#and then others that are just like What Does It Mean
Note
this might have to be more than one part, but can you please write a wrong number lando fic? like lando texts the wrong number somehow and they end up becoming good friends, they start falling for each other but lando lies about his identity the whole time until they meet or he tells the reader. and she’s pissed and she doesn’t know anything about f1 anyways so she doesn’t understand why he lied. with angst and stuff? idk if this is too specific or too much to ask!
Wrong Number, Right Person (LN4)
Summary: A wrong number leads Lando right to Y/n, but even the beautiful love they find together struggles to stand a chance against Lando’s lie of identity.
Warnings: none, BUT A HAPPY ENDING!!! Y/n’s bsf threatens to kill lando lol
Note: she is LONG! The word count is almost 9k oml but i have to say that @piastrification was a major help in making this because she read it for me and made it read less stupid! She also gave me some ideas so credit to her for that xx
If there was any moment where Y/n was beyond confused with absolutely no inkling of an answer, it was now. She stared down at her phone, clutching the device as she read over the message sitting on her Lock Screen over and over.
“What’s wrong?” Her best friend, Annie, asked. Her eyebrows were scrunched together in a way she had always done since they were kids, Y/n loved the way that had never changed. The two women had experienced so much growth over the years, but it was heartwarming to see some things hadn’t.
Her eyes flickered to Annie before turning her phone around, “Why does this person think I’m supposed to be meeting them in half an hour?”
Annie laughed out loud, taking the phone from the other girl’s hands and typing out a reply, “Seems like this poor person has the wrong number.”
When Y/n’s phone is returned to her grasp, she giggles at what Annie had done.
Unknown Number
Hey! Just letting you know I’ll be there in thirty minutes. Hope you aren’t running late like last time…
Y/n
Uh, I’m actually running really behind schedule. I won’t be able to get there until around three hours from now. Sorry.
The two girls continued their lunch, feeling a bit bad about messing with a stranger’s plans but laughing nonetheless. It wasn't until Y/n’s phone started blowing up that the color began to drain from their faces.
Unknown Number
WHAT? THREE HOURS????? WHAT?
Unknown Number
YOU’RE MESSING WITH ME RN
Unknown Number
If you don’t answer me in .5 seconds, I WILL show up to your house and wreck your shit
Unknown Number
LIKE WHAT? THREE HOURS? WE’VE HAD THESE PLANS FOR WEEKS MATE
Unknown Number
Literally answer me rn or I’m telling Oscar to help me plan your murder
Y/n’s hand clasped over her mouth as she frantically began to type out a reply, guilt settling over the amusement.
Y/n
You most definitely have the wrong number. Sorry, me and my friend thought it would be funny to tell you that your plans were basically ruined. Our bad. But, I have no idea who Oscar is and I pray for the person you are meaning to text rn. Plz don’t wreck their shit!
His response was immediate.
Unknown Number
Oh… sorry for my small outburst then. But, how am I meant to know this isn’t actually the person I’m trying to get a hold of?
Y/n laughed before Annie suggested taking a picture and sending it to the mysterious number. Probably stupid considering they had no idea who was on the other side of the phone, but an image was sent regardless.
Y/n
*Image Attached*
Y/n
I am most definitely not whoever you are trying to get a hold of.
The number doesn’t respond for a few minutes, busy for all they know or getting bored of texting a supposed stranger. However, her phone dings on the table and the two girls peek to see the response.
Unknown Number
Woah, you are for sure not who I am meant to be texting right now.
Unknown Number
You are very pretty tho
Y/n giggled,
Y/n
Thank you, but not thank you if you are an old man or serial killer. I don’t take compliments from psychos.
Unknown Number
Haha no I am not an old man or serial killer. I’m a child in a 24 year old man’s body.
Y/n
How do I know this for sure?
Unknown Number
Trust me?
Y/n
Okay, ig. What’s your name?
The food comes to the table and Annie begins to dig in, watching her best friend closely before the girl puts her phone down.
“He stopped responding. I asked for his name. Probably got scared or something.” She murmurs before cutting into her chicken. Annie nods her head side to side before they take up another topic of conversation, seemingly moving on from the previous random male who had interrupted their lunch.
However, there’s another vibration on the table ten minutes later. Y/n picks up her phone.
Unknown Number
Robert :) But, people call me Bob. What’s yours?
Y/n
I am going against everything my parents ever taught me by telling a stranger my name and what I look like… but I’m Y/n :)
Y/n
Btw bob sounds like a fake name that’s so funny
🏎️
The next day, Y/n wakes up to yet another message from Bob- who had begun to take up the majority of her text notifications’ real estate. She didn’t mind in the slightest, though. They got on like a house on fire, banter, jokes and conversation free-flowing at any given time.
Bob!
Good morning :)
Bob!
Wait, is it morning for you? Where do you even live?
Y/n
Okay, stalker. It’s literally 9 am, why am I already having to deal with a man trying to get my address.
Bob!
GIRL WHAT? That isn’t what i meant and you know it, Y/n
Y/n
Yes, i know what you meant, bob. I’m just joking lol
Y/n
I live in London! What about you?
Bob!
Monaco
Y/n
Shit, girl. You’re rich asf?
Bob!
NO nah nah nah. Y/n, I literally work as a server here. I enjoy the glamor tho
Y/n
Oh… so no diamond necklaces :( You could’ve been my sugar daddy, bob.
Bob!
😭
Y/n
No i joke I JOKE i can buy my own damn diamond necklaces
Bob!
Of course you can, Y/n. I’m not surprised.
Her heart warms at his portrayed support, and even though her bank account is in the negative, she likes to think Bob believes in her just as Annie does. Maybe he actually did.
She shakes her head at her thoughts. I’ve known him for a day, she thinks. He shouldn’t already mean this much to her. She doesn’t even know him.
Y/n
Ty, bob :) I have to go though. I have so much to get done today.
Bob!
Ok! text me when you’re free?
Y/n
yesss
—
There is a small void in Y/n’s body as she unlocks the front door of her apartment. A day of being broken down has taken its toll on her. Usually, it doesn’t get to her, the stress and pressure of it all, but today, as she flops down onto her ratty couch, part of her wants to give up.
Her phone buzzes underneath her leg.
Bob!
Are you free yet?? It’s been all day, y/n!!!
Y/n
sry, i just got home.
Bob!
Just now? Didn’t you leave at like 9:30 this morn??
Y/n
yeah
Bob!
Y/n, its 10:45 at night for you
Y/n
that would be correct… how did you know that?? Tracking my time zone, Robert?
Bob!
you might be scared to hear I have London saved on my world clock so I can see it at all times
Y/n
thats love fr
Y/n
but yeah its been a long day
Bob!
oh, well, im sorry :( how are you? Tired?
Y/n
Yeah, definitely. Just a hard day in general.
Bob!
Talk to me about it then <3
Her face blushes before the color is being forced back beneath her face. She doesn’t know this man enough to tell him all her sorrows. He’s just being nice.
Y/n
it’s ok. Thank you tho bob
Bob!
Who else are you planning to talk to abt it then?
Y/n
no one?
Bob!
you need to talk about it y/n to let it go. Talk to me.
Y/n
We barely know each other.
Bob!
Do i look like i care?
She laughs and types,
Y/n
Bob, I don’t even know what you look like
Bob!
We’ll fix that someday :) Now talk to me about everything
Y/n takes a breath before her fingers begin flying across the keyboard.
Y/n
People are just mean. I try so hard everyday to give my all and my best effort, to not let people down, but I seem to still do it. I can’t quite get things right and my boss is suffocating me with the way he looms over me like I can't hold my own. It makes me think I can't. There’s no room for mistakes or excuses, you have to be perfect in the office i work and i will never be that. There’s this other girl who holds my same position yet she does it so much better. I will never hold a candle to her and I know that. She’s everything I want to be because she accomplishes everything I can't. My boss knows it, everyone knows it, and it makes me feel like an outsider. I can’t share certain memories with these people or fit in quite right because I haven't been able to achieve the same success as they have. I know I’m just starting out and I have the rest of my life to surpass them, but what if I can't? What if I am never able to gain a good understanding and I am constantly behind?
There are tears pooling in her eyes as she relives the moments of her day when certain tasks were given to this girl she envies, Sam, while her boss gave her a look that had her close to quitting on the spot. Sam gets to revel in the future while Y/n stays in terror of it. A career path she has wanted all her life taunting her.
Bob!
I can relate to that. I can understand the feeling of seeing everyone around you get something you want so dearly while you share the same tools they do and yet you still come up empty. But I’ve also learned that good things come with time and we can’t always be yearning for something that isn’t meant to happen right now. What’s meant to happen will happen for you, I’m sure of it, Y/n. I know it’s hard to not be jealous or feel inadequate, but you just have to make peace with the fact that you try your best and that’s enough. You’re a good person, Y/n. All the good will come to you.
There’s something in his words that makes her feel heard and for once, Y/n finds peace in another’s reassurance. She doesn’t want to think about what that means toward who Bob is to her.
Y/n
Thank you. That means a lot.
Bob!
Of course. I wish I would’ve had someone telling me that when I was experiencing it.
Y/n
When were you experiencing it?
Bob!
A few years ago. But, that doesn’t matter.
Y/n
You’re always vague, bob. Give me something please? I’ve told you so much.
Bob!
There’s not much to tell, Y/n.
Y/n
You’re a server. Is that something you want to do for the rest of your life?
Bob!
I don’t know. I’m still figuring it out.
Y/n
VAGUE
Bob!
Ok, okkk!! I don’t want to be a server for the rest of my life. I think I’d like to work in Formula One. I’ve always loved racing and cars, the thrill of speed and all that. Trying to be Max Verstappen fs
Her eyes twinkle,
Y/n
Haha yeah right brotha
Y/n
That’s great tho! I think you’d be great in Formula One, Bob. I’ve heard of it but not a huge fan. It seems boring.
Bob!
Damn, shitting on my favorite thing… but thank you, Y/n. I think I’d be great too.
Y/n
You know i didn’t mean it that way!! What about your family?
Bob!
If you’re gonna ask me all these questions, should we just call?? Might be easier haha
She stares at his text for a moment, only a few seconds, before his contact name is large on her screen as his call awaits her answer. She clicks the green button and puts the phone to her ear, suddenly nervous to hear his voice for the first time.
“Y/n?” His deep, husky tone fills her ears and the truth of his identity begins to genuinely reign true. His voice is none of some old, slimy man. She could see it fitting someone younger, handsome even. Part of her even wants to say he sounds familiar.
She breathes, “Bob?”
There’s a silence that passes between them, a line crossed in the random relationship they’d surprisingly developed. Rustling sounds from Bob’s end, sheets moving before Y/n adds to the commotion, her heels falling to the floor once she pushes them off.
“Are you going to ask me about my family?” He asks, a hint of laughter in his voice.
Y/n giggles, “Tell me about your family, Bob.”
He lets out a small noise of confirmation, “Well, I have two sisters and a brother. A mom and dad. Still married. I don’t know, what do you want to know?”
The two laugh together at his sudden loss of words before Y/n speaks, “Uh, tell me about your parents. Any crazy love stories in the family?”
“No, they got together relatively normal. They’ve been together since they were younger and they’re still in love to this day. They set up a great example for me.”
Y/n rises from her couch, putting Bob on speaker, and moving into her bedroom to get ready for the end of the night. His voice echoes off the walls of the glistening white walls of her bathroom as she asks him more questions about his siblings and relatives. The way he speaks so highly of them makes the pull to him she feels stronger. Something about him seems too good to be true, but she wouldn’t say that out loud. She believes too much in the power of a jinx.
Bob somehow changes the conversation to her, asking her further about her job and her worries. It’s scary how easy it feels to open up to him, things she had a hard time even telling Annie. Maybe it’s the anonymity of him, the elusiveness of the man she truly doesn’t know. However, none of that matters wholly as she lays in bed, eyes trained on the fan above going in circles as she talks about insecurities she’s had since she was a kid.
“It’s hard to know what traits you truly hold, you know? I can be the sweetest to one person, but horribly mean to another. I don’t want people to think I’m armed with ill intent. Sometimes things just don’t come out the way I want.” She whispers, arms sitting heavy over her stomach.
Bob sighs, “It’s scary how much we share in common. I’ve felt that way too many times before. You can never be too careful with your words and it just hits so hard when people don’t understand who you truly are at your core. If they did, they wouldn’t think I was saying something with malice.”
She smiles to herself. It’s as if he lives in her head. “I don’t think you’d mean anything malicious, Bob.”
He chuckles, “I don’t think you’d mean anything malicious either, Y/n.”
The quietness of her name on his lips brings her closer to sleep and it’s the way he begins to ramble about how much he loves to talk to her that sends her over the edge, a warmness accompanying her body to sleep.
Bob keeps talking for a few minutes before her silence is deafening and he realizes what’s happened. Still, he talks, traumas and all, because something about knowing she’s there makes him not want to hang up.
🏎️
“So, you’ve been talking to this guy for how long?” Annie questions, her eyebrows pulled together just as they always have while she stares bewilderedly at Y/n.
“Three weeks,” She replies, a message from Bob appearing on her screen just as they utter his name.
Annie stares at her, “And you don’t know what he looks like?”
Y/n shakes her head lightly, “No…”
Annie scoffs, “Y/n! That’s so stupid! He could be stalking you for all we know!”
“No! He’s not stalking me, Annie. I think I know him now, really. In the beginning, no, but we call all the time and we talk about anything and everything. He’s sweet and he’s everything I’ve ever been looking for in a guy.” Y/n is quick to defend, her phone in her hands as Bob calls her.
Annie glances down to the ringing phone, “Is that him?”
Her challenging look makes Y/n nod slowly. Annie lurches forward and Y/n yelps just as her best friend yanks the phone out of her hands and answers the call.
“ANNIE!” Y/n yells, grasping for the phone while Annie just moves away.
Bob’s voice meets Annie’s ears, “Y/n?”
“This is Annie, Y/n’s best friend. I’d like to know your address and full name, seeing as my beloved friend has not gotten that information yet.” She demands, eyes glancing toward Y/n as she awaits the man’s answer.
Bob stutters, “Uh, my name is Robert Dancing. I live in Monaco.”
Annie shakes her head, “No, I’m talking address. Like, 12345 Hemingway Street.”
Bob laughs, “Can I just talk to Y/n?” There’s a hint of anxiousness in his voice that sends Annie into a manic spiral.
“No, tell me where you live.” She fires back.
“Annie!” Y/n tries again, grabbing onto Annie’s sweatshirt to pull her closer. When she’s within reach, Y/n reaches for the phone and snatches it back, much to Annie’s dismay.
Y/n apologizes, “Bob, I’m so sorry. Annie’s a little insane.”
He laughs and it lingers around her heart, “It’s okay. Just call me later, yeah?”
She nods and murmurs confirmation before hanging up. She turns to look at her best friend, a rare moment of betrayal. “Why would you do that?” She asks, annoyance radiating off of her.
Annie crosses her arms, “Because, Y/n! You don’t know this man.”
Y/n groans, “Yes, I do! Also, getting to know him by demanding his address seems satisfactory to you?”
“You’re being stupid, Y/n! I’m just looking out for you!” She raises her voice, anger getting in the way of truly getting her point across.
Y/n shakes her head, “Looking out for me would be trusting me when I ask that of you! You just completely went against everything I asked of you! I asked for support, not outraged behavior!”
Annie’s face drops, “You don’t get it! Y/n, you do not know this man! You didn’t even know his last name until I asked for you yet you’ve apparently told him all of your secrets?!”
Y/n begins to pack her purse in a moment of fury, “No, Annie, you don’t get it!”
As she stands at the cusp of the front door, Annie yells back at her, “Stop falling in love with someone you can’t trust!”
Y/n closes the door shut, a huff coming from her lips as she storms down the stairs, tears down her face. To have her best friend question her judgment regarding someone who means so much to her hurts immensely. Though, what hurts worse is knowing she might be right.
—
Max almost looks perplexed when Lando hangs up the phone.
“Robert Dancing? What the hell kind of name is that?” He teases, a patronizing tone.
Lando shakes his head, “I didn’t know what else to say! Dancing was the first thing that came to my head!”
Max crosses his arms over his chest, “Are you ever planning on telling this woman who you really are?”
Lando’s mouth opens and falls closed, at a loss for words, “I don’t know. I want to, but I know she’ll run. I don’t blame her. I’ve lied about fundamental things.” There’s a crease in his forehead as he continues, “I can’t lose her. I’m too addicted to the way she makes me feel.”
Max sighs, “I hate to say it, but you might, Lan. You told her you were a completely different person, betrayed her trust in an insane way. You’ve got something special, that counts for something, but you need to be prepared for the possibility of her never being able to find it in herself to forgive you. I don’t want you to get your hopes up and get hurt.”
“I won’t. I know the risks of what I’ve done, but I can’t take it back now. I just need to find the time to tell her. I will tell her and I’ll do it in a coherent, calm way.” He tries, but the two of them know he’s already gotten his hopes up. Max looks at him with faux confidence, knowing Lando’s found himself with someone it’ll cut deep to let go of.
Lando knows it too, knows the kind of pain that’ll shred through him if she leaves because of his mistake. It’s ironic in the way that a lie, one so unnecessary, is the thing that plagues his mind at night even as Y/n’s voice puts him to sleep.
🏎️
There’s a nagging in Y/n’s brain that pushes her to get out from under the covers of her bed and find her desk in the dark of the night. She sits in the chair with a creak before opening her laptop and the random browser she’s had tabs open in for days on end.
Her fingers however over the keys before typing in a dreaded question of truth.
“Robert Dancing.” She whispers as she presses enter and the screen begins to load. Her stomach churns and her eyes whip away, too scared to look. What would she do if nothing came up? What if Annie was right? What if Bob wasn’t who she thought he was after all?
But, then, his voice calls her back to the safety of her blind trust as it rings throughout her brain. He seems too nice to be what Annie had thought him to be. Bob is who she thinks he is, he has to be.
Her gaze takes one more look at the picture of her and Annie on her nightstand before she turns her head fully to find out her fate.
A blank screen with the haunting words, “Sorry, we couldn’t find what you were looking for.” stares back at her. For a moment, she thinks she must’ve spelled his name wrong and she tries multiple, very clearly wrong, versions of what his name could be in an attempt to console the last of hope dwindling out of her body.
Bob. A name in her mouth that now means nothing takes on what she had originally thought it had been. A fake name.
This can’t be, she thinks. There has to be some logical explanation. But, then again, Robert Dancing is not a typical name, something should come up for a server who lives in Monaco. A link to his social media would’ve shown. He’s young and living in Europe, there would be a trace of him.
Robert Dancing does not exist.
🏎️
Unknown
Y/n, you never called me back. Is everything okay?
Y/n
Everything is fine.
Unknown
Can I call you now?
Y/n
I’m busy.
Unknown
It’s been three days and I haven’t heard from you at all. Seriously, are you okay?
Unknown
Y/n, answer me. What’s going on?
Y/n
Stop messaging me.
Her body jolts in surprise when her phone rings aggressively against the desk at her work. She looks around sheepishly at her staring coworkers before grabbing the loud device and walking outside. The moment the door shuts behind her, she answers.
Bob speaks so quickly, “Y/n, what’s going on?”
She stares at the skyline, trying to find peace in the view, “What’s your name?”
Bob is quiet, “Robert Dancing. You know this.”
“No, I don’t. What’s your name?” She tries again, anger in her voice and sadness deep in her soul.
“Bob.” He states, breaking her heart once more.
Y/n scoffs, “I know that’s not your name. If you don’t start telling me the truth right now, I will hang up and block you.”
A door closes on his side and she hears him take a breath, “Okay, okay. Don’t do that. How’d you find out?”
A dry laugh leaves her mouth, mixed with astonishment, “Do you think I’m stupid?! You gave me what was supposed to be your full name, so I searched you up. Choose a name that actually comes up next time, yeah?”
“Y/n, I’m so sorry. You told me you would never think I meant malice by my actions. That should apply here.” He tries, but she just shakes her head.
“That was back when I thought I knew at least your name. Who ever are you? Do you even live in Monaco? Was any of it true?” She cries, somewhat surprised at the tears that have appeared.
He sounds disappointed, “Yes, it all was. I do live in Monaco and I have three other siblings. My parents are still married. All the things I told you were true, my doubts and insecurities. That wasn’t fake, Y/n.”
She pulls herself together, not ready to break down for a man so cruel, and wipes her tears, “What’s your name?”
“Y/n, I-”
She interrupts, determined, “What’s your name?”
A build up manifests from the silence he lets go on before he answers her dying question, “Lando Norris.”
Part of her was expecting him to say a name she would’ve recognized, but no part of her has any reaction to him. His name is just another one she wished to have been able to connect to another human being.
He takes her silence for realization and his body slumps against the wall behind him. Part of him knows she won’t, but another part worries she’ll take their situation and everything he’s told her to the press.
What she says next completely contradicts everything he built up in his head, “You act like that’s supposed to mean anything to me.”
With that, she hangs up the phone.
—
Annie and Y/n haven’t spoken since their fight a week ago, but the betrayal of it is pushed aside when Annie opens the door to find Y/n crying at her door.
No words are shared, Annie understands, and Y/n is ushered into the home, coaxed by her best friend to sit on the couch.
“What happened?” She whispers, her hand rubbing over Y/n’s back. Annie hates to see her best friend in such brokenness, even in a moment where she could tell her I told you so. That would do no one good, Annie knows that. Y/n doesn’t need to be proven wrong right now, she needs someone to sit with her when no one else seemingly won’t.
A sharp intake of breath and Y/n speaks, “He wasn’t who he said he was. Robert Dancing doesn’t exist. His actual name is Lando Norris. As if that means anything. Why would he lie?”
Annie cocks her head because it doesn’t make sense. Why would he lie? Lying about your life to make it seem more interesting than it was would make sense, but to blatantly lie completely about your identity? That didn’t make sense.
“Have you searched him up? Maybe it’s supposed to mean something?” She tries, genuinely lost at the situation.
Y/n shakes her head, tears falling to her lap as she hangs her head, “If I do and I see him, I don’t want to know. I already like him too much and that makes this hurt more than it should. If I see him, learn who he truly is, I’m scared I’ll never be able to let him go.”
Annie frowns, part of her wants to know about the man that put her friend in such a state. But, it’s not what Y/n needs as she cries on the beige couch. Her head fits in the crook of Annie’s shoulder as the girl turns on mindless TV for her friend.
Still, though, Annie knew she would find herself investigating Lando Norris later when Y/n fell asleep.
—
It’s ironic how similar Y/n and Annie look when they scour the internet for information about a specific man. Annie has a bit of blanket pulled over her lap as Y/n hogs the majority of it, the rise and fall of her chest a telltale sign of needed slumber.
The face of Lando Norris stares back at her as she tries to think of this man calling her best friend at night, asking questions no one has before. He seemed bubbly in the few moments she spoke to him and when she clicks on a video of him in an interview, she knows immediately it's him. His voice is distinct as it speaks through a clear microphone. There were no lies in his second confession to Y/n.
From what she can tell, he’s a beloved member of the Formula One community, a sport she had never truly looked into because she assumed it was overrated. So, did Y/n. The off chance that Lando texted a random person and found something more with them, he lucked out that that someone was clueless when it came to the sport that made him famous.
Her breathing stops when she finds a video that titles Lando’s supposed telling of a woman he’s taken a liking to. The date of the video tells her it’s within the time frame of him and Y/n.
She glances at her sleeping best friend before clicking the link, his smiling face large on her screen.
Lando’s giggle is sweet, “Yeah, I guess you could say I’ve found someone. Or, at least, have a crush. This girl and I are definitely not official, but there’s something there, I think we can both feel it. I’ve never felt so free with someone.”
The reporter, out of view from the watcher, coos, “That’s great, Lando! What’s her name?”
Lando gives the man a warning glance as he states authoritatively, “I won’t be handing that information right now.”
He clutches the microphone and Annie can see the way his body shifts with protectiveness. If anything, this is exactly the kind of way she had always wanted Y/n to be treated. Protected and cherished. From what she could gather, from the deepdive of articles and the stories Y/n had told, Lando did just that.
