#hypnotherapy for performance

[healingwithhypnotic]

Unlock Peak Performance with Hypnotherapy for Corporates and Athletes

Unlock your potential with hypnosis for performance—whether you're a corporate professional or an athlete. Hypnotherapy can help enhance motivation, confidence, and mental strength, allowing you to overcome challenges like public speaking fears, stress, and performance anxiety. Tailored programs for business executives and athletes focus on boosting productivity, creativity, and resilience.

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Learn how to manage stress, boost confidence, and unlock your full potential!

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Abundant Living Coaching & Hypnosis

Abundant Living Coaching & Hypnosis empowers entrepreneurs and professionals to overcome anxiety, boost confidence, and enhance work-life balance through personalized hypnotherapy and mindset coaching. Our proven 5C framework helps clients unlock their full potential and reach success.

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Rediscover Joy in Your Job with Hypnosis for Workplace Stress Relief

If you’re feeling overwhelmed and disconnected from your job, hypnotherapy could be the key to reigniting your passion for work. Hypnosis is a powerful tool that can help you manage workplace stress, boost your focus, and improve overall well-being. By tapping into the subconscious mind, you can develop healthier coping mechanisms, set boundaries between work and personal life, and even enhance your motivation and productivity.

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Need help to be empowered for you to transform powerfully and purposefully in your business and all areas of your life? Ruth Stuettgen, a Certified Inspired Spirit Coach, business coach, Hypnotherapist, branding Archetyping, speaker and InspiredwomanTV Host & Producer, and many more, can help you achieve your goals! Connect with her today!

[soldier-of-self]

Hypnotherapy Services: Unlock Your Mind's Hidden Potential!

Step into the incredible world of hypnotherapy services! Let's Dive into the magic of your mind, conquer fears, and boost confidence together! 🚀 Discover your true potential for lasting improvements! This really works! What is Hypnotherapy?… #HypnotherapyServices #MindMagic

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[please1mistress]

WARNING Flashing IMAGE and HYPNOTIC COVERT language

Inductions

Hypnosis, a fascinating and complex phenomenon, has captivated human interest for centuries. It's a state of focused attention, heightened suggestibility, and vivid fantasies. People often think of hypnosis as a deep sleep or unconsciousness, but in reality, it's more about a trance-like state where the individual is actually in heightened awareness of suggestion. Often used for therapeutic purposes, hypnosis can aid in various issues such as stress, anxiety, pain management, and certain habits like smoking. However, it's not a magical cure-all; its effectiveness varies from person to person.

Hypnosis can also be a form of entertainment, where stage hypnotists perform shows that demonstrate the power of suggestion. Despite its many applications, hypnosis remains a subject of debate among scientists and psychologists. Some view it as a powerful tool for mental health, while others caution against its potential to create false memories or its use in recovering memories, which is a controversial area within the field. It's important to approach hypnosis with a critical mind and understand that it's a complex interplay of psychological and physiological factors. If you're considering hypnotherapy, it's crucial to seek out a qualified and certified professional to ensure a safe and beneficial experience, someone like me.

You find yourself reading these words and as you read they seem to take on a life of their own, almost like magic. Your mind slows as you red larger more complex words and you may feel a soft tingle of arousal as you FOCUS on my words and feel dreamy. It's quite fascinating how the complexity of words can influence our cognitive processes. When we encounter larger, more intricate words, our brains need to work harder to decode the meaning, which can sometimes slow down your reading speed. This isn't necessarily a bad thing; it allows for deeper processing and understanding of the messages I am pushing softly into your mind. It's easy to relax and follow the words you read. It's easy to feel dreamy as your mind accepts that it wants to drop deeper.

Dropping deeper feels good, as you touch yourself and keep reading you can let go of any inhibitions or control. it's so easy to sink into a light trance, after all entering a light trance can be a simple, yet profound experience. It's a state where the conscious mind takes a step back, allowing the subconscious to surface and express itself more freely. This can happen during various activities that engage the mind in a repetitive, rhythmic manner, such as listening to music, meditating, or even during a long drive. In this state, people often find their thoughts flowing more smoothly, their creativity heightened, and their stress levels reduced. It's a moment of introspection and connection with the inner self that can provide clarity and insight. While in a light trance, the mind filters information differently, prioritizing internal dialogue and sensation, which can lead to a deeper understanding of one's thoughts and feelings. It's a natural and accessible state that can offer a respite from the hustle and bustle of daily life, and a gateway to greater self-awareness.

You are not even aware of how deeply into the trance you are, your fingers stroking your arousal for me as you read and feel a dreamy warmth spreading from your fingers into your whole body. Aware but unaware that you could stop at anytime, but you don't want that, you want to keep reading and sinking deeper and deeper as you feel arousal growing more for me. It just feels so good to give in, the very act of giving, whether it's time, resources, or kindness, has a profound impact on your well-being. It transcends the material value of what is given and touches the very essence of human connection. When you give, you're not just passing on a physical item or a piece of advice; you're sharing a part of yourselves, creating a bond that reflects your shared humanity. This act of generosity can be deeply satisfying, as it often brings joy and relief to others, which in turn enriches your own life. It's a beautiful cycle of positivity that reinforces the best parts of being a good submissive.

Giving has been shown to activate regions in our brain associated with pleasure, social connection, and trust, creating a warm glow effect. It's no wonder that the phrase "it's better to give than to receive" has resonated through the ages. This isn't just a moral suggestion; it's backed by science. Studies have found that giving to others can increase our happiness more than spending money on ourselves. This might be because when we give, we feel a sense of purpose and meaning, knowing that we've made a positive impact on someone else's life.

Moreover, the act of giving doesn't have to be grandiose to be effective. Small acts of kindness can ripple outwards and have unforeseen positive consequences. Just as a pebble creates waves when thrown into a pond, a simple gesture of generosity can spread far and wide. It's the intention behind the act that matters most, the recognition that even the smallest offering can make a significant difference.

In a world that often emphasizes individual achievement and accumulation of wealth, it's important to remember the value of generosity. It's a reminder that our interconnectedness is a source of strength, not weakness. By giving, we acknowledge that we are part of a larger community, one that thrives when its members support each other. It's a powerful acknowledgment that we are not alone in our journey through life, and that by helping others, we are also helping ourselves.

So, when we say it feels good to give in, it's not just about the act of giving up or surrendering; it's about embracing the joy of generosity. It's a celebration of the human spirit and its capacity for compassion and empathy. Giving is an affirmation that, despite the challenges we face, there is goodness in the world, and we have the power to contribute to it, one act of kindness at a time. It's a simple truth that enriches our lives and the lives of those around us, creating a legacy of goodwill that can endure beyond our own existence. Indeed, to give is to receive a gift of immeasurable value—the happiness and satisfaction that come from knowing we've played a part in making the world a little brighter.

You want to give in more deeply, message me and tell me how much you need deeper brainwashing NOW!

[pucksandpower]

Hypnotized

Lando Norris x hypnotherapist!Reader

Summary: in which Lando becomes intimately familiar with the professional (and not so professional) benefits of hypnosis

Warnings: 18+ content, dubious consent (though Lando is very much a willing participant), and temporary mindbreak

You lean back in your plush leather chair, taking a sip of tea as you look over the notes for your next client. Lando Norris — a rising star of Formula 1, seeking help to improve his performance on the track. You’ve worked with elite athletes before, but there’s something about this case that intrigues you.

The door opens and he strides in, radiating youthful confidence. “Ms. Y/L/N, thanks for seeing me on such short notice.��

“Please, have a seat Lando. And call me Y/N,” you reply with a warm smile. “I have to admit, when your team reached out, I was surprised. Most drivers come to me later in their careers when the mental side gets tougher.”

He settles onto the couch across from you. “Yeah, well, I’m a bit of an overachiever,” he grins cheekily. “I figure I should get every advantage I can while I’m young.”

You can’t help but be charmed by his boyish cockiness. “Fair enough. So, walk me through what’s bringing you here. What are you hoping hypnotherapy can do for you?”

Lando scratches his head, suddenly looking a bit sheepish. “To be honest, I’m not totally sure? The team psychologists have helped with some stuff like visualization and confidence building. But I feel like there’s still … I don’t know, another level I can’t quite tap into?”

He pauses, cheeks reddening slightly. “I may have also heard some … rumors about hypnosis helping drivers get, uh, in the zone in a different way.”

You raise an eyebrow at that. “I see. And what sort of zone were you hoping to reach exactly?”

“Just, you know, being totally focused. Primed to perform at my absolute peak,” he answers quickly, not meeting your eyes. “Eliminate any lingering doubts or hesitation.”

“Mmmhmm,” you murmur, watching his fidgeting increase. It’s clear there’s more to this, perhaps some adolescent fantasy driven by locker room talk. You decide to have a bit of fun drawing it out.

“Well, maximum focus and confidence under extreme stress is certainly one of the primary benefits of hypnotherapy for athletes. Though of course, there can be … other effects depending on the suggestions given.”

Lando’s eyes flick up to meet yours, pupils dilating with obvious intrigue. “Other effects? Like what?”

You shrug lightly. “Oh, lowered inhibition, increased susceptibility to instructions, compulsions to obey ...” You trail off, letting the implications hang in the air. “But I’m sure whatever rumors you’ve heard are just overblown exaggerations.”

His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows hard. “R-right, of course. So, uh, how would we go about getting me in that totally focused zone?”

You can scarcely suppress a grin — he’s hooked now, curiosity and hormones getting the better of him. “Well, first we’d need to get you in a deeply relaxed state, open and receptive to suggestions. I’d start with some deep breathing exercises, maybe have you focus on the sound of my voice ...”

