#i hope you’re all having a good day too.

[luv-lock]

ㅤֹㅤ⊹ㅤ #ㅤUGLY LOVEㅤ.ᐟ ֹ ₊ ꒱

☆⁠ PAIRING : Yandere Mark Grayson x Fem Reader Part 2

☆⁠ SYNOPSIS : You didn't love him. You couldn't. No matter how much you try. And yet you didn't leave. It's toxic. It's bad. But it's all you have...

☆⁠ WARNINGS : Explicit sexual content (consensual but emotionally heavy), emotional distress during intimacy, crying during sex, guilt, toxic relationship dynamics, unhealthy love. This is not a happy love story.

☆⁠ NOTES : English is not my first language. Hope you enjoy!

"I don’t love him."

You say it easily. Like it’s not a big deal. Like it’s just a fact.

You were too honest with your friends.

Maybe because you knew they wouldn’t judge you. Maybe because you wanted someone to tell you that what you were doing was fucked up.

Maybe because you just wanted to say it out loud.

Your friends looked at you.

"You mean like… you’re falling out of love?" one of them asked hesitantly.

You huffed a dry laugh. "No, because I was never in love."

They exchanged glances, unsure what to say.

"I can’t stand the sight of him sometimes," you continued, feeling your own words sink like stones in your chest. "I mean, he’s cute, I guess. But everything else? Nah."

One of your friends frowned. "Then why are you still with him?"

You don’t answer right away.

Because you don’t want to.

Because you don’t want to say "because no one else will love me like that."

Because you need it.

"He’s obsessed with me," you say instead, voice dry. "Might as well let him be."

Another laugh. Another joke. The conversation moves on.

But then—

A shadow.

A flicker of movement in the corner of your eye.

Your stomach dropped.

Slowly, you turned—

And there he was.

Mark.

Standing just a few feet away, looking right at you.

For a second, everything froze.

You stared at him. He stared at you.

He had heard. He had to have heard. You were so sure of it, your heart hammering in your chest, a sick knot forming in your stomach.

And then—

He smiled.

Like he hadn’t just heard you rip him apart.

Like nothing had happened.

"Hey, babe!"

Then he walked up to you, all smiles and warmth, hands casually in his pockets. His dumb jacket was unzipped, his hair still a mess from whatever bullshit he had been doing.

You were shaking.

Because there was no way he hadn’t heard.

But he was already kissing your cheek, leaning in close, like nothing was wrong.

"Sorry I’m late," he said, pulling out the chair next to you. "Got caught up with something."

You stared at him.

Nothing in his face gave him away.

Maybe… maybe he hadn’t heard.

Maybe—

"So, what were you guys talking about?" he asked, grinning, grabbing the menu.

Your throat felt tight.

One of your friends cleared their throat. "Uh, just… school stuff."

Mark nodded, seemingly unbothered. Then he turned to you, eyes bright, warm. "You ready to go? I made reservations."

And before you could react, before you could even breathe, he took your hand and pulled you out of your seat.

Took you out the door.

Took you on your fucking date.

Like nothing had happened.

Like you hadn’t just ripped his heart out and stomped on it.

You sat stiffly in the car, eyes flicking to him, trying to gauge anything.

Had he really not heard? Had he somehow walked up after—

No. No way. He have super hearing.

So why?

Why was he acting like this?

You opened your mouth—

Then closed it.

Because for once, you had no idea what to say.

You should’ve ended it.

You tried to end it.

It was late. Mark was in your room, lying on your bed like he always did, scrolling through his phone, waiting for you to come sit with him.

You stood near the door, gripping the hem of your shirt so tightly your fingers ached.

This wasn’t healthy. For either of you.

He was a good person. You weren’t.

You weren’t going to magically wake up one day and love him.

You took a deep breath. "Mark."

He turned immediately.

And then—

That smile.

That fucking smile.

Eyes wide. Face bright.

Like you had just said the most wonderful thing in the world.

"Yeah?" he asked, hopeful.

You hesitated.

The words sat on the tip of your tongue—I don’t want to do this anymore. I don’t love you. I never have.

But you couldn’t say them.

Because he was looking at you like that.

Like you were the center of his universe. Like there was no world without you in it.

That was all it took.

Your throat closed.

Your heart sank.

And instead of saying what you needed to say, you just smiled.

"Never mind," you muttered.

Mark grinned, opening his arms for you. "C’mere."

And you went. Because it was easier to just let him hold you.

It started the way it always did.

Mark touched you like you were his.

Because in his mind, you were.

His hands, warm and careful, traced over your skin with something close to reverence. Like you were something precious, delicate—something he didn’t deserve but was grateful to have anyway.

His lips were soft as they pressed against your neck, down to your shoulder, lingering, inhaling deeply, like he wanted to memorize you.

"You're beautiful," he whispered against your skin.

You stiffened.

Because you weren’t.

Not in the way he saw you. Not in the way that mattered.

But Mark never saw the truth.

Or maybe he did, and he just refused to acknowledge it.

You let him undress you slowly. Let his hands roam, let his mouth worship. You didn’t push him away, didn’t roll your eyes, didn’t sneer at him like you wanted to.

You just let him.

He hovered over you, his breath shaky, pupils blown wide as he looked at you like you had hung the stars in the sky.

You swallowed, your throat dry. You shouldn’t be doing this.

You didn’t love him.

You never would.

But you had already given so much of yourself to this stupid relationship, so what was one more thing?

So you smiled, because that’s what you were supposed to do.

Mark’s breath hitched, and his lips were on yours again. His touch was desperate but restrained, like he wanted more but was afraid to take too much.

"It’s okay," you murmured, and that was all he needed.

The weight of him pressed down against you, warm, solid, real. His skin against yours, his hands mapping out every inch of you like he needed to memorize you, like this was the only proof he had that you were his.

And then—

Pain.

A sharp, tearing ache as he pushed inside you, slow, careful, almost reverent. Mark was shaking, his forehead pressed against yours, whispering apologies against your skin.

"You okay?" His voice was strained, breathless. "I—fuck, I can stop—"

You shook your head. "No. Just… keep going."

Mark groaned softly, pressing a kiss to your temple. He moved slowly, like he wanted to savor every second, like this was something holy to him.

It wasn’t holy to you.

It was just another thing you had given away.

But to him, this was love.

For him this was enough.

And so in the dim light of his bedroom, with his body pressed against yours, you pretended.

Pretended you wanted this.

Pretended you could love him.

Maybe if you acted well enough, you could convince yourself.

Maybe if you closed your eyes, you could imagine someone else.

But then—

"I love you."

Your eyes snapped open.

And it hit like a slap.

Mark was inside you, forehead pressed against yours, hands gripping your waist like he never wanted to let go.

His eyes—God, his eyes.

They were soft, devoted, desperate.

Like he would burn the entire world down just to make you love him back.

And that’s when it happened.

The dam broke.

Your chest tightened, your stomach twisted, and before you could stop it—

You started crying.

Not quiet, delicate tears.

But ugly, broken sobs.

Mark froze immediately. "Hey, hey— what’s wrong?" His voice was pure panic, hands cupping your face, eyes wide. "Did I hurt you?"

You shook your head violently, but the tears wouldn’t stop.

Because no, Mark hadn’t hurt you.

You had hurt yourself.

You had hurt him.

And now there was no taking it back.

Mark kissed the tears off your cheeks, his hands running soothingly down your sides, whispering, "It’s okay, it’s okay, I love you, I love you so much," over and over again like some kind of prayer.

And that just made it worse.

Because he meant it.

Because he would always mean it.

Even when he shouldn’t.

Even when you didn’t deserve it.

You curled into him, pressing your face against his chest, letting his arms wrap around you, letting his warmth swallow you whole.

And for the first time—

You didn’t push him away.

Because you were tired.

Tired of fighting him.

Tired of fighting yourself.

So you stayed.

And Mark held you like you meant it.

Like you would never leave.

You sat there, wrapped in the sheets, knees pulled to your chest.

You weren’t crying anymore.

But the tears still lingered, drying on your skin, the occasional sniffle betraying the fact that you had completely fallen apart just moments ago.

Mark was moving around the room.

Not chaotically, not frantically—just with purpose.

Like making sure you were okay was the most important thing in the world.

You watched from the corner of your eye as he grabbed his shirt from the floor and pulled it over your shoulders before pressing a soft kiss to your temple. His touch was so gentle—as if he was afraid you might break.

Then, he left the room.

You heard the sink running. A cabinet opening. Footsteps.

He came back with a glass of water.

"Here, drink something," he said softly, kneeling in front of you.

You didn’t move.

Didn’t reach for the glass.

Didn’t even look at him.

Mark hesitated, then gently took your hand and placed the cup in it, his fingers lingering over yours before he pulled away.

"You should drink," he urged again.

So you did.

Not because you wanted to.

But because you knew he wouldn’t stop worrying unless you did.

You took a few sips, enough to satisfy him, and set the glass on the nightstand.

Mark smiled, brushing your hair behind your ear before standing up again. "I’ll be right back, okay? Just… just sit tight."

You stayed curled up under the sheets, staring at the wall, deep in thought.

Because this was it.

You had crossed the final line.

It was your first time.

It was his first time.

And yet, all you could feel was emptiness.

Not because it had been bad.

It hadn’t.

Mark had been perfect. So careful. So gentle. So impossibly sweet.

And that just made it so much worse.

You had nothing to give him. No love. No devotion. Not even the barest hint of affection.

You had just let him have you.

And in return, he had given you everything.

It wasn’t fair.

It wasn’t right.

But it was too late now.

You swallowed hard, tightening the sheets around your shoulders as Mark returned, holding a small plate of food.

"I made you something," he said, sitting on the edge of the bed, smiling as if nothing was wrong. As if he hadn’t just given himself to someone who didn’t love him back.

You glanced at the plate.

A simple sandwich.

Your throat tightened.

Because of course he would do something like this.

Of course he would take care of you.

Even when you didn’t deserve it.

"You should eat," Mark encouraged, nudging the plate closer to you.

You didn’t move.

Didn’t say a word.

You couldn't even look at him in the eyes.

You just sat there, curled up in the sheets, sinking further into yourself.

Mark’s smile faltered slightly.

"...Was it bad?" he asked suddenly, hesitantly.

Your eyes snapped to him.

He looked so unsure, like the thought had just crossed his mind, like maybe you had regretted it.

Which you had.

Just not for the reasons he thought.

You forced yourself to shake your head. "No. It wasn’t bad."

Mark studied your face for a moment. Then, slowly, he reached out, brushing his fingers against your cheek.

"You’re still shaking," he murmured.

You hadn’t even realized.

Before you could respond, he was already moving—pulling the sheets tighter around you, rubbing slow circles against your back, trying to soothe you.

"It’s okay," he whispered. "You’re okay."

You didn’t say anything.

Didn’t react.

Just let him love you.

Because you had no idea what else to do.

— MASTERLIST ☆

— NEXT ☆ Part 1. Part 3.

— © luv-lock. Don't copy, repost or translate any of my works here or any other websites ☆

[moonstruckme]

Hi lovely. I just had the scariest night last night and it ended with me in the ER for almost 7 hours. Basically I let a UTI go on too long and it traveled to my kidneys. But I was in the bathroom about to shower and I got super sick and dizzy and lightheaded, my hands and feet were tingling to the point of pain, I was DRENCHED in sweat. It was so so scary. I ended up passing out on the toilet (so embarrassing). I had to get my mom to come in and she took me to the ER and it was very rough there too because I was so dehydrated they couldn’t get a vein to give me fluids. So 6 times they tried, digging in my arm and all that before they finally got one. Later it ended up bursting which hurt a fuck ton. But all in all I feel like absolute shit.

If you can, could you write an EMT!marauders fic where something like that happens? Just the scary stuff in the beginning or whatever tickles your fancy. If not, no worries. I will just be reading and rereading all my faves of yours for the next few days while I try to get better 🥲

That sounds so awful, I'm sorry that happened to you!! Hope you're feeling much better by now lovely <3

cw: nonsexual nudity, dizziness, nausea, one sexual joke at the end

emt!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 965 words

A knock on the bathroom door rouses you. Steam heavies the air, the porcelain of the bathtub slippery underneath your backside. You feel sick. 

“Hey.” It’s James’ voice, light as though he’s not really concerned. “Alright in there?” 

You look down blearily. A bottle of shampoo rests against your hip. You must have knocked it from the lip of the tub when you passed out, and James must have heard the sound. When did you pass out? For how long?

“James?” 

“Yeah?” 

“I need…can you come in here?” 

You hear the door open. Half the steam seems sucked from the room, cool air coming in. “Everything okay?” James asks. 

He tries to open the shower curtain, but you’re lying half on top of it and it doesn’t make it far. You lift up on one side to free it. Your entire body trembles with the effort. 

“Hey.” James definitely sounds concerned now, kneeling at your side. He puts a hand under your neck. “What happened? Did you fall?” 

“I don’t feel well.” 

“I can see that, sweetheart.” He shouts for the other boys. “Does anything hurt? Did you fall over?” 

“No,” you say. Footsteps sound outside, nearing you. “No, I sat down. But I think I passed out.” 

James frowns, taking your wrist to get your pulse. “What do you mean when you say you aren’t feeling well?” 

You don’t get a chance to answer before Sirius is pulling the curtain open further. “Baby, what the fuck?” He crouches beside James. It’s now that you realize how painfully naked you are, lying limply on the floor of the tub with hot water from the showerhead beating down on your lower half. “Did you slip?” 

“She passed out,” James answers for you, brows set in concentration as he feels your pulse. “But she sat down first.” 

“Oh, good girl.” 

Remus shuts off the water. You feel its absence immediately, your body at once lighter and colder. 

“Can I have a towel?” you ask. 

Sirius blinks as though he’s only just realizing your nakedness as well. He stands. “Right, I’ve got it.” 

“Why do you think you passed out?” Remus asks you. 

“I don’t know.” You want to give him a better answer, but it’s all you have. “I just got really lightheaded. I still feel sick.” 

“Sick like you’re going to throw up?” James presses. He lets go of your wrist, giving Remus a look you can’t interpret. 

“Yeah.” 

Sirius tsks, returning with a stack of towels and a fluffy robe. “Okay, well don’t worry too much about that. If you throw up you throw up, we just want to know what’s made you sick in the first place.” 

Between all three of them, they haul you out of the tub. The option of you trying to climb out on your own doesn’t seem to cross anyone’s mind. You land in Sirius’ lap, where you’re hastily wrapped in one towel and your hair in another, James drying your arms and legs with a third. 

“What else are you feeling?” Remus asks you. When you hesitate, “Anything at all, it could help us to know.” 

You try to take stock of yourself, shivering a bit as you do. 

“Cold?” Sirius deduces.

You hum. “And my stomach hurts.” 

He frowns. His hand covers your stomach over the towel protectively. “Yeah? Where does it hurt?” 

“Sort of…” You shift a bit, trying to show him. “On the side.” 

Sirius finds the spot like he knows just where you mean. “Around here?” 

“Yeah.” Panic makes your voice tight. “Don’t touch it, please.” 

“Okay. I won’t, sweetheart.” He moves hand away from your side, kissing your temple. “Have you noticed yourself feeling like you need to pee more often lately?” 

You give him a funny look. “I have a UTI, but this doesn’t feel like the same thing.” 

Remus groans. “Dove, really? You knew?” 

“I knew I had a UTI,” you say, confused. Wary, without really knowing why. “It’s not…this feels different.” 

“Why wouldn’t you treat it?” 

“I was going to.” 

“But when you wait like this and don’t tell us, you—” 

“Alright, alright,” James says in a peacemaking tone. He rubs the towel down your calf. “I think she’s got it, love. She’s clearly not enjoying this.” 

Remus closes his eyes, sighing. When he looks at you again, it’s with a softer gaze. “If you don’t treat a UTI,” he says patiently, “it can cause a kidney infection. I think that’s what you’re dealing with now, love.” 

“Oh.” Your voice smalls. “I’m sorry.” 

“Hey, that’s okay.” Sirius kisses your face again, his hold tightening when another shiver passes through you. “Why’re you apologizing to us, huh? You’re the one dealing with it. Passing out in showers and the like.” 

“I know you didn’t want this,” Remus promises you, his expression gentler now. James begins encouraging your arm into your robe. “We’ll get you to A&E, and they’ll give you antibiotics to take care of this, alright?” 

“Okay,” you say meekly. 

Slowly, they get you dried up, clothed, and upright. Sirius teases you about the dangers of not peeing after sex. Remus makes worried faces whenever your expression changes and offers to bring a bag along on the drive in case you’re sick. When you try to walk out of the bathroom and wobble, James is quick with an arm around your back. 

“C’mere, lovie.” He lifts you up into his arms. Clearly he’s trying to be gentle, but you moan anyway, pressing your forehead to his shoulder against a bout of dizziness. 

“Oh, I know,” Sirius coos. “You’re alright, baby. We’ll get you feeling better soon.” 

“I’m never letting any of you put it in me again,” you joke weakly. 

To your surprise, it’s Remus who laughs the loudest.

[fireinmoonshot]

Pairing: Joaquín Torres x Reader Summary: Since getting married, Joaquín has discovered he loves hearing you call him your husband. So much so, in fact, that he'll do almost anything to get you to say the word. Warnings: Mentions of food, gets a little spicy at the end (not the food). Word Count: 862 A/N: Another one where I've had the idea sitting in my notes for weeks. It turned out a little different to what I expected but I still love how this ended up so I hope you all love it too.

“Say it again,” Joaquin says, practically skidding into the kitchen where you’re cooking.

It’s a rare night where you’re making dinner instead of Joaquin. You found a new recipe online that you really want to try and Joaquin always loves when you cook – while he loves being the cook of the family, he also loves the food you make him.

There’s something he loves more than that though.

You spin around from where you’re standing at the stove, stirring something in a pot. “What am I saying again?” You ask, a little confused. 

Joaquin walks further into the kitchen, wraps his arms around your waist and rests his chin on your shoulder. “You just called out to me and said husband, come and try this. Call me husband again.” 

You huff out a small laugh. Ever since you’d officially tied the knot just over a month ago, Joaquin had discovered that he had a thing for hearing you refer to him as husband. It was like when you referred to him as your boyfriend or your fiancé, but better. And then there were the few times when you called him marido instead of husband, which almost made him weak at the knees on more than one occasion. 

“Husband, will you try this and tell me if I need to add more salt?” You oblige, holding up the spoon a little and smiling to yourself as he leans forward over your shoulder and licks some off the spoon.

“Mmm,” Joaquin hums, right in your ear. “It’s delicious, angel.” He leans in and presses a kiss to your cheek. “It’s perfect, it doesn’t need anything else. But personally, I could do with hearing you call me your husband again.” 

Rolling your eyes jokingly, you drop the spoon back in the pot and spin around in Joaquin’s arms. He loosens his grip on you a little so you can spin around easier. “Remember before we were married and I’d refer to you as Joaquin or baby? What happened to that? What is it about husband that makes you react like this?”

Joaquin shrugs his shoulders. “I don’t think it’s the word itself, it’s just hearing it come out of your mouth when you’re referring to me. Like the other day, when we were out for dinner and you introduced me as your husband to your new co-worker that we ran into. I’ve never been a husband before.”

“Oh, I’d sure hope not,” you laugh. “I did think this was your first marriage.”

He grins, leaning in and pecking your lips lightly. “First and last, actually.”

“Well, I’m honoured, husband,” you smile. The smile on Joaquin’s face grows even more as the word comes out of your mouth. “Now, will you let me finish making dinner? I don’t think I can keep cooking it unless you let me go.”

Joaquin groans, irritated at the thought that he has to let you go. He loves holding you, having his hands on you, and if he could all of the time, he’s sure he’d find a way. “If you call me husband again, I promise I’ll leave you alone until dinner is ready.”

“Husband,” you start, leaning in and pressing your lips to his. “Joaquin Torres, my husband, the love of my life, the man I married… making him my husband…” You milk it a little bit, knowing that Joaquin will enjoy every second of it.

It surprises you a little as you watch him literally shiver at hearing you say the word so many times in one go. Joaquin finds it incredibly hot, especially the way you say it with your mouth so close to his. If he leans forward just a little, he could capture your lips with his and kiss you senseless until he could convince you to say the word again.

“Angel,” he breathes, face still close to yours. “It’s a good thing you’re busy making dinner right now because if you weren’t, I would be picking you up right this second, putting you on the counter and making sure you know everything that comes along with the fact that I’m your husband now.” 

It’s like a switch flips inside of you at his words – this time you’re the one having a reaction to the words instead of him. The fact that you’re mid way through cooking dinner is a thought that slips right to the back of your mind as Joaquins thumbs dig into your hips, his grip having gotten a little tighter after you called him husband again.

You turn your head and reach behind you to turn off the stove before looking back at Joaquin again. “Dinner can wait,” you mutter. “My husband is more important.”

Joaquin doesn’t hesitate to step to the side and lift you up onto the counter, away from the stove and your half cooked dinner. He steps in-between your legs, hands gripping at your thighs, and leans up to press his lips to yours again. The kiss is messy and passionate and everything he’s been wanting ever since he heard you first call out to him. 

You think you should definitely call him husband more often.

[this-is-tiny-mia]

Sorry, wrong number (H.S. One Shot) Part 3 (Last Part)

Summary: A wrong-number text leads to an unexpected connection between a you and a stranger. What starts as a playful exchange quickly becomes the highlight of their days, leaving you curious about the man behind the messages.

Finally Y/N and Harry give in to their feelings.

A/n: I CANNOT BELIEVE HOW MUCH SUPPORT THIS SERIES GOT, I HAD SO SO SO SO MUCH FUN WRITING IT AND I CAN'T WAIT TO DO MORE STUFF. Thanks if you liked, shared, left a comment, anything! REALLY THANK YOU SO SO MUCH.

Thanks to the best of the best @eileenrry for hyping me up (It's already saturday over there so i guess it's fair i'm publishing this now) Word count: 3.4k

Warnings: A LOT OF FLUFF AND A LOT OF CHEESY DATES YOU'LL BE THROWING UP BY THE END OF IT. MAINLY CUTESY STUFF FOR YOU TO FANTASIZE ABOUT. Use of y/n, everything happens really fast, time moves QUICK.

You read his text again, your heart racing. It was playful, sure, but there was something else—something unspoken, just under the surface.

"I think it means we’re in trouble," you finally typed, keeping it vague. You didn’t want to assume anything yet.

"Trouble? 🤔" His reply came almost immediately. "Define trouble."

You hesitated, fingers hovering over the keyboard. How could you define something you didn’t fully understand yourself? How could you put butterflies at full speed into words?

"I don’t know," you typed. "Maybe… when someone sneaks into your head when you’re supposed to be working, and suddenly spreadsheets don’t make sense anymore."

Brave of you. Classy, even. You hit send and stared at the screen, instantly second-guessing yourself. It was honest, sure, but had you said too much?

The three little dots appeared. Then it disappeared. Then it appeared again.

Oh, shit. Please say something.

"You know what I think it means?" he finally wrote.

"What?"

"That I’ve somehow managed to ruin spreadsheets for you, and I’m not even sorry."

You giggled out loud, the sound breaking through the quiet of your room.

"Good to know you have no regrets" you replied, a smile spreading across your face that nothing could erase.

"None at all," he shot back. "But for the record, you’ve ruined a few things for me too."

The conversation hung there for a moment, his words settling over you like a soft weight. You wanted to ask what he meant, but you were terrified of the answer.

"Fair enough. I guess we’re even," you typed back.

“Want to ruin things for each other tomorrow?”

“What does that even mean?” you chuckled, staring at your phone.

“It means I’ll think of you tomorrow, and I hope you’ll think of me too. Goodnight, Tulip 🌷.”

It felt completely surreal, like you were trapped in a dream you never wanted to wake up from. You couldn’t help but thank your past self—and your lousy fingers—for mistyping that single, life-changing number. Just one little mistake, and now here you were, heart racing and thoughts spiraling every time his name lit up your screen. It was pure magic.

The next morning, you found yourself humming while making breakfast. Humming! Like you were Aurora from Sleeping Beauty, twirling around your kitchen like the birds were about to join in. You were a walking cliché, and you didn’t even care. Doomed, yes—but in the best way possible. In love, obviously. The knock at the door jolted you out of your fairytale haze. You blinked, momentarily confused, before heading to answer it. Standing there was a delivery man holding the biggest bouquet of tulips you'd ever seen—bright, colorful, and completely over-the-top in the best way.

"I didn’t…" you started, unsure if this was a mistake.

"Delivery for Y/N," the grumpy delivery man interrupted, already turning on his heel. "Have a good day or whatever." And just like that, he was gone, leaving you in the doorway with the bouquet in your hands, completely stunned. Were these even meant for you? He hadn’t checked any ID or anything. But the moment your eyes landed on the card nestled between the tulips, your heart flipped.

For Tulip From H.

It was all you needed. That tiny, scribbled note said everything. You felt the heat rush to your face as a grin spread across it. Of course they were yours. Who else would send tulips to you?

You closed the door behind you, clutching the bouquet like it was the most precious thing in the world, unable to wipe the smile off your face.you stared at the flowers like an idiot for a hot minute and quickly grabbed your phone to text him but he beat you to it, as you were typing the message his came first. “Morning Tulip, hope you were awake.”

“I was indeed, woke up to 25 tulips in my face.”

“Oh really? I thought I said 30. Someone’s getting fired,” he replied, clearly joking.

“I really love them, they’re beautiful. 25 is more than enough. Why the flowers, though?” You played the innocent card, knowing full well the answer.

“Oh, I thought I should make sure to mess with those spreadsheets today.”

The sound that escaped your mouth wasn’t even human—it was a mix between a laugh and a scream. You quickly tried to gather your thoughts to reply.

“Then how can I make sure I mess with your day?” you typed, feeling bolder than usual.

“You already are doing it, Tulip.”

And just like that, your heart was officially ruined for the day. You stared at his last message, rereading it like it held the secrets of the universe. How did he do that? Ruin your entire day—in the best way possible—with just a few words?

“Good to know I’m effective” you replied, smirking to yourself.

“So… how do you feel about letting me ruin your evening too?”

It’s happening! Everybody calm down! it’s happening!. Your stomach flipped. You typed and deleted your reply about five times before settling on something casual. 

“Depends. What do you have in mind?”

“Dinner? Unless you’re busy with those spreadsheets.” There it was again, the perfect balance of teasing and genuine interest.

“Well, I wouldn’t want to keep you from your firing spree, but… dinner sounds good.”

“Perfect. I’ll pick you up at 7.”

As you stared at the screen, excitement mixed with nerves. Was this real? Was he actually asking you out? Tulips were one thing, but a whole dinner? That felt… bigger. And 7. It was barely 9:30 am, and you had to wait until 7? That’s torture. What were you supposed to do for the next few hours? Sit around and obsess over every possible scenario? Yeah, you did.

You groaned and tossed your phone on the couch, pacing the room like it might somehow speed up time. Maybe you’d clean the apartment—again. Or work on those spreadsheets he seemed so intent on ruining. Or maybe… you’d just spend the day imagining what this dinner would actually be like. Would it be casual, or was he planning something elaborate? What would he wear? Oh god, what should you wear? The spiral of overthinking had officially begun, and 7 PM felt like a lifetime away.

By the time 7 PM FINALLY rolled around, you were a bundle of nerves. After hours of trying on clothes and second-guessing your choices, you’d settled on something simple but flattering. You didn’t want to look like you were trying too hard, but let’s face it—you were. A buzz on your phone snapped you out of your last-minute mirror check.

 “Outside. No pressure, but I’m hungry.”

You laughed, grabbed your bag, and took one last deep breath before stepping outside. There he was, leaning casually against his car, looking effortlessly perfect. How was it possible for someone to make standing look so good? Only Harry Styles.

“Nice ride,” you teased, trying to hide your nerves.

“Nice dress,” he shot back, smirking as he opened the passenger door for you. LOST, you are more than lost for this man.

The drive was filled with the kind of banter that felt like second nature by now. He wouldn’t tell you where you were going, just that it was “low-key, but worth it.” That’s what you expected actually, he was really recognizable, and you? could be mistaken for a waitress if some took the correct picture. Harry Styles and who is she? But then you ended up at a cozy little Italian place tucked away in a quiet corner of the city.

“Looks amazing” you asked as he held the door open for you.

“Wait till you taste it” he said, leading you inside. Wait…was that….about the restaurant? or….

The atmosphere was warm and intimate, with dim lighting and soft music playing in the background. You sat across from him at a small corner table, feeling like the rest of the world had disappeared.

“Alright, let’s get this out of the way,” he said, leaning forward with a grin. “Tell me all the embarrassing stories about yourself before the breadsticks get here.” You laughed, shaking your head.

“Absolutely not. But I’ll trade one for one if you’re brave enough.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Oh, it’s on.”

The night unfolded with laughter, stolen glances, and stories that made both of you feel like you’d known each other forever. At some point, you realized you hadn’t checked your phone once—a miracle in itself. You were used to distract yourself whenever the guy you were out with started to talk about bitcoin or some pyramid scheme. When the check came, he waved you off before you could even reach for your wallet.

“Don’t start,” he warned, smirking. “Consider it a payment for ruining your spreadsheets.”

I don’t even think we can still say butterflies. let’s evolve to a full on zoo. As he walked you back to your door later that night, the air between you felt charged but comfortable. You paused, turning to face him.

 “Thank you. For tonight. It was…”

 “Perfect,” he finished for you, his voice soft.

You didn’t even mind that he left you with just that. No kiss, no dramatic goodbye.

But.

His gaze flicked to your lips for just a second before meeting your eyes again, and your breath caught.

‘Can I…’ he started, voice barely above a whisper, ‘...do one more thing to completely ruin your night?’

You didn’t answer. You didn’t need to. You tilted your face up slightly, and he took the hint, leaning in and pressing his lips to yours. It was soft at first, tentative, like he was testing the waters. But when you didn’t pull away, his hand came up to gently cup your jaw, deepening the kiss just enough to leave you dizzy. When he pulled back, his forehead rested against yours for a moment, both of you breathing slightly harder.

‘I think you just ruined my whole life,’ you said. It was pathetic, but it was a completely, utterly, undeniable truth.

‘Alright, Tulip. I’ll take full responsibility. But if I’ve ruined your life, I guess I’m going to have to stick around and fix it.’

You could feel your knees WEAK.

----

By now Gwen knew about your lovelife, who didn’t when you were dating Harry Styles, it was really difficult to hide the blushing moments, the giggles, the fancy car that picked you up every now and then, Your days were magical. MORE than magical.

May 12

Harry had sent you a song that morning with a simple text

“This one it’s just pure truth. Song link Specially 2:32”

Listening to it on repeat throughout the day, you couldn’t help but smile. It was one of those songs that felt like a confession, like it was saying all the things he hadn’t quite said yet.

"Are you trying to tell me something, Mr. Styles?" you texted.

