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

[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.

[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.

[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.

[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.”

[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!”

If you enjoyed, let a girl know :) I love reblogs and when you hop in my inbox.

[ladyycherryy]

Hi just discovered your blog and I love it❤️ can I request a mark Grayson with a s/o who's the batman of their universe like she's a rich girl and a playboy(girl?) like in the public but at night she's the dark knight and it's a regular human with the skills of batman. I just find it funny if he's like "omg the batman/dark knight is it true your vampire or what kind of powers and reader is like 🦇 "no I'm human" and he's like 🤨 since he saw her knee kick the air out of a guy for jaywalking and break the ribs of 5 guys for littering without a sweat also how they would work as a duo maybe she gains a robin?

Thank you! I love this idea so much!! ♡⸜(˶˃ ᵕ ˂˶)⸝♡ I had so much fun writing it I hope this lives up to your expectations — hope you enjoy!! 🦇💕

.𖥔 ݁ ˖🦇 ݁˖ ݁𖥔 .

Rich girl by day, Dark knight by night. Mark was aware that you were wealthy and kind of a big deal in the social scene. Designer outfits? Attending exclusive parties ? Fancy galas? Driving expensive sports cars? Yeah everything about you screams rich.

Mark had some suspicion on you, but when he found out he was SHOOK! You?? The masked vigilante everyone in the city feared? “Wait.. you're the one who put those 3 guys in the hospital last week?” You’d shrugged it off “They had it coming”

“What kind of powers do you have?” He would deadass think you had some kind of supernatural ability. Maybe vampirism? Super strength??? Nope! Just peak human conditioning and a lot of training. “So you're human?” “Yep” “…And you're doing all of this?” “Mhm” “Jesus Christ”

When he first watched you in action his jaw was on the floor, taking 6 guys in under a minute – one well placed knee kick, backflip, and some nice creative use of grappling hook. Mark just floated above you like =͟͟͞͞(꒪ᗜ꒪‧̣̥̇) “You… you just–” “Yeah” “And you're–” “Human”

He finds it funny with how different you are when you're in your dark knight mode versus your public person. Seeing you at a charity gala and that same night you’re taking down a drug ring in the city’s back alleys.

He pictures you in a fancy dress but when you suit up as the dark knight he's like “Hold up, that's the same person?!”

You’re always on the arm of a new date, you use it as a way to cover your work, making it easier to explain why you're out all hours of the night. Mark lowkey gets jealous, even though he knows it all means nothing. “So.. dinner with that tech billionaire last night?” “He was boring” “Sure, sure. Guess i'll just have to keep an eye on you” (๑>؂•̀๑)

He 100% talks about you to the Guardians of the Globe all the time. “Yeah my girlfriend? Took down 8 guys by herself last night. No big deal” Rex: "isn’t she human?" “Yeah that's the crazy part!”

You’re always teasing him, running a finger down his chest, leaning in close wherever you talk to him. Mark pretends he's unaffected but his jaw clenching when you call him handsome says otherwise. He tries to flirt back but c'mon you're too good at the game.

Training together, Mark would BEG you to train him in hand to hand combat. He would get frustrated with you wiping the floor with him despite his super strength. “How are you so fast??”

The media loves them. Headlines like “Dark knight And Her Flying Sidekick Strike Again!” “Who is the Dark Knight’s New Partner?” Mark hates being called the sidekick but you just laugh it off and say “Well you are following my lead” “I’m not your sidekick” “Sure you aren't Grayson”

You and Mark have different fighting styles but somehow it works. He's more of brute strength and super speed, punching enemies. While you're all about precision, calculated strikes and exploiting weak points. You're the planner and he's the muscle, mapping out the enemy’s territory. He follows your lead even if he pretends he doesn't but he listens when you give orders.

Once the night’s work is done you both linger in the dark or on top of rooftops. Mark leans against the wall staring at the stars with you by his side. “Same time tomorrow?" “Only if you try to to get yourself killed” But you'll both be there

[gojosconsort]

loved ur older bf toji i need one for nanami RIGHT NEOW

OLDER BF!KENTO // HEADCANONS

⁀➷ content. you're kento’s sweet little controversial younger girlfirend.

pairing. afab!reader x older bf!kento

warnings. mdni. age gap, bondage, fingering, spanking, oral sex, unprotected sex, deepthroating, rough sex, praise kink, size kink, cum, possessiveness, praise and degradation.

author’s note. my frist request! hope you like it <3

older bf!kento who meets you at a quiet café where you’re a part-time barista, fumbling an order because you’re distracted by his looks (understandably). he tips generously, leaving a handwritten note with his number on the receipt.

older bf!kento who takes you out for a proper dinner that first night, all gentlemanly charm, but later pins you against his car in the parking lot, kissing you hard and murmuring, “been wanting this all damn night,” before sliding his hand under your dress.

older bf!kento who’s huge—like, damn, how’s that gonna fit?—but he’s so good with it. takes his time, easing into you inch by inch, whispering, “you’re taking me so well, baby, fuck, you’re amazing—doesn’t hurt, right?” and it doesn’t, ‘cause he’s so slick with the prep.

older bf!kento who smirks when you’re sore the next day, kissing your forehead and saying, “slept well? you’re so beautiful like this,” meaning fucked out. then he’s making you breakfast, all casual like he didn’t just ruin you the night before.

older bf!kento who walks you home after every date, even if it’s just down the street, holding your hand and chatting about random things. he lingers at your door, kissing your forehead soft and slow, saying, “sleep tight, darling.”

older bf!kento who brings you to his place after a long day, cooking you dinner—then bends you over the kitchen counter, hiking your skirt up, and fucking you deep and hard, whispering, “good girls get rewarded.”

