#thanks for the request! still taking more

[dirtyvulture]

15 Minutes

Natasha Romanoff x Reader*

18+ only, read at your own risk

Word count: 2430

Requested by abyss anon (and other anons): here me out. i've been listening to 15 minutes by sabrina carpenter and the lyrics “i can do a lot with fifteen minutes, only gonna take two to make you finish” is stuck in my head.

what if masc!r with innocent!shy!nat who is completely and utterly inlove with reader but too afraid to make a move? and when she finally does... *wink* but we all know baby natty is going to make up for it all night.

AN: This basically became pure filth with like a sprinkle of plot so...enjoy!

*Reader has a penis, no pronouns used.

The first time Natasha met you, she knew she was in love with you. Which really sucked for her because you were the type of person who didn’t look at her twice. You were constantly surrounded by people who were prettier, better, and more important than her. Natasha felt so insignificant around you, and whenever she tried to make her presence known, it always ended in a colossal and embarrassing failure.

She had exactly three conversations with you. The first was just an exchange of names, so she didn’t count that. But it was the first time she got to touch your hand and look into your eyes, and she almost physically fell for you right there.

The second conversation was at the dining hall’s salad bar, where the two of you had reached for the tongs to the romaine at the same time. You had insisted she go first, and Natasha had tried to make a joke about lettuce that fell so short it kept her up for three nights. 

The third conversation took place on a basketball court, where you were playing a scrimmage with a few friends. Natasha emboldened herself to approach, which she immediately regretted when you passed her the ball and asked if she could sink a shot from the three-point line. She stumbled through a pickup line about if you could show her, but you and your friends had only laughed. Naturally, she had missed, and she went home in shame, promising to never speak to you in front of others again.

She always told herself that if she had 15 minutes alone with you, she could get you to give her a chance. But getting those 15 minutes was an impossible task in itself.

Or so she thought.

She finds you sitting alone in the common room, staring at the television, but you hardly look interested in the James Bond movie playing.

Fifteen.

“Y/N?” Natasha whispers. Your head shifts in her direction, but you don’t say anything to acknowledge her. “Is anyone sitting with you?” You grunt, which Natasha cannot determine as a definitive yes or no. “Can I sit with you?” She holds her breath, surprised by her own confidence but fully expecting a denial.

“Sure,” you say, to her shock.

Natasha rounds the couch. You make no effort to move and she settles on the cushion next to you.

Fourteen.

She isn’t sure what to say next. You seem incredibly absorbed in the movie, and she’s nervous to break your focus.

“Natasha,” you say, still not looking at her. “That’s your name, right?”

“Yes.”

“It’s a pretty name. For a pretty woman.”

Natasha’s heart thunders in her chest. Did she hear you correctly? “You think I’m pretty?” she asks.

“I think you’re beautiful.” You look her in the eye now, and Natasha has to catch herself before she falls off the couch.

“I…Um…Wow. Thank you. That’s…really nice of you to say,” she stammers.

“I’m not just saying it. I mean it.”

Thirteen.

Natasha stares at you, trying to read your passive expression. Maybe you were just messing with her, or took a bet from your friends to flirt with her. No one–not even Bruce–wanted her. So why would you? 

“You’re especially cute when you’re nervous,” you say.

“Nervous? I’m not–”

You chuckle. “I know the effect I have on you. And most people. But I hardly notice any of them when you’re around me.”

Natasha feels like she’s in a dream. Are you really saying these words to her? And you mean every one of them? She pinches her thigh, but the sting doesn’t do much to clear her head. “I’ve wanted you since the moment I saw you,” she admits in a rush.

“Is that so?” Your right eyebrow lifts and Natasha squeezes her thighs together subtly. “I never approached you first because…well, I didn’t think you’d be able to handle me.”

Twelve.

Natasha leans forward, resting her hand lightly on your upper thigh. She’s determined to prove you wrong if that’s the only thing she succeeds in tonight. “And what makes you think that?”

Your expression changes to one of surprise. “You’re cute, but way too innocent–” The words die in your throat when her hand slides up to cup the bulge in your sweatpants. 

“You were saying?” she says, turning her voice into a huskier tone. 

“Natasha,” you grunt, and she can tell you’re fighting to keep your hips pinned to the couch, “Don’t start something you can’t finish.”

“I don’t plan on it.” She grips onto you and wonders if the fabric is thin enough for you to feel the heat of your palm. 

“Someone can walk in at any moment,” you warn her.

“Good. Then they can see you’ve always been mine the whole time.” She feels you twitch and start to harden. She wonders if she can get you off with her words alone, but quickly decides she’d much rather have you inside her instead. 

Eleven.

“I didn’t take you for an exhibitionist,” you comment. 

“What do you know about me? Besides my name,” she counters.

“That you’re awful at flirting–oh shit.” Natasha pushes her hand past the waistband of your sweatpants and it closes around your hot and hard flesh. She rubs you up and down, her thumb brushing the underside of your tip with every stroke and she grins when she starts to see your thighs tremble. “You ever done this before?” you gasp, your hips rocking off the couch to push yourself through her hand. 

“You tell me, baby.” 

You grunt at the term of endearment. “Not quite what I expected from you,” you say. 

“In a good or bad way?”

“Hmm, well…” You look down at your crotch, frowning because you can’t see any of the action under your sweatpants. Natasha uses her free hand and tugs them down, and you lift your butt up to slide them to your knees. Your cock bobs out and Natasha subconsciously licks her lips, knowing she is that much closer to having you the way she always dreamed of. “Are you gonna keep staring at it or do something with it?” you ask suddenly.

Ten.

“I don’t want you finishing too early,” Natasha says, right as a bead of pre-cum leaks out of your dick.  

“I won’t,” you say, although for once, your voice lacks confidence.

“I bet you can’t last two minutes in me.”

Your eyes narrow at the challenge. “And what if I can?”

“Then I’ll let you take me back to your room and fuck me any way you want.”

You inhale sharply at the filthy thoughts her words inspire. 

“But if you can’t…” Natasha squeezes your cock for emphasis, “Then I get take you to my room and fuck you any way I want.”

You snort. “That’s not really a bad deal either way.”

“You’ve hardly seen what I can do,” Natasha warns.

“So show me more.”

Nine.

“Be careful what you wish for.” Natasha leans over and takes the head of your cock in her mouth.

“Goddamn,” you mutter, pumping your hips up into the new heat of her mouth. You had severely misjudged Natasha in her innocence, but you weren’t upset to be wrong. Her tongue flicks against your tip and you’re practically squirming in your seat when she presses down and takes you into her throat.  

“Fuck, your mouth feels good,” you pant, your hands coming to the back of Natasha’s head and gently pushing on it to keep her in place. “This is hardly fair,” you whine.

Natasha releases your cock and it slaps against your stomach, glistening with her saliva and your pre-cum. “You want me to stop?” she asks.

“Not really.”

Eight.

“Then be quiet,” she says, and her dominance surprises you. It also makes you even harder, which you didn’t know was possible at this stage anymore. “Besides, we aren’t even at the main event yet.”

“Main event?” You have to bite your lip to distract yourself as her mouth descends on you again. You squeeze the muscles in your thighs to keep them grounded, not wanting to show her how close you are. 

“Mhmm,” she mumbles around your cock, and the vibrations have you holding on the couch cushions for dear life. The pounding between your legs heightens, spurred on by the fact that the prettiest girl around has her head in your lap, her mouth bobbing frantically up and down your dick. 

Seven.

“You’re cheating,” you whine, but you totally love it as you jog your hips up a few times. 

“I’m what?” Natasha draws back fully and the cold air that hits your cock makes it visibly twitch. 

“Ugh, fuck,” you mutter. “Never mind, baby. Just put your mouth back and–”

“No,” Natasha says, and you shrink back into the cushions just a little. Maybe you should have kept your mouth shut like she said. “I can tell you’re about to cum, and I don’t want you finishing in my mouth.”

“Oh.” Somehow, despite every skill she’s just showed you, you’re surprised she won’t swallow. But you won’t hold it against her. She’s already doing better than most of the girls that sleep with you.

Six.

Natasha leans towards your face, her lips brushing your cheek on her way to your ear. “I want you to finish in my pussy,” she whispers, and the words alone nearly send you over the edge. 

“Oh.” You don’t even realize you’ve reached down to grip the base of your cock, squeezing hard to quite literally prevent yourself from finishing all over your sweatpants. 

“But…I don’t know if you can last that much longer,” Natasha says, pulling away from you. 

“Yes, yes, I can,” you plead. You would do everything in your power to please and if you couldn’t…what was really the worst that could happen? 

“Hmm.” Natasha tilts her head, as if seriously contemplating ending things with you right here.

Five.

“You started this,” you protest. “You can’t leave me hanging.” Literally.

“I didn’t expect you to be so whiny,” she says.

“I didn’t expect you to be this mean,” you counter.

Natasha chuckles. “And you’re the one who said I couldn’t handle you.”

“Yeah, yeah,” you say, happy to eat your words if she’ll ride you. Natasha stands up, and for a moment you think she’s going to walk out on you, but she shimmies down her jeans and you drool at the sight of her lacey red panties. You drop your sweatpants to your ankles so you have more room to move as Natasha swings her leg over your waist.

Four.

You can see the damp patch of her arousal and it hardens you further to see she’s just as excited as you are. 

“Two minutes,” she says, humping you slowly. 

“Easy,” you promise, but you already know you’re going to lose. You reach for her hips, happy that she doesn’t swat you away, and pull her towards yourself until her stomach presses against your cock.

At first, you had been genuinely concerned that someone would walk in on the two of you, but now you couldn’t care less. You were about to get with the Natasha Romanoff, someone your friends had told you would be untouchable. 

Your hands wrap around to her butt and squeeze teasingly. “I’m ready for you,” you remind her, as if she forgot what she was supposed to be doing.

Three.

“I can see that.” She reaches down to grab your cock and drags it along the wet patch of her panties. You groan and dig your fingers harder into her butt. She was far more of a tease than you had ever imagined.

“Come on, baby,” you beg as your cock rubs against the smooth fabric of her panties.

Natasha pulls her panties to the side to reveal her glistening center. Your eyes widen and your hips jerk up to brush through her wetness. She puts one hand on her shoulder to steady herself and uses the other to finger herself. The slick noises she makes are downright sinful and you’re practically vibrating with excitement.

“Let me,” you say, eager to get any part of you inside her and trying to replace her fingers with your own. 

“I think I’m ready,” she says, lifting herself up high enough to position the head of your cock with her opening.

Two. 

Both of you inhale sharply at the first contact. You’re certain you’ve left your marks on Natasha’s butt as she slowly sinks down, taking your entire length in her molten heat.

“Fuck, oh, fuck,” you gasp as you feel yourself twitching inside of her. Natasha rests on your thighs and rocks back and forth. A moan rips out of your throat and your head falls back on the couch. The tightness surrounding your cock is too much. 

“Don’t let me down,” Natasha teases, raising a few inches and falling back down again. Her hand slips around your throat possessively, but even that isn’t enough to bring you back from the brink.

Your bodies move together in a calm rhythm that does not match the emotions racing inside of you. While part of you wants to jackhammer into her like an animal, part of you also wants this feeling to last as long as possible.

Which, to be perfectly honest, wasn’t going to be more than another minute. 

“Do I feel good?” Natasha whispers, threading her fingers in your hair and pulling your head back so you have to look her in the eye as she fucks you.

“You feel perfect,” you grunt, your lower body starting to shake, but you give up trying to fight it off.

One.

“You’re lasting longer than I thought,” she hums, clenching around you with the tightness of a vice and you arch your chest into her, slipping your hands under her shirt to clutch at the warmth of her skin.

“Not for much longer,” you admit, feeling a thin layer of sweat forming on your forehead. The band in your stomach finally snaps and your thighs lock in place as you spill your seed into her, but hardly feeling relieved. Natasha circles her hips to coax out every last drop, leaving you shaking and begging her to stop. 

“I think I won our bet,” she says, finally climbing off your cock. 

“Whatever,” you mutter, your cheeks tinged red. 

“I want to claim my prize now,” she continues, pulling her jeans back on and offering you her hand.

You don’t protest and go to follow her back to her room.

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AN: Thanks for ideas, anons! Hope you liked it. :)

Please like, reblog, and comment! Follow for more content. 🥰

[moonstruckme]

Mae I have a lil request idea! Can I please get any of the boys with a gf whose inexperienced and she's super stressed about having sex (I just started being open to the idea of dating but I haven't been with anyone in 3+ years and I'm scared/nervous about sex now like what if they hate my body?? Or I suck??)

Thank you for requesting angel <3

cw: smut mdni, body insecurities, reader isn’t a virgin necessarily but is inexperienced

James Potter x afab!reader ♡ 1.1k words

You’re trying very hard not to think. To get swept up like you’ve heard you’re supposed to, and in fairness James is doing a very fine job of sweeping you. He’s all strong hands and wet mouth moving over the slopes of your face, your neck, your sides. He’s got your shirt off on one side to expose your shoulder, and you think it’s only a matter of time before the rest follows.

“You’re so beautiful,” he mumbles. It’s believable when he sounds like this, almost drunk, like he can’t lift his lips from you for one second to get it out right.

You burrow your fingers in the curls at the back of his head and try to let yourself be swept. Your body reacts in all the right ways. You gasp, you arch, you throb. You feel the muscles of James’ back, let the friction of his knee between your thighs send electric frissions coursing through you. You relish the warmth of every point of contact and tell yourself that all is going perfectly.

It’s not enough. When James undoes your trousers and his fingers brush the fabric of your underwear, your head is all alarm bells.

You try to enjoy yourself through their wailing. It feels nice, the way he’s touching you. But oh god, what if he cares that you didn’t shave? Do adult men want a bare vagina? Or what if James wouldn’t like it bare, but what you have is too much for him? Is there a universally agreed upon pubic hair length you don’t know about?