Unconsciously, Lando’s eyelids grow heavier as you speak in a low, soothing tone. “Breath slowly deepening, muscles going deliciously loose and limp ...”

He blinks hard, shaking his head minutely. “Sorry, what was I saying?”

“Don’t worry,” you assure him. “A little taste of just how quickly you might respond. Hypnotic states can sneak up quite easily when you’re not prepared for them.”

Lando swallows again, but there’s no hiding the interest smoldering in his eyes now. “That’s … good to know. So, uh, once I was in this state, what sort of suggestions would you give?”

You lean forward, holding his gaze. “Anything you need, darling. Perhaps prompts to fill your mind with dizzying focus — a white hot, all-consuming need to push every limit and achieve perfection. Or maybe something to strip away distractions and doubts, leaving you deliciously pliant and desperate to follow instructions without hesitation ...”

His breath catches as ripples of arousal play across his features. You’ve dangled the bait thoroughly now, time to reel him in.

“Of course, that’s all just theoretical for an athlete like you,” you continue lightly. “I’m sure you’d only want suggestions tailored for pure professional benefit.”

Lando opens his mouth, then closes it, visibly wrestling with indecision. Finally, he sits up straight, jaw setting in boyish determination.

“Actually … I think maybe exploring some of those other effects could be useful too. You know, for full preparation.”

You bite back a smile — he’s all bravado again, feigning nonchalance. How delicious.

“Well, if you’re certain. We should probably start with a simple induction and suggestion, see how you respond.”

Rising from your chair, you cross the room to where he sits, movements slow and deliberate. Lando’s eyes are immediately drawn to the sway of your hips, the rapid rise and fall of his chest betraying his arousal.

“Just relax and look into my eyes ...” you murmur, voice dropping an octave as you hold up a pendant and begin tracing figure eights before his face. “Let your mind follow the path of the pendulum, breathing slowly … in and out ...”

His pupils blown wide, Lando is soon leaning back bonelessly, mouth slightly ajar. A few dazed blinks is all the resistance he offers as you trail featherlight touches down his arm.

“There’s a good boy … nice and open, isn’t it? Let everything else fall away except the need to please me.”

A shudder wracks his frame and you can see the tendons in his neck straining, fighting the compulsion already worming into his psyche. But his eyes remain locked on yours, drowning in your control.

“I … I want to ...” he stammers helplessly.

“Shhhh,” you soothe, bending closer so that your lips nearly brush his ear. “You don’t need to worry about what you want anymore. That’s my choice now, understood?”

He gives a tiny nod and you feel a surge of heady power.

“Such a good boy. And to reward your obedience, you’re going to take off your shirt. Slowly ...”

There’s a moment of tension, then Lando raises trembling hands to grasp the hem of his shirt. You can see the mottled flush spreading across his torso as inch by inch it’s revealed to you. His breath is coming in ragged pants by the time the shirt drops to the floor, chest heaving with mingled want and shame.

“Very nice,” you practically purr. “I can see you’re already feeling the compulsions seeping in. Should we make them … deeper?”

His head bobs dumbly and you laugh, low and throaty.

“That’s what I thought. Now, lay back for me ...”

Lando immediately obeys, body going pliant and helpless. You pull over an ottoman, sitting so you can gently straddle his hips, relishing the hitch in his breath as your heat settles against him.

“You’re going to do absolutely everything I say without hesitation or doubt,” you whisper harshly, watching him shudder. “Any instructions, no matter what they may be, you’ll follow with desperate enthusiasm.”

He whimpers, hips twitching upwards in mute plea. Grasping his jaw firmly, you force his eyes to yours.

“This is for your own good, darling. We need to burn away every last shred of selfishness and pride so you can ascend to true, shattering focus. You understand, don’t you?”

“Y-yes … yes,” he slurs, already sinking deeper into degrading bliss.

You reward him with a slow, filthy grind of your hips and he cries out unabashedly. Everywhere your hands and mouth worship his skin, you can feel the tremors of arousal and surrender.

“That’s perfect,” you murmur against the hollow of his throat. “Now, I want you to strip the rest of the way ...”

Before the words have fully left your lips, Lando is frantically shucking his pants and boxers, whining as his flushed length bobs free. The brazen lust and need in his hooded eyes would be shocking from the bashful newbie you met earlier.

You give an approving hum, thrilling at how quickly your control has already remade him. One fingernail traces along rigid flesh and he bucks shamelessly into your touch.

“You’re being such a good boy. I think it’s time we really sealed this new role into your head. Imagine the most dizzying, overwhelming orgasm you’ve ever had, multiplied a hundredfold ...”

His eyes roll back, mouth open in a silent wail at just the suggestion. You grip him firmly, relishing the desperate whine that bursts from his lips.

“You’re going to come like that, harder than you ever dreamed. And as the lightning arcs of bliss engulf your entire being, all that pleasure will become inextricably entwined with an overwhelming need to obey my every whim ...”

Lando is panting and keening, hips pumping up into your tight fist. You can feel his body straining closer to that precipice, cords of muscle standing out in sharp relief. With a final brutal stroke, you growl the trigger words,

“Come for me, love!”

His back bows in a silent scream, mouth frozen in rapturous torment. You gentle him through each shuddering pulse, ensuring every layer of consciousness is saturated with soul-shattering ecstasy and the new compulsions you’ve locked within.

At last, he sags back to the couch, eyes glassy and unfocused. You bend close, lips caressing the damp hair at his temple.

“Tell me, darling, how does it feel to be remade into perfection?”

He blinks slowly, lips curving in a blissful smile. “I … I need to obey ...” he slurs dozily. “Please … use me however you desire ...”

You chuckle darkly, letting nails rake over his sensitized flesh and making him buck weakly. “Oh I will, lover. I’m going to take you to shattering new heights of surrender. You won’t be able to so much as enter the cockpit without shuddering need to please me foremost in your mind ...”

His only response is a quiet whimper, eyes already slipping shut in sated exhaustion, completely yours to reshape however you wish.

You settle back, excitement thrilling through you at all the delicious possibilities stretching ahead.

***

The roar of the crowd is deafening as you make your way through the paddock area towards the McLaren motorhome at the British Grand Prix. Fans press eagerly against the barriers lining the path, craning for a glimpse of their racing idols as they’re escorted by burly security guards.

You keep your head held high, unruffled by the frenzy of flashing cameras and shouted requests for autographs as you stride confidently alongside Lando.

He casts you a sidelong glance, the excited energy thrumming off him in waves. “Thanks for being here, Y/N,” he murmurs with a small, bashful smile. “Having you in my corner calms my nerves a bit.”

You reach out to give his arm a reassuring squeeze, warmth blooming in your chest. “Of course, there’s nowhere else I’d rather be.” Your voice takes on a slightly teasing lilt as you add, “Besides, this way I can provide my … specialized services should you require them before the race.”

A dusky flush steals across Lando’s cheeks at your words, his eyes darkening in a way that sends a curl of heat unfurling low in your belly. Before he can respond, one of the crew members is ushering you both towards a nondescript door.

With a nod of thanks, Lando pushes through the door, allowing you to enter the modestly appointed room first before following and securing it behind you.

The space is small yet functional — equipped with a well-worn sofa situated before a large television displaying timing data, along with an armchair tucked into the corner. Your gaze lands on the single bed shoved against the far wall and you suddenly find it difficult to swallow around the lump in your throat.

“Sorry about the mess,” Lando says almost sheepishly, running a hand through his chestnut locks. “I haven’t exactly had much time to tidy up.”

“Don’t worry about it,” you murmur distractedly, already hyper-aware of the thick tension charging the air between your bodies, crackling like a livewire in the small distance separating you.

Lando opens his mouth as if to speak, then seems to think better of it, shuffling his feet almost bashfully. You can practically see the thoughts whirring at a million miles an hour behind his furrowed brow, weighing him down as nerves and doubts threaten to shatter his hard-won focus.

Without a word, you close the distance between you, cradling his face in your hands to force him to meet your gaze.

“Let me help you,” you breathe, your voice low and gentle yet laced with that commanding tone he can never seem to resist.

He immediately melts into your touch, the taut lines of stress slowly easing from his features. “Please,” he whispers back, every inch of nervous energy and kinetic vibration seeming to melt from his body as your thumbs trace soothing patterns across the sharp planes of his cheekbones. “Need you to clear my mind.”

A soft, fond smile curves your lips at the naked entreaty in his tone. This man — so cocky and confident in most aspects of life, yet so unguarded and sweetly vulnerable when it’s just the two of you.

You continue your tender ministrations, watching in rapt fascination as his eyes drift shut and his breathing grows steady and even. When you finally speak, your words are low and hypnotic, the timbre of your voice wrapping around Lando like a warm blanket ushering him down, down into delicious oblivion.

“That’s it, darling … let yourself sink deeper with each breath. Shut out all the noise and distractions — everything except my voice guiding you. Focus on the rise and fall of your chest, the gentle thump of your heartbeat … allow your body to grow heavy and pliant as you let me take the lead ...”

He shivers slightly, yielding fully to your hypnotic trance with a soft, contented exhalation. In this blissed-out state, his features are lax and utterly at peace, the hard lines of tension and worry melting away until he looks almost cherubic.

“There you are,” you can’t help but murmur in approval, trailing your fingertips along the sharp line of his jaw. “So perfect and calm for me.” Your gaze rakes over the long fans of his lashes fanning across his cheekbones, the full pout of his lips parted ever so slightly on deep, even breaths. He looks utterly debauched, despite the fact that you’ve barely even touched him yet.