older bf!kento who surprises you with a weekend getaway to a secluded cabin with a “pack light” instructions—only to spend half the trip with you naked across his lap, spanking you for teasing him by the fireplace, then fingering you ‘til you’re a whimpering mess.

older bf!kento who meets your friends at a chill hangout, and they pull you aside, “isn’t he kinda old for you?” you shrug and say, “yeah, but he fucks too good,” as a joke while he sips his drink, pretending he didn’t hear and prove to you later that he fucks you more than good.

older bf!kento who loves to strip you down to just his oversized dress shirt, then tosses you on the bed, and eats you out like a man starved—holding your thighs down when you squirm, saying, “stay still, princess, i’m not done.”

older bf!kento who’s always got a hand on your knee when you’re in his car, loving how small you look next to him—like his little passenger princess who doesn’t need to lift a finger.

older bf!kento who loves when you deepthroat him after a long day, sitting back in his armchair, watching you struggle to take all of him. he doesn’t help, just pets your hair and says, “you take me so good.”

older bf!kento who gets mistaken for a professor when he picks you up from a college class you’re auditing. he plays along, then pins you to his couch later, making you choke on his cock while he lectures, “good girls swallow.”

older bf!kento who gets quite jealous when some young coworker flirts with you at a work event. later, he’s got your wrists tied, pinning you to the hotel wall, fucking you rough, “think that kid can handle you? say my name louder,” then spanks you for good measure.

older bf!kento who’s waiting outside when you stumble out late from a girls’ night, frowning ‘til he sees you’re safe. he opens the car door for you, saying, “next time, you call me sooner—i don’t like you out here alone.”

older bf!kento who tucks you in when you fall asleep on the couch, lifting you gently to bed and brushing hair from your face with a quiet, “can’t have my baby all twisted up out here.”

older bf!kento who takes you to a stuffy work dinner where his colleagues whisper about “bringing someone so young,” but he just grips your thigh under the table, murmuring, “let ‘em talk.” because he genuinely doesn’t care.

older bf!kento who loves when you’re bratty, pinning you down and spanking your pussy ‘til it’s dripping, then filling you up wiht a low, “this what you were after, huh? my attention—fucking take it then.”

older bf!kento who ties you up with his tie after you tease him one too many times, binding your hands behind your back and bending you over before he pounds into you from behind, “tease me again, and i’ll leave you like this all night—fuck, you’re tight.”

older bf!kento who loves to tie you up in his bedroom—black ropes crisscrossing your torso, arms bound tight behind your back, legs spread and tied to the bedframe, and then fucks you from behind, “you’re a fucking beautiful like this—can’t move, can you? good.”

older bf!kento who wakes you up with slow morning sex, pinning your wrists behind your back and fucking you lazy and deep, always ending with a shuddered, “gotta cum inside you—shit, baby, you’re mine, feel it.” he stays buried in you after, kissing your neck all sweet while his cum drips out of you.

[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.—

[minswriting]

LEOTARDS AND STRETCHES - A.H x Reader

About: You’re a ballerina and Aaron visits you in the dance studio.

Warnings: NSFW, MDNI, ballerina!reader, public sex, unprotected sex, p in v, aaron talks you through it, fluff and smut fr

Word Count: 1.1k

A/N: Border is made by @esote-rika ! This one shot was a request from a LONG time ago and I finally got to writing it. It’s not the greatest but I hope you enjoy nonetheless! Not proof read because that’s for losers, obviously.

Being a ballerina, you were used to moving your body around in different ways, ensuring to captured the essence of the dance you were doing. Rigorous days of training, breaking into different point shoes every time you danced, and moving your body in such a way that you moved with fluidity was hard sometimes. And yet, other times it was great.

And here you were, in the studio, practicing a dance to Swan Lake. Your body moved smoothly as you allowed the music to guide you, dancing on your toes and doing crazy spins that no one outside of this profession would be able to do. And when the song finished, you heard the sound of clapping. You looked in the mirror of the studio, seeing your handsome boyfriend standing in the doorway.

“Aaron,” You grinned, turning around to face him.

“You were wonderful as always, my dear,” Aaron spoke in that soft tone that you adored so much as he had a smile on his face. He looked exhausted, as he usually does after coming back from a case. He walked over to you, placing his hands on your hips and kissing your lips in greeting which you happily kissed back.

“What are you doing here?” You asked, tilting your head. “You don’t usually visit me in the studio.”

Aaron hummed, nodding his head. “I tried to call but you weren’t answering your phone. We finished a case early and I figured I’d just come here instead,” he said, kissing your lips once more.

You let out a low chuckle against Aaron’s lips, putting your arms around Aaron’s neck. His grip on you tightened, pulling you closer to him. What was a seemingly innocent kiss quickly turned into something more passionate as the two of you moved in sync. Truth be told, it had been a bit since the two of you had seen one another and had been intimate with one another. With Aaron working crazy hours and you currently practicing for a performance, it’s been hard for your schedules to line up other than phone calls and FaceTime sex. And while phone sex is very hot with Aaron, you wholeheartedly missed the real thing.

Aaron pulled away from the kiss, moving his lips to your neck. “I’ve missed you,” he breathed against your skin, pressing himself against you.

You made a soft noise, your fingers moving to Aaron’s hair. “I’ve missed you too,” you murmured, tilting your head to give Aaron more access as you felt his erection pressing against your thigh. The two of you were needy for each other.

Aaron was careful not to mark you, keeping himself to only kissing your neck rather than nipping at it. You had a performance to get ready for, after all, and he didn’t want to hinder you in any way. “I want you,” he murmured.

“Then have me,” you replied.

And that’s how you ended up with your tights thrown somewhere in the room and your leotard pulled to the side with Aaron’s cock buried inside of you. You had one leg pointed upwards as your hand gripped the barre next to the mirror. Aaron had a hand on your hip, keeping you steady, while the other hand helped keep your leg up. Aaron’s pants were only opened enough for his cock to be free as he pounded into you.