Her heart aches. A stupid man tried to protect himself whilst falling in love with a woman that never even knew who he was. They were never even given a chance.
Somehow, in a black out of pure sadness for Y/n who had always yearned to be adored in this way, Annie found herself buying a ticket to the next Grand Prix, Silverstone of all places.
With a crappy seat and no plan or guarantee of finding him, Annie knew she had to find Lando. She had to fight for something that wasn’t even hers.
🏎️
The commotion of fans surrounding the entrance to the paddock puts Annie on edge, not to mention the size of the crowd. She thought she got here early, wanting to be at the front so she could try and talk to him, but as she sees the large amount of people between her and the path where the drivers walk, hope diminishes. Still, she pushes through everyone, apologizing when she gets dirty looks. She knows how bad this looks, how much this most likely goes against common courtesy at races such as these. The face of Y/n with bloodshot eyes and a puffy face forces her to persevere, her best friend deserves someone like Lando.
She’s halfway through the crowd when it roars to life, screams emitting as people begin to stick McLaren hats and posters in the air. From the sliver of light she can see through some bodies, Annie watches Lando begin to walk through. He stops to sign for some fans and she pushes more forcefully, knowing this is her only chance.
He moves through it all with grace, but a certain speed that makes her heart pick up. He’s at the front of the crowd, about to step into the paddock and be lost completely to her when she yells, “Lando! It’s Annie!”
It’s the first thing that she can think of, hoping he’ll be reminded of Y/n’s voice when she tried to cover for her best friend’s moment of protection. Annie watches him pause, turn around slowly, as his eyes roam over the sea of people. He locks eyes with her as she waves her arms in the air, something passes between them and he begins running toward her. A connection to the woman he let down, one he hadn’t stopped thinking of in the weeks she had left him.
When he reaches her, Lando is stunned by her presence. “You’re Annie? Like Y/n’s Annie?” He whispers, the people around her screaming for his signature as she nods her head.
“Y/n’s Annie.” He looks to be fighting tears as he ushers a security guard over. “I need you to escort her into the paddock, to my driver’s room.”
The large man nods and Lando walks off, nodding at Annie gratefully. Once he’s gone from the premises, the guard moves the rope keeping people from bombarding the drivers up and lets her through.
The walk to wherever Lando had ordered is quiet as Annie takes in the money that surrounds her. People with Cartier jewelry and Birkens waltz around with an air to them that allows Annie to suddenly understand Lando. This is what he was afraid of. A greedy woman who would take advantage of the status he had and lie to him to get to his money and the money around him. While she understood, however, she still felt angry at his deceiving. Y/n was never given the benefit of the doubt.
The guard knocks on Lando’s door and it swings open, his sunken face coming into view and in the new light, Annie can see the love that Lando had found in her best friend. The effect of her leaving him is seen all over his body and from what she could gather during her time looking into him, he wasn’t doing as well as he usually had during races.
He motions for her to come in and when she does, the door closed, he begins talking, “Did Y/n send you here? Is she here? Can I talk to her? Does she want to see me? Is she forgiving me? Are you-”
Her heart breaks as she interrupts him and his quick anticipation of a reconciliation is crushed, “None of that is true. I’m here on my own terms. Y/n doesn’t know I’m here. At this point in time, she doesn’t want to see you, but I think that’s the shock of finding out about you.. That will wear off eventually. She’s hurt, Lando, but I also know she hates not talking to you. She hasn’t stopped talking about you. And I can’t stand to know that you two found something she’s always deserved, but let it slip away because of fears and betrayals.”
He sits opposite of her, staring at her and trying to find the answers he wants to hear in her eyes. He never does.
Lando rubs his palms over his eyes, “I never even got her last name. There was no way for me to find her.”
“Y/n Y/l/n.”
He lifts his head slowly, “What?”
At the look in his eyes, Annie smiles, “Y/n Y/l/n. That’s her last name. Actually, her full name, I guess.”
A small grin finds its way to Lando’s face and the way he touches his mouth lightly makes her think he hasn’t smiled in a while. “Y/n Y/l/n,” He whispers, smile widening as it all falls from his lips.
He’s even in love with her name, Annie thinks.
“Can you take me to her? I would like to be given the opportunity to fight for her.” He asks hesitantly, as if Annie hasn’t made it abundantly clear that she is here to help.
She nods, “I will tell you where to meet her, but first, I need you to tell me everything from the beginning, from your perspective.”
Lando’s head hangs and he begins, hands wringing together in his lap, “When I first texted her, I thought she was my friend, Daniel.”
“Daniel Ricciardo?” She asks, clarification needed for this story.
Lando’s eyebrows rise, “You know the sport?”
She shakes her head, “No, both Y/n and I never got into it because we didn’t think it was that exciting - sorry - but, I basically learned everything about your life and Formula One when Y/n told me your name.”
He nods and continues, “Well, yes, I thought she was Daniel Ricciardo, we were supposed to be meeting for lunch that day to just catch up before starting the new season. Well, as it turns out, he had changed his phone number over break because it leaked and never told anyone that he wasn’t needing to contact immediately during that time. I assume Y/n must’ve gotten a new number around the time because she got his.”
Annie thinks back before realizing Y/n had shattered her phone in the weeks before and ended up getting an entire new cell phone profile. New number, email, everything. She had said she liked the clean slate.
At her nodding, Lando talks once more, “When she sent me the picture of her, I immediately thought she was one of the most beautiful people I had ever seen in my entire life. That’s cliche, but it’s true. She’s still so beautiful to me. Um,” He shakes his head, tears having pooled in his eyes at the mention of her beauty, “I knew I wanted to keep talking to her, see where it went because I couldn’t just stop talking to her and never knew what could’ve been. So, I made a quick, impulsive decision. I lied about who I was because I just wanted her to treat me normally. I had no idea who she was or her morals, I couldn’t guarantee that she would treat me like everyone else. Obviously, when I learned of who she was and the deep parts of her that no one else got to see, I wanted to change it all. I wanted to tell her so many times who I was and what I wanted with her, what I saw with her, but I knew if I did, I would just lose her. So, I tried to find ways to keep talking to her, but also slowly introduce the truth. Clearly, I never found a way. When you called me, demanding my address and full name I panicked and didn’t think about what would happen if I said what was supposed to be my full name. You’re very scary, you know.” He chuckles, Annie does with him, “So, it all fell from there. She found out Robert Dancing was something entirely fabricated and she called me, telling me to tell her the truth. I was backed into a corner and everything I wanted, I needed, left me. That moment is ingrained in my brain.”
He breathes slowly, his eyes still on his hands, before whispering, “I miss her.”
Annie nods, “I know. So does she. That’s why you need to go to this address,” She hands him a small paper, “Meet her there on Monday at 7 PM, come prepared to tell her all of that and more.”
He clutches the paper like it’s his last lifeline and Annie smiles at how important Y/n is to him.
Lando glances up at her, “What do you mean by more?”
Annie continues to smile lightly, “That you love her. That you need her. That you’re sorry. Lando, remind her of what you two had.”
🏎️
The small apartment complex is daunting to Lando as he stands in front of it. Annie never told him where he was going or what he would be met with, but considering he’s here to see Y/n, he can only assume the building he stares at is her home. His anxiety only spikes. He does not want to mess up again. He doesn’t want to taint her home with even more pain, he thinks to himself, images of himself groveling and begging for her forgiveness flashing in his mind’s eye.
Nonetheless, he knows if he backs out, Annie would find his address this time and physically harm him.
So, the boy walks to the gate and rings her neighbor, following Annie’s instructions closely. He remembered how she told him if he rang Y/n, she wouldn’t let him in, being stubborn and all. Though, if he rang the neighbor, an older woman Annie called Lo, he had a chance.
“Hello? I’m here to see Y/n.” He said into the rusty speaker, a questionable smell infiltrating his nose.
A crackling sound emits from it before Lo is speaking back to him, “Are you Robert Dancing? Annie told me you would be coming.”
Lando laughs at the name, his random ideas being the reason for it, and murmurs a yes to her. She doesn’t say anything back, just a loud buzzing noise that tells him the door is unlocked.
When he walks through, part of him groans at the lack of an elevator. For an athlete, the man is lazy.
Thus, he begins his scale to the top floor, cursing himself for falling in love with someone who lives so high up.
He’s almost completely lost to his thoughts that he doesn’t realize Y/n’s door stands in his way once his feet hit the doormat. It dawns on him the time has come to meet her in person, having never before. It should be studied, he thinks, how he’s fallen in love with her without ever truly seeing her.
He knocks on the door, not wasting time before he truly aborts whatever mission he’s found himself on. And his heart soars when he hears her yell, “Coming!”
He’s only ever heard it over the phone. To hear it feet away from him is almost as exciting as the idea of her forgiving him.
The door unlocks and pulls open, revealing Y/n in a matching set of pajamas that he remembers her texting him about, asking if they were a stupid purchase or not. He told her to get them, she told him probably not, that she was poor, but she still had.
Her eyes land on him and he’s ready for whatever screaming he’s about to endure, but she just smiles at him.
“Hi! Can I help you with anything?” She acts as if she doesn’t recognize him and Lando realizes she doesn’t. Annie had mentioned something about Y/n becoming disinterested in seeing who he truly was, out of fear of becoming too attached. His mind must’ve not genuinely absorbed that information because he only understands it now.
She doesn’t know who he is.
He could do the same thing he had before, lie and tell her he’s someone else. Take the safer option and secure her love, but he takes a breath instead and remembers all Annie had told him. He’d already put her through so much, to do it again would be cruel.
“Y/n, I’m Lando.” He says while he watches her face fall.
Her hands fly to the door, about to slam it on his face, but he sticks his foot in right before she can. The impact hurts, but he continues with what he had practiced so many times on the way here.
“Please, Y/n, just hear me out.” He pleads as her cheeks fill with red. He’s almost sure it isn’t a blush.
“How’d you even get my address?” She says, astonished at who stands before her. Her eyes fall over his body, trying to understand the information. Who he is, what he wants.
“Annie.” He whispers, knowing her confusion will only heighten more.
Her mouth falls open and she yells, “ANNIE?!”
What he believes to be Lo, pops out from her behind her door at the yelling and Lando lowers his head.
“Can I come in? We shouldn’t have this conversation in the hallway of your complex.” He rubs a hand over the back of his neck, hoping she’ll agree. When she does, opening the door for him slowly, he flies forward. While he was ecstatic to be given another chance, he still fears for his image and what would be speculated about a seemingly heated conversation between him and another woman.
She guides him to the couch and they sit down. A familiar creak sounds that reminds him of the ones he would hear when they got into deep conversation during their nighttime calls. The image of her on the phone with him, concentration on her face as she listened to whatever he was revealing and getting comfortable on her sofa, makes him smile softly.
“Bo- I mean, Lando, you need to start talking. I don’t have all the time in the world to listen.” She gives, her tone ice cold. However, the break in it when she realizes she’s said his former, fake name makes the anger he felt over his lies further. He wants her to say his name, the real one. He wants her to say it with love and excitement, not distance. He wants her and his name on her lips.
“I never meant to hurt you. Actually, what I did was in an attempt to shield myself from any kind of bad faith. I didn’t expect to develop what he did. I didn’t even expect to open up to you in the way I did. I thought I could make a friend, one who didn’t know who I was and didn’t have any kind of bias toward me. I’ve always wanted that with someone, especially a partner. I saw an opportunity and I took it, not thinking through it all and I hurt you in the process. I’m so sorry, Y/n. From the moment we started truly talking, calling and all, I knew I had messed up, but I never found a way to tell you. Well, a way to tell you that wouldn’t result in you getting rid of me. I wish I could take it all back, but not you. Not what I got to experience with you, what I felt with you. You’re my favorite memory and you’ll never understand how grateful I am for you. You helped me through bad races even when you didn’t know, helped me through weird press interactions when you didn’t know. I loved that. I loved how at peace you made me feel. I can’t let this go without knowing I gave it everything I have and when Annie showed up at Silverstone, telling me I had to fight for you, I took whatever she had to give.”
Y/n stares at him, trying to digest it all, and murmurs, “Annie went to Silverstone?”
He chuckles lightly, “Yes, she came and she told me who she was, what she was doing there. She told me she knew what we had and she didn’t want you to lose something you’ve always deserved. She gave me this address and told me to come here at this time, told me to buzz Lo instead of you so I could come in. She told me I needed to remind you of what we had.”
Y/n goes red again, blushing this time. She smiles at the idea of Annie going to great lengths just to make her happy, “Annie sounds determined.”
Lando smiles along with her, “She was. She told me if I didn’t fight for you, she’d find me and kill me. She’s really scary, Y/n.”
Their eyes meet and Y/n is reminded of what once was, the way he made her feel. She misses him and knowing the intricate shade of brown in his eyes doesn’t help how much she wants to shut him out.
“I understand why you did what you did, but that doesn’t make it any better. You could’ve given up everything you were saying at any point in time and you didn’t. You only told me when I confronted you with it.” She whispers, disappointment evident in her voice. She plays with her fingers and Lando is close to taking them in his hand.
He nods, “I get that. But, I was scared to tell you because I was just so in love with you. I still am.”
Her eyes snap to his and a moment passes before she asks, “Still am? You love me?”
His cheeks turn cherry tomato, “Yes, of course, I am. The moment I realized you were safe enough to open up to, knowing my identity or not, I was in love with you.”
She groans and lets her face fall to her palms, “But, I’m in love with you too.”
He laughs and shakes his head, “Why is that a bad thing?”
Her eyes peek from over her hands, “Because I want to hate you.”
Finally, his fingers lace with hers as he brings them away from her face, “But, you love me. Isn’t that enough?”
She knows it is. He knows it is. Annie knows it is, even if she isn’t there. It’s a matter of if Y/n can put aside the grand web of lies he put together to let them have their shot at something that could be wonderful. In the warmth of his presence, she thinks she can.
🏎️
Y/n
Can you stop blowing up my phone
Bob <3
Why????? I’m bored baby
Y/n
im at work girly
Bob <3
girly 🤭🫶🏻🤗 plz go out to the balcony and answer me
Y/n
I think you might be obsessed with me
Bob <3
i made an alter ego so i could talk to you didn’t i?
Y/n
girl
She picks up his call as she closes the door behind her, the new office building she’s in allowing for a wider view of London. The new team she works with is less competitive than the last and their support is proving beneficial with the news she got today.
“My beloved girlfriend, are you free for lunch today?” Lando giggles into the speaker like the lovesick man he is. Y/n can hear Oscar make fun of him in the background.
She smiles, “I thought you were bored?”
“Yes, so now I’m asking if you want to have lunch with me” He answers as if it’s obvious. In the months after the soft moment shared between Lando and Y/n on her old couch, they’ve found something more than love between them. Lando says it’s destiny and Y/n says it’s a soulmate tie, but they agree that the love they once shared over the phone only grew once in person.
Y/n chuckles at his antics, “Sure, I will have lunch with you, Lan. Can you come pick me up though? I don’t want to drive.”
Lando makes a noise, “What did you think I was going to do? Make you drive yourself? No way. There’s one person in this relationship that drives cars professionally and it’s not you, sweetheart. Sorry to break it to you.”
Oliver, her coworker, comes to the door, asking for her assistance on something with a smile. She tells him she’ll be a minute and he nods, retreating back into the office quietly, “Sorry, my love. I need to go. But, you’ll be here when?”
Lando hums, “An hour?”
“Perfect! Oh, and, Lando?” She asks, her voice filled with joy as he responds, “You’ll have to come to the Junior VP’s office to pick me up.”
Silence is met with her sentence before Lando whispers, “Either I’m stupid and you have some big project I forgot about or you’re trying to tell me something that will actually make me lose my mind and sanity right now.”
She laughs loudly, “I got Junior VP, Lan. Youngest one yet.”
He shrieks, momentarily making Y/n go deaf, before screaming to everyone around him about his girlfriend’s achievement, “I’m so proud of you, baby! Oh my god! I’m so happy! We need to buy champagne! You can have your own podium moment! Holy shit, I’m so proud!”
“I would love that, Lan. Thank you. I love you.” She whispers the last part softly, three words that mean so much.
He’ll never get tired of hearing her speak of her love for him, “I love you too, Y/n.”
She’d never get tired of saying it.
#mclaren#f1 x reader#f1 imagine#f1 fanfic#f1 fic#lando norris x reader#lando norris imagine#lando norris fanfic#lando norris fluff#lando norris imagines#lando norris edit#lando imagine#lando norris#lando norris x you#lando norris smut#lando norris fanfiction#ln4#ln4 x reader#ln4 imagine#ln4 fic#ln4 x y/n#ln4 fluff#ln4 x you
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Hullo mr. Gaiman!
Sure as hell you receive quite the number of asks, can only hope you’ll see this one. It may be my second ask of this kind and I’m not trying to spam but I happen to have… slightly miscalculated something. Trying to ask does no harm though.
Some time ago, like a bit more than a month, I sent you an ask saying that I’d mailed you a drawing, but there’d been a bit of a mess with the address and I couldn’t be sure wether you’d receive it, asking if I could send it here just in case. You did answer (thanks!) and I did send it some time after, cause well I kinda was on a stage in the meantime, so I guess you didn’t see that at all, and well. I underestimated my curiosity ‘bout what you’d think of it. A Hercules-Corona Borealis Great Wall-sized bit of curiosity. It’d just be really really really cool if I had the certainty you saw this drawing here. It has some meaning to me, at least. It’s only that like, I use art as my only way to express positive emotions since I was quite little, I seem to be learning only now at almost 21 (and thanks to your works I’d add) to do so other ways than that. My approach to life seems to have been a bit of a mess since… well, always. And a bit of an unusual life it’s been. So here it is:
Some of it is charcoal, some is sewn, some is sand. I just kinda skipped the choosing-technique part.
Thank you again,
V.
It looks like real art and it looks like me as well.
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To Know You…
Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader
Summary: Benedict knows you better than anyone. But does he know himself well enough to know what he truly wants?
Warnings: none really… fluffy fluff. Childhood friends, class differences, marriage mart shenanigans, dancing, marriage proposals, Benedict being adorable while also a complete dumbass, unrequited to requited love, love confessions.
Word Count: 10.4k (yeah, it's a long one, folks)
Authors Note: this is a request fill for @curlsincriminology (ask HERE) about Benedict showing you all the wonderful things he sees in you, but will he figure out his own feelings before it's too late? Thanks to the complete trooper @colettebronte for beta reading this monster one-shot. Enjoy <3
I: To Know You….
“I would rather not, Miss y/l/n,” the young man clips, walking away from you at a brusque pace.
You sigh and look down at your feet. Mrs Parsons will be so very disappointed, is all you can think.
—
Benedict may not have heard the words spoken, but even from his vantage point at the other end of the ballroom, he could see the disdainful way the young man uttered his parting words to you. It makes anger flare hot in his chest, his fist forming reflexively at his side.
He watches as you look down, shoulders hunching, folding in on yourself physically, as if the rejection for a dance has manifested in a body blow. He feels a pang in his gut—of sympathy, indignance on your behalf and mainly at the injustice of it all. To him, you are a wonderful, intelligent, caring person worthy of a good match. Still, the circumstances of your upbringing seem to stymie your attempts to join so-called ‘polite’ society at every turn…
—
You look up with a defeated mien until your eyes land on one person who has always been able to ameliorate any of your more morose moods—Benedict Bridgerton. Instantly, you feel lighter. You give him a polite nod across the crowded room, and, to your delight, he returns it, a hint of a sympathetic smile tugging at his lips. It is just so very characteristic of him to offer silent support, to understand, from witnessing a moment of interaction, precisely what you are feeling. A large part of you feels so wistful that there is no other man quite as nice as him. Suddenly, your overwhelming need is to leave this stuffy ballroom and catch some air.
You grew up under the tutelage of the kindly doctor’s widow, Mrs Parsons, whose house is not far from the vast Bridgerton estate in Kent. The naturally born daughter of nobody quite knows whom, you were taken in as her ward when you were abandoned upon her doorstep at a mere two years old. Her reputation for kindness towards young waifs and strays is likely why you were left there. It is an event you were too young to recall, so all you have known your whole life is her generosity and kindness, raising you as if her own.
And now that you are of age, she takes you to events around Kent in the hopes of securing you a respectable husband, the most prestigious being tonight’s Hearts and Flowers Ball at Aubrey Hall. The Bridgertons have always been gracious enough to invite local families, those without the means to partake in the London season, to events at their country estate—a kindness that allows for your attendance tonight. It’s just such a pity that the one bachelor Mrs Parsons was so very keen for you to meet, one Mr Reeves, just rebuffed you so thoroughly.
You glance down at the remaining empty slots on the dance card tied to your wrist and sigh again. Now that you are out on the terrace in the fresh evening air, the light breeze is at least a partial balm, allowing you to recover from the sting of rejection away from the hubbub of the ballroom.
“I will never understand how the men of this county can consider themselves anything approaching mannered.”
You would know that refined voice anywhere. It haunts your dreams. Just the sound of it making your ribs tighten. You turn to see Benedict sauntering towards you, two drinks in hand, that sympathetic smile still in place.
“You are far better off without such rudeness,” he adds dryly as he pulls up beside you, arching an eyebrow for your entertainment.
“You are far too kind, Mr Bridgerton,” you answer, taking the glass he offers with a meek smile, trying not to let your ardent admiration for him be too evident.
“Mr Bridgerton?!?” he scoffs, “What happened to BenBen?” he teases gently, recalling your childhood name for him when you were a mere four and he was nine.
“We are at a formal event; I should address you as such, should I not?” you reply playfully, a warmth spreading inside as it always does when you get the chance to have a witty, convivial exchange with him.
By gosh, if there is one man to whom you would pledge yourself without hesitation, it is him. But, of course, he is the second son of an illustrious family. To think you would have any chance to win his heart would be as likely as a future king to marry a commoner. Still, you can dream…
“At least call me Benedict, Skylark,” he winks over his wine glass as he takes a sip, butterflies erupting in your tummy at the affectionate nickname he has used since you were small; you have to avert your eyes to avoid blushing deeply.
Just as he goes to speak again, his brother, the Viscount, materialises at his side. Looking to all intents and purposes as if he is trying to escape the ball as much as you are.
“Mother is best avoided tonight, brother,” Anthony warns sagely, taking a large gulp of his champagne. “She is under the erroneous impression I am suddenly in want of a wife.”
You can't stop the giggle that bubbles up from within at his wry observation of his predicament.
“Hello, y/n,” he greets warmly, just noticing you are also there, his face morphing into a youthful, playful grin. If Benedict is the husband you have always dreamed of, Anthony is the elder brother you have always yearned for. In fact, that is always how he has treated you, akin to Eloise and Daphne, who you grew up playing with, being of similar age.
“Hello, Anthony,” you chime back. “How was the hunt earlier? Did the infamous Bridgerton brothers kill another prized stag?” you inquire, keen to engage both of them for as long as they will entertain you. Just being around them always lifts your spirits to no end.
—
Benedict observes you as you listen intently to Anthony’s recounting of the hunt earlier that day, impressed by your resilience. He has no doubts any other woman would feign an attack of the vapours had a man rejected her so harshly. But here you are, politely listening to his brother’s boasting, even though he can tell you are hurting inside.
Perhaps it helps that your snub went primarily unnoticed. You are unknown to the Ton; any witnesses likely dismissing it as the business of ‘country folk’ unworthy of note. Which, frankly, he could scoff at, seeing as he holds you in higher regard than all of the other attendees combined.
“How about you?” Anthony ends his story with a question to you, interrupting Benedict’s train of thought. “How has your experience been at our fine event this evening?”
“Oh, the house is splendidly decorated and the music wonderful,” you obfuscate behind flattery. Anthony appears to buy it, but Benedict sees behind your facade, the flame behind your usually bright gaze dimming a little, making something ache in his gut to see it.
Damn that idiot for ruining your evening! This just won’t do…
—
You can feel Benedict’s eyes upon you as you respond abstractly to Anthony.
