment.

But when you move to stand between his knees, and he lifts his eyes up to meet yours, you don’t flinch.

He lets out a long, shaky breath. Then his hands lift slowly, reverently, palms brushing along the outside of your thighs, up to your hips.

His voice is low, almost reverent. “Christ, baby… look at you.”

You let out a nervous laugh, eyes dropping for a second—but you don’t cover yourself. Don’t twist away like you usually do. You stay right there, between his knees, close enough for him to smell the soft scent of your lotion and whatever little perfume you’d put on just for him.

Joel lifts his hands, slow and sure, and holds your hips, warm, steady, splayed wide like he wants to cover all of you. His thumb strokes gently over your skin where the lace ends, just above your hipbone.

“You did this for me?” he murmurs, looking up at you.

You nod once, eyes still shy but glowing with something soft. “I wanted to. I…I know I usually…”

“I know,” he says quietly, thumbs stroking your skin under his touch. “Don’t gotta explain nothin’ to me.”

His voice is gentle, but there’s something else beneath it now. Thicker. Hotter. Like he’s barely keeping a lid on what he really wants to say.

You bite your lip again, tucking it under your top teeth as you gauge his reaction. Joel leans in, eyes never leaving yours, and presses a kiss between the valley of your breasts—slow, open-mouthed, just wet enough to make your breath stutter.

You exhale, body already leaning into him, melting under the heat of his mouth, the drag of his stubble, the way his hands are rubbing slow circles along your thighs. His fingers toy with the hem of the lace between your legs, pinching the delicate fabric between them, like he can’t decide whether to rip it off or worship it.

“You know what this does to me? What you do to me, angel?” he rasps, voice rough now, filthy and unfiltered. “You got me starin’ like a damn animal. Don’t even know where I wanna taste first.”

He kisses the underside of your breast, and even though it's covered by lace, he bites softly at the curve, tongue soothing the mark he leaves behind. His hands move to grip your ass tightly now, pulling you closer, positioning so your stomach and hips are flush against his chest.

“You’re so fuckin’ pretty, baby. Every time I think I’ve seen all of you, you go and give me this?”

His eyes flick up, hungry and reverent. You squirm, a tiny whimper slipping past your lips, but Joel doesn't back off. He presses another kiss to your stomach, then just above your belly button, murmuring into your skin.

“Timid little thing—but deep down you like it, don’t you? Like when Daddy talks like this?”

Your thighs twitch under his hands and you nod.

He grins, feral and soft all at once. His hands slide up your sides, palms hot and steady against your ribs, thumbs brushing the edge of lace as his mouth follows—slow, open-mouthed kisses trailing higher, tongue flicking against the fabric covering your breasts. His tongue pokes out over the lace of your bodice right where your nipple would be, teeth grazing over the hidden but pebbled skin. Your jaw falls open as you watch him.

“Goddamn,” he mutters, breath catching against your sternum. “You wore this just to drive me crazy, didn’t you?”

He doesn’t wait for an answer.

One hand lifts, fingers tugging gently at the strap of your bralette, sliding it down your shoulder. Then the other. His movements are careful, almost reverent, as he peels the lace down and away, baring you inch by inch.

And when your breasts spill free, his breath catches audibly.

“Jesus Christ.”

He sits back just far enough to look. Just for a moment. Just to see you.

“Prettiest fuckin’ thing I’ve ever laid eyes on,” he murmurs, thick with awe and heat. He brings his hands up to grip the flesh of your breasts, kneading them together, “Bet you don’t even know what you do to me, baby.”

You bite your lip again, that flicker of shyness still dancing across your face—like you have to physically restrain yourself from trying to cover the revealed skin. But no. Not this time.

Joel leans in and licks a slow stripe over one nipple, making you gasp. He drags his tongue in a lazy circle, then sucks it into his mouth, groaning low in his throat like he’s tasting heaven.

You whimper, your hands flying to his shoulders, fingers gripping him as your back arches on instinct.

“That’s it,” he growls, pulling back just to press a kiss between your breasts before taking the other into his mouth, this time sucking harder, leaving it damp and peaked from his tongue. “Let me hear you, baby. Wanna hear every sound you make when I touch you like this.”

Your hips roll against him, thighs trembling as you stand between his legs.

“Sensitive little thing,” Joel mumbles against your skin. “Just needed someone to show you how fuckin’ perfect you are.”

He kisses lower, down the underside of your breast, then back up again, licking softly, sucking just enough to leave the faintest mark.

“M’gonna take good care of you tonight, baby,” he breathes, dragging his mouth back to your nipple. “Gonna take my timeand take every fuckin’ inch of this sweet body. You gonna let me?”

You nod, breathless, voice caught somewhere in your throat,“Y-yeah.”

Joel looks up, eyes blazing, lips slick from kissing you.

“‘Yeah’, what? Tell me, honey.”

Your begin to squirm as you tell him, “I want you to, Daddy. Please.”

Joel groans like it physically knocks the air out of him. His hands trail back down your sides, slow and reverent, fingertips grazing the lace waistband still hugging your hips.

“You’re killin’ me, baby,” he murmurs, dragging his mouth lower. 

He kisses down your stomach, tongue peeking out to trace the little dip of your navel, his hands smoothing down your hips and behind to cup your ass again, fingers squeezing tight. The lace panties are all that remain, soft and delicate, slightly damp already with your arousal. He noses along the waistband, breathing you in.

“Fuck, you smell so good,” he growls, teeth catching gently at the fabric. “Bet you taste even better.”

Your hands slide into his hair, tugging gently as he tongues over the lace, not pulling it down yet—just feeling you through it, his mouth wet and hungry over your hips and tummy.

You moan, your hips grinding against him again as he teases you, his one hand reaching down to drag his fingers over your clothed mound, the slick of your folds soaking through. He groans at the feeling before pulling back with a sharp exhale, looking up at you with wild eyes.

“On the bed. Hands and knees. Now.”

You blink, heart leaping, but you don’t hesitate. You scramble onto the mattress, crawling forward on shaky limbs until you’re positioned right where he wants you—on all fours, back arched, breath quick and needy.

Joel groans behind you at the sight, pulling his shirt over his head before dragging a hand up your spine, slow and heavy.

“Goddamn, baby. Look at you.”

Once he’s climbed onto the bed behind you, spreading your knees a little wider, he kneads at your ass with both hands, reverent and gentle. He settles his body lower, shifting on the bed until his face is level with your center. He drags his thumbs along the backs of your thighs, spreading them a little wider, groaning low when he sees how soaked the lace of your panties is—slick and clinging to your folds, a perfect puffy outline of everything he’s about to taste.

“Look at this,” he breathes, like it’s something sacred. “Fuckin’ drenched for me.”

You gasp when you feel his mouth again—not on your skin, but over the lace. A slow, deliberate kiss right to the center of you, hot and wet and perfectly placed. His lips part, tongue nudging against the fabric, teasing your clit through the sheer barrier.

It’s maddening.

He hums, the vibration making your hips twitch.

“Fuck, baby… I could spend all night like this. Kissin’ you through these pretty little panties. Smellin’ you. Feelin’ how worked up you are for me.” He nuzzles in deeper, breathing hot against you, licking a wide, slow stripe up the center of your heat—through the lace—then mouthing at it, sloppy and wet, soaking it even more.

You sob, spine arching, thighs quivering where they try to stay upright. Joel groans against you.

“Can’t believe you wore this just for me,” he mutters, dragging his tongue back down. “So fuckin’ soft. So sweet. Pussy’s beggin’ for it, ain’t she?”

You nod frantically, already breathless. “Yes—God, Joel, please—”

He chuckles darkly, biting gently at the fabric. “Please what, baby?”

“Take them off,” you gasp. “Please—need you.”

Joel pulls back, and you feel the shift in the air before you feel his hands—rough palms curling under the waistband of your panties, fingers brushing the skin of your hips as he peels the lace down slow. Agonizingly slow.

“Anything for my girl,” he says.

Joel’s broad, warm hands palm at your ass, kneading every inch as he situates himself behind you. He dips lower, mouth pressing open-mouthed kisses into the flesh of your left cheek, then the right, before his teeth sink down into the soft meat.

You yelp, hips jerking at the sharp nip.

“Prettiest noises too,” he murmurs into your skin, kissing the sensitive mark he left behind. His hands spread your cheeks, thumbs firm as they open you up for him—and when you peek over your shoulder, you find his eyes locked on your center, gaze dark and fixated, the pupils blown wide.

When he catches you looking, his eyes flick up to meet yours.

“She’s flirtin’ with me,” he says, grinning like the devil.

Your face burns, and you let your head drop into the pillows, hiding from the embarrassment that curls through your belly—hot and helpless, tangled with molten want.

Joel’s lips find your skin again, slower now, more reverent as he holds you open. His tongue drags between your cheeks, a deep, teasing stroke that makes your whole body tense. He kisses your slick folds with a wet, lewd sound that makes you gasp.

He hums, low and satisfied, then laps at your dripping arousal like it’s his first taste of water in weeks.

“And the prettiest pussy,” he rasps, lips brushing your folds. “You know that, darlin’?”

You moan, unable to answer, as his tongue pushes deeper. He flattens it and licks slow, wide strokes up your slit before circling your clit. His nose bumps your entrance, barely prodding, teasing you as his tongue works your clit in tight, filthy circles.

Your hips start moving without your permission, grinding into his face, seeking more.

Joel groans like you’re his favorite meal, tongue flattening again, letting you push into him.

“That’s it, baby,” he coos, eyes fluttering shut. “Ride my face.”