The rest of your body is a whole other thing. James calls you beautiful, but he hasn’t seen all of you. What if he takes your clothes off and he doesn’t think so anymore? You know he’d never say anything cruel, but he’s still human, he can think it.

You don’t know what you’re doing. There are so many ways this could go wrong. Even if he’s fine with your body, you could still be too boring or try too hard or be too loud or too quiet or not move right. You could break his dick. There’s no way he’ll want to see you again after that. Not even James could be that forgiving. What if you mess all this up because of one stupid night?

Your heart pounds to the beat of what-if, louder and more insistent until you can’t take it.

“James.” You set a hand on his chest.

He makes a low sound, misinterpreting your hesitance as encouragement. His lips part over your shoulder, fingers teasing the elastic of your underwear. Your breath seizes.

“James.” You push a little this time. James takes the hint immediately, pulling back to look at you.

“Hm?” He blinks. You know his vision must be fuzzy, his glasses on the nightstand, but whatever he can see of your face makes his brows pull in and up in the middle of his forehead. “What’s wrong?”

“I didn’t shave,” you say.

James’ expression relaxes. For a second he looks like he might laugh at you, but presumably your obvious distress keeps him from it. “Okay,” he says, moving his hand a couple inches up from your underwear to run it over your stomach soothingly. “That’s fine, love, I don’t care. I’m a grown-up, I don’t need you to pretend you don’t grow hair.”

This comforts you, but only some.

“I just feel like I need to give you some disclaimers.”

Now James does laugh. It’s just a little one, soft, the way sunlight dapples through the shade of a tree canopy. “You don’t need to disclaim anything.” He kisses you, curved lips against your frowny ones. “But lay it on me, if you want to.”

“I just…” He keeps kissing you, and you speak in between. “Your pasta was really good, but I’m sort of bloated now.”

“I’m glad you liked it.”

“I also don’t have any, like, moves.”

It’s almost a giggle, the thing that vibrates against your lips. “Moves?”

“Yeah. I’m not exactly well versed in all this. I feel like I’m going to fuck it up.”

“Sweetheart.” James says it all warm and heavy, the sort of tone that usually portends him squishing your face in his hands. This time, he only kisses the tip of your nose with sticky fondness. “If you’re nervous, we don’t have to keep going, but none of these are things you need to worry about.”

You touch his wrist, stopping his hand rubbing your stomach. It sits patiently just below your navel.

“I don’t know what to do,” you say, earnest in the way James always manages to draw out of you. “I need a manual. What’s my job?”

“I promise you won’t need a manual,” he says, kissing you again. “Lovely, your only job is to feel good.��

You frown. “That seems sexist.”

“What?” He laughs. “It’s not sexist.”

“It’s not? You have a job and I don’t. Feels sexist to me.”

“I just told you, your job is to feel good. And it’s not sexist.” James’ mouth moves down to your neck. “It’s a beginner’s pass.”

You swallow as he finds a favored spot below your ear. “I just get that this once, then?”

James pauses for a moment. “Well, there’s also the I’m-in-love-with-you pass.”

“Oh?” Your voice is turning breathy. “What’s that one mean?”

“It means you get to do whatever you want, sweetheart.” He kisses that same spot over and over until you think you’ll go mad. “I’ll love it no matter what, because I love you.”

You give in with a soft whimpering sound. James hugs you close like he means to comfort you, and you take your trousers the rest of the way off yourself.

There are no holds barred after that. You let James put his hands or his mouth wherever he likes, and each time he checks in that something is okay you barely have the air to tell him yes. It feels different than you were expecting, different than anyone else in your history or imaginings, hot but gentle and good in a way that transcends what you thought the word to mean before.

James does get your clothes off, eventually, but you’re not alone in that regard. Being vulnerable with him feels more privileged than frightening then. You can’t believe you ever worried that these hands would find fault in you. You’ve never wanted anyone to touch you so badly as you want James to.

“I love you,” you murmur, against his chest, his cheek, into the hollow of his throat.

James says it back a dozen times. When he calls you beautiful, you know he means it.

[neeeooon]

Hello!! May I request, where the reader traces the bllk chars' (Sae, Kaiser, Nagi, Reo, Rin) veiny hands without even noticing it, and they will have this reaction, either curious, shocked, or something? They either be in a relationship or just friends.

Thank you!! I hope you understand my grammar, English is not my first language. This is my first request, I really love your stories!!

thank you for the request!! and your grammar is great! 🩵

when you trace their hand veins

new relationship/friend bllk x clueless!reader. slightly suggestive in sae’s, reo’s, rin’s

itoshi sae

-> your relationship with sae was strictly platonic. yet you despised the thought of going on a date or spending time with someone who wasn’t him, and you had an inkling that he felt the same way about you

-> you’re cooking dinner together and chatting about your days. per routine, you’re in your normal spots: you at the stove, sae leaning against the counters to your left as he preps the food

-> he finished earlier than you, hands resting on the edge of the countertop. while waiting for the water to finish boiling, your hand mindlessly drifts over his arm, tracing the bulging veins from the way he’s leaning

-> your best friend is anything but subtle. “keep touching me like that, i’ll think you wanna be more than just my friend, y/n.” his words startle you at first, but when you look up and catch the way his eyes are deeply trained on you, you can’t help but step closer. “and be what instead, hm?”

michael kaiser

-> kaiser is always telling you how he hates the feel of hands on his skin, and you’ve seen how he flinches away from touch. however, he never complains or moves away when you curl into his side during movie nights

-> you only just started going out, so you’re surprised that he has so much patience and seems so comfortable with you. he told you in the past that you have a calm and inviting energy about you, but you don’t really know why

-> you’re watching an indie film, cuddled into his side without touching his skin too much, when your fingertips graze against his forearm. you don’t think anything of it, too immersed in the film, but kaiser feels your touch everywhere. and he doesn’t pull away

-> when kaiser flips your hand to clasp it and tightly intertwine your fingers, you finally realize what you were doing. “i’m sorry! i didn’t—“ “keep holding my hand..?” at the softness in his ask, they’d have to pry your dead body away to separate you from him

nagi seishiro

-> you and nagi were barely friends, but besides reo, you’re the only person who ever makes an effort to talk to him. his responses are usually short, but he always looks at you as you ramble about your day or a book you’re reading or what you ate for lunch

-> your class is traveling together for a field trip, and you decide to sit next to nagi on the bus. anxious about the trip, you find yourself subconsciously tracing the veins on nagi’s hand, which is pressed on the seat beside your thigh

-> he never says anything, so it takes a while for you to realize what you’re doing. once you do, you panic. “oh gosh, i’m sorry, nagi! that was super creepy of me, i swear i wasn’t doing that on purpose!” “‘s’okay. i don’t mind.”

mikage reo

-> you were waiting at his desk with your textbooks to study when reo returned from the gym. “oh, hey y/n! i forgot we were studying today.” “uh, yeah..!” you couldn’t pull your eyes from his arms if you wanted to. “gimme a sec to shower, and i’ll be right back!”

-> reo’s arms are still angry when he returns, making you feel all sorts of ways for your friend. sure, you’d been “talking” for a little while, but he was still only a friend

-> you’re seated close, forearms practically touching, as reo teaches you about business statistics. you’d never been as focused on market equations as you were with purple hair tickling your shoulder and cheek

-> “um, y/n?” “hm?” you pull your thoughts from how pretty reo is to follow his gaze, which is set on his arm. your fingers on his arm. tracing his veins. you nearly fall out of your chair with how fast you yank your hand away. “i’m sorry! how long was i doing that?!” “maybe fifteen min—“ “sorry, got to go! good night, reo!”

itoshi rin

-> you were curled up on the couch beside your childhood and longest best friend rin, dozing off while watching cartoons with him

-> trying to stay awake, you decided to fidget with your hands, which turned into fidgeting with his hand

-> you’re half asleep and unsure what’s happening. rin can’t turn his head in your direction because he’s afraid you’ll see how warm his face is

-> “pretty arms,” you mumble sleepily when you realize what you’re doing. rin only nods in response, praying you fall asleep before you realize the effect your touch has on your friend

[bytemee]

SECOND NATURE 2 — kim minjeong.

synopsis. teasing winter is second nature, sometimes it’s not even intentional.

pairing. winter x added!member!reader

warning(s). fluffy, r is still a big tease tease, possessive winter again!, and let me know if there's more!

words. 1.6k

authors note. i tried to cook, i think i burnt the food

navigation. main masterlist. request. part one.

it’s supposed to be a casual day out, but with you and winter walking through a busy shopping district, it doesn’t take long before fans start gathering. some approach cautiously, others excitedly call your names, and soon, there’s a small crowd forming.

you’re used to it by now, stopping to take quick photos and sign things while winter stands nearby, hands in her pockets, watching you interact.

a fan steps forward, grinning as they hold out a photocard.

you reach for it automatically, but when you see who’s on the card, you pause.

it’s a photocard of winter.

without thinking, you smile, flip it over between your fingers, and—right in front of winter—slip it into your jacket pocket. “oh, nice. thank you!”

winter’s head snaps up instantly.

the fan laughs, covering their mouth before showing you the marker. “y/n, you’re supposed to sign it!”

you glance at winter, your smile widening when you catch the slight furrow in her brow.

“ohhh, you wanted me to sign it?” you take it out of your pocket, brushing nonexistent dust off of it. “my bad, i thought it was a gift.”

winter scoffs under her breath, muttering, “like you don’t already have one of mine.”

you hear it. and so do the fans, judging by the giggles and whispers of “wait, y/n has a winter photocard?” floating through the crowd.

you grin at her, fully enjoying how she’s starting to look a little flustered. “what can i say? i’m a collector.”

winter rolls her eyes, but she can’t hide the small, amused smile tugging at her lips.

you finally sign the photocard, handing it back to the fan, who practically bounces with excitement. “thank you! winter, can i get yours too?”

winter obliges, but not before side-eyeing you as she scribbles her signature. when she hands it back, she mumbles just loud enough for you to hear, “i should start taking your photocards too.”

you raise an eyebrow. “you already have them?”

her ears turn pink, and she looks away quickly. “shut up.”

you and winter are sitting next to each other at the fansign event, casually signing albums when a fan asks, "if you had to marry one member of aespa, who would it be?”

it doesn’t surprise you; it's a question the four of you are often asked. you hum in thought, pretending to consider your options as you glance around the table before settling on winter. you grin at her, watching the way she rolls her eyes and shakes her head in exasperation.

“well, that’s easy,” you say smoothly, leaning back in your chair. “i’d marry minjeong.”

you catch winter's sharp inhale and the way she bites her lip to hide a smile. it's a tell-tale sign that she's pleased by your answer. but you know winter too well not to notice the subtle way she shifts in her seat, or the way her gaze lingers on you longer than necessary, or how her expression turns soft when she thinks you aren't looking.

the other members immediately whip their heads toward you.

karina raises an eyebrow. “oh?”

winter clears her throat, trying to act nonchalant. but you know she's secretly glad you picked her. you turn to her, shrugging like it’s nothing. “you’re the perfect choice.”

winter blinks rapidly. “why—”

you start listing on your fingers. “you’re cute, responsible, a great cook—”

giselle laughs at the redness rising to winter's cheeks. she elbows her. "you're blushing!"

"i'm not!" winter retorts, trying to hide her face behind her hand. ningning tries to remove them, but it’s no use.

you nod along, grinning. "you already take care of me anyway; might as well make it official.”

winter's gaze snaps to you, her cheeks still pink but a teasing smile on her lips. she leans in and smacks your arm. "y/n, you're so annoying."

then, to make it worse, you turn back to the fan and seriously ask, “can you be the witness at our wedding?”

winter refuses to sit next to you at the next fansign.

your solo stage comes first, and winter is watching—except she’s barely watching you.

instead, her gaze keeps shifting to your dance partner. the one who places their hand a little too comfortably on your waist during the choreo. the one who leans a little too close.

winter’s arms cross tighter each time. she refuses to let herself react, but it’s impossible to ignore the way her jaw clenches when your partner’s fingers trail along your arm.

by the time her turn comes in the next show, she makes sure to fix the situation.

you’re her partner this time. and she makes sure to dance closer than ever.

there’s no space between you. the choreo never called for it, but she wraps her arms around you a little tighter, her grip a little firmer. she doesn’t take her eyes off you once.

you try your hardest not to laugh or smile during the performance, but it gets difficult with winter pressing against you so much that it feels like you can hardly breathe. you catch her staring at you, and she has the audacity to smirk.

when the song ends and the two of you have to bow, winter does it a little too quickly, her hand finding yours and squeezing. she lets go just as fast, but you quickly pull her back, lacing your fingers together and keeping her close. she glances at you in surprise, and you can see the light blush on her cheeks, but you only grin and squeeze her hand reassuringly.

you’re at the dorms, reaching up to put something on the highest shelf in the kitchen when she walks in.

she pauses. you see her glance at the item before slowly looking at you.

“y/n.”

“hm?” you don’t stop what you’re doing, too focused on stretching as far as you can to reach the shelf.

she glares. “bring that down.”

you tilt your head. “bring what down?”

she scoffs. then, she reaches past you to grab it herself.

except she can't reach it either. she stands on her toes, grunting as she tries to reach it, but it's obvious that it's beyond her reach. "need some help?" you ask, your tone too innocent.

her face flushes red, and she scowls. "i'm perfectly capable of getting it myself," she says firmly, her words coming out more like a warning than an actual statement.

she's so cute. but you know better than to say that, instead leaning in and whispering in her ear, "you're so short."

she snaps her head to you, ready to glare, but her eyes widen when she realizes how close you are. she freezes. "…get out of my ear!"

you laugh, stepping away. "how about i get that for you?"

winter huffs and looks away. "whatever."

you step behind her, and she stiffens when your arms reach around her and grab the item on the shelf. she's so warm. you lean forward, trying not to think about how good she smells. "here," you murmur, handing her the item.

she takes it, still not looking at you. but as soon as you step away, she grabs your sleeve. "hey!" she yells, and you turn around, surprised to find her face even redder than before.

she looks you straight in the eyes, her jaw clenched, and suddenly, you're worried you actually went too far. you open your mouth to apologize, but before you can get a word out, she speaks up again.