“Y/n here is too polite to say it, but she was treated harshly by that young Reeves chap from Tenterden,” Benedict edifies as you bow your head, embarrassed. “Let’s be sure to rescind his invitation to future events, brother,” he appends with a surly tone.
“Duly noted,” Anthony nods sincerely, a brush of confusion flitting over his face regarding his brother's vehemence.
“No, there is no need…” you begin to protest weakly but halt mid-sentence under the intensity of Benedict’s gaze.
“I bore witness. Believe me, He shall not darken our door again,” he states firmly.
It appears the matter is very much decided, and you don’t want to put up much of a fight, seeing as it ultimately benefits you. You do, however, want to bathe in the warm glow inside whenever Benedict defends you. It's wonderful to have someone looking out for you, especially one so handsome and kind.
—
Two days later, you are taking afternoon tea with Mrs Parsons at the local tea shop when Benedict breezes in, looking so majestic dressed in Bridgerton blues that you grind to a halt. Luckily, he has not seen you as he makes a beeline for the counter.
“‘Tis rude to stare, my dear,” Mrs Parsons lectures sotto voce, nodding to your teacup, frozen in mid-air.
You shake your head a touch and place said item back in your saucer as she turns briefly to look at what or who caught your attention. Then she reaches out, her lace-gloved hand gently patting yours.
“It would be prudent to set your sights a little more realistic…” she advises with a sympathetic air. “Not that I fault your choice,” she adds, so quietly at first you're not sure you heard her correctly, but there is a tiny playful smirk tugging at the corner of her lips. Your mouth falls open fractionally, and you stare as she shrugs. “I may be old, my dear, but I am not blind.”
Well, I never, Mrs Parsons!
As you take a bite of food, Benedict twists around from speaking to the proprietor, and he sees you. There’s a jolt down your spine as he breaks into a huge smile that claims his whole face. And you almost choke on scone crumbs as he makes a beeline over to you rather than the exit.
“Good afternoon, Miss y/l/n, Mrs Parsons!” he greets effusively. “Would it be terribly impolite to ask to join you briefly?”
Mrs Parsons' face is a picture of surprise. “Not at all; the pleasure is ours, Mr Bridgerton,” she responds affably, gesturing to the spare chair at your small round table.
As Benedict sits, Mrs Parsons shoots you an incredulous look. It's your turn to shrug fractionally.
“Mrs Parsons, I feel it necessary to tell you Mr Reeves was excessively rude to Miss y/l/n here at the ball, and I wanted to assure you that he will not be welcome at Aubrey Hall again,” he divulges sincerely.
Mrs Parsons looks taken aback and turns to you. “Why did you not tell me, my dear?”
“I-I did not think it necessary…” you twist your mouth into a bashful pout, biting your lip.
“Mr Bridgerton, thank you for bringing this to my attention, and I thank you for your generous offer, but that sort of action does not seem warranted,” she replies accommodatingly.
“That is what I said…”
“That is what she said…”
You and Benedict speak in unison at the exact same moment, and your eyes ping to each other, both laughing then bowing your heads immediately. You know your cheeks are flushed.
—
Benedict loves the look in your eye sometimes. That spirited sparkle with glowing cheeks. In his opinion, that is the only look you should ever wear; no one, especially one as unworthy as Mr Reeves, should be allowed to rob you of it. He feels a strong compulsion to do everything in his power to keep you looking like that—carefree, happy, stunning. It’s what motivates his subsequent words.
“If it is not considered too impudent for me to do so, I have a suggestion for Miss y/l/n’s introduction into society,” Benedict offers sincerely. “I believe you should be able to find her an excellent, worthy match by casting a wider net.”
“What are you proposing, Mr Bridgerton?” Mrs Parsons inquiries, almost warily.
“That Miss y/l/n come to London and partake in the remainder of the season as a guest of my family. My mother seems to think it an excellent idea, and I know my younger sister Eloise is already a good friend. I do not see why they could not attend events together,” he shrugs genially.
Mrs Parsons's face is a picture again. “You have already spoken to the Dowager Viscountess of this matter?” she checks, unable to modulate the astonishment in her tone.
“Of course,” he confirms with a nod. “I made such a suggestion this morning when your names came up. She heartily concurs. Miss y/l/n here is too bright and good of a person to have her marital choice limited by geography or circumstance.”
His eyes fall on you, and his heart gallops at the searing look you are giving him.
—
You don’t even try to temper your doe-eyed expression as you look upon Benedict, him extolling your virtues to the audience of the tea room.
Even distracted by all the wondrous things he has to say, you can detect the noise level on the surrounding tables has reduced; everyone in town always keen to eavesdrop on a Bridgerton conversation. Especially one that contains such noteworthy gossip as a local young lady being invited to the London season at the family’s behest.
“My dear, I trust that Lady Bridgerton will look after you well,” Mrs Parsons professes. “I have no objections should you desire to seize this opportunity.” Her tone pointed, very much encouraging you to do so.
“That would be just wonderful, Mr Bridgerton,” you exhale with a grateful smile. “I cannot thank you enough for even thinking to raise such a petition.”
“Think nothing of it, Miss y/l/n,” he smiles, standing up and giving you both a brief, shallow bow. “I shall see you anon, no doubt.”
And with that, he sweeps out of the tearoom, your eye line tracking his concave outline through the curved glass as he rounds the corner out of sight.
“Well, well,” Mrs Parsons puffs out her cheeks. “I am not sure what you did to inspire such actions in a gentleman. But bravo, my dear, bravo,” she holds her teacup aloft in a toast.
You are a jumble of emotions and could not even begin to answer Mrs Parsons about what you could possibly have done. Mostly, you are just elated by the prospect of the chance to attend the whirl of the London season, even if there is also a small pang of regret that Benedict is so keen to see you matched.
II: …Is To Love You
The following Tuesday, as your carriage pulls up outside the grandeur of Bridgerton House, you have nothing but butterflies. And as Lady Bridgerton - Violet as she insists you now call her - and her lady’s maid show you to your charming guest room, you cannot temper your excitement.
“Get yourself freshened up, my dear. There is a soiree this evening at the Queen’s new residence no less, and there is no time like the present to begin your introductions,” the dowager viscountess warmly counsels.
You nod your thank yous, and after they take their leave, you twirl excitedly around the room, taking in the elegant furnishings and airy sunlight flooding in. You pull up in front of a large sash window and are delighted to see bounteous gardens beneath. The rear of the property is very much an oasis of calm in the heart of the city. But one sight in particular draws your eye: a majestic oak with two swings attached to a stately arm. It looks like a place of refuge, and you feel oddly compelled to take a seat there.
Three hours later, walking into the palatial Buckingham House, you are in a different world from the one you know in Kent. Candlelit crystal chandeliers glint like towering clusters of jewels, spraying thousands of shards of light around the room. Every railing is bedecked in hundreds of drooping flower garlands, and the walls groan with enormous portraits of royalty. The mellifluous strains of a chamber orchestra fill the air. Your grip on Eloise’s arm is tight as you try not to look agog at all the opulence surrounding you.
“And I thought Aubrey Hall was grand,” you murmur quietly, and she just guffaws.
—
Benedict arrives late to the soiree from his bachelor lodgings, bustling in as stealthily as possible, knowing he will likely catch his mother’s ire for his tardiness.
But then he sees a sight that makes him temporarily stop dead in his tracks. There, hanging on to his little sister, surveying the room utterly lost in reverie at its grandeur—is you. He has not seen you dressed up as you are now, made over with the full attention of the Bridgerton staff. And he isn't afraid to admit to himself, at least, that it catches his breath. How they have applied cosmetics and styled your hair, emphasising your already evident beauty. And the dress they have chosen… well, he is almost ashamed of the heat pooling low in his gut; he has never seen you in such tailored, refined silks.
Whosoever marries you shall be quite the luckiest man indeed.
He doesn't miss the way you inhale sharply when your eyes finally land on him, his chest swelling slightly with pride as your lips part in surprise before breaking into that winning smile which always seems to brighten every room, tonight being no exception.
As he pulls up to the family, he hears his mother opining to you about the men attending the ball.
“Y/n, I would like to introduce you to Lord Shelton; he is a fine young man with many interests, and he has a lovely estate near Hove,” his mother recounts as you listen intently.
“Oh god, no,” Benedict immediately intervenes, “Shelton has amassed significant debt at the Pudding Lane gaming hell…”
Violet looks up surprised, then raises an eyebrow. “Pray tell dear son, how do you have knowledge of such? Benedict Bridgerton, you had better not be frequenting the hells of the East End,” she threatens quietly, in that stern maternal manner that has any grown man quaking in their polished shoes.
“No, of course not, mother,” he bristles, his eyes cutting briefly to you, not wanting you to think such things of him. “It is an open secret at Whites’, and why he is currently banned from the card room there.”
—
You cannot tear your eyes off Benedict as his mother side-eyes him.
Violet hums sceptically before declaring. “Well, not to worry, there are plenty of other options available for Miss y/l/n…” She steers your attention towards another crowd of young men, all talking and sipping champagne. “Baron Corning, Lord Jennings, Viscount Tewkesbury,” she recounts, nodding subtly to each one. “Any would make a fine addition to your dance card, my dear.”
“We can do much better than any of them,” Benedict chides.
You are slightly taken aback at how very much he sounds like Anthony tonight; apparently very invested in curating who you should dance with. The problem is, with each additional suggestion his mother makes to you, he roundly dismisses them out of hand.
Is no one in attendance up to his standard?
“Benedict, dear, a word?” Violet states pointedly after a third round of his withering opinions. “Get yourself another lemonade,” she smiles at you, patting your hand before looping her arm in her son’s and dragging him away.
—
His mother’s arm is surprisingly strong when she needs it to be.
“Darling, may I remind you, while Miss Y/l/n is indeed a wonderful person, I do not think we can afford to be too picky for her prospects. Her background is rather… unestablished,” Violet points out diplomatically as soon as you are out of earshot.
“We can do better than braggards, bores and philanderers,” Benedict shoots back, raising a pointed eyebrow.
She looks up at him and sighs. “Well, that is true.”
“As I thought, mother,” he winks as she affectionately swats his forearm. “Why not benefit from my knowledge? In fact, perhaps it is prudent I assist in your search for a suitor.”
“Oh, is it now?” Her tone suddenly filled with intrigue, her face entirely too scrutinising for his liking. “And does not my second son wish to join their ranks?” She adds entirely unsubtly.
“I have no time for romance; I have my art. I am most preoccupied.” He waves a dismissive hand, but even he knows his answer is tellingly brusque.
“And yet, you do not seem too busy to assist with the search, dear…” she points out archly.
Benedict has no response to that.
—
The day after the grand ball, you are sat in the dappled shade in the gardens of Bridgerton House, attempting needlework. It's never been your strength, frankly. You would much rather be allowed to partake in more physical pursuits, like archery or fencing, a want to burn off nervous energy as you await the arrival of any suitors. You did end up dancing with a couple of gentlemen, both of whom were…. fine… in your estimation.
After messing up yet another stitch, you throw down the embroidery hoop and emit a deep sigh when a familiar chuckle rings out behind you.
“Not your favourite pastime?” Benedict correctly guesses.
“You can say that again,” you grumble, twisting to smile at him, a little frisson in your belly at his mere presence, alone as you are.
He rounds to take a seat opposite you, across the table.
“So let me guess,” his face charmingly skewed into a thoughtful mien. “You would prefer to be doing something, hmmmm, more athletic?”
You giggle and cast your eyes downwards briefly, abashed he seems to know you so well. “Correct again.”
“I remember you being a crack shot in archery,” he smiles nostalgically before continuing with genuine curiosity. “Why did you not continue it?”
“I was informed ‘tis unbecoming for a lady,” you rue, the mental image of Mrs Parsons deeming such things ‘unladylike’ flitting through your mind.
He scoffs. “Since when did fearsome little Skylark care one jot for societal expectations?” he teases gently, with a wink, as again he invokes the nickname he bestowed upon you a long time hence.
You smile briefly before you become more sanguine. “Since I have been informed I must find a husband…” you sigh.
He frowns a touch. “Any man would be lucky to have a wife who can keep him company on the archery field. I know I, for one, would greatly appreciate a spouse with whom I could share such a pastime.”
A bittersweet twinge in your gut that one day he will indeed be married to some deserving, no doubt elegant, lady.
“I would venture that you are not like most gentlemen in that regard…”
“Perhaps not,” he agrees, looking thoughtful, “but then you are not like most ladies, Skylark.”
“I am not a lady…” your counterpoint softly-spoken, almost ashamed.
“You are more lady than any other member of the Ton,” he asserts, his gaze suddenly intense, as if he is willing you to believe his point. “And you should be free to pursue any pastime you wish.”
You say nothing, just smile wanly, wishing you could believe it was true.
—
How you constantly doubt yourself causes a little stab behind Benedict’s ribs. A sudden burning need to prove that you should do as you please. He slaps his thighs and stands up swiftly.
“In fact, I am going to go set up the archery targets right now,” he nods decisively, making a beeline for the far corner of the garden where he knows the targets are kept, hoping you will follow.
“Coming?” he calls, twisting to look back at you. “I won't tell anyone…” he adds with a conspiratorial wink, seeing from the involuntary bounce of your leg how much you wish to join in.
He cannot help the smile that engulfs his face as you jump to your feet with a mischievous giggle. Nor can he help deliberately aiming badly, letting you roundly defeat him at target practice, basking in the victorious glint in your eye as you tease him gently for losing.
He also pretends not to notice his mother watching from a high window, her expression riveted and so very telling.
—
Later that day, you are reading quietly with Eloise when Violet sweeps into the drawing room with her lady's maid.
“Y/n, Sir Denton is here to see you,” she smiles brightly.
“Oh, I…” you stutter, sitting upright, surprised.
“I can send him away, Miss?” The maid offers, intuiting your disquiet.
“No, no, it is fine… I am just surprised, that is all. ‘Tis almost 4pm. I was not expecting that anyone would be calling, given the late hour.”
Benedict suddenly materialises in the doorway. As ever, there’s that trademark flutter in your chest.
“Any reason Denton is lingering in the hallway?” he inquires airily, grabbing a teacup and pouring himself some.
“He is here for y/n,” Violet breezes as his eyes cut to you, a wave of irritation seeming to cloud his face.
“Well, we should dismiss him,” Benedict sniffs, pausing in his action, his face souring.
“Why?” Violet frowns.
“I had a chance to look into his past since I acquiesced to his dance with y/n last night…”
“Acquiesced?!” Violet scoffs, but Benedict ignores her interjection, save for a curt eyebrow raise.
“I have subsequently discovered he has vastly overstated his assets,” Benedict bristles imperiously.
“Who woke up and made you Anthony?” Eloise pipes up witheringly.
Benedict shoots her a look of irritation. “Anthony has deputised me to run family matters while he is away on business this week, sister,” he reminds pointedly.
“Yes, but you did not have to adopt his personality as well,” Eloise shoots back, disgust evident on her face.
“I take finding y/n here, a suitable match, seriously,” he volleys. “Do you wish to see your good friend married to someone unworthy of her?”
“Well, no…”
“Then kindly permit me to handle matters,” Benedict orders with finality, uncharacteristically forthright in his opinions.
“I do not wish to see her married at all…” Eloise mutters under her breath as he stalks away to dispatch Denton before anyone can argue.
You just sit there mildly dumbfounded, unsure what to make of it all.
—
The following evening, you are attending a music recital with the Bridgertons; Benedict is notably absent, which makes you a touch melancholic in a way you don’t want to dwell on.
However, the evening turns for the better while you are taking refreshments at the interval. A friendly-faced young man strikes up a conversation with you after an introduction from Violet.
“Are you enjoying the music tonight, Miss y/l/n?” he asks genially.
“It is very nice, Lord Glassborough,” you offer politely, trying to stifle your slight boredom. You enjoy music, but a two-hour concert is a little too much for you. You much prefer a short set of songs as they play at balls.
“I find it rather dull myself,” he opines quietly, leaning in. “I much prefer a lively song one may dance to.”
You know your face is a picture of surprise that his opinion is an exact mirror of your own.
“Have I offended you so?” he checks, looking mildly contrite.
“Not at all, my lord. I was actually just thinking the same myself,” you chuckle quietly.
He looks inordinately pleased and breaks into a friendly, toothy grin. He seems like a nice, agreeable sort. A pleasant, if not particularly handsome, face. Over his shoulder, you see Violet looking inordinately pleased you appear to be getting on so well.
—
“I am not sure I can do this...” you sigh as Ms West genially taps the metronome.
��You can, dear; just remember your finger placement,” she encourages as your fingers fall to the cool ivory keys.
And so you begin again. Attempting to master this tricky piece, your eyes tracing the lines of music as you play the pianoforte. Violet is so keen for you to brush up on your skills, given Lord Glassborough’s interest in you yesterday. You could not find an adequate excuse fast enough, and so here you are, in a slightly reluctant music lesson, trying your best to recall how Mrs Parsons taught you to play a few years ago.
“Men do so appreciate a lady who can entertain them with exquisite music,” Ms West nods approvingly as you play.
Mostly, you are relieved when you make it to the end with no mistakes, at least none glaringly obvious.
“I much prefer to sing…” you admit tacitly as Ms West shuffles the sheet music.
She looks at you surprised, then shoos you from the piano stool. “Sing for me then, my dear…” taking a seat and beginning the opening bars to a song that, fortunately, you know well.
You begin to sing along, growing more confident with every note, allowing yourself to get lost in the words, the story of a lady awaiting her true love.
“Exceptional!” she peals delightedly over the sound, and you feel bolstered to continue, her playing the perfect accompaniment.
—
Benedict stops short as soon as he enters the house. The most lilting, beautiful sound echoing gently down the marble hall.
“Who is that Jenkins?” he asks of the butler who takes his coat.
“I believe it is Miss y/l/n, sir.”
He draws inexorably closer, finding himself watching you through the crack in the doorway, listening to you sing a touching tale of love that sounds so hauntingly hypnotic in your mellifluous tones. Your eyes are closed, and you sway to the melody, lost in reverie, in the narrative you weave.
The piano stops abruptly.
“Can we help you, sir?” an elder lady calls crisply.
Benedict realises the door has crept open slightly before him, enough for him to be seen by your music teacher. He watches as you swing around and look horrified that you may have an audience. It makes him take a resolute step forward into the room.
“Do you need us to desist? Is it perhaps too loud?” the lady checks deferentially, likely assuming him to be the head of the household.
“No!” His reply is a touch too forceful. “Please continue,” he modifies. “I was merely drawn by the splendid sound I heard. I am not sure I have ever heard such a wondrous voice,” he adds, keeping his gaze steadfastly upon the lady, not able to look you in the eye as he confesses as such.
—
You are mortified when you realise Benedict heard you singing; you have always managed to keep it private, until now at least. But now your heart is suddenly pounding at his extolling words.
“She does indeed have a most excellent voice,” Ms West concurs with his sentiment, looking at you expectantly as Benedict walks further into the room, his face with the same hopeful expression.
“I am not sure I can…” you stumble, nervous for an audience, most especially him; his is the opinion that would matter to you the most—you would be crestfallen should he not like it.
“Sing more for me, please, Skylark?” His ask is gentle, beseeching as if it were just the two of you alone.
“Skylark?” Ms West sounds enchanted.
“My childhood nickname for Miss y/l/n,” Benedict explains as he takes a seat.
“Skylarks have a wonderful song,” she sighs wistfully.
“Indeed,” Benedict chimes, his eyes still upon you. “I never knew how appropriate it was until this very moment.”
Something warm cracks in your chest at his sweet words, making you courageous. At least enough to nod when Ms West looks to you again from the piano. And so you restart the song for your special audience, heart in your mouth. The words coming easily to you, an extra layer of meaning he will never know as you sing words of unrequited devotion, looking to him in your braver moments. His face is enrapt, leaning forward, his eyes soft and expressive.
As you reach a high note at the end of the song, holding it, Benedict bursts into applause, jumping up from his seat and taking you by surprise, grabbing your gloved hands in his.
“You should always be singing Skylark…” he pronounces. “Truly beautiful. Please promise me, no matter what happens, that you will always, always sing…”
You duck your head briefly, unsure how to deal with his effusive praise. Ms West’s face is a picture as you stand there, your hands still trapped in his, feeling a tingle where the warmth of his skin seeps through the layers to yours.
“I-I-I promise,” you reply meekly, a touch dazed as you raise your eyes again to meet his, the intensity making your lungs restrict.
“Thank you.”
Two words have never sounded so sincere or loaded with significance.
III: … And I Do.
A few days later, it is the Trowbridge Ball, a decadent affair that is usually the most talked about of the season, apparently. You share a carriage ride there with Benedict and Eloise, trying your best not to stare at him—so handsomely dressed in a white cravat and black velvet cropped jacket that clings to his tapered shape. But mostly, you fail. Your skin flushes hot the more you look at him. You could swear that his gaze strays to you, too, subtly sweeping the fine teal silk Madam Delacroix has expertly tailored for you.
“You look beautiful this evening, ladies,” he offers politely to both you and Eloise.
“What do you want?” Eloise cuts across your reply, narrowing her eyes at her older brother, instantly suspicious of his flattery.
“Can I not compliment without an ulterior motive?” he frowns, their usual sibling dynamic emerging.
“Not usually,” Eloise sniffs, with another suspicious glance, before looking out the carriage window.
You take the opportunity to mumble your thanks to him. His responding smile warms your entire being, his hazy eyes lingering in a way that makes your skin prickle. And when he offers a chivalrous hand to assist you down from the carriage, you could swear his hand lingers upon yours a few seconds longer than is necessary.
Around an hour later, as you go to partake in a refreshment, a sneering Lady Cowper utters something cruel under her breath as you pass, her sour-looking daughter smirking beside her. You do not hear all of the words, but you do not need to. One sideways glance tells you all that you need to know. It seems so unnecessarily cruel, never having even exchanged so much as a word with you, but even as you feel a lump in your throat, their attention is already elsewhere.
“Ah! Mr Briddgerton,” her entire demeanour changing to oleaginous charm, “my daughter looks particularly stunning tonight, does she not? I do believe you should secure a place upon her dance card before there are none left!”
You watch Benedict blanch at the very words.
“I do not dance, Lady Cowper, but I bid you ladies a good evening,” he responds, polite but firm.
You try your hardest not to giggle at the disdained look on their faces as he sweeps past them, and you feel light as air as, instead, he draws up to you and winks.
“That woman does not realise she is doing her daughter’s prospects more harm than good with her brashness,” he comments dryly as he grabs a glass of champagne from the stand next to you.
“I am not so sure the daughter would do much better without her; she seems perpetually furious about her own hairstyle,” you opine sardonically, making Benedict snort loudly into his champagne glass. A lightness fizzles in your being as he shoots you a look of unmistakable admiration for that remark.
“I daresay you are a much better dancer than her,” he contends, not breaking eye contact, placing aside his drink before leaning in and continuing in a hushed voice. “Perhaps you would do me the honour of a dance, Skylark, to confirm my suspicion?”
There is a vault in your chest as he employs your private nickname in public and, not only that, is offering you a dance when, just a moment ago, he declared publicly that he would not.
You can only nod, heart hammering, as he breaks out into the most handsome smile, offering you his arm and leading you to the centre of the room as you hear a ripple go through the nearby crowd. Apparently the sight of one Benedict Bridgerton taking to the dancefloor is a rare occasion indeed.
—
As he takes your gloved hand in his and curls an arm around your shoulder, he realises this was perhaps a mistake. An impromptu offer, the hollow thrill of petty revenge for the insult he observed the Cowpers sling at you. But now he realises it has rather backfired upon him.
He cares not a jot for the gossiping, people nodding and pointing to you both as you begin to dance. No, the problem is much more concerning than that.
It is how discombobulated he feels having you in his arms.
How your body seems to fit and move perfectly with his. How, when you dare to look up at him, his mouth goes a little dry. He has never truly noticed how striking your eyes are until seeing them this close. Indeed, the evident beauty of your face, the way you seem to glow from within, more tonight than ever. It makes his chest - and somewhere else on his body - feel entirely too tight.
—
Nothing could have prepared you for this.
The feeling of literally being swept off your feet. With Benedict's handsome face smiling down upon you as you seem to float around the dancefloor.
