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monzabee · 3 months ago

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diet pepsi - ln4 (+18)

masterlist ||

Summary: The one where you and Lando have a rather interesting way of resolving an argument.

Pairing: lando norris x fwb!reader

Word Count: 2k

Warnings: kinda cute ass fighting so fluff??, sex in a car, fingering, penetration, manhandling, no use of protection (wrap it before you tap it!!), cursing, minords dni!!

Request: “okay but what about good old car sex with lando pleaseeee”

Author’s Note: hi, hey, hello!! first of all, who knew addison rae had the power to make a song that made me write this whole thing under 3 hours?? i certainly did not. secondly, i thought it would be nice to take a little break from the charles-carlos drama, and before i finish the third and final part to that little mini-series, i thought you guys would enjoy a little treat in the meantime! i have to admit writing for lando again was an interesting experience for me, but who knows, maybe i'll do it more often (i have one request that i'm obsessed with so that’s definitely coming your way as well!) also, i have an oscar fic in the works as well, so maybe the sudden change in mclaren also started to affect me lol. a quick psa, i know many people asked me in my last fic, but i do NOT have a taglist and i won’t be making one any time soon either! anywaaays, i hope you guys enjoy this fic, and feedback is welcome as always! thank you to the anon for their request, and good morning, noon or night wherever you are, xoxobee

Please also note that all of my works are protected under copyright, and not available for reposting on other platforms.

“I can’t believe you’re drinking that in my car.” Lando complains, shooting you a sideway glare as you sip your choice of beverage contently.

You tilt the cup slightly in his direction, grinning. “Relax, it’s not like it’s going to explode, nor it is your car.”

“It might as well,” Lando mutters, eyes back on the road. “Knowing your luck, the second I hit a bump, that thing will be all over the place and I’ll have to explain what happened to Zak. Do you even know how much it costs to clean these seats?”

You laugh, swirling the drink in the cup. “You’re being dramatic, it’s not like you are the one to detail the cars you use. It’s fine, I’ve got this under control.”

“Famous last words,” Lando grumbles. His grip tightens on the steering wheel as if he’s preparing for impact.

You glance at him, amused. “Are you always this paranoid about your car, or is it just me?”

“It’s you. Definitely you.” He shoots you another look, this one laced with mock suspicion. “You have a history, you know.”

“Oh, puh-lease,” you drawl, rolling your eyes as you turn your upper body to face him. “Tell me one time I actually made a mess in your car, and I’ll throw away this can right now.”

Lando doesn't hesitate as he answers quickly. “Monaco. Last year. You remember that smoothie incident, right?”

You blink a couple of times, taken aback. “That doesn’t count! That was your fault for speeding around the corner like a maniac. How was I supposed to hold on to it?”

He smirks, clearly enjoying the memory. “Oh, so now it’s my fault, huh? You were the one who insisted on bringing a smoothie into my car five minutes before a race.”

“You didn’t even have to brake so hard,” you mutter, crossing your arms defensively. “I had it under control until you decided to turn it into a F1 race.”

Lando chuckles, shaking his head. “Doesn't matter. I still won, throw it away now.”

“That doesn’t count, it was clearly your fault!” You complain, holding the can protectively. “There’s no way I’m tossing this because of your bad driving.”

Lando laughs, shaking his head. “Bad driving? I think I’d take that up with the people who hired me to race professionally.”

“Professionally doesn’t mean you’re not reckless,” you quip, a playful glint in your eyes. “Especially when there’s a smoothie involved.”

“Fine,” he contends, shrugging, “how about that time I made you come too hard, and you leaked onto the seats?”

This manages to shut you down for a moment, with eyes nearly bulging out of your head, you gasp at Lando’s sudden choice of words. “Lando!” You exclaim, reaching over the console to hit him on the arm gently, “That’s vulgar!”

Silently chuckling at your reaction, he reaches over as he places a hand on your upper thigh, his hand tightening as you hold his wrist in warning. “It’s the truth,” he reminds you with a smirk, “don’t go shy on me, now, you were the one to get the seats all messed up because of how wet you were.” If you weren’t blushing before, your face most definitely resembles a tomato now as he continues his stream of consciousness, “Not that I’m complaining, though, I’m pretty sure I came in my pants when I made you cum just from my fingers.”

“You– you did?” The question flies from your mouth before you can stop yourself.

The smile that overtakes the smirk on Lando’s face is almost sweet, and he coos at the innocence of your question as he squeezes your thigh again. “Oh baby,” he coos, “it was the hottest thing ever.”

Your thighs attempt to trap his hand as you inadvertently press them tighter together, your nose scrunching up in confusion. “But it was messy.”

“That was the best part,” Lando confirms, his thumb caressing your skin. “I loved getting to clean you up afterwards, didn’t I? Almost as much as you loved it.”

“Sure.” You mumble, shrugging as you do your best to ignore his burning stare. You’d be worried about the fact that he was supposed to be driving if it was someone else, but considering he’s a F1 driver, you don’t comment on Lando’s lack of his surroundings as he pushes your thighs apart. “What are you doing?” You ask, confused as he moves his fingers further up your skirt.

“You just focus on finishing that drink, okay?” He mumbles as his fingers pull your underwear to the side. “I’m suddenly in the mood for something sweet myself.”

“Lando, I don’t think we should do th–hat.” Your voice waivers towards the end as his fingertips press on your clit, drawing lax circles on the bundle of nerves. “Lando,” you try to warn him, but your voice comes out as a high-pitched whimper.

He shushes you gently as his fingers spread your wetness around your skin, causing you to bite down on your lip to silence yourself. Lando lets his dissent known by clicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth, mumbling, “Don’t silence yourself, let me hear you, baby.” And when you give him what he wants and let out a loud moan as your hips involuntarily buck against his hand. Grinding the palm of his hand against your puffy clit, Lando uses your wetness to slowly push two of his fingers into you, drawing out another moan as you lean your head against the headrest. “My God, baby, look at you. You’re already making a mess on the seats.”

“N-no,” you manage to whine, shaking your head as you give him a pleading but stubborn look, “I’m not making a mess.”

“No?” He asks, mocking the pout that has found its way onto your lips. “Then who is so wet against my hand that it’s dripping, huh?” You're not sure if it’s his words or the way his fingers keep moving in and out of your cunt, but in either case, the overwhelming need of just something more causes you to attempt to put the can in your hand down, when Lando tuts again in warning, “You don’t get to put your drink down until you first come on my fingers.”

After his words set in, you finally come to your senses, suddenly opening your eyes as you give him a shocked look. “Wha–what?” You ask, “What if I spill?”

He shrugs, an innocent smile on his lips as he throws you a glance, “I guess you’ll just have to be careful and not spill it.” The smile on his lips grows as you let out a frustrated sound, and he responds by moving his fingers in a come-hither motion to git the spot, which causes your body to arch into his touch. “Are you going to give me what I want?” He asks, his concentration still on the road as he tries to find a secluded spot to park the car.

“Uh-huh,” you mutter, voice shaky as you focus on not dropping the can in your hand, “I will, Lando, just keep doing that.”

“Doing what?” He asks in a faux-innocent tone, as he goes back to simply continuing the pistoning movement of his fingers. “Like this?” He asks, with a shit eating grin on his face as you whine. “Or, like this?” He asks again, but this time, he repeats the movement of his fingers previously as he hits your g-spot again.

You can’t control the scream that gets released from the back of your throat as your body shakes violently. “That,” you breathe out, your free hand holding onto the seatbelt so tight that you can feel it starting to cramp your hand a little bit, “don’t you dare stop doing that.”

Lando lets out a low chuckle, clearly satisfied with your desperate plea. His fingers continue their relentless pace, teasing and coaxing you closer to the edge. “Oh, I won’t stop,” he murmurs, his tone soft yet commanding. “Not until you give me what I want.”

Your entire body feels like it's on fire, the combination of his skilled fingers and the impossible task of not spilling your drink has you teetering on the edge. The car feels smaller, the world outside irrelevant, as Lando’s attention is focused solely on you. Being so consumed by the way Lando’s fingers move in and out of your cunt, you don’t even know that the car you are in at the moment has been abandoned in the side of a deserted road. You grip the can tighter, your hand trembling as the tension builds in your core. “Lando,” you gasp, a hint of desperation seeping into your voice. “I— I can't—”

He smirks, enjoying your struggle. “You can,” he counters smoothly, leaning slightly closer while keeping one hand on the steering wheel. “You can do it, just let it go, baby.” His thumb presses harder on your clit, drawing another loud moan from your lips.

“Lando, please,” you beg, your voice almost cracking under the weight of your impending release. “I’m going to—”

“Good,” he cuts you off, his smirk widening. “Let go for me, baby. And don't you dare spill that drink."

His words are your undoing. With one final flick of his fingers, you shatter around him, your body convulsing with pleasure as you ride out your high. Your head falls back against the seat, your hand gripping the can so hard you’re not surprised it bursts under the pressure.

You hear Lando’s satisfied chuckle as he eases his fingers out of you, giving your thigh one last affectionate squeeze. “Good girl,” he murmurs, glancing over at you with a proud smile. “Look at how good you look.” He shamelessly holds his fingers in front of your face, then without missing a beat, he brings his fingers into his mouth. The way he moans is nothing short of sinful, and you watch him with your lips parted as he mumbles around his fingers, “I think you spilled it a little bit.”

“E-Excuse me?” You stutter, looking at Lando with the horrified look on your face. “No, I didn’t!”

Lando raises an eyebrow, his smirk never faltering as he glances down at the mess on the seat. “Oh, but you did,” he teases, licking his lips after savoring the taste of you on his fingers. His eyes gleam with amusement as he points at the spot between your legs. “Not the drink, though… you.”

Your face burns with a mix of embarrassment and desire, your breath still uneven as you try to process what just happened. “That’s not what I—” you stammer, crossing your arms over your chest, but Lando just laughs softly.

“Relax, love. It’s nothing a little cleaning can’t fix.” He leans back in his seat, eyes never leaving you, his hand returning to the steering wheel like what just happened was the most normal thing in the world. “Besides, I’d much rather clean you up later.”

You feel the heat spread through your body again, and despite yourself, you can’t help but feel a wave of arousal wash over you. Lando’s confidence, the way he handles you with such ease, is almost intoxicating. But as much as you’re enjoying the moment, a small part of you knows this is ridiculous.

“You’re insufferable,” you mutter, trying to regain some composure, though your flushed cheeks give you away.

Lando just grins, completely unbothered. “You love it,” he says casually, shooting you another one of those playful sideway glances that makes your heart race. “Admit it. You like when I make you lose control.”

You bite your lip, fighting the urge to throw a retort his way. But you can’t deny it, not after the way your body reacted to his touch. “You’re lucky you’re good at this,” you finally concede, your voice barely above a whisper.

Lando’s smile softens, just for a moment. “Good at a lot of things,” he says, his voice dropping to a more intimate tone. Then he pulls the car to a stop, turning off the engine before leaning toward you, his lips brushing your ear as he whispers, “And I’m just getting started.”

#monzabee #requests open #f1 fic #f1 fanfic #f1 smut #formula 1 #fanfic #f1 x reader #f1 x you #f1 x y/n #lando norris #lando norris x reader #lando norris imagine #imagine #fluff #angst #smut #lando norris fluff #lando norris smut

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charliemwrites · 2 months ago

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Hiiiii! So I’m not super thrilled with this but I’ve been having a time of it at work so I worked on this when I could 🙃

Not sure if there will be a second part yet tbh we’ll see!

Edit: almost forgot to add that the gorgeous divider below is by @gildui they have some absolutely beautiful cod themed dividers.

Carrion

Reader comes back Wrong

Content: implied/referenced torture, injury, suicide reference/implicated “pact” (by background character), lack of wound care

The breakup was bad.

Not in the top 3 of Simon’s worst nightmare-inducing memories - but likely top 5. He certainly wakes up chest aching and eyes burning often enough for it to be a solid contender. He’s haunted by tears that dripped like acid and the cracks in your voice deafening him.

On bad days, he thinks he can still see you shuffling down the halls, eyes sunken and red-rimmed, dark circles and chapped lips. Anger giving way to resignation giving way to pain and sadness. The rest of the team tight-lipped and wincing, no sides taken, shoulders and ears offered equally in commiseration.

Your misery wanted no company, though.

You didn’t tell Simon that you were leaving. Gaz let slip over a subdued but obligatory game of cards, you’d be gone for a long time - loaned out to Laswell.

Simon didn’t go to see you off. Didn’t ask why you were leaving or accuse you of being too immature to be on a team with him. He didn’t wish you good luck, stay safe with the rest of the team on the tarmac at 0-dark when you took off.

He should have.

Price says you’ll be gone for six months. Just six. It’s better this way, he reminds them when Johnny balks. His eyes are on Simon, though, when he adds that you need to get your head on straight, and you weren’t able to do it with them.

So. Six months.

Simon stops expecting you on his left. Stops smelling your shampoo lingering on bits of clothes he pretended not to notice you steal. He still dreams about you begging him not to push you away.

183 days come and go.

On day 184, Laswell sends word - your temporary team likes you quite a bit. They want you to stay on for one more month… one more mission… one more…

Six months turns to ten.

312 days since you left; since you were home.

The team hasn’t stopped leaving a space for you at their tables, right between Gaz and Price. You miss your own birthday. Laswell says she’ll pass along well wishes.

The situation changes. A target resurfaces. All hands on deck, including yours.

374 days. Twelve months and some change.

They don’t spend the holidays with you, but there’s a stack of presents waiting in Price’s office. Your mugs have collected dust in the back of the rec room cabinet.

Laswell says you’re still deployed on one last mission, return TBD. Soon, though.

487 days. Still TBD. Soon. Really. Just some loose ends to tie up.

561 days. There was some trouble during exfil but you’re alright. Just a bit of recovery.

You’re coming home.

590 days. You’ll land at 0700 tomorrow.

It’s been 591 days since Simon last saw you. Since any of them last saw you.

Laswell has come to deliver you personally, a kind of apology for keeping you away so long. She’s the first off the transport and you’re right behind her.

Your hair is shorter. Much, much shorter. There’s a new patch on your jacket - memento from your temporary team, Simon figures.

Apart from that, you look… almost exactly how you did when you left. Dark circles under your eyes, mouth drawn and tight. There’s invisible weight compressing your shoulders, urging them in and down. But you’re there again. Just the way he remembers.

(Why are you the way he remembers?)

“Long time, no see,” Gaz calls, reaching for you.

There’s half a beat, you blink. Hesitate.

Then you grin and reach back.