You mewl, your body bucking, wild and desperate, grinding into him like a goddamn bronco at the fair. Your walls flutter, your core pulsing with pressure as it builds, and builds, and builds.

Your thighs begin to shake.

Joel’s grip on you tightens as he takes over, tongue working your clit with expert flicks, fast and relentless.

The pressure in your belly snaps like a pulled cord, your spine arching as your orgasm crashes over you. You cry out, pushing yourself deeper into his mouth as you come, loud and wrecked, your fingers gripping the sheets.

Joel moans into you like he’s the one coming undone, tongue never faltering, coaxing every last wave of pleasure from your trembling body. Even as you start to come down, breath catching in your throat, he doesn’t stop. He just slows, letting you twitch and gasp and shake through it.

Then, you feel it. The warm, wet pressure of his tongue pushing up past your folds, over the skin between, then circling your tighter hole. You jump at the intrusion, a sharp gasp breaking from your lips—but the haze of your orgasm makes your body soft, receptive, already melting for him.

You whimper, hips twitching. Joel just groans again, closing his lips around your sensitive rim, suckling gently.

“F–fuck,” you whisper, unable to think, to move, to breathe.

He licks you there once more before planting slow, open-mouthed kisses up your spine, up to the small of your back, your shoulder blades, and finally your neck.

Then he’s curling over you, beard scratchy against your skin, his lips brushing your cheek.

“Turn around,” he whispers, voice low and rough, "Wanna see your face when I stuff you full a'me,"

You can’t help but giggle at the tickle of his scruff against your neck, still dazed, still boneless, but do as you’re told—twisting under him until you’re on your back, staring up at him.

Joel’s eyes, though dark with hunger, hold something else too. Something deep and aching. Something sweet.

And then, with that same steady tone he uses when talking patrol routes or fixing fences, he says, “Now. Here’s what’s gonna happen, sweetheart.”

His lips brush your jaw, then your ear.

“I’m gonna fill you up so deep, fuck you so full of my cock, my cum, me, that when you look in the mirror tomorrow, all you’re gonna see is how fuckin’ beautiful you are—‘cause you’ll still be wearin’ what I did to you tonight.”

Your chest heaves, the words settling deep in your stomach, curling there like heat and honey.

“Joel, I—” you start to say, only to gasp when you feel the hot, thick head of his cock nudge at your entrance.

“You feel this, honey?” he murmurs, pulling back to look down between you, voice rough and reverent. “Feel how bad he wants you? How bad I want you?”

You nod, gripping his forearms tight, your thighs falling open even wider for him.

He notches just the bulbous tip inside you and hisses at the wet heat.

“Jesus,” you breathe. “I feel it, Joel, I—I… pleasepleaseplease—”

“I know, angel, I know,” he pants, his thumb stroking your inner thigh, grounding you. “Now I wanna hear you say it.”

Your brain lags, thick with need, swimming in lust and love and the ache to just feel him.

“W-what?”

Joel watches you, eyes burning into yours.

“Say, ‘I’m pretty, Daddy.’”

Your whole body flushes, lips parted in disbelief, already whining at the way he just knows how to unravel you.

You groan wordlessly, bringing your hands to your face to hide. He is so on your shit list for this.

Joel chuckles darkly, pushing in another inch, and you whimper behind your hands.

“I’m waitin’, darlin'.”

You squirm under him, thighs trembling, skin turning hotter and hotter by the second. Every nerve in your body is screaming for him to move, to fill you, to do something.

But Joel waits. He always waits—until you give in, until he gets what he wants.

You lift your hands from your face slowly, eyes hazy, cheeks heated, lips parted. He’s watching you like a man possessed, one hand gripping your thigh, the other wrapped around his pulsing member with agonizing patience.

“M’pretty,” you whisper.

Joel’s brow arches, lips curling, “Not quite, sweetheart. You know how I want it.”

Your chest heaves. Your pussy clenches around just the tip of him, and even though you see the twitch in his jaw, he still waits.

So you gather your courage, heart pounding in your throat: “I’m pretty, Daddy.”

Joel’s smile breaks across his face, so bright and full of something so tender it nearly knocks the air from your lungs. It almost pulls you out of the heat of it, the haze of arousal, until your core clenches and he sinks into you just a little deeper.

You gasp, the stretch sharp and perfect.

He leans down slowly, hands braced in the pillows beside your head, lowering himself onto his forearms until his chest is flush with yours, until there’s no space left between your bodies.

He’s still not fully sheathed in you.

“Again.” 

“I… I’m pretty, Daddy,” you breathe, voice shaky as your pussy tries to adjust around the thick stretch of him.

“The prettiest,” he nods, and his lips mold to yours as he finally pushes all the way in. Your mouth falls open with a gasp, the sound swallowed by his tongue slipping between your lips, hot and hungry, as he bottoms out. His balls press firmly against the slick, wet crevice of your ass, and the mess between your thighs is obscene—your arousal dripping, sticky and hot, soaking the sheets beneath you.

Joel groans into your mouth, loud and wrecked like its been trapped in his chest for hours. His hands come up to cradle your head, keeping you right there beneath him as he begins to move, slow at first, pulling out a few inches before rolling back in, the full weight of him rocking your body with every deep thrust.

“Shit,” he mutters, voice low and reverent. “Pussy’s so damn tight.”

He pulls out slowly again, then drives back in hard, enough to jolt you up the bed, the sound of it lewd and perfect. His brow furrows, eyes fluttered shut as he focuses on the way your walls cling to him.

“Fuckkkk,” you mewl as he continues sawing into you, filling you and stretching you around him, buried to the hilt.

Joel grins, feral and hungry, sweat starting to bead at his brow.

“Sound even prettier when you take my cock.”

He sets a rhythm—deep, grinding thrusts that hit all the way up, filling you to the brim. His body covers yours, chest brushing your nipples, beard scratching your throat as he nips and kisses every inch he can reach.

“Been thinkin’ about this for so long, baby” he grits out between thrusts, hips slapping against yours. “The way you’re always hidin’ yourself from me, coverin’ up like you’re not the most beautiful fuckin’ thing I’ve ever seen.”

Your hands claw at his back, your legs wrapping around his waist, trying to pull him impossibly closer.

“I got you, honey,” Joel pants, head dropping to your neck as his arms wrap around you, pulling you into him even tighter. “And you’re gonna start seein’ it for yourself,” 

His pace picks up, rougher now, slamming into you with the kind of need that’s barely human.

“Gonna fuck you so full you forget every goddamn lie you ever told yourself in a mirror. Gonna make sure the only thing you remember is me—how you sounded, how you looked, when I wrecked this perfect little body.”

You’re gasping, whimpering, shaking beneath him, stars flashing behind your eyes as he pounds into you like he’s never going to stop.

“That’s it, baby. You take it,” he growls. “Take my cock so good, like the good girl you are for me. Fuckin’ made for me.”

“Joel—” you cry, voice breaking.

He lifts his head, eyes wild and tender all at once.

“Say it again, sweetheart. Tell Daddy how pretty you are.”

“I—I’m pretty,” you choke out. “I’m—fuck, I’m so pretty, Daddy—”

He loses it.

His hand slides under your thigh, hooking it up, opening you wider, deeper. His hips slam into you harder now, the rhythm filthy, brutal, perfect.

“I know, baby. I know. Look at you. My good girl, look so beautiful takin’ it so fuckin’ well.”

His other hand comes up to cradle the back of your neck, guiding you forward as he sits back—craning your head up so you can look down, see exactly where you’re joined. 

Your mind barely registers the softness of your belly, too focused on the thick stretch of him splitting you open, the obscene way you take every inch. You both watch as he drives into you, slick and deep and devastating, a ring of your last orgasm glistening around his cock. The pressure builds again, white-hot and unbearable.

And Joel knows—he feels it in the way you clench, the way your voice goes high and desperate, the way your hands grip him like you’ll fall apart if you let go.

“You gonna come for me again, sweet girl?” he pants, fucking you into the mattress. “Gonna let Daddy feel you pulse around his cock?”

“Yesyesyes—Joel, I—please—”

“That’s it,” he snarls, “give it to me.”

You shatter.

Your orgasm crashes through you with a scream as he releases your neck, letting you arch your back, trembling as you milk his cock with spasms so tight it makes Joel curse, a broken sound from deep in his chest.

And then he’s coming, hips stuttering, burying himself to the hilt as he spills inside you, filling you just like he promised. His voice breaks on your name as he grinds through it, hands gripping you enough to leave bruises, breathing ragged.

Neither of you move for a long moment. Just the sound of your breathing, tangled and uneven. His chest heaving against yours. Your legs shaking around his waist.

His hand slides up, cradles the side of your face. His thumb brushes gently beneath your eye, even though you’re not crying—but something about the touch makes you want to. Makes your throat ache.

“Hey,” he whispers, voice all gravel and reverence. “You okay?”

You nod, eyes still fluttered shut, heart pounding. “Y-yeah.”

Joel presses a soft kiss to your lips—barely a touch, like he’s afraid of ruining you more than he already has. Then another, and another, until you're giggling quietly beneath him, too dazed to hold it in.

He smiles, the kind of smile he doesn’t show anyone else. The kind that barely reaches his eyes, because he’s still looking at you like you’re a dream that might disappear if he blinks too hard.

“Look at me, baby.”

You do. You always do when he asks.

“You’re so beautiful,” Joel murmurs, voice low and rough with what sounds almost like awe. “You know that?”