Surely, this is what dreams are made of?
You know it is a flight of fancy, but it seems as though the floor beneath your feet is a shower of diamonds rather than candlelight refracted through chandeliers. The warmth and strength of Benedict’s embrace caged around you, respectful but so close it makes your lungs feel too small to gasp the air you need to keep moving. But you never want to stop. A whirlwind of sensation as you twirl, carried away by the music, the man, the moment.
“Thank you, Benedict,” you breathe, knowing you are likely looking up at him far too adoringly but unable to mask it, a burning need for him to know how grateful you are for this dance, not even noting your over-familial use of his first name at a society event.
His eyes flash and you could swear they dilate a fraction before you must turn your back to him, following the steps.
“I was right,” he rumbles cryptically from behind you now, his large hands wrapped around yours as you hold them aloft together, following the moves of the dance. “It is indeed an honour to dance with you.”
Your belly flares as you turn in unison and realise that you are now dancing right in front of Cressida, her expression murderous. It makes you bolder than you have ever been, tilting your head sideways a fraction so your cheek almost brushes Benedict’s, fuelled by the envy you feel seething from within her.
You could swear he sighs ‘Skylark’ as his hot breath tickles your ear, your chest pounding, a flavour in the air you can taste, a powerful stirring low in your belly.
—
Benedict knows this is a dangerous path and yet is powerless to do anything but walk it. Breathing your nickname into your hair as he inhales your scent, heightened by the movement of your dancing. A light, sweet floral perfume but underneath the smell of you, familiar from many years of friendship but altered now, more decadent, an undercurrent of tart berries that thrills and stirs deep within him. Even while knowing his ever-vigilant mother is watching, an inscrutable expression upon her face.
He is almost grateful when the music ends before he does something foolish. But then you are staring up into his face, all doe-eyed expectant beauty and his tongue feels unexpectedly tied. He is almost grateful when an interrupting hand wraps around his shoulder.
—
You watch Will Mondrich whisper in Benedict’s ear, and before you know it, he is offering apologies to you with a shallow, polite bow before hurrying away. Coming back to reality with a bump, you drift awkwardly from the dance floor, feeling judgy eyes upon you, suddenly flooded with concern your behaviour was entirely too wanton.
Before your thoughts can spiral too far, however, someone materialises at your side.
“I do so hope your dance card is not full tonight, Miss y/l/n,” a newly-familiar, chipper voice cut in.
“Lord Glassborough,” you breathe; your relief at seeing his cordial face is palpable. “I am available to dance right now,” you smile politely, taking his proffered arm and letting him lead you back out to the spot you and Benedict had just vacated.
As the music begins and you move together, the difference is… noticeable. Gone is the frisson over your limbs, that excitement as if your skin could vibrate off your bones. Instead you feel comforted, almost a brotherly presence as he leads you in the dance. He is technically proficient, but it feels lacking—that tension, that heat burning in the space between you. It makes you yearn for Benedict even though he was just with you. It makes your stomach settle with a leaden weight you realise you will have to settle for less than what you truly desire.
Still distracted by your mental comparison, you absently acquiesce to his suggestion to take some air upon the terrace as the dance ends. You sense Violet, ever the vigilant chaperone, follow as he leads you into the cooler air outside.
“Miss y/l/n…,” Lord Glassborough begins cautiously. You sense a nervousness in his being, pulling your full focus to him. “I think us most compatible, would you not agree?”
“We make most excellent friends, indeed, Lord Glassborough,” you hedge, not wanting to appear overzealous.
“And friendship is the most appropriate foundation to build something more… tender,” he argues with a smile. “I do believe I could offer you a most agreeable life.”
There is a strange twinge in your chest as suddenly, you realise what this is. The moment everyone, except perhaps yourself, has been awaiting all season.
“I would be honoured if you would consent to be my wife, Miss y/l/n,” he humbly offers a sincere kindness shining in his eyes.
And there it is. An offer of marriage from a perfectly nice, respectable gentleman done in an appropriate manner.
To one side, you see Violet clutch a hand over her chest, face delighted, even as you form fists within your delicate gloves, wishing this moment were not happening so soon after a truly breathtaking dance with the man of your dreams. Who is not the same man as the one before you, nervously shuffling from foot to foot, awaiting your reply.
“I am honoured, Lord Glassborough,” you answer cautiously, bowing your head demurely. “This is a big decision to make. Please allow me time to give you my proper, considered answer?”
“Of course,” he bows chivalrously, his accommodating nature making this moment all the more bittersweet. He is indeed a lovely man.
He is just not the one you want with every fibre of your being.
—
That night, you cannot sleep. Knowing you have the most significant decision of your life to make. So, in the small hours, you find yourself drifting to the deserted kitchen of Bridgerton House to do what you do best when you need to think calmly—baking.
An activity you have grown up doing with Mrs Parsons. Many hours spent happily with flour dusting your hands, sun streaming into her grand but homely kitchen. A perhaps slightly maverick pastime for a lady of her social standing, with staff to do such things for her should she wish it, but so very enjoyable nonetheless.
Throwing a large, heavy baking apron over your nightdress and robe, you potter around, the flagstone of the basement floor cold underfoot, a grounding feeling that stops your mind from racing too much.
You have no idea how to respond to Glassborough’s proposal. On one hand, he is a seemingly nice man, certainly of a good family. You are sure he would be a perfectly acceptable husband, unlikely to be mean or untoward. It is just… a nagging voice is telling you to turn him down despite him being an imminently sensible choice, your heart wanting, well, the impossible. A man that excites you, not just a safe, practical option.
You are onto your second batch of lemon and rosemary biscuits when a voice makes you jump out of your skin.
“What on earth…?”
There in the doorway is Benedict, looking confounded to find you here. The very man who makes your heart skip, always. He is dressed the most casually you have ever seen him— also barefoot, in a white frilled shirt and dark trousers, brocade braces slung around his hips. You swear you may have to grab the bench before you to stay upright.
“Y/n! We have cooks you can call upon at any time should you need food!” he fusses, instantly concerned, moving to ring a bell on the wall.
“No! Please do not!” You exclaim, rushing to stop him, grabbing his sleeve in your haste. “I-I enjoy baking. It is relaxing; it helps me to think.”
His brow knits and his eyes flick down to your hold on his sleeve, a warm vein pulsing under your fingertips. You snatch your hand away quickly, a blush staining your cheeks, mumbling an apology as you scurry back to your biscuit-making.
“Alright,” he concedes slowly, still appearing confused. “When I saw the sconces lit from the rear stairwell, I assumed one of the staff was still down here.”
You find it bemusing that he seems at pains to justify why he might also be in the kitchen, especially to you, a guest. This is Bridgerton House, and he is a Bridgerton. He may go wherever he pleases, surely? And yet here he is, doing so.
“I was rather hoping for some hot cocoa,” he explains with that soft, crooked smile that always makes your heart flutter.
“Oh! Well, umm, I could make you some cocoa?” you look down, wiping your hands upon your apron and moving to do so.
—
That you would make such an offer, as if seeing yourself as unpaid help, spurs him into action.
“No, you certainly will not!” He decries, moving swiftly towards the larder before you can. “I am perfectly fine with some cold milk,” he assures, re-emerges with a bottle and pouring himself a glass, leaning back against the sink to take a sip.
Despite the lateness of the hour, he finds your heretofore secret pastime strangely fascinating. A lady who bakes. By choice. So he watches as you return to making your biscuit dough, entertained as you begin to beat the mixture quite furiously with a wooden spatula.
“Have those ingredients caused you some sort of personal offence….?” he jests lightly, nodding to the bowl.
He observes a flit of contrition across your face before you answer.
“I, umm, have a decision that I must make; baking helps me think,” you explain vaguely, then appear to rapidly change the subject. “I am, however, sure of one fact - some biscuits are a must to accompany milk. There is a completed batch over there.”
“Genius,” he opines with a wink, enthusiastically moving to grab one from the cooling rack you signalled to, delighting in the blush that darkens your cheeks. But he decides to push the topic you abruptly avoided. Concerned there could be a topic you are genuinely wrestling with. If his opinion on the matter can ameliorate your burdens, he would be most honoured to assist.
“What sort of decision must you make?” he inquires before temporarily losing the power of speech. There is an explosion of tart lemon and earthy herb on his tongue that melts into a buttery sweetness, utterly divine. “Lord alive, these are delicious!!!” he exclaims around the mouthful.
“Thank you,” you answer softly.
You are always so modest about your talents; it sometimes makes him want to grab your shoulders and shake you gently. To make you see what he does.
“To answer your question, it is a perplexing matter that needs serious consideration,” you explain, stopping short of detail. It appears you are not yet ready to share the news with him. Something about that makes him a touch sad, but he also does not want to pry if you are reluctant to divulge.
—
Benedict swallows the bite he has taken, and you find yourself staring at the movement of his throat as he does. Knowing one thing to be true—if it were his proposal, you would not even hesitate for a split second. That wistful thought makes you suddenly melancholic, and you sigh, pushing aside your mixing bowl, realising this may be an issue baking will not fix.
“I do so hate to see you doubt yourself, Skylark,” he offers quietly after a beat, mien so earnest. “Trust yourself. You will find the right answer for your dilemma; I am certain of it.”
He is so remarkably supportive that, ironically, you almost want to scream at him.
“I should leave you to your thoughts,” his tone is gentle, reluctant.
“Please, there is no need, Benedict,” you try to assure. “To be honest, in all of this world, yours is the company I enjoy the very most…”
That truth is out of your mouth before you can censor it.
You sheepishly glance over to be met by a surprised look on his face. He takes a few steps towards you, probably without realising it, and suddenly, he is very close, faint wisps of his woodsy, citrus cologne tickling your nose.
“And I, yours, Skylark…” he rumbles, his gaze falling to your lips.
Time seems to stop, and you feel pinned under glass, staring up into his handsome face as he breathes slightly ragged, your body rioting as he engulfs your senses, definitely too close to be considered gentlemanly, polite…
…But then, he takes a sharp inhale and steps back as if coming to his senses. He turns heel with a hastily muttered goodbye, and before you know it, he is gone. Leaving you bewildered, your thoughts scattered.
—
The following day, Benedict is idly reading the paper, partaking in a leisurely lunch of tea and cake, when his mother swans in, reeling off a set of instructions for her lady's maid.
“Oh, and lastly, do not forget, we should secure an appointment with the modiste, in case Miss y/l/n should know her answer today…” Violet concludes breezily as she takes a seat.
“Yet another ball we must suffer, mother?” Benedict drawls drily, folding down his paper and taking a hearty bite of zesty lemon drizzle.
She shoots her son an exasperated look before neatly smoothing a serviette into her lap as she is served her usual afternoon Earl Grey by the butler. “Miss y/l/n will be in need of a wedding dress, Benedict, dear.”
He spits an array of crumbs onto his newspaper, coughing in shock. “She will need what?!?” he wheezes, barely recovering.
“Lord Glassborough proposed to Miss y/l/n last night, my dear, at the ball. She has yet to give her answer, but I am certain she will. They are a fine match,” Violet declares, taking a sip of tea.
“Why did she not mention it to me?” he mutters, more to himself than anyone, his forehead creasing heavily in a frown as he swallows the rest of his mouthful.
“Why would she have?”
“We talked last night…” letting slip perhaps too much in his perplexed state, lost in his own tumbling thoughts.
“When last night? We returned from the ball very late,” a suspicious tone in his mother’s voice, belatedly releasing he should know better than to think aloud; she is sharp as a tack.
“I-I found Miss y/l/n baking last night… in the kitchen when I went for cocoa… she told me she had a dilemma she was wrestling with…” he admits, looking down at the paper, the words now a jumble before his eyes. “Mother do you think it is possible she will say yes??” Benedict's head snaps up, his heart suddenly pounding in his ears.
“She would be a fool not to,” Violet points out, raising a perfectly arched eyebrow at him. “Unless there was another, perhaps more wanted, proposal she could consider. Do you possibly know of one? Son?”
Even he can read between those lines.
“I-I am late,” he abruptly changes tack. “I promised to meet Anthony today to discuss the soil at Aubrey,” he bustles rapidly, standing and fleeing the room before he can allow his mother to see how much of a complete lie that is.
—
Benedict spends the afternoon at White’s, downing perhaps one too many whiskeys as he grills his fellow patrons upon the Glassborough family. Looking for any reason he can find to object to the betrothal while steadfastly refusing to examine why he feels so passionately about the subject. He also spends time checking the hefty tomes of Debrett’s the club holds.
He returns to Bridgerton House just as dusk settles in, the sky streaking red and pink as he enters.
“Where have you been, dear?” Violet asks as he rounds into the parlour.
“Researching,” he gruffs economically.
“What? Or rather whom?” Violet inquires, revealing she already has a firm idea of what she asks.
“I can find nothing wrong with him!”
Benedict paces, an energy emanating from his being as if he is rattled by that very fact.
“That is a good thing, is it not, son?” Violet reminds pointedly. “We want y/n married to a good gentleman…”
Benedict shoots her an exasperated look but relents. “I suppose…”
“Is not your reluctance perhaps for another reason, my dear?” Her question is gentle, if not particularly subtle.
He slumps into a wingback chair with a defeated sigh. “Go ahead. Say your piece, mother.”
“I have watched you, darling,” she begins gently, watching him tip his head back and screw his eyes shut. “I do not know exactly when, but your regard of Miss y/l/n has altered, and I am not the only one to observe it.”
Benedict's eyes fly open, and he tips his head down with a frown as his mother continues.
“Even Colin has marked a change in you. If you feel anything, my dear, then Miss y/l/n has the right to know. Before it is too late. The right to make an informed choice if you are bold enough to give her one. Son, I have only ever wanted my children’s happiness. And if your happiness lies somewhere that perhaps even you have not realised until now…. well then I encourage you to follow it. Follow your heart.”
Her impassioned speech suddenly makes the pieces of a jumbled jigsaw before his eyes arrange into a pattern, a way forward that is suddenly clear and sharply in focus.
It makes him leap to his feet, an urgency thronging in his being.
“Where is Miss y/l/n?” he almost barks.
“I do not know,” Violet confesses, “but I do know she has not yet seen or written to Lord Glassborough,” she adds.
“Good…” he rasps, headed determined out of the room to find you.
—
The verdant lush grass is cool between your toes as you curl them over, sighing heavily, the night now dark, a twinkle of silver among the navy sky, soon to be black. The swing under the big oak, a refuge you have sought many times since staying at Bridgerton House, feels a particularly poignant place to be tonight as an internal war rages within you, your decision swaying back and forth as much as the wooden seat you are perched upon, the rope digging into your cheekbone as you slump against it, flummoxed.
You know what your answer to Glassborough should be. Indeed, what it should have been from the moment he asked.
A resounding yes.
In every practical measure, this is the best possible outcome of your London season. A proposal from a thoroughly decent, acceptable gentleman, way above the station you were expecting, given your less than prestigious certainty of lineage.
And yet.
And yet.
There is a large part of you, your heart, that wants to turn down the proposal, foolhardy as that may be. Wanting to feel akin to what you felt as you danced with Benedict last night. You are not so foolish as to believe he would ever propose, but perhaps there is someone else out there for you that may evoke something similar for you? Even if only half, it would be enough. Enough for you to build a future around and feel contentment in your heart, to not just settle for what your head knows to be a sensible choice.
—
Having searched the house, he rounds into the garden and stops short, heart leaping into his throat as he spies you, swaying gently upon the swing, looking thoroughly lost in thought. It makes his chest ache that you are so melancholic about a decision that should indeed be joyous. The selfish part of him celebrating, hoping that perhaps you are not. His memory recalls with perfect clarity how you have looked as lost as he now feels every time you have been close. The unbearable lightness of hope seizes his legs and draws him inexorably closer.
—
You whip around as you sense company and have to take a deep breath as your eyes fall upon Benedict. His face pinched with a restless intensity.
“I was hoping I would find you,” he exhales.
“You have,” you shrug, still confused by his crackling energy, him seeming in a rush to say something.
“Skylark, you deserve the very best of everything. Sincerely. And part of that includes that you should know the truth in the hearts of those lucky enough to know you…” a slight quake in his voice as he takes a step closer.
“Alright…” you respond cautiously, your brow creasing as you sense the nerves emanating from him.
You gasp as he rapidly drops to one knee before you, a hand clutched to his chest.
“I have been a fool to not see it before now. My own ardent admiration for you, for your talents, for your beauty. I realise now, perhaps too late, that you are truly the most wondrous, precious being in this world. You may not always see it, but it would be my greatest honour to show you, every day, if you will permit me, what I see when I look upon you. What I have always seen if I am honest with myself. A light that shines brighter than any other, a bird that soars higher and sings more sweetly than any other. A soul that it would be a privilege to be bound to. I know it is perhaps the worst possible timing, seeing as you already have a proposal from a perfectly acceptable gentleman. Still, I could not let you get married without letting you know the contents of my heart.”
You are stunned. Speechless.
Your heart pounds in your ribcage as you sit there stupified for what must be an age, Benedict looking upon you expectantly, breath slightly ragged from his long speech. Somehow, convincing yourself this could only be a dream. That the man you have adored since before you can remember has just made the most beautiful poetic confession of love you have ever heard. And it’s to you.
So, you do the only logical thing that comes to mind. Pinch your own leg. Hard.
—
Benedict is momentarily confounded at your actions.
“Owwww!” you yelp. “Not dreaming then…” is your muttered follow-up, rubbing your own knee as his face morphs into the most enormous grin, a lightning bolt of joy tearing through him as he realises what you are doing, that you can scarcely believe this is happening any more than he can.
“It is really me, Skylark,” he chuckles softly, seeing the way your eyes dilate rapidly as he can't help the lopsided grin that claims his face, a warmth behind his ribs that is just for you.
“I realise that now,” you sass back, and there is a stirring in his trousers at the tone you employ.
“I love you.”
It's a reflex; he doesn't even realise he says it. But as soon as it's out of his mouth, it's like an invisible burden has been lifted from his entire being. The truth. Plain. Simple. Honest.
—
You know your face is aflame as you snap back at him, entirely without meaning to, but then he says three little words that tilt your whole world even more.
“I-I-I love you too.”
You are bewildered when you say it aloud.
The truth. Plain. Simple. Honest.
“Marry me? Please. My darling, wonderful friend,” he implores, his bare hands grabbing yours, tingles shooting over you as your skin touches his.
“Yes!! I will!!!” you answer breathlessly, not even a second of hesitation.
He leans in and captures your lips with his. They are warm and soft as they move gently with yours. And when he opens your mouth with his and his tongue rolls delicately over yours, it feels as if all the fireworks you have seen in the sky live now inside you, popping and exploding in a riot of colour. A whole new world of sensual pleasure is promised in that one move.
“Are you certain?” you murmur as you break apart for air, a flash of insecurity that this is happening so fast, even as there is a strong pull inside, a want to keep kissing him over and over.
He smiles, tilting his forehead to yours, a wistful look in his blue eyes.
“To know you, truly know you, is to love you, Skylark,” he sighs, his words a blanket settling over your quaking heart. “And I do. I truly do.”
Benedict taglist: @makaylan @foreverlonginguniverse @notanotheruniverse @iboopedyournose @aintnuthinbutahounddog @severewobblerlightdragon @writergirl-2001 @heeyyyou @enichole445 @enchantedbytomandhenry @ambitionspassionscoffee @chaoticcalzoneranchsports @nikaprincessofkattegat @baebee35 @crowleysqueenofhell @fiction-is-life @lilacbeesworld @broooookiecrisp @queen-of-the-misfit-toys @eleanor-bradstreet @divaanya @musicismyoxygen84 @miindfucked @sorryallonsy @cayt0123 @hottytoddyhistory @fictionalmenloversblog @zinzysstuff @malpalgalz @kinokomoonshine @causeimissu @delehosies @m-rae23 @last-sheep @panhoeofmanyfandoms @kmc1989 @desert-fern @corpseoftrees-queen @magical-spit @bunnyweasley23 @how-many-stars-in-the-sky @sya-skies
#benedict bridgerton fanfiction#benedict bridgerton#benedict bridgerton fluff#benedict bridgerton imagine#bridgerton fanfiction#bridgerton#bridgerton fluff#bridgerton imagine#benedict bridgerton x reader#benedict bridgerton x female reader#benedict bridgerton x you#benedict bridgerton x y/n#bridgerton x reader#bridgerton x female reader#bridgerton x you#bridgerton x y/n
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All In The Name Of Love - LN4/CL16
Dark fic - if you don't like this or the warnings/themes make you uncomfortable. I can't stress this enough, DO NOT READ THIS
Request from @nocoolusernamesavailable-blog for dark Charles and Lando poly relationship - ngl kinds of smut with a plot
Warnings/themes: Very toxic relationship, naive!reader, somewhat kidnapping (she can leave technically), manipulation, smut (threesome obviously, overstimulation, briefly mention of toys, anal not directly mentioned but insinuated), some complicated parental relations
No part 2 requests please - really, it's not getting a part 2 but I may do other poly relationships
When y/n appeared in the paddock, Lando and Charles weren't the only ones with their eyes set on her. They were just the only ones unwilling to give her up, and so the agreement was made that they'd share her.
They just didn't...ask her if that was ok with her. In fact the decision was made without her knowledge at all.
Y/n is the very innocent and sillily ignored daughter of a billionaire in Monaco. Richer than both her boyfriends but she's one of many children from one of many ex-wives who also don't care much for the children who were just a ticket to guarantee they'd get money to live off of from their ex-husband. She doesn't even know most of her siblings because they're all from different countries dotted around the world.
Don't mistake her naivety as meaning she was some easy target that instantaneously made it easy. As much as it'd probably be a lot of peoples dreams to have both Lando Norris and Charles Leclerc as their boyfriends. She was a little scared by their forwardness and essentially her lack of choice.
The public is also fairly confused of the dynamic and the relationships. Since none of the them will acknowledge it and y/n is spotted with both Lando and Charles but only once of the two together. She's a face of controversy. But they figured not confirming the whole poly relationship would be in everyone's best interest.
Y/n does know if she’d go as far as to say that she loves either Lando or Charles but she definitely doesn’t like one more than the other. She just likes different things about them.
Lando is fire and ice. Sterner, firmer and usually rougher in all the best ways. He has given her rules and expectations which she needs to live by and if she doesn’t then punishment of his choice is given. Before he was in her life, she’d have thought him to be the type she needed to avoid, and yet that’s the last thing she could imagine wanting.
Charles is calm and grounding. His presence is assertive and controlled, he’s slightly softer with y/n treating her as if she’s slightly more fragile and breakable, she thinks he could trace her body with his eyes closed with the amount of time he’s taken to learn every inch of her skin and use any weak spots against her. But in the same way as Lando, he has rules he expects y/n to follow. He lets Lando punish while he comforts in the after.
Without one she’d unlikely have stayed with the other, well not without a much bigger fuss over the whole thing.
Which is why they’re wise enough to know this is a mutually beneficial situation and they don’t intend for either of them to lose their position.
Now one thing to note is that y/n wasn't by any means a virgin before she met Lando and Charles but she wasn't very adventurous in the bedroom either.
And while sex isn't a punishment really, pushing her into a position or situation that is not in her comfort zone at all is exactly what Lando does when she upsets him.
"I can't." Y/n hiccups laid leaning back onto Charles as he holds her legs apart, remaining so completely quiet she almost forgot he was there.
"You can." Lando states casually while holding some pressure over her g-spot and clit simultaneously.
Y/n has lost count of her orgasms, though she's sure both men have a count. The bed under her is soaked, she didn't even know what squirting was till today and she is in a layer of sweat as her head lols on Charles' shoulder.
Orgasms became on the line of pain at least 2 or 3 ago, again she's lost count.
"I think we can get a few more from you, what do you think Charles?" Lando questions feeling her already building up to another one as she whines and squirms trying to push back into Charles but it's not escape from Lando's touch.
"I think so." Charles hums just mesmerised by how pretty she looks against him.
Her mouth has long gone dry and when another orgasm hits her, she's spasming and trembling so much that she even notices Charles grip tighten on her while Lando doesn't let up for even a second.