“Missed my pretty face, did you?” you reply.

Johnny laughs and brings you in for a hug. You twitch hug him back, patting his shoulder as you pull away.

“Good to have you back, Sergeant,” Price says, shaking your hand.

You turn to Simon, nod in greeting, expression pleasant. “Ghost.”

So that’s how it’ll be? Alright.

“Sergeant.”

That night, you go out for drinks with the team and Laswell. Simon goes along to show there are no hard feelings.

(Not that you seem to need reassurance. It’s not even that you’re not looking at him. You are. Whenever he speaks, the rare times he does, or if he shifts in his seat. Your gaze doesn’t linger or jerk away, you treat him like you do Johnny and Gaz and Price.)

When Johnny mixes up your usual for Price’s, you don’t even seem to notice. But Simon does.

“When did you start drinking whiskey?” he wonders.

You used to swear you’d never like it, claiming it tasted like boot polish and the “Boys Club” wasn’t worth the indigestion it gave you.

“Someone from my other team,” you say by way of explanation.

You don’t ask for another whiskey. Laswell gets the rest of your drinks for that night.

Simon turns into the rec room two days later and finds you already there. There’s only the light above the sink on, and you’re staring at the steady drip, drip, drip from the faucet. A cup of black coffee cools in your hand. You’re already wearing gloves.

“Sugar’s in the left now,” he calls.

Your head twitches, something pops in your neck.

“Oh, thanks,” you chirp, turning for the cabinet. “Sleep okay, LT?”

“‘Bout as well as I ever do,” he replies gruffly, sidling up next to you for the kettle.

You hum. There’s a yellow packet in your hand. (Didn’t you used to like the blue one?)

“I get that,” you sympathize.

He snorts. Since when?

“Do you?”

When he glances down, you’re not looking at him. Instead, you’re trying (and failing) to get the sink to stop dripping.

“You know that’s been broken for ages,” he says.

At least as long as the 141 has been around. You tried to fix it once when you first joined up, too, with no luck.

“Right,” you say. A little too quickly, a little too agreeably. “Well, anyway, enjoy your tea, Lieutenant.”

You leave the packet of sugar behind. Unopened.

You’re back and it’s like it used to be - not just before you left, but before the breakup. Before there was ever anything to break up.

Your time away seems to have given you whatever space from Simon you were hoping for, because you act like there was never anything at all.

He’s half expecting, dreading, that you’ll pull him aside at some point. Ask for a word after dinner, or swing by his room before bed. Talk about the break up now that cooler heads prevail and 19 months have sanded down the rough feelings. Seek closure, maybe.

But you don’t. The weeks pass until a month has gone and you never exchange more than easy pleasantries with Simon. You give him space, give him privacy. Things you never used to give him much of before, for better or worse.

You fool around with Gaz and Johnny, trade quips with Price, and follow Simon’s orders. Train recruits. Write reports.

You’re back, better than ever.

So why does it feel like Simon’s still waiting for you to return?

You’re always dressed now, head to toe. Day or night, rain or shine. From the neck down you’re in full sleeves, long pants, boots and gloves.

It doesn’t occur to anyone until you’re sweating through your compression shirt in the gym. Wipe your shiny forehead for the dozenth time before Johnny says, “why not just take it off?”

“It’s not that bad,” you laugh, waving him off.

When you lie down to bench press, Simon notes the bottom of your shirt tucked tight into your waistband. He exchanges a glance with Johnny - he’s seen it too.

You used to dress in shorts and sports bras during exercise, a towel over your shoulder. In the common room, you’d mill in tank-tops and boxers. Even used to trot down the hall swaddled in a towel or robe, mumbling that you forgot a razor or some other toiletry before showering.

“What, did ye get an embarrassing tattoo or somethin’?” Johnny asks finally.

You blink at him, expression bemused. “A tattoo? Why do you think I have a tattoo?”

“Yer covered up like a nun on Sunday. It cannae be comfortable.”

You snort. “Just because you’re allergic to clothes, MacTavish…”

“Allergic?! Wha’s tha’ s’posed t’mean?!”

Gaz barks a laugh. You grin and continue your workout.

Simon tries not to be disturbed by the name “MacTavish” coming off your tongue for the first time since you met.

It’s your first mission since you’ve been back. You have new gear, a new handgun. Something’s been carved into the side of the barrel in Cyrillic, Simon can’t read it. A new callsign.

(“What kind of a name is Carry-on?” Johnny teases, but he doesn’t quite hide the unease in his eyes.

You snort and lace your boots tighter. The edge of you sleeve inches up, revealing the curve of a glossy scar that wasn’t there before.

“You’re one to talk Mister Maybelline.”)

Someone painted an upside down cross on the temple of your helmet with their finger. You thumb it before stuffing it over your head.

“You ready for this?” Gaz asks, knocking his knee into yours. The two of you have been paired together for this mission. (Was it Simon’s imagination, or did you look annoyed that you would have a partner?)

“Always,” you reply.

Simon doesn’t hear what happens, but Gaz looks shellshocked when you haul him into the helicopter during exfil. You shake him a bit once everything is secure and the bird’s in the air.

“Garrick,” you shout, “c’mon, where did he get you?”

It takes him a second but he blinks, offers his arm for your inspection. You move with a speed even Simon is impressed by, tearing into the nearby med kit almost viciously. Gaz is patched up in record time and you sit back with blood on your hands, barely even seem to notice as you wipe them carelessly on your pants.

(You used to be more squeamish, weren’t you? You used to be the last one they asked for medical care because seeing your teammates in pain made you nauseous.)

“What about you?” Gaz asks after a small eternity.

You yawn. “What about me?”

“You got nicked too, didn’t you?”

Simon takes a second look at you and now that Gaz mentions it, you’re soaked in blood. Wet patches on your vest, your pants, dripping down your boots. It takes him a moment to notice the tear in your thigh, shredded flesh visible when you rock with the wind turbulence.

“Did I?” you wonder, glancing down like you only just noticed it.

Johnny curses, reaches for you - but you wave him off.

“It’s just a scratch,” you reply. “Barely even feel it, no worries.”

Then why is it still bleeding?

When the team lands, you hop off the heli without so much as a wince. Droplets of blood lead all the way back to your room.

(When Simon asks Nikolai about the hand-etching on your gun, he says the word means “promise.”)

In the after-action report, your callsign isn’t “Carry-On.” It’s Carrion.

Laswell takes you off the mission two months later, a joint assignment with KorTac. They send three operators to work with TF141 - Stiletto, Konig, and Nikto.

On the transport to infil, Simon notices the Russian inspecting his handgun in a seat separated from the rest of the squad. He recognizes the Cyrillic carved into the barrel this time: Promise.

It’s an eerie, creeping suspicion. An anxious fog rolling in.

It’s not one single thing that trips an alarm in Simon’s head, but a steady collation of oddities over months. A single arhythmic beat, a note off key. Just once or twice, but over and over until he can’t notice anything else.

You act just like yourself except for all the minute ways you don’t.

You smile big and wide, sunshine bright, when they make a good joke. Your laugh is still the same, bubbling up in your throat, head thrown back. You smell the same when you pass Simon in the hall, shampoo and soap that’s haunted him for a year and a half.

It’s insidiously subtle; he can’t pinpoint what it is for the longest time. Your mannerisms are almost too practiced, the cadence of your voice too measured. A missing turn of phrase you often used, replaced by something unfamiliar.

Simon dismisses it as guilt-laden paranoia. The two of you ended on bad terms with a year and half worth of space between. He’s hardly one to gauge what’s normal for you anymore.

And besides, the few times someone else has noticed at those tiny yet all-too-obvious inconsistencies, you shrug it off as something you picked up while away.

But he catches Johnny’s brows furrow one afternoon as you light up a cig (after swearing for years that you’d never pick up the habit) and Simon knows he’s beginning to see it too.

“You ever notice,” Gaz begins slowly. You’re the only one missing from the rec room this evening, retired with a drawn-out yawn. “That Carrion always mentions being away, but never talks about it?”

Simon stills. Johnny’s eyes fly to Price, who’s grimly tapping at his crossword puzzle.

“The file’s redacted,” he says. He’s seen it too then, tried to investigate for himself.

“That’s normal for a mission like that,” Simon reasons carefully.

“I don’t mean the mission,” Price says. “I mean Carrion’s file.”

“This is a good movie,” you mumble from the armchair you’ve stolen from Price. “What’s it called?”

Simon exchanges glances with the rest of the team. No one points out that this is (used to be?) your favorite.

Price looks into the team you were loaned out to. All were KIA or remain MIA. All but one. His file has been scrubbed too, the only documents readable are discharge orders and a PMC contract, both associated with the callsign “Nikto.”

They’re running out of time.

Less than 36 hours on the clock with only one lead, and it’s a zealot with a suicide pact. Price and Laswell both took a crack at him with nothing to show for it. Even Ghost has gotten hardly anything and he’s running out of nails. With time, he might get something useful, but they don’t have much of that left.

In the anteroom looking into interrogation, you’ve been observing through the one-way glass with your hands in your pockets, head tilted, expression serene.

Price and Laswell are discussing strategy, contingencies. Gaz and Johnny are throwing in their two cents, but Simon… Simon is watching you.

Like medical, torture used to be your Achilles. You were trained like the rest of the team, but there was never any need for you to step into the room yourself. Hell, you were a last resort even for observation or emergency resuscitation. No one blamed you for having a weak stomach for information extraction.

But today, you glance over your shoulder and make eye contact with Laswell.

“I’ll handle it,” you say with an air of finality.

The room goes silent. Price opens his mouth, but it’s Laswell that speaks, voice hard with resignation.

“Do it.”

You don’t blink. “Yes, ma’am.”

You walk out the door without a backwards glance, shoulders loose but each step steady and purposeful.

“What the hell is going on, Kate?” Price demands.

Kate sighs, looks away as you enter the interrogation room.

“Let’s do this outside. It won’t take long to get that intel.”

The only thing she’s able to share is that you and your team were captured. For a long time. And then you’re already stepping out of the interrogation room, wiping your bloodied hands off on an old rag.

There’s an unusual glint in your eye, an unnatural stillness in your expression.

“Got what we need,” you announce cheerfully.

#cod #my writing #fanfiction #reader fic #angst #reader came back Wrong #simon riley

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its-avalon-08 · 2 months ago

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Could you do a Lando one where he and reader have been together since the beginning of his F1 career and during the current season, where he has a chance to compete for the championship against Verstappen and since he won his first race, reader slowly realizes how distant and focused on winning the drivers' championship he is becoming from her and his fans along with the media also realize this, and after he has a chance to win the race and reduce the advantage against Max, she finally confronts him and they have an argument to the point where he tells her that she is being a distraction and that they should break up and she agrees and packs her things and leaves for Carlos' house for a while and Carlos and Rebecca comfort her and let her stay as long as necessary. And weeks after that, everyone realizes how sad Lando is and sees that Reader is no longer present with him at the races and he sees the stupidity he did due to the pressure he is under and tries in every way to talk to Reader and asking her for a second chance, but to no avail. And when Lando loses the championship, he admits to everyone what an idiot he was for letting the pressure of competing for the title end the most important thing in his life, which is his relationship, and mentions that Reader has always been through his ups and downs and that he only asks that if Reader is watching that interview, she forgive him. And days later, when he returns to Monaco, he hears someone knocking on the door and he opens it and sees Reader with tears in her eyes saying that she saw his interview and that she forgives him

i love u anon I LOVE U

the sound of the woman that loves you (ln4)

✦ pairing - lando norris x female!reader

✦ genre - angst, tears, comfort, neglect

The paddock was buzzing with energy, cameras flashing as media and fans swarmed the track, but Lando Norris walked through it all with a focused, unbreakable gaze. Y/N, his girlfriend of six years, was standing on the sidelines, arms crossed tightly. She knew this season was different – the stakes were higher, and Lando had a real shot at the championship, but something else felt different, too.

She gave him a small wave as he approached, expecting the usual grin, maybe even a quick hug. Instead, he nodded at her, barely slowing his stride.

“Good luck out there, Lando,” she called, keeping her voice light.

He looked back briefly. “Thanks. I need to get to the garage.” And with that, he disappeared into the McLaren motorhome, leaving Y/N in the midst of a crowd of curious onlookers.

She glanced at her phone, scrolling through Twitter to distract herself.

@F1Fanatic2024: “Anyone else feel like Lando's been acting… different lately? He’s so much more serious these days. Miss the old Norris 😕 #ItalianGP” @NorrisNation: “Gotta be the championship pressure. But I miss seeing him and Y/N together, they were always so cute! Now he barely even looks her way… #Monza”

Y/N sighed. The fans weren’t the only ones who noticed. She felt it every day. Since his first win in Silverstone, Lando seemed to have put on a new armor, impenetrable and distant. At first, she chalked it up to the pressure of being a real championship contender, but recently, it felt like there was something more.

Later, In the McLaren Motorhome

“Lando,” she called, poking her head into his team room after qualifying.

He barely looked up from his notes. “Yeah?”

Y/N hesitated. “I thought… maybe we could grab dinner tonight? You know, relax a bit before the race tomorrow?”

He didn’t even pause, scribbling something down. “Sorry, can’t. I have to go over data with the engineers.”

“Oh… okay. Maybe after the race?”

“If it goes well, sure.” He finally looked up, flashing a tight smile. “If I’m going to have any chance at catching up to Max, I can’t waste time right now.”

Her heart sank. She managed a weak smile back. “Of course. I understand.”

But it was hard to ignore the shift. They’d been through so much together, from his first race to his first podium. She remembered the nights they’d stayed up in hotel rooms talking about their dreams and fears. Now, it felt like she was just another face in the paddock.

Race Day

Lando finished second, close on Max’s heels, reducing the gap in the standings. His fans erupted on social media.

@F1Racer2024: “YESSSS! That’s how you do it, Lando! One step closer to the championship!! #TeamLando” @NorrisY/N_Fanpage: “Does anyone else miss the times when Lando would celebrate with Y/N after every race? She was his biggest cheerleader… what happened? 🥺”

As Lando stepped off the podium, Y/N waited in the sidelines, her heart racing. She expected him to come over like he used to, the way he would spot her instantly and pull her into a hug, podium champagne still dripping off him. But instead, he went straight to the team, surrounded by cameras and fans. She stood there, watching, a bit more alone than she’d felt before.

Eventually, he made his way over to her, but even then, it felt rushed.

“Good race,” she said, smiling up at him, hoping to capture a moment of the old Lando.

He nodded, barely slowing down. “Yeah, thanks. Still gotta catch Max, though. Can’t celebrate too much yet.”