"YOU tell me 😉"

May 14

You snapped a picture of your desk—papers, coffee cups, and a very tired-looking plant all vying for space.

"Welcome to chaos" you captioned it and sent it to him.

Seconds later, a photo of a perfectly neat studio table arrived, complete with his notebook, a few pens, and an untouched cup of tea.

"Show-off" you texted.

"Organized chaos" he corrected. “Coming to make me company later?”

“Obviously”

May 18

“🌷”

Every morning now started with a single tulip emoji from Harry. No text, no explanation—just the flower. It made you laugh every time, this simple, silent ritual he’d created just for you. There was something about it—something understated and intimate.

It didn’t matter if the rest of the world felt chaotic or overwhelming; that one tiny emoji always managed to anchor you. Some days, you’d wake up to find it already waiting for you, like a quiet reminder that someone out there was thinking of you. Other days, it would pop up mid-morning, just as you were starting to feel the weight of your to-do list. But he NEVER failed to send it.

You weren’t even sure how he’d decided to start—but you knew it was the first thing you’d look for every day. It wasn’t grand or overly sentimental, but that’s what made it so special. It was Harry in the simplest, purest form—thoughtful, playful, and somehow always knowing exactly what you needed without you ever having to say a word. Sometimes, you’d reply with nothing more than a matching tulip. Other times, you’d tease him with a string of emojis—🌷🌷🌷🌷🌷—followed by a cheeky, “Did one not feel sufficient today, love?” Yes. “Love” had made its way into the conversation. Tulip was still his favorite, but love was now in the game.

He never explained it, never justified it. But in those simple tulips, he said so much more: I’m here for you. I see you. I want you.

May 30

When you told Harry you’d finally gotten the project approved at work, his response came in the form of three celebratory emojis: 🎉🥂🌷.

"I’m so proud of you, my tulip" he wrote.

It wasn’t over-the-top or overly formal, but it hit you right where it mattered. The simplicity, the care—it was so very him.

"You were the one pushing me to keep doing it at midnight that day in your apartment. So it’s all because of you 💖"

The rest of the day passed in a blur of emails, calls, and the lingering glow of Harry’s words. By the time evening rolled around, you were ready to collapse on the couch with a mindless TV show and a celebratory glass of wine. That was the plan as Harry told you he was stuck with some family stuff, at least, until the doorbell rang. You frowned. You weren’t expecting anyone. Pulling your sweater tighter around you, you padded to the door and peered through the peephole. And there he was.

Harry. Standing on your doorstep, wearing that damn smile, holding a bottle of champagne in one hand and—of course—a single tulip in the other.

You flung the door open, heart racing. "Harry, what—"

"Celebrating you, obviously," he said, stepping inside like he’d always belonged there. He handed you the tulip first, letting his fingers brush yours, then held up the champagne. "I figured we could upgrade from emojis."

You laughed, caught somewhere between disbelief and pure joy. "You didn’t have to do this."

"Didn’t I?" he countered, his tone soft but teasing. "You work so hard, Tulip. You deserve to be celebrated properly. And most importantly by your boyfriend"

It was more than 1 month since he made it completely official, and called himself your boyfriend, and you obviously didn’t argue about it, but still, it all felt like a dream. YOUR BOYFRIEND wanted to celebrate you and that’s exactly what he did. You spent the evening sitting on the living room floor, sharing stories, clinking glasses, and laughing until your cheeks hurt. At one point, he grabbed your hand, lacing his fingers through yours, and simply said, "I’m proud of you."

It wasn’t loud or flashy, but it was everything. The kind of moment that imprinted itself on your heart, quietly becoming one of your favorites.

June 8

"Busy next Friday?"

"Depends. What’s the occasion?"

"Thought you might like to see what all the fuss is about. Backstage pass included 😉. A kiss from the performer too. Maybe multiple ones."

“I ACCEPT”

Your heart raced. You weren't sure what terrified you more: being in his world or the fact that he wanted you to be. But in reality you were already in his world, of course there were many MANY articles of “Harry Styles spotted with mystery girl” but you were just too busy actually being so in love with him to even care.

July 16 It was Harry’s idea.

“I’m a decent cook,” he said, grinning as he rolled up his sleeves. “You’ll be impressed. Trust me.”

You weren’t entirely sure if you trusted him, but the idea of spending the evening in his kitchen, cooking together, sounded perfect. He handed you an apron, and you got to work. The plan was ambitious: homemade pasta and sauce, garlic bread, and a simple dessert. But things went off course almost immediately.

“Is this what dough is supposed to look like?” you asked, holding up a sticky mess that refused to cooperate.

Harry peered over your shoulder, frowning. “Uh… probably not. But it’s okay! It’s rustic.”

“Rustic,” you repeated, raising an eyebrow. “That’s your explanation for this disaster?”

“It’s charming,” he said, taking the dough from you and attempting to salvage it.

“Do you happen to have Gordon Ramsay on your contacts?” You said looking at the unfinished (a bit uneatable) dinner. “I do, but i don’t think he would want to see this”

By the time the pasta was in the pot, you were both covered in flour, and the kitchen looked like a tornado had swept through it. The sauce was a little too salty, the garlic bread had burned edges, and somehow, the dessert had completely fallen apart.But when you sat down at the tiny kitchen table, your mismatched plates in front of you, it didn’t matter.

“To our first—and possibly last—cooking adventure,” Harry said, raising his glass of wine.

“Here’s to hoping we survive the food poisoning,” you joked, clinking your glass against his.

But the truth was, the meal was delicious in its imperfection. And as you sat there, laughing and stealing bites from each other’s plates, you realized it wasn’t about the food at all. It was about this—about him.

----

It had been two days. Harry was on a quick trip to L.A., and the time zones, paired with his whirlwind schedule, made communication sporadic. You told yourself he was busy—his life was far more chaotic than yours—but the silence still felt deafening.

You’d held back from texting or calling him, trying not to seem clingy, but the doubts crept in anyway. Maybe this was too much. Maybe you were too much.

Finally, you broke. Your fingers hovered over your phone, hesitating over his contact like he wasn’t your boyfriend, like he was once again just a stranger. Before you could overthink it, you sent a simple message: “Am I ruining your days over there?👀🌷”

The minutes stretched into hours with no reply. You didn’t realize how tightly you were gripping your phone until the screen dimmed, reflecting your worried expression.

Then came the knock.

You nearly jumped out of your skin, rushing to the door.

Harry stood there, out of breath, hair disheveled, his eyes searching yours like he’d been running for miles.

“You’re in L.A.,” you blurted, confused.

“Was,” he corrected, stepping closer. “I—I couldn’t do this over text.”

“Do what?” you asked, your voice trembling.

He held up his phone, the screen glowing faintly in the dim light. Your text stared back at you.

“This. You. I literally cannot think straight when I’m away from you.” His voice cracked slightly, and your heart clenched. “I don’t care if we’re moving too fast. I think about you all the time, and I’m—”

You stepped forward, cutting him off as your arms wrapped tightly around him.

“Harry, stop,” you murmured against his chest, your voice soft but sure. “You’re here. That’s all I need.”

He pulled back just enough to look at you, his hands firm but gentle on your arms. “No, you don’t understand,” he said, his gaze steady. “I love you. Completely. Hopelessly. And I couldn’t let another second go by without telling you.”

The world seemed to tilt, his words hanging in the air.

“You idiot,” you whispered, tears stinging your eyes as a smile broke through. “I love you too.”

The kiss that followed wasn’t tentative. It wasn’t a question or a test. It was an answer—a culmination of every tulip emoji, late-night text, and unspoken promise.

When you finally pulled apart, both of you laughing softly, Harry reached into his bag and pulled out a single tulip, slightly crumpled but no less beautiful.

“I couldn’t come empty-handed,” he said with a lopsided grin.

You took the flower, your smile uncontainable. “You’re impossible.”

“And you love it.”

That night, curled up on the couch with his arm around your shoulders and the tulip resting in a vase on the coffee table, you realized something profound.

It wasn’t the tulips, the texts, or the grand gestures that made this real. It was the quiet moments—the shared smiles, the silent understanding, the unwavering presence.

No matter what, you had each other.

Forever. --- A/n: If you made it til the end, i just want to say thanks again 🥹🫶 If you have any suggestions or comments or complaints! , please feel free to reach out! --- Taglist:

@jackiehollanderr @proudravenclawbird @hopeyoustaythenight @maryjahps @obsessiveenthusiast @liiit44 @loveheart-123 @harrystyleshotwife @harryscherries28 

@addiemb8332 @cumuluscranium @gguksfilter @alemunson42069 @sarah22194 @summertime-pills @hescrush @cosmomento @harrys-wifeyy @isinpfortvdmen

@familyshow-orisit @notsosweetcreature @cevans-winchester @camillegillians @donutsandpalmtrees @amateurduck @hermionelove @misty-heartbreak

[ladyofstarfall206]

Illyrian Mating Instincts

Pairing: Azriel x Reader

Warnings: Smut 18+ only

A/N: Literally could not stop thinking about this. Hope you enjoy these possessive Az HCs!

SFW

🔹 Azriel has the largest and most powerful wingspan out of his brothers, and he makes it a point to spread them for his mate whenever he has the chance; after a training session, brushing one against your shoulder whenever he passes you in the hall, sunning them on the balcony of the House of Wind while you’re watching, and especially when you’re in the presence of another male. For Illyrians, wings are a status symbol and Az will not hesitate to flare them to assert his dominance over any male who threatens to take your attention from him. He’s even done it to Cassian before.

🔹 Azriel puts much time and effort into making his wings look good for you and feels an immense sense of pride when you admire them.

🔹 Continuing with this topic, he uses his wings to cacoon you at night while you sleep, letting you snuggle against his bare chest with the velvet membrane surrounding you on all sides while his shadows keep watch.

🔹 Az uses them to protect you in public too as they provide a shelter under which he can kiss you in private and part the crowds so you have space to walk.

🔹 His growls. To die for.

🔹 If anyone outside of the family gets too close to you without permission, especially if you’re in a relaxed or vulnerable state, he’ll let out a soft growl of warning and watch the interaction closely in case he needs to step in.

🔹 “It’s okay, love.” You coo gently, reaching over to stroke his knuckles until his wings and taught muscles relax.

🔹 He tends to walk into rooms slightly ahead of you, keeping his palm on your lower back as he leans his head through the doorway and scans the area to make sure it’s safe before you enter.

🔹 Azriel can sense your period nearing days in advance, and prepares for the painful week to come for you by making a comfortable nest on the bed with extra pillows and blankets and cancels his missions so he does not have to leave your side. He instructs the House of Wind to conjure up meals and baths so he can focus his full attention on your wellbeing.

NSFW

🔹 Azriel loves to take you before going to the Illyrian war camps and get your scent all over his skin. He likes that the war lords can smell you on him and can’t have you.

🔹 The only thing he enjoys more is taking you before you accompany him to the Illyrian war camps and covering the soft skin of your throat in love bites.

🔹 “Oh yes, love. Right there…” You moan as Azriel’s mouth latches onto the sensitive skin under your ear. Your eyes roll back and your hips match his rhythm to meet his thrusts.

🔹 Azriel has waited over 500 years for his mate, and desires to give himself completely to you. He wants to surrender himself to your love and trusts you enough to let you use the most sensitive part of him for your pleasure. In the safety of your bedroom, Azriel will lay down on his stomach and allow you to ride his wing while he purrs.

🔹 Run your fingers along the outer edge of his wing and his whole body will shudder. Right before he finishes, his eyes will screw shut and he’ll bury his head in the crook of your neck. Illyrians cum a lot, and your bond takes over his body. He will spill into you over and over again and you’ll have to hold him to your chest while stroking his back to bring him down.

🔹 Especially when the bond is new, Azriel gets all worked up and full of energy any time you interact with other males for too long. He’ll start panting and pull you into the next room where he can’t keep his hands off you.

🔹 “I know. I know, baby. I’m right here.” You reassure, smoothing a stray curl out of his eyes while he moves to undress you.

[adverbally]

Now My Bedsheets Smell Like You

Written for the @stmarchmm prompts “fake dating/courting” and “scenting” | wc: 1,645 | rated: E | cw: sexual content | tags: Steddie, Omega Steve, Alpha Eddie, mating cycles/in heat, intersex omegas, getting together, scenting, first time, vaginal sex

———

Steve splashes another handful of water into his face, scrubbing at the dried sweat along his hairline. He’s still flushed, pupils still blown wide, but maybe Eddie won’t notice. Maybe Steve can sneak out before Eddie even gets up.

It wasn’t Eddie’s fault, after all. It had been Nancy’s idea for the two of them to pretend to court. Steve’s family name made him an Omega of high standing, and being seen with him could only improve Eddie’s reputation. It would only be until the end of summer, until everyone in Hawkins could accept that Eddie was innocent and let him go about his business without constant harassment.

Steve couldn’t blame Nancy, either. He was the idiot who had agreed to the plan. What could be so bad about spending more time with his new friend? Steve would make sure nobody bothered Eddie and keep an eye on his progress as he healed from his injuries. A little more touching in public, a little more scenting, sleeping over at Eddie’s occasionally, none of it was a hardship.

Until this morning, when Steve woke up in Eddie’s bed with the Alpha clinging to him, surrounding Steve with his smoky-sweet scent.

Steve knew Eddie smelled amazing. He’d spent many an evening curled up in his nest with the shirt he’d worn to hang out with Eddie that day, breathing in the mix of their scents— cardamom and vanilla layered with Steve’s sage and citrus. But to wake up with a nose full of Alpha, so warm and thick that it drowned out Steve’s own scent and made him lightheaded?

Well, that’s why Steve is hiding in Eddie’s bathroom now, half-drowning himself in the sink in the hopes that the cold water will bring him back to his senses. He should shower, probably, scrub any trace of Eddie from his skin so he can think clearly, get out of the trailer and breathe in the fresh summer morning instead of wanting Eddie so bad—

A knock on the bathroom door. “Steve? You okay?”

God, why does Eddie have to sound good, too, all raspy and deep with sleep? It makes something clench in Steve’s gut, makes him want to whine and lick the spicy sweetness directly from Eddie’s scent glands until Eddie gives in and fucks Steve cross-eyed…

Oh. Steve isn’t just regular horny, he realizes like a slap in the face. He’s going into heat. Eddie smells so damn good that he’s causing Steve’s hormones to riot.

“Steve?” Eddie’s next knock is more insistent.

“Don’t come in,” he blurts, burying his face in the nearest hand towel.

“Uh… okay?”

Steve sighs and braces himself on the edge of the sink. “Sorry, I know it’s early but I have to go.”

He can hear Eddie’s bare feet shuffling on the carpet in the hallway. “Was it— did I do something?”

Eddie’s voice sounds small, scared, and Steve made him feel that way. His heart breaks a little. “No. No, Eddie, of course not.” He needs to see him, touch him, reassure his Alpha. Before he can think better of it, Steve throws the door open and launches himself into Eddie’s arms.

“Oh. Oh, oh my god, Steve, you—” Eddie buries his face in Steve’s neck, lips grazing the swollen scent gland there until Steve shudders beneath the touch. “You smell so good,” he mumbles into warm skin.

Steve’s head swims at the feel of Eddie’s body pressed up against his, but he tries to stay focused. “I think you triggered my heat. So unless you want me to jump you in about ten seconds, I need to—”

“You don’t want me to help?”

When Steve meets Eddie’s gaze, all he finds is genuine confusion. “You want to?”

Eddie bites his lip. “I haven’t been pretending. The fake courting thing, I’ve been… I wanted to do it for real, so I treated it like it was real. And I know you’re not in charge of how your body reacts to stuff, but if this heat means you’re interested, too—”

Their lips crash together with too much teeth but Steve doesn’t care when Eddie is groaning and licking into his mouth like a starving man. His Alpha tastes as good as he smells, a little more peppery but complemented by the vanilla that bursts on Steve’s tongue.

“Yeah?” Eddie breathes when he pulls back. He cradles Steve’s face in his blessedly cool hands, running his thumbs across Steve’s feverish cheeks. “I’ll take care of you, I just need you to say—”

“Yes, Eddie, please,” Steve gasps, rolling his hips against Eddie’s so he can feel Steve’s cock, hard and needy. He’s wet, too, wetter than he can ever remember being. He wishes Eddie would just push him up against the vanity and fuck him right there.

Like he’s reading Steve’s mind, Eddie guides him back into the bathroom and steals another kiss. “Okay, baby, how do you want me?”

Steve doesn’t hesitate to hook his fingers in the waistband of Eddie’s boxers and yank them down to his knees. He does the same to his own underwear and leans over the sink, catching Eddie’s dumbfounded expression in the mirror. “Here, just like this.”

Eddie catches on quickly, crowding Steve against the counter and sliding two fingers through the slick between Steve’s legs. “Fuck, sweetheart. Is all this for me?”

“Uh-huh,” he confirms, nudging his hips back into the pressure of Eddie’s fingertips circling his hole. Steve can’t hold back a gasp when they breach him with an easy glide.

“Can’t wait to taste you,” Eddie murmurs in his ear. His lips trail down Steve’s neck, leaving little nips and kitten licks along the way until he reaches his scent gland. “Gonna be so sweet, so good for me.”

Another finger slips into Steve’s pussy alongside the other two. The fullness is just right, enhanced by the promise of more to come when Eddie finally gets his cock in him. Steve can’t wait much longer. “Eddie, c’mon, fuck me!” he pleads.

“Give me a minute, Stevie, I don’t wanna hurt you. Gotta make sure you can take me.” Eddie nips at Steve’s neck as he scissors his fingers apart.

Steve keens at the stretch, clenching down when he imagines how much better it will feel once Eddie fucks him, knots him. “I can take it, I can take it,” he babbles. “Please, let me take it.”

“Jesus Christ,” Eddie hisses to himself, his free hand dropping from Steve’s waist to squeeze the base of his cock. “Baby, I don’t know how long I can last.”

“I don’t care, we can go again. Ed, I need you, please—” His begging suddenly turns into a disappointed whine when Eddie’s fingers leave him, only to be replaced by an involuntary chirp as Eddie notches the head of his cock at Steve’s entrance.

“Okay, okay, oh, fuuuuck.” Eddie buries his face in the crook of Steve’s neck, gulping in breaths like the Omega’s scent is the only thing keeping him sane as he sinks into the tight heat of Steve’s pussy.

It makes Steve burn with jealousy, the fact that Eddie can smell him but not the other way around. He fumbles behind him to grab one of Eddie’s hands, drags it to his nose and huffs the sweet warmth of his scent straight from his wrist like a drug he can’t get enough of.

“Steve, oh my god, how are you even real?” Eddie’s hips jerk against his ass, grinding into him helplessly. There’s no real rhythm to his movements yet, caught up as he is in the whirlwind of heat pheromones, but it’s everything Steve wants at the moment.

“Alpha, smell like mine,” he purrs against Eddie’s pulse point. The skin is thin at the inside of his wrist, practically begging for Steve to bite until he draws blood and tastes cardamom and vanilla on his tongue.

“You, too,” Eddie groans, sucking hard at Steve’s scent gland as his thrusts find a steady cadence that knocks Steve’s hips against the edge of the sink. “Mine.”

It should be embarrassing how quickly Steve’s orgasm creeps up on him but Eddie is thick and hot in his cunt, and Steve’s cock is grinding against the countertop, and Eddie’s scent is right there in his face and in the stale air of the Munsons’ trailer and—

Steve can’t even choke out a warning before he’s coming, clamping down on Eddie’s cock and clutching his wrist for dear life as he makes a mess of the sink.

Based on Eddie’s strangled growl, he’s not far behind. “Ohjesusfuck, Stevie, I’m gonna—”

His knot catches painfully on Steve’s rim, just this side of too big, but Steve shoves back against him until it breaches him with a wet noise and a curse from Eddie. He can feel each spurt of the Alpha’s come filling him up, Eddie’s hands shaking against Steve’s hip and mouth, his hips grinding deeper and deeper where they’re locked together.

It’s good, so good that Steve’s knees go weak and Eddie has to hold him up as they both tremble through the aftershocks. It’s even better when Eddie starts whispering to him, sweet nothings like, “So good for me, honey. Felt so good, made me pop my knot so fuckin’ fast. Just a few more minutes and then once my knot goes down, we can go back to bed, nap some more before the next wave.”

Steve just purrs, content to be surrounded by— and full of— Eddie’s spicy-sweet smell. His Omega is satisfied for now, finally settled on Eddie’s knot, and the urgency bubbling in his veins calms. For once, Steve is looking forward to the rest of his heat, knowing he’ll be cared for by an Alpha with calloused hands and a soft heart and a scent that feels like a warm hug.

[thatonebookg1rl]

Are we still friends? | Azriel x reader | Angst with good ending fic |

Summary; Your friendship of 400 years is ruined by a single kiss. And Azriel definitely hates you now. But you can't help but still feel deeply in love with him..

A/n: YAlll this took a day to write bc I have really long nails and I was fighting to type. Hope you enjoy it! ASKS ARE OPEN.

word count: 1.8k

warnings: allusions to sex, cussing (my fav word is fuck, can you tell?), little bit of angst, blood, azriel beats someone up, think that's it!

Azriel wasn’t here anymore. You’ve never felt so lonely before. It was like a demon possesed him to hate you. Were you that bad of a kisser?

Cauldron..how could kissing your bestfriend go so wrong? It was just the heat of the moment. And he kissed back. But now? It was as if he couldn’t stand to be in the same room as you. You’d put money down on the idea he despises you. Were your lips chapped? Did your breath smell? Were you so ugly- the fact he kissed you disgusts him now? All the questions and no answers. And you were no way in hell gonna approach and ask him. He’d probably sprint away anyways.

You sat in the library, watching the clock signal it was three am. Before that night, you would’ve been with Azriel by 3 am. So many late nights you spent by his side, watching the stars and talking your hearts out. Sometimes it would be silent. You growled in frustration. How could a fucking 400 year old friendship be ruined by one kiss? Were you guys still friends? A million thoughts raced in your mind as you sit in the library. The memory of that night replaying a thousand times over, and you couldn’t stop the tears that escaped your eyes.

You washed the blood off of your hands in the dingy old sink. Azriel showered next to you. The mission Rhys had sent you two on was successful, but Azriel had used a lot of magic, leaving him tired. You found this old inn in the spring court. With the mission here, Azriel couldn’t teleport you both until he recovered more and he refused to leave you alone, so the hotel it was. It was a one bed hotel but it was nothing that phased either of you. 400 years together and you both knew each other too well to be shy about sharing a bed or nakedness. Okay..maybe you were. It was hard to hide your deep love for him. But he would never love you like that. You had watched him chase and pine over multiple girls over the years and every single time it was never you. At this point you felt like an idiot. Why couldn’t you get over him? Why?

“Are you okay?” Azriel’s voice broke your train of thoughts. “Yeah.” You responded, turning off the old sink. He nodded, his eyes hard and distant. His hand reached out, clutching your cheek and rubbing off probably more blood. He knew you were too tired to take a full shower, so he grabbed a wash rag and wet it, wiping your face gently. You closed your eyes, enjoying his touch.

“Cmon, let's get you in bed. I don't need you freezing to death this winter.” He whispered, throwing the rag on the ground and leading you into the bedroom where you stripped from your dirty clothes. You faced the bed where Azriel climbed in, his eyes hard and staring unashamed at your body. You blushed, feeling heat rise in your body. He had never looked at you like this before. He licked his lips. You climbed in the bed, trying to cover up and get rid of his burning stare. A scarred hand grabbed your hip dragging you onto his lap effortlessly.

“Az-”

“Sh.. don’t ever cover yourself up. You’re breathtaking, y/n” He rasped. His eyes looked at your body, admiring and hungry. Then they landed on your lips. You grasped his face, feeling like you were burning under his touch. You needed him. Shadows danced around both of you as you bent down, finally kissing the man you have desired for centuries. He rumbled, hand grabbing your neck and keeping you there as his tongue darted in your mouth. You both fought for dominance but he won as he flipped you over, pinning you and kissing you like a starved man. You hand tugged on his hair and he growled playfully, nipping your lip.

Quickly as it started, it ended. He jerked away, terrified. He practically flew off the bed, panting. You sat up, naked and cold now he wasn’t on you and touching you.

“Azriel?” You called, confused. Did you do something wrong? He went from looking like he was in love with you to being disgusted. You reached for him- confused and hurt.

“Don’t.” He snapped, backing away. He walked to the door, stopping after opening it. He gulped, “This- ..this can never happen.” He said, voice cracking before he disappeared, leaving you alone in the bed. Alone in the cold inn.

The next day after that he teleported you both home silently before teleporting away again. Tears fell again. How did it all go so wrong? He practically started it! This wasn’t fair.

Hours pass by as you sit in the library, before you eventually fall asleep. When you wake, you find yourself in your bed. You don’t remember walking back here, but Rhys probably found you. He was like a brother to you, always caring for you. Bed rotting feels like the best thing to do today. If you go out for breakfast Azriel will be there. No. Fuck it. You’re not gonna let some immature, dickwad control your life! You stand and hastily dress yourself, getting ready for the day before making your way to where breakfast is held. You walk in, head held high as you greet Cassian kindly. Rhys is here too.

“Good morning, y/n.” He purrs, smirking at you as if he knows you're up to something. Or maybe he is. Nobody knows with him. Azriel is standing munching on an apple but when he hears Rhys greet you, he turns and leaves. Whatever, fuck him and his nice ass! You huff and sit down, the room silent now as you aggressively fill your plate up.

“Uhmm….everything good in paradise?” Cassian teases, scooting away wearily when you clutch your fork like a weapon. ”Yes everything is fucking lovely.” You reply, shoveling strawberries in your mouth. Rhys laughs, unbothered. He claps your shoulder, hugging you. “Everyone is going to Rita’s tonight, come with us, let loose. You and Azriel need to get over this weird thing.” He says, and Cass nods furiously in agreement. You huff and nod. All you could think was fuck Azriel. Fuck him. Fuck him..? You growled at your own thoughts and shook your head. No. You’d find a new guy. You were done pining over an asshole who didn’t appreciate you.

A few hours later

The skirt you're wearing didn’t leave much to the imagination. But nothing was hanging out..so whatever.? It clung to your skin as you ordered another shot, your top leaving a hefty amount of cleavage out. As the bartender handed you another drink, you gulped it down, handing the glass back to him. It was crowded tonight. The booth was full with Rhys, Feyre, Cass, Nesta, and Mor dancing. Azriel was beside Elain. You ignored him and the whistles as you waltzed back to Mor, dancing close to her as the music pounded your skull. You both giggled when a faerie man and female approached. Mor danced with the female, getting close and you took the male. It'd been forever since you had danced with a guy like this. He grasped your hips, chuckling as you turned and grinded with him to the music.

This male was nice. Handsome, tall, well built. But it felt wrong. And your eyes went back to Azriel who's eyes were pinned on you, standing straight with his wings spread. He looked pissed. His scarred hands were shaking and his teeth were barred. Elain attempted to grab his arm and jerked away as she burned him. His eyes never leave yours. You turned, feeling the anger of him hurting you. He had no right to be upset. You stared into this stranger's eyes you were dancing on, and he bent down kissing you and you returned it. You fought the urge to recoil back in disgust because- because he wasn’t Azriel.

Before you could move, the guy went flying. Literally. Azriel stood panting in front of you before turning towards the guy he had just flung like a mosquito. He started towards him again, his hand grasping his dagger. You chased after him, grabbing his shoulder and turning him around.

“Azriel! What the ACTUAL fuck?!” You screamed. The whole club was watching. His eyes softened, looking hurt. “He k-kissed you” He stumbled over his words, looking like a kicked puppy. “Y-you didn’t like it. I could sense it. And his greasy hands were all over you!” He spat out. Wings spreading.

You growled taking a step forward. “You have no fucking right to try and control who kisses me and who doesn’t. You don’t get to ignore me for weeks on end and then only acknowledge me now!”

“You think I was ignoring you because I wanted to?! Fuck! I couldn’t even leave the damn house because all I wanted to do was grab you and never let you leave my arms. I've loved you for 400 years.” He choked out, getting closer. “But you deserve better then me. You deserve the whole world, not some bastard. And so I tried to distance myself. And goddammit I fucking couldn't. Since the day I’ve laid eyes on you I’ve laid awake at night thinking only of you. I can’t go a day without seeing you and not become bat-shit crazy. I need you. I need you y/n.” His voice cracked, and you felt tears in your eyes.

He gasped when you backhanded him so hard his vision went dark. Fuck he taught you to hit hard.

“You don’t get to choose what I deserve, Azriel. I deserve you.” You whispered before grabbing his face and pulling him into an earth shattering kiss. You couldn't distantly hear the crowd cheering as he wrapped himself around you, kissing you back. His wings created a perfect cocoon around you both as he pressed himself tight against you, his lips pressing intos yours roughly. He pulled back slightly. “I'm so sorry.” He whispered. You puffed. Before you could reply you fell into him in pain. Your heart is tugging roughly. Connecting to something. You heard him gasp as he held you tighter, a golden light emitting from both of you.

“My mate..I'm so sorry,” He cooed, eyes soft and scared. You looked up. Azriel was your mate. Yours.

“I suppose I’ll forgive you if you can make it up to me later.” You whispered suggestively, causing him to growl. His hands found your ass, smacking it. “Anything.” He promised. You found comfort in his arms and as you both flew back home, you knew you could forgive him eventually. But you’d never be friends again. No, you were mates now. And he was yours forever, as were you.

A/n: Tysm for reading! Hope you enjoyed. ASKS OPEN

[lexirosewrites]

Day 14: Second Chance Romance

for @stmarchmm

Widows are supposed to have their time to grieve. They should be allowed to cry and adjust to their new life in peace, mourning their spouse in private.

Steve doesn’t mourn because he never loved his alpha in the first place.

But he’s not given any time before being sold off again regardless.

“I married Henry because you forced me to. I stayed with him as you asked. I was a good omega and faithful wife even though I had no choice. Why are you doing this to me again?” Steve dares to ask his parents.

He’s not distressed about Henry’s sudden death, but it’s too much all at once.

Leaving his home for the past ten years was a lot. Packing up and returning to Hawkins with the hopes of being accepted back into his family’s house was the minimum he had expected.

They haven’t even given him time to unpack before breaking the unhappy news.

“Steven, he can provide for you,” his mother states.

“I don’t care what kind of man he is! I obeyed your wishes once already. Can I not have a moment alone before you put me back to auction like the prized bitch you’ve made me into?” he snarls out.

Ten years with Henry has made him less docile, less willing to comply blindly.

Compliance has only ever offered him heartbreak.

Mrs. Harrington flinches back, seeming surprised by her son’s reaction. As if she was sure Steve would quietly agree to this.

As if she hadn’t stolen him away from the alpha he planned to spend his life with a decade ago.

She and his father ruined his life, selfishly destroyed his love.