"thank you!"

the words come out rushed and high-pitched, and you stare at her in confusion. she still won't meet your eyes, but you can tell she's serious from the way her brow is furrowed.

your chest swells with affection, and you smile. "of course."

life in the dorms with winter was nothing short of a competitive nightmare.

you learned this the hard way when, after a long day, all you wanted to do was kick back on the couch and watch the soccer match you’d been waiting for.

except winter was already there, controller in hand, watching her own show like she owned the place.

you frowned. “move.”

“no.” she didn’t even glance at you, eyes still glued to the screen.

you crossed your arms. “i was literally about to watch the game.”

winter scoffed. “not my problem. i was here first.”

you sighed dramatically before stepping closer, towering over her. then, just because you knew it’d get to her, you reached over and grabbed the remote from her hand effortlessly.

“yah!” winter immediately jumped up, trying to snatch it back, but you held it high above your head.

she reached. she missed.

she reached again. still missed.

“wow,” you mused, grinning down at her. “so small.”

winter glared. “give it back, y/n.”

you waved the remote just out of her reach. “what was that? i can’t hear you from up here.”

she huffed, frustration growing by the second. then, before you could react, she grabbed onto your shirt and pulled��using her entire body weight to wrestle the remote out of your hand.

you yelped as you lost balance, nearly toppling over. “minjeong, what the hell—”

she used the moment to snatch the remote back and immediately ran to the other side of the couch, hugging it to her chest.

“i win,” she said smugly.

you narrowed your eyes at her. “this isn’t over.”

and it wasn't. not when you started kicking her off the couch every time she tried to watch her show, and definitely not when she retaliated by stealing your snacks.

in the end, you both ended up sitting on the floor in front of the couch, each too stubborn to let the other watch their show. and as you watched her get absorbed in whatever drama was playing, you couldn’t help but think:

the sight of winter happily watching her show is worth missing a game.

[hotchnerwrites]

hello this is my first time requesting so sorry if it’s bad😭😭😭. but i was thinking about maybe the reader having a hard day at work (she worked at the bau) and was kinda stress out so hotch sits her in between his legs and fingers her while whispering sweet nothings in her ear ???? i just need him to take care of me😩😩😩😩😩

Reckless

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x BAU!reader

Word Count: 2.1k

Warnings: NSFW (18+), fingering, mirror sex, kind of established but hidden relationship, no use of (y/n), afab reader

A/N: Hi, hun, thank you so much for taking the chance on me and requesting, especially since this is your first time <3 It was a great request, and I love the idea! I'm kinda new to writing smut. It's definitely a learning curve for me, but I tried my best. I really hope you like this, and it's what you wanted!!! mwah mwah mwah, enjoy. And man, I want Aaron to talk me through it so bad 😩

My requests are open. Send me stuff! :)

You hate Denver.

It’s ridiculously hot. Not even the AC was helping. And to add fuel to the fire, the local sheriff was utterly incompetent. Not only had he lost half the physical evidence, but he was also getting in the way of the team’s job.

And just your luck— you’d been tasked with retrieving the evidence. In a desperate effort to escape from reality, you’d locked yourself in the evidence cabinet, hands still shaking from too much caffeine. You knew it couldn’t last forever, but even ten minutes away from the local police was solace. 

For a while, the only noise in the room was the ruffle of papers as you dug through cardboard boxes desperately, wishing the documents would magically reappear. Mindless work, but it was grinding your gears, and you could feel yourself becoming more stressed by the minute. But you keep at it, hoping against hope. 

Just as you begin to settle into your task, you hear the door creak open. Damn it.

You tense, hoping it’s not that damn sheriff again. You didn’t want to have to punch him in the face. But a familiar cologne of warm spice and amber crowds your space and the tension eases— Hotch. 

Though you were grateful for his presence, the case, the pressure, the exhaustion— it had all built up to a breaking point. The last thing you wanted was to talk, but you couldn’t shake the knot in your chest. Hotch, always attuned to your mood, noticed how you seemed to carry the weight of the world on your shoulders right now. That’s why he’d followed you into the filing cabinet. 

Wordlessly, he slides you a small piece of paper. Before you could open it, he places a soft kiss on your temple and leaves the way he came.

10 pm Knock thrice if you’re feeling reckless. Twice if you want me to behave. Either way, my door is always open. - A

You smile.

———

You lay spread-eagle on your bed, listening for the sound of doors closing. You wanted the team in bed before you went to Aaron. All but one door… and there it was. The last click. The coast was clear. You swing your legs off the bed. Exhaustion racks your frame, but your excitement masks the strain.

You slip out of your hotel room, gently drawing your door close. Aaron’s room is opposite yours— convenient. As you’re about to knock on his door, you hesitate for a second. Twice or thrice? But as the week you’ve had flashes in front of your eyes, your resolve hardens. 

Tap-tap-tap.

The door swings open almost immediately. Chocolate brown eyes meet yours, and the day’s irritation melts away. Aaron takes you by the wrist, guiding you into the room gently. The warmth of his palm was comforting, a reassurance that you were safe, even when your mind was racing.

As you follow him, you take in the state of the room. Files are scattered across the desk. A few are marked with sticky notes, others open to pages filled with dense reports and scribbled annotations. A half-finished glass of bourbon is balanced precariously nearby, and his blazer is draped over the back of the chair. Aaron’s tie is missing, tossed in some dark corner.

A dry chuckle escapes you, “Good to see I’m not the only one going nuts from stress.”

He doesn’t respond, but the small quirk of his lips tells you he heard.

“Sit,” he instructed softly, pointing towards the edge of the bed. With a quiet exhale, you obey, letting yourself be steered. You didn’t want to think anymore. Your knees fall open as you settle in, tension roving through your muscles.

Hotch steps between your legs, presence steady and grounding. Without a word, he places his hands on your shoulders, expert thumbs kneading the knots there. 

Slow. Deliberate.

You can’t help the groan that falls from your lips. It felt heavenly. 

“Relax, sweetheart,” he murmurs, voice low and soothing. “Take a deep breath for me.”

The rigidity in your neck eases slowly, and your breathing evens out. For the first time since landing in Denver, you let go.

But just as you begin to get comfortable under Aaron’s ministrations, he moves.

Not far, just enough to sink down on the mattress beside you. Before you could process his decision, his large paws envelop your waist. And he pulls— guiding you effortlessly into his lap.

A quiet gasp escaped you as you let yourself be gathered into his hold, your back pressing flush against his chest, his arms winding around your middle.

“Better?” he murmured against your hair, his lips barely brushing your temple.

You exhaled, letting your head rest against his shoulder.

“Yeah,” you whispered. “Better.”

“Let me take care of you tonight, honey,” he whispered, fingers playing with the hem of your shirt.

He wasn’t kidding about being reckless. You had never done this before on a case. Despite that, you nod eagerly. You needed this. And something told you that Aaron did, too.

He doesn’t waste any time. Pressing wet, open-mouthed kisses down your neck, his hands trail up your ribs, going all the way up under your shirt. The feeling of his fingers on your skin set your senses on fire. Heat blooms across your face and your head lolls back against his shoulders as he cups your tits, the rough pad of his thumbs flicking against your nipples. A low grunt from Aaron conveys that he’s grateful for your decision to forego a bra tonight. 

Without warning, he pinches your right nipple. The sudden sensation catches you off guard, and you gasp, arching into his touch. He’s barely even started touching you, and you’re already losing it.

“The mirror,” he says suddenly.

The words cut through the haze of arousal settling on your brain. “What?”

“The mirror. Look at it.” You feel him indicate with a nod, and you blink, gaze shifting forward to land on the large mirror across from the bed—one of those standard hotel-room fixtures positioned perfectly to reflect the two of you. 

What you see makes heat spread across your face. You, seated in Aaron’s lap, with his arms wrapped securely around your waist. Your face is flushed, and your nipples are pointed through the material of your shirt. Your jaw hangs slightly open, and you’re breathing audibly. You look utterly wanton and at Aaron’s mercy. With a start, you realise his shirt is rolled up to his elbows, showing off his forearms.

Just the way you like it.

And the way they strained as they caged you against him? Words couldn’t describe how badly you needed him right now. Sensing your desire, Aaron moves faster. In the blink of an eye, he pulls your thin shirt over your head and discards it, exposing your breasts. Large, calloused hands sweep across your body and whispered sighs fall from your mouth. 

“Touch me, please,” you beg, desperate for his hands to graze you where you need him the most.

Through the mirror, you watch Aaron as he slowly mouths up your neck, settling on that soft spot behind your ears. Impatience takes over, and you grind into his lap, rubbing your pussy into his hardening crotch. You needed him inside you now, and you didn’t care whether it was his fingers or his cock.

“Patience,” he rasps into your ear, “Or I’m gonna go even slower.”

Your retort burns on your tongue, but before you can do anything about it, Aaron slides his hands under the waistband of your pants. He brushes his fingers gently over your abdomen, taking his sweet time.

“I’m gonna make you feel so good tonight, sweetheart,” he continues. His voice is unfairly composed. You have no idea how his brain is still functioning because yours certainly isn’t. All you can think about is the feeling of his thick fingers, preferably buried inside your cunt.

A prolonged moan slips out of you. You couldn’t give less of a damn about who heard right now. 

“Aaron,” you plead, making eye contact through the mirror. He looks so pleased— like a cat that got the cream. And then, slowly— oh, so slowly—his fingers flit over where you needed him the mouth.

“I want you to keep your eyes on yourself, sweetheart,” Aaron commanded, his Unit Chief voice seeping out. “If you don’t, I’ll stop.”

Your breath hitches. You nod. Anything. Whatever he wanted, you’d give it to him. You just wanted him inside of you. 

Aaron rolls your pants down in a deft movement, letting his palms rove over your stomach. Thankfully, he decides to put you out of your misery, and slides his fingers into your panties, groaning in your ear as it slips in oh so easily, creating a wet sound. The friction sends you to heaven, and you stretch your legs further apart, too far gone to be embarrassed by how you look in the mirror right now. 

“My pretty girl,” he rasps, “You’ve been so good today.”

The praise has you whimpering and you grind down on his palm.

“Didn’t even complain,” Aaron grunts, hooking his fingers inside your gummy walls, “Such a good girl.” You whimper at his words and the feeling of his warm breath on your neck. The way he’s scissoring his fingers in your cunt… 

“That’s it, sweetheart. You’re so wet for me right now.”

Aaron continues to slide his fingers in and out of you, ever so slowly but oh so perfectly. You bite your lips to contain the noises threatening to escape you, but when he grabs your tit, rolling a nipple between his fingers, your eyes slide shut, letting the sensations take over.

“I said,” he growls, punctuating his words with thrusts of his fingers, “Look. At. The Mirror.” 

Your eyes fly open, and your hips jerk involuntarily, overwhelmed by the feel of his touch. Your body burns in pleasure, and his name falls from your lips, tangled with a soft moan. 

“God, you feel so fucking good, honey,” Aaron groans, “I haven’t even fucked you yet and you’re so wet. You’re doing so well, baby”

“Please, yes…” you whine back, body arching to beg for more. His fingers are dripping wet with your arousal and you watch them disappear repeatedly into your cunt, making damp sounds. You bite your lower lip to keep your impending orgasm at bay, but just then, Aaron circles your clit with the pad of his thumb.

The cry that leaves you only seems to incense Aaron. He’s fully hard by now, and you can feel his cock straining painfully against your ass. Pleasure clouds your brain, and you can’t do anything but take what he gives you and grind helplessly on his lap. Despite that, you don’t look away from the mirror, watching indulgently as you bounce on Aaron’s hand and he sucks light bruises into your neck.

Aaron keeps circling your clit, applying just the right amount of pressure. The coil in your belly is tightening and you can barely even concentrate on the honeyed words he’s spilling in your ears. He continues to work you, pumping his fingers steadily into your pussy.

“Aaron, I wanna cum so bad,” you sob, hovering over the edge. The pleasure is spreading from your clit to the rest of your body, and you’re not sure how much longer you can hold on.

“Cum for me, baby,” he whispers, “Let go.”

He doesn’t have to tell you twice. 

Your orgasm crashes into you like a massive wave, walls squeezing his fingers tightly. Aaron groans deeply in your ear as you ride out your pleasure, watching you through the mirror. He continues thrusting his fingers inside you, his other hand holding your waist tightly.

Tears prick your eyes, and your body shakes. You take time to come down from your high, but when you do, you can’t even remember why you’d been in such a shit mood today to start with.

Aaron gently brushes strands of hair away from your face, still whispering sweet nothings. His eyes were still dark with lust, but he was looking at you like you’d hung the moon. You lift a trembling hand and wrap your palm around his wrist. Not pushing or pulling, just holding on.

“There’s my girl,” Aaron smiles, holding you close. “Feel any better?”

“Much,” you admit. 

“You did so good for me, sweetheart,” he murmurs, as he peppers your neck and shoulders with kisses.

“Hey, Aaron,” you start suddenly, “I think I know where the sheriff put the evidence.”

“What?” Aaron blinks at you, processing your words. Then, with an exasperated smirk, “You really know how to kill a mood, sweetheart.”

Thank you for reading! I appreciate any likes/comments/reblogs/follows. Constructive criticism is welcome. Do not plagiarise my content and/or post it anywhere without crediting me.

Dividers by @/cafekitsune

[vbecker10]

Bucky comforting reader after a nightmare?🥺

You're Okay Doll, I'm Here

Pairing: Bucky x female reader (Y/N) established relationship

Summary: You have a nightmare while Bucky is away on a mission and he comes home just in time to comfort you.

A/N: Thank you so much for sending this request! I absolutely love it. I hope you enjoy it 💚

The second the jet lands, Bucky picks up his gear and stands at the rear door waiting impatiently for the ramp to lower. As soon as it begins moving, he waves to Steve and Natasha over his shoulder without turning to check if they are following him. "I'll do my part of the paperwork in the morning," Bucky tells his teammates.