She reached out, touching his arm gently. “Lando, you did amazing today. Can we just… have a moment? Just you and me?”

He shifted uncomfortably, glancing around. “I can’t right now, Y/N. There’s so much at stake.”

Her face fell, but she nodded. “Right. Of course.”

That Night – Hotel Room

Y/N lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, feeling the distance between them like a canyon. She reached for her phone, scrolling through the usual F1 fan accounts and updates, and her heart sank a little further as she read the latest tweets.

@RacingGirl2024: “Remember when Lando used to bring Y/N to all the team celebrations? Now it’s all business with him. #MissThem” @LandoF1Updates: “Lando’s chasing that championship with everything he’s got, but is it just me, or has he left everything else behind? #FocusedButDistant”

She knew it wasn’t just her imagination – everyone saw it. She missed the days when Lando had room in his life for them both, but lately, it seemed like racing was the only thing on his mind.

The door creaked open as Lando finally came in. He looked exhausted, eyes tired and a bit dull, but still carrying the spark of his competitive spirit.

“You’re still awake?” he murmured, slipping off his jacket.

“Yeah,” she whispered, biting her lip. She wanted to tell him how she felt, but seeing his drained face, she hesitated. “I just… I miss you, Lando.”

He stopped, giving her an unreadable look. “I’m right here, Y/N.”

“Not really,” she said softly, voice barely above a whisper. “It’s like… you’ve already left.”

He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “I just… I need to focus right now, okay? This could be my only shot at the championship.”

“I get that, Lando. I’ve always supported you – you know that. But… I didn’t think it would mean losing you.”

He looked down, unable to meet her gaze. “I haven’t gone anywhere, Y/N. Just… give me some time, yeah? This is important to me.”

She nodded, swallowing hard. “I know. I’ll be here. I just hope you remember who was there from the start.”

Social Media – Post-Race Reactions

@FormulaHeartbreaks: “Watching Y/N trying to celebrate with Lando and him brushing her off… that hurt to watch 😔 #StayStrongY/N” @WDCdreams: “Lando’s transformation this season is insane – but I’m scared he’s pushing everyone he loves away. Hope he doesn’t regret it #FocusCanCost”

As she lay next to him in the dark, Y/N wondered how much further he was willing to go for this dream – and whether, by the end of it, there would still be room in his life for them.

---

two weeks later – Lando’s Apartment

It had been two weeks of tense silences and brief conversations, filled with polite distance but nothing of the warmth that once defined them. Y/N couldn’t take it anymore. Tonight, they were supposed to have dinner together after weeks of being apart, but Lando was, as always, late. She glanced at the clock, her stomach churning with frustration.

When the door finally opened, Lando walked in, not even bothering to look up as he set his keys down and shrugged off his jacket.

“You’re late,” she said quietly, trying to keep her voice steady.

He sighed, barely glancing at her. “Yeah, the engineers needed me to stay a bit longer. We’re testing some new upgrades for next week’s race.”

“Of course,” she muttered, shaking her head.

He finally looked up, frowning. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means that everything – the team, the races, the data – comes before us now,” she replied, her voice beginning to shake. “You’ve been ignoring me, Lando. Fuck, I barely recognize you anymore.”

He rolled his eyes. “Y/N, we’ve talked about this. I’m so close to the championship. I thought you, of all people, would understand that.”

“I do understand that,” she snapped. “I’ve always been there for you. But you’re acting like I don’t exist. You barely even look at me anymore. Do you realize how painful that is?”

“Painful?” He scoffed. “It’s not like I’m doing anything to you. I’m just focused on something that matters to me right now.”

“What about me?” she cried, her voice cracking. “What about us?”

He took a deep breath, his jaw clenching as he looked away. “Y/N, I don’t have time for this right now.”

Her eyes stung as she fought to hold back tears. “You don’t have time for me,” she whispered. “You have time for everything else – every meeting, every media obligation – but when it comes to me, there’s nothing.”

“Y/N,” he started, his voice low and almost warning, “if you’re so unhappy, maybe you should go. I can’t keep worrying about how you’re feeling when I have this much on the line.”

She blinked, shocked, the tears finally spilling over. “You’re saying I’m a burden? After everything, I’m just… just in the way?”

He threw his hands up, exasperated. “You’re becoming a distraction, Y/N! I can’t focus when you’re constantly upset with me. I need to be 100% in this championship, and right now, I can’t be that with you here, making me feel guilty for every second I spend away from you!”

Y/N’s lip trembled as she tried to hold herself together. “So, what then? We just… end it? Just like that?”

He didn’t answer, just looked away, his face hard and distant. It was the coldest expression she had ever seen on him.

“Fine,” she whispered, nodding to herself. She walked into the bedroom, her hands shaking as she grabbed her suitcase and started packing. Every shirt, every little trinket that she had brought into his space felt like it was mocking her. She heard him pacing outside the room but couldn’t bring herself to stop.

When she emerged, suitcase in hand, he was standing there, arms crossed, face unreadable. For a moment, they just stared at each other, the silence thicker than it had ever been.

“So that’s it then?” she asked, her voice breaking. “Six years, and you can just let it all go for this one shot?”

He didn’t answer, and that hurt more than anything he could have said.

She laughed bitterly, wiping her tears. “I hope this championship is everything you dreamed of, Lando. Because it’s all you’re going to have left.” She pushed past him, tears blurring her vision as she walked out of the apartment, her heart shattering with every step.

Later – Carlos and Rebecca’s House

Y/N knocked, and before she could even drop her hand, the door flew open. Carlos’s concerned face immediately softened when he saw her red-rimmed eyes and trembling figure.

“Oh, Y/N…” he whispered, pulling her into a tight hug. She broke down completely, her sobs muffled against his shoulder. Rebecca joined them in the doorway, gently rubbing Y/N’s back as she let all the heartbreak pour out.

“He… he told me I was a distraction,” she choked out. “After everything, he just… let me go.”

Carlos tightened his hold on her, his jaw clenched. “I’m so sorry, Y/N. He’s an idiot if he can’t see what he’s lost.”

Rebecca guided her inside, settling her on the couch with a soft blanket around her shoulders. “You can stay here as long as you need,” she said gently. “We’re here for you, okay?”

Y/N nodded, wiping her tears, but the pain still sat heavy in her chest. She thought back to all the moments she and Lando had shared – all the late nights, the laughter, the promises they’d made. And now, it all felt like nothing more than empty words.

---

Y/N sat curled up on Carlos and Rebecca’s couch, her fingers gripping a warm mug of tea that Rebecca had handed her, though she hadn’t taken a sip. Carlos and Rebecca sat across from her, exchanging worried glances. Rebecca reached over, placing a gentle hand on Y/N’s shoulder.

“Do you… do you want to talk about it?” Rebecca asked softly, her voice laced with concern. “It might help.”

Y/N swallowed hard, her eyes focusing on the tea in her hands. She’d replayed every painful moment a hundred times in her head, but somehow, saying it out loud made it feel even more real.

Taking a shaky breath, she began. “Lando wasn’t always like this. He used to be so… present. Back when he first started in F1, we were everything to each other. He’d come back from a race, even if he’d had a bad day, and he’d look at me like I was the only good thing he had. He’d call me his ‘anchor,’ you know? Like I was the one keeping him grounded.” Her voice cracked, and she blinked back tears.

Carlos looked away, jaw clenched, clearly struggling to hear how much his friend had hurt her.

“He used to make time for me, no matter what,” Y/N continued, her voice trembling as she remembered. “I remember one night, it was after a particularly bad race. He came home exhausted, and I tried to cheer him up. I was rambling on about some silly story, and he just stopped me, took my face in his hands, and said, ‘I don’t deserve you, you know that?’ I laughed it off, but he was so serious. That was Lando… he always made me feel like I was everything to him.” She let out a small, broken laugh. “Now it’s like… he doesn’t even see me anymore.”

Rebecca’s eyes were full of sympathy, and she leaned forward, gently rubbing Y/N’s back. “He still loves you, Y/N. He’s just… lost in all of this championship pressure. It’s consuming him.”

Y/N shook her head, tears spilling down her cheeks. “That’s what I told myself at first. That it was just temporary. I wanted to be understanding, to give him the space he needed. But it kept getting worse. He’d come home, and it was like he was bringing all the weight of his career with him. He’d barely speak to me, and if he did, it was only about the races, the standings… nothing else.”

Carlos shifted forward, his expression filled with anger on her behalf. “But you were always there for him, through everything. He shouldn’t have taken you for granted.”

“That’s what hurts the most,” Y/N whispered, her voice barely audible. “I tried to support him in every way I could, to be his safe place. But… it’s like he doesn’t need me anymore. Like I’m just in the way of his goal.” She clenched her fists, the pain intensifying as the words came tumbling out. “He told me I was a distraction, Carlos. Like I’m something he needs to get rid of to succeed.”

Carlos’s face hardened, his fists clenching. “That’s not right, Y/N. You were never a distraction. You were his partner.”

Y/N’s gaze dropped to her lap, her voice thick with tears. “I was so proud of him, so in love with him… I still am. But he’s changed. The Lando I fell in love with would never have pushed me away like this. I don’t even know if he’s in there anymore.”

Rebecca pulled Y/N into a tight hug, rubbing her back soothingly as Y/N finally broke down completely, letting the tears fall. “I just… I don’t know how to stop loving him,” she sobbed. “Even after everything, even after he said those horrible things… it still feels like a part of me is missing without him.”

Rebecca tightened her hold, her own eyes shining with tears. “You gave so much of yourself to him, Y/N. It’s going to hurt. But we’re here for you. You’re not alone.”

Y/N’s shoulders shook as she clung to Rebecca, her sobs echoing in the quiet room. Carlos leaned forward, reaching over to gently hold her hand. “I’m so sorry, Y/N,” he murmured. “You deserve so much more than this.”

“I just wish…” she whispered, her voice barely audible, “I wish he could see how much he’s losing. But he’s so wrapped up in his dream, it’s like I don’t matter at all anymore.”

The three of them sat in silence, Rebecca and Carlos offering her the quiet support she desperately needed. And for the first time in a long time, Y/N let herself truly grieve the man she had once loved with everything in her – the man who had loved her just as fiercely but seemed to have slipped away, lost in the world he was so determined to conquer.

---

The first time people noticed, it was subtle – a strange emptiness around Lando that hadn’t been there before. There were no more quick glances to the paddock where Y/N used to stand, no playful smiles or inside jokes shared across the garage. And, most importantly, no sign of Y/N.

The media chalked it up to championship pressure, but his fans weren’t convinced. They flooded his social media with questions.

Twitter

@LandoLover91: Did anyone else notice Y/N hasn’t been at the last few races?

@RacingQueen: Where’s Y/N? She used to be his good luck charm. Lando seems so off without her…

@TeamNorris: You can see it on his face. Something’s missing.

It wasn’t just the fans. In the paddock, everyone saw it too. Even Max and Charles exchanged a look as they watched Lando pace through the garage, his usually confident demeanor tinged with something… off.

Max nudged Charles. “Have you noticed he hasn’t been himself lately?”

Charles nodded, concern flashing in his eyes. “It’s like he’s a ghost of who he used to be. And… Y/N isn’t here anymore.”

Max sighed, crossing his arms. “He pushed her away. I don’t think he even realized what he was doing until it was too late.”

In the McLaren Garage

Carlos was leaning against a wall, arms crossed, watching Lando carefully. He’d been giving Lando the cold shoulder ever since Y/N had shown up at his house in tears. Lando approached Carlos, a hint of desperation in his eyes.

“Carlos,” Lando started, his voice low. “I need to talk to you.”

Carlos’s gaze hardened, and he crossed his arms, his posture rigid. “Oh? Suddenly, you want to talk? Funny, because Y/N wanted to talk too. She begged you to hear her, and you threw her aside. Now, you’re here?”

Lando flinched, guilt swirling in his stomach. “I… I messed up, Carlos. I know that. I let the pressure get to me, and I said things I didn’t mean.”

Carlos’s face remained unyielding. “Didn’t mean? You called her a distraction. After everything she did to support you, to be there for you, you reduced her to an inconvenience.” His voice was laced with bitterness.

Lando’s shoulders slumped. “I know, okay? I know I ruined everything. I’ve been trying to talk to her, but she won’t answer my calls, won’t respond to my messages. I just… I need her back, Carlos. She’s the one good thing in my life, and I pushed her away.”

Carlos shook his head. “Do you even hear yourself? You only realize her worth now that she’s gone. What did you expect, that she’d wait around forever while you treated her like she didn’t matter?”

Lando’s voice cracked, desperation spilling over. “I don’t know what to do. I’ll do anything to make it right. Please, Carlos, just… tell her that I’m sorry.”

Carlos scoffed. “You think I’m going to deliver your apologies for you? If she wanted to talk to you, she would have. And after the way you treated her, I don’t blame her one bit for staying away.” Carlos’s eyes softened briefly, but it only made his tone more cutting. “You lost someone who loved you with everything she had, and you took it all for granted. Now, you have to live with that.”

Later, in the Drivers’ Lounge

Lando sat alone, staring at his phone, the endless stream of unanswered messages mocking him. The door swung open, and Max and Charles stepped in, glancing at him with a mix of pity and frustration.

Max crossed his arms, looking down at him. “You’re a mess, Lando.”

Lando’s head snapped up, eyes bloodshot. “What do you want me to say? I know I screwed up.”

Charles sat beside him, his voice gentle but firm. “Why didn’t you see it sooner? Y/N was always there for you. We all saw it – the way she looked at you, the way she believed in you. And you threw it all away for what? A title?”

“It’s not just about the title!” Lando said, his voice breaking. “I was under so much pressure… everyone was expecting me to be perfect, to finally beat Max. I thought… I thought if I just focused, if I could just give everything to racing, I’d be enough.”

Max shook his head, his expression a rare mix of sympathy and disappointment. “And now? Are you enough?”

Lando’s throat tightened, and he looked down, unable to answer. The truth hung heavy in the silence, a truth he could no longer deny.

“I don’t know what to do,” he whispered. “I keep replaying that night, every horrible word I said to her… and I can’t take any of it back.”

Charles placed a hand on his shoulder. “Sometimes, Lando… there’s no going back. Maybe you just have to live with the choices you made.”

Back in the Garage

As the race weekend continued, the fans picked up on it too. Lando’s pit crew noticed his silence, the empty look in his eyes when he glanced toward the area where Y/N would usually stand, cheering him on. His lap times were erratic, and his usual spark was gone.