They’d had his secret suitor arrested for daring to touch Steve without their permission. Then they’d only agreed to have Eddie released if Steve was obedient in marrying Henry.

He’d had no choice but to give up his personal freedom for the only man he’d ever truly loved.

And Eddie… ran away.

Now they have the gall to act surprised by his rage.

Henry dying was supposed to be Steve’s ticket to starting over anew. Eddie’s long gone, but he could still be an independent omega with his own life.

No pups with Henry to tie him down or keep him locked away at the Creel estate.

“Steven, come now, you’re being unreasonable. You haven’t even met your new alpha,” his father chastises. “He paid more than double your asking price and will no doubt keep you in comfort.”

They’re slightly more civil than they used to be, but Steve’s older and less afraid of them now too.

“I won’t do it. Henry didn’t care that I wouldn’t accept a mating bite, but what of this new one? Did you even ask him? Did you even think of me?” he challenges.

They have the nerve to look ashamed, but they give no real response to the questions.

It’s all he needs to hear to know their answers.

Steve lets out a shaky breath, attempting to calm himself. Maybe he’s gotten through to them and they’ll reconsider their decision.

This argument is fruitless either way.

He returns to his old room for the evening. It’s become guest quarters now, but it’ll do until he can make other arrangements.

It’s no surprise that he rests fitfully, mind full of anxiety over the future Steve’s parents are planning.

From the moment he presented as an omega, they’d only ever seen him as a burden and something to be profited from.

A meal ticket for them, rather than a beloved and cherished child.

That’s a key part of why Steve refused to have children with Henry. Henry was from an old family with traditional values like his own.

Steve was his obedient wife and any pups they produced would’ve been pawns in their chess game of society just the same.

He simply wouldn’t play the game anymore.

Losing his true love was already more than he’d ever willingly gamble again.

Even if he ran away and became an omega outcasted from proper society, Steve can’t imagine an outcome worse than the one he’d already endured.

What is there left to lose anymore?

His life has no real value.

That bleak thought is what finally lulls him to sleep.

When Steve wakes, it’s from men grabbing him out of his bed and dragging him into a carriage— an eerie flashback to ten years prior.

He should’ve known. His parents had done the same thing to him before.

A coward’s tactic.

Snatch him in the middle of the night and send him away before he can devise an escape plan.

He’s already crying before he’s even made it into the carriage properly, kicking and screaming without success as he’s shoved into the closed space against his wishes.

Nobody seems to care how he feels.

“Oh, sweetheart, shhhh. It’s alright now. Please don’t shed anymore tears, my love.”

Small correction: one person seems to care.

He’s not alone in the carriage evidently. A change from the last time. Henry had waited at the manor for him to arrive, not directly involved in his kidnapping.

But there’s a man in here with him.

It’s dark in the carriage, difficult to make out features beyond a groomed beard and exquisite garments whose gold filament threads pick up the moonlight.

As his parents said, his alpha must be a fairly wealthy man to offer more than double his asking price.

Steve is sure his price is far lower than it was before.

Widows who have left their prime years and have yet to produce a pup aren’t exactly as highly desired as virgins.

Still, there must be a reason this stranger wanted him and is speaking to him with such an affectionate familiarity.

“Please leave me be. I beg of you, sir. My late husband just passed recently and I’m not in a state fit to be a wife again yet. I wish to grieve in solitude,” he pleads shakily, staying as far away from the alpha as he can in the cramped space.

The alpha is unnervingly silent. A bad sign.

“I don’t mean to offend you, sir,” Steve rushes to clarify.

This man may well own him and make his life miserable if Steve managed to offend him already. Henry was many things, but senselessly cruel wasn’t one of them.

His new alpha could possibly be much worse than his last.

“So you did fall in love with him then?”

Steve is taken aback by the bold statement. It would be odd for him to admit the truth, but something in him says he shouldn’t lie.

“He was my husband. I held no other sentiments for him beyond societal bonds.”

The alpha shifts closer to him.

Steve runs out of space to move, so he plants himself firmly in his seat, trying to appear unafraid.

“I spent the last ten years of my life trying to rescue you, Stevie. Ten years of working hard and saving and doing anything to elevate myself to the status of a man who could afford to keep you.”

It doesn’t click right away. Not until the moonbeams come through the window just right and hits the alpha’s face.

He’s not just any alpha.

He’s Eddie, the love of Steve’s life. The man he gave up his future for and never thought he’d see again.

A former pauper boy, now wealthy and older.

Returned to save him.

Eddie cups his cheek gently, locking eyes with Steve and conveying shared feelings without words.

He kisses his nose.

“You came back,” Steve states in wonder.

“I poisoned him,” Eddie confesses without an ounce of remorse. “I knew Henry wouldn’t let you go, but I needed you to know that I still love you. I needed to free you from him.”

He should be upset with Eddie, but it’s the most romantic thing he’s ever heard.

Eddie didn’t flee town and look out for himself all those years ago, as would’ve been the wise choice

He’s returned as his alpha.

“You didn’t run away, Eddie.”

“I’d never run anywhere you couldn’t follow me, Steve.”

[jassy2uall]

– Always You

Billie Eilish x fem! Reader

“You’ve always had a crush on your best friend Billie but could never find a way to tell her. You just didn’t think she felt the same or that you’d be the one. It’ll never be you, or will it?”

Warnings - lots of angst and jealousy (get some tissues guys)

————————————————————

You and Billie have been best friends since you were six years old. You’ve known her just as long as Zoe has, but unlike Zoe, your relationship with Billie is more complicated and more serious. You’ve always had a tiny crush on her, but you never told her. You were afraid of ruining the friendship, and even more afraid of rejection. So, you buried those feelings deep down, convincing yourself you’d forgotten about them.

But you hadn’t.

When Billie became famous, everything changed. Her rise to stardom only complicated the feelings you thought you’d moved past. Every time you saw her on stage or in the spotlight, it was like those buried emotions resurfaced, stronger than before. It even enraged you when you’d see her flirt with so many people, especially women. It was like a punch to the gut each time, the reality of her new world far removed from the one you two had built together.

You’d always been there for her through her past relationships, but you never liked anyone she dated. They weren’t good enough for her, you told yourself. You were the one who truly understood her, the one who’d been there through it all. You convinced yourself for years that you were all she needed, that you were good enough for her—you just couldn’t tell her that.

But then came Coachella. That day, your emotions reached a boiling point when you saw Billie being all flirty with Odessa and Quen. It was like you couldn’t hold it in any longer—the jealousy, the longing, the fear that maybe it would never be you. After watching her take turns kissing both of them, something inside you snapped. You’d seen enough. You ran off the stage, your heart pounding in your chest. You heard Zoe call out to you, her voice barely cutting through the blaring music, but you didn’t care. You just couldn’t be there anymore. Billie didn’t even notice. She was too caught up in the moment, dancing and enjoying herself, oblivious to the storm building inside you.

Would it even matter if she had noticed? Would she follow after you? The questions swirled in your mind as you pushed through the crowd, your thoughts racing faster than your legs could carry you. As much as you wanted to leave, it dawned on you that you had a ride with Billie and her friends, and they weren’t exactly in the mood to leave, unlike you. Even though it was dark outside, it was still early, and Coachella was far from over.

You pulled out your phone and quickly called a Lyft. Unfortunately, it was going to be 20 minutes until it arrived. You sighed in frustration. You were ready to get out of here. You kept hearing Billie shouting into the mic, her voice cutting through the noise of the crowd. The more you heard her talk, the more the tears fell, unbidden, down your face.

That’s when you saw a streak of brown hair approach you slowly. Your vision was blurry from the tears, but you recognized her—Claudia. She looked at you with concern, worry in her eyes.

“Are you okay?” She asked, gently placing her hand on your shoulder.

“I saw you run off stage. What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” you said quickly, wiping your eyes and avoiding her gaze. You hoped she wouldn’t notice, but your voice betrayed you.

“I can clearly see you’re crying, Y/N. Zoe told Billie you ran off. She’s worried about you.”

Sure, she is, you thought bitterly. You forced a weak laugh, wiping your nose on your sleeve.

“She said she’s going to talk to you as soon as she’s done.”

That was it. You snapped. The frustration, the hurt, the years of suppressed feelings—everything came crashing down on you.

“Yeah, right!” You yelled, your voice cracking with raw emotion. “She doesn’t care about me or my feelings!” You stepped back, shaking your head. “I can’t do this anymore, Claudia. I just can’t.”

Claudia’s confusion deepened. “What do you mean?”

You paused for a moment, wiping your eyes. Were you actually going to tell her? You’d never told anyone except your sister, who pretty much knew before you did that you liked Billie. You took a deep breath, gathering your nerves.

“I like her, Claud,” you finally muttered, the words slipping out before you could even fully process them.

Claudia’s eyes widened, her drink falling to the ground as she stepped back, stunned. “You what?” She asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

“I like her,” you repeated, your heart pounding. “Like, like her. For a while now,” you admitted, the weight of your confession heavy on your chest. “But I never told her because I didn’t think she’d feel the same, and I tried to forget about it, but I just can’t.”

The words kept tumbling out, and once you started, it felt like there was no stopping them. “She makes it so hard not to like her. Everything she does mesmerizes me. She’s so beautiful and kind, and she has the most beautiful eyes I’ve ever seen in my life. Every time I look into them, I wanna tell her how I feel, but I don’t. I didn’t want her to reject me or, worse, ruin our friendship. But I’m pretty sure after tonight, our friendship’s pretty much over. Because she doesn’t give a damn about me or how I feel, and if she does, she’s got a funny way of showing it.”

You wiped away more tears, your face flushed from the outburst.

Claudia stood there in stunned silence, her eyes softening as she watched you, tears threatening to fall from her own eyes, despite the alcohol still buzzing through her. She didn’t say anything for a moment, but you could see her processing what you had said. She reached out slowly, pulling you into a hug. You didn’t even realize how badly you needed it until she wrapped her arms around you.

“I never knew any of this,” she said into the crook of your neck. You could smell the alcohol on her, but you didn’t care. “And you’re wrong about one thing,” she pulled away slightly, looking at you seriously. “She does care about you.”

You didn’t want to believe her. You couldn’t. “No, she doesn’t. If she did—”

“She does, Y/N. All she ever talks about when she’s with me and Finneas is you—what you’re doing, what you guys are talking about. I’m telling you, you’re always on her mind.”

You shook your head in disbelief. “Then how come every time we’re together, she’s always focused on something else or someone else?”

“She’s busy, you know that.”

“Yeah, too busy for me, I see,” you said sadly.

Suddenly, your phone buzzed. You glanced at it: your Lyft was about to pull up.

“Enough about this, Claudia. I’m going back to the hotel to pack my things,” you said, taking a few steps toward the pick-up area.

“What? No!” she yelled, trying to pull you back.

“As I said, I can’t do this anymore. It’s never going to be me, Claud. And I’m done trying,” you told her firmly, walking toward the Lyft. Claudia didn’t follow you. She just stood there, her expression a mix of sadness and concern, watching you leave. You glanced back at her one last time before climbing into the backseat.

“If she really cares about me, like you say, then she’d be right here, talking to me, trying to stop me from leaving. But she’s not,” you said, gesturing toward the stage where Billie was performing.

“She’s not, is she?” you whispered to yourself, before shutting the door behind you and leaving Claudia standing there, as the car sped off toward the hotel.

[buckyschair]

AFTERGLOW

Pairing: Azriel x Reader

Summary: A sequel part to Flirting, which follows our dear reader (an archivist from Day Court) and the events post-hook-up with Azriel. Don’t worry, his busybody family could never be too sidetracked with running their court to prevent them getting involved in his love life– and, thanks to the properties of transference, yours! Have you stumbled upon something real here with him? Or will it be over before it’s begun? Only Azriel’s shadowy attachment style and maladaptive coping mechanisms will tell! Spoiler: the sex is good. 

read part one on tumblr here

A/N: From the bottom of my heart, what the fuck was I doing when I started writing this fic in the second person present tense. Copy editing this was a nightmare. I am completely demoralized. The only thing that can cure me? Your comments and kudos, baby! 

Content Warnings: porn with plot, kinda switches between your POVS, female reader, Rhys and Cass and Mor being dickheads (affectionate), smut (featuring aftercare <3), mutual masturbation, thigh riding, unprotected PIV sex, explicit language, alcohol, yearning, idiots to lovers, no use of Y/N

Disclaimers: 1. I’m woman enough to admit that I don’t know how the magic system works in this universe. Who has what powers? None of my business. Yet, somehow, this same author spent an hour researching exactly how people with penises like to masturbate. And that’s showbiz, baby! 2. It’s also not my business where these people live. I haven’t read ACOSF yet so I have no idea where they’re all supposed live so just pretend Az has his own place and they all share a house too idk the river house is new and confusing to me kthxbyeeee

18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

Word Count: ~14k 

Read on AO3

It’s surprisingly domestic, how the morning unfolds in a post-coital haze, breathy moans lapsing into quiet conversation about pillow preferences and the day's looming demands. You’re seriously so glad you went dancing last night, especially since your fun solo night out was cut short in favor of mind blowing sex with Azriel. The male lies beside you, your body tucked into his arm on his massive bed, the pair of you lingering after another round of bliss. You’re reluctant to emerge from your shared cocoon, but you know you can’t stay forever. 

“I don’t know about you, but this is my ideal morning,” Azriel comments lazily.

You murmur something noncommittal. 

He raises himself up on one arm to look at you, affronted. You see the disbelief in his poised face, his quiet accusation: How could it get better than this? It’s sharp enough to uncover your grin as you answer: 

“A bath?” you propose.

Azriel presses a kiss to your temple before grumbling his way out from under the covers. 

“Anything for my esteemed guest,” he says sarcastically.

“I’m so honored,” you say, eyes rolling behind his back as he disappears into the washroom. 

“I saw that!” he calls from inside.

You give him a rude gesture from your place under his sheets, and you hear his chuckle echoing through the open doorway as he draws you a bath. Even his laughter sounds like a whispered secret. You treasure the sound, storing it away in your memory. 

You’re half hoping he’ll join you in the bath, but he leaves you to wash alone once you finally emerge from his bed. Water sluices across your form as you cleanse yourself of the hard earned sweat and stain. While the stickiness washes away, the warmth of your experience remains; an invisible mark at odds with the pale bruises blooming on your chest and thighs. His soap smells of citrus and cedar, a salty scrub that rejuvenates your flesh and invigorates your senses. It was the scent you’d caught in his pillows as you’d been pressed into them this morning. You wipe the images from your mind, clearing your head with some effort. 

When you emerge from your much needed bath, wrapped in a towel, you find your things laid out neatly for you atop his fresh sheets. You pick up an oversized shirt included in the pile. Your brow arches in silent question towards the male currently fussing with dirty sheets. Thankfully, he’s donned some undershorts, so you could expect to keep it together for at least a full conversation. 

“I couldn’t find your shirt,” Azriel confesses, apologetic. He tells you that he looked all over his room while you were bathing, to no avail. 

“Aren’t you a spy? I can’t believe you couldn't track it down,” you laugh as you slip into his tunic. It smells clean, and you’re a little put out that it doesn’t have his aroma. He throws a pillow at you, and you barely catch it before it smacks you in the face. His pout only makes you laugh harder. 

He apologizes again about your top, but as you slip your skirt back on, you remind him that you weren’t protesting last night when he threw it gods know where. His ears burn as he imagines it falling out the window, landing somewhere in the city below, perhaps much to some stranger’s confusion. 

“Not that it would be out of character for this place, with Rhys and Feyre being the way they are,” he concludes, cracking you up again. 

You come to stand before him, in your odd new outfit, short tight skirt and long baggy shirt. Now that you’re dressed, you aren’t sure of what comes next. So far, he’s directed your morning routine, and you’re suddenly dreading the inevitable moment when you have to leave. His eyes are taking you in, and you have no idea how his heart stutters at the sight of you, freshly bathed in his soap and dressed in his clothing. He has half a mind to take you back to bed, if Rhys hadn’t just been in his head reminding him of their upcoming morning appointment. 

Before you can ask him what the plan is, your stomach growls loudly, demanding. 

You curse your traitorous stomach as you walk through the grand halls alone in search of a meal, disoriented since he’d kissed your temple again right after dispatching you to the kitchen. He’d offered to get the two of you food, but you told him he should bathe first. Truth be told, you just needed a moment to get your bearings. This morning was far more normal than you were expecting, and it unnerved you how easily you’d fallen into a mock domestic routine with the warrior. 

Soon enough, you find a well stocked kitchen, exactly where Azriel had explained it would be. You shouldn’t be surprised that his directions were so clear, given the male’s strategic mind. 

You do find yourself surprised, however, that he’s allowing you to wander unchaperoned and barefoot through his court’s inner dwelling. The thought had warmth blooming in your chest as you set water to boil on the stove before looking around for some proper kind of tea. 

Before you know it, you’ve lost yourself to snooping through the full cabinets, inspecting jars and baskets of dry goods as you assemble your small feast. As an archivist, you can’t help admiring neat collections of any kind. You’re as endlessly fascinated with the contents of cabinets as you are with stacks of manuscripts. 

The distraction is why you don’t notice the approaching footsteps until a sarcastic voice calls you out of your reverie. 

“Az? Is that you?” 

You freeze your snacking at the unfamiliar male voice in the hallway. 

“What the hell, brother. So tell me why you tapped out earlier than anyone last night– without saying goodbye, might I add– and yet you’re the only one late to training this–” the voice cuts off as he finally spots you through the door frame. 

“Oh,” the Illyrian stumbles before quickly recovering, “Hello.” A boyish smile breaks upon his face as he takes in your state, dressed in his brother’s shirt over a skintight skirt. 

“You’re not Azriel,” he observes keenly. 

He offers you a wide grin, which you return sheepishly at first but then with real humor. 

“No, I’m not,” you laugh, realizing this must be Cassian. You introduce yourself briefly before adding, “He’ll probably be late this morning.”

“I bet he will be,” Cassian quips, but before he can question you further, you excuse yourself with your tea while it's still hot. 

“It’s nice to meet you!” he calls after you, your name ringing down the corridor. 

Cassian shakes his head once you leave, speechless for a moment before he contacts Rhys. You won’t believe this! he projects excitedly, thrilled to have some gossip on his brooding brother for once. 

You can’t hide your giddy blush when you return to Azriel’s room to eat. He takes the tea with quiet thanks, laughing at the mischief you’d gotten up to in his absence, and even more so at your impression of Cassian. His chest warms at your brief brush with his family. You enjoy a peaceful meal sitting in his chair by the window while he tidies his already very clean room, noting how fastidious he is in his motions as he dresses and styles his hair for the day. 

Once he’s run out of ways to drag out his morning routine, he turns to you with a serious but soft expression. 

“Can I see you again?” Azriel asks. If all logic didn’t defy it, you’d say he sounds nervous. “Perhaps on a real date?” 

“A date?” you ask coyly. You don’t bother to hide your smug delight at his words, feeling like you’ve just won a prize. “Yeah, I think I’d like that. A lot.” 

His resulting smile is so bright– for a second it transports you back to the grand archival library in Day court, where you’d soak up the blinding noon light that would stream in through the tall arched windows. You could always rely on its warmth for a reprieve from your dusty, tedious tasks. You imagine Az must feel similarly in this moment for his shadowy expression to break with such radiance. 

It calms your sorrow at leaving the brilliant palace, confident that you might very well see it again soon. You enjoy this flight more, as he carefully maneuvers through the city’s sky, the journey less disorienting in the daylight. He leaves you on the steps of your accommodations near the library with a lingering kiss and a promise to see you again the next night. 

Once he leaves, your mind goes into overdrive, cataloguing all that had occurred and trying to figure out what exactly drew you together. If there was any sort of common thread, it was invisible, but you felt its undeniable pull all the same. 

You’d have to do some further research, you decide, on Illyrians, and on shadowsingers. And perhaps on sex positions with winged fae. And maybe you should buy a new going out top… though you certainly wouldn’t be returning this new one anytime soon, you think, smoothing Azriel’s shirt down as you step inside your little place. 

You happily plan your list of tasks and activities, unaware of the shadows that slip inside after you, ready to report back to their master, who is equally anticipating your next meeting, even as he arrives unforgivably late to training, only to face the torment of his nosy family. 

Azriel bears their prying questions and bold threats with characteristic stoicism, cracking only to say that they’d better play nice, offering scalding threats of his own lest they scare you off. Deep down, he thinks with pride that you could probably actually handle them in their full chaos.   

After all, he’d felt something shake loose in his chest this morning as he’d laid watching your sleeping form. He recalls how he’d felt last night, when you were backlit and glowing above him. The magnetism that had sparked, a gravity he stepped into fearlessly when in battle, that now gave him pause. Later, when he had a moment, he would examine it more intently, but even at this glance, he felt it strongly.

He swallows his smile as he falls into the motions of sparring with Rhys, feeling that familiar thrill. He’s found a real contender in you, he should have known it from the moment he saw you squaring up back at the club. Azriel can’t wait to see things through with you. 

Hours later, recalling that excitement feels like mockery, as he ponders what one possibly does for a first– second?– date. He curses himself for having such a premature reaction, rather than applying a more rational process to the situation. He’d met you once. He told himself he hardly knew you.

But even as he had that thought, he brought to mind all he’d absorbed about you. Your life in Day, your dedication to your people, your reverence for things of antiquity. His mind wandered to your shared experience, how he’d seen you come alive and undone under his touch. Your small reactions, your fixation on his wings, your quickness to humor. He couldn’t convince himself that he didn’t know you at all. Still, surely many fae knew you better than he could, after just one night. 

The thought fills him with an ugly emotion; he didn’t like that someone else might know you better than he. Azriel scolds himself for his juvenile envy. He hadn’t earned special intimacy with you. Yet , he amends. 

He is a master of spies, and foremost of a scarce population who could wield shadows as easily as any blade, and the trusted right hand of the most formidable High Lord in history. Even in his own right, he is one of the most powerful Illyrians in existence, he reminds himself as he sets to the task of planning your date. 

Azriel is determined to show you a good time. He thinks back to how organic, how right your brief time together at Rita’s had felt. 

How badly could this go? 

✸✸✸ 

“You’re an idiot. I knew you were an asshole, but honestly Az, I hadn’t pegged you as an idiot,” Cassian scoffs, his raven locks shaking derisively. “I don’t know why I expected better.”  

Azriel just glares at him. He should have known it was a mistake to come to Cassian for advice. 

He looks to Rhys, hoping to find more level headed counsel. The three of them were cooling down from their morning sparring the night after his much anticipated date with you, ransacking the kitchen to refuel. Unfortunately, Rhys’ expression isn’t encouraging, the High Lord barely concealing his amusement. 

Azriel sighs, supplicating the ceiling for better guidance. He knows that their strenuous exercises aren’t solely to blame for the distant throbbing in his skull. 

“Quit it with the hysterics,” Rhys teases. 

Azriel levels him with a stare, his shoulders tense and his shadows in pandemonium. 

Rhys sighs, relenting, “So, you were saying you took her out to dinner?” he prompts diplomatically. 

Azriel nods. He had picked you up about an hour after you’d gotten out of work for the day. You’d been elegantly arrayed, but still casual, since you weren’t sure what he had planned. Your wide smile upon seeing him had left him winded as you’d taken in his generous physique. He’d been drinking you in too, and the sight of those same chunky boots on your feet had had him smirking. 

You’d playfully bared your teeth as you laid your hand on his waiting arm. “See something you like, soldier?” you’d teased. 

“Very much so,” he’d responded honestly. 

His candor had struck you off balance with more punch than any sweet talk or sass could have packed. His eyes held the same intensity that they’d burned with the other night; the same intensity that you’d started to doubt in your memory, thinking you must have imagined it in your blissed out daze. 

“You clean up nice, too,” you’d recovered. 

He’d mirrored your blush then, his red dusted cheeks relaxing you as he’d guided the two of you along the Sidra into the center of town. 

The restaurant had been nice, not too nice, but comfortable and intimate. You’d been thrilled with the menu, the seafood more exotic and the spices more daring than what you told him you were used to back in Day. Perhaps he should have commented more of his own thoughts, but he was so satisfied just to listen to your chatter. 

“Dinner was good,” Azriel shares.

Rhys and Cassian share a look at that. They were probably holding a conversation mentally on the side, analyzing and strategizing. 

“Well, don’t bore us with the details,” Rhys prompts sarcastically. 

Azriel swallows his retort, reminding himself that these were his brothers. As much as they pissed him off, they were his family, and they wanted the best for him. They wanted him to be happy. 

“What else do you want to know?!” he groans.

“Did you fuck her?” Cassian deadpans. 

Azriel just sputters in response. He is quickly losing faith that his brothers will be any help, if that was the best Cass could do. 

“No!” Azriel balks. 

“What do you mean no!” Rhys shouts, as Cassian curses and shakes his head more, this time hiding his face in his hands. 

“I mean, we… we did sleep together that first night,” Azriel amends, with a meaningful look at Cassian, who stops snickering. “But not last night.” 

“Why the hell not?” Cassian demands. 

“Is that all you can think about?” Az hedges. He honestly didn’t know why you hadn’t slept together again. He had certainly wanted to. Fuck, what he wouldn’t do for another chance to taste you, to take you back to his place– his real place this time, not the House of Wind– get you in his bed and run his hands over your thighs, and up, up, to brush his thumb through your soaking folds– 

“Brother! You’re one to talk, you’re the one going stupid at the thought of her right now!” Cass’s accusation has him cursing and forcing his mind back to this maddening conversation.  

Rhys regards him with a knowing look which does little to comfort him. The two males across the counter share another meaningful glance. Azriel runs his hand through his hair, he was going to lose his mind if they kept up their silent conversation. 

I’m right here, assholes, he projects into their minds down the bridges Rhys had established centuries ago. Typically, they reserved their use for business, but clearly the High Lord and his Commander had no qualms using their privileged mental bridge to serve their busybody purposes. 

Rhys has the decency to cringe, but Cassian dismisses his insult with the ease of one perfectly aware of his gold certified status as an ass. 

“What did you do to her, Az?” Cass scorns. 

“Okay. So dinner was good. That’s a good start,” Rhys interjects, suddenly playing the diplomat again as his brothers’ fists begin to curl. “What did the two of you talk about?” he prompts helplessly. 

“Just… things.” 

Cassian swears again at Azriel’s curt response, and even as his temper flares, Azriel sees how weak his answer is. “Okay! Okay. We… Well, she talked about her life back in Day. I asked her a lot about her work, and how their recovery efforts are progressing.”

Rhys nods, encouraging him.

“And I asked how she felt about the security of Day, since a myriad of threats remain unchecked, after everything, and since they don’t discriminate between courts but could affect any of us-” 

Cassian groans, and Rhys winces. 

“What! She cares about her people, I was trying to be attentive!” Az defends.

“Brother. It sounds like you were doing recon,” Rhys gently explains. 

Az opens his mouth, then closes it.

“You grilled her about the status of her court’s border security,” Cass adds bluntly. 

“I did not… grill her,” Azriel manages. “I just… fuck. Fuck!” he lets out. “Damn it! I was asking her about her interests,” he helplessly repeats. 

Cassian and Rhys just look at him with pity. 

He scowls, accepting that the dinner conversation was perhaps not as free flowing as things had been at Rita’s. Still, he’d have sworn that you’d enjoyed the evening. He looks up at his brothers, desperation written on his face. “What do I do?”

“Did you make plans to see each other again?” Cass asks hesitantly, a rare sign that he’s taking this seriously after all. 

“No,” Azriel admits, “but she did say she’d like to see me again,” he adds, much to his brothers’ relief. 

Rhys claps his hands together, capturing their attention, his shoulders squaring as he assumes his role as their sovereign strategist. “Alright. We can work with that,” he claims. “How do we go from here? What are the facts?”

“First, we have established that Az is an idiot,” Cassian chirps helpfully. 

“Right,” Rhys confirms, and Azriel just rubs his temples. This was just like their young days at the training camp, only without the license to punch Cassian for mouthing off. “What else?” 

“She wants to see him again.” Azriel opens his eyes and flashes a grateful smile at his brother, who ruins the moment by adding suggestively- ”Or at least she wants to see part of him again.” 

Rhys sighs, mentally reaching out to Feyre to tell her that she’ll have to handle their mid-morning appointments solo. Everything okay? she responds. He replies wordlessly with the scene in front of him, his brothers bickering over their breakfast, Cass creating an impressively explicit insult with a chocolate pastry and Az returning in kind. 

By the afternoon though, the three males have come up with a respectable plan to salvage Azriel’s tenuous connection with you. 

✸✸✸ 

You’re surprised when you see a shadow slip along the stacks toward your spot barricaded in a corner of the Night Court’s library, poring over some dense tomes. They’re full of oblique explanations that reference texts that are equally inaccessible, even to you in your expertise. You’d just about decided it was time for a break when you see the shadow approach. 

It curls around your hand in an affectionate welcome. As warmth flares in your chest, a note materializes, a welcomely legible message compared to the books you’d been buried in. You look around, despite the silent and largely empty library. 

No one is present to witness your blush as you lightly stroke the first line. The note is addressed to your name in a neat script. 

I’m writing with regard to my concern that you’ve had too grand an impression of my court , it reads. You can hear Azriel’s wry tone in the clear letters. 

First the high class of Rita’s, then the dizzying heights of Velaris’ fine dining last night. You smile at his dry, self deprecating words. Your heart thunders as you continue reading. 

I’d like to amend this most grievous picture with a far less elegant evening. Would you be available to join me for dinner tonight? Same time, and meet me at my place instead. 

Please respond at your leisure. I would very much like to see you again–

–He’s included an address and signed merely with an initial, a sloping A , that you trace as you mull over his words. 

His place? That last line too, I would very much like to see you again , seems less neat than the rest of his writing, almost hastily scrawled. As if it had been an afterthought. Or as if he’d been nervous to pen it? 

You shake your head at his shadow twirling around your wrist, the messenger seemingly in no rush. You’d been confused after your date with the shadowsinger, and now even more so. He wanted to see you again. 

The date last night hadn’t been bad. You’d certainly had worse experiences. 

He had shown up right on time to pick you up from your doorstep, sweetly admiring you as you’d shakily locked up your place. When you’d caught his hungry gaze, that still novel thrill had shot through you, and you couldn’t help your smile. You’d been excited, and that feeling remained sparkling in your chest as you’d wound your way through the city towards the spot he’d picked out. 

The meal you’d shared had been amazing, you were impressed with the whole affair. Azriel had looked indecently handsome in a soft black tunic and sleek charcoal pants, his siphons simmering ultramarine. You’d noticed he wore heavier leather boots… 

“Nice boots,” you’d complemented with a small smirk. 

“Thank you,” he had spoken sincerely, without marking your innuendo. 

You’d meant it as a small temperature check, delicately referencing your previous frenzied hook up where you’d neglected to take off your shoes for the first couple rounds. 