The words hit you deeper than they should. You suck in a sharp breath, trying to even out your breathing, but your lungs don’t cooperate. Your eyes dart away, suddenly misting and too overwhelmed by the intensity in his gaze—by the sincerity written all over his face. It's too much. Too close. Too real.

But Joel’s hand is already there, catching your chin gently, tilting your face back toward his. His thumb grazes the edge of your jaw, soft and steady.

“No,” he says, barely more than a whisper. “Don’t do that. Not tonight. Not after everything you just gave me.”

Your chest stutters, emotion building so fast and so sharp you feel like you might spill over with it. Your fingers twitch against his back before finally settling, drifting across his damp skin in slow, absent circles. You take deep, calming breaths to settle yourself. Breathe in, breathe out.

He’s still inside you, still heavy over you, like neither of you are ready to let go just yet. Your limbs are tangled, the air still thick with sweat and heat and something quieter—something softer.

The room is quiet now, the kind of quiet that doesn’t feel empty. Just your shared breaths, slow and unsteady. The low thump of his heart where his chest presses to yours.

Joel shifts only slightly, just enough to press a kiss to your cheek. Then another to your jaw. Then your temple. The way he moves is unhurried, like he’s memorizing you. Like he’s kissing more than just skin—like he’s kissing the pieces of you he’s afraid to speak out loud.

It makes your chest ache.

“You’re being so sweet,” you whisper, throat tight almost like it’s a secret.

His lips hover at your lips, pressing gently but not fully,  “I don’t know how not to be,” he says softly. “Not with you.”

You close your eyes, pressing your face into the curve of his neck. His scent wraps around you—salt and skin and something warm and comforting that’s just him. The warmth blooms under your skin again, curling around your ribs, spreading down your spine.

“I love you.” he says, like it’s always been there, waiting. Like it’s not a confession so much as a truth that finally found its way out.

Your breath catches. Not from fear, not from panic, but from the sheer weight of it. The gravity. The sound of those words, spoken into the low light of the room while he's still buried inside you, holding you like you’re the most precious thing he’s ever touched.

Your eyes flutter open. You don’t move. Not yet.

Joel doesn’t either. But his voice dips low, softer now. A hint of uncertainty laces the edges. “Too much?”

You shake your head instantly, and your hands rise to cradle his face, looking up at him, fingertips brushing his temples like you need to anchor both of you in this moment.

“No,” you whisper, a tear finally escaping your eye. “No, not too much.”

Your fingers slide into his hair, tugging gently as you pull him down and press your lips to his. And when you pull back, your words are trembling but sure.

“I love you too.”

He exhales like he’s been holding that breath for years.Then he kisses you—slow and deep and home, his mouth moving against yours like he’s sealing the promise between your bodies.

taglist: @mrs-hardy-hunnam-butler-pascal, @anxiousscribbling

[rafesangelita]

♡ bitchy!kook!reader finally lets rafe fuck..

warnings: making out, slight degradation, teasing, fingering, loss of virginity, unprotected sex, praise, multiple orgasms

a/n: thank you to the anon who sent in this prompt request for my follower celly! i accidentally deleted your ask ૮₍ ˃ ⤙ ˂ ₎ა

you didn’t expect things to get this heated, this fast, both you and rafe messily kissing each other in the darkness of his room, his playlist playing softly in the background while his hands didn’t leave a single inch of you untouched. you could feel his hard-on poking you through the thin lace material of your panties, your resolve crumbling more and more as you let yourself get lost in the taste of him, your desire to surrender and give into his advances only growing with each filthy sentence he spoke to you. “remember all that tough shit you were talking? ‘saying i couldn’t handle all of this but here you are fucking dripping for it..”

you whimpered, your head rolling to the side as rafe planted his lips on your neck, his hand snaking down underneath the hem of your skirt until his fingers slipped below the waistband of your underwear. “you know i can make you feel so good, baby, just give me the word..” he whispered, his teeth lightly grazing your flesh just as his fingertips dipped between your folds, a curse falling from his mouth as your slick allowed him to stroke your clit with ease. you gasped softly, your nails digging into his skin as he rubbed hard, firm circles around your sensitive bud. “come on..” rafe encouraged you quietly, “let me fuck you.”

you sighed softly, your eyes fluttering closed as he moved his lips down from your neck to your chest, his digits continuing their ministrations on your needy cunt. you couldn’t believe you were finally giving into him, all the months of begging and pleading with you to let him have his way all coming to an end once you nodded, your boyfriend cursing under his breath as he tried to his best to keep his composure. rafe’s fingers prodded at your entrance, the sensation making you panic before you stopped him. “wait—!” you panted, slightly embarrassed, “i’ve never done this before, rafe..”

upon hearing your words, rafe used his free hand to grip the back of your neck, his gaze scanning down your pretty face as his chest rose and fell in disbelief. your usual bitchy expression was long gone and was now replaced with what looked like intimidation, your brow etched with worry as you watched the realization dawn on him. “holy shit—” rafe laughed, “you’re a virgin?” you looked away from him, avoiding his burning gaze. “don’t be weird about it, you’re not special.” rafe scoffed, his jaw clenching as he pushed his fingertips into you. crying out, your nails raked down his toned chest, the burning tension making you wince.

“these are just my fingers, babe.. if you can barely handle this, just imagine when i’m fucking you balls deep.” the thought alone made you shudder, a shiver running down your spine as rafe began filling you up with digits, your walls fluttering around the welcomed intrusion. “gentle, please..” you whimpered, a hiss leaving your lips when he pulled at the roots of your hair, forcing you to look at him as he started thumbing at your clit. “gentle?” he laughed, “why would i be gentle with you? you’re not special.” rafe used your words from earlier against you before curling his digits and hitting that soft spot inside of you, your head falling onto his shoulder at the added stimulation.

“m’gonna make you cum all over my fingers, ‘get you all nice and stretched out before i fuck you stupid, yeah?” you whined, wrapping your arms around his neck as your breathing grew sporadic, the heavy tension in your core making your limbs feel like jelly. “fuckkk!” you squealed, burying your face in his chest as you felt the sudden snap in your tummy, your pussy squeezing around rafe’s digits like a vice. you saw stars behind the backs of your eyes, your thighs trembling as he held your hips down to keep you from moving away from him. “r-rafe, that’s enough,” you huffed, “s’too much now!” considering you were about to let him pop your cherry, he decided he’d give your poor cunt a break.

rafe didn’t give you nearly enough time to recover before he had your wrists pinned between tits, your ankles sitting prettily on his shoulders as he tapped the aching tip of his cock against your clit. “i’m never gonna let you live this down,” rafe teased, slipping only the tip in to watch the way you took your bottom lip between your teeth, “no one’s ever gonna fuck you like this.” was the last thing he said before thrusting into you without warning, a half scream emitting from your throat as rafe groaned, his eyes glued to where you two were connected.

“oh my god, you’re fucking gorgeous—” rafe said through gritted teeth, admiring every detail of you he hadn’t seen before tonight. you were rendered speechless, any kind of protests or smart remarks dying on the tip of your tongue as the ache between your legs dulled and melted into pure unadulterated pleasure. from pained whimpers to pleading cries, rafe’s lips found yours as he fucked into you with an unforgiving force. nipping his bottom lip, rafe hissed, cursing under his breath as you managed to get your hands out of his grip.

“not so scared anymore?” he teased, his words making you roll your eyes. “shut up, rafe— oh!” your back arched up into his chest when he changed his momentum, the long strokes of his hips making you hiccup. “tell me to shut up again.” you just about lost it when you felt his thumb return to your clit, your palms pushing against his stomach at the overwhelming pressure building up in your tummy. you hated how easy it was for him to take control of you in this moment, but god, you felt too good to care. not daring to say another word, your eyes screwed shut as rafe pushed you over the edge, his own orgasm causing his hips to stutter.

burying himself as deep as he could, you pulled rafe close as he emptied himself inside of you, your toes curling as he filled you up with his seed, the thick, hot ropes of cum painting your insides while you cried at the overwhelming feeling of your high. you felt like your head was in the clouds, your vision growing hazy as you blinked in slow motion up at the high ceiling. with rafe’s weight on top of you like this, and his moans in your ear, you reveled in the new intimacy that you two hadn’t yet shared with each other, both of you holding onto each other as your climaxes subsided.

still nestled inside of you, rafe collapsed on top of you, your hands wasting no time in moving his bangs out of his face, your heart fluttering in your chest at the sight of the smug grin on his lips. “don’t you dare say anything—”

“i can’t believe you actually let me hit.” rafe sighed, leaving a trail of kisses along your collarbone. you shook your head, a soft laugh leaving your lips as you twirled the ends of his hair with your perfectly manicured fingers. “act up and you’re not getting sex for as long as you piss me off.” you threatened, your words making his eyebrows raise. “you don’t have to worry about me acting up after this.. i can’t go on without it now.” you rolled your eyes at his dramatics before he took your lips in a kiss. “i hope you’re not fucked out just yet, i got some more rounds in me.”

[reesestshirt]

When I was in middle school, I tried to learn how to crochet. I knew how to knit already, so I figured ‘how hard could it be’ and used my Christmas money on a brand new set of aluminum hooks and a how-to book.

To say it was difficult was an understatement. I spent hours pouring over my book, begging to gain some inkling of understanding from what felt like incomprehensible runes. My reward? One lopsided trapezoid of lumpy fabric and a resolve to never pick up a crochet hook again.

And so life went on, I finished middle school and high school without giving crochet so much as a second glance. In college, I read about how crochet couldn’t be replicated by a machine, it was unique in a way that knitting and many other fiber arts weren’t.