Carlos passed by, catching Lando looking lost and out of place in his own space. He leaned over, his voice low. “You’re hurting now, aren’t you? Feeling what she felt when you pushed her away. But you have to understand – you did this to yourself.”

Lando’s voice wavered, a raw edge of desperation seeping through. “Carlos, please. I can’t lose her. I don’t know how to do any of this without her.”

Carlos shook his head, his face impassive. “You made that choice when you told her she was just a distraction. She loved you, Lando. Truly loved you. But you made her feel like she wasn’t worth your time.”

Lando’s face fell, the words striking him harder than any crash he’d ever endured. “I thought I could fix it…”

“Some things can’t be fixed,” Carlos said, voice cold. “Some things… you have to live with. You’re going to realize, probably too late, that your title won’t fill the space she left. You traded something priceless for something you can only hold for a year.” With that, Carlos walked away, leaving Lando alone to the silence of his regrets.

---

Lando sat on the edge of his bed in his darkened hotel room, staring at his phone screen. His fingers hovered over the screen as he typed out another message to Y/N, his heart sinking lower with every word. He’d sent so many texts over the past few weeks, each one unanswered, each one leaving him more desperate than before.

Text Messages to mylove<3

Lando: I know I don’t deserve it, but please, Y/N, just talk to me. Please.

Lando: I’m so sorry. I was wrong, about everything. You were never a distraction. You were the only thing keeping me grounded.

Lando: I can’t believe I said those things to you. Please, I need to make it right.

Lando: Y/N, please come back. I miss you so much. I miss us.

The messages stayed marked as “delivered” but never “read.” Each notification that appeared on his screen felt like a punch to his gut. He opened their old messages, scrolling through the conversations where she used to send him good luck texts, little jokes, and photos that made him laugh on the toughest days. Now, the screen was empty, and it tore at him in ways he hadn’t expected.

He tried one last time, his fingers trembling.

Lando: Please, Y/N. Just one word. Just let me know you’re okay.

He waited, staring at the screen, hoping against hope that this time, she’d respond. But there was nothing. Just the cold silence of his phone screen mocking him, reminding him of the gaping hole he’d created in his life.

Finally, he threw the phone onto the bed, burying his face in his hands. A shuddering breath escaped him as he fought back the tears that had been welling up since she’d left. The weight of his regret was crushing, pressing down on his chest until he couldn’t hold it in anymore.

He broke down, the sobs wracking his body as he thought about all the times he’d taken her presence for granted, all the ways she’d been his rock, his source of strength. And now, in his pursuit of a title, he’d thrown it all away.

“Why did I do this?” he whispered to the empty room, his voice barely audible through the tears. “Why was I so stupid?”

He thought back to the last time he’d seen her, the pain in her eyes, the betrayal. She had been there through every single moment of his career, from the early struggles to his first win. And in the blink of an eye, he’d reduced her to something he could discard.

The sobs only grew louder, his shoulders shaking as the guilt crushed him. He could barely breathe, the weight of it all suffocating him. He’d lost the one person who truly loved him, who’d been there through everything – and now, he’d do anything to turn back time, to tell her how much she meant to him, to take back every cruel word.

But it was too late. All he had now was the silence, the cold realization of what he’d lost forever.

With trembling hands, he picked up his phone once more, typing out another desperate message, his vision blurred from the tears.

Text Message to mylove<3

Lando: I’ll wait as long as it takes. I’ll wait forever if I have to. I just… I just want you back.

But even as he hit send, he knew it wouldn’t be enough. And that knowledge only made the pain cut deeper, leaving him sobbing in the dark, broken and alone.

----

The championship had come down to the final race, and it slipped through Lando’s fingers. Second place. It was supposed to be the peak of his career, the culmination of years of hard work and sacrifice. But as he stood on the podium, looking out over the cheering crowd, all he felt was emptiness.

He’d traded everything for a shot at the title. And now, even with the world’s eyes on him, he felt alone.

The post-race interview was supposed to be about the championship battle. The questions started there, but it quickly turned into something else, something Lando couldn’t hold back any longer.

He took a deep breath, voice wavering as he spoke into the microphone. “I know today was supposed to be a celebration, and it should be. But I need to be honest… I made a huge mistake this season, one that I’ll regret for the rest of my life.”

The room went silent, the reporters leaning forward, sensing the weight of his words.

“I… I let the pressure of this championship get to me. I thought that if I could just focus, if I could give everything to racing, I’d find happiness. But in that process, I lost the most important thing in my life.” His voice broke, his hand tightening around the mic as he struggled to continue. “I pushed away the person who’s been there for me since the beginning. Through all the ups and downs, the wins and losses… she was always there, believing in me even when I didn’t believe in myself.”

Lando’s gaze drifted to the floor, shame filling his expression. “And I told her she was a distraction. I let her believe she wasn’t enough because I was too blinded by this… this dream. I’m an idiot for thinking a title could ever replace someone like her. I know I messed up. I know I hurt you more than anyone ever should, and if I could take it all back, I would. I’d give up every race, every trophy, every… every chance at this championship if it meant having you back. You were never a distraction. You were the only thing that kept me grounded, that kept me… sane.”

His eyes lifted to the camera, his voice soft but clear. “If… if she’s watching this, if she can hear me… I just want her to know that I’m sorry. More than anything, I want her to forgive me. I know I don’t deserve it, but I love her. And I would give up everything, every podium, every title… just to have her back. I didn’t realize what I had until I lost it. And now… now I’d do anything, anything to make it up to you. I know I don’t deserve it, but if you can ever find it in your heart to forgive me… I’ll spend the rest of my life making sure you never feel like that again.”

The room was quiet, the air thick with the weight of his confession. Lando’s face was streaked with the tears he’d tried to keep at bay, his vulnerability laid bare for the world to see.

Days Later, Monaco

Back in Monaco, Lando felt like a shell of himself. He moved through his days on autopilot, haunted by the memories of what he’d lost. The house felt empty without her presence, her laughter, her comforting words. He spent hours lying awake at night, staring at the ceiling, replaying that interview in his head, hoping that maybe, somehow, she’d heard his words.

Then, one quiet evening, there was a knock at the door. It was tentative, hesitant, as if the person on the other side was unsure.

Lando’s heart raced as he walked to the door, a flicker of hope sparking in his chest. He opened it slowly, and there she was – Y/N, standing on his doorstep, tears in her eyes. Her face was etched with a mixture of pain and longing, the same emotions he’d been carrying since the day she left.

There she stood, Y/N, with tear-streaked cheeks and an expression he couldn’t quite decipher. Her lips trembled as she looked up at him, the softness in her eyes bringing fresh pain and, maybe, a glimmer of hope.

“Y/N…” His voice was barely a whisper, his heart pounding so hard he could barely breathe.

She blinked up at him, trying to hold back more tears. “I saw your interview, Lando,” she murmured, her voice breaking slightly.

He swallowed, nodding, unsure of what to say. “I… I meant every word. I know it doesn’t change what I did, but—”

“I know,” she interrupted gently, stepping closer. “I know you did. And I believe you.”

Lando’s breath hitched, the weight of her words settling over him like a warm blanket, thawing the cold ache that had plagued him for weeks. “Does that… does that mean…”

She nodded, a small, sad smile pulling at her lips. “I forgive you, Lando.”

Unable to hold back anymore, he closed the distance between them, arms wrapping around her, holding her close like she might disappear if he let go. She melted into his embrace, her own arms wrapping around him tightly, her face buried in his chest.

“I’m so, so sorry,” he murmured into her hair, his voice thick. “I never wanted to hurt you. I was so stupid. I should’ve known—”

“Shh,” she whispered, pulling back slightly to look up at him. “We both said things we didn’t mean. I just… I missed you so much.”

He cupped her face gently, his thumb brushing away a stray tear. “You have no idea how much I’ve missed you, too. I’d give up everything if it meant I’d never hurt you again. I don’t care about the championship, Y/N. None of it matters without you.”

Her hand came up to rest on his cheek, and she gave him a watery smile. “I don’t want you to give up anything, Lando. I just… I want to be part of your life, not something you feel you need to push away.”

“You are my life,” he said fervently, pressing his forehead against hers. “And I’ll never, ever forget that again.”

She laughed softly, though it was more of a hiccup, as more tears slipped down her cheeks. “Promise?”

He nodded, his own eyes glistening with unshed tears. “I swear. I’m not letting go this time, no matter what. You’re stuck with me.”

“Good,” she whispered, her fingers tracing the line of his jaw, grounding herself in his warmth. “Because I don’t think I could ever walk away again.”

Without another word, he leaned down, capturing her lips in a gentle, lingering kiss, the kind that seemed to say all the things he’d failed to put into words. She kissed him back, pouring every ounce of her love and forgiveness into it, their arms tightening around each other as if trying to make up for every moment they’d lost.

When they finally pulled back, both of them breathless, she rested her head on his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart.

“You know,” she said softly, looking up at him with a mischievous smile. “I kind of enjoyed seeing you grovel on national television.”

He chuckled, his laugh a little choked with emotion. “Well, if that’s what it takes to make you stay, I’ll do it every day if I have to.”

She shook her head, a laugh escaping her. “I don’t think you’ll need to. Just… remember to let me in, okay? We’re a team, you and me.”

He nodded, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “A team. Forever.”

And as they stood there, wrapped in each other’s arms, Lando felt for the first time in weeks that everything might actually be okay again.

902 notes · View notes

forzalando · 1 year ago

Text

Seeing Someone

Lando Norris x friend!reader (female reader)

summary: Lando is finally ready to tell you how he feels when he overhears you say that you've started seeing someone - but overheard conversations aren't always what they seem. wc: 5.5k author's note: a few disclaimers: 1. let's all pretend that everyone has to spend a few weeks at MTC before the start of the season and they commute to/from London. 2. therapy and mental health help are so important - i purposefully left some things vague because people go to therapy for a variety of reasons and it should be normalized! i also didn't want things to get too heavy or potentially upset anyone by choosing to elaborate on something they relate to/hits a little too close to home. 3. this was inspired by a post i saw on my dash that said "when you said you were seeing someone i was hoping you meant a therapist". this originally started out more light-hearted, but the angst came out and i couldn't stop. feeling a little insecure about this one - thoughts and feelings in the comments/reblogs/my inbox would be so cherished and appreciated :) once again, special shoutout to @sof1shticated for being my beta reader. couldn't do this without you, Mel! warnings: mentions of reader going to therapy, mentions of reader drinking, a few curse words (i think), and angst! but there is a happy ending (even if it's a little open-ended)

Lando had searched the entirety of McLaren HQ at this point and started to worry – you were quite literally nowhere to be found. Usually, this wouldn’t phase him, since you were notorious for getting distracted or caught up in conversation with everyone you came across. You especially found ways to delay leaving MTC when you had to be there physically – the commute from HQ back to London each day was objectively the worst part of everyone coming together in the weeks leading up to each new season.

Today, however, the two of you had plans to get dinner at your favorite restaurant in London and you would never miss a chance to devour your favorite scallop risotto, cheese garlic bread, several glasses of wine, and a heaping mound of tiramisu for dessert.

He stopped speed-walking abruptly when he saw a familiar head of brown hair out of the corner of his eye.

“OSCAR,” Lando shouted, his speed-walk turning into a run. “Oscar, have you seen Y/N? She told me to meet at her office at 5:00pm but it’s 5:30pm and she is literally missing. She better have a good excuse, I hate being late.”

“Missing? Are you sure she’s not just caught up in a meeting? I saw her heading to Zak’s office around 4:45pm, did you check there?”

“Zak’s office, of course! The one place I didn’t check. Thanks, Osc, you’re the man.”

Oscar rolled his eyes – “Anytime, Lan. What are you running late for? Hot date?”

Lando didn’t miss the wiggle of Oscar’s eyebrows and slight smirk. It wasn’t a secret to the Australian that Lando had a crush on Y/N – although Lando had never confirmed or denied it, it was pretty obvious to anyone who spent more than 30 seconds around them.

“Ah, something like that,” Lando said nonchalantly, a bashful blush making its way to his cheeks.

“Good luck, mate!” Oscar threw a wave over his shoulder as he heard the retreating sound of Lando’s trainers smacking against the floor.

In truth, although you and Lando were just friends and Lando was terrified he may ruin that, he had plans to tell you about his feelings for you that night at dinner. It had been almost a year since you started working for McLaren, and almost a year of Lando pining after you in secret. He spent most days trying to convince himself he was content just being your friend, but he was determined to make 2024 his year. His first win, hopefully of many, maybe even WDC contender material, and finally plucking up the courage to be honest with you.

As Lando hurriedly approached Zak’s office, he could see that the door was slightly ajar and heard your voice trailing through the opening.

“I really appreciate you taking the time to talk to me, Zak. And a massive thank you for approving the time off on such late notice.”

“Anytime, Y/N, you know you’re like family to me and everyone here. You sure you’re ok?”

“Yes, I’m seeing someone. It’s still new so I’m not set on him yet but I have a really good feeling about it, I’m really starting to wish I had called him sooner. He actually suggested the days off, I’m seeing him on Tuesday and hopefully things continue to go well.”

Lando’s heart dropped to his stomach – all week he had been thinking about tonight. How to tell you, how you might react, how nervous he was, and each day he grew even more anxious. He was panicking – what was he supposed to do? How could he sit across from you all night knowing that he’d missed his chance?

“That’s so good to hear,” Zak said earnestly. “Keep me updated and enjoy your days off.”

Lando could hear chairs scraping and scrambled to leave the scene before you walked out of Zak’s office to find him eavesdropping. He got about 50 feet down the hallway before he heard your voice from behind.

“Lan,” you shouted. “I’m so sorry, I’m totally late but I had to meet with Zak about something and his last meeting went way over.”

You jogged a little to catch up to him – a bright smile on your face that made his heart rate skyrocket and his palms grow sweaty. He couldn’t see you feeling like this. Not tonight, not when he could barely keep himself from telling you that he would be a much better boyfriend than whoever you were dating.

“We still on for dinner? I grabbed everything I needed from my office before I met with Zak so if we leave right this second and ignore the speed limit, they may seat us,” you bumped his shoulder as you joked.

Unable to help himself, only thinking about how hurt he was even though you’d done nothing wrong, Lando blurted out an excuse. “Actually, I was trying to find you to tell you I can’t make it.”

He tried not to react when he saw your face fall a little, but he told himself it was because you were disappointed about the last-minute change in plans and not that he wasn’t going.

“You should still go though,” he offered quickly. “I’m sure you have someone you could take with you!”

Your eyes spotted Oscar across the hallway and you smiled slightly – it had been a while since you had spent time with him and you knew he was having a rough week.