"Sure, that works," Steve responds, his attention focused on the checklist in his hand. "Night Buck," he adds a moment later but by the time he looks up, his friend has disappeared into the Tower.

"I guess he's in a bit of a rush to see Y/N again," Natasha laughs lightly as she switches off the last computer system in the jet.

Bucky shifts his bag to his other shoulder and presses the button for the elevator, hoping it will come quickly. Once the button lights up, he looks down to check his phone, hiding a yawn behind his metal hand. It's just a little after three in the morning, almost two hours later than he originally told you they'd be home.

As usual, your boyfriend had texted you when the mission officially ended and the jet took off to bring him home.

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

Y/N: Yay! ❤️ Can't wait to see you!

Bucky: I'm excited to see you too, beautiful. It's going to be late though, we're still about five hours away. It's okay if you fall asleep before I get back

Y/N: I won't, I just started a new book 😊

Bucky: Ahh, I see. You're not waiting up to see your amazing boyfriend, you just want to finish your new book

Y/N: Lol you figured me out 😆

Bucky: That's how well I know you. I'll see you in a few hours doll, I'm going to try and take a nap

Y/N: Can't wait! Enjoy your nap 🥱 have a safe flight ❤️

Bucky smiles at your last text then closes his eyes, folding his arms across his chest and resting his cheek on his shoulder. He breaths slowly, thinking about the plans you made for next weekend to help him relax. With a wide yawn, he stretches then slips off to sleep a few minutes later.

An hour into the flight, Bucky's jolted awake and nearly thrown from his seat in the rear of the jet by heavy turbulence. He opens his eyes, suddenly wide awake to the sound of thunder surrounding the jet. The super soldier looks towards Natasha and Steve who are focused on flying through the driving rain.

After discussing the unexpected weather with his teammates, Bucky returns to his seat in the rear of the jet. The three of them agreed the storm was too large and violent to fly directly through and follow the original flight path. The decision was made to fly around the storm, adding at least an hour but possibly more to the trip home.

Bucky sighs deeply, looking at his phone unsure of what to do as the sky lights up from a large streak of lightening. If he tells you about the storm and how much longer it will take to get back, you'll stay awake worrying about him. If he doesn't tell you and he doesn't come home when he was supposed to, you'll worry something happened. The last thing he wants to do is cause you any more stress so he decides to close his phone and hope you're asleep when he gets home. Maybe you won't even notice how late he is.

Bucky opens the door to your shared apartment quietly, not wanting to wake you if you had fallen asleep on the couch like you had several times in the past. The living room is dark expect for a small bit of light that shines from under the bedroom door. He knows the light doesn't mean you're still awake, you've fallen asleep with it on while reading plenty of times.

He takes off his jacket then kicks off his shoes and places his bag down by the door. Bucky walks silently through the living room without turning any of the lights on and heads straight for your bedroom.

As he gets closer he smiles to himself, remembering when he came home from a mission a few weeks ago and you were fast asleep. Bucky will never forget how absolutely adorable you looked curled up in the large bed, hugging his pillow tightly and wearing his favorite shirt. After a few moments of watching you from the doorway, he slipped carefully under the covers and pulled you into his arms. You sighed deeply when you felt his arms around you and he kissed your cheek and neck softly until you smiled and mumbled his name in your sleep. When you opened your eyes, you had the most beautiful smile and told him your dream came true.

Bucky reaches your bedroom door and listens for a moment to see if your still up reading. Instead of hearing a soft giggle or pages turning, he hears you groan and say something he can't quite make out. He pushes the door open, his eyes quickly adjusting to how bright the room is.

The lamp on your side of the bed is still on and a book lays open on the bed but it falls to the floor when you roll over quickly and yank on the sheets. It takes Bucky a moment to realize you're not trying to get comfortable, you're having a nightmare.

You squeeze your eyes closed tightly and breath heavily as your nightmare intensifies. "Bucky... come home," you mumble, kicking at the sheet as you scream those words in your dream.

Bucky sits on the edge of the bed and tries to reach for you but you roll over once again, your legs now tangled in the sheet from trying to kick it away. He gently grabs ahold of the sheet and frees your legs so you don't make it worse, "Y/N, wake up." You don't respond to him or notice when he climbs onto the bed next to you.

"Please... come back..." you beg in your sleep as several tears land on Bucky's pillow. You turn your head and groan again in your sleep.

He moves closer to you, wrapping his arms around your waist and talking gently to you. "Wake up, baby you're having a nightmare," he tells you as he pulls you onto his chest and rubs your back.

You open your eyes suddenly, gasping as the images from your nightmare repeat in your mind. "Bucky..." you breath out his name and try to catch your breath.

Your body tenses at the sudden contact and he loosens his hold of you but doesn't let go completely. He can feel your shakey breathing and rapid heartbeat as your chest rests on his. He kisses the top of your head lightly and rubs your back again. "Y/N, open your eyes for me. You're having a bad dream, you need to wake up," he says a little louder to break through your deep sleep.

"You're okay doll, I'm here," he says, his arms hold you to his chest, letting you know he's really with you.

"You didn't come home," you tell him as your eyes fill with tears. You press your cheek against his chest and hug him back tightly.

He rubs your back in slow circles and kisses the top of your head several times. "I'm so sorry, we hit some rough weather and I didn't want to worry you," Bucky says, his heart breaking when he realizes he is the cause of your nightmare.

You look up at him, "Bucky, I always worry about you. I'm always afraid you're not going to come home."

He wipes away a tear that rolls slowly down your cheek then kisses your cheek lightly. You give him a small smile and he says, "I'm sorry I didn't text you. I know I should have but I'm always going to come home."

"You promise?" you ask, biting your lip nervously.

His fingers move under your chin and he tilts your head up so he can kiss your lips like he haa wanted to since he left you days ago. You kiss him back deeply, closing your eyes as his hand slides down your lower back. When he finally breaks the kiss, he smiles, "I promise Y/N. I may be late sometimes, but I will always come home to you, always."

You smile and place a quick kiss to his lips then rest your head on his shoulder. "You better, cause I really like you," you giggle and wait for his response.

"You really like me?" he repeats and you nod without lifting your head, smiling wider. "Well that's awkward cause I love you," he says.

"So awkward," you agree then jump as Bucky suddenly begins to tickle you. You giggle and squirm in his arms, trying to get away.

"Tell me you love me," he says with a smirk as he continues to tickle you.

You shake your head no but there's no escaping him. Bucky waits for you to lift your head so he can kiss your cheeks and nose, his fingers still tickling your body. "I... love... you," you manage to force those three words out between laughs and he smiles down at you, his hands now resting calmly on your back.

"That's better," he kisses your lips then reaches over and turns off the light. "Goodnight doll," you can hear the smile in his voice as he pulls the sheet back up around you both.

"Goodnight Bucky," you answer with a yawn as you curl up against him. You kiss his cheek and close your eyes, feeling more comfortable and relaxed than you have in days. His metal fingers run gently up and down your arm as you drift off to sleep.

I hope you liked this!! Please like, share and comment if you did ❤️❤️ Please let me know if you want to be added to my taglist!

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[revelboo]

This isn't a fic request. It's a personal request from a fan of your writing (who maybe gets a little too anxious sometimes)

Please take time for yourself. We all love your writing, but deep down, we know that it comes from your kindness, your brilliant imagination. There is a person behind the pen. All I ask is that you are sometimes as kind to yourself as you are to this community.

🌹Thank you, for all you do. 🌹

Y’all are super sweet, but I’m fine. I exist in a constant state of stressed out 🤣 I’m just biding my time until I can afford to run away to Florida for a mental reset

Better Open The Door Pt 17

Thundercracker x Reader

• “Could you tone down the smile, maybe?” Because he’s grinning like an absolute lunatic, looking at everything like it’s fascinating, hand gripping yours. His real body is hidden in the woods so the two of you can do a test run of his avatar in town before trying to pass it off as human along with some bullshit excuse for where you’ve been for months. That part you still have no ideas on. “Thund-” Faltering slightly as you realize that bringing home a weird guy after just disappearing off the face of the earth for months is bad enough. Telling your family his name is Thundercracker? They’re going to assume you’ve joined a cult.

• Looking around at the shop fronts, your fingers interlaced with his avatar’s, he can’t believe he’s actually doing this. Sure, he’s been fascinated with humans ever since coming online on this world and he may have daydreamed about being one of them, moving among them, but he’d never gone through with it. Never imagined you. It’s like a true love story unfolding, he’ll prove he can do this for you, belong and you’ll love him back. And your fingers tighten on his, making him realize you’ve fallen silent. What were you saying? “Sorry. What?”

• “I can’t call you Thundercracker in front of my parents,” you whisper. Not without them coming up with all sorts of weird theories. No matter what they imagine, they’ll never land on the truth at least. Hi, mom and dad, this is my alien boyfriend who kidnapped me and wants to pretend to be human to meet you. Please don’t call the police. Oh. Yeah, no. That’s not going to go over well. You could call him TC you suppose. As long as no one asks what it stands for. Groaning, you hear him laugh and pull you into his arms, completely uncaring that people are glancing at you both, that you’re in the middle of a crowded sidewalk. That he’s still grinning like an axe murderer.

• “Call me Theo,” he mutters, brushing his avatar’s mouth against your temple and you frown up at him. “I may have thought about this before,” he admits, embarrassed. Fantasized about it, actually. Walking among humans with his own persona. Of course, when he’d imagined it, people weren’t staring at him like he’s weird. Wrapping his arms around you, he’s glad he went to the extra effort to incorporate sensory nets into the avatar. It’s taking a lot more energy than a simple illusion, but this way he’s more solid, warm. Real for you. Can feel you in his arms.

• He’s enjoying this. Playing human appealing to him, you realize and you smile, reaching up to brush his dark hair away from his face. Sighing because in the sun there’s a blue cast to it that people will just assume is dye. Like his reddish brown irises. That’s just contacts, right? It’s like he can’t resist incorporating bits of his real self into the avatar. The face is his, too. You know people tend to just roll with some weirdness, but your parents are going to hate him. Know it and feel almost guilty about not warning him, but he wants the real human experience. Your parents are definitely going to be real about that.

Previous

[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. 🧡🏎️

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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.

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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.—

[kierahn]

FUELED BY HATE. [ academic rival x m ! reader ]

summary : you were the best in your entire batch while he stays in second place. nick initially thought that the rivalry between you and him would end after graduating, but it seemed like fate had other plans. you recently joined his workplace and stole his spotlight once more. after years of being overshadowed, nick has had enough and decided to finally put you in your place; below him, right where you belonged.

content warning : blackmail ✧; character despises reader ✧; non/dubcon nsfw ✧; cigarette burns ✧; degradation

masterlist !

✩ i’m so sorry for disappearing for almost a year ! i recently started my first year of college, and things have been hectic for me so far. i'll try writing more often now that I've adjusted better :] ✩ this is a draft i left before i disappeared. i decided to refine it before working on newer stuff. ✩ i've also decided to clear out all the requests on my inbox since i want a fresh start. with that, my inbox is open for requests ! (still selective of what i'll write) ──★ ˙ ̟🪿 !!

♥︎ nick cromwell was a man who excelled in his studies. from the first day he entered the military academy, nick already knew that he was gifted. this easily earned him respect and admiration from the people around him.

but despite his decent reputation and academic performance, nick's name lingered solely in second place throughout the years, never surpassing the name above his.

♥︎ dark eyes glued themselves on the name tag that was sewn on the right side of the your newly tailored uniform; y/n l/n, it read. seeing your name never failed to sour his mood.

you had joined his department just a couple of months ago, yet you rose to the top with ease and easily surpassed him once more. barely a month in, and you already managed to solve a missing person case that had long gone cold. it was a huge feat that set you on a path towards a promising promotion. one that nick highly sought after years of working his ass off.

♥︎ nick averted his gaze away from your form, a pang of irritation hitting him. he hated you— your voice, your presence, everything. he hated how you were better than him in every aspect.

you were always surrounded by your co-workers who depended on you for help despite being new. everyone seemed to look at you with stars in their eyes, filled with admiration. everyone except nick.

♥︎ the first day you joined his department, nick slipped out of the bustling room with a box of cigarettes in his hand. he placed one stick in between his lips while his other hand searched for his lighter only to find that it was missing. he brushed his dark locks back with an annoyed sigh. great.

just as nick turned to head back inside, a lighter greeted him out of nowhere, sparking to life and lighting his unlit cigarette. the sudden gesture made his heart skip a beat out of shock, but he was grateful for it nonetheless. nick took a deep drag of the now lit cigarette, directing his gaze to thank the owner of the lighter.

his expression hardened. y/n.

"cromwell," nick watched as you placed your lighter back inside your pocket. he stared, not bothering to hide his displeased expression.

did you remember him from military academy ? that's impossible, you were in different classes and had never crossed paths before. he doubted you knew about his existence.

after a long pause, nick exhaled a puff of smoke, deciding to snap out of his trance. holding the cigarette between his fingers, he returned the greeting. "l/n."

that was his first interaction with you after all those years. a face to finally match the name that had long stirred his competitive spirit.

♥︎ your feats only kept getting more and more impressive as time went on, and the sight of your constant success ignited something within nick. he knew he had to humble you, to remind you of your place. nick worked his ass off trying to get where he was, it wasn’t fair of you to take that away from him.

he had to be better than you this time even if he had to go the extra mile to ruin you.

he considered a couple of extreme measures: framing you for murder, planting drugs in your desk, or any other nefarious scheme that could tie you to wrongdoing. but, it wasn't enough for him to see you behind bars. that wasn't what he aimed for. he needed to completely ruin you— humiliate you so you wouldn’t dare to step out of line ever again.