For Christmas last year, my girlfriend gave me what I now consider to be my most prized possession: a crocheted plush of my favorite pokemon. I raved over her skills and, since she never learned how to knit, we decided to have a yarn date at some point and teach each other our respective skills.

We never did get around to that yarn date. She passed a few months after our declaration, leaving me to inherit what was left of her yarn.

Nearly a decade after my initial attempt, I got ready for the toughest battle of my life. My weapons? One skein of yarn, a YouTube video, and a crochet hook that I had somehow never gotten rid of.

I slowly made my way through the video, redoing my work a couple times until I was satisfied with my product: a small, slightly misshapen rectangle.

I looked at my pristinely-made pokemon plush with hope for the first time in months and thought to myself, ‘maybe crocheting isn’t the hardest thing in the world, maybe you were just 12.’

Maybe this isn’t the hardest thing in the world. Maybe I’m just 21.

[moonlightwritingf1]

The Night She Finally Gave In | LN4

🎀 summary ━━━━━━━ For eight months, Y/N teased, denied, and kept Lando chasing—but he never gave up. Until one night she finally gives in. 

🎀 pairing ━━━━━━━ Lando Norris x she!reader

🎀 word count ━━━━━━━ 7.9k

🎀 warnings ━━━━━━━ +18, sexual content, p in v, unprotected sex, creampie, oral sex (f receiving), dirty talk, teasing

Based on this request.

The persistent hum of the city pulsed against Y/N’s ears as she stepped off the crowded London sidewalk and into a cozy Shoreditch lounge. Music throbbed under low lighting, and the place was already bustling with familiar chatter. Tonight, she was meeting Pietra and Max for casual drinks, but she knew one other person would be there—someone who’d been on her mind more than she cared to admit. Lando Norris.

She spotted Pietra first, her friend waving her over from a corner booth. Max, Pietra’s boyfriend and Lando’s best friend, grinned in greeting. Y/N slid into the booth and unwrapped her scarf, letting the warmth of the lounge soak into her. Before she could even settle, an electric awareness sparked at the base of her spine. She sensed him near before she actually saw him. And sure enough, there he was—leaning against the bar, exchanging an easy laugh with the bartender, but already casting sideways glances in her direction.

For over half a year, Lando had chased after her with single-minded obsession. The moment they’d been introduced—eight months ago at a friend’s barbecue—he’d made his interest painfully obvious. Texts at odd hours, random calls whenever he was in London, spontaneous outings with their mutual friends that always ended with him trying to corner her for a private moment.

She found it thrilling at first. She teased him mercilessly, indulging in the attention of someone so persistent and quite obviously smitten. She’d let him buy her drinks, whisper silly compliments that made her cheeks warm, and flirt back just enough to get his heart pounding. But any time he tried to escalate—from a lean-in kiss to a direct request for a date—she’d reject him. Gently, but firmly. Over and over.

Why did she do it? Maybe she wanted to protect herself from the potential heartbreak of dating a man adored by millions. Or maybe she reveled in the power of knowing that someone as high-profile as Lando Norris was practically wrapped around her finger. Whatever the reason, the game had dragged on for months, and he never gave up. If anything, each rejection only seemed to strengthen his resolve.

And how he persevered. In those eight months, she had watched him run himself ragged trying to impress her. No matter what she threw at him—a dismissive laugh, a pointed change of subject, a half-hearted excuse—he always came back stronger. She’d catch glimpses of his frustration sometimes, in the tight line of his mouth or the way he’d fist his hands at his sides, but he never unleashed that frustration on her. Instead, he teased, he flirted, he praised. And every time she knocked him down, he got up again, more determined than ever.

Lando was desperate. His affection for her had morphed into an all-consuming fascination. When he was away in Monaco, racing or fulfilling sponsor obligations, he’d tell Max how he couldn’t stop thinking about her. He’d message Pietra, trying to get any new details about Y/N’s day. He was head over heels, losing sleep, replaying every interaction they’d ever had—each brush of the fingers, each clever remark that made him laugh, each time she chewed her lip and pretended not to look at him, even though he felt her gaze.

She, meanwhile, was enjoying the slow burn. It was cruel in a way, but exhilarating. She loved the sense of power over a man who had the entire world at his feet yet seemed willing to crawl if it meant she’d say yes. She wasn’t intentionally cruel—she did like him. In fact, she liked him a lot. But the thrill of him chasing and her evading was addicting. She made sure to flirt just enough to keep him on the hook—an extra lingering stare, a subtle graze of her hand across his chest whenever she passed by him at a party, a playful text that ended with a winking emoji—only to turn cold if he tried to corner her for anything more.

And it worked. She reeled him in, then pushed him away, over and over. Each time, he fell deeper under her spell, thoroughly bewitched by the side-smiles, the confident tilt of her chin, the way she’d arch an eyebrow whenever he tried to inch closer. Lando found himself wanting her with a fierceness he’d never felt before. Some nights he’d lie awake in Monaco, scrolling through photos of them at group events—her bright eyes, her maddening half-smiles—and wonder what he had to do to make her his.

So here she was again, sliding into a lounge booth with Pietra and Max, fully aware of Lando’s presence across the room. She greeted her friends with a sweet smile, but her pulse fluttered. Lando soon made his way over, wearing a casual denim jacket and a grin that betrayed a hint of nerves. He paused by the table, his gaze locking onto Y/N’s.

“Evening,” he said softly, eyes gleaming.

She cocked her head, forcing a pleasant smile. “Hey there, Norris. In London again?”

He shrugged with forced nonchalance. “Yeah, had some meetings earlier. Thought I’d stick around for the weekend.” It was a lie. He’d finished his obligations days ago, but no one doubted he’d stayed in town solely for her.

Pietra nudged Y/N with a playful smirk. “Glad you two can finally catch up. We’ve barely seen you in the same place these last few weeks.”

Lando lowered himself next to Y/N on the booth’s bench, the cushion sinking beneath his weight. She could practically feel the heat radiating from him. He smelled fresh and warm, a subtle cologne mixed with something distinctly him. “I’m starving,” he announced to no one in particular, though his attention stayed fixed on Y/N. “Hungry?”

She had eaten earlier, but she smiled coyly. “Might nibble on something if it’s good enough,” she teased.

His gaze flickered over her lips as she said the words. “I’ll make sure it’s good,” he murmured, voice dropping lower.

Goosebumps prickled her skin. She had to look away, heart drumming. If there was one thing Lando excelled at, it was firing her up with a single line of flirtation. She tensed her jaw, determined not to let him see just how much she liked that.

As the night wore on, Max and Pietra chatted about their upcoming travel plans. Lando and Y/N lingered at the edge of the conversation, occasionally joining in, but mostly locked in a subtle battle of words and glances.

At one point, Y/N excused herself to go to the bar, deliberately leaving him behind, half-hoping he’d follow. Sure enough, a moment later, a figure slid in beside her, resting an elbow on the wooden counter.

“You’re really not going to sit next to me all night?” Lando asked, feigning a pout.

She shrugged with a lazy grin. “You seemed too eager. Didn’t want to get your hopes up.”

He let out a soft groan, rubbing the back of his neck. “You drive me insane, you know that?”

“Yeah,” she teased. “I’m counting on it.”

He placed a hand on her lower back. Not too low, but enough to make her heart jump. “You’re doing this on purpose,” he accused, though the corners of his mouth lifted in admiration.

She pursed her lips. “I might be.”

He laughed, shaking his head. “Why do you keep saying no?”

“Because…” She trailed off, letting the unspoken tension fill the gap. She could have easily told him she was afraid or uncertain, but that wasn’t the game she was playing tonight. Instead, she flashed a small, almost innocent smile. “Maybe I just like watching you try.”

His expression tightened, eyes flashing with frustration and something hotter. “Then watch me,” he said. “I’m not quitting.”

She gulped, momentarily stunned by the heated timbre in his voice. A flicker of genuine nerves fluttered inside her because she sensed his patience was wearing thin, replaced by a more urgent desire. For all her playful torment, she couldn’t deny a thrill ran through her at the thought of him finally snapping—that the slow burn might become an inferno that neither of them could control.

They returned to the booth, but an hour later, the small party started to disperse. Max and Pietra had an early morning. With warm hugs and goodbyes, they headed out, leaving Y/N and Lando alone amidst the lounge’s dwindling crowd.

He slid closer, draping one arm along the back of the booth. “So… are you gonna run away now?”

She pretended to check her phone. “It’s getting late. I might call it a night soon.”

He exhaled a barely concealed groan. “You always do this. We hang out with friends, you tease me, and then you leave me high and dry.”

“You’re still here, aren’t you?” She batted her eyelashes, an expression of false innocence.

“Barely,” he muttered, raking a hand through his hair. Then he steeled himself. “What if I said I’m done taking no for an answer?”

Her pulse skittered. She arched an eyebrow. “That sounds dangerously close to an ultimatum, Norris.”

He looked straight into her eyes, unwavering. “I want you. You know it. You’ve known it for months. I’m tired of playing the same game where I lose every time.”

Her stomach twisted with both excitement and the faintest tremor of guilt for having strung him along so long. But her desire to keep him on the edge remained strong. “You sound desperate,” she murmured, leaning forward.

His cheeks flared with color, but he didn’t back down. “I am desperate. Do you have any idea how you’ve been driving me crazy?”

She placed a hand delicately on his chest, feeling his heartbeat thunder beneath her palm. “You’re cute when you’re frustrated,” she quipped, pressing just enough to keep him leaning toward her.

He caught her wrist lightly. “And you’re unbelievably gorgeous when you’re tormenting me.” His gaze darkened as he whispered, “Come home with me. Or let me come home with you. Either way, let’s stop pretending we don’t want this.”