“Yeah, I have someone in mind,” you mused, focusing your eyes back on Lando. “Is everything ok? Are you not feeling well?”

“No, I’m fine, I just forgot I have plans.”

“Well, we had plans. You scheduled over me?”

“It’s a last-minute thing. Date thing. Last-minute date thing.”

“Oh,” you gasped. “Oh, that’s great!” You plastered a fake smile on your face – hoping that he was just as oblivious now as he apparently is to your feelings. “I hope you have a great time, she’s a lucky girl! I’ll see you on Wednesday, I’m taking a couple days off!”

Before he had a chance to say anything else, you sped off in search of Oscar to bribe him to accompany you to dinner. While you set off across the room, Lando smacked himself in the forehead and groaned.

“Why did you tell her it was a date, you idiot,” he mumbled to himself. Now, it was his turn to speed walk through McLaren HQ, but if he had turned around just for a moment, he would have caught you stopped in your tracks staring at him longingly as he walked away.

You shook your head and sighed, continuing your quest to find the younger McLaren driver and rope him into an evening filled with good food and, if you were being honest with yourself, probably a few tears.

A few moments later, you spotted floppy brown hair bouncing as Oscar walked toward the employee parking lot.

“Oscar!” You yelled after him, increasing your pace to catch up to him.

“Hey,” he said, confusion evident on his face, “I thought you were going out with Lando?”

“He’s got a date,” you blurted. “He has a date and he canceled on me and it’s fine. I am fine. But I want my scallop risotto and tiramisu so you’re coming with me.”

“Sure, Y/N, lead the way.”

Oscar was, to put it extremely lightly, confused. Lando was completely enamored by you – anyone with eyes could see it. Oscar was wholly convinced that Lando was going to officially ask you out at dinner tonight, especially after the brief conversation they had while you were late to meet up with him.

Yet, here he was, sat across from you in a dimly lit room as you sipped on your third glass of wine and, with all the subtlety of a neon sign, wiped a tear from your lower lash line.

“It’s not that I’m not happy for him, I’m so happy for him. But canceling last minute is a dick move, right? It’s a dick move. I know I’m just his friend, sometimes I feel like just a colleague, but I’m not being dramatic, right?”

Oscar stared at you blankly – his eyes wide and a look of pure fear on his face. He considered himself good at most things, great at quite a few, but comforting a crying woman was bottom of the list of Oscar Piastri’s skills.

“It’s totally a dick move,” he nodded his head eagerly in agreement. “I just don’t get it – when I saw him earlier he was frantic trying to find you. I think he’d scoured the entirety of MTC, he was out of breath when I found him.”

“Well, at least he had the decency to find me and tell me in person that he planned on ditching me.”

“Yeah, but that’s just it, it didn’t seem like he was trying to find you to tell you that. He complained about being late and when I asked him if he had a hot date, he blushed.”

“He is literally on a hot date.”

“Ok, well, when I asked him I meant did he have a hot date specifically with you.”

You scoffed and set your glass down – as much as you loved Oscar and you knew he’d never judge you, if you had any more wine you’d end up sobbing and not just wiping stray tears away.

“As if! Lando has never once made a move on me even though I flirt, or at least try to flirt, with him any chance I get.”

“You flirt with Lando?”

“I made him a personalized Spotify playlist, had Stroopwafels overnighted to him from The Netherlands after Vegas, bought him a sweater for his birthday with a card that said ‘to match your eyes’, and I compliment him every time I see him.”

“That’s your idea of flirting?”

“Well, yes.”

“Y/N, that’s just being nice to people. You’re nice to everyone. Lando is not going to understand that you’re a little extra nice to him and that means you’re trying to woo him.”

You huffed and slumped in your seat, crossing your arms over your chest. “Ok, well, how would you flirt with Lando?”

“Did you seriously just ask me that question?”

“Yes because apparently you know all about flirting! And by the way, Logan thought I was coming onto him when I was just being nice so some people would consider my actions flirtatious.”

“That doesn’t count, Logan thinks Uber drivers are flirting with him when they say ‘have a nice day’.”

You and Oscar shared a laugh at the mention of your mutual friend – somehow an even more hopeless case than you in the world of romance.

Your laughs turned to giggles and eventually died down completely. A sigh climbed its way out of your throat, the sudden change in your mood evident to Oscar.

“It doesn’t matter anyway – he’s seeing someone so no more trying, and according to you failing, to flirt.”

“You don’t know how serious it is, maybe this was a first date and it’ll go horribly. He definitely doesn’t have a girlfriend if that’s what you’re worried about, he was just saying the other day that Lily and I make him feel painfully single. We can ask him about it on Monday!”

You frowned a bit and tried to recover, but Oscar noticed the way your face fell slightly. “I’m actually taking a few days off, I need some personal time. I won’t be back at MTC until Wednesday.”

“Is everything ok? You don’t have to tell me but if you need anything, you know I’m there for you, right?”

You smiled at Oscar – it was a rare thing to find such great friends in the people you worked with, but you got so incredibly lucky with the McLaren team, especially Lando and Oscar. “I know that, Osc. You’re a gem.”

With a nod of understanding, Oscar changed the subject to something more pleasant, and you enjoyed the rest of your evening with your friend.

When Wednesday morning rolled around, you felt like your stomach might explode from nerves. You had resisted texting Lando over the past few days to ask about his date, you didn’t want to seem too eager and hoped it would come up naturally in conversation during the day. You hadn’t talked to Oscar much, though he’d texted you a few times to check in, but you wondered if he had talked to Lando at all and if he had details on how well Lando’s date went.

You arrived at MTC fairly early, hoping to get a head start on your day. Winter break was nearly over, and you were swamped with finalizing everything for the start of the 2024 season. It wasn’t until lunch that you saw Lando at all and he just so happened to be waiting in your office, sitting comfortably in your chair, while you were walking back from your latest meeting.

“Lando! What are you doing here?”

“I, uh,” he scrambled. “I was just…I don’t know really. I guess I wanted to see you, we haven’t talked in a few days since you’ve been out.”

“Well, we’ve both been busy. You could’ve texted me. How was your date?”

“It was good. Great. How about yours?”

You smiled remembering your evening with Oscar, assuming he had told Lando at some point that he had accompanied you. “Honestly so fun, we had the best time. I hope we get to do it again soon.”

Lando cringed – jealousy rearing its ugly head as he looked down at his feet before answering. “Same, I’ll probably go out with her again this weekend.”

“Good for you,” you gritted. “I’m glad you had fun. I actually have a million things to do so if there’s nothing important…”

“Yeah, yeah, sorry. Just wanted to see you. I guess we’ll catch up soon? Hope you enjoyed your days off.”

Mustering up a fake smile, you told him definitely, awkwardly standing as he rose from your desk and left your office. As soon as he was far enough away that he couldn’t hear you, you groaned. The tension between you and Lando was unbearable, though you didn’t understand why it seemed to mostly be coming from him. Before you had a chance to think any further, you could hear your phone buzzing from inside your bag and begrudgingly pulled it out to see a text from Oscar.

did you go on a date over the weekend?

no? why are you asking me that?

well then why did lando just sit across from me and say ‘did Y/N tell you anything about her date?’

he was just in my office, I asked him how his date went and he asked about ‘mine’. i assumed he was talking about Friday and that you told him i brought you?

i never told him, i guess he thought you brought a real date?

You paused before responding to Oscar, confusion evident on your face and in your lack of response. Before you could type out a reply, two more texts came in.

ok something is up because i just told him that i went with you on friday and he said “i know, i saw you in her insta story in the reflection of a wine glass, i’m talking about yesterday”

insane that he looked close enough to see me in your wine glass but not the point

i literally haven’t been on a date in two years

let me figure this out

You slid your phone back into your bag and pulled out your laptop – your Lando problems would have to wait until you were at least somewhat caught up after missing two days so close to the start of the season.

Meanwhile, at a conference room table in MTC, Oscar was confused. Which, as of late, was a common occurrence when it came to you and Lando.

“Mate,” Oscar addressed Lando, “if you’re not talking about Friday, what date did you ask Y/N about? She hasn’t been on a date in forever.”

“Well then he must have canceled on her because she was supposed to have plans yesterday, it’s why she took days off.”

“I don’t know the exact reason why she took days off but she told me on Friday that she was and didn’t seem too happy about it. Said it was personal reasons.”

“Going on a date is personal.”

“Not ‘take two days off of work’ personal! Where are you even getting this information?”

Lando looked away sheepishly, afraid to admit to Oscar that he had eavesdropped on a private conversation between you and Zak. With Oscar looking at him expectantly, and a bit like a pissed-off Mum, he blurted it out.

“I heard her talking to Zak! Last week on Friday, when I was looking for her, she was in his office and the door was cracked. She had asked him for a couple days off and talked about how she recently started seeing someone and was seeing him again on Tuesday aka yesterday.”

Now Oscar was really confused. You had cried over Lando publicly on Friday, and he knew you fairly well, which meant there was no way you would be crying over Lando and going out with someone else four days later.

“I think you need to just talk to her because I promise you, she is not seeing someone. Also, what do you care? You ditched her for a date on Friday.”

Oscar had a sinking feeling in his stomach as he watched Lando’s face fall.

“Lando, tell me you didn’t.”

“I might have.”

“Jesus, Lando, you heard 30 seconds of a conversation and decided to lie to her? Because what, your ego took a blow? Some caveman instinct?”

“No, I don’t know, honestly. It just slipped out! I had planned to ask her out for real and when I heard her say ‘I’m seeing someone’, I just didn’t know how to be around her. I couldn’t be around her that night.”

“You need to go talk to her. Apologize. Preferably, immediately.”

Lando jumped up from his seat and sighed. “You’re right. She might kill me, and she has every right to, but I have to talk to her and apologize to her. Wish me luck!”

Before Oscar could do what Lando had asked, Lando raced off towards your office, barely stopping himself from tripping over his own two feet.

Across MTC, you had just settled your mind and gotten into a groove of catching up on emails and making progress on deadlines. As soon as you thought to yourself that the day was going better than expected, your office door flung open and Lando Norris was standing stiff in your doorway.

“Lan, I told you that I’m busy. What is going on?” Annoyance was evident in your voice and Lando cringed knowing that this conversation was probably not going to be very pleasant.

“Why did you take time off?”

Your body straightened in shock, of all the things he could have asked you after bombarding you in your office, you wouldn’t have guessed he would pry into your personal life.

“That’s none of your business, Lando. If you were worried about me, you could have reached out, but I haven’t heard from you since you ditched me on Friday.”

Lando could see the hurt on your face, he could see it evident in your body language. He thought back to how you had looked upset immediately when he told you on Friday that he couldn’t go with you – when he told himself it had nothing to do with you wanting to spend time with him.

“I’m sorry,” he breathed. “I’m sorry for that, it wasn’t – I mean I didn’t, I didn’t want to not go. I just didn’t know what to do.”

“Ok, I’m totally lost. You didn’t know what to do about what, Lando?”

He steeled himself for your reaction – something he had learned by being your friend for the past year was that you held trust and truth in high regard. You didn’t like being lied to, and you didn’t like people trying to dig into your life or get information you weren’t willing to share.

“I heard you in Zak’s office. I wasn’t eavesdropping on purpose, I swear, I was looking for you because you were late meeting me. Oscar told me you might be with Zak so I went there and the door was open. And I heard you. So I lied and told you that I couldn’t go to dinner, I don’t know why I said I had a date. All I could focus on was how hurt I was, I just couldn’t be around you and then I felt so stupid and terrible for lying so that’s why I didn’t text you at all.”

You were completely and utterly perplexed – you couldn’t even react with anger at the thought of Lando listening to a private conversation and outright lying to you. What could he have overheard that he was so upset about?

“Lando, I’m still confused. What did you hear? How did I hurt you?”

“No, no, you didn’t hurt me. You have no idea how I feel about you – I was going to tell you that night.” Lando was word-vomiting at this point, he never wanted you to find out this way but he couldn’t stop rambling. “I have had feelings for you for so long, and I finally decided that I was going to tell you even if I was convinced you don’t feel the same. And now I know you don’t because you’re seeing someone and – ”

You interrupted him sternly, allowing the anger you were feeling to come forth and shoving down your confusion. “I’m not dating anyone? Is that why you asked Oscar about my ‘date’? Where did you get that idea?”

“You told Zak that you’re seeing someone and that it’s new but things are going good. I heard you say you were seeing him again on Tuesday.”

Your eyes doubled in size – if you weren’t so pissed off, you might have found humor in this, but you felt heat rising to your cheeks and your stomach churned at the thought of divulging your personal struggles.

“Lando, I’m seeing a therapist,” you hissed.

He froze for a moment, then scrambled to shut your door which was still ajar from him barging in.

“A therapist? Are you okay? What’s going on, why didn’t you tell me that you’ve been struggling?”

“No, no, you don’t get to do this right now. You don’t get to make me less angry by being kind and caring.”

“I’m not doing it to make you less angry, Y/N, I genuinely – ”

“I don’t care, Lando! You eavesdropped on my private conversation, misunderstood the context of that conversation, and then you lied to me. You hurt me. And now, because you got your feelings hurt and did things you shouldn’t have done, I have to share something I wasn’t comfortable sharing with you just yet.”

Lando was speechless – you could see the remorse on his face, the tears threatening to spill from his eyes, but in that moment you wanted him to feel even worse than you were.

“And you want to know the worst part,” you cried. “I feel the same way about you. I cried to Oscar at dinner because I thought you were with someone else, that you would have rather been at dinner with a different girl.”

“Y/N, I’m so sorry. Can we please just go somewhere and talk? Really talk this out? I know I messed up, but this doesn’t have to change things or how we feel about each other.”

You wanted to, god, did you want to – you knew Lando hadn’t done any of this on purpose. You knew he didn’t have malicious intent and you knew how hurt he probably felt at the idea of you being with someone – it was exactly the way you felt when you thought the same about him.

“I think you should go, Lan”. Despite every part of you wanting to sit and talk, you knew that you needed some time to settle down.

“Ok,” he whispered. “When you’re ready,” he paused, swallowing the lump in his throat, “if you’re ever ready, you know where to find me.”

His posture made you feel sick as he left your office – Lando was always confident, shoulders back and head held high, but as you watched him through the glass walls surrounding you, he was hunched over. Dejected. You’d only ever seen him that way a few times – after he was torn apart by the media or after making a mistake during a race.

It hurt you to see him that way. But, he had also hurt you, and you needed time.