♥︎ it only took him a few drinks between 'friends' to have you all putty in his hands. he didn't expect you to be such a lightweight, but it was convenient for him to set his plan in motion. it wasn't an easy task dragging you around in your drunken state, but nick was satisfied with his work.

you were fully stripped of your uniform, both hands cuffed behind your back, black leather wrapped around your eyes, and a cloth between your lips to muffle whatever sound you were bound to make.

a tripod sat at the edge of the bed, a camera set up to capture your vulnerable state. all he had to do was take a picture and finish up, but that idea didn’t seem to satisfy him. it wouldn't be enough to make up for the years that you have overshadowed him.

nick monitored your unconscious form from across the dimly lit room. the cigarette that sat between his lips illuminated the lower half of his face, dark eyes reflecting the light of the burning cigarette. rising from the wooden chair he had nested himself in, nick stalked towards the bed where you laid unconscious. he placed his cigarette on an ash tray sitting on top of his bedside table. the camera's light illuminated a crimson red color, indicating that it was recording everything.

nick's gloved hand slowly traced a line down your exposed stomach, feeling you shudder slightly at his touch. your still breathing turned frantic the lower his hand slid down your torso. an unsuspected ghost of a smile crept up on nick’s lips as he watched you react to his touch. there was something about seeing you in such a humiliating position, all vulnerable and helpless.

perhaps this was where you rightfully belonged, below him.

his thumb glossed over your cheek as he stared down to study your sleeping face. now that he had a closer look at you, nick realized how good you actually looked. no wonder people liked you a lot, aside from being reliable, you were also a piece of candy for one’s eye.

♥︎ his hand unconsciously found itself wrapped around the base of your cock, still soft and limp from the lack of stimulation. even this part of you looked good. he had every right to be jealous.

having initially planned to simply take photos and leave it at that, nick knew he had to improvise. he bent down and coated the tip of your cock with his spit. it helped his gloved hand glide smoothly up and down along your shaft.

your breath hitch in response, and that was when nick knew you were awake and could feel everything.

knowing this, nick quickened his pace, twisting and rubbing with the goal of making you finish in his hand. the gag around your mouth muffled your groans. with the way your cock hardened and twitched in his hand, nick could tell that your body liked his touch.

“who knew you were such a slut,” nick taunted. he noticed how you bit against the gag to suppress your moans, staining the cloth around your mouth with your saliva. “i wonder what our superiors would think if they saw you in this position ?” his other hand ripped the gag from your mouth. he wanted to hear what other noises you could make.

you open your mouth to question who he was, but nick took it as an opportunity to capture your lips in his. he tilted his head to the side to muffle your moans.

this was all to humiliate you, nothing more. he inwardly told himself. but the strained feeling in his pants told a completely different story.

nick groaned as he felt you come undone, staining his hand white with your cum. he pulled away from the kiss, replacing his lips with his fingers as he let you have a taste of yourself. he pinched and pulled at your tongue, stretching the inside of your mouth with his fingers. he coated his fingers with your saliva, dark eyes watching you gag on his fingers.

nick pulled his fingers out of your mouth with a pop and let them hover your rim in a teasing manner. he pushed a finger past the ring of muscles despite your protest, holding you down by straddling your hips as you thrashed around. “shh, you’ll tire yourself out before i can even start.”

♥︎ the sound of clothes shuffling reached your ears as nick pulled his trousers down with his other hand to free his hardened cock. he could see your chest rise and fall quickly, but you stayed surprisingly compliant. “you’re actually enjoying this, aren’t you ?” nick’s fingers continued to prod at your entrance, teasing you as he rubbed circles with his thumb on your gaping hole. “we can’t have that. you’ll have to beg for it first.”

you gritted your teeth at the thought of begging. there was no way you were going to— nick pushed his thumb inside, making you jolt as your walls clenched around the digit. a sharp groan escaped your lips that were slightly agape as you breathe heavily.

your cock painfully twitched at the lack of sensation. nick wiggled his thumb around inside you, but it still wasn’t enough to stimulate anything. “is that your dick ? pretty small for all that big talk.”

you decided to bite back and insult him. you weren’t going to beg for anything any time soon, instead, you would taunt him into doing what you wanted. hearing the male simply chuckle at your insult, nick pulled his thumb out of your hole and replaced it with his cock, its tip kissing your entrance. “you’re really asking for it. i knew you were a filthy whore underneath that professional bullshit you keep pulling on everyone.”

without warning, nick slammed himself inside. he groaned at the sudden tightness, hands holding you in place, a bruising grip on your hips. “shit, can’t you loosen up a bit ? you’re going to chop my dick off,” he growled, a slight rasp in his voice.

your hole swallowed him whole, dragging him deeper inside as he thrusted in and out of your abused hole. it took him a while to set an actual pace because of how your hole clenched tightly around his dick, but you did loosen up after a while. he made a mental note to prepare you properly next time

next time ?

nick pushed those thoughts away. this was a one time thing, he.. fuck.

nick tightened his grip on your hips out of frustration. he almost forgot why he was doing this in the first place, this was all to simply ruin you, nothing more. he reached out to grab his cigarette off the ash tray, placing it between his lips as he dragged one out to calm his nerves. ‘i shouldn’t be enjoying this,’ he inwardly scolded himself.

he exhaled, keeping the cigarette in between his fingers as he placed his palm against your bare stomach. ‘but, holy shit, how could i not enjoy this. he’s basically eating out my dick like it’s his last meal.’ nick grunted.

out of frustration, he dragged the butt of his cigarette against your bare stomach. you hissed at the burning sensation, your muscles tensing as you bit back a scream of pain. nick’s dark eyes examined the burn marks he had left in your skin, no longer feeling remorse. instead, his cock twitched at the sight of your pained expression.

he continued thrusting into you, your moans acting as a positive reinforcement for him to keep going. nick took the cigarette back to his lips, inhaled, and leaned down to slam his lips against yours. it tasted like ash as nick’s tongue intertwined with yours into a sloppy kiss. his pace eventually slowed down as he felt himself near his climax.

you were also close, whining against the kiss as he slammed into you one last time before he unloaded inside of you. he finished first, pulling away from the kiss and giving a few sloppy thrusts in order to help you finish. seeing your cock twitch and spur, nick pressed the cigarette butt against your tip. the pain from the scalding heat helped you finish, your cum putting out the cigarette’s light.

nick threw the cigarette onto the ashtray and pulled out of you, letting his finished work trickle down your thighs. he detached himself from you, removing his dirtied gloves as he approached the camera that continued to capture everything. “this should be enough to keep you in line.” he muttered under his breath as he ended the recording.

nick took the camera with him as he stalked back towards the bed where his finished work laid in display. the sound of a camera shutter reached your ears and a brief flash of light penetrated the blindfold around your eyes. “you look way better under me anyway.”

[fireinmoonshot]

drabble dump 2 | joaquín torres x reader

Pairing: Joaquín Torres x Reader Summary: Two more drabbles inspired by some headcanons: Joaquin and how much you love his curly hair and Joaquin holding your handbag for you. Warnings: I don't think there is anything. Word Count: 745 A/N: I'm finally home from my trip 🎉 But I had a diverted flight late last night so my 45 minute flight home ended up being almost 4 hours of travel in the end, so I'm feeling extremely exhausted today – hence posting another small little drabble collection tonight. I have received so many requests from you all this weekend and I cannot wait to start writing them now that I'm home 💗 Thank you for all the love on my fics I posted while I was away.

Curly hair.

Every time Joaquin washed his hair, you loved getting to see his curls come out in full force again. He never did anything to style them, usually leaving his hair as it was or putting some kind of mousse or gel in it to tame it a little. But curly haired Joaquin was your favourite out of all of his looks.

It might’ve had something to do with the fact that he was also almost completely naked, nothing but a towel wrapped around his waist and that his hair was still a little wet, dripping water onto his chest as he walked out of the bathroom and back into your bedroom. 

From your spot, sitting in bed and scrolling on your phone, you couldn’t tear your eyes away from him. “Damn, my man looks good right now,” you said, meeting your eyes as he grabbed a towel and started to dry his hair a little.

Joaquin laughed, shaking his head. “Just right now?”

“Hmmm,” you pretended to think on it for a minute. “You do always look good, but you look especially good right now… you should wear your hair curly more often, baby. It suits you so much.” 

He put the towel down over his shoulder and turned around to look at you again, raising his eyebrows. “You think so? Or is it just because I’m shirtless, freshly showered and wearing nothing but a towel that makes you think that?”

You smiled to yourself as he walked closer to your side of the bed and sat down on the edge of it so he was closer to you. You reached forward to touch the curls, even though they were still wet. 

“I mean, that certainly has something to do with it, but it’s not the only reason I love when your hair is all curly,” you admitted. “I’m just saying, maybe you should look into how to style it and keep the curls in longer. I certainly wouldn’t be opposed to you doing that…”