"Ma belle." Charles whispers but she's too far gone, her body feels foreign and her mind is in a bubble that's floated elsewhere.
Lando follows through on another 2 orgasms before finally giving her reprieve. But not for long.
"Lando." Charles tries as he watches Lando pick up small vibrator
"She's the one who apparently wants all our attention at all times." Lando smirks sending Charles a look as if demanding he challenge him. "Anyway, it's for later."
Charles hums going to shift her but y/n mumbles a no and grips at his leg.
"Maybe get her to the guest room to clean up, we'll need to leave in an hour." Lando hums while Charles hums shifting y/n, whispering in her ear to settle her as she whines. Way to far gone to be processing their conversation.
Charles cleans around the toy and manages to get her somewhat in some clothes though she does protest it. Even just the brushing of clothes on her skin is too much stimulation on her.
But after a promise of cuddles and making sure Lando doesn't turn on that toy before she can really handle it. She gets dressed and eagerly curling up next to him and even dozing in and how out of a sleep to try and recuperate some of her energy after what she hopes is a one time experience.
"I didn't mean to upset you both."
"We don't like seeing you flirt with other men, y/n."
"I wasn't-"
"Don't lie." Lando cuts in appearing in the room. "We saw you with Carlos."
As if it couldn't get worse, it had to be Lando's best friend and Charles' teammate. But she really wasn't flirting, he'd just made a comment about how Lando and Charles seemed to be in a game of tug over war over her and she replied saying he had no idea.
"He's right, mon amour." Charles states then sighing at her as he gently cups her face with a sad smile. "Don't do it again and we won't have to punish you."
Some would argue orgasms are a fairly good punishment but when it's a matter of limits and being pushed well over them, it's really not something she's eager to have happen again. Even if it means one orgasm at a time, she'd rather than then this again.
"I'm sorry." Y/n mumbles in defeat with a pout.
"You don't need to be sorry, just no doing it again." Charles assures her before looking at Lando. "No using the toy till she is actually steady on her feet again."
Lando grumbles but agrees making the young woman look visibly relaxed.
A ringing through the apartment is heard which Lando moves to pick up finding it's y/n's phone and an unfamiliar man's name.
"Who is Frederick?" Lando questions making y/n look up from playing with a ring on Charles' hand.
"Oh my gosh-it's my dad." Y/n gasps shoot forward and snatching her phone. "Hello?"
"Speaker." Charles instructs making her sigh and place it on loud speaker.
"Oh for fuck sake. You had my solicitor thinking you were dead. Where the hell have you been? My assistant checked your apartment and said it looks like no one has been there for weeks. The bank called to say there was unusual activity on your card. What is going on?" Her dad questions not so much relieved to discover his daughter is alive but seemingly annoyed that her being alive has caused a fuss.
"No one called." Y/n mumbles while noticing both Lando and Charles looking annoyed at the way her dad is speaking to her.
"That is not an answer y/n."
"I'm...away on a trip. And what unusual activity is happening on my card?" Y/n frowns since to her knowledge Lando and Charles have paid for everything for her. Despite her having access to possibly more money than them combine.
"You weren't spending anything. Everyone thought you were being held for ransom and the ransom note had been left in your apartment or something."
"Well I'm alive...I've just not needed to buy anything recently."
"Fine by me. I just needed to know if I had a funeral to attend. Your mother wouldn't tell me if she even bothered herself to know anyway."
Y/n winces at the harshness of her dad's words and when Lando and Charles both make a dive for the phone to take it, y/n quickly shifts since an interaction between them and her dad would only lead to her dad probably stealing her to lock her away for daring to spend time with men who would talk to him with anything other than respect.
"I have to go, Frederick. Thank you for the concern." Y/n mumbles before hanging up and look at the two angered F1 drivers. "You guys can't talk to him. He might not care in general but...he thinks of his kids like property when he wants to. Especially if he feels crossed. He'd track me down and kidnap me from the both of you as soon as the call ended if either of you had said something."
"You don't need his money or whatever he considers to be any amount of concern for your well-being. You have us." Charles states while Lando nods in agreement to the Monegasque's words. "We are your family."
Y/n softens slightly, when it's came to her parents neglect she's always found it hard to talk about it.
"We love you, y/n." Lando sighs making her move forward and hug him tightly before he scoops up her legs to hold her around his waist. "We love you a lot."
-
If there's one thing Lando and Charles both love it's having y/n at the races. Usually they split days, y/n spending Friday with one of them, Saturday with the other and then race day she usually finds a neutral place to watch from.
Both Lando and Charles have taken to being the ones to handle her phone, keeping her away from social media has proven to be a wiser move than they anticipation.
Y/n has been the talking point of a lot of hate, not even just towards herself but Charles and Lando have been getting shit talked for their choice to even spend time with the girl. Her being a billionaire's daughter seems to mean she's reflect on them as a poor taste in women (the irony doesn't escape them on that either).
"Alright, I'll see you later." Lando mumbles, while she smiles at him lightly, hanging her arms around his neck as she looks up at him with sparkling eyes. He knows for certain that y/n is exactly how they want her.
Y/n pushes onto her toes to kiss him, uncaring of any onlookers while Charles smiles and shakes his head.
"I'll see you later." Y/n mumbles with a grin before kissing him once more before she moves quickly to Charles who grins linking their hands and lifting it to make her spin under her arm as they walk to the Ferrari unit. "I'm hungry."
"Then we will get you something to eat." Charles smiles wrapping his arms around her and finding her capturing him in a day brightening kiss.
"I know I'm lucky to have you and Lando." Y/n smiles then tilting her head. "Can I steal your cap today?"
"You will have to wear something for Lando too."
"He chose my whole outfit." Y/n hums earning a look. "I will steal something from him though."
"Good." Charles smiles then pulling off his cap and putting it on her head. "You do look very good in red."
Y/n grins letting Charles notice the same sparkle behind her eyes that Lando had spotted before she's kissing him again.
When Charles is in his debrief, y/n runs over to McLaren looking for some sort of McLaren team wear she can steal.
"Y/n? Everything ok?" Jon asks making her nod looking behind him for her boyfriend. "He's in his room."
"Thank you."
And then she's off, jogging to Lando's room where he almost looks alarmed to see her.
"Can I borrow a jacket?" Y/n asks before he can get a word out and the looks of confusion is definitely there. "I want to wear Charles' cap but he said I should wear something from McLaren too..."
"I think orange and red might be a bit much together. But you can borrow my jacket." Lando states handing her the varsity jacket he'd arrived in the paddock with. "So long as it's mine, I won't feel too sore about you wearing a Ferrari cap."
"Ok." Y/n grins before she moves towards him and gets a kiss. "Good luck in qualifying."
-
Lando and y/n arriving later after the race than Charles wasn't on the plans but Charles had a bit of a rough race and he left before either had the chance to catch him.
"Charles?" Y/n mumbles walking into the suit and finding him fresh out the shower drying his hair. "Charles..."
Lando puffs out a breath leaving y/n to do the consoling, his race wasn't amazing but it was better than Charles'.
"You still did good." Y/n tries making the Ferrari driver grunt.
"I think sleep would be the best mood booster." Lando comments making y/n roll her eyes before she pushes the waistband of her shorts down and wiggles out of them before smiling when Charles senses her choice of mood boosting the white set earning Lando's attention.
"On the bed." Charles instructs making her move positioned on all fours over Lando, undoing his jeans and wasting no time because actually maybe she's more eager for their attention and needy for it than she ever thought she would be.
But also who wouldn't have sex with their two fit as fuck boyfriends?
Almost as if Charles was waiting for the moment, as soon as y/n take Lando between her lips he thrusts into her, only pushing the thong aside to gain access before he moves his hand to her waist setting a cervix bruising pace and depth while Lando very happily takes control of her head movements.
Both are caught up in using her for their own pleasure but just the feeling of being filled by the two is enough for y/n to get off and when Lando cums, pushing deep enough down her throat to see a bulge in her throat from his length the lack of air sends her over the edge, moaning around the dick still spilling cum down her throat before Charles uses the new tightness of her orgasm to fuck her through and into his own. Filling her as much as possible before Lando lets her up leaving her coughing a little.
Y/n whines when Charles gently pushes her forward onto Lando who more than happily holds the panting woman still trying to refill her burning lungs, aching from the lack of air.
"I'll be right back." Charles sighs while Lando hums and y/n climbs up to straddle his tummy, uncaring of Charles' cum leaking onto his stomach.
"If you're trying to turn me on again, you're doing a very good job." Lando smirks earning a grin as she leans forward.
"Yeah?"
"Yeah, and maybe we could see if you might be ready to fit both of us."
Y/n's face pales in a second, there'd be some hints at taking them both and not just in the way she had just done.
"I-"
"Charlie!" Lando calls making her jump a little. "Come back in here, y/n's got a second surprise for you."
#f1#fanfic#formula 1#lando norris#lando norris x reader#lando norris imagine#ln4 x reader#lando norris x y/n#lando x reader#lando#norris#charles leclerc fic#charles leclerc smut#charles leclerc x reader#charles leclerc#charles leclerc imagines#charles leclerc imagine#charles leclerc fanfic#scuderia ferrari#charles leclerc x you#charles leclerc x y/n#f1 x reader#f1 imagine#f1 x y/n#lando norris x you#lando norris fanfic#mclaren#ln4#mclaren f1#lando norris smut
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so american ✢ max verstappen
pairing: max verstappen x singer!reader
warnings: none; just some silly shit, some swearing, google translate dutch
summary: y/n is teasing way too many things at once…..can the fans keep up?
author's note: this is NOT an original concept i am aware of this. but this hasn’t left my brain in days. i’ve got a very specific vision so let me cook. i know i haven't posted on here in over a year but i've returned an f1 fan. enjoy!
yourname added to their story!
liked by delwatergap, maxverstappen1, and 3,491,842 others
yourname: i think i'm in love with montreal. sorry i’ve been so off the grid but i am Loving Life so hard. so much inspo in my life rn. will talk soon i promise. love u all bunches 🫶🏼🌷
ynsbestfriend: hey queen you have done it again!
-> yourname: ugh i love you so bad
user1: UM BAE WHOS THAT IN THE LAST SLIDE?
-> yourname: beats me!
-> user1: i do not trust you.
lilymhe: hiiiii pretty girl
-> yourname: stop im blushinggggg
user2: i fear she’s in her lover girl era
-> user3: girl help im so fucking scared right now what’s happening
user4: so does any of this have to do with your story from yesterday??????
*liked by yourname.*
maxverstappen1 added to their story!
yourname added to their story!
liked by honeymoon, danielricciardo, and 3,572,679 others
yourname: life's been a beach lately. clearly i've been loathing my time in spain ://///
user5: IS THAT MAX
-> user6: no bc it HAS to be
heidiberger_: Loved spending the week with you! 🤍
-> yourname: same!!!!!! let's do it again sometime 🥰
-> user6: NOT DANNY RIC'S GF COMMENTING?????? AND LILY MUNI HE ON HER LAST POST???????
user6: no bc even if her and max were dating and she's been traveling with him why have we not seen her in the paddock
-> user7: to throw us off our rhythm????
-> user8: what if they debut at his home race in spa ijbol
liked by landonorris, taylorswift, and 4,683,892 others.
tagged: maxverstappen1, redbullracing, and ynsbestfriend
yourname: hahaha felt like dropping 2 things at once on u guys LOLLLLLLLL. thank u to redbullracing, spagrandprix, and the city of spa for letting me and my friends crash the race the other week to film the “so american” music video, and to maxie for winning in ur home country. it was so fucking special to be there supporting u. i love u baby!
ps. another thank u to max for thinking i'm the funniest person in the world and making fun of my americanness for as long as i've known him (which is quite a while).
enjoy this tune guys. it's urs forever and i hope u love it as much as i love the person it's about 🫶🏼 🇧🇪 🇳🇱 TU DU DU DU!!!!!
user9: OH NMY GOD I FUCKING KNEW I SAW U IN THE GARAGE
ynsbestfriend: thanks for letting me third wheel mommy
-> yourname: no one else i'd rather drag along!!!
danielricciardo: Welcome to the family! Song's a banger although I can't believe it's actually about Max of all people 🤢 GROSS!!
-> yourname: jealousy is a disease danny.
user10: i actually cannot fathom this this is so me core
alexandramalsaintmleux: I am so glad to know you! Your happiness is everything 🩷
liked by sabrinacarpenter, carlossainz55, and 4,783,522 others.
tagged: yourname and ynsfriend
maxverstappen1: Spent a week away in New England with my talented, gorgeous girl. Loved getting away and experiencing America through her eyes! Consider me an honorary American now! Also, stream “So American” wherever you choose. It's about me 😉
yourname: does this mean i can stop hiding in the garage now???
landonorris: Happy for you mate! Love the song as well yourname 🤍
-> yourname: awe thank u lando 🥺 i got more to show u when i see u next!!!!!!
redbullracing: ❤️💙
user11: MAX IS IN HIS LOVER BOY ERA
danielricciardo: How many more times can you say American?
liked by charles_leclerc, chappellroan, and 3,694,849 others
tagged: maxverstappen1
yourname: nothing like celebrating the best 2 weeks of my life than showing my boy around ye olde stomping grounds #soamerican
liamlawson30: This is so American of him
-> yourname: like he fits in so well!
lydianight: u'll have him in the american flag board shorts in no time
-> yourname: baby steps :///
user11: she really is in her lover girl era 🥺
clairo: did you take him to the chipotle that is also a historic landmark downtown??
-> yourname: dude of COURSE i did. he said it was "interesting"
yourname added to their story!
#formula 1 x reader#f1 x reader#f1 imagine#formula one x reader#f1 smau#max verstappen x reader#max verstappen x you#max verstappen imagine#max verstappen#mv1 x reader#f1 texts#f1 fanfic#f1 social media au
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CLINGYGRUMPYJENNA X READER!!
plsplsplsplspls
Summary: Co-workers in public, lovers in private 🙌🏼, while shooting for Wednesday, J gets really stressed, and craves for R's intimacy, but can't have that yet until break of dawn, so J basically gets sooo annoyed with anyone who tries talking to her that isn't R.
the waiting game
Pairing: Jenna Ortega x Gn!Reader
Summary: request!! ^^
Words: 4.8k
Warnings: fluf, grumpy & clingy jenna!
a/n: caught basically the nastiest cold for a whole week, but im back! sorry requests taking too long, tryna to balance everything rn but it all will be done soon!!!!
masterlist.
Jenna hasn’t seen you in almost 4 hours, 36 minutes, and 4 fucking seconds.
Yes, she counted, yes, it’s still ongoing, and, yes, she could almost murder someone with her bare hands if time even dares to pass by without you.
What makes matters worse is that she's terribly sleep-deprived even with someone's arms wrapped around her night after night.
Of course, the aforementioned someone swirling in her head 24/7 is you. Her not-quite-lover in public but entirely her beloved behind closed doors.
If Jenna had it her way, she would’ve jumped off a building by now and hard-launched the both of you by herself just so she could get hugs, kisses, and your hand intertwined with hers all she wanted.
Obviously, the universe decides to be a stuck-up bitch just now in their 14 billion years of life, wanting nothing more than to see Jenna Marie Ortega suffer without having you.
But it's fine.
She could get through this.
If there's someone in the world that could handle a single day without your warm hugs and lovely kisses, whether it be on the cheek or the lips, it would be her. She didn't endure almost half a year seeing that godforsaken Wednesday dance to go completely insane without you.
— Is what she kept telling herself 30 seconds earlier before she broke down and almost turned to witchcraft if you don't appear in front of right her.
She could push through with it, like she always does. It's a simple routine that never got the best of her.
Wake up and have breakfast with the love of your life while prepping each other with kisses and whatnot, run to set for the both of you to act out a scene for a while, when break hits all Jenna has to do is intertwine her pinky with yours under the table, then do hair and makeup after, act out a scene then wrap it all up, lie to everyone for the 100th time that her house is just a few steps away from yours, hit a bakery on the way home or maybe an ice cream shop if Jenna feels peckish, break down the apartment door Jenna shares with you, run to the bedroom, and smother each other with kisses and cuddles. Maybe a makeout session if Jenna's lucky.
It's bliss then repeat.
But today just so happens to be the day that Jenna takes over the whole episode, doing stunts and everything with little to no cuts for side characters.
She'd think that you would have nothing to do than act out your scenes—with her—might she add and it'll be all fine and the nights she'd spent waking up at 3 in the morning would be all's well.
But no, unfortunately you were the epitome of the perfect person and everyone just has to drag you around to who knows where to deal with some difficulties.
Plus, the both of you woke up late so she didn't even get the full girlfriend treatment she always got in the morning.
It was completely unfair!
Jenna was tired, grumpy, a bit too snappy, desperate for your attention, and she misses you. Alot.
And by that she means she misses the way you would wrap your arms around her after a busy day of filming together, pull her close, and feel the way how her lips fits perfectly on yours.
She would've dragged you back to bed and cuddle with you if she knew what was about to happen. Every second not spent with you is absolutely meaningless in her book.
Unfortunately, she has to play the waiting game.
She's fucking losing it.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
It was 11 PM on a Thursday night.
Jenna is really so fucking tired, she could almost snap.
She had almost endured five to six hours of you nowhere even near her. The most she even interacted with you on set was when the both of you were acting a scene then abruptly got cut because of technical difficulties.
Plus, everyone but you was talking to her as if she was some kind of star! (she is.)
Jenna almost wished for an accident, or maybe a wardrobe malfunction that leads her to discovering some sort of new allergy about herself, just so she could be rushed off to the hospital and have you fussing over her, then maybe you could hold her hand and kiss her as if she would heal.
"How's it going, Ree—"
"Literally, I mean this in the nicest way possible, shut the fuck up Georgie."
He doesn't respond immediately, his eyes wide open as he steps back in surrender with his hands up in the air. "Ooooohkay!"
The brunette's head shot up immediately, her eyes burning and her shoulders slumped as she sank further into her chair for what felt like the millionth time.
"I... I didn't mean that, I'm so sorry." She closed her eyes shut, rubbing her temples, "I'm doing fine." She reassured herself more than anyone else, gripping the armchair for support.
"Biggest lie ever."
"You caught in Jenna's crossfire too, Emma?
"Oh damn, even Moosa?"
As if on cue, the whole cast decides to join in the damn conversation. Jenna loved them all, really, but it would've been so much better if a certain someone also joined and not far off into the distance talking to one of the editors.
Come on, would it literally kill you to question yourself why half of the cast was surrounding practically the love of your life while you're standing like 10 feet away!?
"You seem tense, J."
"Something wrong?"
"You've been staring at us for an hour with that Kubrick Stare of yours."
Who's exactly talking to her? Georgie, Emma, Moosa, it's all in that order but their voices seemed deranged, and it couldn't be any more worse when she's been trying to catch your eye for what seemed like the past hour.
She couldn't take shit when she's horribly missing you. So, she bites, and raises her voice more than she should, "Should I close my eyes to spare you the terrible fucking horror? Fuck, man!"
Jenna let an exasperated sigh escape from her mouth as she rose to her feet, eyeing the group with probably the most intense stare someone could bear witness to. She half-expected she'd get another pain-in-the-ass comeback from atleast one of them, but she was met with unusual silence.
The three look practically horrified, as if they were seeing the fictional idea of Wednesday Addams in the form of a 5'1, 22 year old woman dressed as her. Like they have the small but terrible quote running gears in their heads.
She heard them in unison muttering quiet apologies, "Sorry, Jenna…"
Her mind told her to forgive them for whatever they did, but her heart told her y/n.
"No, no it's fine." The brunette shook her head, her words forming icicles on each synonym and her eyes were like seeing inside of a storm. Without the peaceful atmosphere of an eye, clearly. "I'm just... stressed. Is Y/n free?"
Emma tilted her head to the side, "Actually, I never really saw them that much today, no?" She exchanged glances with the both of them.
"Heard they're busy with the tech team," Georgie crossed his arms, "Even for an actor, they've got a skill to be a director with how familiar they are behind the scenes."
Moosa nodded in agreement, "Yeah, they've been pretty tied up with all the technical stuff lately. Must be exhausting."
For fuck sakes, why did you have to be the most perfect and talented goddamn person?
"Why you looking for them?"
Jenna definitely did not need another goddamn voice entering her goddamn space.
She could almost roll her eyes and flip everybody off if not for Joy and the others being the most precious co-stars of them all.
"Because!" Jenna exclaimed, her voice cracking while lifting her arms in the air, "Y/n's my fucking lov...-"
Oh, shit.
"Lov...?"
"...Lovely neighbor." She blinked. "They... They bake me some cookies whenever I get in a bad mood."
Oh to fucking hell with this lovers in private bullshit. Lovely neighbor, that was the best damn excuse she could come up with?
"Well, heard they went home early because of an emergency, but it's kinda pouring out—"
It was in Jenna and Jenna alone on how insanely and horrifyingly fast she bolted out of the conversation, quickly changed clothes, thanking to the literal heavens (fuck the universe, Jenna will die on this hill) that Tim wrapped up early.
Josh. Josh was always the one you manage to bring up to be one of the most carefree guys in set, it's certain that he knew wherever the fuck you went. Actually, you always looked so happy whenever you talked to her about Josh and how much he lends with whatever left over set pieces they had, it's almost insane that you were—
"Aliyah, I'd tell you to shut up and fuck off as of this moment but I am literally too tired to even say that, what!?"
"Jenna, where the hell is your hoodie you wore on Christmas Eve!? I literally told you like an hour before your half-assed reply to tell me where'd you put your clothes."
Of course her sisters, more specifically Aliyah Goddamn Ortega, would find the most perfect timing to call her about the stupidest shit there could ever be.
"Okay, now, fuck off."
Jenna grimaced through gritted teeth as she hung up. She loved her sister, but does she love you more? Absolutely.
"Josh!" She called out, running towards him, "Sorry, kind of abrupt, but do you know where Y/n went?" Atleast she had some decency left in her to be polite to some.
"Actually—"
"Let one more word come out of your mouth not related to my question, and I swear, Josh—"
"Y/n left early, they told me to tell you but I guess I forgot."
Maybe a little too carefree.
"You fucking guess!?— I mean, yes, thank you. I’ll be going."
Oh, the waiting game is a pain in the ass.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
You pace back and forth in Jenna's apartment, your socks making a dent in the fuzzy carpet in the living room Jenna bought when you moved in with her, a nail in between your teeth and rain pouring in the background.
How in the hell did you forget possibly all your devices on fucking set!?
Your phone was dead, and your laptop was unfortunately abandoned by its owner (yours truly) and you have no way of contacting your lovely girlfriend.
And worse of all, it was a little over midnight.
All this because you got a notification that someone was at the door for an hour.
And it was just a fucking cat. (To be fair, they were really cute.)
You were starting to worry, especially how it was pouring outside like there was a hurricane incoming and how you left early without Jenna intertwining her warm and soft hands around yours.
So not only did you leave all your devices behind, but you also left Jenna without any means of contacting you.
You almost cursed yourself, maybe even doing the most stupidest and financially unstable decision of ordering a new phone as if it was going to be delivered same day.
Until you heard a slight click and a door opening.
There were times thunder struck, but it definitely did not beat the way your heart almost leaps into your throat as you hear the door opening.
You pause in your steps, a deep breath stuck in your mouth as you cross the living room and peer through the door way.
The door swung open and you're met with the, one of the most gorgeous and relieving sights you may add, of Jenna standing there. Slightly damp and with an... angry? Expression on her face.
"Jenna!" You blurted out, rushing over to her and enveloping her in a tight hug. "Did Josh fill you in? I feel terrible for getting home early, I'm so sorry. There was this whole thing I had to deal with, then the rain came pouring down, and I thought I'd at least get you a cab—"
"Shh. Just stay still. And preferably quiet."
When she's in your arms, she melts in the warmth of the comfort you bring to her. "Guess you caught the cab." You whisper under your breath.
You notice her breathing slowing down, the tension in her body easing away, a gentle smile playing on her lips as she buries her head in your neck. A sway the both of you took upon as she tugged at your chest with her hands wrapped around your body.