Unable to resist such temptation any longer, you bend to capture Lando’s lips in a slow kiss — gentle at first, then deepening into something more heated, more ravenous as your tongue sweeps into the heat of his mouth to tangle with his own.

He remains completely pliant beneath your wandering hands and questing mouth, body thrumming with blissful surrender as you map every lush inch of him.

Finally, breathless and flushed, you tear your mouth from his with a soft groan of regret. “God, darling … what you do to me ...” you murmur, trailing hot, openmouthed kisses along the stubbled line of his jaw, down the taut cords of his neck. “Just seeing you like this, so gorgeous and willing … falling so deep for me … I could take you right here like this and you’d let me, wouldn’t you?”

You scrape your teeth over that sensitive patch of skin just below his ear and he trembles almost violently, a low whine spilling past his lips even as his head lolls back to allow you better access. When you press an openmouthed kiss to his wildly fluttering pulse point, his voice comes out low and syrupy sweet.

“Please, Y/N … please ...” he slurs in a breathy exhale, body arching reflexively into yours as his hands come up to clutch at your hips in a silent entreaty.

A frisson of lust races down your spine at his wanton plea, stoking the simmering ember of arousal into a roaring blaze. How quickly his mind has slipped into a glorious, aching haze of want and need for your touch.

You could so easily press your advantage right now — undress him with exquisite slowness, bend him over and take him in delirious new ways that would leave him utterly incoherent. The mental images alone are nearly enough to make you growl in feral possessiveness.

Somehow, you manage to retain a herculean thread of control, nuzzling against the heated skin of Lando’s neck as you press him gently yet insistently towards the bed until the backs of his thighs hit the mattress and he sinks onto the soft cotton sheets with a dazed exhale. His eyes are molten embers burning with naked want and trust as he gazes up at you, outright trembling with the effort of holding himself back from hauling you down on top of him.

Gently brushing a stray lock of hair from his brow, you settle yourself to straddle his lap, reveling in the delicious points of heated skin against skin where your bodies make contact through the thin barrier of your clothing. For an aching span of heartbeats, you drink in the sight of him — kiss-swollen lips parted on shallow pants, the tempting vee of his open shirt collar exposing just a tantalizing sliver of his smooth chest, hard planes of muscle rippling beneath tanned skin as he quivers with ill-restrained desire.

“Beautiful,” you husk in a low rasp, summoning every ounce of your rapidly waning willpower to force the words past the molten heat in your throat. “You are so fucking beautiful like this.”

Lando swallows thickly at the unadulterated lust and reverence saturating your tone, his throat bobbing convulsively. “You … you should see yourself,” he finally manages in a strained murmur. “You’re a goddess ...” His hands come up of their own volition to splay across the supple curves of your waist, tracing searing paths across your skin as if to memorize every lush dip and swell.

A throaty chuckle escapes you as you lean into his touch in shameless encouragement. “I could devour you in this moment and I’d still crave more.” Dipping your head to drag openmouthed kisses along the salty-sweet skin of his collarbone, you muse heatedly, “In fact, I’m tempted to lock that door and have you right here like the decadent treat you are.”

“God, yes ...” Lando outright groans at your words, hips arching up in a desperate, instinctual grind against yours that leaves you both shuddering at the sudden, intoxicating friction. His fingers curl into the soft flesh of your hips, pupil-blown eyes full of unrestrained need as he gazes up at you like you’re the answer to his every secret desire. “Please, Y/N … anything, just … need you.”

The reverent, naked pleading in his voice steals the breath from your lungs and you’re abruptly reminded of the singular responsibility you have — not just as his lover, but as the person he’s entrusted to guide and ground him when he’s spiraling.

Your mouth curves into an indulgent smile as you tenderly cradle his face in your palms, tapping into that core of composure and peace that helps tether you both in moments like this.

“In due time, my love,” you murmur, leaning in to pepper slow, lingering kisses across his brow, along the delicate skin beneath his eyes. You feel Lando physically sink back against the mattress with a soft exhalation as your tender ministrations lull him once more into a state of relaxation and receptivity — his mind clearing of everything but blissful focus on you and your touch.

“Remember why you’re here, and all the hard work that brought you to this moment,” you continue in a low, soothing murmur against his flushed skin. “You’ve poured your heart and soul into this dream, and now it’s time to reap the sweet fruit of your efforts. Leave behind all the doubts, all the fear and anxious energy that’s been holding you back.” Arching up on your knees, you gently resettle your weight so you’re seated flush against his core, waves of heat radiating between your joined bodies in delicious waves with every motion and shallow breath.

“Let go of everything but my voice, my touch grounding you in this moment. This is your destiny, Lando — all you have to do is embrace it.” With your final murmured words, you seal the sentiment by slanting your mouth over his in a filthy, openmouthed kiss that quickly descends into pure, unbridled passion as he releases an unrestrained keen of surrender.

His arms come up to band around your waist, clutching you impossibly closer as if to merge your very beings into one searing point of euphoric light. You lose yourselves in the wet slide of tongue and teeth and racing heartbeats until the buzzing of Lando’s phone against the nearby nightstand finally jolts you from your haze of lust and need. For a suspended beat, you simply drink in the sight of him — debauched and beautifully wrecked in the best way possible, with slick lips parted around panting breaths and hair tousled in a riotous mess.

“Time?” Lando finally rasps, sounding as utterly gutted as you feel.

You force yourself to glance at the glowing numbers on his phone screen, steeling yourself against the surge of regret at having to end this delicious interlude. “Twenty minutes until you need to be in the garage,” you confirm with a heavy exhale.

With a low groan that goes straight to your core, Lando surges up to slant his mouth hungrily over yours once more in one last kiss goodbye before allowing you to carefully extract yourself from his lap. You both take a few moments to catch your breath and restore some semblance of outward composure, though your insides continue to feel like a lit match in a patch of dry tinder.

“Ready for this?” You arch a pointed brow at Lando as he pushes off the bed to put on his fireproofs and race suit with admirably steady hands, given how thoroughly unwound he had been mere moments ago.

He flashes you his trademark grin — though this time it holds an air of supreme confidence and purpose that sends a thrill racing down your spine. “Like you said … this is my destiny.” Pulling you close with one hand at the small of your back, he dips his head to murmur gratefully against your lips, “And you helped me find it today.”

With one final kiss that leaves you lightheaded, Lando turns to grab his water bottle and heads towards the door, every bit the consummate professional buckling down to handle the job at hand. You watch him go with a tender smile playing across your lips, filled with an irrational surge of pride at how far he’s come.

A few hours later, you’re holding your breath in the garage as Lando’s MCL38 comes screaming around the final turn and over the finish line — the checkered flag signaling his maiden victory at long last. From on top the podium, his elated gaze immediately finds yours through the throngs of people and hoisted champagne bottles.

The smile he bestows is so private and full of promise that warmth blossoms in your chest and your skin tingles deliciously in anticipation.

After the celebrations and press obligations have wound down, Lando nearly sprints off the track and back into the paddock area, lifting you clean off your feet in a tight embrace when he reaches you. His lips move feverishly against your own, words tumbling out in a reverent exhale barely audible over the noise of the crowd.

“Thank you, thank you … I couldn’t have done it without you. God, I love you so much ...”

And in that perfect moment — drunk on the roar of the crowd, the giddy thrill of victory, and the smoldering promise in the depths of Lando’s eyes — you’re already mentally preparing to give him the most mind-blowing reward imaginable.

***

The champagne is still buzzing through your veins, lending an extra fizz of exhilaration to the crackling charge in the air as you hastily key into your hotel suite hand-in-hand with Lando.

No sooner has the door clicked shut behind you than he’s on you in a searing tangle of heat and desire — mouth hot and insistent, fingers skating across every bare inch of exposed skin as if he’s a man dying of thirst and you’re the last oasis for miles.

“Fuck, Y/N ...” he rasps reverently against the fevered skin of your neck, pressing a hot, openmouthed kiss to your wildly fluttering pulse. “You’re incredible, so bloody perfect.” His hands roam hungrily, deftly stripping you of layer upon layer of clothing until you’re left deliciously bare before his molten gaze. “Let me worship you properly, yeah? God knows you deserve it after today.”

A tremor of need races through you at his naked desire, amplified tenfold by the molten timbre of Lando’s rough, lust-thickened voice. Without breaking eye contact, you hook your fingers through his belt loops and begin walking him back towards the lavish bedroom, relishing the sharp inhale he sucks through his teeth at your commanding confidence.

There’s a practiced, sensual arch to your spine as you work the tails of his crisp button-down free from the waistband of his trousers, taking your sweet time to pop each individual button until the smooth, tanned expanse of his torso is laid bare.

Warm fingertips trail an achingly slow path up the defined ridges of his abdomen as you drink in the sight of him — pupils blown wide with barely restrained want and that delicious lower lip caught between his teeth as his chest rises and falls with shallow stuttering pants.

“Is this what you want, darling?” You murmur silkily, palming him through the rapidly tenting fabric of his pants and delighting in the strangled whine that punches from his lips at the contact. His hands fly up to clutch convulsively at your hips, gripping with bruising force as if you’re his only lifeline in a raging sea of lust and sensation.

“Yes … please,” he forces out on a ragged exhale, body practically thrumming with desperation as you continue to work him with languid strokes while rocking your hips in a slow, sensual grind against his throbbing need.

The headiness of having this confident man quivering and needy at your touch sends a heady surge of possessive satisfaction coursing through you.