The dance studio was filled with the sounds of your moans and slapping of skin. Luckily, you were the only person who had access to the studio this late otherwise, it would’ve been a wild scene for someone to stumble into. “Aaron,” you moaned as his cock plunged into you.

“My beautiful girl,” He groaned, thrusting his hips. “You feel so good wrapped around me.”

“Missed this so much,” You said shakily, eyes closing in pleasure.

“Me too, sweetheart,” Aaron replied, his breathing harsh.

After a few minutes, Aaron pulled out, causing you to whine from the loss of contact. But you knew it was simply due to him wanting to change positions. He helped you put your leg down before turning you around, tapping your other leg to go onto the barre and stretch out. Once you were in position, Aaron entered you once more, causing your breath to hitch.

The position allowed for a deeper penetration as his cock grazed your g-spot. Aaron gained a rhythm once more, fucking you faster and harder than before. “Oh fuck,” you whimpered, eyes fluttering shut from the pleasure of the new position. Your lips were parted in an “o” shape and your eyebrows furrowed.

Aaron groaned, pressing himself deep inside of you before pulling out and doing it again. “You’re so wet, sweetheart,” he said, licking his lips. He looked at you in the mirror, seeing the way your face contorted with pleasure. “Do you feel good, baby? Am I making you feel good?”

“Uh-huh,” you said, nodding your head. You opened your eyes to see Aaron already looking at you. “Feels so good, Aaron, oh my god.”

Aaron grunted, feeling the way your walls tightened around him, signaling that you were close. “My sweet girl,” he said, moving a bit faster. “You’re so close, aren’t you? Are you gonna cum for me?”

“Yes,” you let out a choked moan, feeling that familiar heat building inside of you. “I’m so close, Aaron.”

“Good girl,” Aaron cooed. “Go ahead and cum for me.”

The nickname was all you needed before you moaned loudly, clamping your walls around Aaron’s cock. Your body tensed as your orgasm washed over you, moaning Aaron’s name in a mantra. After only giving yourself orgasms for the last two weeks, being able to cum from Aaron’s cock alone was needed. Aaron followed suit, his hips stuttering and cock stiffening inside of you before he began filling you with his cum, pressing himself further in you.

And when the two of you were finished, Aaron pulled out, putting your leotard back into place before helping you out of the position you were in. The two of you were in a state of bliss, finally grateful to have had one another after what felt like so long. After a few minutes of heavy breathing and basking in the post-orgasmic feeling, you turned to look at Aaron, a goofy smile on your lips. “We just had sex in a dance studio,” you giggled.

Aaron laughed, nodding his head. “Indeed we did.”

After that, late night rendezvous to the dance studio after a case became more frequent for Aaron and you certainly didn’t mind at all.

[pinecavity]

You weren’t supposed to care. Not really, anyway. It was just Caleb. Just your silly older “brother,” always teasing, always calling you “Pipsqueak” like it was some title you’d never outgrow. But that stupid image—him leaning against the fence outside your house, hands shoved in his pockets, a girl in front of him all bright-eyed and hopeful—was burned into your mind. You didn’t even stick around long enough to hear him turn her down, didn’t see the way he scratched the back of his head with a grimace and muttered, “Yeah, not really my thing, sorry.”

All you knew was that some girl—some pretty, older high school girl—wanted Caleb.

And that was enough to ruin your entire week.

At first, you tried to brush it off. Tried to pretend like it didn’t matter, like it didn’t make your stomach feel weird and tight. But then the questions started creeping in, relentless and awful.

Did he like her?

Did he think she was pretty too?

How many other girls have asked him out before?

What if he already liked someone?

And before you knew it, you were spiraling.

You got weird. Weird in the way only a teenager with a crush and absolutely no ability to process emotions could be. You started avoiding him, but only in the way that made it really obvious something was wrong—sitting farther away than usual on the couch, suddenly being too busy to hang out, giving clipped, single-word answers whenever he asked about your day.

Caleb noticed. Of course, he noticed. And it drove him insane.

It took exactly three days before he finally had enough. You were hunched over your lunch tray, stabbing a little too aggressively at your meatloaf when a shadow loomed over you, and then suddenly, Caleb was there, plopping down beside you with all the grace of someone who knew he was about to be annoying.

“Alright,” he said, dragging your tray closer to him just to be obnoxious. “What’s your problem?”

You scowled. “Nothing.”

“Oh, definitely something,” he shot back, unbothered. “You’ve been acting like I kicked your puppy all week.”

“I don’t have a puppy.”

“Yeah, well, if you did, you’d be treating me like I ran it over. So,” he propped his chin on his hand, watching you like a puzzle he was determined to solve, “what gives?”

You gritted your teeth. You refused to bring it up. It was stupid. If you said it out loud, it would make it real, and that was the last thing you wanted.

But Caleb? Oh, he was too good at reading you.

He smirked but didn’t let up. Just kept watching you, waiting, until finally—like a switch flipped—his teasing edge softened, just barely.

“…Is this about the girl?”

Your breath hitched.

Caleb noted it. He filed it away, leaned in, too smug, too entertained.

“Oh,” he grinned, slow and obnoxious. “Ohhh, no way—”

“Shut up,” you snapped, already burning.

“No, no, hold on—” he leaned in, eyes alight with pure, unfiltered amusement. “You’re mad about the girl, aren’t you?”

“I said shut up.”

“Holy shit, Pipsqueak, you are.”

He laughed—laughed. And God, you wanted to disappear.

“I turned her down, you know,” he said, still grinning like this was the best thing to ever happen to him.

You blinked. “…What?”

He rolled his eyes, nudging your foot under the table. “Not really my thing.”

And just like that—just from those four words, from the casual way he said it, like it wasn’t a big deal, like it never was—you felt your entire world tilt back into place.