Either Azriel had missed your meaning, or he was establishing a boundary. You didn’t imagine the spymaster missed much, so you took it as an indication that he didn’t want to explicitly discuss what had happened between you. 

Even that was confusing, since his eyes had still gravitated towards your lips, followed the movements of your throat, and beheld you with a ferocity you couldn’t tear yourself away from. 

You held your tongue, though, about the research you’d done on how to get freaky with a winged individual. Honestly, that was probably for the best, you reflect, given how your sources were anecdotal at best. But damn! You’d done your due diligence, and you were hoping it would come in handy eventually. 

Azriel had been kind to the staff, who did their best to conceal how unnerved they were by his presence. He’d been perfectly well mannered, you’d enjoyed picking his mind about court security and his entertaining stories about his family. Overall, it had felt like your conversation at Rita’s, free flowing and comfortable. You trace the evening in your mind now, finding it more complex than the books you’d been dissecting all morning. 

You were used to speaking your mind, so you had planned to tell him directly that you’d like him to fuck you again, please and thank you . 

And when he hadn’t responded to your lingering touches, or your meaningful looks, you figured it was the same pattern as last time; where his respectful attitude demanded he unleash his passion only slowly and incrementally as the night progressed. After he’d walked you home and you’d told him what a great time you’d had at dinner, you’d even gone so far as to invite him up to your place. 

But he had declined. 

The male who you thought had been undressing you with his eyes the whole way back had dodged your invitation, citing an early morning. You’d been so blindsided that you’d just accepted it. 

Azriel had kissed you then, confusing you more as his hot mouth worked yours in a riveting connection. Then he had simply pulled away, his hazel eyes molten in the dark.  

“I’d like to see you again.” 

You cringe, recalling your words to him as he’d bade you good night. But he had seemed to practically preen at that, his shadows making lazy, arrogant circles around the horns at the apex of his wings. 

So, all things considered, perhaps this note before you shouldn’t be a total surprise. 

You’ll just have to talk directly with him, you reason. And the best way to do that will be to see him in person tonight. You briefly pen your enthusiastic agreement to send off with the shadow before returning to your work, heart a little lighter. 

Azriel smiles as his shadow appears, depositing his note with your neat reply. 

I look forward to seeing you tonight. Should I wear my boots? He laughs, spine tingling at his memory of you and those godsdamned shoes. He makes a note to remember to take them off of you tonight. If he’s so lucky… 

✸✸✸ 

Azriel considers himself luckier than he deserves when you actually show up at his place that evening. You look resplendent, he thinks, starlight dusting your hair. Much to his embarrassment, his shadows swarm you the instant he opens his front door to your confident knock. He silently curses them and wills them to behave. 

“They say hello, as well,” he says after greeting you. 

“Hello to you too, then, you handsome little devils,” you flirt shamelessly with his shadows.

“Don’t encourage them,” Az chides affectionately, watching them as they double back to twirl in your hair and brush along your cheek. “They’re insufferable enough as is.” 

You just laugh at their antics, flattered by their attention. 

Quite frankly, you’re charmed. You couldn’t find any information on shadowsingers in your brief search on the topic. You aren’t sure how they work or how they speak to him, but you do know that you like them. The more you interact with them, you can sense their personality. 

“You look beautiful,” he offers. 

He takes your jacket, manners impeccable as he crisply hangs it on the back of his door.

“Thank you,” you blush, slyly admiring his wings as he’s turned away. “You don’t look half bad yourself.” 

You’re fooling no one. Azriel looks good. Really good. He’s handsome enough to win a best dressed contest naked, but this outfit works for him too. His sleek vest is a deep green, the first hint of color you’ve seen on him. It complements his eyes well, bringing out their gold. You’re enjoying his exposed forearms too, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows. 

You had caught the faint scent of citrus and cedar as you’d brushed past him to step inside. Your body is activated by the scent, recalling how it had lingered on his pillows. Overwhelmed by the pleasant picture, you swallow the memory. 

Before he can catch you checking him out, you catch a mouthwatering aroma. 

“Did you cook?”

His bashful look has your heart melting as he leads you to his kitchen. Indeed, the male had cooked a glorious meal. The dishes themselves aren’t particularly rich fare, but the volume is definitely more than two can pack away. He's gone all out.

As you marvel at his production, it strikes you how surreal this is, how extraordinary. You’re here. In his kitchen. The famed shadowsinger has made you roast fowl from scratch. 

To distract yourself from the absurdity of the picture, you focus on the details. There's herbs tied up in bundles hanging from his shelves. You get a glance inside one cabinet as he grabs a bottle of wine, and, unsurprisingly, their contents are very neat.

“I’m impressed.”

“That’s the general idea,” he winks as he pours you a nice glass.  

This was one step of his preparation for the evening. One key element of a winning battle was the location, situating your forces in the most optimal position. Now, his simple task is to figure out how to build a beautiful, long lasting relationship with a brilliant female out of a fancy goose carcass and herb potatoes. He grits his teeth. The night isn’t nearly over yet. 

You accept the drink with thanks.

“So, this is your place?” 

Azriel just nods. 

“So, did you rent that palace temporarily, or?” you try again. 

“Oh, that was the House of Wind.”

You raise your eyebrows at the lack of explanation. “It sure was windy.”

He catches your question then, “Oh- sorry, yes. It’s essentially our, that is, the court members’, public house-” he launches into the explanation you’d been looking for. 

You’d imagined he would be more comfortable in his own home, but he seems uneasy. The male remains as inscrutable as ever. You hadn’t realized how much you usually rely on nonverbal cues to read people. He is so reserved– by training– and also obscured– literally, by shadows. 

As you chat amiably about the city and its organization and his confusing housing situation, he leads you to his sitting room. You were surprised at your nerves even as you converse easily, typically you weren’t so easily ruffled. Then again, it’s been a while since you’d been so swept up by someone. 

“It’s nice,” you say, looking around the room. 

“Yeah? You like it?”

“Yeah,” you nod. It’s cozier than the palace was, the sweeping views exchanged for a comfortable and surprisingly cheerful atmosphere. The furniture is cushy, but practical, sturdy. 

“I know it’s not much like the palace,” he reads your mind. 

“No, I like that it's cozier. I just don’t know how you fit in the door,” you joke, gesturing vaguely at his scale, between his muscled form and looming wings. He laughs at that, and you banter back and forth about what a pity it is that there’s such a lack of Illyrian sized accommodations. Your shared laughter fades into a silence only broken by the crack of logs burning slowly in his hearth, crumbling voicelessly into embers. 

You let the moment stretch, taking the moment to appreciate the relaxed evening ahead of you, unwinding from your long day at work. 

Azriel, meanwhile, is counting the remaining threads of his sanity on one hand. Give him a fistfight. Give him an enemy regime to infiltrate. But gods save him from making conversation with a female he likes. He thought the relaxed setting would be more casual, but his chest is still tight as he tries to behave normally. Maybe this was a bad idea…

The pleasant silence continues to grate on Azriel, until he crumbles. “We can eat whenever,” he says, breaking the spell. He curses himself for his cowardice, sidestepping whatever was growing in the lingering quiet between you. 

“This is nice, though,” you say into your wine, undeterred. It really is good stuff. You aren’t a sommelier but you know a drinkable vintage when it hits your tongue. 

“Yeah,” he relaxes somewhat into the couch next to you again. 

Hazel eyes meet yours, the fire from the hearth flickering in their reflection. You really are enjoying the peaceful atmosphere with him. His hair is styled a little differently than you remember, the waves flopping in a charming swoop across his forehead rather than brushed back. Your gaze dips to his lips, damp with wine. His pupils expand almost imperceptibly as they track the movement, like prey scenting a threat. 

A loud knock interrupts your mooning. 

Azriel frowns, one of his shadows streaking off to investigate the front door. His scowl deepens before his scout even returns, as the knocking continues, adamant. 

“One moment,” Azriel says reluctantly, with an apologetic look as he stands. You nod, your attention on his tense form, his wings obscuring the door as he whips it open. 

“What are you doing here?” you hear Azriel hiss. 

“Rhys has no good wine left,” Cassian whines as he brushes past Azriel at the door. “Oh, hello again!” he says to you with a winning smile as he emerges from the entryway, somehow edging around the imposing shadowsinger. 

“Hi,” you say quietly, but not weakly, looking to Azriel for your cues. His face is unreadable, a dark storm clouding his features once more. 

“Wait up, you brute!” a female voice speaks, and Azriel’s face darkens further as a stunning female pushes her way in. You recognize her from the bar, she was one of the group Az had pointed out as his family. Mor , her name surfaces in your mind. She was the one who brought them all to Rita’s frequently. 

You could guess why she might prefer that particular spot, as her eyes rake over you. She flicks her hair flirtatiously. 

“I don’t believe we’ve met,” she says boldly, extending a hand as you rise from Azriel’s couch, making your way to join them at the front of the room. You tell her your name, and she flashes you a smile, all teeth as she bites her lip. 

“Mor,” she offers. 

“Yes– it’s nice to meet you officially. Azriel has told me a bit about all of you,” you admit. 

“Really?” she says with genuine interest, looking at the shadowsinger curiously. Her mind seems to be working at top speed as she takes in the two of you, him sulking by the open door and you standing comfortably by the entryway to his sitting area, your glass of wine by his couch half empty. 

“Yes, well,” Azriel begins, trying to reel in his invading family, “we were just about to eat, so–”

“Yes, why don’t you join us!” you suggest. You miss Cassian’s shit eating grin and Azriel’s shocked expression as you turn to Mor. 

“We would hate to intrude,” Cassian lies. He’s schooled his face into one of total propriety, a convincing facade only to you. 

“No, it’ll be fun!” you encourage, finally looking to Azriel. 

You feel bad to take charge, but he is giving you no clues. Welcoming his family seems like a safe play. Even if they were crashing your date, you would be lying if you said you weren’t curious to get to know them after the bits and pieces Az has shared. 

Plus, you’d seen the way his eyes had flashed with alarm when you’d glanced at his lips. Maybe he’d be glad of the diversion... 

“If you insist,” Cassian drawls at the same time as Mor asks “What’s that smell?”

You grab her arm cheerfully to lead her into the kitchen, eagerly sharing about the enticing meal Az had prepared. 

Azriel grabs Cassian, holding him hostage in the entryway as the two females disappear into his home. “This was not the plan!” he spits in a furious whisper.

“It wasn’t your plan,” Cassian corrects in his most infuriating tone: superiority. 

Azriel just growls at him as they move inside, shooting him a look that says Don’t fuck this up for me . 

Cassian’s silent reply comes with mock innocence, Who, me?  

Azriel’s lethal retort is snuffed out as he registers your laugh from around the corner. “Be nice!” is all Az manages before he steps into the kitchen to investigate what potentially devastating story Mor is telling to make you laugh like that. Why did Cassian think that he needed babysitting? 

His anger bluffs as he takes in your red face, your grinning laughter directed at him. He can’t bring himself to feel upset when you’re giggling like a fool in his kitchen.  

“Did you really steal this wine from Amren on a dare?” you wheeze gleefully, hefting the open bottle with newfound interest. 

He mirrors your grin, “What kind of spy would I be if I admitted to it?”

You and Mor squeal at his response, she starts yelling at him that Of course he did it, he could never back down from a dare , and Cassian is laughing now too, butting in to tell you his side of the story, to explain his most elegantly devised dare, as Mor slaps his chest and reminds him about the many shots that had contributed to its flawed design. Azriel takes in the scene, so chaotic and so not what he had planned. You catch his eye from across the small room, your eyes shining with mirth. 

You seem perfectly at home, pouring two extra glasses of wine for your unexpected guests. He shakes his head affectionately, surrendering to the new program for the evening. 

As he sets the table for you and his family, he tries to remember why he was so angry just moments ago. That fire has faded to warmth, calm radiating from his chest at the familiar scene before him. 

Cassian seats himself first, and then Mor insists on sitting next to you, so Azriel ends up facing you across the table. You give him a small smile, a brief look meant just for him, as his brother piles food onto his plate with gusto. You see Azriel swallow his annoyance, his face betraying that he’d cooked those fucking rosemary potatoes for you, not Cass. They’re passed to you next, and you see him relax as you dish yourself a generous portion. As the dishes rotate, the smell of the simple feast nears heavenly. 

The chatter pitches higher too, Cassian asking you about Day and Mor describing the miracle that must have resulted in Azriel’s culinary art. Question after question is posed to you, apparently they find you as fascinating as you find them. 

This is nothing like you’d pictured, you think, as insults and compliments are exchanged around you. And you had pictured it, what meeting Azriel’s family would be like. What else were you supposed to do with yourself last night, having been declined sex after a nice date? 

It had been a clunky vision, more so based on your experiences with the formal dinners you’d attended for work than with meeting a partner’s friends and family. 

You’d struggled to picture how you could possibly connect with his inner circle, elite as they were. The daydream had been promptly abandoned after you’d failed to conjure anything remotely pleasant. Azriel was always charming as ever in the imagined scenarios, but you’d not factored in the wholly unpretentious warmth he has with his closest friends. 

You see that tenderness now as he rolls his eyes at the two imposing faeries, the pair of them representing a significant part of his family. A memory flashes in your mind at the sight, a memory of tenderness when he’d been admiring you in bed that morning a handful of days ago. But they'd all known each other for centuries. You’d known him for a handful of days. Was it foolish of you to dream that you’d earn a place in his world? You thought of the small case of belongings you’d brought with you from Day. Suddenly, it felt paltry, lacking, especially as you pictured your friends and work back at home. 

But who cares if your presence here is inconsequential in the long run? It matters to you that you are here now, and you’re pretty sure it matters to Azriel. You reaffix your smile, deciding to enjoy the moment you’re in. 

“Azriel is a total ladykiller,” Mor cackles, and you regret having zoned out during this particular story. Azriel snorts at her words, but you blush at their partial truth. 

“Yeah,” Cassian catches your attention by speaking your name in a questioning tone, “Can you fight?” 

“Only verbally,” you confess, a little nervous to admit it to your current company of seasoned warriors. 

Cassian grunts in acknowledgement, nonjudgmental. He narrows his eyes, humor dissipating as he assesses you. “We can work with that,” he decides, suddenly sounding serious. “I can teach you the basics, but Azriel might want to show you the more advanced maneuvers himself,” he says with a wink. 

Azriel blushes and glares at the innuendo, while Mor laughs around her bite. Yet the depth behind Cassian’s proposal strikes you. His offer assumes that you’ll be sticking around. 

“I’d like that,” you accept, smiling at the general next to you. 

Azriel feels his chest go weightless at your words, like he’s soaring high above the atmosphere. He flashes his brother a grateful look before clearing his throat. 

“Don’t go easy on her, Cass. She’s lying,” Azriel warns, with a mischievous glance at you. Your shadowsinger has certainly lost whatever hesitation he had earlier, his bold words matching his newfound audacity. “She was totally squaring up with some dipshit at Rita’s before I intervened.” 

You gape at him as Cass and Mor squawk. The two of them launch into an intense interrogation, demanding the full story. 

As you recall the evening in question, you feel yourself precariously close to an embarrassing blush. The mortal blow comes when Azriel laughs, the sound noon-bright and ringing, buzzing loud as gossip.   

Eventually, after several more glasses of wine, with empty plates to match, Azriel disentangles you from Mor and Cassian’s endless chatter. You’re reluctant to see your new friends leave, and the amused male only successfully ushers them out after you make Cassian swear to keep his promise to teach you to fight. Content, you wish everyone a good night and thank them for their warm welcome to the Night Court. 

Once the door closes, Azriel heaves out a good natured sigh. 

“What were you and Mor whispering about just now?” you pry, still giddy in the wake of your departed company. You liked them a lot, and you like who Azriel became around them, as laid-back as a seasoned spy could be. 

“She was telling me how my head might end up on a pike if I don’t watch myself,” he responds drily, and you notice him rub his temple harshly with a knuckle. 

“I’m so sorry,” you blurt out.

His brows furrow, “Why?” 

“I totally invited them to stay when it wasn’t my place,” you explain, shaking your head in regret. “Did I totally ruin our date?” 

“Well I ruined the last one,” he says with humor, “so it was your turn.”

“What? No you didn't!” you defend him. 

You’re shocked by his candid words. The date had been a bit awkward at the end, but it wasn’t a disaster in your eyes. 

“Yes, I did.”

“What do you mean?” you search as you walk back into the kitchen to start cleaning up, “Like how we didn’t have sex?” Azriel chokes, his humor vanishing as you continue, “I was going to ask about that, but I figured it was a topic we should address privately.”

“Thank you for that small mercy,” he recovers. His shadows betray his agitation, floating jerkily around his shoulders in a confused dance. 

You realize with a start that he’s nervous. The war hardened fighter is unnerved by a conversation about sex. 

You’d really meant to ask earlier, but it wasn’t going to happen in front of Cass and Mor. The conversation at dinner had been enthusiastic and expansive, lighthearted at every turn. You’d assumed its levity was due to the fact that you were new, unfamiliar company. Now, seeing Azriel fight demons to self-reflect, you wonder if he ever really opens up to anyone, even his closest family members. 

In all fairness, you aren’t exactly thrilled to talk about it either. You're nervous too, painfully aware that there’s an obvious explanation as to why he didn’t sleep with you again. 

 The male sighs again at your inquisitive look, his hands scrubbing over his face like he can wipe away his confusion. His brows furrow. “I honestly don’t know why we didn’t,” he says quietly. 

You’re surprised at his answer. You’d expected more substance. 

“I wanted to, you know,” you admit, pride be damned. If you were going out, you wanted to leave all your cards on the table. 

“Really?” He mirrors your surprise. “I did too. I wanted you so badly, it scared me.” 

You look at the battle scarred warrior, unimpressed. Even slouching, which he never did, he would still stand at least a good head above you. 

You ask with disbelief, “ I scared you ?”

“Well… not exactly like that,” he explains, and he reaches out carefully to grasp your hand in his large palm. “I guess I was being… cautious. I wanted to be respectful.” 

His words shatter something fledgling in your heart. That was practically code for I’m trying to be nice, I don’t want to lead you on .  

“Oh.” You drop his hand, bracing yourself for the dreaded sting of rejection. 

As he sees your expression harden, Azriel curses himself inwardly. This isn’t going the way he’d strategized it at all. His forehead creases as he desperately tries to remember the points he and his brothers had mapped out to help him with this exact conversation. Maybe Cassian was right to spare him from being alone with you, if he’s fucked it up this quickly. 

Azriel thinks back to the previous night, when he had declined your invitation to come upstairs. He’d seen the chill on your face, a chill from his own closed door. You hadn’t pushed his boundaries. Rhys had pointed out to him that from his behavior, you probably couldn’t tell what he was thinking. Hell, even from inside his own head, Azriel was struggling to work out his thoughts. 

The gravity of his attraction to you is concerning. It was a dangerous thing, the weight of it as great and terrible as a sword in his hands. 

He wants your affection, he realizes. The trouble is: asking the spymaster to share his innermost secrets is like asking a busybody to keep just one. It went against his nature. 

He pictures you as you were when he first saw you, gearing up for a fight at Rita’s. You’d been fearsome as ever, confronting the challenge rather than running. He wills himself the same bravery. He is a fearsome warrior, he absolutely refuses to allow mere emotion to make him a coward. 

“I need you to understand something,” Azriel breathes, his wings tight as his expression. “I can’t do this if it’s just sex.” 

You set down a dish heavily, your once sun-soaked heart breaking. 

“If you, uh, don’t want this, that’s, that’s fine. I respect that,” you affirm, even as you’re reeling.

But then Azriel is shaking his head and wiping under your eyes, which you belatedly realize with embarrassment must mean that you’re crying. He’s trying to tell you how he feels and you’re crying on him. Gods! Get it together! you berate yourself. 

“No, no, no. Angel, look at me,” Azriel panics. You meet his gaze, and you see a tenderness there, as ripe and sweet as the summer plums you used to pick with your mother as a child. “Shit, I’m doing this all wrong,” he curses. 

“I can’t do casual,” he confesses, head still shaking, eyes gone glossy. 

“That’s okay, I get it if you don’t want this–”

“No! No, you don’t get it,” he interrupts, swearing and speaking your name with exasperated affection. “I do want this. I want you .”

You gasp, teeth kissing the air as he continues. 

“I want you. You said it wasn’t your place to invite them to stay tonight, but I want it to be your place. Fuck, I want to see you every day. I want to come home to you, and to know you’re waiting for me when I’m gone. And some days I want to wait for you too, and get jealous of the books you spend your time with.”  

You try to say something clever like What the fuck? or Huh? but you’re too shocked to do much more than stare open mouthed as he lays out his emotions for you. At least you’ve stopped crying. 

Azriel is looking at you as if you were personally responsible for every ounce of goodness he’s ever witnessed. It scares the shit out of you. How could he say all that? He doesn’t even know you. It doesn’t help that three seconds ago you thought he was going to kick you out. 

“Why me?” you finally manage. 

“I’ve never felt this way before,” he says, unblinking. 

In a total inversion of all Azriel had ever known, he felt an overwhelming impulse to bare his soul to you. You’d never been scared of him, even when he’d put on his most frightening persona at the bar. You’d taken his identity in stride, you’d even used it to flirt. 

He wants you to know him, he realizes. All of him. Even the darkest parts, the cruel, mean pieces with which he wouldn’t want to burden anyone but himself. For some unknown reason, at this moment, he can think of no greater honor than your involvement in his world, his reality, ugly as it may be. He hopes you’ll want it. 

He takes your hand and places it on his heart, gripping it over his chest. When he speaks, his voice is ragged, tender and raw. 

“You must know. You burn me,” Azriel confesses. “Surely you feel how you burn me.” 

What you feel is your heart in your throat, pulsing erratically at his words. The naked truth on his face frightens you. 

Your free hand reaches out to caress his high cheekbone as your mind whirls. His eyes close at the contact, his lips parted in silent prayer. 

“I feel it too.”

When your thumb brushes the edge of his bottom lip, those hazel eyes flutter open again. The energy between you is thicker than it was moments ago, something fresh set smoldering in his gaze. His chest heaves under your other palm. 

“You do?” he gasps, and you nod, words failing under the enormity of your emotion. 

He’s equally choked up, so he opts for actions instead, pulling you against him to capture your lips in a messy kiss. It’s all wine-breath and teeth, but it’s perfect. 

Your uncontrollable smile forces you to break away, and when you do he’s smiling at you just the same. His joy is infectious. For a long moment, you just smile at each other like fools, breathing each other's air in the sacred ambiance of the dim kitchen light. You linger in the quiet awe in the wake of your confessions.

When your mouths reconnect, the kiss turns feverish. It’s insatiable, your desire for him, as you suck his tongue, earning a satisfying whine from the hulking Illyrian. 

“Shit,” he groans as he lifts you.

You gasp as your weight shifts off your feet, and he sets you against his counter before reconnecting your panting mouths.  The insufferable Illyrian pushes one of his thighs between your legs, capturing your muffled groans with his warm mouth, tonguing away your soft cries. 

“Make me yours,” you whisper.

“Shit, baby, I think I’d do anything you ask if you say it just like that,” he whines against your mouth. 

He pulls away, standing between your legs like it's a place of special honor. 

“Bedroom?” he begs, shining with unchecked joy.

“Yes,” you eagerly agree. “We can break in the kitchen counter later.” His laughter rattles down the hallway as he carries you to his room. 

Once you’re through the doorway, his movements pause. A tender note hums to life amidst the excitement of your newfound connection. There’s a tender look on his face as he regards you with equal parts lust and affection. It’s a serious step for him, to have you here in his most personal place. 

You’re distracted by the new space as soon as he sets you down, fascinated with his room– his personal room, not the one kept for him at the House of Wind. It’s sparsely decorated, too, but there’s knick knacks and weapons lying around in characteristically organized fashion. 

“A lot of weapons…” you comment, humor bubbling up from your delight at the novelty of his affection and attention. 

There’s several swords on the wall, artfully placed in the columns between windows, and knives and spears are displayed in tasteful and accessible ways. If you didn’t know better, you’d think he was compensating for something. Is that a halberd? you think. The last time you saw a halberd was in an illustration on an ancient manuscript. 

“What do you do for work again?” you joke.

He laughs, “I’m afraid the tools come with the trade.”

“Okay, I’ll give you that, but, I mean, seriously. That one?” You gesture above the balcony doors, where a grossly oversized sword rests. “Come on, Az!”

“Come on, I bet your place is full of books!” he counters.

You just scoff, so he knows he’s right.

“Come here,” he says, fondly. “You can inspect my quarters later, you freak.”

“Your freak,” you correct. 

“My freak,” he agrees. 

With that, Azriel grabs your waist, and pulls you in for a sumptuous kiss. The wine on his tongue goes right to your head, while the warmth of him goes due south. You pull away to tug meaningfully at his shirt, but he just follows to place expert kisses along your jaw. His work is so severe that you gasp–

“Shit, Az, I'm not paying you!” 

“Are you calling me a whore?” he answers playfully, unfastening his shirt at the back under his wings. He sucks on his teeth, pulling away to look you in the eyes. “Yeah, I’ve been meaning to talk to you about that, actually. The payment didn’t go through last time–”

“Oh, no–”

“–yeah, so if you could, perhaps, pay in hard gold this time, that would be–”

“Ah, okay. Could you do a payment plan?–” the two of you banter while he shrugs off his vest. You relish the view of his exposed chest. 

He plays into your shameless ogling, flexing to show off his whorling tattoos and the dark hairs trailing down beyond his leathers. The faelights surrounding the room cast a glow through the thin membrane of his wings, softly limning his form with warmth. You laugh at his peep show, but the sound is pitchy with your arousal. The toned male blushes. His easy humor may have returned, but vestiges of his shy personality still remain. 

You whistle softly, continuing to torture him with your attention. His blush deepens impossibly. He’s just so easy to tease, and when he reacts like that, it's easier still to justify. 

“Your turn,” he says, voice gravelly. 

“What first?” you muse suggestively, smoothing down your dress. 

“Boots,” he chooses. 

Before you can toe them off, Azriel sinks suddenly to the floor. The sight of him on his knees before you sends a thrill up your spine. 

Azriel, this most fearsome Illyrian, is totally surrendered to you. Heat throbs through your abdomen at the sight. He’s looking up at you through his lashes, his throat bobbing in anticipation as he pants below you. You haven’t even touched him yet, but his passion is evident, his eyes wild.

He gently grabs the back of your shins. “May I?”

“Please.”

He effortlessly unlaces your boots with capable hands. 

“I’m surprised you want them off,” you tease as he grasps your hands to steady you as you step out of them. 

“You look so sexy in them,” he agrees. “I am making a real sacrifice here, for your comfort.” His hand skims up the back of your calf, brushing your dress over your knee with his thumb. He places a kiss directly on your knee, heat flaring in your stomach at the soft brush. 

“You look sexy in this too,” he compliments. His eyes never leave yours as he hauls himself up, you dress falling back to cover your legs. 

“Would you be mad if I asked you to take it off?” His tone is toying, but his eyes are pools of hot desire. 

“Don’t be an ass,” you rasp, mad only with anticipation. 

Azriel slips two fingers under the straps on your shoulders, kissing your chest as he tugs them down your arms. You’re honestly impressed that he finds the hidden zipper at your side. Nothing escapes him, does it? 

His hands come to brush along your freshly exposed skin, whispering praises into your hot flesh. After he peels off your dress with zeal, you raise a finger in warning. 

“Be careful with that. I actually want it back!”

“I promise I won’t lose it this time.” 

“Your promise is nothing to me! You never found my shirt, huh?” 

“No,” he confesses with an exaggerated air of regret, blowing out his lips in sympathy. Your eyes narrow at his suspicious behavior. 

“How do I know that you didn’t just steal it like a creep so you could jack off with it or something?” you say with mock sensuality. 

“I wish,” he hums, thumbing the discarded material of your shimmering dress as if you’ve given him a brilliant idea. “Honestly, that would have helped me out the other night.”

Azriel freezes, his eyes widening as he realizes his slip. Your grin mirrors his horror at his admission. A dull ache blooms anew below your stomach. 

“Did you touch yourself to the thought of me?” you breathe. 

“Maybe.” 

His voice is thick even as he squirms under your riveted look. His wings flutter briefly before relaxing as he spots the excitement on your flushed face.  

“Fuck,” you groan. “That's hot. Please don’t be embarrassed, that’s so flattering!”

Your words do nothing to prevent the hot flush spreading across his cheeks and chest. You push him to the bed, giggling when he falls onto the cushions dramatically before unceremoniously shucking off his pants. 

He makes grabby hands at you, and you melt at the sight of him, disheveled and unarmed, and as excited as you were. He pulls you towards him, bringing you to rest on his bare thigh. 

You kiss his sternum, looking up at him through your lashes. 

“I want you to show me.” 

Azriel pauses, and his breathing goes a little uneven. 

“Show you?” he repeats, his eyes blown out as you rub encouraging circles into his shoulder from your perch on his thigh.  

“I want you to touch yourself,” you purr. “Show me how you like it.”

His brows twitch, his eyes going predatory under heavy lids.

“It might be your last opportunity for a while, since I’m gonna be pretty fucking jealous of that hand if it steals too much time in my territory,” you admit with a meaningful glance towards his crotch. 

He laughs at that, but it doesn’t dampen the flame in his vision. 

“Okay,” he murmurs devilishly. “Get comfortable.”

It will be a cold day in hell when Azriel denies such a request from you.

He makes a show of shifting to rest comfortably against the cushions, his wings extending lazily to drape across the pillows and trailing to the floor. The wide expanse of his chest shines in the low faelight, his swirling tattoos prominent even in the dimness. The hard ridges of his muscles contract rhythmically in time with his powerful lungs. His nipples are hard, he shivers in the slight chill as he rubs a hand through his dark hair, tugging roughly. 

You come to rest just above his knee on his left thigh, essentially kneeling in the center of his bed. The slight contact has you boiling as you watch him trail a hand along his torso, one hand still teasing his hair. Your focus trails his toned abdomen down to his prominent arousal. 

“Well you won’t have to use your imagination, like I did, for the first part,” he begins lowly, “because, if you must know, I was already this hard before I could get out of my leathers.”

  If you weren’t dripping already, you are now. You’d been joking earlier, but this show really was worth some hard gold. Anyone would kill to see the fearsome Illyrian splayed out like this. 

Azriel hisses as he strokes slowly down his abs, his chest rising and falling in a tortured cadence. After some time stimulating himself in this way, his moans become breathy. 

With one hand, he deftly pulls himself out of his undershorts, and you can’t help yourself from reaching out to slide them a little further down his hips. Your mouth falls open at the sight of his sharp hip bones and the delicious stretch leading to the base of his heavy cock. 

Its red tip bobs temptingly at your knee, but you restrain yourself. You shift slightly, looking for some relief, and your knee accidentally brushes the edge of his wing. His hips buck involuntarily, a whine falling from his lips at the contact. 