“Well, since you asked so nicely ...”

With a decadent hum, you deftly pop the button of Lando’s pants and drag the zipper down in one smooth motion, allowing his rigid cock to spring free at last, flushed and straining obscenely. You swipe your thumb through the pearlescent bead of precome gathered at the swollen tip, making his hips judder with desperate rolls at the stimulation.

“Y/N … fuck, I need … need your mouth ...” Lando grits out, tangling his fingers in your hair with a barely restrained growl.

You can’t help the low, sultry chuckle that spills past your lips at his feverish plea. “So impatient,” you tut, even as you sink gracefully to your knees before him, trailing openmouthed kisses along the hard ridges of his abdomen. “But you’ve been such a good boy for me lately, I suppose I can reward you.”

Another punched-out curse fractures the air as Lando’s head tips back on a low groan at the first hot lick of your tongue up the length of his rigid shaft. You take your sweet time working him over until his entire body is trembling with the effort of holding himself in check, fingers clenched white-knuckle tight in your hair.

“Look at you, so pretty for me,” you purr at him from beneath your lashes. “I wonder how quickly I could have you coming apart completely on my tongue.”

A broken, desperate whine escapes Lando at your words. “Fuck … I’m not gonna last,” he warns through gritted teeth.

With a final swirl of your tongue around the swollen crown of him, you pull off with a lush, obscene pop. “Don’t you dare hold back for me,” you murmur, voice dripping wanton sin as you tighten your grip at the base of his throbbing length to stave off the mounting waves of his building release. “I want to taste every … last … drop.”

The broken whine that tears itself from Lando’s throat quickly warps into a strangled shout of ecstasy as you hollow your cheeks and sink back down to take his aching cock as far as you can. He outright sobs your name over and over as you relentlessly work him undone with hollowed cheeks and swirls of your talented tongue — at this point he’s putty in your hands, helpless to do anything other than clutch at you and shatter apart.

You pull back with a filthy, slurping noise just as the first hot ropes of milky white spurt from his slit, painting your tongue and lips with thick, viscous streaks. A guttural groan rumbles up from his chest at the shamelessly lewd sight, cock giving one final twitch against your lips as you swallow greedily, lapping and sucking every musky drop from his overstimulated flesh.

His knees nearly buckle at the over-the-top eroticism of it all, hands knotting tighter in your hair as if the grounding points of contact are all that’s keeping him anchored to this mortal plane.

Only once you’ve thoroughly wrung him dry with your mouth and tongue do you sit back on your heels, swiping the back of your hand across your swollen, well-used lips to clean away the remnant beads of his climax. Each breath Lando sucks into his heaving lungs is like molten fire in his tortured chest, his pupils still dilated as he gazes down in awe and not a small amount of reverence at where you’re tucked so demurely between his parted thighs.

“Bloody fucking hell, love,” he rasps around a breathy, disbelieving puff of laughter. “C’mere, lemme return the favor … I need to taste you in the worst way.”

His words go straight to your rapidly tightening core, sending a fresh gush of slick arousal pooling between your thighs. You allow him to haul you up by your elbows and press you into the plush mattress, surrendering to his hot, open-mouthed kisses and seeking hands as he divests you completely of your last shreds of clothing.

When his tongue finally finds your drenched center, you keen high and helpless in the back of your throat. “Oh god, Lando … yes, just like that ...”

Lando answers your breathless encouragement by burying his tongue deeper into your grasping heat with a satisfied groan. The wildly intimate stretch and stimulation of his clever licks and kitten flicks against your swollen bud quickly has you squirming and thrashing against the mattress in a glorious, overstimulated daze.

All you can do is pant and whimper encouragements, fingers tangling unconsciously in his thick chestnut locks as you rock yourself shamelessly into his mouth.

Just when you think the maddening coil of ecstasy winding tighter and tighter deep in your core can’t possibly grow any tighter, Lando slips two long fingers inside your slick, fluttering entrance with a guttural groan of satisfaction. The fullness of the dual sensations instantly has you seizing up all over, back arching off the bed as he works you over with sure, steady strokes.

“Oh fuck, fuck me … Lando, you feel … so g-good, ungh!” The inarticulate stream of praise and curses rapidly devolves into broken moans as he relentlessly pistons his fingers in and out, strumming insistently against that spongy cluster of nerves with each punishing thrust. You’re quickly rendered mindless, nothing but a writhing, desperate bundle of raw need and want with every nerve alight at his exquisite touch.

When Lando’s lips finally close over your pulsing clit and suckle hard, your entire world shatters into stardust with the force of your climax. A hoarse shout rips from deep in your chest as the coil within you finally detonates in waves of dizzying, toe-curling pleasure that seem to go on and on and on. Lando works you through it all with his plush mouth and tireless fingers, lapping up the honeyed rush of your release like a man dying of thirst.

For several long, blissful moments, the only sounds are your mingled gasps and pants for air as you float hazily down from your high. Lando’s lips trail scorching paths along the inside of your trembling thighs, nuzzling and nipping at sensitive flesh before finally lifting his head to grace you with that familiar adoring look that never fails to make your heartbeat trip.

“Look at the mess you’ve made, love,” he drags his index finger through the slick mess coating his chin and lips. With a blatantly filthy leer that sends a shiver of fresh arousal cascading down your spine, he slips the digit into his mouth and sucks it clean with a rumbling groan of satisfaction. “Delicious.”

You’re still totally wrecked and incoherent from your release, every nerve in your body humming and jangling in the aftermath like overstimulated livewires. A punched-out moan manages to escape you at his brazen obscenity as your hips lift off the bed in an instinctual, needful grind. “Inside me. Need y-you inside ...”

Lando rises over you in one fluid, graceful motion, hips slotting effortlessly between your splayed thighs as he brackets your face between his large palms, drinking you in hungrily. “God, look at you — you’re fucking glorious like this, wrecked and desperate for me,” he murmurs in a low rasp, cock dragging slickly through your sopping folds to nudge insistently at your entrance. “How do you do this to me, huh? Break me apart so effortlessly then have me begging on my knees for more of you ...”

With that, he bottoms out in one smooth, torturous glide — the exquisite, familiar fullness stealing your breath and sending stars bursting across your vision at the electrifying feeling of being stuffed so deliciously deep. You wrap your legs high around his taut waist, ankles locking needfully as you roll your hips in frantic little circles seeking any kind of friction.

“Oh god, Lando … move, please … need you to move, it hurts so fucking good ...”

He answers your pleading moans with a soul-scorching kiss, lips and tongue consuming you in delicious, velvet heat as he sets a ruthless, punishing pace, spearing into your clenching depths with all the force and stamina that makes him such a world-class athlete. You match him thrust for thrust, your cries swallowed by his plundering mouth as the delicious drag and slap of skin against skin fills your senses.

“I’ll never get enough,” Lando grits out between breathy curses. His teeth find purchase at the dip of your neck, sending a starburst of sensation and pain across your sensitized nerves that only compounds the haze of carnal bliss wrapping you in its searing embrace. “Could spend my life buried inside you like this and it still wouldn’t be long enough ...”

His words ignite something feral, darkly possessive in your core, an echoing howl of belonging and ownership that it feels like you’ve been careening towards since the very first time he surrendered to you in trance. With a carnal growl, you hook your ankles tighter, using your legs to flip Lando onto his back as you rise up to straddle his hips.

His eyes go comically wide before he’s grinding up into you with a gasp, grasping your hips hard enough to bruise as you set a punishing new rhythm.

“Say it again … tell me who you belong to.” Your voice is hoarse, burnished in equal parts wanton need and flinty command — you don’t care which one makes him shatter apart at the seams so long as he answers your order.

Lando immediately locks eyes with yours, gaze fever-bright and seeming to pierce straight into your very soul as he clamps his hands around your throat with delicious pressure. “You,” he groans without hesitation, the pads of his fingers flexing as your pulse throbs wildly beneath his touch. “You own me, down to my bloody bones.”

The reverent oath sends a surge of lust and possession searing through your bloodstream, stoking the incandescent heat pooling low in your belly to fever pitch once more. Your hips move in wild rolls, desperate and ragged as you ride him with reckless abandon. Lando keeps one hand locked at the juncture of your throat while the other skates up your side to palm your breast, rolling the peaked tip between calloused fingers.

“I can feel you getting close already, look at you … my perfect, filthy girl throwing herself at me like she needs nothing else but my cock splitting her apart,” he growls gutturally, his words and the punishing rhythm growing more and more erratic as your combined pleasure crests higher and higher.

Quite suddenly, Lando hooks his feet against the mattress and surges up to capture your lips in a sweltering, soul-devouring kiss as his hips somehow piston even faster into your desperately clenching depths. His name fractures and shatters around the seal of your kiss as your entire world liquefies into ribbons of rapture, ecstasy blotting out all coherent thought until every last shred of tension and want finally implodes in a supernova behind your navel.

Lando gasps against your lips as your release floods him, thick and scorching hot — wave after wave milking the most intense convulsions from his straining cock as his own orgasm shatters loose. You rock together through the shared obliteration of your mutual bliss until there’s nothing left but the gentle lapping of aftershocks and Lando’s thumb stroking idly along the racing pulse at the hollow of your throat.

When you finally manage to crack your eyes and focus on the beautiful wreck of a man sprawled boneless beneath you, the look of besotten awe on his features nearly takes your breath away all over again. Then his rueful chuckle rumbles up from deep in his chest, melting away the last smoldering embers of tension as he brushes a stray lock of damp hair back from your brow.