Jenna felt and smelled like home. Maybe heaven really is real if you're back in her arms after death.
"Is everything okay? Did something go down on set while I was away? Oh, Jenna, I'm so—" You start to pull back, placing your hands on her shoulders.
"Y/n, push me away, I fucking dare you, I'll bring down hell upon this godforsaken world."
You hesitate, but her gaze wants nothing more than to be in your arms. Who were you to deny her?
With a gentle squeeze of her shoulders, you pull her back into your arms. You weren't much taller than Jenna, in fact, just an inch or two apart. You loved that about eachother, like the two of you were a perfect fit.
Minutes pass, the only sound of the soft rhythm of Jenna's breathing and your heartbeat became a melody to your ears.
"I'm gonna hard launch the both of us right fucking now."
Well, that definitely caught you off-guard.
"Something happened?"
"You weren't on set for like hours! And everyones got too damn annoying for my ears to even process so I was trying to look for you, but then I ended up insulting Emma and the others, then I called you my lovely neighbor because I almost ended up saying you're my lover so I had to cover for it!"
"...That's quite a handful. I'm sorry I wasn't there, baby."
Even so, you knew that Jenna wasn't ready for a public relationship, not now that everyone was currently holding her at a social and cyber gunpoint with her life.
And even back then, you were the first one in the relationship who told her that the both of you would be better off if they both kept it private.
Even from their friends... And maybe more so families. Or maybe Jenna's. It's pretty hard to keep secrets from her family.
Obviously, look how that turned out.
Finally, Jenna murmurs something. "Sorry. It's been a rough day." Then she adds, almost as an afterthought, "Just without you."
You could almost kill yourself of the mere thought of even having to leaving Jenna the whole day.
"I—"
"Don't worry, I know you were busy with tech."
"Yeah. They got me wrapped up in their troubles, but 's all fine."
"Ever thought beating the complete shit out of them?"
"Jenna, you can't just say that!"
"But they've been literally hogging you from me! And I think that's completely unfair!"
"But you really shouldn't. You'd probably end up getting destroyed, especially with your height."
"Oh, but I definitely should. Besides, we're the same height, Y/n."
You laugh softly, shaking your head. "Okay, you know what, tempting as it sounds, I don't think violence is the answer."
She scoffs another time, a crease in her forehead. "Well, it's definitely an option worth considering."
After a moment of silence, you carry her to the living room, her legs dangling as you lift her from her feet and settle her onto the soft-cushioned couch.
You start to pull away once you set her down, stretching your body after a tense day, yet a certain someone was making grabby hands for you while shooting a look with her eyes begging you to stay.
"Y/n, don't you want to stay here with me?" She pulls you closer, locking her legs around yours.
Oh, Jenna knows damn well you couldn't resist her.
"Jenna, just relax," you gently tug her legs apart with your own, letting them fall as she permits, "I'll just get you some water."
She tugs at the hem of your shirt, "Then I'll come with!" Her smile almost comes back alive and she's already clinging onto your arm.
"Jenna. The love of my life."
"Y/n?"
"You're tired, stressed, snappy, grum—"
"Okay, I am not grumpy or snappy!" Jenna bites back almost immediately. "Why does everybody keep saying that?"
You shoot her a look. A yup-thats-why-look, and it's enough to get a pout to form on her lips.
"Grumpy, and you're still damp from the rain. I wouldn't be surprised if you wake up with a cold in the morning." You gently pat her head before sitting her back down. "I'll be quick, alright? You know I'm not going far just for a glass of water."
"Fine," Jenna huffs, "But you better hurry back! Ten seconds, tops!"
With a smile playing on your lips, you roll your eyes before making your way to the kitchen. And of course, Jenna's gaze from the couch was following you. You know patience was never Jenna's strong suit when it comes with you.
It wasn't even a few seconds before you heard,
"Y/nnnn!" Jenna's voice calls out from the living room, almost sounding like a groan and a whine.
It's almost amusing how someone as seemingly nonchalant yet sweet as Jenna could also be this puddle of affection and clinginess when it came to you.
You chuckle to yourself before quickly making your way back to her, holding out the glass of water for her.
"That was well over ten seconds." Jenna remarks, downing the water in one go before setting the glass on the coffee table. Then, she pulls you back towards her, and before you know it, you're both collapsing onto the couch.
"Well, I thought I did great." You say before Jenna tackles you into a very tight hug.
Leaning back against the cushions, you let out a sigh, feeling the everything slowly melting away when she's in your arms. Jenna inches closer, resting her head on your chest as you wrap an arm around her, holding her close.
"Hug me tighter, y/n." She murmurs softly, almost demanding if she didn't have a soft melody to her voice, her body warm against yours and her breathing seemed to be in sync with your own.
"You'll die if I do." You sigh contentedly.
Jenna lets out a huff, her breath warm against your skin and her scent was all too comforting. That earthy rain smell and her aromatic fragrance. "You know that I don't mind," she replies, "Of course you'd think I'd care if I died in your arms."
You laugh, shaking your head. "You're impossible, Jenna." You shake your head once against, ruffling her hair as you give her an extra squeeze before loosening your hold slightly to let her breathe.
"You want dinner?" You whisper to her after, not even above a decibel just for her to relax. "I didn't get the chance to stop by at the bakery."
"Please," comes Jenna's response.
You know what a full-on smile with dimples from her sounds and feels like when she has that hopeful and happy tune to her otherwise grumpy voice today.
You slowly pull yourself back up, gently pushing Jenna off your chest. And also unknowingly pulling a koala trapped in a 5'1, 22 year old body named Jenna Ortega clinging onto your back.
"Jenna."
She buries her head into the crook of your neck, eyes half-lidded. "Mmm… Yeah?" It's honestly surprising how she can actually and literally attach herself to you.
"Jenna, you have to let go so I can cook." Even as you ask her to release herself, you adjust to her weight on your back, carefully making your way to the kitchen, your hands securely holding onto her legs.
"You can cook just fine, Y/n," she whines, "You have two arms."
"And you," you reply, gently patting her legs, "have two legs and two arms. I can't cook with you piggybacking, baby."
You can tell the nickname made her smile. "Yeah, but I don't have a built-in Y/n in my system that I can cuddle with all day. So please just let me be."
"No, Jenna—You're gonna get hurt."
You reach the kitchen and gently lower Jenna from her back, setting her down on the kitchen island.
Her arms still lingered around your neck for a moment before she reluctantly, and against her will so it seems, lets go. "You know how frantic I am when I cook."
"Then maybe, you're not a good cook."
"I'm trying to keep my girlfriends, which is you, may I add, life out of harms way."
"Maybe that's the reason why you're not a good cook."
"Jenna."
Grabby hands, once again, making a return and tugging you by your shirt collar. But this time, you resist.
"Whyyyyyyy?" she whines, her bottom lip jutting out in a Jenna Ortega fashionable pout. "Do you hate me, Y/N?"
You roll your eyes playfully before booping her on the tip of her nose. "I'm cooking you a meal to show that I love you, baby." You pull back yourself and put on an apron standing off side to the fridge, Jenna's gaze could almost burn holes into the fabric.
"Okay." She sighs, dropping her head down. "Okay, fine! Can I just hold your hand?" She looks up to see you standing in front of her, wearing the cutest apron with the well-known kiss the chef quote.
A faint blush spreads across her freckled face, and you couldn't help but smile at her.
You can't really cook with one hand that properly. But if Jenna wants you to cook for her even if you had your hands surgically removed from your body, then so fucking be it. A few missing limbs can't top a few smiles from your girlfriend.
"Alright, baby." You place take her hand and lead her to the stove where it seemed like you've got everything prepared. "Just get behind me when there's oil splashing, mkay?"
A few minutes pass by with Jenna's hand in yours while you cook. Her head leans against your shoulder as she stands close.
Between the two of you, Jenna was always the one who takes over the cooking part of the relationship, no matter how much you insist cooking for her. But you're grateful and very fortunate now that she's allowing you to take over. Plus, Jenna keeps you entertained with her witty remarks and random stuff about her day.
Oh, what a life you're living in.
"You didn't cook for yourself?" Jenna's voice interrupts your thoughts as you plate a serving of salmon topped with herbs, accompanied by sliced lemon and a few kiwis. With the skin left on, of course, just how she likes it. Only for your loving girlfriend.
You shake your head, taking her hand and her plate in the other, leading her to the dining table. "I'm good. I had a late lunch earlier," you reply, gently placing the plate on the table and sitting her down. "Besides, it's not often I get to cook for you. It wouldn't be as special if I cooked for myself too."
Jenna's eyes almost appear teary as she looks at you. "Please never show yourself again in public. I seriously cannot lose you." She replied almost immediately.
If you didn't miss it, you would've seen the adoration and love shining in Jenna's gaze. It's as if she wants to ditch the meal entirely and cover your face with kisses.
You swear you probably ate a seed in your chest by how you kept feeling warmth bloom in your heart at her. "How can I do that if I'm an actor?" You chuckle, "They'd probably question you first if I disappear."
Jenna takes her fork and points it at you, slicing a piece of salmon with her spoon. "Hey, I've seen the tweets about people practically drooling over you. It's like they're your lover and not mine!"
You crease your forehead, crossing your arms, "You get more thirst tweets more than I do!"
"And I believe you contribute to that percentage." She raises one eyebrow, smirking at your direction before chewing on another piece of salmon. It wasn't a question, it was a statement.
A factual one at that.
You almost choke at your own words. "Oh, you know me so well."
A sigh escapes your lips, your smile still in place. "Besides, we're not exactly public, are we?" Leaning in, you draw Jenna into your own little world. "You're the only one who gets the real me. If I leave, I'll cross my heart on my own and I'll die on my own."
Jenna looks at you while taking a bite of her salmon, chewing slowly as if she's contemplating something, a tug in her lips. "Mn, guess so."
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
You'd think you'd get some work done, maybe memorize future scripts or send out some emails to directors asking if you could audition for a show at one in the morning.
Instead, you're lying in bed with Jenna.
Or maybe a koala in this case.
In bed. Blankets over the both of you. Pillow's a bit too comfy to even think about getting up. Plus, the koala in question may or may not have hidden your phone and charger.
Jenna wasn't always a light sleeper. Sometimes, you'd wake up in the middle of the night to find her sitting up with a blanket draped over her entire body, furiously typing away in her notes app. It's endearing, but also makes you wonder if she's ever dabbled in witchcraft.
Now, she's wide awake to even be one.
Her eyes closed and her breathing steady enough to lull you asleep. The atmosphere is cozy, and so is your girlfriend laying atop of you.
Her arms were wrapped around yours for the millionth time while her head rests on her favorite part of your chest, her head staring off to the side as if she's trying to hear your heartbeat.
You thought she'd be passed out after dinner, but she dragged you by the cuffs of your hoodie and lead you to the bedroom.
"Jenna," you whisper not above even the slightest decibel, "I have work to do." The gentle rise and fall of her chest steadies in sync with yours, her head tilting slightly in the other way, and the grip she has on your body suddenly got tighter. It's already as if you'll fly away from her.
She huffs as she raises her head to face yours. "Your work—whatever that is—can wait, but I can’t." The room is dim, too dim, yet you could see the slight dip in her bottom lip.
You know you should focus, but with her so close, it's hard to think about anything else other than, 'Nah, fuck it. I'll live.'
You bring your hands up to cup her cheeks, gently brushing her messy fringe away from her face. Even in this dim light, you could see her freckles scattered across her face like vines making something so abandoned a painting.
Jenna sighs when she looks at you. "Y/n, how long are you gonna keep me playing the waiting game?"
"The waiting game? What even is that—"
"Can you kiss me?"
Oh.
Her eyes become almost second nature to her words.
"Because I remember being woken up to the most gorgeous person ever but they didn't give me kisses, and I think—mpmhmmh..."
It took all your effort not to pull her into a kiss.
Obviously, your efforts were in vain.
Truth be told, you miss the way her lips hung on yours, she was perfect in every way. How her arms would wrap around you, how she'd reach up to tug on your jawline, tracing every thing you had offered her, how you would push back only for her to pull you closer.
The kiss soon ended with you and Jenna locking eyes. No words exchanged but the heavy breath the both of you took apart from eachother.
"—I think I might die..." Her words are breathless, her arms perfectly secured around your neck as you sit up.
You smile at her. "Well, I kept you alive, didn't I?"
"No," she breathes, taking hold of your cheeks before sitting up herself. "No, I'm still six feet underground if you don't continue what you were doing."
"You know, I'm starting to like the waiting game."
"Make me play that shit again, it'll be the last time you'll ever make a decision."
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
jennaortega
Liked by ememyers and 1,398,938 others
jennaortega goodnight to my gorgeous gorgeous girl @.y/l/n x
6 hours ago
natalieortega1: My fav girls!
joysunday: what lovely neighbors we have here
ememyers: !?@#%%#?!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
user: WE FUCKING KNEW IT
moosa_mostafa_: we never knew....
user: MY??????? MY???????? WHAT MY WHY MY?????????????????????
user: now how long....
georgieebleu: the coolest ever
user: WHATS IT FINNA PLAY??????
naomijogawa: two losers having a loser rs
user: having a heart attack holYHIST WHAT HT FUCK
user: literally stop.
hunterdoohan: Respect!!!!
user: shit so insane she got the whole cast to comment
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In short, Jenna won. Plus, she got all the kisses and cuddles she wanted until the alarm hit. (When it did, your name was surprisingly all over social media along with Jenna.)
#jenna ortega x reader#jenna ortega x you#jenna ortega x y/n#jenna ortega x gnreader#jenna ortega x gn!reader#jenna ortega#jenna marie ortega
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her jersey.
paige bueckers x female reader
summary: you wear paige’s jersey to her game to support her.
warnings: smut smut smut !!!
notes: this is my first story and first time writing smut so pls feel free to send suggestions or criticism lol
you and paige have been dating for about 5 months now. it’s been perfect and everything you could have imagined. your favorite thing to do is go to her games and see her play. today she has a game and you decided you wanted to surprise her a little bit so you bought a jersey with her number on it.
so you wear the jersey to the game and you’re sitting in the stands watching her play. once the game comes to and end you have a huge smile on your face because they just won! you couldn’t be more happy and proud of her, all you wanted to do was run down there and give her the biggest hug and kiss her all over, but you couldn’t. you and paige have decided to keep your relationship a secret. sure people have definitely started to suspect things as they see the two of you together so often but you try not to make it too obvious.
so you make your way back to your hotel room and send paige a text.
you: “hey baby i’m so proud of you!! come up to my room when you can i miss you and have a surprise :)”
you send the message and set up the room for her. you lay out flowers and light some candles. you stay in her jersey and change into some shorts. about 20 minutes later you hear a knock on the door.
you walk over to the door and when you open it you’re greeted with your beautiful girlfriend smiling one of the biggest smiles you’ve ever seen. she’s sweaty and her hairs a mess but somehow she still looks fucking amazing. and god that uniform makes her look even better.
“hi babe.” she says as she looks at you up and down taking in everything. “shit all this for me?” she says as she walks into the room.
“i wanted to surprise you. i’m so happy for you you’ve been doing so good.” i say as i smile at her. she walks closer to me and i shudder as she places her hand on my cheek. “you’re so amazing. i love this and i love you.” she says and places a kiss to my lips. “also my jersey looks fucking amazing on you baby.”
“you think so?” i reply as she’s staring at me like all she can think about is ripping it off.
“god you don’t even know what seeing you in that does to me.” she says and now she has her other hand on my waist. she pulls me closer and our lips finally meet again but this time it’s more intense.
she picks me up and i wrap my legs around her waist. she carries me over to the bed and lays me down. “wanna show you how much you mean to me.” she whispers as she starts to kiss down my neck. i let out a soft moan and start to take off my shirt. she stops for a second, “no leave it on.” she says looking into my eyes.
i do as she says and our lips meet again. she moves her hands inside my shirt. “no bra? god you’re driving me crazy.” i smirk at her words and she rubs her finger on my nipples. she pulls my shirt up enough so she can see my bare chest. soon her fingers are replaced with her mouth and i let out a moan.
suddenly she pulls my shirt back down and starts to kiss up my thighs. “take these off.” she growls and i do just that leaving me in just her jersey and my underwear. “you’re so wet and i haven’t even done anything yet.” she says smirking up at me. she starts to pull down my underwear and before i can even process it her tongue is on my clit.
“fuck p. feels so good.” i mumble as she starts to go faster. she adds a finger as she sucks my clit harder. i moan embarrassingly loud, “you like that baby?” i nod as she continues to go faster. “please i need more.” i say and just like that she adds another finger moving faster and faster.
“doing so good for me ma.” and that’s just enough to send me over the edge. “fuck baby ‘m so close.” as soon as she hears this she adds a third finger and starts sucking my clit harder, “want you to cum all over my tongue.” she says and seconds later i’m releasing all over her tongue just as she requested.
“you did so good.” she says as she moves up next to me and lays down. she turns to face me and places a kiss to my forehead. “i love you so much thank you for doing this for me.” she says with a smile.
“i love you more p. i’d do anything for you.” i say smiling as she pulls me closer to her. our legs intertwine and she places her hands on my lower back. she looks me in the eyes, “need you to wear that jersey more often.” she whispers into my ear.
i giggle at her and nod. “anything for you baby.”
#paige bueckers#paige bueckers smut#uconn wbb#uconn huskies#wlw#paige bueckers x reader#paige bueckers headcannons#paige bueckers fanfiction
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bound and bruised
words: 1.5k
warnings: 18+ only, NONCON!!!!, r*pe, male receiving oral, choking, p in v sex, unwilling sex, kidnapping, blacking out, loss of virginity, dead dove do not eat (PLEASE heed the warnings)
“stop fucking screaming.” rafe grunts out as you look up at him with tear stained cheeks.
“my knees!” you sob out. only moments ago rafe had shoved you down, bruising and scraping your knees against the rough flooring. you're sure they're going to be bruised by tomorrow.
“i don't care, bitch.” rafe says, gently slapping you on the cheek, more of a pat to get your attention back on him.
“you're being so mean.” you try to stand up, but rafes rough hand on your shoulder pushes you back down.
“stop trying to get away. you know you can't outrun me so you might as well just do as i say.”
“and what is it you want me to do?” you cross your arms as you glare up at rafe.
“easy.” he huffs out. “you're going to suck my dick.”
“your- your what?” you squeal, eyes widening when rafe reaches to his shorts, swiftly undoing the zipper and button, pulling the two sides of the flap open, but not pushing them down his hips yet.
“you heard me.” rafe smirks down at you, at the look on your face, one of confusion, verging on terror. “now im gonna take my dick out. and you're going to lick it.”
you try one more time to stand up, to flee and get away, but rafe is too strong, easily keeping you on your knees with one hand while the other frees himself from the confines of his clothes, kicking his shorts off before the underwear are also tugged down.
your eyes widen when you come face to face with rafes cock, hard and standing away from his body, much bigger than you could have imagined, but it fits his tall frame.
“i don't want to do this, rafe.” you whine. you've never sucked dick before, and you certainly don't want your first time to be with a guy you barely talk to.
“too bad. now lick it, it's for your own good.”
“what does that mean?” you question, but rafe doesn't respond, moving his hand to grip the hair at the back of your head as he pushes you forward.
your nose bumps his cock as you try to swivel your head out of the way, replaying rafes words in your head.
you stick your tongue out, taking a cautious lick against his length. you make a face, spitting onto the ground. “this is gross, rafe!”
“you have about five seconds to start licking before i just shove my whole cock down your throat. go.”
you know rafes threat isn't an idle one, so you push away the oddly salty taste as you begin to lick, focusing just on the mid shaft, ignoring the pulsing head of his cock for as long as you can.
“put it in your mouth, come on. you gotta get it real wet.” rafe encourages you.
“for what?”
“suck me first and then you'll find out.” rafe says, guiding your head to the head of his cock.
you part your lips, placing them around the head of his cock, feeling the weight against your tongue as you suck slightly, not sure what you're supposed to be doing.
“shit- that's good. just be careful for your teeth. if you bite me, you'll regret it.”
you have no plans of biting rafe as your tongue flicks over his slit, finding the taste slightly more bearable now that you've gotten used to it.
“that's it, good girl.” rafe says, even though the only reason you take more of his cock in your mouth is his hand pushing your head down.
“cover it in spit baby, you'll be grateful when i fuck you.”
your eyes widen and you try to pull off. no way you're letting rafe fuck you and losing your virginity like this.
“oh, no you don't.” rafe warns, pushing his hips forward to bury his cock down your throat as you gag aggressively around him, more tears pooling down your cheeks.
rafe pulls you off after a moment as you sputter, coughing aggressively to get the tickle out of your throat.
“get up. im gonna fuck you now.”
“no!” you squeal. you really should know better by now. should just lay back and let rafe do whatever he wishes, but you still fight him and try to get away.
rafe tugs you up by your hair, your scalp burning as he pushes you against the daybed, warm from the sun shining down on it, comfortable and soft in sharp contrast to how rafe is treating you.
“now let's see if you got my dick wet enough for this not to hurt.” rafe makes quick and easy work of your clothing, flipping the bottom of your dress up and literally tearing away your underwear as you cry out, skin burning from the fabric.
“it'll be better for you if you relax.” rafe says, spreading your legs open for him, looking down at both your holes as your ass spreads for him, but even he isn't going to take it that far as his cock presses against your pussy.
you're not wet in the slightest, and despite the spit, it still burns as rafe pushes inside as you cry out, gripping onto the daybed, grabbing a pillow and tossing it back at rafe, who easily swats it away.
“don't piss me off or i wont give you any time to adjust.” he warns.
you manage to relax slightly, enough for rafe to push all the way inside as he sits for a moment with his cock buried in your cunt, the virginity you were planning on losing on your wedding night now ripped away from you.
“shit, you're fucking tight.” rafe moans. “next time i fuck you ill get you wet too. i bet if i lick your pussy you'll get soaked for me.”,
“you're not gonna fuck me again.” you growl out.
“i will. i own you now. your pussy is mine, baby.” rafe makes his point by pulling out then pushing his cock in with a hard, punishing thrust.
your defiant words are lost on your tongue as he moves, thrusting into you with a tight hold on your hips, keeping your ass in the air.
rafes moans and growls are loud and unafraid of the neighbors hearing, like him fucking a girl on his back patio is a regular enough occurance for them to not look.
you try to keep breathing, try to keep your cunt relaxed as his cock pushes in and out, your wetness slowly increasing from the stimulation.
“you like this, huh?” rafe smirks, hands moving to grip your ass, leaving red marks from his fingers as he squeezes at your plump flesh.
“it-it feels good.” you admit with shame, red flaring over your cheeks. no point in lying when rafe can literally feel the way your body is responding.
“and i haven't even touched your clit yet.” rafe chuckles. “you'll gush, baby.”
despite his words, rafe makes no movement for your clit. right now isn't about your pleasure as he pulls your body back onto his cock to meet his already hard thrusts.
“don't… don't cum inside of me. please.” you plead out, chest rubbing against the daybed as he moves you, nipples hard even through the multiple layers of fabric and padded bra.
“where should i cum then?”
“anywhere. my ass, my mouth-”
“ill go for mouth. but get on birth control because im gonna flood your pussy next time.” rafe continues thrusting until you feel his cock swell inside of you.
he pulls out suddenly, flipping you over onto your back. you only have a second to take a quick breath before rafe is kneeling over you, shoving his cock between your lips as his hand strokes his base.
the second your lips close around his head, he's cumming, filling your mouth with the salty taste as you swallow it down, somehow seeming more pleasing than trying to spit it all out.
“that's a good girl.” rafe pats your cheek before turning to splay out next to you on the day bed as your chest heaves, pussy feeling stretched and sensitive.
“you wanna cum?” rafe asks. “i can rub your clit.”
“i don't want you to touch me ever again.” you say, adrenaline wearing off as tears form in your eyes once again.
“i wish you wouldn't say that type of thing, baby.” rafe frowns, reaching over to wrap his strong hand around your neck. your body flails as you try to hold onto the last bit of oxygen, but ultimately you give out, vision going black.
you wake up much later. you're not sure how long, but it's been multiple hours, your throat is dry from lack of water and rafe choking you until you blacked out.