“Shit, baby,” he cries. He hasn’t even touched himself, but his dick is straining against his stomach. 

“Sorry,” you say weakly.

“Liar,” he growls, seeing the hunger in your gaze. 

You shrug, unapologetic. Let him see what he did to you. It was his funeral at the moment.

He was focused on you, indeed, eyes roving around your naked form as he flexed his thigh beneath you. You start to circle your hips, your breasts bouncing with the sudden movement, until you hear him hum in pleasure. He was getting off from the vibration. 

“Don’t cheat,” you scold. 

He just whines, reluctantly stopping his thigh flexes. 

“Good boy. I’d hate to have to punish you, baby,” you warn.

You meant it playfully, but his breathing falters and his wings twitch. Interesting. You file the information away for another time.

His fingers catch your attention as they come to play with the soft underbelly of his cock, just under the head. He used two fingers to rub small circles on the tender flesh. The spot was right where it had landed on your tongue when you’d taken him in your mouth briefly the other night. Again, interesting. 

“This- this is supposed to be erotic,” Azriel struggles, “and you’re studying me like, like…”

“You’re a very compelling study,” you inform him in your most sensual voice as he struggles to speak.

“Fuck,” he says, “don’t tease me.” 

But you see the effect your praise has on him. His fingers finally circle his length fully, pulling short strokes at the head. The whimper that falls from your lips would be embarrassing if it wasn’t so melodic in company with his grunts and moans. His expression is so unguarded, lit as it is by ecstasy. 

“You’re doing so good for me,” you murmur. 

The shadow singer's back arches off the bed at one particularly harsh tug, his rhythm never faltering. His accuracy is almost uncanny. He must have honed the art of his pleasure with the same rigor and precision as the rest of his work. The test of the room fades as your focus is wholly captured by the male sighing below you. You’re obsessed with the unholy picture of his hand wrapped around his cock.

His shadows shift along his wings in time with his strokes. Sluggishly, you realize they must be stimulating him as well. The thought renders the ache at your core unbearable. 

Even through his euphoria, Azriel is receptive to your every expression. He sees your frustration.

“What do you need, angel,” he hums. 

You respond reflexively, your hips grinding into his thick thigh. Your face heats as you register the motion. It was just what you needed, though. You certainly didn't want him to stop what he was doing, his fist pumping wickedly.  

“Go on then,” he purrs.

The desire in his eyes encourages you to resume the motion, rocking your pelvis against the solid muscle of his thigh. 

“You look so perfect,” he praises. 

“And you’re sex incarnate, Az.”

You position yourself further up his thigh, balancing on your shins as your knees brush his wingtips again. You’re rewarded with a throaty groan for your flirting. The sight and vibration of your riding his thigh has the male slowing his hand, and gripping at the base of his cock. You’re not faring any better. 

You brace yourself against his chest with your arms, both of you sensitive to the barest touch. The slight pressure on his chest has him hurtling towards the edge again. As he holds off his own strokes, he sends his shadows towards your form, your makeshift rules be damned.

The sighs you breathe are far from a complaint. His shadows lick up your form with tender phantom touches, and you feel the pleasure build in your core. Your rhythm starts to slip as you chase your release. His sculpted thigh should not be making you feel this good, but you start to see stars and you know the male can’t be fully mortal.

“That’s it, baby, let go,” he pants, as enthralled with your euphoria as he is with his own. 

You barely register his praises as your orgasm shatters you, his shadows licking along with the pleasure racing through your body. As the waves wrack you, he drinks in your scrunched features, the soft cavity of your gasping mouth. You meet his eyes as you hurtle over the edge, the image of his carnal devotion seared into your mind. It would be unnerving if it wasn’t such a reflection of your own feral interior.   

“That was so hot,” Azriel praises. 

“Pervert. You were supposed to be giving me a show,” you pant, frowning as you catch your breath. 

“I think I gave you a proper show, if that was your reaction.” 

He’s earned a smug attitude, you figure. Your vision is still a little blurry, but you feel his shadows and fingers rubbing soothing patterns along your upper thighs. A different warmth blooms as you cool down from your blistering orgasm. 

As you marvel at the intimacy of his gestures, Azriel’s head is clearing enough to fully appreciate the sight of you in his bed. 

He had been on the brink of the most mind blowing orgasm of his life, yet he doesn’t even care about the urgency he’s feeling from his dick as he commits the image of you in his room to memory. It feels so right to have you here, just like it felt right to share a drink with you at Rita’s, and to sit down for a meal with you with his family. 

Azriel reflects on the thought he’d had days ago, how he’s fallen into the gravity of powers like this before, but never in such blissful hues. His mind flashes back to battles he’s fought, the enemies he’s faced. Every time, the contact of such powers results in a brief conflict, a decisive end. The conclusion is inevitable; the force of the challenge undeniable in its strength and direction. This attraction, though. What to make of it? 

The intensity is similar– his current adrenaline certainly feels like he’s just seen someone draw a sword, but it’s different. Your power was a challenge, but an invitation too. 

The feeling is like the gravity in his gut at the beginning of a flight, when he’s leaping off of a cliff, that brief tension borne in the short moment between the stability of the ground and the strength of his wings. The feeling is prolonged, like he’s suspended there with you. 

He finds that he doesn’t mind it so much, with you there, caught up in it just as much as he is. Besides, he’s tired of keeping everyone at arm’s length, he decides. He’s always loved flying, even if he came to it later than the others. Why should love be any different?

“Can you fuck me now?”

Your unsubtle words break his delicate reverie.  Oh, he’s in serious trouble, he thinks as he sees you bite your lip. 

“I’m not going to last,” he warns. 

“Same here,” you admit. You were already feeling overstimulated, you doubt you’ll last long at his pace. “I want to feel you though.”

He presses a messy kiss to your mouth, savoring the moment. You’re just as unhurried, glad to linger in any moment with the gorgeous male below you. Strong hands guide you to straddle his hips, his legs bent slightly to support your lower back as he leans against the headboard. 

When he finally enters you, he groans lowly. 

“Fuck, I’ve missed this.”

Your response is garbled by your euphoria. What you feel is euphoric relief, his cock filling you with a satisfying burn. Despite his size, the pain is minimal, your wetness helping him slide in easily. He grips your forearms, bringing your hands to anchor on his shoulders. 

“It’s like you were made for me,” he slurs, delirious already. 

The position is intimate. As he begins to rock you over his hips, your focus falls to explore the stunning male. Azriel is so fucked out already, raw from having edged himself earlier. His body is slick with perspiration, his face set in concentration, eyes blown out. Your hands on his shoulders are broiling with his heat. 

His dark hair falls limply against the cushions, and his wings are hanging loosely, like he has no extra stamina to hold his posture. He meets your gaze, and the eye contact somehow feels even more intimate than the position you’re in. He seems entranced. The agony on his face is underscored by his attention fixed on your every move. It's like he’s seeing your soul, plucking the thread of your need and following it faithfully. 

Using his broad shoulders as leverage, you start to fuck yourself on him. You’re rewarded with a stuttering groan as his hips thrust in time to meet you. Your head falls back in pleasure when your clit is ground deliciously against the coarse hair at the base of his pelvis as you bounce on him. Between his thick cock and his hard abdomen, you're perfectly stimulated. 

The room becomes thick with the heat and scent of your sex. All of your senses are riveted to the male below you, to the pleasure being delivered to your core. Soft sighs and deep groans fill the air as you fuck at an agonizing pace. 

His hands release their death grip on your hips, moving to explore your thighs and chest. The rough sensation of his hands over your skin is fuel to the fire of your appetite. 

Desperate for somewhere to release your energy, you lean forward to connect your mouths. He hums in delight at the sudden kiss. You taste his sweat and his fervor, and it’s intoxicating. 

When you pull away, his lips are shining with spit. Azriel looks like a male possessed. 

“Shit, angel. Can we do this, like… all the time?” he begs. 

“We haven’t even– even finished, and you’re– you’re thinking about doing it again?” you manage. 

“Can you blame me?” he retorts. He emphasizes his words with a particularly vicious thrust that has you gasping. 

“Please,” you cry. “We had better do this often.”

“ Awesome ,” he cheers breathlessly with a small smile to himself. 

Your heart sputters at the sweetly boyish comment. Here he was, inside you, and he was excited at the idea of fucking you again later. It isn't just your body either, which was a major plus, but he likes you . Earlier he’d confessed that he wants more than sex. He wants to bring you into his life in a more serious way too. 

You envision yourself bringing some belongings here, working at the library during the day, dining with Azriel and his family in the evenings. And at night, he would bring you here, to his bed, where he would ravish you. You relax into his body further as you realize you’ll have many opportunities to fuck him. He’d gotten excited earlier when you’d suggested some kinkier things. And, sure, he’d laughed when you’d joked about fucking in the kitchen, but he’d not seemed opposed. 

“Are you with me?”

You blink, coming back to the present. If you were going to blame him for getting excited about future sexual escapades in the middle of fucking, you were guilty too. Thankfully, your body kept up the rhythm on reflex, cause you were just miles away in a diaphanous dream of your mutual future. 

“There she is,” he smiles at you fondly as he rocks you mercilessly onto his cock. 

His stamina was impressive. Despite your fatigue, arousal has your body pulsing with adrenaline. The familiar pressure mounts in your abdomen as you grind onto him. 

As he eases your pleasure along, he’s transfixed by the sight of your bodies meeting, your hips swallowing him into your soaking hole. The feeling of your nails scraping at his scalp plunges him further into rapture, the slight sting heightening his sensitivity. 

“I’m close,” you warn him. 

“I’m with you, angel,” he pants. “Come on, baby.”

You abandon your bouncing to grind selfishly against him, chasing your bliss. He’s content with the debauched sight and the warmth of you around him. When your hand tugs his hair again, his dick twitches. Then your fisted knuckles brush his wings ever so delicately and his hips lurch, his shadows rioting. 

Azriel is dangerously on the edge, but he’s determined to watch you unravel first, his competitive and generous spirits united under his indecent desire to see you come undone. Even as he appears depraved, he feels devoted. Your ecstasy was his own. 

One last delicious shift of his cock scraping your walls, and your release staggers you. Your eyes flutter shut as crystalized bliss shatters over you. His scent envelops you, the salt of sweat mixing with tangy citrus. It transports you to a realm of bliss, where the only presence is yours and his, a delicious meeting of your senses. 

The agonizing image of your ecstasy has him spilling inside you, his whines cresting as he climaxes. His teeth scrape yours in a sloppy openmouthed kiss. You ride out your orgasms, hips jerking erratically, waves of pleasure ebbing languidly. 

You’re left with a warm buzz, even the discomfort of your stickiness feels rather like sweetness as you take in the glorious male. When your eyes catch, his lips curl into a smile. Your heart skips a beat at the tender sight of him spent and glowing beneath you. His shadows bleed into the cushions, baring him to you completely. 

“Can I lie down?”

“Please,” he shifts to help you off of him. 

You hiss as he slips out of you. “Sorry,” he mumbles, concerned. 

“You’re good.”

“Are you okay?” His shadows rove over you, assessing for damage, and he winces at the mess between your thighs. You laugh at his concern, waving it off. 

“I feel great. Just overstimulated,” you assure him as you curl into his pillows, your muscles grateful for the break. He nods and kisses your temple. The gesture is endearing, even as your thighs burn. You pull him down to rest next to you. 

His eyes never leave yours, monitoring your movements and drinking in the image of you snuggled into his bed. You reach out to trace his features, avoiding the intensity of his gaze. It isn’t uncomfortable, you’re just so overloaded already; you aren’t sure you can handle its palpable energy. His skin is soft under your fingers, the fleshiness of his sharp face surprising you. Azriel hums under your soothing touch. 

The unmistakable sentiment in his gaze has you melting into the comfort of his cushions, utterly relaxed. After all the uncertainty of the past few days, the surety of this moment is crisp, intoxicating. Nothing was guaranteed, of course, but you like your odds with him. You'd never been one to back down from a challenge. 

“I thought you were going to ask me to leave,” you confess into the tender silence of the aftermath.

He frowns. “When?” 

“Before,” you explain. “Right before you told me how you felt.”

He groans, regret clouding his features. “I’m so sorry. I haven’t made things easy for you. I definitely didn’t want you to leave.” 

You shrug. You’re here now, what was passed is past. “You’re worth a little torture.” 

“Why did you think that?” he asks, ignoring your lighthearted response. He avoids your eyes, fidgeting absently with the edge of the duvet. 

“Well,” you begin, unsure of how honest to be. You opt for full truth, the words rushing out of you. “You didn’t fuck me! I was throwing eyes at you all night and things were going well–”

“Things were going well? Do you really think that?” he interrupts. “‘Cause Cass said I ‘grilled you on border security’.”

You snort at his air quotes. 

“Well, yeah,” you frown, recalling the conversation, “but only after I asked you about how recovery efforts were going here, which is kind of a killjoy topic anyways.”

“We suck at this,” he decides brightly. 

“Excuse you!” you leap to defend yourself. “I'm amazing at this– anyways! Totally not the point. You didn’t respond to my hints, so I thought maybe you’d changed your mind, and that you weren’t into me.” 

Azriel shakes his head, and his rough fingers tenderly brush your hair away from your face.

“You were way off target, cause I’m totally into you. Remind me never to hire you for intelligence,” he teases, the words affectionate. 

“In my defense, you are kind of hard to read,” you admit.

He hums, not denying it.

“Holy shit! See? I was just about to tell you off and you slithered out of it!” you look at him, equally impressed and incredulous at his evasive skills. 

Now it's his turn to be unnerved, clearly caught out by your acute perception. You’re satisfied with yourself. 

“Wow. Okay, I'll take it back, you’re hired,” he dodges. You don’t take the bait. His words make you think about his long career in intelligence. Suddenly, it makes perfect sense how he struggles with expressing himself verbally. He knew firsthand what the wrong words falling into the wrong ears could do. Pair that with whatever other… unique emotional baggage he has going on… shit. He’s probably actually very well adjusted, given everything he’s experienced. 

Shit. She’s good , he thinks as you watch him silently. It was a classic technique, one he used often in interrogations. 

He sighs. “Alright. So you may have picked up that I’m… guarded.”

“ No ,” you say with sarcasm. 

“ Yes ," he laughs, before groaning and sitting up to look you in the eyes as he continues. “I’m sorry I wasn't upfront about how I felt. Like I said, I can't do casual. So I didn't know what I was doing. I was trying to protect myself from, well, doing what I did, and spilling my guts to you.”

“You were very brave to do that,” you tell him seriously. 

He rolls his eyes.

“No, I mean it,” you press, suddenly sure of your recent revelation, desperate to assure him. “I’m glad you decided to trust me. I’m honored.”

You really are. Every glimpse you’ve gotten into his inner world has only deepened your affection for him. Strangely, you feel like you fit into his world, as new as it all is to you. 

Occasionally in your work, you would come across a book from the archives, and it would be just what you needed for your project, even though you hadn’t known it had existed. What a thrill it always was, to find a gift in the world, unasked for and unplanned. The same sweet serendipity floods your senses now, as Azriel’s eyes shine with emotion. 

“I might need you to be patient with me,” he whispers, like the words are too dangerous to handle in the open.

“Of course. Whatever you need,” you promise him. 

With that, you press a kiss to his lips, thick with feeling.

His hand grips your jaw, holding you there to convey the depth of his adoration. He strokes your face fondly.

You pull him close, and he envelops you in his strong arms and soft wings. You lay there for a while, nestled in the security of his warmth. 

“Bath?” he offers eventually.

You hum thoughtfully. “Honestly? I’m too tired to move.”

“I’ll carry you.”

A luxurious soak later, Azriel slips one of his shirts over your clean, drowsy form. Drained as you are, you keep yourself awake to watch him towel his hair dry from your place on his duvet. 

You exhale abruptly, and his attention fixes on your drawn brows. You raise them as you finally ask the question you’ve been deliberating. 

“I was just thinking… you have libraries here, right?” you search meaningfully. 

“Yes, we do,” he answers casually, lips curling into the beginnings of a smile. “There’s one just down the hall, actually.” 

“Huh?”

“Why do you ask?” Azriel continues coyly, coming to stand before you. “Are you thinking of settling down here, or something?” 

“I said, huh ?” you repeat. Does he have a home library? Oh, you’re a goner. 

“Come on, I’ll show you.” 

You shake your head in amusement. “You are so full of secrets,” you accuse.

“Full of surprises,” he corrects, rewarding you with a wide grin. 

You wonder if you’d ever reach the last of them, you muse as the lovesick Illyrian moves to make good on his words. You imagine you never will, but it sounds like a nice fate to die trying. 

After all, it seems like you’ll be needing a new hobby, now that you’ll have to give up recreational flirting. Azriel is happy to keep you occupied. 

✸✸✸ 

Later, when the night was deep, the stars shining brightly with the soft promise of new beginnings, Azriel remembers a threat that he needs to make good on. 

I’m gonna fucking kill you guys , Azriel projects to Rhys and Cassian. You’ll never see me coming. It will be long, and painful. NEVER mess with my plans – never again!

Well! Rhys' response arrives instantly, dripping with sarcasm. That sure was a delayed reaction… I hope you’ve had a productive evening.

Cassian’s reply is more direct. You’re welcome, brother dearest!  

Despite his vexation with his brothers, Azriel smiles into the dark, content as he is to have you in his arms. He thinks dimly of your face under the flashing lights at Rita’s, how close he had come to losing his nerve to speak to you, how grateful he’d been to have an excuse to talk to you, and how foolish he’d felt when he left you alone on your doorstep after your last date. 

His racing mind quiets as he traces your features, sleeping soundly in his bed. He has no intention of letting you go this time. 

_

A/N: I hope y’all enjoyed!! I really fell in love with these two. It was so fun crafting their dynamic in part one, I had to expand the plot a little to allow their connection to develop more in this one. Sorry to make you read like 9k of plot and banter before the sexy part! 

Here’s a little of my thought process behind this part 2: The more I thought about it, I just realized Azriel can’t do casual relationships. 

In the books, it’s heavily implied that he pined after Mor for centuries, so like he’s a truly long-suffering loverboy. It would actually be so out of character for him to casually date. Even if he were to turn a new leaf and pursue someone, he's too guarded, too high profile to be comfortable with just a fling. If he’s in, he’s all in. 

So I was like how do we break the ice? I imagined that Cass and Rhys could sense how invested he was in Reader, and that they knew he’d flounder in his attempts to approach it casually. Devotion and quiet intensity are just so key to Azriel’s personality. I wanted to explore what it would look like if he felt the green light from someone - personally I think it would unlock some of his private nature and allow him to safely express his feelings (which we see him try for the first time here!). Normally, I don't like it when fics have a love confession after one whole date, but in this case it just felt right.  

Not to write a thesis and spend hours critically thinking so that my premises perfectly align to support my porn with plot LOL just girly things :) 

[aleskie]

hii!! hope you’re having a week day, i was wondering if you could write max verstappen angst after 2021 baku dnf?

HIIIII ANON! I actually don't remember what the lore with baku 2021 was ajnskskj so i hope you like this general DNF comfort fic instead MWAH

WHY DOES SHE GIVE A DAMN ABOUT ME | Max Verstappen x Reader

SUMMARY: Max is a winner. But when it comes crashing down, you've got him.

Warnings: None. Hurt with comfort!

He doesn’t say anything when he comes back home — just closes the door a little harsher than usual and heads straight to the terrace after making himself a gin and tonic. He needs to calm down. You know that. You don’t follow him right away. You give him space.

Max was a champion. He won. That’s what he did, what he was born to do, what he was trained to become. Losing took a toll on him — whether it was a DNF or finishing out of the points. It never felt good. But there were things to learn from it, things to improve on. Both on his end as a driver and with the constructor’s team for the car. He could live with that.

But having a car malfunction? Not finishing the race? And when you were in second place? That hurt. That really hurt.

The sun is sinking lower, casting long shadows across the terrace as he sips his drink. The ice clinks softly against the glass. It’s calming, a familiar ritual — but you can see the tension in his shoulders, the way his jaw stays tight. There’s a lot on his mind. What he could’ve done better. Where he’d be in the championship if he’d won. The what-ifs, the could-have-beens.

You watch him from the doorway for a moment before stepping outside. You don’t say anything. You just sit beside him, quiet and steady, while the sky turns gold and the weight of disappointment settles with the evening breeze.

“I hate myself,” he says, taking another sip from his drink. His words are slurred just enough to tell you he’s a little tipsy — no surprise, considering the drink he poured earlier was mostly gin with just the barest splash of tonic. “I’m a fucking loser. I lost.”

“Don’t say that,” you reply softly, keeping your voice gentle. “The car malfunctioned. It wasn’t your fault.”

“Was it not?” He lets out a sharp, bitter laugh and takes another swig. “I can drive bad cars. I’ve done it before. I’ve pushed them to their limits and I made it work—I made it win. But I couldn’t drive this one? Couldn’t win in it? Fucking pathetic.”

You want to reach for his hand, but you don’t. Not yet. You know that right now, he’s fighting a battle in his own head — one you can’t quite pull him out of. So you stay close, your voice steady even when his isn’t.

“You’re not pathetic,” you say quietly. “You’re one of the best drivers in the world. Four championships, Maxie—that’s nothing to scoff at.”

“It doesn’t feel like it,” he mutters, his eyes fixed on the horizon. The sunset’s almost gone now, the sky bleeding into deeper shades of blue and orange. “Feels like I’m just…wasting everyone’s time. Wasting my time. Wasting yours.”

The ice clinks again as he lifts the glass, and for a second, you wish the drink would run out. But you know the problem isn’t the gin. It’s everything that’s come before it — the pressure, the expectation, the disappointment.

“You’re not wasting anything—especially not my time or my energy,” you say. “You had a bad day. That’s all it was.”

He shakes his head. “It’s never just one day. It’s every day that comes after it, every chance that slips away. And I—” His voice breaks, just for a second, before he swallows it down with the rest of his drink. “I don’t know if I can keep doing this.”

That’s when you reach for his hand. And this time, he lets you.

“That’s fine too.” You plant a kiss on the back of his hand. “You don’t have to prove anything to anyone.”

“But I do.” He pulls his hand away and runs it through his hair. “I have to prove it. To the team. To the fans. To dad. To you—”

“You don’t have to prove anything to me.”

He finally looks at you, and it’s worse than you expected. His eyes are red-rimmed, his face drawn tight with exhaustion and frustration and something deeper—something you don’t know how to fix.

“Don’t I?” he whispers. His voice is so quiet, but the weight of those words hangs heavy between you. “You think you’d still love me if I stopped winning? If I stopped trying?”

“But you aren’t not trying,” you say, your voice soft but steady. “You try your best with everything you do. And that’s one of the reasons I love you.”

He shakes his head, his jaw clenching like he’s holding back something that’s threatening to break free. “No. You love the champion. You love the winner. And that’s not who I am right now. This…this isn’t who you signed up for.”

“Don’t tell me who I love,” you snap, your voice trembling. “And don’t treat this relationship like it’s some kind of contract. I didn’t sign up for anything. I’m here because I want to be. Because I love you. Even now—when you’re hurting, when you’re in pain. I still love you.”

For a second, he just stares at you, and you can see the war happening behind his eyes—the fight between believing you and the doubts that have been eating away at him for weeks. Maybe months.

“I don’t know if I’ll ever be good enough for you,” he whispers finally, his voice breaking. “And I want to be. God, I want to be perfect for you. But I…I can’t.”

Your chest aches. That helpless, hollow kind of ache that comes when you want so badly to fix something — someone — and you know you can’t. All you can do is hold his hand tighter, like maybe that will stop him from slipping away completely.

“You are,” you say softly. “You’re perfect. Just like this.”

He closes his eyes, but a tear escapes anyway, sliding down his cheek. He doesn’t wipe it away. “It’s been a tough season,” he murmurs. “The car is fucked. And I—I don’t know how to keep you if I can’t even keep this seat. And I don’t even know who I am without the wins.”

“You’re a four-time world champion,” you remind him, your fingers brushing through his hair. “You’re dragging a seventh-place car to third place. That’s more than enough. You are doing so much—more than anyone should have to.”

You guide his head to rest on your shoulder, feeling the way his breath stutters against your skin. “You can rest for now,” you whisper. “You don’t have to carry all of this alone.”

For the first time that night, his body eases—just a little—against yours. The tension doesn’t vanish, not completely, but you feel the slightest shift, the way his weight leans into you like he’s finally allowing himself to stop holding it all together. And you hold him like you’re trying to keep him from falling apart—like if you hold him tight enough, maybe you can take some of that hurt away.

His breath slows, but every now and then it still catches, like there’s something inside him he can’t quite let go of. You press your lips to his hair, soft and reassuring, and whisper, “I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”

“I don’t deserve you,” he says, voice rough and low.

“You do,” you insist. “And I’ll keep telling you that until you believe it.”

He doesn’t answer right away, but his fingers tighten around yours. And for now, that’s enough.

[digiflora]

╭┄──── 𝐈 𝐆𝐎𝐓 𝐀 𝐌𝐀𝐍 𝐁𝐔𝐓 𝐈 𝐖𝐀𝐍𝐓 𝐘𝐎𝐔! ೄྀ࿐ ˊˎ-

featuring. genshin men 〆 wc. 1.2k

art creds. こは on twt 〆 contains. suggestiveness and brief smut!!, toxic fwb dynamics, jealousy

gia's notes. i drank too much coffee and now i feel sick and can't sleep ughhhhh 😞😞 n e ways enjoy these headcanons while i work on a proper fic (kinda) about this premise :3. i was gonna write more for this but then i kinda ran out of juice so... y'all rocking with this ⁉️⁉️

╰┄➤ ❝ request. anon 〆 HELLOOO I read your friends with benefits angst and IF UR COMFORTABLE WITH IT could u write if they found out you had someone else on the side as well? If they’d care, if they’d be bothered by it and just little headcanons and stuff, anyways, I hope u have a good day/night !!! 🎀❤️:3 ❞

୭ ˚. ᵎᵎ HE’S COMPLETELY FINE WITH IT… RIGHT?

-these guys are your most dependable to get into a friends with benefits relationship with, simply because they’re very good at drawing a distinction between being around you to fuck and maybe cuddle afterwards, versus wanting something more

-and before this had all started, you had drawn out some very distinct ground rules

-one. if you start to catch feelings, tell the other person

-two. If you start fucking someone else, tell the other person

-three. ESPECIALLY if you’re doing it raw with number two

-and this has you wringing your hands pathetically in your lap, fingers twisting themselves into knots as you can barely meet the eye of the man that you had called to come over a mere twenty minutes ago

-he wasn’t stupid- the fact that you hadn’t yanked him into your place by his shirt before ripping it off of him made it clear that the nature of his visit was… not for the ordinary reason

-another great sign was the way your leg bounced incessantly, eyes darting everywhere in the room but him as you chewed at the edge of your thumbnail

-the silence was killing him, though, so he decided to put an end to it

-he calls your name, trying to be stern though you can both hear the playful edge to his voice. he also plants a warm hand on your knee, enough to make you finally look up into his eyes

-”you gonna tell me which rule we need to talk about today?”

-your eyes widen, gaze darting off to the side once again and he chuckles at your bashfulness

-fuck, had you really been so obvious?

“look, i understand, honestly i’d fall for me too if i were you, what with the way i fuck-”

-“-it’s rule two”

-and back to silence

-”ah. i see”

-you’re scanning his face now

-you weren’t even sure that you knew what you wanted him to be feeling right now. jealous? hesitant? indifferent?

-”and are there… any other rules you need to mention?” the silence hangs heavy in the air, any of the other numbers you could mention opening doors to such avenues that you firmly wanted locked right now

-”no”

-you look him in the eyes for this, again. you didn’t ave anything to hide

-and you watch with surprise at the honest to god grin that crosses his features, as if you had given him a birthday gift early

-”well,” he begins, shifting his weight to face you, knees brushing yours as his hand begins to travel further up, smoothing over your thigh

-”that’s a relief to hear”

-”it is?” you sound breathless, and he uses this as an excuse to lean in closer as if to hear you better, only to whisper his own words right into your ear

-”i must be your favourite, because you’re going to have to definitely mention that rule three to him”

-your scandalised retort dies on your lips when his head dips lower, lips and tongue latching onto your neck, tracing patterns and leaving love bites in his wake

-”thereee we go, that’s more like it,” he chuckles into your skin again, hands leveraging you onto his lap so that he can continue his ministrations

-he’ll have your brain so muddled by the end of tonight that you’ll question why you even needed a rule two in the first place

-and maybe, just maybe, when you do break things off with whoever he was, you’d need to stipulate a rule one as well

KAEYA, ayato, WRIOTHESLEY, capitano, itto, THOMA, zhongli

୭ ˚. ᵎᵎ THE LOVERBOY… WHO’S DEFINITELY NOT HEARTBROKEN!!!

-sleeping with him, even in this little undisclosed fling, is sweet

-you can tell that he cares about you, more than whether you cum or not, and there’s adoration in his eyes when he runs his hands all over your body

-it’s enough to twist that little knife in your chest that much further every time he bites his lips when the two of you are making love

-(fucking, you would correct him hastily)

-you see how hard he fights to keep what he wants to say inside of him as you ride him, hips slow and sensual before slamming back down against his thighs

-you see the way his brows crease, his eyes roll to the back of his head as he feels you clench around him, a strangled moan just managing to escape him

-and when he cums, deep inside you, you’re left with the cloying taste of guilt in your mouth when he kisses you feverishly before anything else, like a lover

-and it breaks your heart to do this, it really does, but you have to remind him that at the end of the day, you’re not exclusive

-”i’m seeing someone else”

-you try to slip it into a conversation as casually as possible

-the two of you are sat at his table, eating a meal that he had insisted on cooking for you, only candlelight illuminating the room, and some soft music playing in the background

-the scene felt so domestic that you were scared he would ask you to be his girlfriend any second now, and it just slipped out before he could get another word in

-you’re digging around your plate, pretending to fix yourself a forkful- he really was a good cook- though you can’t miss the way that he tenses in the corner of your vision

-your throat feels dry, and that knife just can’t quit twisting- but you need to make this distinction clear. for yourself. for him

-”i don’t know what to say”

-you quirk an eyebrow at this

-”really?”

-he pauses now, thinking, not enough to hide the hurt in his eyes. it’s injected into every feature of his, and he picks at his own plate now. the blade’s embedded deep in your chest, and it hurts now

-”i’m… sorry”

-you technically didn’t do anything wrong- you both agreed that this would be casual. but why did it feel like you had betrayed him?