“What on earth am I going to do with you, love?” He murmurs, the hint of a smirk toying at the corner of his lips. “Now I’m permanently addicted.” He presses a lingering, searing kiss to your swollen mouth before pulling back to rest his forehead against yours. “Though I suppose there are worse fates.”

You answer his sentiment with a breathless chuckle of your own, tracing the lines of his face in an achingly tender caress as the last lingering flickers of passion slowly ebb and flow into deep, drowsy contentment. “Such are the spoils of victory,” you breathe fondly. “Though I suppose I should thank you for being such an … enthusiastic participant.”

“Mmm, I think I can manage that.” His eyes slip closed as he winds his arms around you to roll until you’re flush atop his chest, every supple inch of heated skin against skin and your legs tangled together in a sprawl. “You’ve ruined me,” he murmurs softly, reverently against your hair. “And I’ve never been more grateful for anything in my life.”

You hum serenely in agreement, nestling impossibly closer as Lando’s breathing evens out and you both begin to drift into a dozy haze of sated bliss. The warm, hypnotic lull of his heartbeat against your cheek and the delicious ache of well-used muscles is pure nirvana.

In this moment, suspended in time in the afterglow, you can scarcely fathom how you ever existed before Lando barreled into your life and ignited this intoxicating flame of desire, devotion, and bone-deep belonging between you.

His voice, already rough and worn velvet from your passionate exertions, breaks the contented silence once more as he nuzzles against your temple. “Stay with me tonight? God knows I could use a few more hours with you in my arms before we have to brave the real world again.”

A languid smile curves your lips at his soft plea, warmth blooming in your chest. “As if you even need to ask,” you murmur, punctuating the sentiment with a tender brush of your lips across the thundering pulse at the base of his throat. “I’m yours, remember? Any time and any place you’ll have me.”

Lando doesn’t respond further, simply tightens his arm around your waist as he hooks his chin over your head with a low, satisfied rumble.

With his name a breathless vow on your lips, you allow the bone-deep weariness of pure satisfaction to finally pull you under into peaceful oblivion beside the only man who will ever hold the keys to unraveling you so completely in return.

***

The pale moonlight filters through the gauzy curtains of Lando’s posh London flat, casting everything in an ethereal blue-silver glow as you burrow deeper into the plush duvet.

A lazy, spent sort of satisfaction permeates the air in the wake of your earlier lovemaking — though honestly, is there ever a time when you don’t feel utterly cherished and deliciously sated these days?

Lando’s arm is a warm, heavy brand across your waist, the solid plane of his chest pressed flush against your back. You can sense the steady thrum of his heartbeat mellowing into the deep, even cadence of slumber and make to slip out of his embrace, eager to make use of the en-suite facilities. But the moment you shift, his arm reflexively tightens, drawing you impossibly closer as he nuzzles his face into the crook of your neck with a low, sleepy noise of protest.

“Mmm … stay,” he mumbles groggily against your skin, voice still rough and sweetly wrecked from the way you had him crying out your name mere hours ago.

You huff a quiet laugh at his drowsy insistence, nosing affectionately at his tousled curls. “I’ll be right back, you insatiable thing,” you rasp, carefully extracting yourself from his octopus-like clutches to plant a lingering kiss to his slack, pillow-creased cheek. “Promise I’m not going anywhere without you.���

Lando grumbles something indistinct but doesn’t protest further, already slipping back into the lull of sleep with a final contented sigh muffled against the plush bedding. You take a moment to simply drink in the sight of him sprawled out so unguardedly �� all toned muscle and tousled chestnut curls, the crisp white sheets tangling artfully around his hips to offer tempting peeks of tanned skin and lean, powerful thighs.

He’s gorgeous like this, you muse with a soft smile, feeling that oh-so-familiar spark of possessive want begin to simmer low in your belly. A dizzying rush of affection and belonging surges through you as your gaze rakes over the starburst of reddened lovebites peppering his throat and shoulders from where you marked him as yours so enthusiastically earlier.

It’s hard to fathom that there was ever a time you considered your life remotely complete before Lando and his smoldering passion whirlwinded into your world.

Still, you force yourself to tear your eyes away from the alluring scene with a steadying breath, retreating to the en-suite with the promise to return hanging unspoken between you.

By the time you’ve padded back into the bedroom wrapped in one of Lando’s obscenely soft bathrobes, he’s shifted to sprawl across the centerline of the mattress, face half-buried in his pillow and one hand flung haphazardly above his head. The rakish sprawl of bedsheets and moonlight across his sculpted form renders him a vision of absolute debauchery and desire — not that you’d have him any other way.

You can’t resist ghosting your fingers in a featherlight caress along the hard ridges of his spine and the lean cords of muscle defining his broad shoulders, relishing the shiver that chases itself visibly across his skin. “You awake, darling?”

Lando grunts an affirmation, languidly cracking one eye to regard you through the tangled fringe of lashes fanning across his cheekbones. There’s a hint of wry amusement laced through the rough velvet of his voice when he speaks. “Was starting to worry you’d wandered off again without me.”

“Never,” you reply instantly, warmth threading through the simple avowal. Moving to settle in the vee of his splayed thighs, you trail a meandering path of openmouthed kisses along his lower back, nosing aside the rumpled sheet to expose the swell of his ass with deliberate intent. “You know I’m defenseless against this gorgeous body of yours.”

A low, approving rumble vibrates up from Lando’s chest at your blatant appreciation, his hips giving an unconscious, languid roll as your lips brush across the dimples at the base of his spine in a teasing caress. But then, quite suddenly, the boneless sprawl of his limbs seems to tense as a perceptible aura of hesitance permeates the desire charging the air between you.

You immediately feel the subtle shift in his energy, that jarring note of dissonance plucking disquietingly at your intuitive senses — the same ones that have always allowed you to tune into the deepest vibrations of the soul with preternatural clarity. Without pause, you abandon your sensual exploration of his body to settle beside him once more, cradling the sharp line of his jaw in your palm and wordlessly coaxing him to turn and meet your gaze.

“Hey … talk to me, love,” you murmur, the soothing tone of your voice blanketing the sharp edged undercurrent of uncertainty in its rich, soothing folds. “Where’d you go just now?”

Lando exhales a soft, humorless puff of breath, worrying his plush lower lip between his teeth in that adorable yet concerning tell of his whenever something is weighing on that mind.

For a long stretch, he studies your features in silence, the only sounds in the room the ambient thrum of the city beyond the flat’s walls and the occasional muted honk of a passing car in the night below. Just when you’re about to prompt him again, the words finally tumble out in a low, slightly self-conscious rush.

“You … you don’t take on other clients like me, do you?” You feel him tense further under your palm, discomfited energy practically vibrating off him in waves. “Not that I’m judging, honest! It’s none of my business what you do or who you see for work, but I just ...” He breaks off on a frustrated exhale, jaw ticking in that way that tells you he’s holding back a tidal wave of emotion beneath his placid surface.

A dawning realization begins to unfurl in your chest, intimately familiar with the root of Lando’s inner turmoil. This brilliant, sensitive, achingly beautiful man — the force on the racetrack who melts into the most sweetly vulnerable creature behind closed doors whenever you bestow him with the full force of your focused attention. Of course he would crave that intensity of focus, that promise of belonging solely to him in your most intimate embraces, no matter how irrational or paradoxical the notion seems from the outside looking in.

Slowly, carefully, you reach up to frame that beloved face between your palms, silently urging Lando to hold your unwavering gaze as the words he needs to hear spill forth in a low, resonant murmur.

“Do you remember when this first started between us? How completely you surrendered yourself to me in the most profound way?” You begin, watching his pupils slowly dilate and a nearly imperceptible tension begin to unwind from his shoulders at the timbre of your voice. “The absolute trust it takes to let someone delve that deep into the most sacred corners of your psyche … to share your fears, insecurities, and unvarnished essence without artifice?”

Lando swallows thickly, nodding once in a jerky affirmation as the words seem to bypass his conscious mind and resonate somewhere deeper. You card your fingers soothingly through his disheveled curls, allowing your touch to lull and ground him as you continue in that same low, hypnotic cadence.

“That depth of surrender and connection is not something that can simply be replicated or transposed onto others, Lando. What we have is singular. Untouchable.” You press your forehead to his, registering the faint hitch in his breath as you drink in every last nuance of his features. “My gift has always been to help unravel the truths someone tries to bury, follow the threads that tether the conscious mind to something vaster and more primal. But with you ...”

A low exhale ghosts across his parted lips as your thumb traces the sharp line of his cheekbone in an achingly tender caress. “With you, it was as if the universe aligned to allow me to shed every last shred of protection and pretense until there was nothing left but the purest vibration of my very essence resonating in time with yours. Do you understand?”

Lando’s gaze is a hazy swirl of naked emotion and trust, drinking in your every syllable with the desperate reverence of a man being offered the world’s greatest truth. “Like … like the truest version of ourselves was always there, simply waiting to recognize its other half,” he rasps, the words seeming to bypass his conscious faculties entirely as he remains held captive in the depths of your connection. “Two souls spilling into one another.”

“Precisely.” Your lips curve in the ghost of a smile, a bone-deep sense of belonging and contentment settling over you both like a well-worn hug. “In that moment, you became an inextricable part of me, and I of you. Something that profound doesn’t simply �� vanish, or dim, or lessen with time and distance.”

You allow the weighted truth of your decree to resonate between your joined bodies for a suspended heartbeat, cradling Lando’s face as if mapping every plane and angle with worshipful precision.