You hated him. You hated how easily he could do this to you, how just one sentence could make all that awful, twisting insecurity vanish.

But at the same time…

God, you loved him, too.

[nathanbatemanfucker]

Beyond Misconceptions

summary: joaquin is usually the poster child for positivity, but sometimes the doubt creeps in.

pairing: joaquin torres x f!reader

contents: angst, jealousy/insecure!joaquin, arguing, depictions of anxiety

wc: 1,675

an: based on this requested concept! it went a bit different than expected but i hope yall still enjoy <3 (and also hope it will hold yall over until vuelve pt. v is done!!!)

danny ramirez characters masterlist

Most of the time, Joaquin loves his job. He loves the brother he’s found in Sam, the tangible way he sees himself helping people day in and day out. The feeling of soaring through the sky, the invincibility that he seems to find in the wind.

But, what Joaquin doesn’t love about the job is the rift that it can sometimes create between you. One could say he’s being dramatic by using the word rift— you have never once complained, never made him feel guilty for the unpredictability of his schedule.

You always tell him that you know what you signed up for when you fell in love with him. And you do.

Joaquin is certainly grateful for your love and understanding, but it’s days like today that make him want to find some 9-5 to nurse.

When he steps into the party you two were meant to attend together an hour and a half late, he’s eager to see you. That eagerness twists into something ugly when he sees you. You, standing in a group, but primarily talking to some guy he doesn’t recognize.

You look…happy. Happy to be talking with a guy who showed up on time. With a guy who doesn’t put his life on the line, and your relationship on hold at the drop of a hat.

He can’t decide what he wants to do more— leave and let you be happy or put himself between you and this mystery guy.

As if you can feel him, you glance over in his direction, lighting up at the sight of him. That restless mix of jealousy and guilt fades a little with you so excited to see him.

“Quino,” You call to him, waving him over. When he makes it to you, you reach for his hand immediately, drawing him so that you can place a kiss on his cheek. “Made in one piece, I see, cariño.”

“Siempre lo hago,” He murmurs, snaking an arm around your waist. “So who’s this?”

You introduce Joaquin to the guy easily, slipping him into the conversation without missing a beat. Paul. Joaquin nods along, lets you pull him closer, listens as you chat, and laughs like nothing is wrong. Like he wasn’t late. Like you weren’t having a perfectly good time without him.

It’s not that he doesn’t trust you. He does. It’s just that tonight feels like a reminder of everything he isn’t—someone who shows up on time, someone whose job doesn’t put you second. And maybe it’s stupid, maybe it doesn’t matter, but it still twists something sharp in his chest.

His grip tightens just slightly on your waist. You glance up at him, brows furrowing in quiet question, but he just shakes his head, forcing a small smile. You don’t push, but something in your gaze lingers. You know him too well. You always do.

You’re driving the two of you home, music spilling softly out of the speaker when you decide to break the tension that’s been building.

“So what was that?”

“What was what?”

“You were being…possessive?” The word comes out of your mouth like a question because you’re not entirely sure. Nothing like this has ever happened with Joaquin— it’s unfamiliar territory.

“Claro que no,” He insists.

You have to force yourself not to roll your eyes. “Yeah, because that wasn’t defensive at all.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Your eyes flicker over at him momentarily, and you soften at his visible tension. You’re gentler when you speak again, “Soy yo, Quino. We don’t lie to each other, we don’t do this… jealous thing that you did tonight. I don’t know that guy, I probably won’t ever see him again and I’m fine with that.”

“It wasn’t about that.”

“Oh, but it was about something? What could I have possibly done when I hadn’t seen you in days?”

“Querida— you didn’t do anything— it’s not… I don’t know what you want me to say.”

You purse your lips, feeling a little frustrated. “I want you to tell me what’s going on in that pretty little head of yours. And if you can’t now, then think about it and we’ll talk about it before bed. Deal?”

The silence stretches between you, the music sounding much louder in the wake of your breaths.

Eventually, Joaquin says begrudgingly, “Sure, if that’s what you want.”

“What do you want?”

“You,” He says softly, and nothing more.

—

Once you and Joaquin get home, you don’t push. You refuse to when he’s being so elusive, so guarded in a way he’s never been. You aren’t really sure what to do with it and it makes your stomach churn. You make your way straight to the shower without so much of a glance in his direction.

Joaquin wants to call after you, but can’t find his voice. Not a surprise when he feels his mind is completely scrambled.

All of this has tilted you off your axis. You make sure the water is scalding hot, hoping that the steam will steep out your thoughts of insecurity and unease. By the time you make it out, it just feels like they’ve grown louder, rooting deeper into your brain stem.

You make your way into the kitchen, walking past Joaquin where he’s sat on the couch. He watches you quietly as you make tea, unsure if you still want to talk or if he’s created the catalyst for his worst fear; losing you.

“So are we gonna talk about it or are you gonna keep staring at me?”

“Mi amor—“

You huff as you sit the chair across from him, “No, don’t mi amor me when you won’t even tell me what’s going on.”

“It’s not that I won’t, it’s that—“

“If you say you can’t, Joaquin, te juro por Dios.”

“I was gonna say that I’m struggling to figure out how. There’s too much up here, you know that. Usually, it’s just cheery.”

“I’m not asking you to be cheery, I’m asking you to be honest.”

Joaquin sighs, leaning forward to place his face in his hands. “When I saw you with him, I just— it made me wonder if you deserve better than me.”

Your brow furrows. “That doesn’t make sense.”

“Sure it does.”

“Enlighten me.”

“You’re in a relationship with a man you’re going to outlive. I’m never home, I’m always late as hell. Every day I force you to wait— for me or for a call that’ll break your heart. Don’t you think you deserve somebody that can be there for you? Someone, you aren’t afraid of losing every damn day?”