-it’s an agonising silence as you both process what you just said. you’re not sure if he’ll ever speak again until you hear a hoarse voice croak out “i think that you should go”

-you didn’t have to look at him to tell that he was crying- you at least had the dignity to not mention it, to not fight it as you nod silently, feeling numb as he walks you to his door

-it all feels too final as he looks you in your eyes one last time, searching for something there before he looks crestfallen and sighs, beginning to close the door

-”goodbye, y/n. get home safe”

-you can only see the paint of his door now- some shuffling on the other end of it before you’re left utterly alone, stabbed clean through with the dripping mess of your grave mistake pooling at your feet

DILUC, neuvillette, CHILDE, dainsleif, ALHAITHAM, cyno, kaveh

➤ IF YOU LIKED THIS, TRY ... she hold me down like gravity

[kathlare]

Hiii, soo this is inspired by the bew dts season, maybe a compilation of amelie in dts?

Hiii!! First off, thank you so much for the request! 💕 It took me all day to put this together, and I had to rewatch some scenes to make sure I got everything just right, but here it is! I really hope you like it! 😊 Let me know what you think!

home in the chaos

Lando Norris x Amelie Dayman

Summary: Through intimate scenes and subtle gestures, the audience witnesses the depth of their bond and the solace Amelie provides Lando in his most fragile moments.

Wordcount: 10.1 k

Warnings: none

full masterlist // request over here!

March 7th, 2025 - All around the world

liked by lanmelieshippers, daymanupdates, and others

f1wagsgossip: 🚨 Season 7 of Drive to Survive just dropped, and guess who’s making more appearances than expected? 👀 Amelie fans, you’re in for a treat! Looks like Lando let Netflix peek into his private life this season… and that includes plenty of moments with his Amelie. 🧡🏎️

View all 49,583 comments

f1wagsupdates: Not Lando finally letting Netflix have a peek into his private life and it’s basically the Lando & Amelie Show 💀 → lanlanstan: @f1wagsupdates THIS IS WHAT WE’VE BEEN WAITING FOR SINCE 2020 I’M ACTUALLY CRYING. → amesangel: @f1wagsupdates The fact that we literally manifested this from the Twitch quartet era... we won, guys.

f1girly: Amelie casually appearing in the McLaren motorhome, sitting on Lando’s pit wall, and being in his Monaco apartment like it's her job... I fear we’ve entered the “WAG era” for real. → papayagirl: @f1girly SHE WAS ALREADY THE WAG BEFORE WE KNEW SHE WAS THE WAG.

lanielover44: No bc seeing them flirting in the paddock and Lando calling her "baby" in front of the cameras??? I’m losing my mind. → f1fanatic: @lanielover44 AND THE WAY SHE CALLS HIM "LAN" LIKE IT’S THE MOST NATURAL THING IN THE WORLD 😭😭😭 → amelie4ever: @amelie4ever Bro... when he said "I’ve been in love with her since 2020, I just had to be patient" I screamed.

f1hottea: Y’all, we got fed this season. Lando's first win in Miami, Amelie running to him, the kiss... the soft launch turned hard launch.

f1zone: It’s so cute how Lando still gets all shy when Amelie compliments him. Like, bro... you're literally a world-class driver. You can’t be shy about this. 😅 → lanx_xo: @f1zone You can tell he’s still so in awe of her. Every time she praises him, he’s like a little schoolboy.

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

The scene opens with the fast-paced, dramatic cuts typical of Drive to Survive. The camera zooms in on Lando Norris, sitting in the familiar interview chair, his eyes slightly squinting against the bright lights. He leans forward, chuckling to himself before the interviewer cues him to speak.

—Lando, tell us about the nickname ‘Lando No Wins’,— the interviewer prompts, clearly aware of the lighthearted jibe that has followed Lando throughout his career.

Lando pauses for a moment, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips as he recalls the origins of the nickname. He leans back, clearly not taking it too seriously, but there's a hint of vulnerability in his eyes as he speaks.

—Yeah, so that nickname, "Lando No Wins"... that’s actually Amelie’s doing,— Lando begins, his voice dripping with the slight teasing tone that’s become second nature to him. He lets out a little laugh, shaking his head.

—Back during the pandemic, when we were all locked inside, we used to play a lot of video games together. A lot of them, actually. And I swear, I couldn’t win a single race against her,— he continues, his eyes narrowing in mock offense. —Every time I lost, she’d call me "Lando No Wins." It just kind of stuck. I didn’t think it would carry over to F1 though.—

He shrugs, the smile never quite leaving his face, but there's a hint of exasperation as he adds, —People somehow took it the wrong way, like it was about my F1 career or something. But it’s all in good fun. It’s Amelie’s thing. I guess I’ll just have to live with it now. The nickname’s bigger than I am at this point.—

The camera cuts away briefly, transitioning to interviews with Lando's closest friends, each of them ready to add their own spin on the infamous nickname.

First up is George Russell, sitting comfortably in his own interview chair, a mischievous grin spreading across his face. The interviewer’s question barely leaves their lips before George is already shaking his head in amusement.

—Oh, I remember that...— George begins, his usual grin widening. —She’d always roast him for it. "Lando No Wins!"— he laughs, shaking his head as if the memory was still fresh. —It was too perfect, honestly. I mean, it fits. And she knew it. Classic Amelie move. I wouldn’t be surprised if she planned it from the start, just to get under his skin. Genius, really.—

The scene shifts to Alex, who shakes his head in disbelief.

—Lando’s never lived it down, has he?— Alex says, almost sympathetically. —It was always "No Wins" this, "No Wins" that. Amelie just knew how to get him. She’s got a way of making everything fun, even if it’s at his expense. We all kind of laughed at it, but I think deep down, it was a little painful for him. But he didn’t mind, at least not too much.—

The camera cuts once again, now focusing on Charles Leclerc, who leans back in his chair, a smile tugging at his lips as he recalls the playful nickname.

—Oh, Amelie was on fire with that one, wasn't she?— Charles chuckles, shaking his head as he runs a hand through his hair. —Every time Lando would lose, it was like clockwork. "Lando No Wins." It became a thing. Honestly, though, I think she got into his head a little with it. She always knew how to get the perfect shot in, but she wasn’t malicious. It was just her humor, and I think Lando secretly kind of enjoyed it... even though he pretended not to.—

The shot cuts back to Lando, who’s shaking his head with a rueful smile. —I swear, Amelie has a way of making everything stick. I didn’t think that stupid nickname would follow me this long, but… here we are.—

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

The scene was electric. The sun hung high in the Miami sky, casting a golden hue over the paddock as the crowd roared with excitement. It was the culmination of Lando Norris’s long journey, his first-ever Formula 1 victory on the horizon.

The air buzzed with anticipation as Lando Norris navigated through the final laps of the Miami Grand Prix, his hands gripping the wheel tightly, his focus unwavering. The cheers from the crowd reverberated through the paddock as McLaren’s pit crew began to prepare for what was about to be a monumental moment in the team's history. The race clock ticked down, and with each second, the energy built to a fever pitch.

Lando’s McLaren crossed the finish line, his victory sealed. The roar of the crowd reached deafening levels as the car slowed to a halt, the team swarming the car almost immediately, their arms raised in celebration. But in that moment, as Lando unbuckled his helmet and climbed out of the car, something else caught his attention—someone else.

Amelie, standing at the edge of the pit lane, her eyes locked on him. Her body surged forward before she could even stop herself, and she cut through the sea of orange uniforms, determination in every step. The cheers, the noise, the chaos of victory faded to the background as she reached him, her eyes fixed only on Lando.

Lando, still breathing heavily from the race, met her gaze. For a split second, the world seemed to stop. The pit crew continued their celebration, but Lando was no longer part of that crowd. His focus was entirely on Amelie as she approached, pushing her way through the chaos.

Without a word, Lando pushed past his team, making his way toward her. His legs carried him faster than he had anticipated, and in mere moments, they were face-to-face. His arms found her, pulling her into an embrace.

Lando cupped her face, his thumb gently brushing away a tear before his lips crashed into hers. It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t tender. It was urgent, desperate, as if they both knew how long they had waited for this moment.

When they finally pulled apart, their breaths were ragged, both of them laughing softly at the sheer intensity of the moment. Amelie wiped away the last of her tears, a smile playing on her lips as she spoke, her voice breathless.

—I didn’t plan this, Lan,— she chuckled softly, her hands still on his chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart.

Lando grinned, his eyes twinkling with mischief and joy. —Guess we’re out of the secret club now, huh?— He leaned in, capturing her lips again in a much softer kiss, this one gentle, filled with warmth and tenderness.

Behind them, the McLaren team erupted into cheers, lifting Lando up on their shoulders, shouting in jubilation. But even as they celebrated, Lando’s eyes stayed locked on Amelie, as if nothing could pull him away from her. She stood there, her heart swelling with pride as she watched him held high, the victorious smile on his face forever etched in her memory.

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

The camera zoomed in on Lando, his posture relaxed but his eyes still alight with the adrenaline from the race. The unmistakable warmth of a smile tugged at his lips, though there was a reflective quietness to him now, away from the chaos of the pit and the podium. He leaned back slightly, the weight of the moment still settling in as the interview room, now more subdued than the earlier celebrations, enveloped him.

One of the crew members, a familiar face, asked the question that everyone was dying to know.

—Lando, first win. How does it feel?—

Lando leaned back in his chair, his fingers tapping lightly on the armrests. His lips curled into a soft, almost disbelieving smile as he looked into the camera.

—It’s… it’s insane,— he began, his voice a mix of disbelief and gratitude. —I mean, it’s something I’ve dreamed of for as long as I can remember. You grow up watching this, you picture yourself up there, and then it happens. And to do it with McLaren, with my team—yeah, it’s something special.— He paused for a moment, his gaze shifting as he reflected on the journey that had brought him here. —It’s been a long time coming, and now that I’ve done it, it’s just... surreal.—

There was a brief silence as he let the words sink in. The crew could tell how much this meant to him. They could hear it in his voice, see it in his eyes. But the next question was inevitable—the one everyone had been wondering about for months now.

The crew member, who had been silently observing him, cleared their throat before asking the question that everyone was eagerly waiting to hear.

—And, uh... about the kiss, Lando. How much did that moment mean to you? To have Amelie there, to have her with you after everything?—

Lando’s smile softened, a brief flash of something more personal crossing his face. He leaned forward in his chair, hands clasped together, eyes momentarily shifting as though trying to gather his thoughts. The room felt smaller suddenly, more intimate, as if he was speaking not just to the cameras, but to the people who had followed his journey from the very beginning.

—Yeah, the kiss…— Lando’s voice faltered for a second, a chuckle escaping his lips as he rubbed the back of his neck. —It was... it was everything. I’ve been working for this moment for so long, and to have her there, right after crossing the finish line… it just felt like the right thing to do, y’know? We’ve been through so much, both of us, and we’ve known each other for years, and when that moment came… I just didn’t think. I just went for it. It wasn’t about the race anymore. It was just about us.—

He paused, his eyes distant for a moment as he reflected on everything that had brought him to this point. The highs, the lows, the time apart, and the years of friendship that had built up into something more.

—I've been in love with her since 2020, honestly,— Lando admitted, his voice low but steady. —It was... hard at times. Especially when we weren’t together, when we didn’t know what we were. But I had to be patient. I had to wait for the right time. It’s funny, I always thought the moment would feel different, but it was more than I ever could’ve imagined. And to have her there with me, after everything we've been through... I wouldn’t trade that moment for anything.—

The interviewer let the silence hang in the air for a second, knowing there was more he wanted to say, but giving Lando the space to continue. The raw honesty in his words was undeniable.

—And now... it feels like everything is just falling into place, y'know? She’s been a part of my life for so long, and having her there, being able to share that moment with her, it’s… it’s perfect.—

Lando leaned back in his chair again, his eyes softening as he let out a breath, almost as if the weight of the conversation was settling on his shoulders. The interviewer, sensing the emotion behind Lando’s words, gave him a moment before asking another question, but the tone had shifted. The race, the victory, the kiss—it was clear that this win meant so much more than just a trophy for Lando. It was about love, timing, and finally getting to share the most important moments of his life with the person who had been there through it all.

The camera zoomed in slightly, capturing the vulnerability in Lando’s expression. He was no longer the confident driver in front of the cameras, the competitive athlete everyone had come to know. In this moment, he was just a man, deeply in love, reflecting on how far he’d come.

And as the interview continued, the world outside seemed to fade. This was a chapter in his life that, for once, wasn’t just about the races, the wins, or the pressure. It was about Lando and Amelie, two people who had been through everything together, now standing at the pinnacle of their dreams—both personally and professionally.

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

The streets of New York were alive with energy, the hum of the city mixing with the background chatter and the constant flow of traffic. In the backseat of a sleek black car, Lando Norris sat with his arms crossed, a relaxed but confident look on his face. The windows were slightly rolled down, allowing the cool breeze to cut through the warm evening air. It was a stark contrast to the adrenaline-fueled chaos of the race weekend he had just experienced.

Lando spoke into the camera, his voice calm but filled with a quiet intensity.

—Winning, it’s... it’s a drug,— he began, his eyes focused out the window, reflecting on the past few days. —Success is a drug. I mean, once you’ve tasted it, you just want more. It’s like that feeling you get when you know exactly what to do, when everything clicks. And right now? I’ve got that confidence, you know? That feeling that everything’s falling into place.—

His voice was steady, the weight of his words clear. The highs of the Miami Grand Prix were still fresh, lingering in his mind, and the euphoria of his first-ever victory had not faded. He wasn’t just talking about the race; it was more than that. It was a reflection of how far he had come, not just as a driver, but as a person.

As he finished speaking, the car slowed to a stop. Lando’s gaze shifted toward the tinted windows.

—Let’s wait for my princess,— he said, a playful smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

The camera cut away from him just as the car door opened, and in an instant, Amelie stepped into the frame. She slid into the car with a grace that was almost effortless, her presence adding a softness to the hard edges of the racing world around them. She smiled at Lando as she settled beside him, the two of them exchanging a look that said more than words ever could.

Lando glanced at her, his expression shifting from the confident, reflective mood he had just been in to something more relaxed, more at ease.

Amelie slid into the backseat beside Lando, her smile lighting up the car as she greeted him with a soft peck on the lips. The moment was warm, intimate, a stark contrast to the world outside the car’s tinted windows. She let out a light chuckle before turning toward the camera, her tone playful.

—Hi, Netflix,— she said with a wink, her voice full of warmth and charm.

Lando grinned at her, his eyes flicking between Amelie and the camera. There was something magnetic about the way they looked at each other, a connection that had been built over years of friendship and a few months of something more. The playful banter between them was effortless, the kind of chemistry that had made fans root for them since their early days as friends.

As the car pulled back into motion, Lando leaned back against the seat, his arms casually resting on the edge, eyes still on Amelie.

—So...— he teased, his voice light but filled with the same confidence he had spoken about earlier. —How does it feel to watch your boyfriend finally win?—

Amelie rolled her eyes, playfully nudging him with her shoulder as she settled in beside him.

—Oh, please, don’t start,— Amelie laughed, a teasing glint in her eyes. —I’ve been waiting for this day for ages, you know that.— She shrugged dramatically, her tone playful but full of affection.

The camera crew, anticipating the playful energy between them, zoomed in on Lando as he raised an eyebrow at Amelie. The streets of New York stretched out before them, their journey just a part of the whirlwind that had been his first-ever win, but with Amelie by his side, the moment seemed to slow down.

—Oh, really?— Lando grinned, his voice laced with a hint of mischief. —So you were just waiting to see if I’d ever make it, huh? That’s what it was all about?—

Amelie chuckled, shaking her head.

—Not quite,— she teased, crossing her arms with a mock pout. —I knew you’d do it eventually, but you sure took your sweet time.— She smiled warmly at him, and the affection between them was evident, even in the playful jabs they threw back and forth.

Lando let out a small laugh before leaning in closer to her, his tone turning softer, more sincere.

—It feels... different, you know? All that waiting, all the pressure, the expectations, now, it’s like everything's changed. But it’s worth it. And having you here to share it with me, to celebrate it... yeah, that makes it even better.—

Amelie’s smile softened, and she reached for his hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. The cameras zoomed in on their intertwined fingers, the connection between them unmistakable.

—You deserve it, Lan,— she said quietly, her voice tender. —All of it. I’ve always believed in you.—

Lando’s eyes flickered with gratitude, and he gave her hand a reassuring squeeze in return. But before the moment could linger too long, a familiar teasing voice broke the silence from the front of the car.

—So, about that kiss...— the cameraman said, unable to resist the opportunity to poke fun at the pair. —You two seemed pretty... into it. How did that feel, Lando? A little victory kiss, huh?—

Amelie let out a laugh, her eyes sparkling as she turned to Lando.

—Oh, now you’ve done it,— she said, her voice playful but with an edge of mock seriousness. —He’s been insufferable ever since. Just wait until you hear him tell the story of the kiss 100 times, because he’s going to do that now. Isn’t that right, Lan?—

Lando rolled his eyes dramatically, laughing along with Amelie.

—What can I say? It was a great kiss,— he said with a wink, his tone dripping with playful arrogance. —And I’ll be happy to tell the story as many times as you want.—

Amelie shook her head, but the fondness in her eyes was clear.

—You’re terrible, you know that?— she said, leaning back into the seat.

Lando shrugged, his grin never fading.

—It’s my first win, I’ve earned it. And I think it’s only right that everyone hears about the celebration. It was pretty unforgettable.—

As the car made its way through the bustling streets, Lando and Amelie continued to tease each other, their easy chemistry filling the space around them. The world outside seemed distant, the noise and chaos of New York blending into a soft hum. Inside the car, it was just the two of them—two people who had been through so much, now sharing this moment of victory, laughter, and love.

The camera cut away, but the smile on Lando’s face and the glow in Amelie’s eyes lingered, the perfect snapshot of a victory that was about so much more than just the race.

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

The camera angle shifted, capturing the interior of a sleek car as it sped through the quiet streets. Lando was behind the wheel, the focus on him as he casually navigated the traffic, his fingers drumming lightly on the steering wheel. Amelie sat in the passenger seat, her focus on her phone as she sipped from a coffee cup in her hand, the warm liquid still steaming.

Lando’s voice broke the silence as he glanced over at Amelie, a wry smile tugging at his lips.

—You know, I was kind of expecting a text from Max after Austria, apologizing for the whole... situation, but of course, nothing. Not even a ‘sorry.’— His voice was casual, though the slight bitterness in his tone betrayed his lingering frustration.

Amelie looked up from her phone, raising an eyebrow at him.

—Really? You thought Max would apologize?— she teased, the faintest smirk appearing on her face.

Lando chuckled, shaking his head.

—Well, yeah, I mean, I thought after everything that went down, it would be the decent thing to do, right? But apparently, that’s asking too much.— He shrugged, his eyes focusing back on the road.

As he turned a corner, Amelie shifted in her seat, trying to adjust her position with one hand while still balancing her iced coffee in the other. A moment of clumsiness—and then, without warning, the cup slipped from her grasp.

The camera zoomed in on the slow-motion disaster as the coffee flew out of her hand, splashing across the center console, onto the seat, and all over Lando’s pristine car. Amelie’s eyes widened in panic, her voice rising as she gasped.

—Oh my god, I’m so sorry!— she exclaimed, quickly trying to blot the mess with her sleeve.

Lando let out a sharp breath, his eyes flicking from the road to the spill, and then back to Amelie.

—You’ve got to be kidding me, Ames,— he said, a mixture of surprise, annoyance, and affection in his voice. —Not again.—

He wasn’t yelling, but there was no hiding the frustration in his tone. He quickly swerved into the nearest pull-off, the car coming to a stop as he stared at the damage.

Amelie was visibly flustered, scrambling to find something—anything—to clean it up.

Amelie’s face was flushed with embarrassment as she frantically tried to mop up the mess, but the spill was far too much for a simple sleeve to handle. Her hands were shaking slightly, the panic evident in her eyes as she looked over at Lando.

—Lando, I swear I didn’t mean to... I’m so sorry!— she stammered, her voice a mix of guilt and distress.

Lando sighed, running a hand through his curls as he glanced at the mess. For a moment, the tension hung heavy in the air. The camera captured Amelie’s frantic movements as she searched for napkins, her hands shaking slightly as she tried to wipe the coffee off the console.

—I’m so sorry, Lan. I didn’t mean to, I swear— Amelie stammered, her voice filled with genuine panic.

Lando looked at her, and for a split second, his frustration softened. The camera caught the shift in his expression—the moment when annoyance gave way to something much deeper.

He reached out, gently placing his hand over hers to stop her from scrambling.

—Hey, hey... Ames, it’s fine,— he said softly, his tone shifting to something far more tender. —It’s just coffee. You’re okay.—

Amelie looked up at him, her eyes wide and full of guilt.

—But your car...—

Lando let out a small laugh, shaking his head as he leaned back in his seat.

—Honestly? I should’ve seen this coming. You’ve done this, what... four times now?— he teased, a playful smirk forming on his lips.

Amelie groaned, covering her face with her hands as her cheeks flushed with embarrassment.

—Stop. Don’t remind me.—

Lando chuckled and reached over to gently pull her hands away from her face.

—I knew what I was signing up when I started dating you,— he said with a soft grin. —And... I wouldn’t change it. Even if it means sacrificing my car's interior every once in a while.—

Amelie couldn’t help but laugh, her anxiety slowly melting away as she met his eyes.

—You’re way too nice to me, you know that?—

—Yeah, well... you’re my little chaos.— Lando replied with a shrug.

The camera lingered on the moment, capturing the warmth between them. Lando reached into the glove compartment, pulling out some old napkins and handing them to her.

—Come on, let’s clean this up before Netflix makes this my entire storyline this season,— he joked, earning another laugh from Amelie as she leaned over to kiss him on the cheek.

The car rolled back onto the road a few minutes later, the coffee incident already forgotten—just another chaotic memory in the story of Lando and Amelie.

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

The camera cuts to the dimly lit interior of a car as it glides through the streets of Singapore. The city's neon lights reflect off the tinted windows, casting a soft glow on Lando Norris, who sits in the backseat, phone in hand.

The camera zooms in on his screen, revealing a familiar face—Amelie, her hair tied back in a messy bun, sitting in what appears to be a hotel room somewhere. The background noise of her team moving around is faint, drowned out by her soft voice and the quiet hum of the car engine.

—Hey, rockstar,— Lando greets her with a grin, leaning back against the leather seat.

Amelie smiles, her eyes lighting up despite the exhaustion from her tour schedule.

—Hey, champ. You look... tired,— she teases, though her voice carries that familiar warmth.

Lando chuckles, running a hand through his curls.

—Yeah, well... Singapore humidity is brutal. Plus, you know, the whole ‘trying not to die under the lights’ thing.—

Amelie laughs softly, the sound echoing through the speakers.

—You’ll be fine. You always are. You're fast here.—

There’s a pause, a comfortable silence between them as Lando’s eyes soften.

—How's tour?—

Amelie sighs, glancing around her hotel room.

—Exhausting. But... good. I miss you, though. And... it's my birthday soon.— She tries to say it casually, but there’s a hint of something vulnerable in her voice.

Lando’s smile falters just slightly, guilt flashing across his face. The camera captures the moment, his internal struggle evident.

—I know...— Lando says quietly, his voice filled with regret. —I wish I could be there, Ames. I really do. But with Singapore and Japan right after... it’s just... impossible.—

Amelie forces a small smile, nodding in understanding.

—I get it. I mean... this is what we signed up for, right?— she says, trying to sound lighthearted.

But the weight of it hangs between them. Two people chasing dreams on opposite sides of the world, sacrificing moments that most couples take for granted. The camera lingers on Lando’s face as he looks down, the frustration evident.

—It still sucks, though,— he admits, his voice softer now.

Amelie’s expression softens.

—Yeah... it does.—

For a moment, neither of them speaks. The only sound is the hum of the car and the faint noise from Amelie’s hotel room. The distance feels heavier than ever.

—But... I’m proud of you, you know?— Amelie says, breaking the silence. —You’re doing what you’ve always dreamed of. And I wouldn’t want you anywhere else but on that grid this weekend.—

Lando’s lips curl into a sad smile.

Lando's eyes soften at her words, but the weight in his chest remains.

—I'm proud of you too, Ames. You're out there living your dream. I just... wish I could be with you to celebrate. You deserve more than a FaceTime call.—

Amelie smiles softly, her eyes glistening for a brief moment before she shakes it off.

—We'll celebrate when we're both back home. Or... when we're in the same country, at least,— she jokes, trying to lighten the mood.

Lando chuckles, but the sadness lingers beneath.

A knock on Amelie's door interrupts their moment. She glances toward the noise and sighs.

—That's my cue. I need to shower before soundcheck.—

Lando nods, forcing a smile.

—Go be brilliant, baby.—

Amelie hesitates for a second before speaking, her voice soft.

—I love you, Lan.—

Lando's heart tightens at the words.

—I love you too, Ames. Always.—

They linger on the line for a beat longer before Amelie hangs up. The screen goes dark, and the camera shifts back to Lando, who stares at his phone for a moment, lost in thought.

The city lights blur through the window as the car moves through the streets, but Lando's mind is elsewhere.

Then, almost without hesitation, he pulls out his phone again and opens his airline app. The camera zooms in as he searches for a last-minute flight to Toronto — the next stop on Amelie's tour.

The confirmation screen flashes, and Lando books the ticket without a second thought.

The camera cuts to Lando leaning back in his seat, a small, almost mischievous smile playing on his lips.

—Screw the jet lag,— he mutters to himself.

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

The screen cuts to the familiar, dimly lit interview room — the iconic black backdrop with the faint hum of production equipment in the background.

Lando Norris sits in the center of the frame, wearing his McLaren team shirt, his usual cheeky grin replaced by something more thoughtful. The camera captures the subtle shift in his demeanor, the weight of the season evident in the way his fingers fidget with the cap in his hands.

—You know... it happened kind of... out of nowhere, really,— he starts, glancing off to the side as he reflects. —I mean, last year I was fighting for podiums. And now, suddenly... I’m fighting for a world championship.—

The camera lingers on him as he exhales, the pressure written all over his face.

—It’s everything I’ve worked for, everything I’ve dreamed of. But... it’s a lot.— He chuckles lightly, though there’s a tension behind it. —The pressure, the expectation... it gets to you. It really does.—

The producers let the silence hang for a moment, allowing viewers to sit with the vulnerability of the moment. Then, Lando’s expression softens slightly, a small smile playing on his lips.

—But... Amelie...— he trails off, the mere mention of her name shifting his entire energy. —She kind of... keeps me grounded. Keeps me from spiraling when things get too overwhelming.—

He looks down, almost shy about admitting it on camera.

—She doesn’t care about the racing, the points, the headlines. I mean, she supports me, of course... but to her, I’m just... Lando.— He grins, his eyes lighting up at the memory.

The camera cuts to a brief montage of Amelie in the McLaren garage, laughing with Lando’s engineers, cheering from the pit wall, and sneaking a quick kiss with him after a podium celebration.

—She’s been through pressure like this herself. With her career, the touring, the awards, the... constant spotlight. She gets it. And I think... that’s what makes it easier.—

Lando’s gaze drifts off as he speaks, as if picturing her in his mind.

—Whenever I start overthinking, or doubting myself... she’s there. Even if it’s just a text or a FaceTime before quali. Somehow... she makes me feel like I’ve already won.—

The camera zooms in slightly as Lando leans forward, his voice dropping almost to a whisper.

—I wouldn’t be here without her. Not really.—

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

The camera shifts to a lively scene in the paddock after the Singapore Grand Prix. The roar of the crowd is still lingering in the background, but the focus is solely on Lando Norris. He’s just come out of the chaos of the post-race celebrations, the weight of his victory still fresh on his face, a mixture of disbelief and pure joy.

The camera follows Lando as he strides through the paddock, his gray crewneck and jeans a stark contrast to the usual racing suits and team gear. His hair is still damp from his post-race shower, the water droplets catching the light as he moves. The hum of the busy paddock surrounds him, but it’s clear that, for Lando, the noise of the world is just background music to the euphoria he’s still riding from his win.

As he walks, Lando glances over his shoulder, locking eyes with the camera crew trailing behind him. A mischievous grin spreads across his face.

—You motherfuckers, I’m so happy I’m leaving you,— he says, his voice light but carrying that trademark Lando humor, an impish sparkle in his eyes.

For a moment, it feels like he might genuinely mean it, but then he laughs, shaking his head in mock frustration.

—Just kidding, come on, we’ve got one final stop,— he adds, gesturing to the door of the paddock as if inviting the camera to follow him on the next adventure. His words are casual, but his energy says it all: he’s on top of the world.

The scene cuts quickly to a fast-paced montage.

The sound of jet engines roaring to life fills the audio as the shot switches to Lando boarding a private plane, his usual playful attitude slipping into a moment of calm as he settles into his seat. The camera captures his face from a low angle, the flickering of lights from the city of Singapore passing by the window.

Lando’s phone buzzes in his hand, and he glances down at the screen with a small smile. A text from Amelie, no doubt. He types out a quick reply, sending a heart emoji with a “miss you” message before stowing his phone away.

Next, the camera shows Lando's plane soaring through the clouds, a bird's eye view of the Singapore skyline receding in the distance as the aircraft cuts through the night sky.

The transition is smooth as the plane lands in Canada, the bright lights of Montreal twinkling on the horizon as the final destination draws near.

The last shot of the montage shows Lando stepping off the plane, now wearing a leather jacket over his crewneck, the cool Canadian air hitting his face as he exhales deeply. He looks around at the new city, a subtle mix of anticipation and focus in his expression.

Lando takes a step forward, his next challenge already on the horizon.

—Let’s do this,— he mutters under his breath, the camera capturing him as he walks confidently toward the next chapter.

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

The camera angle shifts, zooming in on Lando Norris as he sits in a quiet interview room. He leans back in his chair, a tired but contented look on his face, his fingers absentmindedly tapping against his knee. The soft hum of background noise from the team paddock fades into silence as the interviewer’s voice cuts through.

The Netflix crew member behind the camera asks the question that’s been on everyone’s mind: —Lando, being in a relationship with someone who has such a busy schedule like yours, how do you balance it all?—

Lando lets out a slow breath, running a hand through his damp hair as he thinks for a moment. His gaze shifts, his eyes briefly focusing on the window before he turns back to the camera.

—It’s tough, honestly,— Lando begins, his gaze now focused on the interviewer. —We both have these schedules that are just... insane, you know? I mean, my calendar is already packed with races, and hers? Well, her tour, the events, it’s a whirlwind.—

He shifts slightly in his seat, his hands folding in front of him, the calm of the interview contrasting the chaos of their lives.

—There’s a lot of back-and-forth, a lot of missed opportunities to just... be together. I mean, we both want the same thing, we both have these dreams we’re chasing, and sometimes it feels like we’re on different ends of the world.—

Lando leans forward slightly, his eyes glimmering with a mix of admiration and a hint of frustration.