“I could help countless others access their potential or tap into dimly lit corners of their awareness,” you continue. “But there will only ever be one person to whom I belong in that elemental way. One person who will ever see this side of me and who lays the very fabric of their being bare without reservation.”

A tremulous exhalation shudders across Lando’s lips at the finality in your tone, as if every lingering filament of doubt or uncertainty has finally dissolved in the face of your avowal. One of his hands comes up to splay across the small of your back, fingers flexing and bunching the silky material of your robe in a desperate clutch as if you’re the last solid comfort in a churning sea.

When his eyes slip open once more, they’re practically luminescent with a naked heat that sends a delicious curl of answering want unfurling through your core.

“Show me,” he rasps, the simple entreaty laced with an edge of heart-stoppingly vulnerable need. “Please, Y/N …. I need to feel you completely.”

In the stillness that follows, the only sounds are your mingled exhales and the thunderous gallop of racing pulses filling the air with resonant verses of sin and worship. Then, with an instinctual roll of your hips, you’re slotting one toned thigh between Lando’s splayed legs and sealing your mouth over his in a filthy, searing kiss that instantly has his back arching off the rumpled sheets with a muffled groan.

There’s nothing tentative in the wanton slide of your lips and tongues, every flick and brush and gentle graze brimming with carnal intent and the unspoken promise to strip one another to the very marrow.

Lando surrenders to the sweet onslaught eagerly, hands skating across your body in frantic, searing paths until the belt of your robe finally falls away and he can palm the bare curves of your ass to grind you more fully against his rapidly stiffening length.

You break away with a sharp gasp at the delicious friction, mouth immediately seeking out the fevered juncture of Lando’s neck and shoulder to mouth searing patterns across the taut tendons there. “You want my gift?” You rasp against the thrumming pulse under your lips, rolling your hips in a languid, purposeful grind that drags the already swollen head of his cock through the slick evidence of your arousal with tantalizing friction.

Lando’s response is a low, breathless stream of curses and encouragements, blunt fingernails raking distractedly down the length of your spine in a way that sets every nerve alight with tingling sparks of pleasure-pain.

Allowing him to nip and suck intoxicating patterns across your collarbones, you dip your hand between your bodies until you can wrap your fingers around his rigid shaft, dragging the pads in a devastatingly slow glide from base to tip.

The groan that punches from Lando’s chest at your touch is guttural, hips pumping restlessly into the tight channel of your fist. “Fuck, yes … want all of you, every bloody inch ...”

His words seem to bypass your conscious mind entirely. You’re suddenly blisteringly aware of each and every point where your bodies join: the heated crush of his straining cock in your palm, the delicious friction of your slick folds catching and dragging against the cut grooves of his abdomen with each gyration of your hips, the teasing rasp of his calloused palms as they roam hungrily across your skin.

It’s as if Lando’s very being calls out to yours in an ancient tongue, rendering coherent thought utterly obsolete as you simply feel — the pulsing, cosmic certainty of your connection amplifying every tingling spark of friction and delirious drag of skin against skin until your entire world narrows to the joining of your shared potential cresting higher with each and every move.

“Now,” you grate out, vision whiting out as your climax detonates in a blinding supernova behind your navel — an ecstasy so transcendent that you’re certain it scorches across the very fabric of your soul. Your fingernails sink vicious crescent moons into Lando’s bicep as you arch against him with a keening cry.

“Y/N!” His hoarse shout fractures on a broken whine, muscles tensing as the first searing pulse of his orgasm floods your belly, joined soon by rich, viscous ropes of white heat that leave you both totally undone.

You simply clutch at each other through the relentless waves, Lando’s teeth sinking into the juncture of your neck and shoulder as if urging you to brand him irrevocably as yours.

When the explosive rapture finally begins to ebb, you both sag into the tangled bedding in a limp sprawl of sweat-slicked limbs and trembling aftershocks, chests heaving in perfect synchronicity as you cling to one another like lost mariners adrift in some fathomless sea.

You can’t even begin to discern where your consciousness begins and Lando’s ends — your very essences having merged so irrevocably that you simply exist as a singular vibration pulsing through the cosmos.

It takes several long, suspended moments for the concept of individual awareness to gradually seep back into the edges of your being, though even then it feels blasphemous to separate yourself from the soul-deep profundity of what you’ve just shared.

Finally, with a shuddering breath, you manage to crack your eyelids enough to drink in the sight of Lando gazing back at you with that same awed wonder etched across his beloved features.

“Bloody fucking hell,” he rasps, the words little more than a throaty whisper ghosting against your over-sensitized skin. “That was … there aren’t even words, are there?”

In lieu of responding, you simply wind your arms around him with a tremulous exhale, hooking your chin over the solid comfort of his shoulder and allowing his clean, earthy scent to wash over you like a balm.

In this place, suspended between bliss and awareness, there’s no need for words or platitudes. You can feel Lando’s very essence thrumming in tandem with yours — the inherent recognition of your twin flame and sacred belonging reverberating on a molecular level.

Here, entangled in the vital warmth of shared trust and intimacy, all that exists is the boundless and the eternal.

[babyblankyerror]

Stanley is a good Drag queen that brings over lots of customers, of course he doesn't know he's one of the best though.

The owner pampers him, buying him new props and eventually buys him a pair of fake chesticles (Stan ofcourse giggles like a kid and plays with it).

It isn't until when he's performing that the owner just....doesn't like it?? Like...something is missing and the crowd seems less enthusiastic as well.

When Stan goes to perform again he cannot find the pair of fake boobas. Turns out they like Stan's natural tiddies, all fuzzy.

Edit: I thought I dreamnt the other post and dint post it so I wrote it again but apparently its something I already had posted and-

I'm just confused. The hypnotherapy of the bazookas Stan had got to me

[inlovewithquestionablecharacters]

Hey,

could you please write a Hannibal one-shot, where he is the guardian of a teenaged reader after her parents died?

Hannibal X Platonic! Reader: Father figure

Warnings: death, grief, murder, violence, nightmares, no use of y/n, gn reader, not proofread, angst, happy ending.

Word count:1,2K

Your screams rang through the house. Hannibal jumped from his bed, making his way to your room in a hurry. You were stool half asleep, your body contorting as you yelled.

“No! Stop it! Leave them alone!”

“Darling. It’s a nightmare you have to wake up.”

Hannibal gripped onto your body forcing you to stop spasming. It took a while but you're finally managed to wake up. Your face was streaked with tears as you gazed at him with wide eyes. Ever since your parents were killed you’d been haunted by night terrors. The first time it had happened you’d startled Hannibal quite a bit but as time went on he became used to your screams waking him up in the middle of the night. He tried to help you as best he could, performing various treatments to help you get over the traumatic events of your parents passing. 

He and Will had been the ones to find you. Will’s bullet was the one that had ended the killer's life before he managed to take yours too. They’d managed to save you but it was already too late for your parents. You remembered being taken into the hospital for the gashes on your body. When you’d woken up Hannibal had been beside you, his hand wrapped around your smaller one. You’d watched him sleep for a moment, a feeling of safety washing over you for the first time in hours.

Hannibal had taken you in as soon as you were discharged. He’d set up a room for you and had told you that you could leave anytime you wanted but that he wished to take care of you as one of his own. You didn’t even have to think about it. That moment the words had spilled from Hannibal's lips you were moving to pull him into a hug. 

Hannibal took his role of caregiver very seriously. He was always checking up on you, making sure you were comfortable and content. He taught you self defense, all while guaranteeing you’d never have to use it because he’d always be there to protect you from harm. There were things he couldn’t protect you from. 

Your nightmares were one of those things. 

They usually got worse after hypnotherapy. Making you relive what happened to your parents was meant to help you get over their deaths and while it did help you grieve it also sent you spiraling a bit. Hannibal sat at the edge of your bed, his hands moving to pull you into his frame. You inched yourself closer to his body, allowing his presence to ground you to the present. You could still see your mothers lifeless eyes in the back of your mind. You forced the sight away, taking a few deep breaths. Hannibal carseed you back, his voice telling you that it was okay, you were safe and that he was here for you. 

“Sorry for waking you.”

“Never apologize for that dear. I’ll always be here for you.”

Your body felt tired from being awoken so abruptly, causing your frame to sag into Hannibals. His hand moved to caress your hair, something you’d told him your mom used to do when you were little. You closed your eyes, relaxing a bit. Hannibal's presence made you feel safe and before you knew it sleep began creeping up on you.

The next morning you awoke to the sound of birds outside your window. You got up, moving to the window. You pulled the curtains open, allowing the sunlight to fill your room. You could hear music playing outside your door. You padded over to it, exiting your room before making your way to the kitchen. Hannibal greeted you with a small smile. You went over to him, eyeing what he was cooking.

“Good morning.”

“Morning. Whatcha making?”

“Scrambled eggs. Your juice is on the counter.”

You moved over to where he had gestured with his head, grabbing the cup of juice and taking a sip. You leaned against the counter, watching as Hannibal continued to make breakfast. 

“Do you have any plans tonight?”

Hannibal asked out of respect, he knew for a fact you rarely planned anything without involving him. Still, he felt he needed to let you know, even in a discrete manner, that you were allowed to go on with your life. You were allowed to go out and make friends and have fun. But he also knew you were still a bit dependent on him so he never forced you to go out.

“No, why?”

“I was thinking we could have dinner with Will and Alana today. And maybe we could watch a movie after.”

“Yeah that sounds nice.”