“I knew what I was getting into when I chose to start this with you. I know that you want to be around and be more consistent, but Quino, you’re out there saving the world. I can’t ask you to put down your dreams because you missed the first hour of a party.”

“I‘ve missed more than just an hour of a party. What happens when it’s our wedding? Or if you get sick? What if you need me and I miss something big? That guy, he could give you that.”

You lean forward, reaching across the coffee table to place your hand over his. “Then we’ll reschedule. Or my parents will take care of me. Or I’ll need you and I’ll be really sad that you’re not there but eventually, you will be. I don’t give a fuck about that guy. I don’t even remember his name. What I do remember, is how much I love you and how long it took me to have the courage to tell you that.”

Joaquin looks down at your hands before interlacing your fingers together. Your words soothe him even as he wrestles with the fact that he wants to give you more. He’ll try to give you more— you deserve it and so does the health of your relationship.

“Are you sure?”

“Are you?” challenge, wanting him to truly think about it.

There are things about your relationship with Joaquin that are less than ideal and certainly compromise but that’s part of love. Compromising and making things work with the people that you love. Joaquin is loyal, loving, and tender; he always makes you laugh and takes your feelings seriously. He just happens to be a superhero, one you have to share with the world.

How selfish would it be to take him away from people that need him?

He squeezes your hand reassuringly, “I’m sure. ¿Me dirás si algo cambia?”

“Lo prometo.”

Joaquin leans back into the couch, patting his lap, “Ven.”

You quickly make your way to sit in his lap, wrapping both your arms around his neck as you let your legs dangle across the couch.

“Te amo, princesa.”

“I know, I love you too,” you murmur, running a hand affectionately through his hair.

Joaquin’s eyes fall to your lips, and when he finally leans in, his mouth brushes yours softly, a quiet promise that everything will be okay. His thumb traces your cheek, and it feels like all the unsaid words are finally spoken in the wax and wane of this gentle kiss. You close your eyes, grounding yourself in the feeling of him, of home. As he pulls back slightly, his forehead rests against yours, his breath shaky, and you both linger there, knowing that in this moment, everything is enough.

After several moments of silence, Joaquin’s lips find your ear, “Paul.”

You lean away from where you’d gotten comfortable on his chest to look at him quizzically. “What?”

“The guy’s name— fucking Paul.”

You laugh, shaking the both of you. “I’ve already forgotten again. I’m more focused on this marriage you’ve mentioned.”

“I’m thinking under the cherry blossoms.”

“You should think about the blow your bank account is gonna take getting me a ring.”

Joaquin raises a brow at you, “Who says I don’t already have it, hermosa?”

You squint at him— usually, you’re pretty good at telling if he’s bluffing but his features are smoothed into the perfect poker face. “You lying?”

“Guess you’ll just have to find out, baby.”

lmk if you'd like to be on the sfw (or nsfw for 18+) joaquin taglist!

sfw joaquin taglist: @magikdarkholme, @plan3t-plut0, @mewmew222, @linnygirl09, @ezhz444, @karmaswitch, @badbishsblog, @glader13, @how2besalty, @happypopcornprincess, @hiireadstuffsometimes, @lisiliely, @spider-steve, @nolita-fairytale, @hrlzy, @faretheeoscar, @giuliahowlett, @abriefnirvana, @fanboyswhore9 , @sidkneeeee, @sophreakingfunny, @heartbreakgirlism, @peachyxlynch, @lomlbuckybarnes, @a-randomscrub, @ajcs150, @glimodejun, @isuckatmath, @arsonhotchner, @moonymeloncholymoney

[81pastrys]

Hi!! I hope you’re doing well. I was wondering if you would consider doing something where Lando and reader had a baby when they were teens and no one knew but family so the baby would be around 8-10 now and the world somehow found out about it?

Reality

Summary— Lando made dumb decisions as a teenager and his ex decided her account should be public without archiving a certain post

Warnings— secret child ; Oscar cursing ; mention of murder, but no actual murder?

A/N— I like this one (let’s be real, I like all my work)

Lando had been pondering the day that his daughter would be revealed as his daughter to the public. Everyone always believed her to be a younger sister, nothing confirming nor denying the idea. Lexie always joined him in the paddock, usually going unnoticed. She was stealthy like that. He was a good co-parent, kept it a secret and tried not to make it obvious she was always with him.

This particular weekend was weird, Lexie’s mom had asked Lando to keep her for the weekend for a mysterious trip and he obliged but worried that she was making a mistake. “No, I’m not saying I can’t take her, but do you even know this guy?” He asked her over the phone.

“Lando, you aren’t my dad, there is no need for you to worry about me like this.” She explained to him. Yeah he wasn’t her dad, or boyfriend anymore but they have a 9 year old to worry about and she was crucial to that.

“It just seems strange, you never do this.” He said. She was on her way with Lexie already, a plane set for them to be off in Hungary. “Not to mention the rumors going around about Lexie.” He mumbled nearly.

“So do you want me to keep her?” She asked. “I can cancel the trip.” That is 100% not what he meant and she knew it.

“No, I’m taking her with me to the race, I already got her a pass.” He said serious now. “It’s whatever we can talk more later.” He shook his head, finishing up on packing his suitcase.

They go to the race with no troubles and Lexie does her thing, sitting on Lando’s side. The rumors going around were that she was, in fact, his daughter and not his sister like they had thought.

Only the closest drivers actually knew she was his, but most were oblivious to the fact. It only takes one fan to go deep diving on Instagram to find the picture his ex posted of them in the hospital with Lexie in their arms.

He scrolled through a bit of media before practice and nearly freaked out. “Lexie!” He called to her. She ran right up like she was in trouble. “Lay low today yeah?” He asked, kissing her head.