For a moment, she was silent. The tension between them was near stifling. Every inch of her body buzzed with anticipation, and she had to swallow hard to steady her voice.

She trailed her fingers up his neck, pausing to toy with the hairs at his nape. “My place,” she whispered. Her heart pounded at the stunned look that crossed his face. “You coming or not?”

He didn’t need to be asked twice.

They left the lounge together, the cool air of the London streets a sharp contrast to the heat that had built between them. Neither spoke much on the walk to her flat—a short distance that felt endless in the taut silence. Lando’s hand found hers, and she didn’t pull away this time. In fact, she threaded her fingers through his, sending a jolt of excitement right through them both.

He followed her inside the building, up two flights of stairs to her door. She fumbled with her keys, her nerves betraying her calm façade. Once inside, she discarded her coat, setting it on a rack by the door.

Lando shut the door behind them. No small talk. No polite questions about whether he wanted a drink. The second they were alone, he crossed the space in two strides, cradling her face with both hands and pressing his lips to hers in a long-awaited, bruising kiss.

A whimper escaped her as she leaned into him, arms sliding around his shoulders. Their mouths moved in a frenzy of pent-up hunger. She could feel his desperation in every breath, every gasp. He’d waited so long for even a taste, and now he devoured her lips, tongue stroking against hers as though trying to claim every inch.

She broke away momentarily, panting. “Hungry?” she teased, voice uneven.

“Starving,” he growled, eyes flickering with a mixture of relief and raw need.

Without warning, he scooped her up around the waist, drawing a startled laugh from her. She hooked her legs around his hips as he backed her up against the wall, ignoring her protest that she could walk just fine. His lips returned to hers, trailing hot kisses along her jaw, down her neck.

“Do you know how many times I’ve imagined this?” he breathed against her throat. “You, in my arms, not running away?”

She shivered, tugging at the collar of his jacket. “And do you know how many times I’ve thought about you losing your composure like this?” She let out a shaky exhale as his teeth grazed her skin. “I love seeing you barely holding it together.”

He groaned. “You really do get off on tormenting me, don’t you?”

She only smiled, unrepentant. “Maybe.”

With an exasperated laugh, he carried her deeper into the flat, pushing open a door until they tumbled into her bedroom. He set her down carefully, but kept her pinned against him, lips still fused.

Clothes became an unwanted barrier. They stripped each other down in hurried, desperate movements, fabric hitting the floor carelessly as they pressed closer. His palms roamed her curves, mapping them with reverence and urgency all at once. She marveled at the firm lines of his shoulders, the warmth radiating from his skin.

He nudged her gently onto the bed, following her down in a tangle of limbs. She let out a soft moan when his lips trailed over her collarbone, pressing open-mouthed kisses that made her toes curl. It was overwhelming, this culmination of half a year’s worth of tease and denial.

His breath hitched as she slipped her fingers through his hair, guiding him up to meet her eyes. “You like to lead me on, but trust me,” he said, voice husky. “Tonight, I’m the one in control.”

She smirked at the newfound edge in his tone. “Prove it.”

That challenge was all he needed. With a low growl, he leaned in, pressing a series of heated, possessive kisses along her throat. “I’m going to make you beg,” he rasped into her ear. “And you won’t be rejecting me this time.”

Her heart stuttered. She’d never seen him this way—intense, almost predatory in the best sense. It ignited a fire in her she hadn’t known existed. “Show me,” she whispered, arching against him.

His hands slid lower, and she gasped at the sensation of his touch, every nerve in her body singing with tension. She tangled her legs around his waist, pulling him closer, fueling the friction that built with every heated breath. The months of frustration erupted into a raw, almost desperate passion, making them both reckless.

Lando’s hands were firm on her hips, his lips trailing down her neck with a slow, deliberate intensity that made her breath hitch. Y/N’s back arched instinctively, her fingers gripping the sheets as he hovered above her, his weight pressing her into the mattress. His eyes were dark, pupils blown wide with desire, but there was a new edge to him—a sharpness that hadn’t been there before.

“You’ve had your fun,” he murmured, his voice low and rough, sending a shiver down her spine. “But now it’s my turn.”

Before she could respond, he captured her lips in a searing kiss, cutting off any protest. His tongue swiped against hers, demanding, claiming, and she felt herself melting into him, her body betraying the control she’d so carefully maintained for months. His hands moved to her wrists, pinning them above her head with ease. She let out a soft whimper, the sound swallowed by his mouth as he deepened the kiss.

When he finally pulled away, she was breathless, her chest rising and falling rapidly. He smirked down at her, his expression a mix of satisfaction and something far more dangerous. “You’ve been teasing me for months, love,” he said, his thumb brushing over her bottom lip. “Do you have any idea what that’s done to me?”

She opened her mouth to respond, but he silenced her with another kiss, this one brief but no less intense. “No,” he said, his voice firm. “You don’t get to talk right now. You don’t get to control this. I’m in charge now.”

Her stomach flipped at the command in his tone, a wave of heat pooling low in her core. She nodded, her eyes wide, and he smiled, a predatory glint in his eyes. “Good girl,” he purred, the words sending a jolt of electricity through her.

His grip on her wrists tightened as he leaned down, his lips brushing against the shell of her ear. "You’ve driven me wild for months,” he murmured, his voice low and rough, sending a shiver down her spine. “Now it’s my turn to make you lose control.” His free hand trailed teasingly down her body, fingers skimming over her ribs, her waist, her hips, making her squirm beneath him. “Stay still,” he commanded, his tone leaving no room for argument. “Or I’ll stop.”

She whimpered, her body trembling with restraint as he continued his slow, deliberate exploration. His hand moved back up her side, fingers brushing the underside of her bra. “So beautiful,” he whispered, his gaze locked on hers as his fingers found the clasp. God, he’s doing this with one hand, she thought, her breath hitching as she watched him. How is this so fucking hot?

With practiced ease, he undid the clasp, the material loosening against her skin. He slid the straps down her arms, his eyes never leaving hers, a smirk playing on his lips as the bra fell away, exposing her breasts. “Fuck,” he groaned, his voice thick with desire. “You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting to get my hands on these.” His palm cupped her breast, his fingers fitting perfectly around the soft curve. He squeezed gently at first, then more possessively, his grip firm as his thumb brushed over her nipple, drawing a sharp gasp from her.

He unpinned her wrists, but she didn’t move, as if waiting for permission. He didn’t give her any, too focused on her breasts, his hands now free to explore every inch. He cupped them both, his fingers sinking into the soft flesh as he squeezed them together, his eyes filled with hunger. “Fuck, baby, they fit perfectly in my hands,” he said, his voice rough. “Like they were made for me to touch.”

He leaned down, his lips hovering just above her skin. “They’re even better than I imagined,” he murmured, his breath hot against her as he took one nipple into his mouth, sucking gently before flicking his tongue over the sensitive peak. She gasped, her hands finally finding his hair, fingers tangling in the soft strands as he lavished attention on her breasts, alternating between them with a slow, deliberate rhythm.

His mouth was relentless, kissing, licking, and sucking as if he couldn’t get enough. “God, baby, they’re so soft,” he groaned against her skin, his voice trembling with need. “So fucking perfect. I could spend hours right here.” He buried his face between them, his hands still kneading her breasts, squeezing them together as he pressed hot, open-mouthed kisses to her skin.

She arched into his touch, her breath coming in short, uneven gasps as he worshipped her body. Every flick of his tongue, every squeeze of his hands sent shockwaves of pleasure through her, and she couldn’t help but moan his name. “Lando…”

He looked up at her, his lips swollen, his eyes burning with desire. “You’re mine now,” he said, his voice low and possessive. “And I’m going to make sure you never forget it.”

She nodded, her body trembling with anticipation as he returned to her breasts, his hands and mouth working in perfect harmony to drive her wild. She’d never felt so wanted, so completely claimed, and she loved every second of it.

Lando’s lips left her breasts with one last, lingering kiss, and she whimpered at the loss of contact. But he wasn’t done—not even close. His mouth trailed down her body, leaving a scorching path of kisses along her skin. He kissed the curve of her ribs, the dip of her stomach, each press of his lips deliberate, maddeningly slow. Every inch of her felt like it was on fire, and she could barely keep herself still as he moved lower, his lips brushing the top of her hip bone.

Her breath hitched as he reached the hem of her underwear, his hands skimming over the fabric as if he were memorizing every curve. “So soft,” he murmured, his voice low and rough, sending shivers through her. He kissed just above the waistband, his breath hot against her skin, and she let out a desperate whimper. “Patience, sweetheart,” he said, smirking up at her. “You made me wait for months. You can wait a little longer.”

She groaned, her hips lifting off the bed as if begging for him to touch her where she needed it most. But he didn’t. Instead, his lips moved to her inner thighs, kissing and nipping at the sensitive skin there. His hands gripped her thighs, spreading her legs wider, and she felt exposed, utterly at his mercy. “Look at you,” he said, his voice dripping with amusement. “So desperate already. What happened to all that teasing confidence, love?”

She could feel the dampness pooling between her legs, her underwear clinging to her in the most embarrassing way. The fabric was soaked, a dark patch spreading across the front, and she knew he could see it, could smell how turned on she was. He kissed her thigh again, his lips brushing so close to where she needed him that she thought she might scream. “Every time you told me no,” he whispered, his breath hot against her skin, “I pictured this exact moment—how I’d have you writhing, begging for me.”