Hannibal gave you a smile, as he plated your breakfast. You took the plate over to the dining table, taking a seat. Hannibal joined you a moment later, carrying his own plate. The two of you ate breakfast in silence, Hannibal scrolling on his ipad as you scrolled on your phone.

“Would you like to talk about yesterday?”

“I dreamed about my mom again.”

Hannibal raised his head to look at you. He watched you place your phone down and poke at your eggs with your fork. 

“She looked odd though. There was something wrong with her eyes.”

“How so?”

“They felt empty. It’s not the way I remember her. Whenever I think of her I just remember how warm her smile was and how her eyes wrinkled when she laughed.”

You smiled a bit at the memory, a sudden pang making its way into your heart. You missed your parents but the thing you hated the most was the way the killer had engraved their memory of them in your head. The last time you saw them they were dead and even with all the years of good memories all your brain could seem to grab onto was their last moments.

“The fact you managed to remember her in that light is a good thing. It means the treatments are working. You’re making progress.”

“Doesn’t feel like it.”

Hannibal reached over the table to grab your hand. You looked up at him, allowing him to hold onto your palm. 

“You are a very strong person. It’s normal to shut down after a traumatic experience but you continue to bloom. All you have to do is believe in yourself. “

You smiled at him, moving to raise from your seat. You walked over to him leaning down to give him a hug. Hannibal wrapped his arms around you, embracing you back.

“Thanks Hannibal.”

“I’m here for you. You know that right?”

“Yeah I do.”

“Whatever you need just ask okay?”

“I will.”

You moved to grab your plate.

“Thanks for breakfast. I think I'm gonna hang in my room for a bit, okay?”

“Of course.”

“Call me if you need help cooking dinner.”

Hannibal gave you a small nod. You moved back into the kitchen, washing your plate and placing it on the drying rack. You stared out the window taking in the world outside. Hannibal was right, you were strong and you weren’t going to let this killer ruin your life. Your parents wouldn’t want you to stop living just because they were gone. You were going to make them proud and with Hannibal on your side nobody was ever going to hurt you again.

[healingwithhypnotic]

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[bigabundant]

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[the-nosy-neighbor]

Hypnosis in Welcome Home

To understand where this comes from, we need to establish the historical context of hypnosis, which is something that evolves in the early 20th century and quickly becomes a staple for cartoons.

It is either described as an altered state of consciousness or a placebo effect, depending on belief.  By those who believe in the state, it is considered a helpful tool for resolving emotional issues or for breaking habits or other negative behaviors (hypnotherapy).  For those who don’t believe in hypnosis, the state is one of heightened suggestion and a result of the subject wanting to please the hypnotizer.  Even if someone does believe that hypnosis is possible, the ethics of implanting ideas and the creation of false memories makes the use of hypnosis a problematic idea.  The word is coined in the 1820’s, based in the Greek, like a lot of medical type words.  It is also referred to as “mesmerism,” after the method developed by Franz Mesmer. 

In fact, the use of hypnosis was used in the development of connections and performance in realistic acting in the Strasburg method, but was discontinued due to the potentially damaging effects on performers.  Hypnosis became a common theme in movies of the 1940’s and 50’s, particularly in the horror genre.  There are many instances of magicians, witches, gypsies (no longer an acceptable term), or those practicing voodoo or similar arts (also sketchy as a term these days) hypnotizing poor souls in order to force them to do their dark bidding.  Several of these films are found in the MST3K catalogue:  The Undead, The She-Creature, Devil Doll, The Corpse Vanishes, and The Incredibly Strange Creatures Who Stopped Living and Became Crazy Mixed-Up Zombies (among others, no doubt).

There are many instances of hypnosis in cartoons.  I think that Looney Tunes is one of the earliest uses of the hypnosis trope, beginning in the 1940’s (from what I can tell).  These representations of hypnosis show characters being easily hypnotized, often with the use of a pocket watch, leading to the hypnotized character having spiraled eyes:

Talk about your risky clicks.  By that, I mean that anything that becomes a staple in entertainment, especially focused on a younger crowd, often becomes incorporated into sexual development.  That’s really all I’m going to go into with that, just be aware that there could be some 18+ content associated with cartoon + hypnosis.

This also moves over to Disney, which is probably an even riskier search, but with characters like Sir Hiss in Robin Hood (or the snake from Jungle Book), hypnosis is a major element of his character, as he hypnotizes people for his own benefit. 

From there, I think the idea just becomes a trope, in cartoons especially.

According to our friends over at TV Tropes, this is a common trope:

Hypnotic eyes

Hypnotic eyes refers to Sir Hiss’s brand of hypnotic eyes, where the eyes are capable of hypnotizing others. 

Mind Control Eyes refers to a character that has been hypnotized and their eyes are presented in a different way to showcase their altered state.  Here, we have the classic spiral, but it can also be expressed through whited or grayed out eyes, really large or small pupils, or dull and flat (in the instance of anime).  Heavy eyelids are also an indicator of someone under hypnosis. 

The article notes that in real life, hypnosis is considered to dilate the pupils. 

In addition, we have the Hypno Ray or the Mind-Control Device

The sequence of the ray is as follows:  victim is stunned, has mind-control eyes and repeats everything the attacker says, and hears a suggestion they must follow.  When the hypno ray is disabled, and then the victim snaps out of it, with no memory of their actions.

This kind of action is common in certain types of thriller, such as The Manchurian Candidate, though that was presented as brainwashing (famously spoofed in Zoolander.)  In this film, there is a visual cue that invokes the mind control.  It can also be seen in Men in Black, with their mind wiping device.

Now that we have our history established, what elements of Welcome Home indicate hypnosis?

[theomnicode]

Perception bias, round 2 Director's cut, Saigenos edition!

(or basically, how my brain jumps into another topic only loosely related to the original ask)

Thank you @itsmaferart For the wonderful ask again. :)

Warning: Long post ahead

-*-

Perception bias also serves another more...sinister purpose for Saitama. Psychological conditioning. There is potential evidence for deprivation of basic needs, conditioning for violence for protection and subliminal messages for suggestion, among other things.

Being deprived of all these needs is akin to mental torture. But so is facing all of the underlying issues at once via hypnotherapy and cognitive behavioural therapy if the patient is sufficiently dysfunctional in a societal setting like Saitama happens to be. Especially if the therapies are performed...poorly.

CBT has shown to be the most effective intervention for people exposed to adverse childhood experiences in the form of abuse or neglect Criticism of CBT sometimes focuses on implementations (such as the UK which may result initially in low quality therapy being offered by poorly trained practitioners. However, evidence supports the effectiveness of CBT for anxiety and depression. Evidence suggests that the addition of hypnotherapy as an adjunct to CBT improves treatment efficacy for a variety of clinical issues. Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD) and its symptoms have been shown to improve due to implementation of hypnotherapy, in both long and short term. As research continues, hypnotherapy is being more openly considered as an effective intervention for those with PTSD.

In short, in order to heal mentally, Saitama may need to face mental torture because he has such strong willpower and such strong mental barriers shielding his vulnerabilities on a basic primal need. There only needs to be a sufficient trigger.

ONE sent Saitama home to restore his energy levels...because he's going to sorely need them for the upcoming confrontation.

Empty Void's ability to genjutsu people casually and cause parallel shifts in the reality and using these to abuse emotional dependencies is like a loaded Chekov's gun on Saitama's forehead. Because Saitama has been roleplaying to re-learn his emphatic skillset after he had suffered too much mental trauma.

That's why early Saitama did not even bat an eye when Beefcake killed his own brother but now he's empathizing with Hamukichi. That's what I call character progression.

Even a compulsive planner like Saitama cannot predict what will happen because he's not familiar with Blast's maladaptive coping methods deep down. Blast is great at masking because they are coping methods so he can bear with his guilt and other issues and just wants to do things on his own, without assistance.

This causes Saitama's perception bias about Blast who seems capable and emphatic, when he is in actuality unscrupulous and amorally indifferent if you really, REALLY study him hard enough.

My bro casually invited Saitama, who is sensitive to aggression, hostility and violence, to watch literal torture of human turned monsters, with an actual smile on his face. And justifying it with his end justify the means philosophy. That's awfully too close to being sadistic and cruel when you consider the ramifications.

They say "love is blind" and Saitama is wearing some rose tinted glasses on because Blast is straight up shady, but he does not see it because he's probably identifying with Blast so hard. Middle-aged, number 1# hero, powerful, confident, outwardly caring, intuitive, ruggedly handsome, positively masculine, secretly gay...you name it. Everything Saitama more than likely fantasies about being because he's so emotionally dependant on Genos and he wants to better himself for Genos due to all his insecurities.

Oh yeah time for some saigenos. *rubs hands*

The very first Genos tells him is to tell Saitama to hide in order to protect him. Saitama has a lot of dependency issues since he has been a small child because he was so emotionally lonely and never got the safety he needed to cope well in life. There are definitely some underlying anxieties or disorders laying about.

Second thing Genos does is show just how smart, capable, cool and devilishly attractive he can be when he gets passionate and engages in combat. Genos can get an awed reaction even from Saitama who's emotions were being blunted during their first spar.

Third is showing he's not gonna judge Saitama for completely embarassing himself, even if he was to get naked around him and lower his inhibitions and showing him it would be ok to trust him on the level of intimacy he craves so dearly. (Season 2 Blu-ray & Dvd: Saitama and the mysterious heroine)

Fourth is showing that Genos is also extremely resilient even when getting hurt...because Saitama hates to see others hurting and he doesn't want it to happen because of him.