“see what happens if you misbehave?” rafe asks as your head snaps to look at him, not even realizing he was in the room.
you look down at your wrist, handcuff wrapped around it, connected to a chain, which is secured to the very bed you're sitting on.
“now.” rafe smiles wickedly, moving to the edge of the bed. “about touching your clit…”
#dddne#dead dove fic#dead dove do not eat#rafe smut#rafe cameron smut#obx smut#outer banks smut#tw noncon#rafe fic#rafe fanfic#rafe fanfiction#rafe cameron fic#rafe cameron fanfic#rafe cameron fanfiction#rafe x you#rafe x y/n#rafe x oc#rafe x reader#rafe cameron x you#rafe cameron x y/n#rafe cameron x oc#rafe cameron x reader#rafe imagine#rafe one shot#rafe blurb#rafe drabble#rafe cameron imagine#rafe cameron blurb#rafe cameron drabble#rafe cameron one shot
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Hi! This is my first time requesting so forgive me if I did something wrong 😿
I've read your Aventurine x slave!reader and I was wondering how about reader who WANTS to be his sex slave? The first time reader met Aventurine, she's been gushing over him. Reader tries to hide it but the word "simp" literally written on her face. Every night reader dreams of riding, sucking Aventurine's cock, wanting his head between her legs, rocking her inside every night. Every time reader nears/sees Aventurine, her face got red and her legs slightly parting although she insists it's just her habit. It didn't took Aventurine long to know what reader has been dreaming of and he's gladly fulfill reader's small dream.
Bonus: reader has a degradation kink and in her mind she'll do anything Aventurine told/request her like a good pet
Once again sorry if this is somehow against your rule 😭 If you're not feeling comfortable with it you can delete my message
MR HOTSTUFF, PLEASE NOTICE ME !
˚₊‧desc— Aventurine noticed that one of his subordinates just can't seem to keep their eyes off him!
˚₊‧tw— smut, degradation kink, dacryphilia, blowjob, slight pet play, adult toys, buttplug, public sex?, dubcon photo taking, choking, masochistic!reader, sadistic!Aventurine, kinda yandere!reader
˚₊‧a/n— I've been having writer's block but I desperately want to write for my husband. This is the most tame fic I've written so far I think, this is soo horrible cuz I wrote this while my head hurts.
He hated dealing with new recruits in the IPC, as the senior member of the strategic investment department—it wasn't really his job to do so.
They're incompetent, slow-working assholes who can't understand a single thing he says. But still—he does need to pick a partner.
He doesn't understand why he needs to, since he's fully capable of himself but it is a requirement for every Ten-Stonehearts members. Said it was something about a program training the recruits..
He goes to round the recruits and asking them questions to find which is the most suitable one for him.
Honestly, all of these recruits are dumber than Topaz's pet. The talent motivation department did a horrible job with finding these recruits.
Each one of them can't answer a simple question, when he asks them if they're willing to risk their life for a gamble, all of them just suddenly go dumb-witted as if they lost all braincells.
He doesn't mean to sound like a fellow acquaintance who nags everytime he sees an idiot, but for the love of Qlipoth are they a dumbass with a stick shoved up their ass.
He rejected all of them and was even beginning to think that he wasn't gonna pick one that's good enough, well that was until he was met with the sight of a cute girl—undoubtedly nervous.
How could he miss such a gem in these crowds? He observes you for a moment and when you glance at him—your eyes shine with admiration.
He likes it, you're cute, can keep up with his commands although you do that little thing that makes you space-out sometimes.
He's not extremely bias towards women, but aren't you just so adorable—a diamond in the rough, he thinks.
And when he asks you a question, you'd respond in a fast tone. And when he finally asks you the question that the other recruits dreaded, you'd answer in a cheery tone.
"Y-yes, I'd like to sacrifice my life for you, Aventurine! You're amazing and I'd really like it if I was your assistant even if that means I have to die just to worship the ground you walk on—" you stop when he just stares in your eyes without a response.
Bingo.
"How is your recruit fairing, Aventurine? I heard that you liked her very much." Topaz asks while petting Numby that's placed on her lap.
"Mmn, she's alright." he says as if he wasn't hiding you beneath his desk, sucking his cock as he has a conversation with Topaz. He hums as he strokes your hair, Topaz still so blissfully unaware of what a happening under the table.
"How about your recruit?" he asks and pushes you down deeper by your head, you gagged but it was silenced by Topaz's talking, thankfully.
"I don't like him, it seems like I chose the wrong one. I'm even considering to drop the program off—it's not even worth it since we should be busy with other things." she sighs before crossing her arms and Numby squeals when she does that.
"Sounds like he's a handful." he almost moans but he managed to keep it in, his face is probably flushed at the moment.
"You have no idea of how much of a—Hey, you okay? You look pretty red." she mentions and almost stands up to check on him.
"Yeah—gh. I'm fine, I'm just not up for conversations right now." you bat your eyelashes at him, tears threatening to fall down whilst you take him deeper in your mouth.
Topaz nods—placing the space trotter down as the chair scrapes against the floor, Numby starts to stare at him as if aware of what was happening.
"Hey Topaz," Aventurine called out as she was leaving the room, "Lock the door before you leave, please." He accidentally let out a moan which was silenced quickly while hoping that she doesn't notice.
She doesn't question the slight moan and leaves the room with her pet following, Numby looks at him suspiciously before being called by Topaz and Numby hurriedly follows behind.
Aventurine finally breathes heavily, not realizing that he was holding his breath all these time. The fact that you're gazing up at him with those eyes of yours make his cock twitch in your mouth.
"Y-you.. Fuck.. What a good recruit I have hm? You're so—fuck.. Come here, bend over the desk." you abide, bending over the table and lifting your skirt to proudly show him the buttplug you wore that resembles a cat's tail.
"So cute.." he coos and flicks the tail, he had gifted you that just the day before you so willingly confessed your obsession over him.
"M-master—cock.." he slaps your butt once, reminding you of your place and how you're not supposed to make any demands.
"Nuh-uh, remember how I taught you? Manners, baby." you whimper at his words before fumbling over your words again which just makes you get another spank on the butt.
"No cock until you learn to ask properly." whining at his words—you try to speak properly, you do want his cock after all.
"Cock—please, Master..? I'll be good.." you manage to let out despite the embarrassment, but you're so used to being shameless around him.
He praises you for a moment and grants your wishes—the wish that you desperately wants his dick in your cunt.
The hands that were holding your hips were now on your neck, gripping your throat tightly and cutting off your airway.
But you like it—it's feels so good to be choked— especially by him! You want to die by his hands.. By his graceful hands.
"M-more.. More.." the word leaves you like a river flowing out, you drool once he pushes himself inside you and grunts.
The rhythm starts off slow and gentle before it proceeds to get rougher and deeper, you moan out and looks at him with a blurry vision.
Just before you could pass out—he took his hands off you just so you could breath in and you physically whine.
Just by that whine—he gradually speeds up faster, hitting the spots within you that you could never reach with a custom-made dildo of him.
Tears start slipping down your cheeks which he smiles at. He loves your tears, he loves it when you break down because of him.
More and more, you start to get crazier day by day—mad over a woman getting too close to him and oh he just loves that.
He kisses your tears away and grins at your dumbstruck face—he cums at the sight of it, pushing his seed deep inside your womb.
You're already gone the first round, he wants to do much much more with you. But first, he pulls out a gift for you.
A collar for you, he clips the collar on your neck. Now he can fuck you easily—and also show that you're his and his subordinate alone.
#aventurine smut#aventurine x reader#aventurine x y/n#aventurine x you#yandere aventurine#star rail aventurine#hsr aventurine#hsr smut#yandere hsr
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Dunk and Joong could have offered me anything in 2024, and I would have taken it, gladly, no questions because my ass is a Jaidee fan first and a human second. But to hand me The Heart Killers? Oh! Let me list all the reasons y'all gonna hate me when this comes out.
Joong plays Khao's older brother
Khaotung is older than Joong, but in BL Land that doesn't matter because Khao is playing the hopeless romantic little brother while Joong is playing his stern older brother. Someone already wrote it was 10 Things I Hate About You/The Taming of the Shrew, and Shakespeare would be thrilled to know one of his masterpieces is getting the queer treatment and it's not Twelfth Night.
Dunk is playing the crazy seducer
Boy wants a car and is willing to go to great lengths to do it, including distracting some dude, so his buddy can play house with that dude's little brother. But the whole point is they had to find a guy who was crazy enough to accept the offer in the first place >insert Dunk's character< so the guy isn't just wanting the car. He is doing this for the thrill of getting tied up, stripped down, and threatened.
And I respect that.
Jojo is apparently directing
I wanna have beef with Jojo after Only Friends, then I look at his resume and remember this is the man who gave me puppy play in The Warp Effect, poly in 3 Will Be Free, and a chaotic stripper named Judo in Dirty Laundry PLUS the YinWar trailer for their Partner in Crime concert which has now lead to YinWar doing Jack & Joker, so as a vegetarian, I'm gonna be like Elsa and let that go.
Which means Rath is probably the cinematographer
I don't give men compliments easily, so when I state that Cinematographer Rath has never disappointed me, I mean it. The man knows what he is doing, and if he is in on this series, I know if anything, it will be visually stunning.
First and Khao being the Beyonce of GMMTV
I'm in Jaidee's corner always, but I have eyes and First and Khao could really do whatever they want and I'd eat it up. I have believed them with whomever they have been partnered with in the past, and if they want to play high schoolers in an oppressed school system or a banker willing to see his ex and his ex's new man just to flirt with the boy from the market, I'm buying the tickets, I'm sitting in the front row, and I'm holding up homemade posters. Basically, I'm shutting the fuck up and experiencing whatever they want me to experience.
First and Khao tears
This is its own category because when they cry, they are in a league of their own. They claimed this series was going to be lighter than their previous work, but what is a First or Khao series without tears? I hope they are drinking water right now because someone is crying in this series, and JD's faces are already wet for other reasons.
DUNK'S BODY!
Not to objectify the man's body, but . . . it's a banger, and he has been done dirty by wardrobe for two solid years. His face card never declines. His arms are solid. His waist is snatched. His hair is perfect. Even Tay, New, and Jan were talking about him in the BTS for Peaceful Property because they were saying how New's character was based off of Dunk - pretty, fashionable, and COCKY! But wouldn't we all be that cocky if we were walking around looking like this?! Like shut up fives. A ten is speaking!
It's high time that man got to stunt like Force always does just taking off his shirt for no reason. Good for him. And good for us.
Oh, yeah, and the plot
Sorry, I mean the plot.
SHIT, THE PLOT!
You know what? Nah. I honestly do not give a fuck about the plot. Joong and Khao are hired killers. First is out to get them. Dunk gets involved (although, I think he knows a lot more than he leads on), and . . .
All will end well.
Because if anything, Jojo ain't never been allergic to a happy ending *wink*
So just know this show hit its target audience
ME!
¡Salud!
#the heart killers#gmmtv 2024#joongdunk#firstkhao#this was meant for me!#rath and jojo save me!#give me chaos and visuals#I'll take whatever you give me#I'm still gotta talk smack about everything else#but I'll be quieter about it
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Dating Vault Dweller Lucy MacLean
never written anything but yellowjackets before but her girlfailure energy and complete lack of skills has entranced me
insists on giving you a tour of her vault. you could see everything interesting just from standing and turning in a circle, but she just has to show you all the “best spots”. it's just corners with interesting cracks in them.
takes you on little picnic dates because she read about them in her book club once. sitting around in the field eating canned tuna while people work around you but she's having a great fucking time. you've never seen her smile more.
big-time yapper. can talk for hours about the most niche topics if you let her. by the time she's done you can name almost every major player in some small skirmish 300 years ago. she gets so excited when she notices you're paying attention to whatever she's talking about. The girl just lights up and talks so fast you've got to ask her to slow down
if you didn't like reading before you'd better learn to love it because you will be joining that bookclub. by the time you've gotten around to reading it Lucy's pretty much spoiled the whole thing by accident. she just wants someone to talk about the exciting bits with and gets ahead of herself. sheepishly avoids eye contact when you put the book down and sigh.
she likes when you're good at things but lowkey resents when you're better at something than she is. you beat her out in riflery and she has such a strained smile when congratulating you on it. she hates not being good at something so much that she feels guilty for it.
definitely said “Golly!” after your first kiss
loves to sit around on your bed and watch you get ready. it takes all of five seconds to get your outfit on but she insists it's one of the best parts of her day.
insists on showering together to “save water”. always gets a little handsy but still rushes you out on time because she feels bad at the idea of wasting water.
Lucy wants to do anything and everything she can for you. she wants to impress you and show you how much she brings to the table, and the habit kind of just stays even after your relationship is well established. She takes a lot of pride in her skills and what better use for them than making life easier for her partner.
So easily won over by praise. No matter how sad or upset she is, you can always cheer her up at least a little by telling her how smart or good at something she is.
cannot be suave or subtle no matter how hard she tries. and she does, a lot. tries to hit you up with a one liner and tells the punch line first. tries to lean against the wall and stumbles face-first into it. makes you dinner and trips over the edge of a rug and drops it on your shoes. you just make her so nervous.
she's so blunt that it leads to the most awkward situations, but you almost prefer it to the havoc she brings when she purposely tries to be charming.
cannot lie to save her life. she’ll definitely try if it means sparing your feelings but she's so obviously lying that it doesn’t matter much. all “wow… you did such a good job!” but she’s choking it out and cannot meet your eyes.
she's so attached to you. would follow you from room to room all day if she could get away with it. she needs such constant affection and gives so much in return that it's a little overwhelming at first.
definitely the type to lick her thumb and try to rub the dirt off your forehead with it. she's so embarrassing, honestly. fiddles with your clothes to make sure they're presentable. you're going to dinner with 20 other people all wearing the same outfit, but god forbid yours is a little wrinkly.
you can always tell when she wants you to do something romantic for her because she'll leave out your nicest jumpsuit for you to wear as a hint.
catches you watching her fix pipes and assumes you want to learn instead of just ogling her. tries to explain it and you're like “yeah? that's crazy…” till she finally gets the hint. always looks so proud when she realizes you find her attractive, even after you've been together for a while.
lowers your guard with the most innocent-looking smile and then suddenly says “we should have sex” with all the subtlety of a train wreck. that awkward bluntness rearing its head again. can always trust Lucy to say the quiet part out loud.
loves to flirt with you but she is so bad at it. doesn't recognize the fact that she's bad at it either. hits you up with the worst fucking line known to man and looks so quietly smug about it.
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after the events of season 4, steve just wanting SO BADLY to be friends with eddie. just LOVING the idea of them getting closer and having eddie as a friend because hell yeah! a close male friendship with someone that is actually my age, and who i don’t have a weird history with involving bruised eyes and love triangles? count me IN! and eddie is FUN, he is actually hilarious! the way they share the same glances of understanding when dustin is being an absolute shit head, rambling on and on about some obscure topic, expecting everyone to always be on the exact same page as him. of course. and, although steve suspects that eddie actually probably is keeping up with everything dustin says, much better than he ever could, he knows that above it all eddie can appreciate the antics for what they are, and roll his eyes with steve at dustin, i concur, you dustin henderson, are a total butthead.
steve just about junps RIGHT IN to being friends with eddie. hey man, what’cha up to tonight? wanna watch a movie? get drunk, smoke a bit? hey eddie, how have you been, man? he starts calling eddie up on the phone regularly just to check in, shoot the shit, he loves it! he loves having this new friendship with eddie munson and he loves how much the other boy has surprised him with how much he actually enjoys being around him. he’s not a freak, really, well ok maybe he is a little bit, but only in the best ways. he’s kind, thoughtful, and is always looking out for the people he cares about, which is something steve can really respect in a dude. but he’s also so funny? steve never could’ve anticipated just how much eddie has managed to make him genuinely LAUGH over their short amount of time spent together. and he’s really, out there? with the way he presents himself, the way he takes up space with these big THEATRICAL movements, leaving no room for regret or shame or god forbid embarrassment. steve isn’t even sure munson is capable of feeling it at all.
eddie munson is a good dude, and steve could use a bit more of that kind of person around him. he loves all of his friends, the weird little bonded family he’s found himself apart of, and they are all good people, but it never hurts to have afew more added in here and there. it never hurts to know there are more good people out there to find.
so steve is all over eddie, it seems.
at least, from where eddie is standing. nobody else seems as phased as eddie does at this sudden change in steve’s demeanour, in his interest in what eddie munson spends his time doing these days. it seems like, to everyone else, to steve, it’s just a natural progression in their relationship, after being sort of role model figures to the same group of kids, both being the two single dudes, who fought the same monsters together last spring, it seems nobody questions too much that they’d start casually hanging around eachother more. especially since eddie has found himself to fit into his own special spot as one of the group now after it all, after he unwillingly became tangled in this whole upsidedown-superpowers-supernatural-monsters and demons debacle, and tangled quite dramatically at that, the rest of the group that’s been with this since the beginning seemed to find no trouble in taking him in and seeing him as “one of them” now.
so, steve asking eddie to smoke, to watch movies, to go for a drive with no real end destination, it’s not really something that earns them too many double takes. dustin makes a comment or two in the beginning, because steve since when did you like hanging out with eddie? you guys are like so opposite, you don’t like any of the same stuff he does? and steve barely gives a shrug and a dismissive yeah yeah whatever man in response, with a signature eye roll, and dustin had said it seemingly also not too seriously, poking fun at steve wherever he can, not really meaning anything by it, as he fidgets around and rambles in the backseat of steve’s car, eddie riding up front. after that, though, he’s dropped it. it’s never brought up again. part of eddie thinks, too, that dustin would actually be enjoying that his two older friends are becoming friends themselves.
robin seems to be the only other person to look a bit harder at their situation, lingering stares at their interactions, all squinted eyes and eyebrows raised, though from her all this seems to be almost always and only ever directed at steve. eddie’s not sure what to make of that. isn’t he the weird one? i mean, he’s the one that stands out, right? he’s the odd denominator that makes their friendship strange. why would steve harrington want to hang out with Him? HIM? but robin doesn’t spend her time studying eddie to try and search for what about him could possibly have piqued the interest of cherished steven harrington, no, shes always looking at steve. like she’s seeing him differently, almost. eddie doesn’t even think that steve notices it, either, because he doesn’t seem to be questioning or doubting anything odd or strange or out of the ordinary with their newfound time spent together. and maybe, maybe robin is seeing him differently. eddie knows he definitely has been. seeing him more, intensely. deeply. human. seeing the person that steve is, as just steve, not this idealised version of a boy that eddies starting to question ever really even existed at all, or if everyone around him just needed to believe that he did, and who was steve if not happy to comply to the wants of the people around him for who he should be?
eddie likes having steve as his friend, too. don’t get it twisted. he loves how unexpectedly expressive steve is about everything, even really small things. steve LOVES to raise his voice, rest a hand on his popped hip, scolding the kids for something stupid with no real heat or malice behind it. and steve is, like, kinda bitchy too. eddie knew he had the capacity to be a real asshole when he wanted to be, that’s all he knew steve for back in the day, when he was back in high school, hanging around tommy h and the basketball boys, the jocks. eddie would spend his days hearing only whispers and gossip in the hallways of the parties at king steve’s house and the fights king steve had started and won on the court or out in the fields, only ever getting as close as a shove into a locker with the guy at the time, but eddie knew how it could go. he knew all about what steve had done to jonathan, what he’d said to him, the words he’d used. eddie knew it all. he’d seen enough, and been through enough himself, to know how these guys acted in response to guys like him, like jonathan, people who were lower on the social food chain. so, eddie knew about steve’s “mean streak”, if you will, but this kind of snarky bitchiness was something new to him. harrington was almost, sassy, when he wanted to be. it was less so cruel and more just, just sass. if he’s being completely honest it kind of blew eddie away, at first. he thought steve was one of those dull headed jocks who thought with their fists more than their actual brains, but that couldn’t have been farther from the truth. steve’s insults were well thought out, they were FUNNY, he was smart with his words. and silly. oh my god steve harrington could be so fucking silly, real honest to god goofball when the moment called for it, when he felt comfortable enough. eddie had caught on multiple occasions steve mimicking lightsabers to play fight with dustin, or the stupid fucking shit he would do or say just to make robin laugh, singing along to a song playing on the radio with a funny voice.
it was all a little, intoxicating, to watch. eddie didn’t know what gave him the right to be in on this now, to get to see this side of steve and better yet to be at the other end of some of his best qualities. it was fun, all the time they spent together, but there was always something else tugging inside eddie everytime they spent close time together, too. something, he knew steve wasn’t aware of. something he knew steve wasn’t equipped to deal with. something he knew, was him. was him, making things something more than they should be, because, nobody seemed to be questioning that they could become friends, so why ruin that? why disrupt it?
- robin and steve
“Steve.”
“-but then like, it wasn’t that I didn’t want to watch it I just thought, hey, y’know, let’s try something different for a change, but then he- oh my god he honest to god TACKLED ME Robin — I mean, it was so fucking funny and it happened so quick — and all over a fucking Tom Cruise movie-“
“STEVE.” Robin lightly slammed a hand onto the counter. She had been standing behind it for no short of 20 minutes, watching Steve as he paced around, supposed to be stacking tapes onto shelves, but ended up spending the whole time going on and on, and ON, about how movie night went with Eddie last night. She thought she was bad…
Steve jumped, almost running into a shelf and knocking down his hard work, and seemed to snap out of whatever trance he had found himself in after starting to tell Robin a story about something funny Eddie had done last night.
“Shit, sorry. Sorry, what were you saying? Were you- were you saying something?”
To this, Robin just rolls her eyes and let’s out a laugh, “You, sir, are goddamn hopeless.”
“Sorry. How long was I talking for?” Steve wandered his way over to lean his arms onto the counter from the opposite side.
“Oh, I dunno Steve, just about half an HOUR?”
“That is an over exaggeration Robin, it’s only been like-“
“Honestly, man, i’m concerned for you. You are like next level OBSESSED with Eddie. Eddie Munson. You do realise this right??? You are obsessed with him, Steve.”
To this Steve sputters, lazily waving his hands back and forth.
“No, Robin, what the hell are you talking about? I am not OBSESSED. No need to be jealous, alright, Stevie-Boy here can have more than one friend. Your spot in my heart isn’t any less special now that it’s beginning to be shared by another.” He bats his eyelashes up at her, holding both hands over his chest as if to cradle his heart.
“Oh my GOD! You even SOUND LIKE HIM!”, she playfully slaps his shoulder. “Steve. You are obsessed.”
“I am not obsessed! He’s just a really great guy, alright-“
“Blah blah, yep whatever you say, lover boy.” Robin quips, plopping down onto the chair chair infront of their staff computer, turning herself to face it.
“Wha- what? Lover boy? What the hell Robin, that is not- that doesn’t even make any sense!”
She is just smiling at him now, enjoying seeing him spiral like this. Steve let’s out a sigh as he puts his hands on his hips, and shakes his head, looking at her right back.
He opens and closes his mouth afew times, like he’s really thinking about what he wants to say next. Or like he has no idea what to say next, and his brain is not moving fast enough to formulate the next sentence his mouth knows he wants to say. He wasn’t obsessed. That’s not- that’s like- no. No he was not, Robin was just playing around with him, she knew how to get on his nerves. Get him all wound up over little things just to see him react like this.
After a minute or two, Robin realises Steve was not going to reply anytime soon, so she turns fully back toward him. Saving him from his spiral.
“So, what are you’re plans for tonight Steve-O?”
He lets out a chuckle and walks around the counter till he’s behind it with Robin, leaning his back against it so he can stand across from her and face her.
“Well, not really sure. Parents aren’t home, no early shift tomorrow, might drink afew beers, listen to some music, —“
“See what Eddie’s doin?” Robin finishes for him, quirking her eyebrows up and down as she does it.