“Okay, as in hide out in your driver room?” She asked, she loved his driver room. Lando nodded at her for the great idea. “Got it, love you!” She said. Lando had trained her young not to call him dad in the paddock or garage.

He returned from practice and Oscar had now seen the picture that floated around. “Mate what is this? You had a kid and didn’t tell me?” Oscar joked around. Lando scratched his neck and Lexie emerged from the driver room, hugging Lando’s waist. Oscars eyes went wide.

“When I said I was a dumb teenager what did you think?” Lando smiled. Lexie playfully punched his arm. “I didn’t call you dumb! I called myself dumb!” He laughed.

“What’s Osc-uh talking about?” Lexie asked. Oscar showed her his phone and she looked up to Lando who looked down at her. “Does this mean I have to call you dad in public?” She asked.

“Holy shit!” Oscar cursed. He covered his mouth quickly. “Who else knows?” He asked. Carlos, Max, Daniel, Charles (because Max can’t keep his mouth shut)

“Hmm the entire world now.” Lando said. “I told her not to post that but that brings us back to dumb teenagers.” Lexie playfully hit him again and he knocked her head. “Stop doing that!” He laughed. They truly did act like siblings.

Carlos saw too and headed over to the paddock he once called home. “Hey Lex.” He greeted when she hugged him. “She made her account public?” Carlos asked.

“Yeah, mate she’s going off grid.” Lando sighed. “She went off with some dude to Italy?” It was like gossiping but they had voiced their thoughts on his ex already. “I don’t mind it means I get Lexie for a week.” He tickled her and she giggled.

“Stop it!!” She got out through giggles. Cameras were on them, the graphic usually just saying ‘Lexie Norris’ but this time the graphic had ‘Lando’s daughter’ under her name.

“You’re kidding.” Lando’s face dropped. “Man what the fuck.” He whispered as he smiled. Lexie calmed down and saw it too. They played the clip of him tickling her and she hugged him.

“I love you too dad!” She said. He about melted in his racing suit. Carlos smiled at the pair and so did Oscar. “Can you call mum and make sure that guy didn’t kill her?” She was half joking.

“Killing her is a bit absurd Lexie.” Lando said. “He took her to Italy, he might just drain her accounts or something.” He joked with his daughter.

“Call her anyway.” Carlos said now concerned Lexie was insinuating her mum could be dead somewhere in Italy. (She was not)

Lando called her and she was having a grand old time with the random man and he didn’t seem all too weird either so Lando didn’t have any worries anymore. They left the paddock that day as father and daughter.

I had a feeling she needed a different name, Lila wouldn’t be able to keep a big secret so Lexie enters the chat

Taglist: @il0vereadingstuff

[pinkslipxox]

Hey there my love! I have a request. Sorry if it isn't that good.

We’re a bartender at the local bar where Billie lives, and it's been a rough day for us. We’re not in the best mood—until we spot a stunning woman sitting at the bar: Billie.

Curious, we make our way over to chat with her and soon learn that she’s only there because a few of her friends dragged her out for the night—even though she doesn’t drink. Despite that, we immediately hit it off, sharing laughs and good conversation. By the end of the night, we’ve even got her number!

hey my love! Omg i love it! Hope you like it 🥰

——————————————————————————

The bar is finally calm after what feels like an endless wave of orders, drinks flying in every direction, and customers getting restless. You take a deep breath, leaning against the counter as you wipe sweat from your brow. It was one of those nights—where every cocktail seemed to come with a side of chaos. You grimace at the memory of spilling an entire margarita on a customer and fumbling a couple of orders. Your mood definitely reflects the calamity of the shift, and you let out a soft sigh, wishing for a moment of peace.

As you glance around the dimly lit bar, your eyes land on a small group laughing and joking at a table near the back. That’s when you spy her— a beautiful young woman with blonde hair and captivating crystal blue eyes. You feel a little flutter in your chest, even though part of you thinks it might just be from exhaustion.

When the woman catches your eye, she smiles, and suddenly, all the frustration from the night fades a bit. You can’t help but smile back, even though you try to shake off the nerve that’s creeping its way up your spine.

“Hi! What can I get for you?” you ask, the professional mask slipping back into place, even though your heart races a little.

“Honestly? Just a water, please. Im trying to stay hydrated,” she chuckles lightly, and her laughter feels warm and inviting.

“Coming right up,” you say, filling a glass with ice water. As you set it in front of her, you can’t shake the feeling of her gaze lingering on you, as if she notices the way your shoulders have slumped and how your smile doesn’t quite reach your eyes. “How’s your night going?”

“It could be better,” she replies with a slight grin. “But my friends insist on dragging me out. They just don’t get how much I love just chilling at home. What about you? You’ve got that ‘I’ve been through the wringer’ look,” she teases playfully.

You laugh, a genuine sound this time. “Yeah, it’s been one of those shifts. Busy as hell, and I’ve messed up a couple of orders,” you admit, shrugging as you pour yourself a drink of your own.

“Hey, it happens to the best of us. Don't be too hard on yourself,” Billie reassures you, leaning in slightly as if she’s sharing a secret. “You’re still standing, right?”

For some reason, the way she speaks makes you feel a little lighter. “True! I guess that counts for something,” you say, smirking a little more.

“Totally,” the woman chuckles in agreement. “I’m Billie. What’s your name?” She outstretches her hand and you shake it.

“My name is Y/N. Nice to meet you, Billie,” you reply enthusiastically.

And just like that, Billie begins to draw you into a conversation that feels easy and effortless. You talk about everything—music, your favorite drinks, even a little about her life in the spotlight. There’s something about her presence that makes you feel seen and understood, like you’re two friends catching up rather than a bartender and a customer having a brief encounter. And you find yourself genuinely happy to be in her presence.

“So, what are you doing after this?” Billie asks, tilting her head, curiosity dancing in her eyes.