Her cheeks flushed, but she couldn’t deny the truth. She was writhing, her hips moving restlessly as he continued his torment. “Lando, please,” she gasped, her voice trembling with need.

He chuckled darkly, his fingers hooking under the waistband of her underwear. “You’re so wet for me,” he said, his voice thick with desire. “And I’ve barely even touched you properly. How bad do you need it?” She whimpered in response, and he smirked, slowly sliding the soaked fabric down her legs and tossing it aside.

He spread her thighs wide, his hands firm on her hips as he leaned in to inspect her. “Fuck, baby,” he groaned, his voice trembling with awe. “You’re fucking gorgeous.” The evidence of her arousal was impossible to ignore, her pussy glistening, her folds swollen and needy. He kissed her inner thigh again, his lips brushing so close to her clit that she nearly came undone. She gasped, her hips lifting off the bed, but he held her down firmly. “Keep still,” he warned, his voice low and commanding. “Or I’ll stop completely. You wouldn’t want that, would you?”

She shook her head frantically, her hands gripping the sheets as he leaned in, his tongue finally dragging through her folds in one long, slow lick. She moaned, the sound desperate and broken, and he groaned against her. “You’re clenching around nothing,” he murmured, his voice rough. “You poor thing. Maybe I should just leave you like this.”

“No!” she cried, her voice trembling with desperation. “Please, Lando, I need you.”

He smirked, his breath hot against her sensitive skin. “Fuck, you sound so pretty when you beg,” he said, his tone dripping with satisfaction. “Go on, let me hear you.”

She whined, her hips lifting off the bed again, but he pressed her down firmly. “Don’t even think about it,” he said, his grip on her thighs unyielding. “You’re gonna let me see how much you need this.”

And then he dove in, his tongue lapping at her pussy with relentless precision. She cried out, her fingers tangling in his hair as he swirled his tongue around her clit, sucking lightly before pulling back, leaving her trembling on the edge. “Oh, you want to come?” he teased, his voice smug. “After making me wait all this time? Not yet, sweetheart.”

He pinned her hips to the bed, his tongue working her over with slow, maddening strokes. Every time she felt herself close to the edge, he pulled away, leaving her gasping and desperate. “Lando, please,” she begged, her voice breaking.

He chuckled darkly, his breath hot against her skin. “Shh, love. No whining. You teased me for eight months—this is only fair.”

And then he returned to her pussy, his tongue flicking over her clit with just the right amount of pressure to drive her wild. She was close, so close, but he pulled away again, leaving her trembling and desperate, utterly at his mercy.

Lando pulled away from her pussy, leaving her trembling and desperate, her body arched off the bed in search of more. “You’re close, aren’t you?” he murmured, his voice low and teasing. “But you’re not getting off that easy.” He stood, stripping off his boxers in one fluid motion, and her breath caught at the sight of him. His cock was thick, fully erect, and glistening with precum, a testament to how badly he wanted her. She couldn’t help but salivate at the sight, her pussy clenching around nothing, aching for him to fill her.

He climbed back onto the bed, positioning himself between her legs. She instinctively tried to close them, her body trembling with a mix of nerves and anticipation, but he grabbed her thighs, pinning them apart with a firm grip. “No, baby,” he said, his voice dark and commanding. “You don’t get to hide from me anymore. You wanted this. Now take it.”

He aligned himself with her entrance, the tip of his cock pressing against her slick folds, and she whimpered, her hips lifting in a silent plea. But Lando wasn’t rushing. He was going to make this last. He pushed into her slowly, inch by torturous inch, his eyes locked on hers as he stretched her open. She gasped, her back arching off the bed as he filled her, the sensation overwhelming and euphoric all at once. “Fuck, baby, you’re so tight,” he groaned, his voice rough with desire. “Feel that? That’s me, stretching you open, making you mine.”

He bottomed out, his hips flush against hers, and paused, letting her adjust to the sheer size of him. Her pussy fluttered around his cock, gripping him like a vice, and he groaned, his head falling back in ecstasy. “You feel that?” he whispered, his voice trembling. “How you’re wrapped around me? This is where you belong now—taking every fucking inch of me.”

Y/N was already a mess, her hands gripping the sheets as she struggled to stay still. Her body was on fire, every nerve alight with sensation, and she could feel every ridge, every vein of his cock as he moved inside her. It was too much and not enough all at once. “Lando, please—please move faster,” she begged, her voice breaking.

But he just smirked, his grip on her thighs tightening. “Oh, no, love. I decide how you take me,” he said, his tone leaving no room for argument. He pulled out almost completely, then pushed back in with the same slow, deliberate pace, drawing a desperate whimper from her. “You’re doing this to punish me, aren’t you?” she gasped, her nails digging into his shoulders.

He laughed, a low rumble in his chest. “Maybe I am,” he admitted, his eyes filled with satisfaction. “You made me wait for months, love. Now it’s your turn to suffer.” He thrust into her again, deep and slow, his hips rolling in a way that had her toes curling. Her pussy throbbed around him, each movement sending shockwaves of pleasure through her, but it wasn’t enough. She needed more. She needed him to go harder, faster, to give her the release she was hovering on the edge of. “Lando, I swear to god, if you don’t move faster—” she started, but her words were cut off by a moan as he slammed into her again, hitting a spot that made her see stars.

Her pussy was soaking wet, the slickness making every thrust smoother, every movement more intense. For Lando, the sensation was indescribable. Her walls clenched around him like a fist, hot and tight, and every time he pushed into her, he felt like he was losing his mind. She was perfect, perfect, and the way she moaned his name only drove him wild. “You love the way I fill you up, don’t you?” he growled, his voice low and possessive. “Look at you—already so fucking wrecked.”

She nodded frantically, her hips lifting to meet his, but he stopped her, his hands gripping her waist to keep her still. “No, love,” he said, his tone firm. “You stay right there and take it. Don’t move.” She whined, her body trembling beneath him, but she obeyed, her hands gripping the sheets as he continued to fuck her with the same slow, maddening pace. “Stop holding back,” she gasped, her voice trembling. “You’ve wanted this for months, so take me.”

He chuckled, leaning down to capture her lips in a searing kiss. “Oh, I’m taking you, sweetheart,” he murmured against her mouth. “Every. Single. Inch.” Each word was punctuated by a deep, controlled thrust, and she moaned, her body writhing beneath him. But he kept her still, his hands firm on her hips, his pace unrelenting. “Fuck, Lando,” she whimpered, her voice breaking. “I’m begging—please, just give it to me.”

He smirked, his eyes filled with satisfaction. “Maybe I will,” he said, his voice teasing. “But not until I’m done with you.” He shifted slightly, angling his hips so that each thrust brushed against her clit, and she cried out, her body trembling on the edge. “That’s it, love,” he whispered, his voice rough. “Let me ruin you properly.”

His cock felt like heaven inside her, stretching her open in the most delicious way, and she could feel every inch of him as he moved, slow and deep, his pace maddeningly controlled. For him, the sensation was almost too much. Her pussy was so tight, so wet, and every time she clenched around him, he felt like he was going to lose it. But he wasn’t going to give in—not yet. He was going to make her suffer, just like she’d made him. “You’re mine now,” he growled, his voice low and possessive. “And I’m going to make sure you never forget it.”

She moaned, her body trembling beneath him, her pussy gripping him tighter with each thrust. She was close, so close, but he wasn’t going to let her come—not yet. He was going to draw this out, make her beg for it, make her feel every second of the torment she’d put him through. “Say it,” he demanded, his voice dark. “Say you love the way I fuck you.”

She hesitated, her eyes fluttering shut as another wave of pleasure crashed over her, but he tightened his grip on her jaw, forcing her to look at him. “Say it properly,” he growled, his voice leaving no room for argument. “Or I stop right now.” She whimpered, her body trembling beneath him, and finally, she said it, her voice trembling with need. “I… I love the way you fuck me.”

He smirked, satisfaction gleaming in his eyes. “Good girl,” he purred, leaning down to capture her lips in a searing kiss. “Now let me show you how much I’ve wanted this.” And with that, he finally picked up the pace, his thrusts deep and relentless, driving her closer and closer to the edge. She was a mess, her body writhing beneath him, her moans filling the room as he fucked her exactly how he’d promised—deep, slow, and completely in control.

And she loved every second of it.

Lando’s hands moved to her hips, his grip firm and unyielding as he lifted her effortlessly, flipping her in one fluid motion. Her breath caught in her throat as she found herself straddling him, his cock still buried deep inside her. Her tits bounced with the sudden movement, and he didn’t miss the opportunity, his hands immediately reaching up to cup them, his fingers sinking into the soft flesh as he squeezed possessively. “Fuck, you’re perfect,” he growled, his voice thick with desire. “Now let me see you ride me, but don’t you dare move faster than I let you.”

His hands were like iron, gripping her hips and holding her steady as he thrust up into her, his cock sliding in and out of her slick pussy with maddening precision. She tried to lift herself, to take control of the rhythm, but he held her down firmly, making her take every inch of him at his pace. “No, love,” he said, his voice dark and commanding. “You don’t get to set the pace. I do. And I want to take my time with you.”

His fingers dug into her flesh, holding her in place as he fucked up into her, his hips driving with a steady, relentless rhythm. Every thrust made her pussy clench around him, her body trembling with the effort of staying still. “Lando, please,” she begged, her voice trembling. “Let me move.” She could feel every inch of his cock inside her, stretching her open, filling her in the most delicious way. The sheer size of him was overwhelming, and she could feel every ridge, every vein as he slid in and out of her. “Fuck, baby, you’re so tight,” he groaned, his hands holding her down as he thrust into her again, deeper this time, hitting a spot that made her see stars.