“Oh shut up!” Steve just laughs and softly throws a tape from the counter at her chest. “As a matter of fact, yeah I will see what he’s up to. Because we are friends now, Robin. Is that a problem? Actually I was also gonna ask you what you were up to after work, too, but you know what after this I’m having second thoughts, I mean, the way you’ve been treating me lately-“
“Oh my god, you are the worst. Yes, I’m free, of course I’ll hang out with you dingus. You and your tweedle dee.”
Steve laughs at this, then tilts his head.
“Wait, does that make me dumb? Tweedle dumb?! That’s how you see me?”
“Yeah it is actually, got a problem?”
“Oh wow, she’s feisty today. Can’t believe you think I’m dumb, Rob’s. When you come knockin’ tonight, do not expect a warm greeting at my front door.”
“Yeah, yeah, I’ll take my chances.”
- later. steve’s house. to be continued?
#just been having steddie post season 4 thoughts#been missing the era of the fandom just sort of starting during that time between vol 1 and 2#how every fic had their own little way of resolving the upside down/vecna problem just written into afew small paragraphs#really just getting to know these characters as a pairing#most importantly before seeing them as a couple#seeing them as friends#how they would genuinely interact and get along#what their dynamics would look like#steddie early days truly have my whole entire heart#coming onto tumblr the weeks following vol1 of s4 was magical#anywho yeah non vol2 compliant steddie for you#more so just#eddie didn’t die steddie for you#they become friends bc truly i actually believe that had he lived they would have#it just makes sense#stranger things#eddie munson#steddie#steve harrington#stranger things 4#stranger things season 4#robin buckley#dustin henderson#also lmk if i should keep adding to this…might abyways bc i’m enjoying this#steddie fic#steddie fic idea#steddie ficlet#steddie fanfiction
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Does anyone want to hear about android!Ghost's dick? No?
OK well I wanna talk about it so...
Starting off strong with the "he doesn't have one" argument because what use does he have for one when he's literally built for active duty? Well. First of all who build a robot you can't fuck? Second of all shhhhhhhh.
As it stands he doesn't have one. Not that he doesn't want one or wouldn't use one but the military can be so stingy... so obviously he's gotta enlist his favorite mechanic to make him one. Which is a fun in person request to make. Just showing up to your workshop and telling you he wants a dick while you studiously do not look at his crotch. You can feel him smirking when you ask what he plans to do with it. (He'd get by pretty well with his fingers and *redacted* but nothing beats dick)
So you gotta design a dick for this guy, take measurements, get input, spend hours agonizing over the neuropathways and how you're going to link this in to his synthetic nervous system. Plus like... are you gonna make this thing come? You probably should. If Ghost is going to be using it he should get something out of it.
So now you have to design an orgasm program. Which is easier said than done because how do you quantify that, and how do you code it, and most importantly how do you test it?
Well you test it by hooking Ghost up to the computer and setting the program to run, watching him stiffen and arch his hips into the feeling, swearing in that low mechanically filtered voice as he humps the air. Fuck he looks good. UNPROFESSIONAL THOUGHT. OK you stare at your screen and run a few more variations, asking him to describe each one and rank them. Great orgasm locked and loaded, now you have to set up trigger scenarios.
Which also means when you actually get the android dick to a solid prototype you have to call Ghost in and install it. You reserve the day, clear it with Price (new parts testing, custom made, you tell him. Giving no other details. He doesn't ask) and keep a fire extinguisher and a kill switch nearby while you tell Ghost to... jerk off.
And then you watch him stroke the gorgeous, big, cock you custom designed for him with thick, deft, fingers. And you wait for the orgasm program to trigger. And hope that nothing glitches and he doesn't rip your beautiful masterpiece of a dick off, and also that the come you designed actually comes out at the right time. So you sit there and watch him, press your thighs together and try not to shift in your seat even though you can hear the click of Ghost's cameras as he watches you watching him.
You don't wonder what he's thinking about. You don't focus on the grunt of pleasure he lets out. You do tap at your screen to check the sensitivity levels on the synthskin you used. You do reach to make sure he isn't squeezing too tight or stroking too rough and end up with lube based come spurting onto your face.
Which you suppose means it works.
Which means moving on to partner trials, and your hand tentatively wrapped around Ghost's fat cock. You don't remember why you made it so thick, but it doesn't help the ache between your legs. You try to keep a professional look on your face as you reset the program and start to stroke him with much gentler fingers. You ignore the come staining your face until Ghost swipes his fingers through it and pushes those same fingers into your mouth.
You end up on the workbench with him, grinding your clothed cunt against his firm thigh as you stroke his cock and he pumps his fingers into your drooling mouth. Mutter all manner of filth to you. Greedy whore, desperate piece of meat for him to fuck now that you've made equipment for him. Aren't you a smart little toy to make him exactly what he asked for, and so big too. "That what you want love," he asks, "you want a fat cock to split you open? Look'it you drool, probably tried it out before you stuck it on me."
Even if you didn't you can't say you didn't think about it, didn't drag your fingers over the dick appreciatively. All the scaling in the world, trying to make sure it would look right, fit right, on Ghost's body and you still made it with your preferences in mind. He knows it too. That's why he reminds you what a cock hungry toy you are. "All cooped up in here with no one to show you your place," you drag your tongue along his fingers, work your cunt against him, hope you leave a wet spot on his synth skin, hope he can feel you through the coveralls, "bet you dream about one of your bots holding you down and giving you what you deserve."
You can try and shake your head but he just holds your cheeks, twisting the fingers in your mouth to accommodate. Ghost makes a noise, a sort of clicking sound you can't parse, and tips his head. "Can't lie to me, deserve better than I could give ya, but now?" He pulls his fingers from your mouth and fists your coveralls, pulling purposefully at the material, "Now I've got all day."
#cod x reader#x reader#simon ghost riley#simon ghost riley x reader#ghost mw2#ghost x reader#simon riley x reader#simon riley x you#simon riley#mw2 ghost#ghost cod#android!ghost#cyberpunk au#you know this got away from me#this is also like... a few chapter into their relationship#he cant knock us up but he can try
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long reaction to the update
ok. so they put out an update video! since i've been commentating for the last three days i might as well subject you all to more of my thoughts today.
main takeaway: this was a good apology video. i mean it. short and to the point, no overproduction, heartfelt and honest (and not a ukelele to be seen. thank god.) they took ownership of the situation, apologized, and restated how much they value their relationship with the fandom.
their solution is to make the watcher tv platform into kind of an iteration of patreon where content is available for early access before it is released onto youtube later. this is clearly a better option than paywalling everything for everyone. i'm not sure what the relative breakdown of costs turns out to be when you compare how much they were making on patreon after the platform took their cut VS how much it costs in overhead to run and maintain their own platform (how much it costs annually to contract via Vimeo, essentially). but i'm sure that's part of the calculation.
all things considered, that does seem like the best option out of all the alternatives. it allows them to not completely abandon any of the pans they have simmering over the fire for the time being. i don't think i ever thought they were going to just say "oops, forget about the streaming thing! let's pretend that never happened!" because at this point they've invested quite a lot of time and money into it, and i don't disagree that keeping it in some iteration may help them make up some of the funds they're lacking.
i would say, it's fine to keep the streamer. this is one of the ok outcomes, all things considered-- but if they're going to do it, they've GOT to do it smart from this point forward. listen to both the fans and the consultants intimately. both are going to have valid points, and both are going to be right. listening to too much of either side will sink this thing because each has motives and expertise that the other doesn't. if the fans say $6 is too much, listen to them-- but have conversations with business consultants about how much you realistically need to charge to make things work.
also, i'd use this whole situation as a learning experience. watcher is a young company, and it's literally inevitable that mistakes will happen. what's different is that the watcher crew haven't really been in a position before where they've been on the receiving end of the internet-angry-justice-hammer to this extent. it's one thing to watch it happen to others, but it's a position of extreme privilege (and a bit of hubris) to think "but that won't happen to me, because i'm built different." naw, man-- two things in life are inevitable: death and fuckups. the callout posts get us all in the end.
what's really important is that they use this as a wakeup call that even the most loyal fandoms will only follow you so far to the cliff's edge, and you don't want to push that. you have to strike a balance between the passion projects that you think are worthy and the stuff that maybe doesn't excite you as much anymore but the people want to see. a little fanservice keeps the lights on, as unfair as that might seem. i'm gonna make 50 markiplier choccy milk memes just so i can make one niche political joke once and a while for 6 likes. it is what it is.
i'd also use this as a chance to take a very careful look at company structure and finances. it's not fun to do and nobody likes it. trust me-- this is hard whether you're a single adult trying to pay the bills or the freaking US government (speaking from experience on both-- i have to read the president's budget for work frequently). but you all have to ask hard questions about the ratio of creative staff you take on VS staff for administrative and other business roles, as well as the costs and benefits of everything you spend money on. how many staff members are essential to location shoots? can this video be shot with 2 cameras instead of 3 and thus you don't need another cameraperson? you might even have to come to the decision that instead of pitching a new show it makes more sense to use those funds to hire your essential non-creative roles or contract firms or freelancers.
paying staff a fair wage with benefits speaks highly of what watcher wants their values to be. it's hard to find such a position in a creative role and still actually get to work on things you care about. but it would be much worse if watcher didn't make realistic decisions about finances and it lead to the death of the company and everyone losing their jobs. the whole watcher company can work, in my opinion, but not without some sacrifices. they're going to have to run it more like a business and less like a youtube-channel-turned-business in the future if they want to survive.
last thing i'll add is that while i do think this was a good apology video, i still think they hurt themselves by not putting out some sort of statement on Friday or Saturday just to say that they were formulating a response. As i've said in other posts, it's ok and in fact beneficial to not make a kneejerk reaction, but it's also very important to communicate that you SEE what's happening. you SEE what people are saying and THAT'S why you need more time to respond. saying nothing and leaving the angry public to wonder if you dropped your phone off the Hoover Dam or just don't care? that's a fumble. it's a common mistake companies make in a crisis, but that doesn't mean it doesn't erode trust fast.
this could have been handled better in many ways. we see that, and i'm glad watcher says they see that too. crucial going forward is taking all this and patching the errors that caused all this to fall apart and learning from the experience.
tbh at this point what i'm most sad about is that the watcher crew have probably been too stressed out and upset to appreciate some of the absolute bangers people have been laying down to clown on them. i think if it wasn't about them they might be touched by the collective attitude and creative spirit. /j
#watcher#watcher tv#after this post i have got to actually not spend time writing long reactions about this anymore because i too#have fires caused by my own fuckups to put out#alas
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From all four corners of the world comes my love 4 you
(A/N): This has been written with the inspiration @foreveralbon brought me. I love you and your incredibly mind, honey
Summary: Lando's girlfriend is a seamstress working at a tailor shop. She is repairing his clothes, he is cutting holes into his sleeves. Together, they release the cutest merch
Pairing: Lando x fem!reader
Warnings: None, this is so fluffy, I'm crying myself to sleep. I need a Lando like this
Wordcount: 2.9k
🏎Masterlist🏎
__________________________
(Y/N) thinks she is about to go crazy. Manic even.
Over and over again she patches up holes in her boyfriend’s long sleeves.
And over and over again new holes appear. It’s like this is her Sysiphus task. Just repairing Lando’s clothes day in and day out.
Don’t get her wrong. (Y/N) does this for three different reasons.
The first being that she is a seamstress, working in a tailor shop. This craft is how she pays her rent and food.
The second reason is that she really can’t have her boyfriend go out looking like he just got picked up at the side of the road begging for a warm meal and shelter.
The third reason may be less obvious than the previous ones. Acts of services is (Y/N)’s love language. She is not particularly good at letting people around her know of the appreciation she holds for them. Verbally at least. It’s not the way she grew up. She learned that actions speak louder than words can. So patching up her boyfriend’s clothes gives the young woman the opportunity to prove how much she loves him. She just hopes that Lando understands the meaning as it is intended.
Little does (Y/N) know, Lando really appreciates her patching up holes. What he isn’t a big fan of is when she repairs those that are intentional. The ones in his long sleeves are put there on purpose.
While (Y/N) is meticulously sewing, Lando goes snip snip in the other room with a pair of scissors. He just loves having sleeve paws, but it’s annoying when his thumbs are jailed in.
“Lando, have you seen my scis- What are you doing there?!” He turns around, looking at his girlfriend like a child being caught with their hands in the cookie jar. “Freeing my thumbs?” He tries to explain in a small voice, scared that she is about to go off on him for ruining his clothes.
(Y/N) sits down next to him on the ground. “If you have told me you want thumb holes, I could have done it for you. I would hem them for you, so they won’t fry. If you want me to, can I take some of your shirts to the shop tomorrow and work on them during slow times?” The way Lando’s eyes light up makes her wish for a camera to keep the memory of it.
(Y/N) not only fixes the holes in his sleeves.
“Love, would you put another patch on my jeans?” Lando saunters into her little crafting room. When she moved into his apartment in Monaco, he insisted on transforming a guest room into her own sewing cave. It was only fair. He got his gaming room as his hobby room, so his girlfriend needs her own territory too.
The room is filled with different sewing machines, one wall is decorated with threads of all kinds, colors and thicknesses. Several shelves are overflowing with different fabrics of any kind imaginable. Every shade, pattern or reflection that any crafter would kill for. Lando really spoils her and happily let’s (Y/N) run loose in a craft store, draining his credit card to her heart's fullest content.
(Y/N) would feel bad, if it wasn’t for the big difference in salaries they sport. Also, it is Lando’s way of treating his girl. Instead of flowers or a bag he buys her a new Bernina B 325, which is not something she is exactly complaining about. They share most of their expenses, but still, working at a tailor shop will never make you a millionaire.
Currently working on her own project of making a quilt out of scrap fabric for Max’s upcoming birthday, (Y/N) barely looks up to her boyfriend. “Yes, of course, sunshine. Just put it over there and I’ll have a look at it in a bit. Do you have any preference for the new patch? I ordered city themed ones a few days back and they arrived today.”
Without having to be pointed into the direction, the Brit already goes through the drawer that is solely dedicated to the patches (Y/N) accumulated during the last few years.
If he is being honest, that kind of work of hers is his favorite. Lando is just amazed by the different shapes, colors and themes her collection entails and how her delicate efforts bring a new individual mark to his favorite pair of jeans.
“I think I want to go with this one,” he mumbles after sifting through the drawer. Lando places a small rose next to the currently used sewing machine for her to not have to search for it in the midst of the chaos that is going on on the several desks in this hobby room.
He actually loves spending some down time here, especially when his girlfriend is working on her own projects. Lando hides under one of the desks, sometimes scrabbling away on pieces of paper for the next helmet sketch, sometimes answering some important emails on his laptop and other times he lies down between different piles of fabric and takes a nap. Having (Y/N) hack away with the machine, occasionally cursing under her breath when she pinches herself sewing something by hand or the music playing on a low volume brings Lando great comfort.
Spending quality time this way is secretly Lando’s happy place that he visits mentally during stressful patches when he is away.
A couple days later the door to the tailor shop (Y/N) works at rings the bell, alerting her of a new customer. “I’ll be with you in a second!” She calls from an adjoining room, cleaning up her work space from the trims that have been left by the jeans she just shortened.
“How can I hel- LANDO!” The young woman exclaims, rounding the register to jump into his arms. “I thought you’ll return from Australia tomorrow”, she murmurs into his shirt. The thumbs are, of course, able to escape through the holes she recently cut and hemmed like promised.
He laughs into her hair. “I wanted to surprise you and pick you up from work like the good boyfriend I am. I also got you something from ‘Straya.” Out of thin air (his back pocket actually) Lando procures a small stack of Australia themed patches.
“Oh, honey, they are perfect. Thank you so so much!” She kisses him all over the face until finally putting her lips onto his. “Just let me close the shop and we can go home and enjoy our evening.” Lando presses another kiss onto her lips, “Hurry up, I can’t wait holding you in my arms again.”
While (Y/N) packs her things up, Lando goes through a stack of different fabrics. One in particular catches his eye.
“Hey love, where did you get this heart patterned fabric? What do you have planned with that?” (Y/N) pops her head in to see what her boyfriend is pointing to. “Oh, that one. The owner was negotiating a deal with a new supplier and wanted to check out the quality. We wanted to see if this one is durable enough to make shirts out of it.”
An idea is forming in Lando’s app, that he quickly puts down in the notes app on his phone.
She emerges from the side room with her back and something else. “Would you try this on for me?” (Y/N) asks innocently, handing Lando a jean jacket. It is a bit oversized on him, just the way he likes.
“It’s pretty nice. What do you need me to model this fo- This is one of the patches I just gave you!” Lando admires the kangaroo that looks like it’s taking a jump on the sleeve. “I thought this would be a fun little project for the season. After every race I’ll put a patch from that country on the jacket. I can also stitch some additions onto it as well for when you get a podium or win or are voted as driver of the day and so on. Just, I thought this could be something cute.” (Y/N)’s face heats up the more she talks about her idea.
Lando pulls her into his arms, squishing his girlfriend as close as possible to his body. “Thank you, you don’t know how much I appreciate the work and thought you put and are putting into this.”
Like the proud trophy boyfriend he is, Lando loves modeling whatever his girlfriend sewed, patched up or created and pimped up in some other way while entering the paddock. Just as he predicted mentally, the fans are going crazy about his jacket online as he wears it on Wednesday for media day.
“I see, (Y/N) loved the patches you bought her. At least dragging me through every craft store in Melbourne that I know of has paid off for you”, Oscar remarks dryly as he watches Lando hanging up the jacket in the hospitality.
“Yeah mate, she sewed it on immediately. It’s her newest project, putting on a patch for every country we race in during this season after the race. She also wants to add a bunch of things for special occasions during the races.” Lando explains fondly the thought process behind the jacket.
As he is leaving the paddock later that day and signing several cards, caps and other merch, some fans ask him where he got the jacket from. “Oh, that old thing? I’ll gatekeep this one. Good luck on finding the store.” He answers a young woman while putting a bracelet she handed him on his wrist.
He hasn’t gone public with his girlfriend yet. The people know that he is in a relationship with Lando having started an already several months long soft launch, that includes their socked feet during movie nights and her backside in beautiful sunset scenes. So nobody knows what she does for work and the two of them want to keep the little bubble of secrecy they have so far going for a bit longer. Out of the public eyes without the pressure of fans and media.
It felt like a scavenger hunt going online and seeing fans and other media outlets trying to find Lando’s particular jean jacket. For the two of them it becomes their evening entertainment, reading up how everyone and their mother are losing their minds from not being able to detect where it is from.
“The chat is asking about that dumb cloth again. Just tell them where you got it.” Max groans, even his own chat during the stream isn’t safe from the assault. Lando, who chills on his bed while waiting for a message from his girlfriend about her being done with work, just smiles. “Come one, please lift the secret. I can’t even roll my eyes often enough times, that is how annoyed I am by this whole thing.”
The Brit loves the suspension around the subject, but gets up and saunters over to the monitors. “Ok Chat, I will only say it once and never again. Get your pens and papers out and write it down. So, this jean jacket with the patches is a designer piece. You can’t get it anywhere else, it was custom made and no, the designer doesn’t want to go into mass production with that one. But I am cooking something up. Just be patient, I feel like I will be able to make a deal for you. I just need to work my magic, but that takes time. My name is not Tinkerbell.”
His little sass tirade is broken up by the ping of his phone, making Lando scramble for it to see his love’s text. “Chat, do you see how down bad that man is for his girlfriend?” Max ridicules Lando, giving him payback for all the teasing against himself.
While the chat is going insane, with the certainty that this moment has been clipped and will be used for edits by the fans, Lando just smiles at his phone, shooting a quick reply of picking her up. After that he packs his stuff and throws a quick goodbye to Max and the stream, onto the way to the tailor shop.
There she stands, his love in all her glory in front of the closed store. “Didn’t I tell you to wait in the building for me? It’s dangerous to be out alone, especially for such a beautiful person like you!” Lando scolds her lightly when he reaches her, taking her bag from her shoulder, throwing it onto his own back.
But (Y/N) presses a kiss to his lips, trying to soothe him. “It’s all ok. When I saw the headlights of your car, I stepped out and closed the shop behind me. I knew that my Tinkerbell was close by in case I needed saving.”
Lando wants to reciprocate the kiss, but stops mid air when he processes her words. “You watched the stream?” That shocks him a bit, because (Y/N) usually keeps out of this part of his life. It’s not really her world, streaming and gaming. So that’s one of the hobbies they don’t share, being the healthy couple, without a horrible codependency, they are.
“No, a friend sent me that clip a few minutes earlier”, she snickers, “Were you talking about me? About wanting to work a deal out?” Lando throws his arm around her shoulders, leading the young woman into the direction of where he parked his car. “I did. Originally I planned on woohing you by a nice candle light dinner and after that I wanted to ask you if you were open with making a few designs for LN4. The fans are going crazy over the pants and jacket. You also have the eye for the details that I love on clothes. It would make me so happy to hold something in my hands that we both worked on, to know that people in the whole world will wear it.”
(Y/N) looks up at her boyfriend, watching his side profile while he is rambling about the meaning of a collab between the two of them. How he can’t stop smiling over the excitement of the prospect of their merch line together, the way his eyes light up, his free hand gesturing while explaining a few ideas he has saved on his phone. She can’t help but press another kiss onto his cheek, effectively quieting him down.
“I will make that collab with you happen. I already have a few things drawn out in a notebook, I was just too scared to show you the sketches, not wanting to intrude or impose myself onto your business.”
Instead of saying anything, he just picks her up and throws them in a circle. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!” He repeats over and over, both laughing about his childish antics.
A couple of months, several trial and errors as well as creative differences later, they stand in a studio, overseeing the photoshooting with the new collection.
“Wouldn’t this be the perfect way to launch our relationship to the public? With your face visible in the pictures?” Lando muses out loud while looking over a rack with hoodies. (Y/N) throws him a shocked look. “I mean, we can take a couple of pictures together with a few articles and also take a few of you individually too. The world needs to know the mastermind of these designs. You need to take credit for all the hard work you have done.” He explains, taking her hand and gesturing to the set up with the other.
She lets the idea rummage a bit in her head. It would be the perfect way to go public, especially since this is the first time her designs are commercially sold. (Y/N) breaks out into a smile, nodding rapidly. Lando can’t help but also smile, getting infected by his girlfriend’s happiness.
Weeks after that the new merch drop gets released to social media. The press and fans are eating up the couple's pictures, finally having a face to the woman, who is able to fluster Lando through text messages alone.
The clothes itself also get the best feedback.
A variety of the jean jacket and patched pants are now available for fans to buy, being able to kind of replicate Lando’s paddock look, coupled with a heart patterned hoodie from the collection.
But nothing gets close to the original with the many hand sewn details on Lando’s jacket, even when fans try to imitate them. A nice side effect is seeing other people picking up the craft of hand sewing and stitching.
Many people swoon over the long sleeves with cut out thumb holes. They especially love the heart shape of the holes.
It’s a perfect detail to the name of the new line.
‘From all four corners of the world comes my love 4 you’ is printed in one way or another on every piece.
Because no matter the distance between Lando and (Y/N), they can feel the love for each other over any distance.
#lando norris fanfic#lando norris x reader#lando norris imagine#lando norris#lando norris x fem!reader#x reader#x fem!reader#reader insert#lando norris x you#lando norris fluff
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"angel shouldn't be in a relationship with husk, he needs friends! he is an abuse survivor and spent his whole life thinking he is just a body, he needs platonic relationships to heal"
first of all, cherri is right there. are we watching the same show?
maybe she doesn't have the best coping methods (and hey, that's actually a thing, it's a character flaw that can be worked on in the future!), but she doesn't do it with the intention of making him worse, she genuinely thinks this is a good thing and will be good for him.
she's addicted like angel, after all. but it doesn't mean she doesn't care about him, she does it because she cares and like i said, she thinks it's the right thing to do and will be good for him. and she respects angel being in the hotel
and he has other friends too, he has charlie, vaggie, niffty and pentious
and survivors can heal while in a romantic relationship. it's a very problematic mentality to think that we survivors can't be in a relationship. like what? can't we get better? heal, move on, fall in love?
and huskerdust aren't even a couple yet, viv confirmed that it's a slowburn
and for angel, having someone who likes him not just for his body is a good thing! this also helps him heal
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