And finally the fifth...is because Genos is just as emotionally lonely as he is, but he's unable to let go of his emotional dependencies because he trauma bonds so deeply. He would rather double KO for a Game Over screen than let the monsters win over him and his loved ones on pure principle and take those he trauma bonds with him, because emotional abandonment and guilt would kill him deep inside, so he would rather end it himself for a shred of agency before he withers away.

All these draw in Saitama like moth to a flame and he easily lets Genos into his life. Because he identifies with the lonely teenage boy Genos with traumas who is so familiar to him like coming home.

-*-

Despite everything that has happened to Saitama, he tries to remain optimistic. He's not naturally prone to cynicism unless under great amount of duress. The worst thing to do against him would be Genos emotionally betraying him, betray everything that he perceived in him since the first day they met.

But Saitama has perception bias towards Genos too...such as that Genos is no longer the small teenage boy who needs to be sheltered and cared for, but a battle-hardened soldier. Neither is he a lost naive little sibling in need of guidance or chaperone but an adult wanting mentorship where he can be truly open about his own issues. Would be such a shame if these wrong illusions about Genos were to be shattered...painfully. If Genos were to ever violate that implicit trust Saitama gives to him.

My brother in christ Saitama, he's not actually related to you and he's not your family member even if you'd love him enough to adopt him or something. Not letting go of this notion will spell trouble, like wonky image of relationships and intimacy.

(Yea Saitama please he's not actually related to you, even if it's kind of endearing that Saitama considers Genos to be as close like a family member)

It'll just get worse if Saitama confuses emotional intimacy with sexuality because of his bad upbringing when he's never had any friends and missing his parents too and all his role models have been aggressive and toxic people.

Funny how Saitama's first conclusion about Dr. Genus being interested in his body was sexual in nature and he immediately got defensive. He essentially revealed himself as someone who doesn't even know for sure which way he swings. Which would be quite classic for infj demi but I'll get to that if it becomes more relevant.

Genos naturally knows best though, poor guy looks so disappointed haha. Doesn't stop Genos from attempting every trick in the book besides outright throwing roses at Saitama and arranging dates to get into his good side and woo him, he dressed up so nicely for a spar haha. Dressing to impress, yup. And then he got himself new shiny body and practically walked weeks without a shirt on just so Saitama would see it. (Chapter 185: Updates) My guy has it down bad for Saitama, but Saitama seems oblivious to Genos indirect advances and Genos gave up and finally found a shirt to put on.

(I would pay to see Genos actually chuck roses at Saitama though.)

Even Saitama has to acknowledge that Genos is objectively a hottie though, because in the webcomic he says something along the lines of "he's not even pretty" about Amai-mask and it really makes you think the standards of who Saitama considers pretty when even ikemen like Amai-mask won't do.

-*-

Genos unfortunately is growing up some pretty large perception bias about Saitama after the time travel fiasco. His idolization of Saitama is becoming obsessive and objectifying, like Saitama can do no wrong and that Saitama is some kind of messiah.

Genos also does not take no for an answer. It would be incredibly damaging to both Saitama and Genos when this perception bias is broken when Saitama gets too much on his plate to handle. Like for example...Empty void's specialty, messing with emotional bonds and inducing traumatic events like the illusion of death to break any emotional bond, just like he did to Flashy flash and Sonic.

I do greatly anticipate how Empty Void's fight is going to proceed, we might be in for very big perceptional bias shifts all around, like Flash was forced to acknowledge that he's emotionally dependant on Sonic. (Chapter 201: You pass) And Saitama's idolization of Blast will come crashing down when he finds out what Blast is really up to.

I'll throw some funny perception bias at the end.

[warm-throated]

Rambling about The Collection (2012)

Oh. My God. I think this might be my favourite movie series. My God!

Alright, so I took notes throughout the film for highlights (spoilers ahead as usual) + this will be long, long as hell, so buckle up:

I love the intro being somewhat of an edit for the Collector. The metal music, the buzzing of insects (yes, I want to make a collectkin edit to ptolemaea), the close-ups. Gorgeous, gorgeous. My evil blueberry. I have to show a bit of restraint when writing all this or else it'll become tedious but know that every time the Collector was on screen, I cheered.

The whole thing in the night club was a riot. I was like "What's he doing up there?" and then the combine cutter came down and I was so excited because they really upped the ante for some of these traps. If it wasn't blatantly obvious, I love him?

I liked the crotch shot from below. Yeah.

I love Arkin so much, too ! He always just wants to help out. He's like an anime girl with a heart of gold. I want to draw a picture of a golden locket with his mugshot for theft on one side and him with his cut forehead and broken teeth on the other side (or potentially him with the knifed cheeks, returning to this).

Noteworthy, Arkin's face was basically unscathed by the time he awoke in the hospital. The Collector finds him pretty? Also, the red roses with the card ?? I love the taunting 🥰🥰

When he gets recruited by Lucello, I seriously thought he was smiling like "You really think you can get him?" but he was actually like "What's the plan?" You crazy bitch! Good for you.

Some of the scenes where Arkin was warning Lucello and his team about the Collector felt very much like Will Graham warning Inspector Pazzi about Lecter. Mad as hell that Lucello dragged him into this mess.

"Ladies first." / "Eat a dick..." as a whined response: key interaction!

Was rooting for Elena and I liked her a lot. The manoeuvre with the bra was very cool. Hated Lucello quite a bit purely for tricking and guilting Arkin. It was fairly obvious he'd trick him but the guilting made me so mad.

The drugged victims idea was kind of wild. I don't even know if I want to look into the pharmacological know-how behind that, it's just a bit hard for me to imagine that kind of targeted aggression being the result of just drugs (which could imply hypnotherapy which again isn't something that just anyone can perform effectively). The action sequences were almost comedic at times, similar to Saw IV with its fight scenes, but it didn't feel out of place.

For both The Collector (2009) and The Collection (2012), it's really funny because the plot is quite literally one of those YT videos where a bug keeper has more than one of his bugs break out of their enclosure and he has to find them again. You see his "Not this shit again" expression every time he hears a sound from Arkin or Elena and it's a treat.

I loved loved loved the switcheroo he did with the hook. Was such a fun scene. Also, him bursting in the door with his dogs. Why is he so dramatic? I love him so much.

Returning back to Arkin's knifed cheeks: helloooooo ??? That was so hot💕💕💕 Oh my God. And it was such fun to see the Collector get his shit rocked by Arkin. Look, I'm big into sadomaso stuff (if the cruisin' for a bruisin' tag wasn't obvious enough), but one thing I think about A LOT is how a lot of seasoned sadists like to give heat but they can't really take it? And yeah, it does something for me to see one really get it handed back to him, it's super hot actually. Wow. Great movie. Yeah.

Elena breaking the tanks to save Arkin made me tear up. He's always trying to help others, I'm so glad someone came to help him. [EDIT 28/04: Cutting out some incorrect information on the wet specimen fluids. The % ethanol should be high enough to be majorly flammable so what Elena did should have roasted Arkin, actually. Welp.]

Okay, and now the ending scene. Hooo boy ! WOW. Okay, so. Very tasteful décor. Love the little terrarium displays he has. And the gunpoint interaction ! Tell me you didn't think about Will and Hannibal s2 post-prison ! You can't! MY GOD. Oh, and Arkin was so hot threatening the Collector and shoving him into that damn box. I'm so happy. This was so good. Like the scene speaks for itself; I could never articulate in any meaningful way how satisfying that was.

------------------------------------------------------------

I've purposely avoided talking about Abby until now because I think the relations the Collector has or is implied to have with his victims is important to cover holistically. Firstly, while I think Arkin is interesting to the Collector (he was a part of his collection, at least temporarily, and the Collector was planning to call on him again based on the roses and card), he's not his favourite. Do I trust Abby's word that she's his favourite? Sort of, but I do think if he found another specimen he preferred she would be turned into a wet specimen. I think Arkin has the potential to be that replacement, but again, part of collecting is curating a collection. You may have a prized piece, but the collection depends on the pieces coordinating.

Abby is a much more permanent fixture in his collection compared to everyone else and he get so mad about her death. The way he kept glaring at Elena, assigning the blame to her, was fantastic. Using Elena to flush out the others and kill them all is also interesting. The death of Abby provokes total annihilation of his oeuvre (probably not solely because the cops are right outside). We know from Abby that she has been tested several times by him, to the point that she believes it's best to be loyal to him. She's dressed in a pretty dress, her hair is styled, her makeup is done (the makeup seemingly done by the Collector himself to mimic the porcelain dolls). The care he puts into her is distinct to the torture we see every other victim face.

As an aside, I've seen some people mention that she was kidnapped as a kid and that's why she seems mentally regressed, but I don't agree with that. I think it's possible that it's just the sort of psychological defence that can be seen in some adult survivors of extreme torture and abuse, or a learned appeasement technique.

So how is this relation with Abby relevant to Arkin's relationship with the Collector? Her death evokes such a strong reaction out of the Collector, nothing that can be compared to his reaction when Arkin escaped. Perhaps he would have reacted in similar anger if someone had killed Arkin but I highly doubt it—Arkin is not developed, he's just bait (unlike Abby).

But the Collector is significant to Arkin. He is more significant than anyone else, no one has altered his life so drastically as the Collector has. And I think it really irks him to know that he's so affected by him, yet can be cast aside easily enough. Which is part of why the ending is so hot to me. Arkin can inflict on the Collector to the same extent what was inflicted on him to, hopefully, produce similar resultant emotional depth. Until the Collector is as changed by Arkin as Arkin is by the Collector. Until he understands.

Yeah, yeah, doomed toxic yaoiship conclusion. Pack it up.