“Probably crawling into bed and hoping tomorrow is better than today,” you reply with a chuckle. “Not exactly a glamorous life.”

Billie smiles. “You know… I had a great time talking to you.” She then takes out a pen and writes on the napkin. With a glimmer of hope in her eyes, she slides it over to you, and you see that she’s written her number on it. “You should call me sometime, I would love to see you again. Maybe even go out to dinner?”

Your eyes widen, disbelief mingling with delight. “You want me to text you? Like, really?” you stammer, still trying to comprehend the gesture.

“Absolutely,” Billie responds, her tone reassuring. “I mean it. Text me anytime you need to vent about spills or chaotic shifts or even if you just want to grab coffee or something.”

You feel an exhilarating mix of emotions—nervousness, excitement, and maybe a hint of disbelief. “I... I will for sure.”

Billie grins, the softness of her expression warming your heart. “Good. I’m looking forward to it,” she says before standing and leaning over to give you a quick hug, her arms wrapping around you like a snug safety net. You practically melt against her, her scent—a mix of something floral and the faintest hint of vanilla—overwhelmingly calming.

As she pulls back, you both share a lingering gaze, and in that moment, nothing else matters. The night, the spills, the chaos—all of it fades away, leaving just the two of you in this fleeting, beautiful connection.

“Take care of yourself, okay?” Billie says, a softness in her voice that makes your insides flutter.

“Yeah, will do. And you too,” you reply, watching as she walks away, a lightness in her step that makes you grin.

With her number securely in your pocket and the memory of her warmth lingering, you can’t help but feel that maybe tonight wasn’t so bad after all.

[saidrabbles]

hey, idk if you’re taking requests but can you write about y/n comforting gd when he’s feeling anxious??? please and sorry to bother you

in her presence

a/n: hello anon 🌼 your request was no bother, thank you for being so sweet. i’m not sure about how i feel of the writing style, but i hope you like it!

pairing: jiyong x reader warnings: none summary: kwon jiyong was making a comeback after seven years, as the iconic g-dragon. he knew he would get the nerves, but he didn’t realize how new and scary the nervousness would be, and he definitely didn’t understand why you were the only person who could effortlessly dissipate all of it away.

.

.

it’s been 7 years since he was surrounded by countless cameras, hands invading his personal space to touch up his makeup, fix his clothes. he thought he was ready, but his body was acting otherwise. he had an old habit of chewing on his nails when he gets nervous, but his hands slightly shaking, his eyes involuntarily avoiding cameras and people for that matter — that was new to him.

you were also new to him – you recently became friends but your presence makes him feel the calmest he’s ever been. not even youngbae, his best friend, could get him to shake off the nerves in the first few interviews he had.

today was an important day, as he’s appearing in the first radio since a long while, to greet his fans after such a long time. he asked for you to be there, covering the real extent of his nerves by telling you that he’d love it if you came and supported him on his first show.

.

.

you exited the cab, pulling your leather jacket closer around your body as you stepped into the windy weather. you came earlier than when the show airs so that you can see jiyong before he goes on live. it was his first appearance that will be aired live in a long time. and when he asked you if you wanted to see him off, you knew that he meant he wanted you to be there. he didn’t want to impose on you but you felt that it would mean a lot to him.

you were nervous yourself, sensing the growing fondness you have for him. you didn’t want to show that in any way because you knew that he just saw you as a friend, especially when seeing how he acts the same way with his other friends. you put your hand on your heart silently wishing today goes well, and went into the studio.

.

jiyong was impatiently waiting for you when he heard your voice, greeting the staff in the lounge area. he stayed in his place, even when his body almost jumped up to greet you. as your figure became clearer coming his way, he smiled widely, flashing you his signature gummy smile. stay calm, my heart. you shook the butterflies that were forming, and greeted him. “you’re early, the show doesn’t start until 30 more minutes.” jiyong tried to shrug off the giddiness he felt inside with the thought that you wanted to see him before going on air as the gdragon. “i thought we could hangout before the show, you know get those nerves off” you smiled knowingly.

“you would think it’s impossible to feel this nervous when you’ve spent almost all of your life in front of cameras” he huffed out a laugh. “no, i think feeling nervous is very valid. you haven’t been voluntarily in the public eye for about 7 years. if it was me, i’d be running out the door right about now.” his laugh echoed throughout the studio at the image of you running away. “seriously, how are you so effortlessly funny?” he was giggling at this point. “woah there, can’t tell you the secret to my humor! wouldn’t want you to do well in that too, considering there’s almost nothing you’re not good at.” he felt his cheeks become heated at your compliment and he prayed it wasn’t visible.

“10 minutes until we go live!” was all it took for him to feel his hands shaking again, his soon to be reality becoming closer by the second. he was lost in thought before he put his hands in his pockets, not wanting you to sense this weakness of his. but you saw. you noticed how he stopped meeting your gaze, how his hands shook before he hid them, and you felt this tug at your heart. you felt helpless with this boundary that you can’t cross.

but when the same voice called for the remaining time, and jiyong became too nervous to notice his hands out of his pockets, still shaking, you pushed the alarms in your head away from the forefront of your mind. your hand reached out to his, wrapping it so that your thumb was resting over the top of his hand, as you give his a gentle squeeze. jiyong looked up, eyes unable to focus on you. “focus on my voice only, ji.” your voice was gentle yet firm, and that’s what slowly brought him back to focus again, his eyes searching for yours. your thumb drew soft, reassuring circles on his soft skin, his body slowly relaxing, feeling safe.