Joaquin chuckled to himself. “Okay, angel. I’ll take your word for it.”

~~~

Joaquin holding your handbag for you.

One of the many things you loved about Joaquin was that he never thought twice about things that you asked of him. He was so head over heels in love with you that he would do anything for you – holding your handbag was like second nature to him.

“Baby,” you pulled him aside as the two of you started to walk out of the restaurant.

You’d come out to dinner with your co-worker and their partner, a double date, and realised you needed to use the bathroom before you left. It was going to be at least another half hour before you got home. 

Joaquin looked at you, a little bit of worry in his eyes. “You okay?”

“Yeah, I’m just gonna go to the bathroom, will you wait for me here?” 

He nodded and you started to walk away before he realised you were still holding your handbag. He didn’t hesitate before hurrying after you. “Angel, give me your bag.” 

You turned around upon hearing his voice. “Oh, you wanna hold it? I can just take it in there with me, I don’t mind.”

Joaquin stared at you and held out a hand for you to place the bag into. He didn’t need to say anything for you to give in and take the bag off your shoulder before placing it in his hand. He walked back over to where your co-worker was waiting while you were in the bathroom, slinging the bag over his shoulder as he did.

There wasn’t a single moment that he cared about the fact that he was an adult man, well dressed in one of his nicest suits with your handbag over his shoulder. All he cared about was that you could go to the bathroom without worrying where to leave your bag and that everything inside of it was safe. 

Even when someone walked past him and gave him a strange look, he didn’t blink.

When you rejoined them a few minutes later, you tried to remove the bag from Joaquin’s shoulder but he shook his head. “I can carry it till we get to the car, angel,” he said, reaching down with his other hand to take yours as you followed your friends out of the restaurant. 

You don’t know if you could love him any more if you tried. 

[cheyisagirlkisser]

hi hi!! i luv your work so much honestly you’re a great writer!! i’ve just been thinking a lot about loser sub ellie getting off from js thigh riding and apologizing for coming so fast :(( 🩷🩷

★ content: 18+ content, thigh riding, sub!ellie + femdom!reader, jackson ellie, this is a bit ooc i'm sorry, fluffy/soft sex.

★ a/n: thank you for this request anon i've been thinking about it since you sent it so i had to write this earlier than i write most requests

"Mmph–" Ellie gasps, hips shifting against your bare thigh. "Fuck, babe. Feels so good.." You can't see it with her boxers still on, but her clit is swollen and her pussy almost red from her desperate movements.

"Just like that, ride my thigh like a good girl." You encourage her softly, a firm hand on her hip to help guide her.

This is usually how the night starts. On days you have patrol and Ellie doesn't, you close the door to her garage and find yourself greeted to the sight of your eager girl. Some nights, she sinks down onto the floor and laps away at your pussy, insisting that you deserve it after fighting off infected.

Other nights, you deal with your needy version of Ellie. The one who will beg you to let her ride your thigh or rut against your thigh. The Ellie who wants you to tie her wrists underneath her, lay her out on her stomach, spread her out, and eat her out from the back. Tonight was tame compared to some of the previous requests.

Nothing out of the ordinary. You figure this won't be the first round, and that before she can even get off on your thigh, she'll lay herself down and shimmy out of her tight jeans to present herself for you.

Of course, only you get this version of her. Most people would think that Ellie makes plenty of choices in your relationship. She has the mouth of a sailor and teases you on those endlessly-long patrols alongside Jesse. Always playfully exasperated and moody, and it's endearing to you.

And yet, here she is, rutting against your leg like she will die if she doesn't have you. The usual wet patch on her boxers is replaced with enough arousal to spread across your thigh as she moves back and forth.

"C-Can't take it, fuck.." she grunts, pace speeding up more than you would expect from Ellie at nearly midnight.

"Can't take it, huh? You're the one fucking yourself on my thigh, baby." You tease.

You don't get another bratty retort from her. Instead, all you feel is her hips stutter in their movements and her wetness grow increasingly fast. Ellie's breaths come out in wild gasps and whines escape from the back of her throat.

"Ellie..?" You say when her movements come to a full stop and red embarrassment is written all over her face.

"Sorry, babe. I was just pent up." Ellie mumbles quietly, as if truly ashamed that she came so fast.

"No, it's okay!. It was pretty cute, honestly. Do you want me to–"

Before you can finish your sentence, Ellie is out of it. Her body goes mostly limp and she lazily buries her face into your neck, her arms motionless behind you.

"Els?"

"Shh. Love you, babe..g'nite." She sleepily mutters, and then drifts off into the deepest sleep that will make you question whether or not she is alive or dead in the morning.

taglist: @witzs, @bewareofmyglock, @ruelezz, @mitskimisfit, @g4ys0n, @eriiwaii, @meow4510, @plasticl0v3r, @frillynpinkprincess, @vahnilla, @ferxanda want to be tagged? click here

[themareverine]

Screeching because I love your writing and can’t wait to see where you go with this!

Logan Howlett, PG-13 (I’m thinking WW or trilogy Logan, but go where Lo takes you 😉)

Logan walking in on you taking an everything shower or a bath (candles lit, playlist on, etm.), dealers choice on at what point he bumbles in (or maybe NOT bumbles?) and where the muse takes you from there…

— All of You

Worst!Wolverine x fem!wife!reader

tags: fluff, some mentions of Weapon X, pre-established relationship, some heavy-handed innuendo.

a/n: and here it is, the last of my Valentine's Day requests! thanks so much for requesting my favorite variant, honey. hope you like bathtime with Logan! It isn't quiet PG-13, but it's hot enough for me.

☆ ── 💌FROM MARE WITH LOVE

MASTERLIST | NAVIGATION

Logan is aware of exactly two things as he breezes through the front door after a long day on the job.

First, it’s the quiet of the house. Long shadows splay golden fingers of light across the kitchen linoleum from the single light over the stove, curtains mostly drawn across the house.

Typical for the house on a Friday night.

There’s the quiet hum of the fridge and the rhythmic tick of the clock that deepens this sense of loneliness in the shadows, and for some strange reason, it probes the hair on his arms. Shouldn’t, he can smell her around the house – and that’s the second thing he notices.

The scent of her. 

Filling up the rooms, plastering the walls. She’s really in every bone of this house, and they’d barely lived here a year. More and more Logan thinks the place was built exactly for them, for this marriage, for this life he, somehow, magically came to possess. 

Down to the studs, he believes in his soul there’s no better Eden on earth than this house and all its homey things.

It would never be the life they'd left behind in Alberta, but it was a close alternative — he could outlive a thousand suns here and be just as thrilled as the day they turned the key at the homestead, he thinks.

Her scent, and the fresh kick of mint that manages down the stairs. He smiles. No, he doesn’t just think he could be happy here for the rest of the days God gives him. He knows. Deep inside the adamantium that haunts his better parts, Logan knows. Viscerally.

Anywhere with her is home, and home is the only place he’ll ever actually want to be. 

Stopping at the stairs, he coyly smiles at the quiet hum of music floating through the walls, bringing life back into the still haven of their nest. She sings off key, but that’s alright. Most precious sound in the world is hearing her alive after what feels like a lifetime apart. 

A sour note makes him flinch, smiling again. His chuckle of amusement hangs out low in his chest as he slips out of his jacket, drapes it over the railing. 

At the kitchen island he takes off his boots, toes them over to the corner by the fridge beside the others. Washing the day from his hands at the sink, he scrubs his face with cool water – listens halfheartedly as the water rushes through old pipes rattling with the effort.

The house is old but packed with so much character – he can’t quite bring himself to change anything, not yet. Measurements on the doorway’s woodwork from children that aren’t theirs, worn-away paint from crown moulding. 

Everywhere he looks, there’s so much of him in the old bones of this place. Kinship he can’t quite place, familiarities he can’t put a finger on. Maybe it’s age, maybe it’s stepping into a new world from a time he was more than ready to leave behind.

Marriage, family, settling – maybe it’s the wild blood in his veins finally breaking.

He doesn’t know, and maybe he’ll never. It makes little difference. 

Scratching through his beard, he breathes deep of the cool air and pauses. There’s a whiff of moisture in the air, humidity that isn’t the norm for their house. Both of them run hot, usually – he keeps this place cool.

And it’s never humid, if there’s one thing Logan can’t handle it’s humidity — that shit is a hard pass. 

He’d drowned on air enough in his lifetime. Duty and pride had taken him to Vietnam, China, the Amazon; Weapon X had forced him around the world as a weapon. The X-Men – Charles sent them everywhere, God knew.

Every and all had landed him in the sweaty armpit of the world, and of all the places he’d ever seen, the humid ones burned the worst. 

But despite the bad memories the humidity recalls, his lip curls in a smile. At a subliminal level, he knows what this is—his sweet little wife has drawn a bath nearly every day since finishing the remodel.

Logan doesn’t remember a time where he’s ever seen another soul so excited over plumbing fixtures, but she had been – she’d almost been giddy when the claw foot bath had arrived at their doorstep, delivery boys looking strained from just wrestling the thing out of the back of the van.

Another sour note from her happy singing has him shaking his head. Logan allows it to pull him up the stairs, down the hallway. Fusty shampoos and the fresh scent of warm water sirens him to the half-cocked bathroom door.

Peeking inside reveals a half-steamed mirror, shed clothing toed off the side in a pile – gym clothes, from the looks of it.

Gently nudging open the door with his foot, Logan works off his watch, grinning crookedly as he slips into the space lightly, with ghost-like grace.

Her back is to him, looking out the open window – she’d never be able to hear a thing with headphones on, which explained her singing off key. 

She has no idea, and at some base level of him, that worries Logan. Her contentment with such vulnerability concerns him in ways he hasn’t worried about before – this visceral, almost instinctual need to protect is so strange. Foreign, almost.

A part of him that isn’t him, demands he look beyond his own skin, protect someone else. 

In all his lifetimes he’s never worried about it before, until her. Until this quiet little cathedral of a home he calls his own – this life they’ve resurrected from the ashes. It’s his now, innocent and pure.

Demands a protector, a guardian which returns. 

Finally, something worthy of everything he’s been made to be. All the things he is. 

Never had he imagined anything in the world would actually demand his abilities, this thing that lives in him and around him. The Wolverine, Logan, James, Patch — this thing, this weapon weaved into his flesh and knocked about his adamantium bones.

His entire life he’s always been better being someone else – one of the X-Men, a living weapon. A killer, a soldier, a fighter. Always spinning out of control trying to take it. 

Until her.

She demands all of him, in ways the world never has. She wants him. She asks for him.

She doesn’t demand or require, her words aren’t sentences that enslave him to what he can do. She takes all of him, regardless – she would have him, if he wasn’t everything else. Unconditionally. 

If he were just Logan, just James, simply Wolverine.

Logan believes her when she says she wants all of him. Freely. She doesn't love him because he's Wolverine, because he’s an X-Man.

She loves him because he is. 

And there’s power in this enough to drive him to his knees. 

Quietly he discards his watch beside the sink. Logan begins unbuttoning his flannel, stained with the day’s sweat and grime of the welding shop and a 12-hour day of grinding in all the places nobody advertises in school.

It drops beside her discarded clothes; he works the t-shirt over his head. Fluffs his hair with calloused, thick fingers. Empties the pockets of his jeans. 

His pulse picks up a little at the sight of her leaned back against the tub, hand playfully skipping over the luminescent bubbles that catch the light in just enough of a way that it is Eden incarnate.

She’s radiant with a dewy rosiness that sends a punch of warmth to the base of his gut. 

It takes every ounce of willpower he possesses not to just haul her out of the bath and have his way with her — it would be fun. It would satisfy the baser, Wolverine parts of him.

Fills that primal ache that gnaws continually at the bottom of his spine, knocks heat into his cock. Would feel spectacular.

And she’d let him do it, she’d enjoy the baser part of his sexual drive. 

But that’s not Logan, not today. Not right now. 

Right now, he could use a bath. 

Slipping up behind her, he chuckles down his nose at the sight of her, naked and fully oblivious to the world around her as her head bops side to side with whatever she’s listening to. 

The rumble of his amused chuckle bleeds through his fingers, which dust over the tops of her shoulders lightly. Jarred, her attention snaps upward and she slingshot’s the headphones off.

Her heart rabbits behind her ribs for all of a few seconds—he can feel it beneath his hand as it curves around the back of her neck as he lingers beside the tub. 

Smiling at him as a blush creeps up the length of her neck to her cheeks, she moves to face him, arms dripping over the side of the tub. Almost nose to nose, her wrinkles a little with a smile. 

“Well well,” there’s not an ounce of shame, just the way he prefers her, as her eyes skate over his bare chest, finger tracing the lines of muscle in his arm. “You’re back a little early,” there’s no clock in the room, but that’s hardly the point. 

Her eyes move from her hand on his arm to hold his, their light beckoning him like a lost moth to brazen flames.

Nails catching on his skin, she leans a little over the tub to discard the headphones, Logan’s fingers grazing his beard at the sight of pearlescent soap clinging all the places that belong to him on her frame – his places.

All his. 

There’s a little lilt in her voice as she sighs, slinking back into the steaming water.

“I didn’t know what to make for supper – I thought we could go out?”

Her brow lifts as she plays with the wet hair sticking to the back of her neck, rolling it around and off a finger.

“You hungry for something in particular?” 

She’s not being flirty, not directly.

Logan doubts she’s even aware that his blood flies with heat at the sight of bubbles and water swirling around her chest, the dewiness on her skin. He can hardly think past the idea of lathing the water from her collarbones, it sends a zing of bestial hunger stabbing into his balls that makes him almost shudder. 

Knuckles ghosting white as he grips the side of the tub, he shrugs.

“Nothin’ that requires goin’ anywhere, darlin’,” his hand drops to unbuckle his belt, and her smile quirks a little wider as it falls open with a light jingle. 

“Oh. Let’s just order in then,” her shoulder shifts, hand flitting through the foamy bubbles, “I bet if I check, Sylvia's will still be running that special for Valentine’s Day.” 

Her brow snaps up at attention as he stands to his full height to peer down at her. He discards the belt with little more than a flick of his wrist. Forgetting jeans and socks, he slowly drops into the bath and beckons her to slot between his legs with a crook of his finger and a smile. 

Obedient, she falls back against his chest when his arms wrap around her. Pulling her close, she props her foot up against the opposite end of the tub and he matches her effort, dripping sock making her snort in amusement. 

Dissolving into laughter as he gently nuzzles the soft of her neck with his scruff, he hums low and presses a soft kiss to her collarbone. 

“You even hungry for pizza, Logan?” Off a laugh, the giggle is soft, light. Strangely it sends butterflies to his chest when she sighs deeply, relaxing against his ministrations fully. “Or is there something else you want for supper?” 

His growl is dark, low in his chest. He can feel it ring against her breastbone as his arms snug around her chest, protectively. On fire from the heat of her so close and the temperature of the bath, he ignores the sweat the rises in his beard, as his temples. 

“Got everythin’ I need right here, baby,” gently nipping at the soft of her shoulder, she playfully pulls away on a sharp inhale that catches in the back of her throat. Hand skimming her side beneath the cloud of soapy bath water, his palm presses softly to the low of her stomach, making his point. 

Chuckling, he sucks in a sharp breath as she gently moans beneath the heat of his hand. 

“Who needs supper when I can eat right here, for free?” 

[insidekatmind]

Protective~Jobe Bellingham

Request: yes!

It’s one of those nights when the air is pleasantly warm and the sky still has some orange hues, even though the sun has already sunk below the horizon. You went out with a group of friends to go to a party downtown, one of those events organized in a crowded club where the music is always too loud to talk normally.

Jobe wasn’t exactly thrilled when you told him. His dark eyes immediately narrowed in disapproval.

“I don’t like that environment,” he told you, crossing his arms over his chest in an overly protective gesture. “There are too many people, too much confusion. And besides, are you sure it’s safe?”