—But at the same time, I think that’s what makes it work. We’re both driven, and even when it’s hard, we push through. We know that we’re both in this for the long haul. We always find time, even if it’s just a phone call or a quick message. It’s those little moments that keep us going.—

He pauses, his expression lightening as a soft smile tugs at his lips. The camera zooms in slightly, capturing the change in tone, the warmth that appears when he speaks about her.

—And then, when we do get to see each other again, it makes everything worth it. I mean, nothing compares to that feeling, you know? After all the traveling, all the time apart, when I finally see her... It’s like everything else fades away. It’s all worth it, just to be with her again.—

Lando's voice softens, the sincerity in his words undeniable as the camera lingers on his face, his expression a mix of longing and appreciation.

—Yeah, it’s tough. But it’s worth it.—

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

The camera followed Lando closely as he walked through the entrance of the upscale restaurant, his steps purposeful, a grin already forming on his face. He was dressed casually—jeans, a gray crewneck, and sneakers—but there was something about the way he moved, a certain energy in his stride that made it clear this was no ordinary night. The soft hum of the restaurant’s atmosphere seemed to fade as he approached the table where Amelie sat, surrounded by her team.

Amelie was laughing at something one of her dancers had said, her smile radiating warmth, but the moment the camera caught her profile, there was a soft flicker of something deeper—something that hinted at how much she missed him. Her phone buzzed softly beside her, but she didn’t check it, focused on the conversation at hand, blissfully unaware of the surprise that was about to change everything.

Lando’s voice cut through the chatter as he stepped into view.

—Fuck, you look absolutely stunning.—

Amelie froze mid-laugh, her body stilled as she heard the unmistakable sound of his voice. The camera captured the exact moment her eyes flicked toward the source, and in that split second, her entire expression shifted from surprise to shock and then to a flood of emotions that seemed to overtake her. Her lips parted, and her eyes widened as Lando’s familiar grin filled her vision.

For a moment, the world around them seemed to quiet. The noise of the restaurant, the background clinking of glasses, all disappeared as she stood up, her breath catching in her throat. The camera zoomed in on her face as she took him in, disbelieving yet elated.

—You’re here,— Amelie whispered, the words trembling out of her as if they hadn’t fully registered in her mind.

Lando took a step closer, his eyes softening with affection. The camera lingered on his expression, capturing the mix of relief and pure joy in his gaze. He reached her in a heartbeat, and in an instant, her arms were wrapped around him, pulling him close.

—Of course, I’m here. It’s your birthday, Ames,— Lando replied, his voice light but tender as he returned the embrace. He held her a little longer than usual, sensing the tension she’d been carrying, the weight of months apart.

He whispered against her hair, his voice low and comforting. —Don’t cry. You know I can’t handle it when you cry.—

Amelie pulled back slightly, just enough to meet his eyes, her breath still shaky as she looked at him in wonder. The camera captured her face, glistening with the mix of tears and the brightest smile.

—You’re such an idiot,— she laughed, shaking her head. —I can’t believe you’re here.—

Lando chuckled softly, brushing away a stray tear from her cheek. —Well, I had to come. How could I let you celebrate without me?— He gave her a playful grin before holding her at arm’s length, his eyes scanning her up and down. —Alright, alright, turn around. Let me just say: shit, you look hot in that dress.—

Amelie laughed, her cheeks flushing at the compliment as she twirled in the shimmering yellow dress. The soft fabric swirled around her, catching the light just right, and for a second, it felt like no one else was in the room but the two of them.

Lando’s eyebrows raised in mock skepticism as he looked her over. —You know,— he teased, taking her hand again and pulling her closer, —I’d say something more, but I’m trying to be a gentleman tonight.—

Amelie’s eyes gleamed mischievously. —You know,— she replied, voice dropping to match his tone, —you can take that dress off me later, if you want.—

Lando’s eyes widened, a smirk tugging at his lips as he grinned wider. —You’re killing me, Ames.—

The camera caught the warmth in his eyes as he leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead, lingering there for a moment. The affection was palpable, and it was clear to anyone watching that this was more than just a reunion—it was a quiet promise, a reassurance that no matter how hard things got, they were in this together.

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

The camera opens to a quiet hotel room, the remnants of Lando Norris’s time in Mexico still visible—a suitcase half-packed, a racing helmet resting on the bed beside a pile of clothes. The soft sound of a zipper closing fills the air as Lando, already in a hoodie and jeans, finishes the last of his packing. His movements are deliberate, but the subtle tension in his posture speaks volumes.

Amelie stands by the window, gazing out at the sprawling city below. The light from the early morning sun catches her face, but her expression is far from the brightness that usually radiates from her. The calmness of the scene contrasts with the emotions that hang in the room.

Lando takes a deep breath, zipping up the suitcase and standing up, his gaze shifting to Amelie. There’s a moment of silence—just the distant noise of the city and the faint hum of the air conditioning—before he finally speaks, his voice quieter than usual.

—You ready?— he asks, though the question feels almost rhetorical. He knows the answer. It’s never easy.

Amelie turns, her eyes meeting his. She forces a small smile, but it’s clear the weight of what’s coming is already starting to hit. —I guess as ready as I’ll ever be.—

Lando steps closer to her, his usual playful demeanor replaced with something softer, more vulnerable. He reaches out, gently tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, his fingers lingering for just a moment longer than necessary.

—You know I hate this part, right?— Lando admits quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. His words hang in the air like an unspoken truth. —I wish I could just... stay, but you’ve got your tour, and I’ve got Brazil.—

Amelie nods, her throat tight as she swallows the lump that forms there. —I know. I just... I hate how often we have to say goodbye. It never gets easier. Every time feels like it’s worse than the last.— Her voice cracks just slightly, and the vulnerability in her tone makes Lando’s heart ache.

The camera lingers on the two of them, the silence between them palpable. Both of them know this is part of the life they’ve chosen—their dreams pulling them in different directions—but that doesn’t make it any easier. Lando takes another step closer, reaching out to pull her into a tight embrace, the kind of hug that feels like it’s meant to hold them together even as the world around them pulls them apart.

Amelie closes her eyes, resting her head against his chest as she inhales the familiar scent of him, something that always made her feel like she was home, even if just for a moment.

—You’ll be fine, Ames. I’ll see you soon, okay?— Lando says, his voice thick with emotion, though he tries to keep it steady. He pulls back just enough to look at her, his hands resting on her shoulders, giving her a reassuring squeeze. —We’ve done this before. We’ll do it again.—

Amelie nods, her eyes glistening as she looks up at him, trying to force a smile through the rush of emotions. —I know... I just... I hate the distance. I hate how we’re always in different time zones, always chasing after something.—

Lando’s lips curl into a sad, understanding smile. —Yeah, me too. But when I see you again, it’s going to be worth it. We’ve got this.—

He leans down, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead, lingering there for a moment longer, a silent promise passing between them. The camera focuses on the quiet intimacy of the moment, capturing the depth of their connection—how words aren’t always needed to communicate the bond they share.

But even in the warmth of their embrace, there’s a pull at both of their hearts—a reminder of the sacrifices they’re making for their respective dreams. Lando pulls away, his hand gently brushing her cheek one last time.

—Alright, I’ve got to go. But I’ll be thinking about you, always.—

Amelie nods again, her voice a whisper. —I’ll be thinking about you too. Go crush Brazil. And I’ll be right here, waiting for the next time I get to see you.—

Lando grins, though it’s tinged with sadness. —Deal. Take care of yourself, Ames. I love you.—

—Love you too, Lan.—

With one final lingering glance, Lando turns, grabbing his bag and heading toward the door. The camera follows him, capturing the quiet sadness of the goodbye. As the door clicks shut behind him, the scene cuts to Amelie, standing there in the middle of the room, her gaze lost in the space where he once stood.

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

The camera opens on a quiet, dimly lit room in the heart of the paddock, the bustle of the F1 weekend just outside the door. Lando Norris sits across from the Netflix crew, his eyes tired but sharp, a mix of emotions behind his usual laid-back demeanor. His hands rest on his lap, fingers tapping absently as the soft hum of the camera crew’s gear fades into the background.

Lando leans back in the chair, his gaze flickering briefly to the window where the noise of the paddock can be faintly heard. He takes a breath, his expression distant for a moment as if he’s lost in thought.

—It’s... it’s tough sometimes, you know?— he begins, his voice low and introspective. —People think it’s all glamorous... this life, the races, the travel. But no one really talks about the toll it takes on you. On everything. On the people you care about.—

The camera zooms in slightly on Lando’s face, capturing the vulnerability that flickers in his eyes. He pauses for a moment, collecting his thoughts before continuing.

—You’re always on the move. It’s not just the racing or the pressure to perform; it’s everything else that comes with it. The constant goodbyes, the time zones, the long stretches without seeing the people who matter the most. It gets... heavy. And it doesn't get any easier, no matter how many times you do it.—

There’s a slight shift in his posture as he leans forward, the tension in his shoulders betraying the weight of his words.

—It’s especially hard when you’re trying to make things work with someone who has a schedule just as insane as yours. You know, we both have these lives where we’re constantly flying around, and... finding time to just be together? It's not easy. You have to carve out these moments that are few and far between, and when you do, it feels like you’re making up for lost time. But you can never fully make up for it. I mean, how do you balance it all, right?—

His fingers rub the back of his neck, a subconscious gesture that shows the strain of constantly being pulled in multiple directions.

—You try your best. I try my best. But... there’s always this feeling that I’m missing out, that I’m not giving enough. It’s never really enough. And it hurts sometimes, to be honest.—

The camera shifts to a wider shot, showing Lando’s quiet reflection. He exhales deeply, almost as if releasing a weight that’s been on his chest for a long time. His gaze drifts towards the window again, as if seeking some kind of comfort in the fleeting glimpse of the paddock outside.

—At the end of the day, I wouldn’t change it. I wouldn’t change any of this. But there are moments where... I just wish I could pause everything. Just freeze time, you know? So I can be with the people I care about. To just... be in the same place for a while.—

His expression softens as he speaks, the slight sadness in his eyes giving way to the resolve that has carried him through the years.

—But you make it work. You have to. It’s just part of the job, part of the dream. And when you do get those moments together... even if they’re brief... it makes it all worth it. It’s what keeps you going.—

A brief, bittersweet smile plays at the corner of his lips as he looks back at the camera, the truth of his words sinking in. There’s a flicker of something deeper in his gaze—something that the world rarely gets to see. Something raw. Something human.

The camera holds on his face for a moment before cutting away, leaving the viewer with a lingering sense of the emotional toll of a life lived at high speed, constantly on the move, constantly saying goodbye.

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

The scene opens with a darkened airplane cabin, the low hum of the engines a constant backdrop to the quiet moments unfolding within. Lando’s face is illuminated by the soft glow of the overhead lights, his expression tense and exhausted. His fingers tap restlessly against the armrest, his leg bouncing with barely contained anxiety.

The voice of Lando fills the space, the weight of his words carrying a rawness rarely seen in the fast-paced world of Formula 1.

—After Brazil, I couldn't sleep for… 36 hours. I felt like I was losing my mind. The adrenaline from the race wore off, but my body… my brain, just… wouldn’t stop. The anxiety hit me like a wave, and I couldn’t shake it. I just kept thinking about everything, the pressure, the responsibility… It felt like it was all crashing down on me. And I couldn’t breathe.—

As his voice narrates, the camera cuts to a montage. The flicker of images shows Lando staring out of the airplane window, the lights of Monaco blurred beneath him as the plane cuts through the sky. His tired eyes reflect the turbulence inside his mind, but there’s something deeper, something more fragile in the way he looks out at the world below. He clutches the seatbelt tightly, as if grounding himself, as if the distance between him and his thoughts was growing unbearable.

—And then, I realized. There was only one person who could bring me peace. Only one person who felt like home, even when everything else was chaos. So… I just got on a plane. And I went to her.—

The screen transitions, the comforting warmth of San Diego filling the frame as the camera shifts to the city’s skyline. Lando’s plane touches down, the airport bustling with activity. But all of that fades as the camera focuses solely on him, walking briskly through the terminal, his eyes fixed on the exit ahead.

His face is still drawn, his shoulders stiff with the weight of his exhaustion, but there’s a quiet determination in his step. The camera follows him as he exits the airport, stepping into a taxi, the streets of San Diego blurring by as the tension that had gripped him slowly begins to ease.

The camera cuts to a close-up of Lando as he arrives at the hotel, his steps quick and purposeful. The moment he enters the lobby, his eyes scan the room for a glimpse of her, and his shoulders visibly relax just a fraction. The tension that had been so overwhelming only hours ago starts to melt away, replaced by the single thought that had carried him through the chaos: Amelie.

The scene transitions with a soft fade, and Lando is seen walking down the hallway of her hotel. His hand grips the door handle, a sense of urgency in his movements. He takes a deep breath, and as the door swings open, there she is—Amelie. Her back is to him, her silhouette framed by the dim light of the room, and the instant she turns, her face lights up in surprise.

The camera lingers on her expression, capturing the recognition in her eyes, followed by a rush of emotions that seem to sweep over her all at once.

Before she can even say anything, Lando is already taking a step forward, and without a word, he wraps her in his arms. The camera catches the tension in his body—how it eases the moment they make contact. Amelie holds him tight, her arms around him like a lifeline, pulling him close as if trying to make up for all the lost time and the unspoken pain.

Lando’s face is buried in her hair as he clings to her, his breath shaky. The camera stays focused on him for a moment longer, the raw emotion that cracks through his calm exterior undeniable.

And then it happens. He starts to cry.

The camera shifts slightly, catching the rawness of the moment without intruding. Lando's tears fall silently, and Amelie doesn't let go. She holds him tighter, her own emotions in check as she whispers something soothing into his ear, but her voice is muffled by his presence.

—You’re safe now...— Amelie whispers, her voice steady, comforting.

Lando shakes his head slightly, as if still struggling to catch his breath. His grip on her tightens, but the tears don’t stop. For a moment, there’s nothing but the two of them—lost in each other, finding solace in the presence of the person who understands.

The camera slowly zooms out as Amelie, sensing the moment is private, gently closes the door, cutting off the view from the camera crew. However, the microphone catches the faintest bits of the conversation between them as she tries to calm him.

—It’s okay, Lando. You’re okay, just breathe with me, okay? You’re home now... I’ve got you...—

The sound of her voice, soft and steady, blends with the muffled rustle of movement. Lando’s breathing begins to slow, and the camera fades to black, the weight of his emotions not lost on the viewers, but instead, left in the quiet space between the two of them.

The scene ends, leaving a sense of peace—of a homecoming. The cameras pull away, capturing the fleeting vulnerability that remains, just for a moment, between the chaos of their lives.

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

The scene opens with the roaring crowd at the Yas Marina Circuit, the bright lights reflecting off the champagne-soaked podium. Lando Norris stands tall at the top step, the weight of his victory sinking in as the British national anthem plays. The McLaren driver, who had fought relentlessly throughout the season, had not only claimed victory at the Abu Dhabi Grand Prix but sealed the Constructors' Championship for McLaren — a historic achievement the team hadn't seen in decades.

The camera lingers on Lando, his signature grin stretched across his face, though there’s something different about this moment. It’s not just the win, not just the championship. His eyes keep drifting off to the side, scanning the crowd. And then, he finds her.

Amelie.

The camera shifts to her, standing just below the podium among the sea of McLaren team members. She’s trying to hold it together, but the tears are unstoppable. There’s pride in her eyes, but also something deeper — relief, love, and the overwhelming emotion of witnessing the man she loves achieve his dream.

The camera catches the subtle moment where Lando tries to fight back the emotion that threatens to break through. He bites his lip, shaking his head slightly, as if telling himself to stay composed. But his eyes, glistening under the lights, never leave her.

As the champagne sprays and Charles and Carlos celebrate around him, Lando’s gaze keeps drifting back to Amelie. The camera zooms in on her, tears streaming down her face as she claps, overwhelmed with pride.

In the background, the Netflix crew captures a quiet moment between McLaren team principal Andrea Stella and one of the engineers.

—He's not crying because of the championship, is he?— one of them chuckles.

Stella smiles knowingly. —No. It's because of her.—

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

The scene transitions from the chaos of the podium celebrations to the bustling atmosphere inside the McLaren hospitality. The orange and black-clad team members cheer and clap as Lando Norris makes his way through the crowd, the weight of the Abu Dhabi Grand Prix victory and McLaren's Constructors' Championship win still sinking in.

He walks in, his race suit still damp from champagne, and the trophy firmly in his hand. People keep stopping him — engineers, mechanics, old friends from the team — all eager to congratulate him. Lando smiles, laughs, and exchanges handshakes, but his eyes are scanning the room, searching for the people who truly matter.

And then, he spots them.

His family — his mom and his younger sister Cisca — standing beside Amelie, who is visibly emotional, her eyes red from tears she’s been desperately trying to hold back.

Lando’s smile softens as he walks toward them. Without hesitation, he pulls his mom and sister into a one-armed hug, the other still clutching the trophy. His mom kisses his cheek, pride radiating from her, while Cisca squeezes his shoulder, her grin matching his.

Lando then does something unexpected—he hands the trophy to his mom.

—Here, you hold it,— he says, his voice warm.

His mom looks at him, touched, running her fingers over the engraved plate before clutching it close. But Lando's focus has already shifted.

His gaze locks onto Amelie, and before she can even say a word, he pulls her into his arms, wrapping her in a tight embrace. The moment she feels him against her, the last of her composure shatters. A quiet sob escapes her, muffled against his shoulder as she clings to him.

—You did it,— she whispers, her voice thick with emotion. —Lando, you actually did it.—

Lando exhales shakily, holding her even tighter. —I know... I know.— His voice is barely above a whisper, like he still doesn’t fully believe it himself.

Amelie pulls back slightly, just enough to look at him, her hands cradling his face. Her eyes shimmer with tears, but her smile is unwavering.

—I’m so proud of you.—

And that’s when Lando, who has spent the entire evening holding back the overwhelming emotions, finally lets them break through. His lips crash into hers in a kiss that is desperate, relieved, and filled with everything words can’t express. The entire room is still buzzing with excitement, but in that moment, it’s just them.

The camera lingers on them before pulling back, capturing the McLaren staff, his family, and the entire celebration happening around them.

Lando finally pulls away, resting his forehead against Amelie’s, and with a soft laugh, he whispers:

—It was always going to be worth it, as long as I got to come back to you.—

[justmeinadaze]

Curiosity: Part 3 (Eddie X Plus Size Y/N)

A/N: I am going to elongate these two even if it kills me lol I'm obsessed with this version of Eddie <3

Warnings: Younger (Early 20s) Daddy (kinda camboy) Eddie & Older (early 30s) Plus Size Sub Fem Y/N, SMUT, Stevie makes a cameo, frotting, dirty talk (always lots of filthy words coming from Daddy Eddie), slight over stimulation, etc. FLUFF, Eddie and Y/N talk about music and how much they care about each other, Eddie is protective over you and Steve (he's a good egg)

ANGST, Eddie talks about Steve's past bad relationships (mentions of being used and manipulated in his vulnerable headspace), Eddie still doesn't know Y/N is the fan he's been talking to.

Word Count: 3383

Chapters Here/Donate to Me

“Are you sure you’re alright with this?”

“Eddie.”, you giggle as you cuddle up further into your mattress. “It’s fine. I know you’re just doing it for money. I’ll still like you; I promise.”

“You better.”, he teases. “Steve will be with me tonight just answering some questions and then we have one session which, knowing her, I’m sure will be just talking. Tomorrow, if you’re comfortable, I want you to come over and meet him before we film. It will make me feel better, you know. Just knowing you trust him and everything…Plus he’s one of my best friends…”

“Ok, sounds like a plan.”

“Alright, babe, well—”

“Eddie? Thank you for…always checking in…when it comes to this stuff. I know I’m ok with it and I know ALL this is new for me but I appreciate you being patient. I’ve...I’ve never dated anyone like that before.”

“Fuck, I think it’s so cute when you stumble over your words like that.”, he breathes making you smile. “Of course, sweetheart. I really like you and I care about your feelings. I know it’s only been a couple of months but you, um, you mean a lot to me…”

“I think it’s cute when you stumble over your words.”, you mock jokingly, beaming wide when you hear him laugh through his teeth. “You mean a lot to me to, Eddie.”

“Alright, alright. Stop flirting with me and go relax! I’ll talk to you later.”

When he hangs up the phone, you hug the device to your chest and keen into your pillow. It had been so long since you felt giddy over a romantic partner and you loved it. For a long time, you blocked that notion, having been hurt one too many times but especially by your last ex. 

Eddie always made things seem easy and you loved that about him. 

Your phone dinged and nerves flooded your stomach when you saw a notification reminder for a session you had scheduled with EddietheBanished later that evening that you definitely didn’t schedule. 

You had purposely avoided the site naively hoping that maybe you would never have to tell him and he would forget all about CurvyCorporateMillennial. You should have known better. Eddie’s kind heart would never allow that and you knew at some point you would have to come clean but with every passing day it just became harder. 

Did that stop you from grabbing your friend’s laptop and signing in?

No.

Did you enter his stream anyway even though you didn’t have to?

Yes.

When his face illuminated your screen that worry was replaced with affection as you watched his beautiful eyes scan over the names coming in. It wasn’t until his elbow nudged the boy beside him that you realized he wasn’t alone. 

“Millennial is here. That’s my friend I was telling you about.”, he praises causing the other boy to grin. 

When you pictured Steve, you imagined someone who looked like Eddie or the other friends he had that made up Corroded Coffin. The man sitting beside him now looked like he could be on the cover of any fashion magazine. His brown wispy locks seemed incredibly soft, immediately falling back into place after he ran his fingers through it. 

Even under his short sleeve shirt, you could tell how broad and muscular he was with veins that led along his forearms up to his gorgeous, massively sized hands. Steve’s facial features were soft but when he smiled even his eyes sparkled as his energy came to life. 

“I can’t wait to meet her, man.”, he replied in sultry voice that had you licking your lips. 

They were both in a particular headspace, you could tell. 

The first half of his stream was calm and easy with Eddie strumming his guitar against his bare chest. After a couple of minutes, heat warmed your cheeks when you realized it was one of the songs that you and he had talked about while laying in bed yesterday morning. 

“The best romantic songs are slow and sensual.”, he teases as he rolls his hips.

“They are not!”, you giggle as your nails lightly continue to rub his back. “The best ones are upbeat like…what was that one band…The Darkness? I Believe in a Thing Called Love.”

“Oh, the high pitched one?

I believe in a thing called love Just listen to the rhythm of my heart.”

When his voice cracks as he tries to hit the notes, you laugh uncontrollably as you press your face into his warm chest making him smile wide.

“Ok, alright, I’ll give you that. You can’t ignore songs though that are featured in actual romance movies.”

Eddie’s hand pets the back of your head as his eyes scan your face and he begins to lightly sing, 

“In your eyes The light, the heat (Your eyes) I am complete (Your eyes).”

His thumb softly drags along your lips and along your cheekbone.

“I see the light and the heat (Your eyes) I want to be that complete I want to touch the light The heat I see in your eyes.”

You tilt your head to kiss his lips before he wraps his arms around you to hold you tightly to him. 

 “Touching yoooooou, touching meeeee…”

Eddie’s head dips back as he laughs at Steve’s signing. 

“Dude, how do you know that song? You struggle with like all media.”

“I think the real question is why are you playing it? Didn’t it come out in the early 2000s or some shit.”, the boy chuckles through his teeth. 

“Yeah, yeah but…my girlfriend mentioned it and it’s been in my head… I was thinking about playing it for her so I can embarrass her cute ass from the stage.”

“You’re going to play that shit in front of a crowd of people and that’s somehow going to embarrass her?”

“Millennial, babe, help me out here.”

Biting your lip, you can’t help but giggle as you reply, “I think it’s an awesome song.”

“THANK YOU!”, Eddie sasses as he smirks at his friend who roles his eyes. “Do you enjoy being wrong? Lucky for you we aren’t playing or I would have spanked you.”

“For what?! Because your taste in music is drastically different from mine.”, Steve playfully responds as he pushes the man’s knee but doesn’t remove his hand from his skin. “You can spank me anyway though if you want.”

Your boyfriend’s eyebrows raise in amusement. 

“Spankings are meant to be a punishment. You’re not supposed to beg for them.”

“I wasn’t begging, I was suggesting.”

Both men stare at each other with knowing smiles on their faces. 

They know what they’re doing and for you it’s definitely working as you adjust on your mattress. 

“Mhmm. Well, we’ll talk about that attitude tomorrow. For now…”, Eddie pauses as he looks at his phone for the time. “We have to go but we’ll see you guys tomorrow night.”

While the metalhead grins, his friend waves as the screen went black and you hastily clicked their link faster than you ever had before. 

When their faces appeared they both seemed much more at ease as Steve’s nose scrunched while he laughed and Eddie exhaled smoke from the fresh cigarette he had just lit. 

“Oh shit. Hey, Mil. I hope it’s alright, I scheduled this thing so you can meet my friend—”

“Why do you keep scheduling her and not just give her your phone number.”, the other boy asks before turning to smile towards the camera while he listens to the answer. 

“I’ve offered but she insists this is fine. I don’t want to push. Mil, this my friend and recording slut Steve. Steve, my friend Mil.”

“It’s nice to meet you.” The pretty boy politely nods his head to say hello. “I hope it goes without saying but I don’t think you’re a slut. Lol.”

“Ok, good to know, honey.”, he chuckles lightly. “So, Ed here tells me you’re incredibly smart and you give him advice when it comes to his lady friend. Any advice for me?”

“Oh, um… just be yourself. I’m sure since you’re one of Eddie’s friends she’ll like you immediately.”

“What makes you say that?”

“Because Eddie is such a sweetheart. Plus, I feel like he wouldn’t bring you around her if he thought you were a bad guy.”

Eddie smiles wide at your answer as Steve’s lips pout out as if he’s impressed. Just as before, you talked with the two of them for what you thought was a short amount of time until you realized it had been over three hours. 

They were both drinking and you couldn’t help but grin as more of their personalities flowed through. 

“Ok, ok, look.”, Steve shouted jokingly while your boyfriend cackled holding his tummy. “Do I enjoy showing off my body for money, yes? Do I enjoy that it pisses my father off? Also, yes. It’s an added bonus really.”

“How do your partners feel when you tell them you do this?”

“Honey, are you kidding? Half of my partners I met through here! It’s a…a double edge sword, you know? With every new soul I meet, there are a few who just want to fuck me.”

“Or they don’t understand the dynamic.”

“What do you mean?”

Eddie sighs as he cranes his neck to find his friend’s eyeline before tenderly rubbing his back to comfort him. 

“I told my girlfriend I always knew I was a dominate guy so I don’t really know what it’s like to be a sub but I do know what I see out in the world or with him when he tells me stories…fucking boys belittling him or hurting him instead of nurturing or taking care of him. Girls who take advantage of the headspace to use him to do whatever they want.”

“I like being degraded and humiliated sometimes but…some of my partners…there’s a line and they cross it.” 

When Steve’s voice cracked, your heart broke and you wanted nothing more than to hug him. While being with Eddie, you had entered that headspace so many times and you hated the image of him being that vulnerable with someone who took advantage. 

“I’m so sorry, Steve. You seem like a good person who deserves to be treated right.”

He smiled but his head hung and you watched with fascination as your boyfriend wheeled his chair closer till his forehead was resting on his temple with his arm circled around his neck so his fingers could gently run through his soft hair. 

“It’s ok, sweetheart, you’re alright. I’m right here.”, Eddie cooed, placing tender kisses on his cheek. “I’m not going to let anything happen to you, babe. What did Daddy do when he found out about Trevor?” Steve let out a breathy laugh as he wiped the tears from his eyes. “Come on, Stevie. What did Daddy do?”

“Beat the crap out of him.”

At the man’s drop in tone, a sigh left your own lips. Steve was dropping into his little headspace and Eddie caught on quickly. Your heart swelled at how attentive your boyfriend was. Your ex never noticed small changes like that whether they be physical or emotional. 

“Yeah, I did. What about Leah? What did Daddy do with Leah?”

“You packed her…her stuff and told her…to get the fuck out of my house.”

“That’s right.”, the metalhead continued to soothe as he shifted his gaze towards the camera. “She manipulated him into letting her stay in his place. She would scream at him and call him names like his father and it just…” Eddie paused as he growled from his chest. “Trevor was just a fucking dick. Put his hands on him one time and I almost killed him.”

“You’re a good friend, Eddie… a good man.”

“Aw, thank you, Mil. If any guy ever hurts you, you tell me and I’ll kick his ass!”

“Lol. I appreciate that.”

While he was speaking, Steve had begun lightly kissing the long-haired boy’s neck causing his eyelids to occasionally flutter. 

“Do you like when he kisses you like that?”

Your boyfriend smirks as he gently but firmly pushes at his friend’s chest. 

“Come on, sweetheart. Mil isn’t like the others. She doesn’t wants to see any of this.”

“I don’t mind.”, you type a bit too quickly causing him to breathily laugh. “I mean…if you’re comfortable.”

“Fuck, I’m sorry. I don’t want you to feel like you have to or anything. I was just saying…you know…I don’t mind.”

“You see that, baby? See how sweet she is?”, Eddie hums as he forces Steve to focus on the screen. “Don’t ever feel nervous about that kind of thing, Mil.”

The pretty boy barely allowed him to get his last sentence out before crashing his lips to his own. A part of you wondered if you would be jealous when you saw them be intimate but seeing them now had you unbelievably wet. 

“Come here, sweet boy.”

Steve immediately dropped to his knees and tugged down the metalhead’s sweatpants allowing his cock to spring free. Eddie was nothing but patient as he pet the man’s hair and looked at him with eyes filled with affection. 

“Can I suck your cock, Daddy? Please.”

“Absolutely.” A small smile flickered across his lips as his tongue darted out to lick the precum off his tip, leaving little kisses before opening his mouth to envelope him fully. “Gooood. Good boy. T-Take as much as you can for right now.”

A heavy pant escaped your chest and you watched his head bob halfway down Eddie’s cock as his palm caught the drool that fell to stroke the rest him. Your boyfriend bit his bottom lip as his glassy eyes observed him, his fingers tangling into his hair as he lightly guided his movements.

“Look at you…so fucking pretty. Anyone w-would be lucky to have you worship them…”

Steve moaned at his praise, grinding his hips against the man’s leg desperate for any form of friction to ease the ache between his own legs. Eddie chuckled as he grabbed the boy’s bicep and lifted him off his length to his feet so he could effortlessly remove his pants with his boxers. 

His red, angry cock was leaking copious amounts of precum, ready to be released at any moment but he knew. He wouldn’t cum until Daddy told him it was ok. With calloused hands on his hips, the metalhead guided his friend to straddle his waist, holding his lower back for support as he maneuvered them both so they were better seen on the camera. 

“Can you see this beautiful boy, Mil?”

“Yes…so handsome…”

“Yeah, honey, he is. Did you see that? She said you were handsome.”, Eddie cooed while Steve fully began rolling his hips as he nibbled on his neck. “Fuck that feels so good… I got you, baby. Daddy’s got you.”