It had been two weeks since “the incident” with Lando – that’s what Oscar started calling it and it stuck. Fight felt too strong, disagreement felt too weak, so it became something nameless. Undefined. Indeterminate. Exactly like what existed now between you and Lando.

Oscar and Lando were set to leave for Sakhir in a week and you wouldn’t see them again until you joined the team for the Australian GP. If you didn’t work things out with Lando before they left for testing, it would be well over a month without a resolution.

The thought made your eyes burn with tears – you were still upset but more than that you missed Lando. You didn’t even have to wonder if he felt the same because you’d seen him around MTC. He looked just as awful as you, if not worse, yet you couldn’t bring yourself to start a conversation.

You began packing up your things to leave the office, grateful beyond belief that it was a Friday and you’d have two days without seeing Lando’s familiar curls everywhere you turned. At least at home, you would only see them behind closed eyes and wouldn’t have to blink back tears.

A knock at your door startled you, but you assumed it was your team lead looking for your latest analytics report. At least there was one thing you could be happy about – the car data was phenomenal and all signs were pointing to an amazing season for McLaren.

You told whoever was knocking to come in, not looking up from your bag as you rifled through your files. “So sorry, Tom, I meant to bring this to you earlier but I – ”

A throat clearing cut you off, and you looked up to see Lando standing in your doorway with a bouquet of your favorite flowers and one of those cheesy “I’m sorry” balloons in his left hand. You almost giggled, but then you looked at his face and your heart dropped. Dark circles under red-rimmed eyes - he looked awful.

“I know you said you’d reach out when you’re ready to talk, and I wanted to respect that and give you all the space you need. But, we’re both miserable. At least I think you’re miserable, I know I am. I miss you terribly. I miss my friend. And if that’s all you’ll ever be to me, I can respect that and I will cherish it because the past week has been the worst week of my life.”

“Lando, I – ”

“Please, please let me get all of this out. Please let me apologize.”

You smiled slightly, nodding your head for him to continue.

“I’m sorry for invading your privacy. It wasn’t on purpose but I should have left as soon as I heard you talking because I know how important trust is to you. I violated yours and I’m sorry. I’m sorry for lying to you. It doesn’t matter if I was hurt, I could’ve just said I wasn’t feeling well or asked you about what I overheard immediately. After apologizing for overhearing, of course. I’m sorry that it took Oscar talking sense into me for me to come to you in the first place. I’m sorry that I hurt you and I’m sorry that I behaved like a child instead of talking to you about my feelings. My actions made you feel forced to tell me something personal that you weren’t ready to share. I’m so sorry, and I hope you know that I’m here for you always.”

He let out a deep breath and you watched his shoulders relax slightly for the first time in two weeks. You knew he was sorry – you’d known how sorry he was immediately when he started explaining and apologizing the first time around, but you just weren’t ready to hear it yet.

“Thank you, Lan,” you whispered as you walked towards him and took his free hand in your own. “I know you’re sorry and I know that this was all a misunderstanding that just got out of hand.”

“I am also sorry for springing my feelings on you. I wanted to tell you properly, ask you out properly, but I couldn’t explain myself without telling you. I ruined everything, it was woefully unromantic.”

“Yeah, that was a bit shit, I didn’t get my big grand gesture or anything.”

Lando’s eyes grew wide, a hopeful gleam in them. “I mean, would you – is that something you would still want? I don’t want to pressure you and I don’t want to assume that you still feel the same.”

“I do,” you said softly. “But, I think we should work on really moving past this before we officially jump into anything more.”

“I completely agree. However, I do have a reservation for two in about forty minutes to make up for ditching you, if you’d like to join me? Otherwise, I’ll have to bring Oscar. He won’t stop talking about the cheese garlic bread.”

“No, Lando, you don’t understand. He ordered three baskets. I went home and typed an apology email to Zak for ruining his diet.”

You both erupted in giggles, leaning into each other for support and out of habit. It felt so good to laugh, the weight and stress of the past two weeks rolling off in waves as Lando’s shoulder bumped yours and you heard the unmistakable laughter that you’d come to love so much.

“Maybe we should bring him anyway,” you pondered. “He’s been an exceptionally good friend to us both the past couple of weeks.”

“He can come next time, I’d like you to myself for the evening. If that’s ok?”

“More than ok, Lan. I’ve really missed you.”

He leaned in quickly, kissing your cheek gently and then nuzzling his nose against your neck, inhaling the scent of the perfume he’d gifted you for your last birthday. “Not as much as I’ve missed you,” he objected, his eyes glimmering slightly. Wet eyelashes fluttered against your neck as he stayed tucked into your side for a few more moments.

“We’re going to be late,” you whispered, with a sincere lack of urgency.

“Can we go back to my hotel room instead? Watch a movie and order in? Jus’ wanna hold you.”

Your heart constricted – as much as you wanted to tease him and say he owed you a night out and your favorite meal, you wanted nothing more than to spend the night in Lando’s arms.

“Of course, Lan. I think I need that too.”

On the way to Lando’s car, you passed Oscar who gave you both a knowing smile and a short wave. If you asked him if he had been waiting for you guys to leave, he would deny it. He would deny being so invested in your reconciliation that he waited close to an hour after he could leave for the day to make sure you were both ok. He would also deny that he tracked both of you and when it dawned on him that you were skipping your dinner, he sped to that little Italian place and stole your reservation for an order (or two) of cheese garlic bread.

He couldn’t resist sending a poorly taken picture to the group chat with the three of you and you burst out laughing when you opened it.

“Lan, Oscar somehow stole our dinner res,” you giggled, turning your phone to show Lando an unmistakable basket of bread and a follow-up text with several heart emojis.

Lando held his phone up to snap a quick selfie of you two cuddled up in bed, him leaning in for the second time that evening to place a gentle kiss on your cheek. Almost immediately after it delivered, your phones lit up with another text from Oscar.

HOT DATE FR THIS TIME?

You and Lando looked at each other and smiled, the mutual understanding of where you stood with your feelings evident.

not quite yet, but soon :)

#lando norris x reader #lando norris angst #lando norris fluff #lando norris fic #lando norris x you #f1 fic #f1 fanfic #f1 x reader #formula 1 fanfic #formula 1 x reader

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rambling-at-midnight · 5 months ago

Note

omg a part 2????

i loved it so much!!!

Ahh I'm so glad you liked it!!! It's my first Jason x reader fic :) Here's a part 2!

Pros and Cons of Midnight Snacks (Part 2)

Pairing: Jason Todd x Gender Neutral Civilian!Reader

Summary: Now it’s time for a meet-ugly-ish with some dude named Jason. Also, you see the Red Hood again.

Word count: 6.3k (holy shit)

You’re not crazy, right? It’s weird that the library is completely empty because it closes in two hours and the weather is actually nice outside for once, and some random dude wanders in and sets up two seats down from you. He’s not even here to study; he pulled out a sci-fi novel as soon as he sat down.

Who comes to a GCU campus library to read recreationally? The seats are uncomfortable and plastic. And the sun is shining. Everyone else is outside soaking up the Vitamin D.

Honestly, you’re mostly surprised the chair he’s on didn’t snap as soon as he sat. The dude is huge. Football player huge. Shouldn’t he be at practice, instead of forcing the chair to make the most irritating squeaking noises known to man every time he moves an inch?

You grit your teeth and put on your headphones, but you can still hear the poor chair’s dying lamentations, so you turn on an instrumental playlist that hopefully won’t distract you too much from studying.

You let yourself stew over the annoyance until your stomach growls so loud you hear it over the soft music. He has the good grace not to look at you, but you definitely see him pause.

Okay, you’ll call it even. This is what you get for running to the library right after six hours of classes. You need to cement the knowledge in your mind while it’s still fresh, and if that means you have to forego lunch…

He’s still there two hours later when the closing time alarm goes off. It’s a shrill old-school bell, the kind no one can ignore, and he jumps like he’s never heard it in his life. The poor chair finally gives up. He tumbles to the ground.

You look over in case he needs any help, but he’s scrambling for the book, face bright red.

If he is a football player, you wouldn’t be surprised that he’s never heard the bell before. That sort rarely stays this late at the library—if they enter at all.

He rushes out. You pack up a little more methodically. All that’s left for you to look forward to tonight is trying to study in your apartment, but you never have much luck.

He’s outside the library on his phone when you walk out. Maybe waiting for a ride? You’re a little on edge from the events of two days ago, so you watch him out of the corner of your eye as you walk away.

Thankfully, he doesn’t follow you.

At least the library closes earlier on Wednesdays, 6 pm instead of 9:30. You don’t know why. It’s still a weekday. But it forces you out while the sun’s still shining, which is probably a good thing.

Within two minutes of the twenty-minute walk home, your hip hurts. By the ten-minute mark, you’re trying not to limp.

Despite your better judgment, you keep your gaze turned to the rooftops, even though you know the vigilantes are nocturnal. It’s stupid to want to see a flash of red helmet, anyway. The Red Hood probably saves hundreds of people every week; there’s no way he would remember you.

Of course, when you finally get back, there are the stairs to contend with.

Your cat, that ungrateful little beast, beeps at you furiously for being gone so long. Never mind that your roommate works nights, so at most the cat’s been alone for an hour. He makes a break for the hallway, and you box the doorway with your legs and slam the door closed against your hip as you slip through.

Your injury explodes with pain, but at least the cat doesn’t get out. Ungrateful little beast. As if he isn’t fed and loved enough.

You finish slipping through the doorway and just stand for a moment listening to the blood rushing through your ears. Damn, but that hurt.

In the bathroom mirror, you hike up the hem of your shirt and check the state of your injury.

All in all, it could have been much worse. The bullet scooped out a fair chunk of skin, but it was just a surface wound. There’s no fresh blood on the gauze, and when you change the wrappings, the skin is pink and raw but starting to scab. It scooped out a chunk and left a trail of bruising, but you got off fairly lightly, all things considered.

The GCPD released the robber’s mugshot yesterday morning. In the picture, the man’s eyes were so swollen from your pepper spray he could hardly open them.

You preferred the bullet, honestly.

You try in vain to study a bit more, but even after you take more painkillers, you’re not in the mood. You feed your cat, then curl up on the couch to watch a couple episodes of the show you’re currently in the middle of.

That was the first time you see the huge guy, but it’s certainly not the last.

You wouldn’t notice him so much if he wasn’t the size of a damn refrigerator. He’s gotta be a linebacker for the Knights, but he’s not on their roster. You looked it up after the third time he wandered into the library just a couple minutes after you. It’s probably not updated yet, but you see him so often, you’d like to know his name.

Also, he’d bleached a patch of hair right at the front of his head—was that a trend now, or something?—so it wasn’t hard to spot him.

On Saturday, your feelings shift from mild annoyance and curiosity to a sinking sort of dread when you notice him at the coffeeshop you always visit on the weekends. The employees know you by name and use it to call out your order, so now he knows it, as long as he’s paying attention.

You think he might be.

You don’t want to be that person. Not everything in the world revolves around you, obviously. But you might still be shaken from what happened on Monday, because the thought wiggles in the back of your brain: what if you have a stalker?

You try to tell yourself that it’s just paranoia. GCU isn’t that big a campus, after all, and there are only so many places in the city that are: A. close to campus, B. reasonably priced, and C. comfortable to work in. You’ve run into classmates here before, and you don’t have a monopoly on the library or this coffeeshop. Just because he shows up at the same time you do doesn’t necessarily mean anything. He might be establishing a schedule that just so happens to line up with yours.

But, you have to admit, it is easier for stalkers to stalk people when they know their regular schedule.

You keep a watchful eye out and are pretty good about keeping off the streets after dark, but a week and a half later finds you stranded an hour’s walk from your apartment. The buses worked for two days, then shut down again, and you foolishly believed that following the detour that said would get you home would actually get you home. You don’t want to call an Uber because traffic would make the ride longer than the walk and bankrupt you in the process. Same reason you can’t call anyone to pick you up unless you waited the two hours until rush hour dies down.

Walking is, unfortunately, the best option.

So you clutch your trusty pepper spray and prepare yourself for a long night of looking over your shoulder and ignoring the pain in your side. The wound has mostly closed, although the bruising has gotten worse.

Three minutes later, you hear the roar of a motorcycle followed by angry car honks. You barely pay it any mind until the motorcycle pulls up next to you and doesn't pass.

You keep walking, avoiding eye contact. Maybe ignoring them will dissuade the rider from catcalling you.

It doesn't work. "Hey," the rider says, and it's only because the voice is mechanically distorted, recognizable only because of how many videos of him that you won't admit to looking up the last week, that you look at him. "What are you doing?" asks the Red Hood.

"What are you doing?" you counter. He's blocking the flow of traffic talking to you.

The Red Hood looks over his shoulder, flips off the person honking behind him, and steers his motorcycle onto the sidewalk. He drives fast, and you flinch in case he tries to run you over, but he screeches to a halt at the last second.

"Haven't seen you in a couple of weeks," he says casually, like you two meet up often.

"I've been staying out of trouble," you say.

"Not tonight?"

"No. That wasn't my fault, though. I took the Southwest bus because it was supposed to connect with the L line, but all the signs they posted were a lie, apparently, because—" You cut yourself off. "Never mind, I'm sure you don't care. Point is, I'm walking home. It's not too far."

"It's about an hour," he points out. "How's your bullet wound? Will it object to that walk?"

"I'll be fine."

He pats the back of his motorcycle seat. "Hop on. I'll drive you."

You take a couple hasty steps back. It may not be a white van, but you know better than to follow candy into someone's vehicle. "Oh, no, thanks. Traffic's pretty bad right now."

You get the sense he's smiling when he says, "I bet I can get you back faster than walking." If only he wasn't wearing the stupid shiny helmet, you would be able to read his expressions better.

"Really, I'm okay. I'm sure you have better things to do than drive me home."

"Helping people is literally my job," is his response. "I have to make sure you get home safely. So either you get on the back of my bike, or I follow you the whole walk back to your apartment."

You know a losing battle when you see it. As a general rule of thumb, it's usually smart not to argue with the dude carrying at least two guns. "Don't kidnap me," you order before slinging your leg over the seat.

He chuckles. It's the first time you've ever heard him laugh, and it makes him sound so much younger. "You can't ride like that."

"Like what?"

He cranes his neck to look back at you. There's at least six inches between both your bodies. You clutch the sides of the seat with both your hands, hoping he doesn't take off with such a lurch that you topple off the back. "I drive fast. You'll have to hold on."

"I am holding on."

"To me."