You laughed, finding his way of worrying sweet. “Everything will be okay, Jobe. It’s not the first time I’ve been to a party.”

He continued to stare at you with that stubborn look, his chin slightly raised as if he were still trying to find a way to convince you to stay home. But he finally gave in, albeit reluctantly.

“At least text me every now and then,” he muttered. “And don’t be late.”

So here you are, with the music thumping in your ears and the psychedelic lights dancing all around you. You texted Jobe as soon as you arrived, like you promised. He texted you back right away, a short message: “Is everything okay?”

You smiled and texted him a simple: “I’m okay! I’m fine. Have fun and relax too!” And yet, your phone doesn’t stop lighting up with his texts, every fifteen minutes or so. It’s sweet, if a little over the top.

But as you chat with a friend at the bar, you feel a chill up your spine. Someone is getting too close, their voice heavy and the smell of alcohol making your nose wrinkle.

“Hey, beautiful. Want a drink?” a boy asks with an overconfident smile.

“No, thank you.” You reply politely, trying to ignore him. But he persists, his hand coming too close to your shoulder.

Before you can react, someone steps between you and the boy. A familiar shadow, tall and protective.

“She said no.” Jobe’s voice is a low, dangerous growl, completely different from the gentle tone he uses with you.

The boy stares at him for a moment, weighing whether it’s worth arguing about. Finally, with an annoyed shrug, he walks away.

You turn to Jobe, still surprised to see him there. “What are you doing here?” you ask, your voice barely audible over the chaos of the music.

He sighs, running a hand through his hair. “I couldn’t relax. I kept thinking about you here alone. I know you can take care of yourself, but… I can’t help but worry.”

You don’t know whether to be more surprised or touched. In the end, you choose the latter. “Jobe, you don’t always have to protect me.”

“I know.” He admits, though his gaze is still alert, scanning the crowd around you. “But I can’t help it. Not when it comes to you.”

His gaze softens as he watches you. “Should we get out of here?” he asks with a tentative smile. “We can go get something to eat, maybe take a walk. Whatever, as long as you’re okay.”

In the end, you agree. And as you walk through the brightly lit streets of the city, you realize that Jobe’s concern isn’t just protective. It’s something deeper, more sincere. And while it can be excessive at times, there’s something incredibly reassuring about the way he’s willing to go out of his way for you.

“Thanks for coming,” you say, your hand intertwining with his.

"Always," he replies, squeezing your fingers as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

And for a moment, as you walk away from the crowd, it feels like the world is yours alone.

[darylslittlebitch]

twd characters showing their jealousy x fem!reader

characters: daryl, rick, negan, carl, glenn and maggie.

writer's note: jealousy hits different, huh? catch ya later with more drama! stay tuned! requests are open ;)

daryl

The last training session with Rick had ended, and although you were still no expert, at least you weren’t wasting as many bullets anymore.

"You’re getting better," Rick commented with a half-smile, crossing his arms as he watched you.

"I still have a lot to learn," you admitted, smiling humbly.

Rick nodded. "All in due time. The important thing is that now you can defend yourself better if you need to."

You thanked him before saying goodbye and walking back. But then you saw him.

Daryl was leaning against a tree, arms crossed over his chest. His blue eyes, darkened under the shadow of his bangs, were silently watching you, but there was no need for him to speak for you to know what was going on.

You bit your lip, holding back a smile. Daryl would never admit he was jealous, and there was nothing more endearing than seeing him like this, struggling against his own emotions.

You approached him calmly, as if you hadn’t noticed his attitude. When you were close enough, you slid your hands softly over his chest, trying to relax the tension in his muscles.

"You’ve been avoiding me," you murmured with a touch of feigned drama, leaning in to look him in the eye.

Daryl huffed, looking away. "Don’t say stupid shit."

You let out a little laugh and rested your head against his chest, feeling the strong beat of his heart. "I missed you."

He took a moment to react, but when he did, his arm slowly slid around your back, pulling you a little closer to him.

"I missed you too," he admitted quietly, as if it was hard for him to let those words out.

You smiled against his shirt. "So, what’s going on?"

Daryl sighed, running a hand over his face before finally looking at you.

"It’s nothing... It’s just that lately you’ve been spending more time with Rick."

There it was. He didn’t say it outright, but the intent was clear.

"Ohhh," you dragged the word out teasingly, bringing a finger to your lips in a thoughtful gesture. "Could it be that someone is... jealous?"

Daryl clicked his tongue and looked away. "Don’t say bullshit."

You chuckled softly, giving him a quick kiss on the cheek before hugging him more tightly. "You know you don’t have to compete with anyone, right? My heart only knows your name."

He didn’t respond, but his grip on your waist tightened.

After a few seconds of silence, Daryl spoke with his usual rough tone, but softer than usual. "I wanted to see if you wanted to practice with the crossbow. And after... we could take the bike out for a ride. Like before."

Your smile widened, delighted by the idea. "That sounds perfect."

Daryl nodded, but before you could pull away, he leaned his head down and pressed his lips to your temple in a silent gesture of affection.

rick

The atmosphere in Alexandria grew tense every time Negan showed up with his group of Saviors, as if a dark storm settled over the community, absorbing all sense of security. And today was no exception.

Negan strolled through the area with his characteristic carefree gait, Lucille resting on his shoulder while his eyes scanned everyone with that mocking gaze that made Rick’s blood boil. But the worst part wasn’t the public humiliation, or even him stripping them of their supplies. The worst part was the way Negan spoke to you.

"Well, well, well… if it isn’t my favorite person in this entire damn community," Negan said with that cocky grin when he saw you. His eyes scanned you from head to toe without a hint of subtlety, as if he wanted Rick to notice exactly what he was doing. "How is it that every time I come around, you look even more goddamn gorgeous, huh?"

You didn’t flinch. You knew that any strong reaction would only give him more reasons to continue with his little game.

"It must be the walker blood; Eugene has this theory that it has surprisingly positive properties for the skin," you responded with a smirk that wasn’t quite a smile, your tone conveying pure coldness and indifference, but without making your displeasure too obvious.

Negan laughed that deep, mocking laugh that made all of Rick’s muscles tense.

"Shit, baby, why do you have to be so goddamn interesting? You know, I was thinking... how about you leave all this misery behind and come to the Sanctuary with me? You wouldn’t have to worry about a thing. Food, security... and of course, my irresistible company."

You could feel Rick burning with anger from where he stood. His hands were clenched into fists, but he couldn’t do anything. Not without devastating consequences.

You kept your composure. "As generous as ever, Negan, but I don’t think my presence would be well received among your followers. And I don’t think you’d want to deal with the problems that would cause."

Negan tilted his head, amused. "Problems? Shit, baby! I love problems. And you’re exactly the kind of problem I’d like to have."

Rick let out a heavy breath but said nothing. He couldn’t. Negan glanced at him from the corner of his eye, enjoying the show.

"Well, sweetheart, if you ever change your mind, you know where to find me." Negan winked at you before turning and heading back to his men.

The group of Saviors left, and the silence that followed was suffocating. Rick remained still, staring at the entrance as if he could still see Negan there.

"Rick," you called softly, but he didn’t respond.

Finally, he let out a long sigh and rubbed his hand across his beard in frustration.

"This is bullshit."

You stepped closer, gently touching his arm. "I know."

Rick clenched his jaw, his eyes meeting yours with an exhausted intensity. "I can’t do anything. I feel… useless. Not just as a leader, but… as a man. I can’t protect this community. I can’t protect you. And he knows it."

"Rick," you said firmly, placing both hands on his shoulders. "You don’t need to protect me from Negan. I know how to handle him. I don’t fall for his provocations, I don’t insult his ego, but I don’t give him what he wants either. He doesn’t scare me."

Rick lowered his head, but you didn’t let him sink further into his dark thoughts.

"Listen to me. You haven’t failed. You keep us alive. You give us hope. And I know it seems impossible right now, but we will find a way out of this."

He nodded, but there was still something in his gaze.

"I’m just worried that one day Negan will go from words to actions," he admitted quietly.

You couldn’t help but let out a laugh. Rick looked at you, frowning, clearly confused.

"What’s so funny?"

"If Negan tried anything more than words with me, I’ll make sure he’ll be without the balls he brags so much about."

Rick blinked, then let out a brief, tired laugh, but a genuine one.

"God, I love you," he murmured, and this time, when he hugged you, he did so with strength, as if in that moment he could regain some of the control Negan had been trying to take from him.

negan

It had been a long day at the Sanctuary. The supplies from the last expedition were still being organized, the workers kept their heads down as they went about their tasks, and you were right in the middle of it all, as always, making sure everything ran smoothly.

At some point in the afternoon, you ran into Dwight, who was supervising the Saviors working in the warehouse. You’d worked with him enough to know his less ruthless side, the one he tried to hide behind his façade of loyalty to Negan. Talking to him was easy, even though life at the Sanctuary was never easy.

So when you made a comment about how tired you were and Dwight, with a half-smile, joked about giving you a special break if it were up to him, you didn’t pay it much attention.

But someone did.

From across the hall, Negan had stopped, watching the interaction with a dark, dangerous look. He didn’t say anything at the time, but the air in the Sanctuary seemed to grow heavier. As soon as Dwight walked away, you noticed Negan was still there, his expression one that only meant trouble.

You ignored him for a while, pretending you hadn’t noticed his intense stare. But you knew he wasn’t going to let it slide that easily.

And you were right.

Later that night, when you returned to the room Negan had assigned you (which was really his room), as soon as you crossed the door, his voice greeted you with the same gravity he always used when he was holding something back.

"So, baby... care to tell me what the hell was that with Dwight boy?"

You turned on your heels, finding him standing by the table, one hand resting on the wooden surface, the other gripping his bat, Lucille. He wasn’t swinging it violently, but the mere fact that he had it in his hands said everything.

You frowned, crossing your arms. "What the hell are you talking about?"

Negan let out a brief, humorless laugh before slowly walking toward you. "Don’t play dumb, sweetheart. I saw it. I saw how he was looking at you, how he dared to joke with you like he had the goddamn right to do it." He leaned in slightly, his eyes burning with jealousy masked as mockery. "Tell me something... has Dwight forgotten his damn place?"

You rolled your eyes. "Oh, please, Negan. It was just a joke. It was nothing."

But Negan didn’t seem convinced.

"Nothing?" His voice dropped lower, almost a deep whisper. "Let me tell you something, baby... nothing is what’ll be left of Dwight if he keeps thinking he can even look at you like that. Because, and listen closely, sweetheart, you only belong to me. Got it?"

Your heart sped up, but not out of fear. There was something about the way Negan reacted, the intensity of his gaze, the way he spoke with that mix of threat and possession. It drove you crazy.

So you decided to play along.

"And what are you going to do about it, Negan?" you asked provocatively, stepping a little closer.

Negan's eyes gleamed with something dark, something primal. He leaned in until his face was mere inches from yours, his warm breath grazing your skin.

"I'm going to remind you," he whispered with a dangerous smile, "why no other son of a bitch can even dream of having you."

His hand grabbed your waist firmly, pulling you harshly toward him. His grip was dominant, demanding your attention, his body radiating heat, the tension between you both turning into a burning fire.

His mouth descended to your ear, his breath brushing your skin as he murmured in his raspy voice, "Tell me, sweetheart... do you like to provoke me?"

You didn’t respond immediately, just proceeded to lick the side of his face as you held his challenging gaze, enjoying how his self-control seemed to crack.

Negan let out a low, dangerous laugh, his long fingers touching the saliva on his skin. "Fuck… you’re a goddamn problem, did you know that?"

Before you could reply, his lips crashed against yours with a force that left you breathless. There was no softness in that kiss, only pure hunger, raw need, and possessiveness. His hands roamed over your back, gripping you as if he wanted to make sure you would never pull away.

He lifted you with ease, making you gasp against his mouth as he carried you to the bed.

"I’m going to make you forget Dwight’s fucking name," he growled against your skin, sliding his lips down your neck. "I’m going to make you think of nothing but me."

His mouth continued its descent, leaving burning marks on every spot it touched. His hands moved over your body with a mix of roughness and devotion, as if he were claiming every inch of you.

And in that moment, you knew Negan fully intended to keep his promise.

carl

Alexandria had always been a refuge for those who managed to reach its gates, but you never imagined that among the new survivors, you would find someone from your past.

Not just anyone. Your ex-boyfriend.

The initial shock was strong, but the apocalypse had already hardened you enough not to be swayed by past emotions. At the end of the day, survival was what mattered, and if he had made it this far, it meant he had something to offer. Rick and the others accepted him into the community after questioning him and making sure he wasn’t a threat.

Carl, however, didn’t say a word.

At first, you thought he simply didn’t care. Carl was like that—always quiet, always analyzing everything from the shadows with that sharp, calculating gaze he had inherited from his father. But as the days passed and you noticed his attitude toward you, you started to suspect there was something more.

Carl didn’t look at you the same way. He didn’t seek your company like before. And when you were with the others, you could feel his presence behind you—always watching, always distant.

But you really noticed it when you were with your ex.

He had adapted quickly, helping where he could and always finding an excuse to spend time with you. It wasn’t surprising—you had shared a history before the world collapsed. You talked about the past, about moments you had almost forgotten. And even though you no longer felt the same way about him, it was a nice reminder that not everything had always been shit.

But Carl didn’t see it that way.

You realized it one afternoon when you were sitting on the porch steps, talking with your ex about old times. You laughed at something he said and, when you looked up, you saw Carl leaning against a wall not far away.

His gaze was dark, cold.

He didn’t do anything, didn’t interrupt, didn’t even try to approach. But the message was clear.

He didn’t like it.

That night, after everyone had gone to rest, you decided to look for him. You found him in the watchtower, standing with his rifle in hand, watching the horizon.

"Are you going to keep acting like an idiot, or are you going to tell me what’s wrong?"

Carl didn’t even turn to look at you. "I don’t know what you’re talking about."

You climbed the steps and stood beside him, crossing your arms. "Yes, you do. You’ve been acting weird ever since he arrived."

Silence.

Carl clenched his jaw and looked away.

"I don’t trust him," he finally muttered.

You rolled your eyes. "Rick already questioned him. He’s not a threat."

"I don’t mean that," he said, and this time, he did look at you. His eyes were dark, intense. "I mean you."

Your heart skipped a beat, but you hid it well.

Carl set his rifle aside and ran a hand through his hair. "I don’t get why you keep spending so much time with him. He’s your ex."

You looked at him, now fully understanding what was going on.

Carl had hurt you with his silence these past few days because he was jealous.

You bit your lip to keep from smiling. It was strange, but seeing him like this—so serious, so tense… you liked it.

"Carl?"

"What?"

You leaned in slightly. "Are you jealous?"

His expression didn’t change, but you noticed the way his throat moved when he swallowed.

"No."

You couldn’t help but laugh. "God, Carl, you are. You’re completely jealous."

This time, he turned his whole body toward you, frowning. "I’m not jealous. I just think it’s a complete waste of time to talk to someone who clearly only wants one thing from you."

You crossed your arms, enjoying this more with every word he said. "And what exactly does he want from me?"

Carl didn’t answer right away.

Then, in a completely unexpected move, he took a step toward you, closing the distance between you both.

"He wants what’s mine."

The air caught in your throat.

Carl didn’t look away. He stayed silent, waiting for a response, waiting for you to contradict him. But you didn’t.

Because at that moment, you understood something very clearly.

Carl Grimes didn’t fight with empty words. Carl claimed what was his.

And you couldn’t agree more that you were completely his.

glenn