The pretty boy whimpered as his hand reached between their bodies to pump his hand along their cocks, holding them together as he continued to move. 

“F-Fuck, that’s it. Cum for me, sweetheart. Cum all over my cock.” Gripping his ass, Eddie guided his movements making the other man move at a faster pace that had him whining desperately as his head fell on his shoulder. “That’s it, that’s it. Don’t stop, Steven!”

His rhythm began to slow but your boyfriend wouldn’t allow it as he kept guiding him till his face scrunched and his arms promptly wrapped around him to hold him close. 

“Hey, look at me. Are you ok?”

“Yeah…yeah, Daddy, I ok.”, Steve responded sleepily making Eddie chuckle. 

“What about you, Mil? Are you--?” The metalhead barely got his sentence out before he realized CurvyCorporateMillennial had already signed off. 

***

Ten minutes later, you were pounding on his door with your palm.

“Jesus fucking CHRIST! I am coming! Who the fu—Y/N? Baby, are you alri—”

You practically jumping into his arms, interrupting him as your lips greedily attached to his. 

“I’m sorry…I just…need you…Where’s—”

“He’s asleep.”

You breathily giggle with relief as you walk Eddie to his couch where you both fall onto it with him on top. Your legs circled around his waist making him pause for a moment as he pushed up onto his palms. 

“Fuck…”

“Is something wrong?”, you whisper.

“No, no. Steve and I were playing and I didn’t realize I had…fucking cum…on my pants…”

“Eddie, it’s alright.”

“It’s a mix of mine and his. If I had known it was there and that you were coming over I would have taken them off.”, he laughed as he tried to push off you but you kept your grip firm. 

“It’s ok.”, you repeat as your lips find his once more. “Did…Did Daddy make him feel good?” He pulls back again but only enough so his chocolate eyes can search yours. “Is he ok?”

“Jesus…how did I get so lucky to land a perfect girl like you?”, he murmurs more so to himself than you. “Yeah, baby, Daddy made him feel good.”

Desperately, you pushed down his sweats as he sloppily tried to help with the one free hand he could spare before lifting up your hips to remove your shorts. 

“Shit, baby girl, you are so fucking wet. What were you doing before you came over?”, Eddie asked as his ran his tip between your folds. 

“Thinking about you…and how much I miss you…”

Your breath filled answer made him smile as he tenderly kissed your forehead. His irises lock with yours and his mouth drops open in a silent moan as he gradually pushes himself inside you. 

“Jesus fuck… I’m s-still…still a little sensitive.”, he chuckles as his eyes close and his head hangs. “Fuck, your always so tight.”

“Mmph—so big…”

“I know. I know, pretty girl, but you can take it. Your pussy takes me so well.”

“Fuck me, Daddy…please.”

Falling flat against you, Eddie rolled his hips pushing his cock so deep inside you that you swore you saw stars. The grunt that followed every slam sounded like music to your ears as small ahs of your own were muffled into his broad shoulder.

After pushing up onto his hands, his hair tickled your nose as he craned his neck to watch his length disappear into your cunt and come back out glistening with your slick. 

“I’m gonna go faster now but—fuck—I need you to try and be really quiet for Daddy, sweetheart, ok?”

“Ok, Daddy.”

“Good…good girl. Can you do me another favor?”, he smirks as he takes hold of your wrist and sticks out his long tongue, running the pads of your fingers along the muscle. “I want you to rub your clit.”

“Like this, Daddy?”, you ask as you bring your hand down to your bundle of nerves and Eddie starts thrusting into you again. 

“Just like that, baby.”

With one palm gripping the back of the couch, he utilizes his other to hold your thigh, keeping your legs open for him as he chases your highs. 

“Cum for me, pretty girl. I’ll cum with you.” Nodding, your eyes squeeze shut as your back arches and you come undone. “Goddamn it.” As soon as the words leave his mouth, you feel his release warm your insides and you promptly cup his face, bringing his lips to yours as he lazily continues to move, elongating both your climaxes. 

“Ah, shit.”

“Are you ok?”

“Yeah, yeah…hurts a bit.”, Eddie hisses lightly as he kisses your forehead and slowly pulls out. “Do you feel comfortable taking a shower? He’s completely passed out and—”

You cut him off again with another tender kiss as your thumbs caress his cheeks. 

“Can we lay here for a bit?”

“Of course. Do you want me to move or…?” Shaking your head, you pull him against you as you wrap your arms around him and your nails gently run through his tangled mess of hair. “I’m not too heavy, right?”

“Eddie!”, you whisper loudly, shaking him with your belly as you laugh. “I’m alright. Everything is alright. Let me hold you.”

The metalhead smiles as he tils up so his chin is resting on your chest. 

“Forever and ever, babe. If you’ll have me.”

###############

@dashingdeb16 @myherometalhead @fireeyes-on-teller-dixon-grimes @twirls827 @micheledawn1975 @chelebelletx @hardladyheart @spiderxbatty @twirls827 @daveythorntonslocker @eddies-dungeon-and-dragon @mrsjellymunson @utterlyinsanity @daveythorntonslocker @jeangeniex @seedlingghost

[spicycinnabun]

SO excited for the results of this make me write. It was so hard to decide and I wish I could do them all but I think I will ask for 🤖🤖🤖 or ❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹 whichever you get less of 🥰

I've got about six other beep boop asks in the queue lol, so I'm going to go with ❤️‍🩹! Let's rewind to before the break-up. c:

♡

They were cuddling on Tommy’s couch. Tommy was behind him, hands resting protectively on Buck’s belly. He had been doing that a lot lately—holding him there, touching him there. Buck wasn’t sure if Tommy was aware he kept doing it.

Buck hadn't said anything. He didn’t want to call attention to it and risk having Tommy stop. Because he liked it. Okay, more than just liked it. His body was sending him strong signals about what the Alpha wanted, and it was making him a little stupid with need.

His heart sped up.

Of course, Tommy noticed. One of his hands started rubbing in a hypnotic, circular motion. “What's up?”

“I-I’ve been thinking,” Buck started, trying not to get distracted by the petting. His eyes closed. “I’d like to spend my next heat with you.”

“Oh?” Tommy said, after a small intake of breath Buck couldn’t really decipher.

He didn't say anything else, waiting for Buck to elaborate on his thoughts.

Buck had never enjoyed his heats. Dreaded them because of how desperate they made him, among other undesirable attributes, but maybe it would be different with Tommy. Every time they’d gotten hot and heavy with each other, it was so good, an intense burn that kept building.

Buck was used to being a service omega, but with Tommy, he hadn't fallen into that role. He didn't feel like a wind-up toy, only good for one use, one purpose. His world had been shaken and turned upside down. He actually felt kind of giddy, for once.

“Y-you said I could set the pace, but I also don’t want to pressure you,” Buck continued. “If you’re not ready yet or don’t want to, that’s totally fine. Or if we get to the middle of things and you decide it’s too much—t-that I’m too much—you don’t have to stay.”

That already went unspoken, but Buck wanted to assure Tommy that he had an out. He wasn’t stuck with Buck if he got too whiny, too needy, too clingy. Like he always did.

Tommy’s grip on him had gone slack. He was silent for so long Buck had to sit up and turn around. Tommy looked… kind of horrified, actually.

Buck’s stomach twisted. That was definitely not the reaction he’d been hoping for.

He backtracked. “O-or! Secret third option: We can forget this conversation ever happened and go on a fun date after my cycle is over. I was looking at this new sushi place the other day that has—”

“No.” Tommy let out a slow breath, eyes wide. “I’m sorry, I’m just still trying to process what you said. You think I would leave you in the middle of your heat? That's ludicrous, Evan. Even if, for whatever reason, I couldn’t continue, I wouldn’t abandon any omega like that.” Tommy tilted Buck's chin up gently, eyes filled with sincerity. “Especially not my omega. Have past partners done that to you?”

“Uh.” Buck swallowed hard, feeling suddenly very off-kilter and overwhelmed. “Yes? I’m… you know, a l-lot to handle. D-difficult. E-e-exhausting. It’s okay.”

“Oh, it is so far from okay,” Tommy said. His scent had changed, no longer relaxed. Filling the air with an edge of bitter anger he was trying to keep at bay.

Buck didn’t know what to do, so he followed his instincts and hugged his Alpha. Tommy's tension released. He hugged Buck back. They nuzzled each other, Buck focusing on Tommy's scent gland.

“And now you’re comforting me,” Tommy added with a weak chuckle of disbelief.

“I didn’t mean to upset you,” Buck murmured, burying his nose in Tommy’s shoulder and kissing it.

“I’m upset for you, Evan. You didn’t deserve to be treated that way. You're none of those things.” Buck made an involuntary sound, and Tommy squeezed him. “I’m going to take care of you, okay? I’m going to show you what a heat is supposed to be like.”

♡

tag list: @chococara25 @lemon-drop151 @bidisasterevankinard @cannibalhellhound @theallyandhisbeast @loulou-land @harmonic-intervention @manifestingchaoticvibes @notacyborg @tedious-waffle @ginny-lala @figuringitoutaloud @monstertrucksactually @eliotwaughdeservesbetter @know1udno @styxhuntress @all-the-feels @perfectlyhopefulruins @espressopatronum454

[strang3lov3]

Doctor’s Orders

You can't cum, so you visit Doctor Roy.

Tags - gyno!roman, abuse of power, dubcon, sexual frustration, finger fucking, finger sucking, pap test, breast exam, titty play, medical kink, gyno kink, morally bankrupt roman, also. anyway, don't worry babies, you will fuck doctor roy later. but not tonight :) A/N - YEP I KNOW I KNOW I KNOW. STEPDADDY, ROOFTOP FUCK. I had to get this out of my system, okay? I love you. It’ll be okay.

You hate waiting rooms. Medical offices, whatever. Everything is sterile and smells like alcohol and hibiclens, which isn’t an unpleasant smell on its own, but it’s sort of aggressive and sharp and…

Whatever, doesn’t matter. It’s just the context. Nobody likes the doctor, right? All the needles, the being poked and prodded at by blue hands. The invasive questions that you know are asked for the sake of your health, but still. How much do you drink? When was your last period, and describe in detail the texture, color, and smell of your menstrual blood. Are you sexually active? Do you smoke? You shouldn’t, you know. 

It’s just an unpleasant experience. But part of being a healthy human.

You tap your nails on the clipboard after filling out your paperwork - date of birth, current address, billing address, insurance, emergency contact - all that shit - while listening to the music playing from the tinny, staticy speakers. Doctors’ offices always seem to play the worst songs from eight years ago, for some reason. The thought tickles you. Like that’s universally appealing, or something. 

A nurse opens a door and calls your name. You collect your things, then join her as she takes your paperwork and leads you down a long hall, your shoes squeaking on the linoleum flooring. She has you slip off your shoes then stand on a scale to jot your weight, then leads you to an examination room. 

“And what brings you in for your visit?” 

“Uhh…” You fidget with your nails, picking away the chipping nail polish you painted on a few days ago. “Struggling to reach orgasm,” you murmur.

Your nurse nods as she types your response into her laptop, and you’re thankful she doesn’t show any judgment. Maybe she is judging you, but so be it. She hides it well. And,  she’s not the one you have to worry about. 

She bends over and opens a drawer, then hands you a paper gown and a large paper sheet. She shows you how to wear the gown, then instructs you to lay the paper sheet over your lap. The doctor will be in shortly, she says, then leaves and closes the door behind herself. 

The cool air has your skin erupting in goosebumps as you strip bare. This part always feels…awkward. Putting your clothes into an awkward little pile on the chair across from the examination table, putting that awkward, baggy paper gown on, covering yourself with that awkward paper sheet. It could not be less flattering on you, and makes you feel sort of dehumanized. Just not yourself.

You hope this will be over soon. You’ve already been sitting on the examining table for about fifteen minutes, legs dangling in the air as you wait for your doctor to show up. While toying with the paper sheet, crumpling it and smoothing it out again, you notice a few stray hairs you missed shaving on your legs - fuck. You hope he doesn’t notice. Or worse, say something. He totally fucking would, too. 

Good god, you feel nervous. Do other people feel this nervous, usually? Or is it just you? You’re looking at all the sterile, scary-looking tools on that little metal table covered in a blue sheet thinking–

Knock knock. Doctor Roy doesn’t give you time to say anything before he’s opening the door and waltzing in the room, and there’s a rush of cool, moving air that prickles your skin. 

“Hey, hey, if it isn’t my favorite fuckin’ patient,” Roman announces. “How the fuck are you?” You open your mouth to speak, but Roman cuts you off, “Cute panties,” he interrupts, pointing to your pile of clothes. The comment makes your cheeks heat up, and Roman laughs. 

Roman Roy, MD. He’s a rather unorthodox gynecologist, and that’s putting it generously. He’s got no bedside manner whatsoever - which likely contributes heavily to his abysmal two-star rating online. He’s very rude, very short and impatient with people. Lewd. Inappropriate. Everything you don’t want your gynecologist to be. Oh, god, people are so fucking sensitive now, right? What, can nobody take a joke? 

He was the only doctor in your insurance network when you started visiting the gynecologist, and you’re stuck with him. Feel like you’re stuck with him, at least. You’ve thought about going elsewhere, but Doctor Roy knows you, and he knows your medical history. Being so fucking unpopular amongst patients due to his terrible demeanor, there’s only seldom a wait to see him. If you get a yeast infection or a UTI - or, shit, even strep throat, he’ll write you a script quickly and easily, no jerking you around. You just have to put up with his dirty jokes, and stuff. Things could be worse. Right?

Roman gets right to it. He sits down on the leather-covered rolling stool and opens his Macbook to read through your chart. “Buh-buh-buh…” he hums absently, scrolling through your records. “Oh - okay. Great. Fuckin’ nurse didn’t ask you anything or take your blood pressure or any of that shit. Jesus fuck, I have to do everything around here.” 

“Oh?”

“Yeah, sorry. She’s new. Fresh out of nursing school and fucking useless,” he mutters, his eyes still glued to his scream.

Roman stands up and switches on the blood pressure machine to your left, and it whirs to life. He unsticks the gray, Velcro cuff from itself, “I’m gonna take this, thank you,” he murmurs, taking your left arm in his hand without your permission, and raising it up so he can wrap the cuff around your bicep. Roman presses another switch and the cuff slowly fills with air, squeezing you. “Sorry,” he says. “Fuckin’ thing is slow as shit.” 

“It’s okay,” you whisper. You study Roman’s face as he watches the numbers on the display. He’s growing a little bit of scruff - you like the look on him. In the bright, sterile room, his hazel eyes lean slightly green. His hair has grown out a little, and you find it interesting how it’s darker and lighter depending on the season. He’s got the softest, most beautiful strands. 

Being honest with yourself, part of the reason you still visit him is because he’s so fucking handsome, and you just can’t help yourself. That has to be true with his other patients, too. On no other fucking planet would his antics and lack of ethics fly if he weren’t so attractive. 

Looks really do get you everywhere. 

The machine hisses as the air is let out of your cuff, and then Roman’s taking it off of your arm. He grabs his stethoscope next and puts the two little earpieces in his ears. He flicks your paper gown to the side and presses the cold metal bell against your bare chest, brows furrowed as he listens to your heart. Then, he smirks. 

“Heart’s beating a little quick today, huh?” he muses, teasingly. “What’s up with that? You nervous?”

“A little,” you admit. Fuck, you can smell him - his cologne and the almond-scented soap he washed his hands with. His breath is warm on your face as he moves the stethoscope around, listening intently to your heart. When he’s done, he shuffles and  moves the bell to your back. 

“Deep breath in,” he instructs, voice softer and more measured. You inhale deeply. “And out. Good. Again. In,” he guides, “And out. Goooood.” 

Roman notes your shaky breaths. Nothing to worry about, he concludes. They match your pounding heart. You’re just a little nervous, is all. And fucking turned on, if your dilated eyes are any indication - Roman’s not stupid. He knows you’re attracted to him. He guesses that the minute you put your feet in the stirrups and your cunt is on display for him, he’ll see you dripping down the examination table. Whatever, though. He’ll make his nurse do the grunt work. 

Roman sits in his stool again. “When was your last period?” he asks you. 

“Uhhh, the twenty-eighth.”

Roman types that into his computer. “Still on the Nuvaring?” Roman looks at you, eyebrows raised. 

“Yep.”

“Any side effects? Still workin’ out okay?” 

“Still working out okay.” 

“Any pelvic pain or discomfort? Are you sexually active?”

“No and yes.” 

Fuck Doctor Roy and that stupid fucking smirk he wears. “Latex allergies?”

“No, Doctor Roy.” 

“Good, good.” Roman ruffles a hand through his hair, using the other to scroll back up to the “reason for visit” section of your chart. “So you’re here because…” Roman’s mouth drops open. “‘Patient can’t reach orgasm’. Oh shit,” he laughs. “Seriously?”

“Well, yeah,” you answer quietly, embarrassed, and heat creeps up your neck. It’s one thing to talk to your friends about this. They’re shocked too, but sympathetic, at least. “I know how you feel. My boyfriend never makes me cum.” As if that’s the same thing.

“The fuck am I supposed to do about that?” 

Your jaw drops. You feel so embarrassed, but you’re fucking pissed now, too. 

“Chill. I’m kidding, okay? It’s a j - it’s just a joke. The doctor is on the case, or whatever.” Roman crosses his ankle over his knee and clicks a pen. “So how long’s this - y’know. Been a thing?”

“Mm…forever, I guess.”

“Oh, fuck. You should’ve come in earlier,” Roman says. “Maybe you need a new partner, huh? ‘Cause like, you can achieve orgasm on your own at least, right?”

That comment pisses you off too. It’s one thing to be on the receiving end of some dirty jokes and Roman’s foul mouth, but you don’t need to be shamed and made fun of by your doctor. “No,” you answer, then grit your teeth together. 

“No? How do you fuck yourself, huh? Sorry - how do you stimulate yourself, honey?”

“Just - I usually just use my fingers—”

“Uh huh. You should try a vibrator, sweetheart. Doctor’s orders. There’s a sex shop nearby - the girls are real nice there. Tell them Doctor Roy’s got a script for you, huh?” Roman winks. Gross.

You sigh, frustrated. “I have tried toys, Doctor,” you explain. This is demoralizing. Is he gonna tell you to drink a glass of wine, too? Smoke a little weed the next time you fuck yourself? “Something - something’s just wrong with me,” you huff. “I just can’t do it. I can’t fucking cum, and please stop clicking that pen.”

Roman makes an amused face at your little outburst, and makes a show out of putting his pen down. He smirks to himself - it’s probably, you know, all your pent up frustration. “There’s a lot wrong with you,” Roman says, “But not that. You can cum.”

“How do you know?”

He tilts his head, narrowing his eyes at you. “Uh, because,” he scoffs, then smiles with his tiny sharp canines on display, “I am a fucking expert in vaginas, thank you very much. Never met a pussy that I couldn’t make cum.”

Ugh, he’s fucking disgusting. You don’t doubt he’s telling the truth, though, and the thought of him pleasuring a woman makes you throb despite yourself. You open your mouth to speak, but Roman speaks first. 

“Anyway–” He claps his hands, a look of something…something, in his eye as he wears a teasing, sickening sort of smirk. “It’s your lucky day, did ya know that? You, my dear, are due for your pap.” 

“Oh.” That’s it? Just…whatever. Okay. No orgasms for you, probably ever.

“Yeah, oh. I’m gonna start with a breast examination,” Roman says, squirting a bit of sanitizer into his palms. He rubs his hands together, then stands next to you at the examining table. “It’s not always routine, but breast cancer’s on the rise in young women, so y’know. Gotta feel you up a little. I’m gonna have you lie back–” Roman puts his hand on your shoulder and pushes you backward, walking the line between forceful and gentle. “Do you ever check your breasts, sweetheart?”

“Not like - not really, I guess.” 

Roman hums. “Well, you should,” he tells you, reaching for your hand. “Arm goes up, hand behind your head like this, right there.” Roman bends your right arm into place and then opens the side of your gown, exposing your right breast to him. “Ready?”

He doesn’t wait for you to answer, he just touches you. You take a shaky breath as he walks two fingers over the flesh of your breast, up, down, and around again. He touches near your armpit and you jerk a little. “Oh, ticklish, are we?” Roman murmurs, now doing little circular massages, working his way from the outside in. You swallow hard. “Any pain here? Discomfort?” 

“No, it feels–” you gasp as his fingers touch your nipples, and Roman does a little hum as they pebble up under his touch.  

“Feels what, honey?”

You close your eyes, searching for the words as Roman covers your chest again. “Uh - doesn’t hurt.” 

He chuckles as he rounds the table, and repeats it all with your other breast. Hand behind your head, lightly and firmly pressing into your breasts with the pads of his fingertips. You keep your eyes closed, breathing heavily. You hope it passes off as anxiety, but Roman knows better. Thoroughly versed in female sexual health, he knows an aroused woman when he sees one. Good, he thinks. 

“You can sit up now,” Roman says, giving you a gentle squeeze on your shoulder. He helps you up and then stands in front of you, and opens the front of your gown to visually assess your breasts, apparently. They look good. No abnormalities in shape, texture, color. Healthy. Roman quite enjoys the look of your breasts, too. There’s a lot of things to love on a woman’s body - her ass, her curves. Her cunt (fuck, how he loves a pretty fucking pussy). But Roman’s always loved breasts. The soft, yielding flesh as he massages and gropes that flesh, the way nipples rise and harden with a practiced flick of his thumb, or tongue. 

Now finished with your breast exam, Roman covers your chest with your gown. He sits in his stool as you sit on the table, legs dangling over the edge, bouncing your mismatched sock-covered feet against the metal. He rolls his stool over to you, dragging his instrument stand a little closer as well. 

“Alright. Say ahh.”

“What?”

Roman laughs. “Your legs, genius. You know, say ahh? Open up?”

“O-oh. Okay.” 

Roman pulls out the stirrups from the table, and takes the liberty in assisting your feet into them. First one, then then the other. His hands are strong and cold, fingertips pressing gently into your skin. You can still feel them after he lets you go. “I mean, I guess you could open your mouth, though. Vagina, mouth. No real difference there, huh?”

He’s so unfathomably unprofessional and inappropriate fucking…rude, but you’re still throbbing for him. You wonder if he’ll notice your pulsing cunt, if it’s as visible as it feels. 

You feel awkward as the cool air ghosts over your exposed center, listening to the sounds of Roman getting ready for your pelvic examination. He rolls up his sleeves past the elbows first, then takes the two blue latex gloves on his instrument stand and puts them on, snapping the elastic on his wrist each time. “Ready?” Roman asks, tugging the material down as he wiggles his fingers. 

“Uh - yep. Yeah, I guess,” you breathe.

“Oh, fuck off. You’ll do fine,” Roman tells you, patting your leg. “You always do, right? C’mon. Scoot your ass down, sweetheart, you know the fuckin’ drill.”

You scoot a little down the table, holding your breath while looking up at the ceiling. Roman scoffs and rolls his eyes before standing up, sliding both of his gloved hands under your paper gown. He lifts you and situates your bare ass right at the edge of the examining table, then sits back down. “Yeahhh, there she is. Oh, that's sweet. You even shaved for me.” Your cheeks heat up at the comment and Roman’s subsequent snickering. You did shave for him. 

He touches you then, spreading you wide as he examines your vulva. And he called it - you’re fucking soaked, arousal glistening under the fluorescent lighting. He presses on your swollen labia, watching as your clit and your hole pulse. “Just relax,” he whispers, his warm breath fanning over your heat. “It’s just you and me, right? Relax for me, sweetheart.”

Okay. You can relax. You take a big breath in and breathe it out as you interlace your fingers, resting your hands on your tummy. “Good,” Roman tells you, lightly running his thumb over your clit. “Good fucking girl,” he praises quietly, noting the way your breathing changes and how your thighs twitch at those two little words. He’s teasing you, just for shits and giggles. His right as a gynecologist, really. Running his thumb up and down your seam, then circling your clit just once. 

Roman reaches for the Surgilube and the metal speculum, then squirts a generous amount of jelly onto the tool. He rubs it around, then turns the speculum to the side and notches it at your entrance, then slowly pushes it all the way inside your hole, eliciting a sharp gasp from you. “Oooh, shit. Is it cold?”

“Yeah, a little,” you answer, wincing. 

Roman pouts mockingly. “Poor thing,” he mumbles. “You’re just gonna feel a little pressure,” he tells you, widening the instrument. Again, Roman reminds you to relax - not that you can or will. With each loud click of the speculum opening comes a rather uncomfortable increase in pressure, but not necessarily painful. You’re squeezing, tightening around the speculum as Roman looks inside you. “You’ve got a niiiice fuckin' cervix, you know that?”

“Thank you?” 

“You’re welcome,” he says, reaching for another tool - a little brush. Fucking weirdo. Roman unwraps the brush from its plastic packaging, then leans forward as he inserts it inside of you. “Gonna feel a little tickle,” Roman lies, brushing your cervix with the tool. It’s less of a tickle and more of a light scrape, but it doesn’t totally hurt. Just feels…weird, more than anything. “Done,” he says, pulling the brush away from you and reaching for the collecting tube. He puts your sample into the tube and closes it tightly, then loosens the speculum and pulls it out of you.

You sit up, lifting your feet out of the stirrups. “Ah ah ah, not so fast. You keep those fuckin’ legs open,” Roman scolds as he puts the tube into a small plastic bag with your name on it. “Doctor’s not done with you yet, honey. Good try, though,” he grins. 

Roman peels off his gloves next, then wipes a bit of the lube off of his wrist with a paper towel. He squirts more sanitizer into his palms then, the scent of isopropyl alcohol burning your nostrils as he rubs it into his hands. He puts on another pair of those blue gloves, snap, snap. As soon as he’s done, he’s rolling back in front of you on his stool.

“Just gonna feel around a bit for the pelvic exam,” he says, prodding at your folds with gloved fingers. He spreads your labia out, this time truly examining you, not just doing his secret little tease. He is a professional, after all. Somewhat, at least. Roman squirts a little more Surgilube onto his fingers before inserting them inside you, not that you need it. He bites down on his smile of amusement as you clench around him. 

He stands up then, reaching under your sheet with the other hand to press on your lower abdomen. He assesses how you feel inside, the size and position of your uterus and ovaries. Good, good. Nothing swollen or anything like that. 

You look at Roman and find him staring at you, his eyebrows raised. “Any pain?” he asks. You shake your head, and he nods. 

You can’t cum, huh? That’s what brought you in today? Oh, you poor fucking girl. If only Roman knew this whole time that you were struggling to reach climax, he would’ve done this sooner to you. It’s a mental block, more than likely. You said yourself that there’s something “wrong” with you, after all. 

There’s nothing wrong with you. Really. There’s nothing wrong with any woman who can’t orgasm. They, and you, just need Doctor Roy’s touch, his steady stroking and massaging. Just someone to show you that it can and will be done.

Roman adjusts the hand on your stomach and presses down firmer, then searches for that special little spot inside of you, the one he’ll use to make you see stars. “Feeling okay? Maybe a little discomfort, hm?”

Roman begins to rub your g-spot slowly, intentionally, knowing exactly what he’s doing to you. You squirm on the table, tearing the paper underneath you. Legs starting to twitch. 

“N–just,” you gasp, arching your back, “Just pressure, Doctor.” 

“Uh huh, sure. Pressure.” Roman smirks at you. “I think you fuckin’ like this.” You sigh as he pulls his fingers out of you, then rubs on the seam of your cunt. Men - and women, too, for that matter - always forget this part. The labia are hardly touched enough. Roman drags his warm, gloved fingers through your folds, his other hand sliding up your torso. He opens your paper gown, exposing your breasts, and squeezes a handful of flesh there. Not harshly, just gentle. He rubs his thumb in circles over your nipple as he rubs your clit with his other hand, noting the way your breathing deepens. 

He massages your clit expertly, wearing a crooked grin as you grip into the soft leather of his exam table, further tearing at the sanitary paper. “Oh,” you moan, canting your hips into his touch. “Oh, Doctor - fuck.” 

Doctor. God, Roman loves that. Loves being called a lot of things. Sir. Fucking…Daddy. But Doctor, well. The prestige and power that comes with that little honorific is second to fucking none, isn’t it? 

Roman’s moving his hand lower again, and slipping two of his slick fingers into your cunt. He teases your other nipple as he pumps those two fingers in and out of you, savoring the way you squeeze him. Roman curls those fingers inside you, stroking lazily as he stares down at you. 

You’re making all the right noises, all the right faces. Those pretty moans and that scrunching of your nose. You’re gonna fucking cum. Roman’s gonna make you fucking cum. 

He strokes harder, now repeatedly curling against your g-spot. The action makes you moan loudly, and he clamps his hand over your mouth. “Shhh, honey,” he tells you, gagging you with two fingers. You taste your own arousal and the latex from his gloves, and instinctually suck on his digits, looking up at him with wide eyes. “I don’t fingerfuck all of my patients like this, right? So keep quiet.” 

Roman steadily fucks you on his fingers as he adds his thumb into the mix, rubbing that swollen clit of yours as he works you. You’re getting sweaty now, soaking through your paper gown. Roman can feel your thighs twitching, and your walls beginning to pulse in non-rhythm. 

You try to speak but can’t with Roman’s fingers still in your mouth, and make only desperate little moans instead. It’s for the best, really. He knows you’re gonna try to tell him that it’s too much or whatever, not realizing what you’re on the brink of. 

“You’re gonna cum for me,” Roman tells you. “Okay? Doctor’s orders. Cum for me.” 

With the methodical, almost ruthless way he fucks you on his fingers, you have no choice but to lay there and fucking take it. Surrender to it. He’s got you trapped between his fingers, playing you like you’re an instrument. Pleasure seems to build almost exponentially, and before you know it you’re imploding; clamping down on Roman’s fingers as he relentlessly works you. The relief you feel is almost palpable, pleasure running through your veins in unending waves. 

Roman guides you through your orgasm until the very last of your twitches, then pulls both of his hands from your body. He leaves you gasping on the table as he removes his gloves, and when he looks back at you, you’re crying. It’s natural, of course. To be expected. He’s still gonna be a dick about it, though. 

“Oh my god, are you fucking crying?” he asks, joining you at the table. He helps your shaky legs out of the stirrups, then reaches for you. “Need a hand up?”

You take his hand and pull him close, wrapping yourself around him as you cry it out. All of that pent up energy, everything. “Oh, you’re fucking hugging me. Yeah, that’s…whatever. Uh huh. There, there,” Roman says, stroking your back. “Fuckin’ told you,” he adds. 

A knock at the door has Roman pulling away from you. “Welp, duty calls, huh? Pleasure to see you as always, and fuckin’...glad we sorted you out. You can schedule your next appointment up front and I’ll see you next year, I guess. Same time and place. Okay. Bye!”

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