You've only met the man twice. You're pretty sure clinging to someone's back is at least a third-meeting type of touch, but he reaches back. The Red Hood snakes a hand nearly twice the size of yours into the crook of your knee, then yanks you to him. You shoot forward with a strangled yelp and catch yourself on his back.

You've never before understood the phrase 'wall of muscle,' but you get it now.

He is huge. And strong. You gingerly put your hands on his shoulders. That's not an inappropriate touch, you think.

He has to live at the gym, right?

"You're still not holding on," he chides. "I don't have a helmet for you, so you really shouldn't fall off."

You swallow and move your hands, but he's too thick for you to link your hands around his front. So you fist both of them into his jacket. It presses your bodies tight against each other from shoulder to thighs. Through the layers his body radiates heat, but you shiver.

"Going," is all the warning you get.

Then you're gone; the bike shudders beneath you, then takes off like a jet.

You can't catch your breath. This must be what riding a dragon feels like, is your first nonsensical thought, a side effect of your roommate's obsession with Game of Thrones.

The bike roars beneath you, but you can hardly hear it over the rush of wind and the pound of blood in your ears. You can't see much with the wind drying out your eyes, so you press your head against the Red Hood's back and squint to one side. Cars and street lamps blur together into a stream of mismatched lights and colors.

The Red Hood drives fast. He weaves between lanes, runs through red lights, cuts onto the sidewalk. A couple bikers shake their fists at him when he passes them in the bike lane. A lot of cars honk at the two of you.

Judging by the way his shoulders shake with laughter, he likes pissing them off. You have to admit, the feeling is a little intoxicating.

You can't hear the sound, but your front is plastered to his back. Even with the layers of his suit and leather jacket, you can feel the vibrations of sound deep within his chest. He has a fairly deep voice, after all, unless the helmet changes that.

No less than ten minutes later, he parks abruptly. You lift your head, blinking moisture back into your eyes, and stare dumbly at your apartment building.

He'd actually brought you back.

Maybe he really was reformed.

You stumble off the bike onto unsteady legs. The Red Hood kicks his stand into place and rests against the bike, leaning with elbows on his handlebars. Like he expects a Midwest goodbye. And you find yourself dawdling.

Maybe you want one, too.

"Thanks for the ride," you finally say awkwardly.

"Anytime," he says, and you laugh, thinking it's a joke, but he doesn't. After a brief awkward pause, the Red Hood tries, "So how have you been?" as if you're old pals meeting up for brunch, and the question is so ridiculous coming from a sort-of-reformed crime lord slash serial killer that you respond without thinking.

"Pretty good, except I think I may have a stalker."

His helmet doesn't do a great job translating whatever sound he makes in response to that. It comes out as a crackle. "What?"

"I've noticed this dude recently showing up wherever I go," you say. "But I think it's just a coincidence. Sorry. That was a bad joke." It wasn't, but you don't want to accuse someone without proof of stalking you. If he's not, you'll seem self-obsessed. If he is, then he knows that you know, and it's not like the GCPD will do anything. One of your friends from your hometown had a stalker for literal years, and the police never did anything, even after he sent her death threats. They said there wasn't enough proof to make an arrest then, so someone showing up at the same places you are definitely isn't enough proof now.

The Red Hood tilts his head. "Does he make you uncomfortable?"

"You don't need to beat him up or anything on my behalf," you say. "I mean, you've seen me with a bottle of pepper spray. I'm pretty sure I can handle myself."

"I know you can," he says. You can hear the smile in his voice, like he finds something about the situation funny. "And I'm pretty sure that you know that I'm going to check this out anyway."

"No," you say, surprising yourself with your firmness. You can't rely on vigilantes to solve all your problems for you. "Seriously, it's okay. Thanks for the ride. Maybe I'll see you around."

"I'm counting on it," he calls as you walk away.

And he's right. Two days later finds you at the gas station at ten-thirty at night. You don't want to see him, per se. You're definitely not looking over your shoulder at the slightest sound. You definitely didn't check the parking lot for a notorious red motorcycle on your way in, and you certainly aren't taking peeks out the window every time headlights pass by on the street.

You're just... curious.

Maybe.

But you have absolutely no warning, not even a suspicion that someone is behind you, when you reach for a box of Cheez-Its. Someone else's hand gets there first and you nearly jump out of your socks.

"Hey," the Red Hood wheezes. He's clutching his side like he has a cramp. "Question: if I buy these for you, will you patch me up?"

"What?"

"I may have been cut," he admits. Judging by the angle of his hunch, it's a little more serious than just a 'cut'. "So: do we have a deal?"

The thought occurs to you, as you help him up five flights of stairs to your apartment, that you're escorting a strange man into your place of residence. You haven't even given your roommate a heads-up, though you're pretty sure tomorrow's his night off.

Sure enough, the only person there to greet you when you walk in is your cat. As per usual, he tries to escape. The Red Hood gently but firmly ushers him inside with his foot with such ease he must have one of his own. "It's cute," he says, still clutching his side.

"Thanks," you say. "He always tries to get out, but if he actually escapes then he just freezes in the hallway until I bring him back inside." Then you realize that you're discussing your cat, of all things, with the Red Hood. You clear your throat and say, "Let me take a look at you."

The crime lord and cat trail after you into the bathroom. It gets a little cramped because the Red Hood's about as small as a fridge is small, but you two figure out a passable system: he's too tall, even while sitting down, and you don't want to bend in half while you stitch him. So you sit on the toilet, he stands in front of you, and your cat jumps on top of his leather jacket on the counter to observe and judge. Luckily, the suture kit is still in the bathroom from when you thought you would have to stitch yourself up, so it's not long before you're instructing him to lift up the hem of his shirt so you can see the damage.

You hiss between your teeth at the sight. Someone grazed his side with a knife, by the looks of it, but the wound is deep. It might go all the way to his subcutaneous tissue.

After you clean it off, you're sure that it does. "You call this a cut?"

"I've had worse," he says gruffly.

"And you're still alive?" You squint at him.

He huffs like that's funny.

"They basically cut you in two! I don't know if I can fix this. I've never stitched someone up before!"

"What do you mean?" He tilts his head. "You stitched yourself up, remember? You told me you would."

Shit. Of all the ways to stick your foot in your mouth—

"It wasn't that bad," you say weakly.

“It looked pretty bad.”

“It just looked bad because I was wearing a light colored shirt. Don’t worry; I’ve learned my lesson.”

The Red Hood scratches under your cat’s chin. “About wearing light colored clothing, or about getting shot?”

You’re trying to thread the suture needle, but the stupid thread won’t cooperate. “Hmm?”

“Which lesson did you learn?”

“The former, mostly. Believe it or not, ‘try not to get shot’ is something most people, including me, know intuitively.”

"Let me see."

"Yeah, right," you say, "my apartment's basically a strip club, isn't it? First your shirt's coming up, then mine. Absolutely—" You slap his hand away— "Not. I'm fine. Now hold still while I stab you."

The process goes by quickly. He stands like a statue the whole time, like he's used to the pain of getting stitches. Considering his profession, he probably is.

Actually, you can see a couple healed-over scars on his torso just from the small bit of skin he's revealed by pulling up his shirt. And, you're pretty sure, a perfectly defined six-pack, but that's none of your business.

"I don't have the fancy dissolving sutures, unfortunately," you say while you tie off the thread. "These should come out in about a week."

"Yeah, I know," he grunts, letting his shirt fall back down. And you're not disappointed. At all. "Same time next week, then?"

"What?"

"To get them out."

"Uh." Your brain stalls out. You'd been operating under the assumption that this was just another freak coincidental run-in.

Is it just you, or is the Red Hood looking to make a friend out of you? Or maybe just a free pseudo-surgeon?

"Sure," you say. It's not like you can stop him, really.

"Thanks," he says, stroking your cat one more time. Then he nudges the pest off his jacket and shrugs it on, even though there's not really a need for it. The weather's been pretty mild the last week.

You walk him out the door. He pauses in the hallway, turns, and says, "By the way, what's your name?"

You tilt your head and tell it to him.

"Nice to meet you," he says. Then he walks away.

You watch him walk down the hallway until your cat escapes, and then you have to chase him. You're pretty sure the Red Hood sees it, because low-pitched laughter hits your ears as you gather the little bastard up, but when you look, the vigilante's gone.

"God, I hope he's up to date on his tetanus shot."

You find yourself at the coffee shop the next morning, determined not to let a buff bookworm change your routine. You're the first customer, and they have your order ready by the time you finish setting up your stuff on a small table in the corner of the shop, far from where the line will build up when more people trickle in.

Like clockwork, the bookworm wanders in just a couple minutes after you do, orders two coffees, and settles down across the room with his front to you.

Every time you glance up, he's utterly focused on his book. He's probably not watching you. Right?

Fifteen minutes later, the coffees untouched, he stands up. You watch out of the corner of your eye as he picks one up, approaches the counter, and...

Walks right past it.

Walks in your direction.

You stare blatantly, and he holds your gaze with a set jaw and something a little challenging in his gaze.

He's walking to you.

The coffee cup slams on the table, splashing a little over the edge, and you jump to move your laptop away from the liquid.

"Shit, sorry," the bookworm says. He runs away.

You stare until you realize he's grabbing napkins and hurrying back. At least ten, even though the spill's pretty small, and he piles them all onto the table.

His face gets redder the longer you watch without saying anything.

Once he's absolutely sure your laptop is safe from the couple drops he spilled, he balls them all into one large fist and rushes out, "I'm sorry—I was supposed to meet my brother here, but he canceled, and your drink cup's empty, so I was just wondering if you wanted this one? It's a little warm, but..."

"But free is good," you say, deciding to put him out his misery. And he certainly looks miserable rambling in front of you. Like he's mortified for some reason. "Um, thanks. What..."

"Just an iced coffee. Probably watered down."

You take a sip, just to be polite. It is watered down, but he didn't add any milk to it, so that's probably a good thing. "Thanks..." You tilt the cup to look at the name written on the side. "Jason?"

"Yep." He nods. He's still standing in front of you, like he wants to be invited to sit, but you have a lot of work to do, and he's a complete stranger, and all his stuff is still on his table across the room.

Something clatters behind the counter. You both turn in time to see the two baristas duck out of sight, whispering furiously. Probably about the spectacle you two are making.

"You go to GCU's campus library a lot, right?" Jason asks suddenly.

"Yeah, I do. So do you." You don't phrase it like a question.

"Yeah," he says. "It's peaceful to read in there. Quieter than my apartment."

"Okay," you say slowly. You're really not interested in this conversation, but you don't want to be rude.

He must understand you, though, because he rubs the back of his head and steps backwards, mumbling something about getting back to his book.

Jason's brother never does end up meeting him. You tell yourself that's why you keep glancing at him. Once or twice, you two peek at each other at the same time, and you always look away first, face hot like he's caught you doing something wrong.

The next time you go to the library, it's packed. The weather has turned, so students have nothing better to do than prepare for their finals. You head to the quiet floor, slowly losing hope that you'll find a seat.

A head snaps up the moment you walk in, dark-haired with a striking streak of white at his forehead. Jason.

Something like relief passes over his face, and he waves you over.

"I saved your seat," he whispers, dragging his bag off of the chair.

"Thanks," you say, actually touched. "You didn't have to."

He shrugs. "You're my reading buddy."

The next day, he's sitting at the library's entrance when you walk in. Jason shakes his head. "All the seats were already taken when I got here."

"Ugh." Strictly speaking, you don't need to study tonight. You're pretty confident about the next test's material, and you're also pretty burnt out.

"We could check out the Student Center?" he suggests. As if it's a given that the two of you are going to spend the afternoon together. And, you realize, after two straight weeks of studying in his proximity, you don't mind the presumption. That's how you made your closest friend in undergrad, anyway.

In fact, you think you might want to get to know Jason. Maybe ask about his white streak; you've been growing more and more curious about it. And why he's about seven feet tall and two hundred fifty pounds of muscle but has a passion for romance novels.

"I don't think I've studied in there before."

"It's not too bad, but it's a little louder than the library."

So you two head to the Student Center, but he doesn't open his book, and you open your laptop but don't turn it on. He buys you coffee, though you insist that you can pay for it yourself, and a simple query into what book he's reading currently turns into a two-hour conversation.

Jason likes to read every genre, but he likes classics and romance best. He doesn't just have one brother, he has four, and a sister. He's not on the football team like you'd assumed; he just likes to work out. He's finishing up his sophomore year of undergrad studying English Lit—he sees how your smile freezes at those words, and you're asking how old he is, and he's laughing when he tells you he took a couple gap years. He's your age, actually, and that's relieving for reasons you can't quite put to words.

When you check your watch and curse at the time—it's almost time for your cat's dinner—he asks for your number, and you put it into his phone.

You feel good on your walk home. You haven't made a new friend since the first semester of vet school; the course load is too demanding for you to participate in any GCU clubs. Your roommate asks why you're smiling and you wave him off. Of course, your cat doesn't care that you're in a good mood. He only cares about getting fed.

You see Jason a couple more times over the week, and soon you're too embarrassed to admit that you thought he was stalking you. He's almost as bad a texter as you are, responding at such hours you're half-convinced he doesn't sleep, so you're less self-conscious about taking hours to respond.

You've just gotten around to answering his last text when something knocks against your window.

You drop the phone on your face.

The Red Hood is laughing at you when you open the window to let him in. You'd forgotten he was coming, but you don't say so. He tumbles in, moving a little stiffly, but a lot better than he'd been last week. Your cat, the little traitor, runs to greet him and rubs against his ankles, purring like an engine. The Red Hood bends to pet him. "Hey, kitty." The red helmet tips up and those unnerving white lenses fix on you. "Hey, doc. Here to get my stitches out."

"How have you been feeling?" you ask.

"Good," he says, almost defensively.

It makes you suspect that something is wrong, but when you all pile into the bathroom again like it's a clown car and he pulls up his shirt, the wound is healing nicely. No pink or heat that signals infection, no puffy skin. You remove the stitches quickly, and again he hesitates, like he wants to stay longer.

You find yourself thinking about Jason. You're pretty sure you wish he was here.

"Well, thanks."

"Anytime."

He pauses. "Really?"

You shrug. "I mean, not if you need a hospital. Then I'd expect you to head straight to a hospital. But stuff like this—no worse than this, ideally—I guess I can help you with."

"You're pretty cool for a vet," the Red Hood says. "The last one I visited kept freaking out on me for stealing codeine."

"Well, that's a restricted—wait, you were stealing codeine? What for?"

He shrugs.

"What were you using it for," you repeat sternly.

"Okay!" he says loudly. "Well, thanks for patching me up, doc. I'll see you later, yeah?"