You were focused on cleaning the wound on Abraham’s arm. He had been shot during the last supply run. It wasn’t serious, but it still needed attention.

Glenn was beside you, handing you the medical supplies while you did the more delicate work. It had always been like that with him—teamwork, a perfect sync.

Abraham, on the other hand, seemed more entertained by something else. Or rather, by you.

"You know, doll, if all nurses were as pretty as you, I might just let myself get shot more often."

You let out a small laugh and shook your head, not taking the comment seriously. "That sounds like a terrible survival strategy."

Abraham smirked with his usual carefree air. "Maybe, but if you’re the one patching me up, it doesn’t sound too bad."

Glenn didn’t say anything, but you noticed his hand tense slightly as he passed you another gauze.

"Stop moving," you said, focusing back on the wound.

"Only if you give me a good luck kiss," Abraham insisted, his smirk widening.

This time, you let out a chuckle and playfully smacked his shoulder. "In your dreams, Ford."

Abraham laughed too and finally let you work, though not without tossing another remark your way. "If you ever get tired of this cute Asian guy over here, I can be your new assistant."

Glenn didn’t react at all. He simply kept his gaze fixed on his task, helping you bandage the wound in complete silence.

Once you were done, Abraham stood up with a smug grin and gave you a wink before leaving.

And that’s when you felt it.

The silence around Glenn was too heavy.

You finished putting the supplies away and, without turning around, spoke in a calm voice. "Don’t get weird on me."

Glenn let out a dry chuckle. "I’m not weird."

Now you did turn to face him, crossing your arms. "Yes, you are. You’ve barely said a word since Abraham walked in."

Glenn sighed and ran a hand through his hair, still avoiding your eyes. "It’s nothing."

You frowned and took a step closer. "Glenn."

His jaw tightened, and finally, he lifted his gaze. His dark eyes were filled with something you hadn’t seen in him before—frustration.

"It’s just that… I can’t do anything about it."

You blinked. "What do you mean?"

Glenn clicked his tongue and crossed his arms, unconsciously mirroring your stance. "I mean, I can’t tell him to shut up. I can’t tell him to stop flirting with you because, to everyone else, there’s no reason for me to. Because no one knows about us."

Oh.

You let down your guard a little and sighed. "Glenn…"

"And I know you take it as a joke," he continued, his voice a bit lower now. "I know Abraham is just being Abraham, and that it doesn’t really mean anything. But damn, do you know what it’s like to stand there, listening to it all, seeing the way he looks at you, and not being able to do anything? Not being able to say, ‘She’s mine, so back the hell off, you redheaded superiority-complex case’?"

You bit your lip, because you understood his point.

You had never really talked about making it official, about telling the others about your relationship. Not because you wanted to keep it a secret, but because… you had just never felt the need to announce it.

But Glenn did.

And that made you think.

"Are you dying of jealousy, Rhee?" you asked playfully, stepping a little closer.

He rolled his eyes. "It’s not funny."

"It’s a little funny," you teased, leaning slightly toward him. "I like seeing you like this."

Glenn narrowed his eyes. "You shouldn’t."

"But I do."

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The tension in the air felt different—less heavy, but still very much there. Glenn stared at you, evaluating you, as if debating something in his mind.

And then, without warning, he grabbed you by the waist and pulled you into him in one swift motion.

"Alright," he murmured against your lips. "Since you don’t seem to have a problem with it, then tomorrow everyone is going to know about us."

And then, he kissed you.

maggie

You had spent most of the day helping with the harvest, and after finishing, you decided to stay in the improvised library that Jesus had set up with the books he managed to recover during his expeditions. It had become a routine between the two of you: you would pick a book, and he would recommend another one he thought you might like. It was a quiet dynamic, with no pressure—a way to escape, even if just a little, from the harsh reality of the world you lived in.

But when Maggie arrived at Hilltop that afternoon, bringing supplies from Alexandria, you immediately noticed that something was… off.

She wasn’t exactly ignoring you, but there was a dryness in her voice, a hardness in her expression whenever she spoke to you.

“What have you been up to around here?” she asked while unloading the supply crates alongside Enid.

“The usual,” you replied with a smile, wiping your hands on your pants. “Helping with the harvest and… well, Jesus has been lending me some books. I’ve been staying up late reading them.”

Maggie raised an eyebrow, her gaze briefly shifting toward where Jesus stood on the other side of the camp, supervising the food distribution.

“Books, huh?”

“Yeah,” you nodded, still unaware of the tension in her voice. “He’s got a great collection. It’s rare to find someone who values books so much these days.”

Maggie crossed her arms and leaned against the nearest table. “Well, how considerate of him.”

You blinked at her tone. “Maggie… are you okay?”

“I’m perfectly fine,” she answered without hesitation.

A lie.

You tried to read her expression, but Maggie was good at hiding her emotions when she wanted to. Still, there was a stiffness in her shoulders, a lack of warmth in her gaze that told you something was definitely off.

You tried to lighten the mood with a playful smile. “Well, if I didn’t know any better, I’d say you sound jealous.”

Maggie clicked her tongue and looked away. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

But there it was.

A confirmation disguised as denial.

You decided to push her just a little more, just to see how far she’d go.

“Because if you were,” you continued casually, “it would be adorable.”

Her eyes snapped back to you immediately, this time flashing with a warning. “Don’t play with me.”

You chuckled softly. “Who’s playing? I like seeing Maggie Greene with that look on her face.”

She rolled her eyes and grabbed a crate, using it as an excuse to keep her hands busy. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, yes, you do,” you insisted, following her as she tried to ignore you. “You’ve been acting weird with me since you got here. Colder, more… distant.”

Maggie set the crate down with more force than necessary. “I’m not acting weird. I just find it surprising how close you’ve gotten to Jesus lately.”

You smirked. “Maggie.”

“What?”

“Admit it.”

Her lips pressed into a thin line, her jaw tightening.

“Admit it, and I’ll leave you alone,” you added, leaning in slightly, amusement dancing in your eyes.

Maggie held your gaze for a few seconds, then let out a heavy sigh, finally giving in. “Fine.”

“Fine what?”

She rolled her eyes and crossed her arms. “Maybe… just a little.”

You bit your lip to hold back a laugh. “A little what?”

She exhaled in frustration and muttered, almost through gritted teeth, “Maybe I’m a little bit jealous.”

You took her hands gently, making her look at you. “You have nothing to worry about, sweetheart. Jesus is my friend. You’re the only one who matters to me that way.”

Maggie watched you in silence, as if trying to decide whether to believe your words. Finally, her lips curved into a small smile.

“You better mean that,” she said, her tone still carrying a hint of wounded pride.

You kissed her cheek, noticing how her shoulders finally relaxed. “I love you.”

And even if she didn’t say it out loud, you knew that the next time you came to Hilltop, Maggie would make sure Jesus knew exactly where he stood.

[robin-evry]

Hello I hope you're doing well! If you're still taking requests could you maybe do a Sunday!yuu ?

Thank you for showing concern 😊😊

𝐓𝐖𝐒𝐓 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐒𝐔𝐍𝐃𝐀𝐘!𝐘𝐔𝐔 🕊️🪽

The dream of the Order has dissipated, yet there are still those who will not give up on their original intent. The traveler whose wings were clipped... whereto shall his footsteps lead?

Always appear to be dignified and well mannered for any occasions even if it's small, always appear in there best and expected other to also appear to be on there best but soon they started to let things go with the flow.

Many students believe that Sunday!yuu is a celestial being similar towards angels / seraphim, many are curious about their species especially wanting to touch their halos.

Has become nrc best students, competing in the top spot with Azul and riddle. Crowley second in command, but by far most of the students agreed that they should be principal more than him.

At the start they would usually just let what Crowley ask them to do but soon in the further chapters Sunday!yuu started to rebel and ignore his request.

During the octaniville chapter when Azul would try to outsmart them and manipulate them, Sunday!yuu immediately notice this and use their powers to force Azul to tell the truth.

Even tho they seem strict and as well as a calculative person, Sunday!yuu is soft as well as laid-back towards they see as close towards them and care deeply for them.

By far one of the most good looking students in the school, their good looks can go against vil beauty. Many students would see them as a divine envoy from the sky and would ask them for life advice believing they held the answers but they don't

Rook is obsessed with their wings believing they are an angel that has fallen from the sky, and would daily ask questions about their species and as well as being a halovian can they fly with their wings or not.

Sunday!yuu rarely went outside with their halo, they prefer to not wear it because they believe it would be a hassle and attract too much attention

Sometimes birds would land on their shoulders or fingers and they would reminisce about their time with their sister missing her daily and wondering when ever or not she's healthy and doing fine.

Nrc would open up some old scars they would tried to hide fearing people would use it towards their disadvantage not to mention Crowley looks similar towards their adoptive father opening memories they would try to suppress.

They see being teleported as a chance as redemption, but some of their old habits and scars would follow them even tho they are trying to change.

During chapter 7 malleus overblot, their sensitivity towards memoria manage to keep them awake as well as conscious meaning they are fully awake and knowing that the perfect world they see was a dream constructed by malleus unique magic.

Them and malleus would casually talk to each other about their troubles although they would find some disagreement with each other due to different points of views, but they usually comfort each other if one of them encounters a questioning of morals.

[imreidswifey]

Request!

Gulp this is my first request 😞

A friends to lover trope Spencer x y/n with a fem reader where the bau goes to a karaoke bar and she is a lil drunk 😞 and she sings “everybody here wants to and she’s like pointing at Spencer and he takes her outside and is gonna give her a ride home cause she drunk and everything but then she confesses to him that she likes him and everything and lots of fluff sorry of it sucks 😞

𝐃𝐫𝐮𝐧𝐤𝐞𝐧 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭

Spencer Reid x Fem!reader

w/c: 3k+

a/n: Im guessing this was the song you were referring to and I hope you love this as much as I loved writing it! Let me know if you want more moments between them, maybe a morning-after scene where Spencer teases her about it? Wink wink. Thanks for trusting me with your ideas, and happy reading!

———

The bar is buzzing with laughter and music, the kind of chaotic energy that happens when the BAU lets loose after a long case. You’re warm from the drinks you’ve had, comfortably nestled between JJ and Emily in a booth, watching as Luke butchers a Bon Jovi song on stage.

You giggle, leaning in to whisper to Emily. “I love him, but that’s an assault on my ears.”

She smirks, sipping her drink. “I know. I think I just saw a bartender flinch.”

You laugh, tilting your head back, the room spinning just a little. The warmth in your chest is a mix of alcohol and the fact that everyone you love is here, unwinding together. Well—almost everyone.

Your gaze shifts, like it always does, searching for one person in particular.

Spencer.

He’s at the end of the booth, nursing a club soda, looking out of place but endearing in that way only he can be. His long fingers tap absentmindedly against his glass, his curls a little messy from how many times he’s run a hand through them tonight. The dim lighting casts soft shadows across his sharp cheekbones, making him look unfairly pretty. He’s listening to something Rossi’s saying, but every so often, you swear you catch his eyes flicking toward you.

Or maybe that’s just wishful thinking.

Either way, it makes you braver than you should be.

“Oh my god,” you gasp suddenly, grabbing JJ’s arm. “I should sing.”

Emily grins. “Hell yes, you should.”

JJ laughs. “How many drinks have you had?”

You squint, counting on your fingers. “…A few?”

“Perfect amount,” Emily declares. “Go. We’ll cheer you on.”

A new surge of excitement rushes through you, and you slide out of the booth, wobbling just a little as you make your way to the karaoke sign-up.

The screen flashes: Up next: Y/N!

There’s an encouraging cheer from your friends as you climb onto the small stage, gripping the microphone. The alcohol makes you fearless, makes you sway a little, lost in the warmth of the moment.

And then the slow, sultry melody of Everybody Here Wants You starts playing.

The moment the first lyrics slip from your lips, the energy in the bar shifts.

It’s not just your friends paying attention anymore—people turn, watching you, drawn in. But you don’t care about them.

You care about him.

Your eyes find Spencer’s instantly.

His lips part slightly, caught off guard, his fingers tightening around his glass. He sits up a little straighter.

And you sing just for him.

Your voice is thick with emotion, softened by the drinks but steady, carrying through the room like a confession wrapped in melody. And the whole time, your gaze stays locked on Spencer.

Every time you hit a particularly longing lyric, you point at him—shameless, bold, and entirely unfiltered.

“Everybody here wants you…”

Your finger traces through the air, landing on him again, and he knows.

The team knows, too—JJ gasps dramatically, Emily grabs Luke’s arm with a wide-eyed grin, and Rossi just smirks knowingly.

But Spencer?

Spencer just stares.

His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows, his grip on his glass white-knuckled. His eyes are dark, intense, the kind of look that makes your stomach flip.

By the time the last note fades, the whole bar erupts in cheers, but you barely hear it.

Because Spencer still hasn’t looked away.

And then, suddenly, he’s moving.

Before you can even step off the stage, he’s at your side, his hand at the small of your back—gentle, guiding, but firm.

“You’re drunk,” he says quietly, and his voice is strained.

You grin up at him, heart racing. “Maybe a little.”

His fingers flex against your lower back, like he’s debating something. Then he exhales sharply and nods toward the door. “Come on. I’m taking you home.

There’s no room for argument—not that you’d want to. Not when his touch lingers like that, when his jaw is tight like he’s holding something back.

You wave lazily at the team as he leads you outside, his arm steady around you, keeping you upright. The cold air outside makes you shiver, and without thinking, you lean into him.

He goes rigid for a second—then, slowly, he relaxes, letting you press against his side.

His car is parked just down the street, and when you reach it, he hesitates, turning toward you. “Are you okay?”

You blink up at him, confused. “Yeah… why?”

He licks his lips, shifting like he doesn’t know what to do with himself. “That song…”

You smile, slow and a little teasing. “What about it?”

His jaw tightens. “Were you—” He exhales sharply, shaking his head. “Never mind. Let’s get you home.”

And maybe it’s the alcohol, or maybe it’s just the fact that you’ve kept these feelings buried for way too long, but suddenly, you can’t hold it in anymore.

“Spencer.”

He stops, hand on the passenger door. Turns to you slowly. “Yeah?”

Your heart hammers against your ribs. “It was about you.”

The words just spill out, unstoppable. And once you start, you can’t stop.

“The song. The way I kept looking at you. The way I always look at you.” You laugh a little, shaking your head. “God, Spence, I—” You inhale, nerves buzzing in your veins. “I like you. More than a friend. I have for a long time.”

The silence that follows is deafening.

Spencer just stares at you, wide-eyed, like his brain is short-circuiting.

And suddenly, panic floods you.

“Oh my god,” you groan, covering your face with your hands. “I can’t believe I just—”

You turn to leave, but before you can take a step, his hands are on your wrists.

Gently, carefully, he pulls your hands away from your face.

“Say it again,” he says, and his voice is quiet, almost desperate.

You swallow hard. “I like you.”

His fingers tighten around your wrists. “You’re drunk,” he says, but it sounds more like he’s trying to convince himself.

“I’d say it sober, too,” you whisper.

Spencer exhales sharply through his nose, his whole body tensed like he’s trying to hold himself back.

And then—

Then he breaks.

One second, he’s just staring at you, and the next, his hands are cradling your face, and his lips are on yours.

It’s soft at first, hesitant, like he can’t believe this is happening. But the second you sigh into it, the second your fingers twist into his shirt, he melts.

He kisses you like he’s been waiting forever. Like he’s starving for it.

When he finally pulls back, his forehead presses against yours, his breath warm against your lips.

“Tomorrow,” he murmurs. “When you’re sober, if you still feel the same way…” He swallows hard. “Tell me again.”

You grin. “I will.”

And something in him breaks again, because suddenly, he’s kissing you again—this time laughing against your mouth, like he can’t believe this is real.

And maybe you’re a little drunk.

But you’ve never felt clearer in your life.