“God, you feel so good,” she moaned, her head falling back as he continued to fuck her, his hands gripping her hips, controlling every movement. “Fuckin’ perfect around me,” he growled, his voice rough. “You take me so well, like you were made for me.” She could feel his cock twitching inside her, his control slipping just slightly, the hot, hard length of him pressing against her walls, stretching her in the most exquisite way. Every thrust sent waves of pleasure crashing through her, her pussy clinging to him like a vice, greedy for more. But Lando wasn’t rushing. He was going to make this last. Every movement was deliberate, controlled, and it was driving her mad.

“Look at you,” he said, his voice low and teasing. “Trying to squirm away. You’re not going anywhere, love.” His hands gripped her tighter, holding her down as his cock plunged deeper into her, every thrust hitting that perfect spot that made her moan his name. Fuck, he’s so big, she thought, her body trembling on top of him. She could feel every inch of him inside her, stretching her, filling her, and she loved it. His cock was thick, hot, and hard, and every time he thrust into her, she felt like she was losing her mind. Her pussy was so wet, so slick, and every movement felt like pure bliss. She could feel the way her walls clenched around him, gripping him tight, and she knew he could feel it too.

“Stay still,” he commanded, his voice leaving no room for argument. “You’re going to let me use you exactly how I want.” His hands were like iron, gripping her hips and holding her steady as he thrust up into her, his cock sliding in and out of her slick pussy with maddening precision. She tried to lift herself, to take control of the rhythm, but he held her down firmly, making her take every inch of him at his pace. “No running, no hiding,” he growled, his voice dark and possessive. “You wanted to tease me for months? Now you’re going to feel what that did to me.”

Her pussy was on fire, every nerve in her body alight with sensation as he continued to fuck her, his hands gripping her hips, controlling every movement. She could feel his cock twitching inside her, his control slipping just slightly, the hot, hard length of him pressing against her walls, stretching her in the most exquisite way. Every thrust sent waves of pleasure crashing through her, her pussy clinging to him like a fist, greedy for more. But Lando wasn’t rushing. He was going to make this last. Every movement was deliberate, controlled, and it was driving her mad.

“You’re mine now,” he whispered, his voice low and possessive. “And I’m going to make sure you never forget it.” His hands gripped her tighter, holding her down as his cock plunged deeper into her, every thrust hitting that perfect spot that made her moan his name. She could feel every inch of him inside her, stretching her, filling her, and she loved it. Her pussy was so wet, so slick, and every movement felt like pure bliss. She could feel the way her walls clenched around him, gripping him tight, and she knew he could feel it too.

“You like this, don’t you?” he teased, his voice smug, the satisfaction evident in his tone. “You like me holding you down, making you take every inch.” He kept his pace steady, his hands holding her in place, not letting her move as he fucked her exactly how he wanted. She was a moaning mess, her hips lifting slightly, trying to meet his thrusts, but he wasn’t giving her an inch. His hands tightened on her hips, holding her down, making her take everything he gave her. “Fuck, baby, you’re so tight,” he groaned, his voice rough. “You’re going to take everything I give you, and you’re going to love every fucking second of it.”

“Lando, please,” she begged, her voice trembling with need. “I need more. Please.” His hands gripped her tighter, his fingers digging into her flesh as he thrust into her again, deeper, harder, hitting that perfect spot that made her cry out. “Beg me properly,” he said, his voice dark. “Show me how much you need it.” She bit her lip, her body trembling beneath him, and finally, she said it, her voice trembling with need. “Please, Lando. Please fuck me harder. I need it. Please.”

"Good girl," he purred, his fingers threading into her hair as he guided her head down, tilting her face down to meet his. Then, he captured her lips in a searing kiss, possessive and deep.

“Now let me show you how much I’ve wanted this.” With a growl, Lando flipped her onto her back again in one fluid motion, his cock still buried deep inside her. His hands gripped her thighs, spreading her legs wide as he loomed over her, his eyes blazing with hunger. He didn’t give her a moment to adjust before he started fucking her again—hard, fast, and without mercy. His hips driving into her with a savage rhythm, his cock slamming into her pussy with such force that the bed shook beneath them.

His cock was thick, rigid, and unyielding, every vein pulsing with the sheer intensity of his arousal. It was hot, almost searing, as it stretched her open, the girth of it filling her to the brim. Every thrust sent a jolt of pleasure through her, the friction of his cock sliding in and out of her slick walls making her toes curl. Her pussy was so tight, so wet, and every time he pushed into her, she could feel every inch of him—the way he stretched her, the way he filled her completely, the way he hit that spot deep inside that made her see stars.

“Fuck, baby, you’re so tight,” he groaned, his voice rough with desire. “Feel that? That’s me, fucking you just the way I’ve wanted to for months.” His hands moved to her hips, gripping her hard enough to leave marks as he pulled her down onto his cock with every thrust. “You take me so fucking well, love. Like you were made for me.” His words were low and possessive, dripping with a primal need that sent shivers down her spine.

She could feel his cock twitching inside her, the hot, hard length of him pressing against her walls, stretching her in the most exquisite way. Every time he thrust into her, she felt a wave of pleasure crash over her, her pussy clenching around him, desperate for more. “Lando, please,” she gasped, her voice trembling with need. “I need you. Don’t stop.”

He smirked, his eyes filled with satisfaction. “You think I’d stop now?” he growled, his hips slamming into her with even more force. “Not a fucking chance, love.” His cock was relentless, pumping into her with a rhythm that was both punishing and euphoric. She could feel the way her walls clung to him, gripping him tight, as if begging him never to leave. “You’re mine now,” he whispered, his voice low and possessive. “And I’m going to make sure you never forget it.”

Her body was on fire, every nerve alight with sensation as he continued to fuck her with a ferocity that left her breathless. She could feel the tension building inside her, coiling tighter and tighter with every thrust. “Lando, I’m close,” she whimpered, her voice breaking. “Please, let me come.”

He leaned down, his lips brushing against her ear. “Go ahead, baby,” he whispered, his voice dark and teasing. “Come for me. Let me feel you.” His hands moved to her breasts, squeezing them roughly as he continued to thrust into her, his cock hitting that spot deep inside her that made her see stars.

She couldn’t hold back any longer. Her body convulsed as the orgasm ripped through her, her pussy clamping down on his cock as waves of pleasure crashed over her. She cried out, her voice trembling with ecstasy as she came apart beneath him.

Lando groaned, his thrusts becoming erratic as he felt her walls clench around him, milking his cock for every drop. “Fuck, baby, you’re so fucking tight,” he growled, his voice rough with need. “I can’t hold back anymore.” With a final, deep thrust, he buried himself inside her, his cock pulsing as he came, filling her with his release. The sensation was overwhelming, the heat of his cum spilling deep inside her, marking her as his.

They came together, their bodies trembling with the force of their orgasms. She could feel every pulse of his cock inside her, the way his cum filled her, the way his body shuddered with pleasure. It was intoxicating, the way they fit together, the way they moved as one. “Fuck, baby,” he murmured, his voice trembling. “That was… fucking incredible.”

She could barely speak, her body still trembling with the aftershocks of her orgasm. Her pussy felt so full, so satisfied, and she could still feel the way his cock twitched inside her, as if he wasn’t ready to pull away just yet. “Lando,” she whispered, her voice soft and trembling. “That was… I’ve never felt anything like that.”

He smiled, leaning down to kiss her softly. “I told you I’d make you mine,” he murmured, his voice low and possessive. “And I meant it.” He stayed inside her, their bodies still connected, as they caught their breath together. The room was quiet except for the sound of their breathing, the air thick with the scent of their passion. And in that moment, she knew she was his—completely and utterly his.

They lay entangled in the aftermath, the sheets tangled around sweat-slick skin. The room was quiet save for their ragged breathing. After a moment, Lando turned to gaze at her, still looking slightly astonished. “You’re real,” he murmured. “I’ve waited so long to have you here, like this.”

She let out a shaky laugh, her hand resting on his chest. “Didn’t think I’d give in, did you?”

He brushed a thumb over her lower lip. “I hoped you would. No matter how much you pushed me away, I couldn’t imagine stopping.”

She met his eyes. “Why?”

“Because you’re everything.” His voice was soft, laced with sincerity. “I haven’t been able to get you out of my head for months. I can’t even remember what it was like not wanting you.”

Her cheeks warmed, and she allowed herself a rare moment of honesty. “You made it hard for me, you know,” she admitted quietly. “Staying away when you’re so… persistent.”

He exhaled a quiet chuckle, clearly remembering every time she’d laughed off his attempts or walked away. “You’re a damn expert at playing hard to get, though. You had me by the throat. I was basically begging.”

She smirked, eyes gleaming in the low light. “Still are,” she teased gently. “You’ll keep begging for more, right?”

His laugh turned into a low, contented hum. “Oh, definitely. But don’t worry.” He shifted, rolling partly on top of her again, the warmth of his body reminding her just how good it felt. “I’m not letting you slip away this time.”

She didn’t resist as he captured her lips once more. The tension was different now—still electric, but edged with relief. They no longer had to pretend or play a cat-and-mouse game. The slow burn had finally exploded into a full-blown blaze, and there was no going back to careful distance.

Eventually, they drifted into a comfortable silence, bodies exhausted from the release of so many months of pent-up desire. She nestled into the crook of his arm, listening to the steady thump of his heart. Lando, seemingly unable to stop touching her, lazily traced patterns on her arm with his fingertips. Each brush of his skin still sent a small thrill through her, a reminder of what had finally happened between them.