“i’m…i..” jiyong tried to start. “it’s okay, i’m here. we can always talk about it later, just focus on your breathing for me, alright?” how you immediately knew what he wanted to say, he will never know. just like how he never knew why his mind and body never felt this safe with someone, why you felt like the home he’s always longed for. he’s dated before, fell in love before, but not quite like this. he could give you his everything and would do it willingly.

he got up, still holding your hand, and looked back at where all the cameras are. when he turned to you again, you were standing in front of him, arms open, like you are his to hold and he is yours to hold. then he suddenly got this frightening feeling that you might not feel the same, not in the slightest. but as his worries set its claws around his mind, you wrapped your arms around him, and the claws disappeared. you had one arm over his shoulder, the other arm under his arm, nuzzling your head just under his jaw, choosing the most intimate embrace known to man.

he felt the tight knots of his nerves coming undone in your warm embrace – and melted into the hug as he heard a tiny, almost inaudible relieved sigh coming from you. he didn’t care about who was looking and who was not. all he cared about in that moment, and probably for the foreseeable future, is the way you fit perfectly in his arms, like they were made for you. “don’t leave me…please?” you weren’t sure if he was asking about leaving the studio before him, or leaving him at all, but you allowed the fuzzy feeling take over you. “i won’t…” you held him closer, if it was possible “come back to me…will you?” you wanted to make sure that your feelings we mutually growing for one another.

he let go of the embrace, afraid of carrying you and running back home to relish in your warmth, but he pulled away just enough to look at your (e/c) eyes. “if you will take me, then i will go anywhere with you, (y/n).”

you tried your best to hide your flushed cheeks with a distracting smile, but you knew that he’s noticed everything when he returned the smile. “i want to hold your hand and go everywhere and anywhere with you, jiyong.”

[moonstruckme]

hiii this my first request ever, and ur one of my absolute favorites on this app so i figured ur the perfect person to ask my first request🙏 kinda simple but anything with lily evans and fem reader would be beautiful🙈 i love that girl and there’s never enough of her:(

ok aggh ur awesome byee<3

Honored to be your first request babe! Hope you like it <3

Lily Evans x fem!reader ♡ 824 words

Lily wakes to sunlight streaming through the windows and flowers on the nightstand. She turns her head to see them better, stretching as she does, enjoying the warmth of the light that kisses her bare shoulder beside the strap of her tank top. It’s a mix of tulips, baby’s breath, and, because you can never resist, lilies, pink and white blooming out of a thick bottomed vase. 

She leans out of bed to smell them. It’s nice, sweet and fresh to offset the slightly chemical smell that lingers from painting your room the night before. The color is called sea foam, and in the morning light Lily feels gratified that you’ve made the right choice. Your walls are the color of a clear sky. It’s going to look perfect with your art and photos and all the little pieces of your life put up against it. 

There’s a different sort of nice smell coming out of the kitchen, which is where Lily finds you. Humming something from the radio while scraping eggs around in a pan with a plastic spatula. You don’t startle when she wraps her arms around you from behind. Lily likes to think it’s because you feel as safe and at home here as she does. 

“Good morning.” You smile. Lily kisses the corner of it, your jeans scratchy against her hip. 

“Good morning,” she says back. “You’ve been busy.” 

“Yeah, I woke up early and couldn’t get back to sleep.” You turn your attention back to the eggs, but your fingers tangle with Lily’s. “Figured I might as well get some things done.” 

“What time is it?” 

“Around eleven.” 

Lily lets out a little breath, though she’s not very surprised. “I don’t know how I slept in so late.” 

“I think you needed it.” You pivot slightly, just enough to rest the side of your head against hers. “You’ve been working hard.” 

That’s true; you both have. After moving into the apartment last Sunday, the rest of the week has seen the two of you coming home from work every day and unpacking, hunting for furniture, priming walls, changing light bulbs, and organizing your things late into the night. It’s Saturday now, and though Lily is pleased with the results of your work, she’s exhausted. You must be, too. 

“Maybe we could have a nap this afternoon,” she says. Turns her face into yours to smush a kiss into your cheek. “Thank you for the flowers, by the way. They’re beautiful.” 

“Guess you were named appropriately, then,” you hum. It’s an overused line, from your lips, but secretly Lily loves it every time. 

She slips her hands beneath the cotton of your shirt, hugging your bare skin. “What are you making, lovely?” 

“Scrambled eggs.” Your voice has softened at her touch. “I cut up some fruit, too, it’s in the fridge.” 

Lily lets out a sigh that’s a little like a moan, but at the way your skin warms she can’t bring herself to feel shy over it. “You’re too good for me.” 

“Not true. I’m just trying to get even. You’re the one who picked the color in the bedroom, and that looks amazing, did you see?” 

“I did see.” Her earlier satisfaction grows at the thought that you’re as pleased with it as she is. “We did a good job, there.” 

“That was all you,” you say, turning your face into hers for a kiss. You taste bright, like the fruit Lily now suspects you sampled while preparing it. Strawberries, maybe. 

Happiness spreads through her like honey, slow and warm and sweet from the center of her chest where she imagines her soul is to the very tips of her fingers spread over your navel. Lily hopes that this is what the rest of her life looks like. It’s better than she would have dared to imagine for herself, not so long ago, but it feels a surer thing now that you’re here. First month’s rent and a security deposit down, painting walls and creating the backdrop of your life together. It feels like every morning could start with sunlight and flowers and strawberry-flavored kisses. 

“Can I make a proposal?” she asks. 

“Hm?” 

“I know we just got our new table.” And it hadn’t been easy, the two of you taking up nearly the entire sidewalk and needing to stop for water only to cave and phone James to bring his car. “But would you want to eat this in our room? So we can enjoy the color?” 

“Wow,” you breathe, smile audible in your voice as you lean forward to turn off the stove. Your eggs are done. “Breakfast in bed? That just does not sound appealing at all. Where would you get an idea like that?” 

“Forget it.” Lily lets go of you, making like she’s going to walk out of the kitchen. 

Your laughter follows. “Wait. Would you grab the fruit? I’m right behind you.”