In a half-drowsy state, she heard him murmur, “I can’t believe this is real.”

She let out a soft laugh, pressing her face into his shoulder. “I guess I teased you long enough.”

He sighed contentedly. “Too long,” he teased back, though his tone was affectionate. “But it’s worth it. You’re worth it.”

Warmth spread through her at his words. She pressed a kiss to his collarbone, ignoring the tiny voice inside her that warned of complexities and future uncertainties. For now, all that mattered was that the months of dancing around each other had led them here, to a tangled bed in a London flat, hearts still racing from the aftershock of passion.

The game they’d played was over, the final move sealing a mutual surrender. But as she looked up and met his eyes, she realized something else: a new chapter had begun. One where neither of them had to hide their attraction or maintain a careful distance. One where he didn’t have to pine and she didn’t have to tease—unless, of course, they both wanted to for the fun of it.

She gave him a sly smile. “I’m guessing you don’t regret staying in London this weekend.”

His quiet laugh rumbled in his chest. “Not even a little bit.” Then he leaned in, brushing his lips to her ear. “But don’t think I’m done yet. After all these months? We’ve only just started.”

Her breath caught, a new wave of heat coursing through her. “So show me,” she whispered.

He didn’t hesitate. With a wicked grin, he drew her closer, tangling their limbs again under the dim glow of early morning light. Their laughter faded into soft groans and murmured confessions, and everything else—every worry, every reason she’d ever had to say no—melted away.

In that moment, the only thing that mattered was the closeness they’d finally earned, and the thrilling promise that this was just the beginning.

[madamechrissy]

Meddle About

Choso art is from @aransmind omg all their art is so delicious 😩😩😭 go follow themm

pairings- Tattoo Artist Choso x F! Reader

summary- After a bad breakup, on a whim you decide to go get a tattoo!! You remember Choso from college, he was so hot and mysterious but the two of you never talked. Now, he just happens to be the artist of the shop you randomly walk into. And you quickly learn- tattoos make you horny. Whoopsie!!

warnings- this chap- fingering, talking you through it, soft dom Choso, he's tasting you and telling you to be a good girl, mentions of past crushes in college hehe, why can't I do anything without plot?

Gonna be drabble style chaps 🫶🫶🖤

part one - part three

part two

Touch me, Choso - Did you just say that!?

Choso's leaning over you now, fingers brushing down your cheek, down to the curve of your neck, watching your eyes dilate, your breasts rising and falling with each quickened breath. "Touch you, hmm? Where, here?"

His fingers dance across your collarbone, thumb slipping along the delicate bones there, lips a breath from yours - you taste his breath, sweet like some sugary concoction, mixed with a hint of weed, intoxicating as his violet eyes study you. You bite your lower lip, a hand slipping to grip his wrist.

"Maybe a little lower?" You murmur, and he smiles just a bit - lips quirking at the corners.

"Lower, hmm?" Choso stands then, and you curse internally, eyes shutting, before gasping as you feel him clean the tattoo in progress. He's delicate as he wipes away the excess ink, before coating it and wrapping it.

"Oh, it's stinging a bit." You say softly, leaning up on your elbows and looking down at your thigh.

"Let it sit for a while," he says softly, and you think maybe you've lost it, the tattooed part of your thigh stinging just a bit as he presses the plastic wrap, eyeing you under long lashes, before slipping his fingertips along your inner thigh, watching it tremble. "Did you want me to touch you here?"

You nod, he chuckles at you, one arm braced on the side of your head, the other hand slipping higher, your heart is pounding in your ears as the anticipation of his slow hand teases you. "Higher."

"Higher? What do we say when we want something, hmm?" He is not exactly the shy boy you remember, he's self assured in his assumption, when his thumb tugs just a bit on the elastic of your panties, soaked already. "You're not answering... what do we say?"

"Please?" He moans softly, while your hand slips up his chest, feeling the strong muscles under the soft black band tee, when his thumb brushes your clit over your panties, making you cry out. "Mnh!"

"Here, pretty?" You nod quickly, he acts as if he doesn't wanna slide right inside your cunt, feeling it's heat, the sticky damp fabric coating his fingers again, pressing harder until he finds your clit over that fabric, feeling it twitch for him as your eyes dart to his lips.

"Please, m-more," your little breathy whisper almost ends his resolve, he slips under the waistband of them now, teasing your slit bare, feeling even more wetness pouring, your eyes get lidded as you look so pretty for him. "Ngh! there, please,"

"You're such a good girl now, why couldn't you be good while I was working, hmm?" He murmurs, running circles on your clit as the sounds of your soppy cunt echo in his quiet tattoo shop, scattered with art all over the walls, you errantly wonder if it's his, but all thoughts are forced from your brain when his lips nearly brush yours. "This what you wanted?"

"Want more," you say, kissing him then, when he hitches a thigh up so he can sink a finger in your soppy little hole, groaning as he feels your gummy walls gripping him. "Ah!"

"Fuck... do you taste that good all over?" He asks gently, kissing your lips, cool metal of his black lip ring pressing into the plush of yours, he pulls back and runs his tongue along the seam of your lips, moaning now. "You do."

"Hmm..." You're kissing him deeper, his tongue ring clicks your teeth as his finger curls just fucking right, tapping that spongy spot in your walls, making you gasp. "Oh!"

"There it is," he whispers, kissing across your neck, littering your throat with bites, soft enough not to mark you, but tearing just enough to leave a sweet ache. "You're so tight, hmm honey? Can you take two?"

"Y-yes, I can - mnh!"

"So wet, that all from the tattoo?" He teases, string of saliva evaporating between your lips as he swirls his finger around your entrance, tugging your underwear down then. He slips them to your ankles, two fingers now stretching you out, and your only answer is a moan, your hips arching up. "Asked a question honey."

"Not just the tattoo, but... mnh... part of it being... this wet..." you hear it, the squelching as his two long fingers insert themselves, and your cunt is drooling down all his black rings, dripping to the black leather seat you're laying on, your words trail off, pathetic from those fingers stretching you out.

"You're making a mess," he tuts his tongue, leaning over you and kissing your lips again, your hands slip around under his shirt, feeling the strong muscles of his back. "You're gonna have to clean this up, honey."

"Huh? Mnh!" You're cut off by him slipping his two fingers out, leaving you wanting, blinking and whining at the emptiness, when he slips his two fingers in your mouth.

"Suck," his order is firm, everything about Choso you thought in these moments have proven false, it's a sexy, dominating tone, so husky and deep. His eyes go black as he watches you sucking his tattooed fingers, the sight of your cheeks hollowing far too much for him. "Good girl, you can listen."

"Please, more," you're whining, desperately, and he smiles just a bit, kissing your sweet arousal off your lips, dying to bury his face between your thighs. But, not just yet. "Choso..."

"Do I need to make you cum so we can finish the outline?" He whispers, fingers brushing up and down your slit, your nipples press against your top, making him throb for you. He'd always thought you were pretty but fuck, he's teasing you and watching your eyes roll back, your cunt grips his two fingers so tight, when he curls back up at the spot that has you arching. "Will you stay still after?"

"Mm-hmm," he chuckles a bit at how cute you are. "Promise."

"Mmm, then go ahead," he leans forward, veins bulging out of his forearm as he angles it just so, and his other hand enwraps at the nape of your neck. "Cum for me, pretty."

You're done when he scissors his fingers in and out of your cunt, truly making a mess, while he just watches you, intently - so much behind the gaze you're as intrigued as you are dizzy, he curls them just so and presses the heel of his hand on your clit as he does, and all the pressure in your tummy builds until it releases. You're not quiet when you cum, he watches it all avidly, lips parted as you cling to him, nails leaving crescents along the strong muscles of his back.

"That's it, you're doing so good for me," he whispers, urging you on, when your cries are drank into his mouth, he's trembling just a bit as he feels your cunt just spasming around his fingers, gushing down, when he eases them out with a suctioned pop. He sucks you off his fingers, groaning as you watch him, face fucked out from that.

"Holy fuck..." you've surely lost it, watching him suck your cunt off him, pussy aching from just his fingers stretching you out. Your thighs are shaky, breaths coming in little pants, when he tilts your chin up, lips glossy from your cunt.

"Now, can we get the outline done? If you sit still I'll let you cum again, all right?" You're blinking - you're dumb from him right now, your breakup that's had you completely fucked up is far back, all you can think of is cumming for him again. "Messy," he slips your soaking panties back up, and goes back to acting professional, grabbing your thigh again. "You gonna be a good girl?"

"Maybe." He chuckles, as your disoriented mind runs - is this like normal for him!? Is he fine, unaffected? You're quiet, thigh burning with that pleasant pain, making the tensing in your tummy come back as he works the needle over you, you try to calm your breaths down, wondering then.

"Feel good?" He asks softly, and you nod, hands resting over your lap as you try not to move, to shift your hips and whine for more.

"Choso... college. Why didn't we ever..."

"We did kiss, once. But... you never remembered I guess." He murmurs suddenly, a pink along his cheeks like he hadn't just fingered you and tasted you.

"What!? We kissed! When?" He sighs, eyeing you for a moment, before going back to the black outline, angling his wrist just so to follow the curve of your thigh.

"It was a party one night, you were... god you were smashed, and you just... kissed me. I took you home thanks to your friend telling me where your dorm was, and put you to bed." You wrack your brain for the memory then, and he sighs. "It was a good kiss, for you being sloppy drunk."

"Tell me the story?" You lay back down, staying still for him, and he brushes his fingers across your inner thigh, remembering.

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