"Wait," you call out uselessly, but he vaults out the window. You gasp and rush to the sill, but there's no Red Hood-shaped puddle on the ground. Instead, his rapidly shrinking form disappears in the distance, swinging between the buildings that make up the Gotham skyline.

You don't see the Red Hood for a while after that, but you hear whispers of him wearing a new costume. You get caught up with finals and Jason, who asks you out after the semester ends.

Your vehement 'yes' takes you by surprise. Him, too, judging by his wide eyes and wider smile. You wonder why he asked if he thought you would say no. You wonder why you didn't realize earlier how desperately you wanted him to.

Now that you're out of school, you pick up shifts at the vet clinic. By some unhappy circumstance, they can only schedule you for the evening shifts. Jason works nights, too, and you've never fully squirreled out where he works, but at least you can spend some days together.

It's when you're walking back from your first shift that you see the Red Hood again after almost three weeks of radio silence. He pulls up next to you on the motorcycle. It's so late that there's no one on the road, so he stays on the asphalt and idles along at your walking pace until you break and say, "Long time no see, Hood."

"Did you miss me?" he teases.

You stop walking, because.

Most of his costume changed. Because it's summer, and even the nights are hot and muggy, you assume.

The pants are the same. So are the boots. But his jacket is red and sleeveless and has a hood that goes down to his eyebrows, the armor beneath short-sleeved, which means most of his arms are bare.

And...

Your mouth is dry. You swallow.

You're pretty sure not even Batman is that ripped. He looks like he's chiseled out of marble.

The longer you're speechless, the more amused he gets. You don't know how you know that, but something about his posture seems smug.

"You're taking 'red hood' seriously now, are you?" is all you manage to say. Because what else are you supposed to comment on? His bare forearms? His veins are so beautifully pronounced, they would be a dream to take blood from, but you have a boyfriend of a whole one and a half weeks, and you may be many things, but you're not a cheater.

He laughs, then pulls his hood low when it slips back a bit. His voice is still modulated, although it's not through a red helmet anymore. This is more like a muzzle. You can't tell if the eye covering is part of it, or like the domino masks that Batman and Robin wear, but the lenses are red now instead of white.

He's really leaning into the theme.

"You want a ride?"

"We're two blocks from my apartment."

He shrugs. "I'm heading there anyway."

What the hell. You've already hopped on the back of his bike before. It's easier to do so the second time. You wrap your arms around his torso again, and when his arms settle over your own, they're warm with his body heat, but not hard, even though the muscles look sharp enough to cut glass. He's firm all over, but his skin is soft, apart from the raised, bumpy scars that seem to cover him from head-to-toe. It makes you worry about him, just a little.

He doesn't drive fast this time. He drives slow enough to hold a conversation and tosses over his shoulder, "So what's new with you?"

"Not much," you say into his ear. Is it just you, or does he shiver? "I finished another semester of vet school."

"Top grades, I'm sure. Did you get extra credit for patching me up?"

"I wish." No, your grades are good, but not exceptional. But exceptional is what got you into vet school. As long as you graduate with a DVM, even if you're the lowest in your class, you're a licensed doctor. There's some relief in that. "The dude I thought was stalking me asked me out, actually."

"Really?" he asks, interested and alert. "Was he really stalking you? Do you need me to scare him off for you?"

"No," you say, smiling at the thought of the Red Hood trying to scare off Jason. They're about the same build, now that you think about it, which you're sure the vigilante isn't used to. And Jason's never been anything but gentle and polite, but you saw an undercurrent of something strong, something like titanium, under that gentle spirit the one time he stood up for one of the baristas at the coffee shop that you first spoke to each other. He hadn't needed to do much apart from stand up and glare at the beleaguered corporate guy angry that there wasn't enough sugar in his coffee, and the dude shut up and scurried out as fast as he could.

It was probably the hottest thing you've ever seen him do, except for that one time you pushed your laptop a little too close to the edge of your desk while studying, it tipped over, and he caught it one-handed without looking up from his book. What can you say? Saving you a couple hundred dollars in getting that fixed was hot.

"It was a misunderstanding," you say. "We just ended up in the same places at the same times."

A gust of wind pushes back the Red Hood's hood, exposing a head of thick, dark hair, the same shade of black as Jason's. The motorcycle swerves in his haste to pull his hood back up, and when you reach your apartment and hop off the bike, he's pushing his hair back, back, beneath the hood.

What's the point of ditching the helmet if he's just going to be fussing with the hood all the time?

"What's new with you?" you ask, scuffing your toe against the sidewalk. Your shoes are falling apart; the sole is peeling away.

"Same old, same old," he says. His voice sounds rougher, but that might just be the new modulator.

"How's your side?"

"How's yours?" he counters. "You still haven't let me see it. I bet it scarred because you were too stubborn to take my advice and patch it up."

You will never admit that he's right. You challenge, "Let's compare scars, then," knowing full well his armor dips below his pants. It's a little silly to picture the Red Hood wearing an armored one-piece, but that's all you can imagine.

He clucks his tongue and shakes his head. It dislodges the hood. A patch of hair falls down to his forehead, and it's white.

But the back of his hair is black.

White and black—

Your stomach flips.

"I thought you had a boyfriend, honey. Why're you asking me to strip?"

So that's what all the teasing's been about. He hasn't been flirting—or he has, his own weird version of flirting, because he's a dumbass.

For a moment all you can hear is the rush of blood in your ears, then you flex your fingers to regain feeling in them. You roll your eyes and say, "I think we've established that my apartment is basically a strip club. Why don't you come up and show me, Jason?"

"Well, I'm flattered, but—what?" He splutters like he's choking on his own tongue. Serves him right. "I'm not—why do you think that—I mean, I could be anyone—"

Yeah, he can have his little crisis on the street. You tug on your own fringe, then swipe into the building.

You hear his muffled cursing as the door closes.

You look forward to him catching up.

(My requests are open, so let me know if you want me to write anything in particular! Also let me know if you want to be added to a taglist.)

Forever tag list:

@lemirabitur @annymcervantes @queenmissfit @quiet-because-it-is-a-secret @iksey @thehyperactiveteen @luxmoonlight @andreasworlsboring101

#reader insert #jason todd x y/n #jason todd x you #jason todd fic #jason todd x reader #jason todd

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harunayuuka2060 · 9 months ago

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Twst Unveil Event Part 5

Leona: Congrats. Ruggie sent me the video of your first match.

Leona: You really beat the shit out of that crocodile.

Yuurin: Thank you, Leona-senpai.

Leona: Was falling off the cliff necessary, though? *in a bit worried tone*

Yuurin: ...

Yuurin: I'll be more careful.

Leona: Tch. Like you would listen.

Leona: Anyway, who's going to be your next opponent?

Yuurin: Floyd Leech.

Leona: Oh really? *clicks his tongue*

Leona: I heard they get to choose the place?

Yuurin: Yes.

Leona: ...

Leona: I'm hanging up now.

Yuurin: Will you be calling Ruggie-senpai and Jack after this?

Leona: ...

Leona: No. *ends the call*

Yuurin: ...

*Meanwhile*

Leona: Oi, Ruggie!

Ruggie: Geez, Leona! What now?!

Leona: You better show Yuurin's fight to me on real-time or I'm gonna turn your ass to sand!

Ruggie: Okay, okay! I just got too excited so I forgot to video call you!

Jack: ...

Jack: I thought you did it on purpose because you didn't want to be bothered?

Ruggie: ...

Leona: Ruggie.

Ruggie: He was just joking!

Ruggie: Back me up here, Jack!

Philomela: Introducing our contenders for the second match: Yuurin and Floyd Leech!

Floyd: Yaaaaay~!

Yuurin: ...

Silver: Everyone seems excited for this second match.

Rook: Oui. That is no surprise.

Rook: After all, Monsieur Malfeasant has considered everything for this. *chuckles*

Floyd: Ne~ Damselfish~.

Yuurin: ?

Floyd: I won't underestimate you like Crocodile did~.

Yuurin: ...

Yuurin: I know that, senpai.

Floyd: Hehe~ I'll enjoy fighting with you~.

Floyd: Please do your best~.

Yuurin: ...

Philomela: I'm sending you now to your designated location!

Philomela: Good luck! *laughs*

*In an underwater cavern*

Epel: Wha— Why?!

Malleus: This is going to be challenging for Yuurin.

Jade: Indeed. *chuckles* Floyd chose the right place.

Jack and Ruggie: ...

Ruggie: Hey, Philomela. Can Yuurin see effectively in the dark?

Philomela: *laughs* Of course not! He's not nocturnal!

Jack and Ruggie: !!!

Jack: Then Yuurin is in a great disadvantage!

Philomela: The greater the challenge, the more excitement we'll get!

Epel: Wow... You don't care about Yuurin's safety, do you?

Sebek: She is his mentor. She knows what she's doing.

Yuurin: ...

Floyd: *who has concealed himself by hiding behind a rock* *smirks while he slowly approaches from behind*

Yuurin: ...

Floyd: Heh~ *kicks Yuurin into the water*

Yuurin: !!!

Yuurin: *finds herself being submerged in it, with Floyd pushing her to the bottom*

Floyd: HEHE~!

Epel, Malleus, Sebek, Jack, and Ruggie: !!!

Epel: He's drowning him!

Jade: *smirks*

Sebek: Dammit, human! Why are you allowing him to push you around?!

Philomela: *amused smile*

Floyd: We're at the rock bottom now, Damselfish~.

Yuurin: *who couldn't read his lips because of the darkness*

Yuurin: *feels the rocky surface underneath her feet*

Yuurin: *grabs his arms, maneuvers herself so that he's positioned over her shoulder, and then forcefully slams him down onto the rock*

Floyd: Oof—

Yuurin: *quickly swims back up to create distance*

Epel: Yes! Go, Yuurin!

Jack: Floyd-senpai is after him!

Floyd: Don't escape from me, Damselfish~. *has caught up to her*

Floyd: *goes behind her and starts to perform a Full Nelson Hold; even coiling his tail around her waist*

Floyd: Damselfish~ How are you feeling now~? *squeezing her tight*

Malleus: Is Leech attempting to deprive him of oxygen?

Jade: Yes. We're fully aware that Yuurin can stay underwater for 30 minutes.

Jade: However, will it be the same if he's being squeezed tight like that? *smirks*

Epel, Jack, Ruggie, and Sebek: ...

Philomela: Impressive tactic, yes. Anyone would have to tap out in that situation.

Philomela: Though, are you seeing Yuurin struggle for air?

Jade: Huh?

Yuurin: ...

Yuurin: *starts blowing bubbles*

Floyd: That's right, Damselfish~. Let all your air out~.

Yuurin: *starts to bend her body upward*

Floyd: Eh?

Yuurin: *while continuously blowing bubbles*

Floyd: Eh? EH?

Floyd: *not realizing that he fails to maintain the hold as he finds her actions amusing*

Jade: Oh no. This is bad.

Floyd: Hehehe~! This if fun, Damselfish—

Yuurin: *has sneaked behind him while he was distracted; wrapping her arms around his torso* *then starts squeezing him "tight"*

Floyd: AHHH!!!!

Jade: ...

Philomela: *loudly laughs* Ah, yes! Return the favor, Yuurin!

Epel: D-Does that really hurt?

Malleus: Lilia mentioned to me once that Yuurin can break a steel in half with his bare hands.

Jack: Huh?

Sebek: ...

Sebek: *remembers the handcuffs*

Sebek: Yes... That's right...

Philomela: Yes! YES!!! SQUEEZE HIM TIGHTER, YUURIN!

Floyd: *ends up fainting underwater and Yuurin has to bring him to the surface with her*

Yuurin: ...

Yuurin: Floyd-senpai.

Philomela: He's out cold, Yuurin! Let him be! *laughs*

Yuurin: I see.

Yuurin: ...

Yuurin: *lightly smacks his face to confirm*

Jade: ...

Jade: Well, that was an entertaining match.

Ruggie: ...

Ruggie: Yeah...

Leona: ...

Leona: I'm going there right now.

Ruggie: Huh? What? *completely forgot about him*

Ruggie: Leona—

*Leona has ended the video call.*

Ruggie: Ah, shit. We're screwed.

Jack: He was watching the whole time?

Ruggie: Yeah. Remember he asked to watch it in real-time?

Ruggie: He was silent the entire time so I thought he dozed off...

Jack: ...

Floyd: *once he regained consciousness*

Floyd: I can't believe you would use my own move against me~ Hehehe~.

Floyd: I should've taken you more seriously~. Sorry about that, damselfish~.

Yuurin: ...

Yuurin: You managed to leave bruises on my body.

Floyd: Where?

Yuurin: *shows him the side of her waist*

Floyd: Eh~ That's the only injury you've got~?

Yuurin: Yes.

Floyd: Hehe~ That's fine~. You'll be treated anyway~.

Yuurin: No. I won't be treated until all of the matches are over.

Floyd: Oh... So you're going to carry that injury then?

Yuurin: *nods*

Floyd: Aww... Okay. Let me give you hug to make you feel better~.

Yuurin: No, thank you.

Floyd: But you hugged me earlier~.

Yuurin: That wasn't to comfort you.

Floyd: Hehe~ Fair enough~.

Silver: Yuurin is really strong.

Rook: Oui! *chuckles* I can't wait for my turn to fight Monsieur Tranquille!

Silver: ...

Silver: It's my turn next.

Silver: I will give my best.

Rook: I know you will, Monsieur Sleepyhead!

#twisted wonderland #twst yuurin #twst floyd #twst silver #twst rook #twst sebek #twst leona #twst ruggie #twst jack #twst epel #twst jade #twst malleus #twst oc philomela #twst unveil event

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breesperez139 · 2 years ago

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Dc x Dp Prompt #3

Immortal Ghost King Au:

Daniel Fenton was crowned as High King Phantom of the Infinite Realms on his 16th birthday. He knew many were opposed to him being crowned at such a young age (he was too), but the Realms had gone too long without a ruler and it was getting restless.

The Realms were sentient to some extent. It can not run itself as it has no form but it chooses a host, a King if you will, to fulfill its wishes. It may have lived on an entire millennia without a ruler, but it was only out of sheer luck and the contributions of countless gods that it had survived. The Infinite Realms needed a King and Danny Phantom was the only contender.

So the people were ignored and their boy king was crowned. However Phantom was young and naive, a child as both a human and a ghost. Even worse, he knew nothing about being a king. But the little godling would learn and learn he did.

Most kings were taught before they were coronated, but Danny had no such privilege. His coronation came and left with the wind. His private lessons overshadowed any thoughts he had left of mortal schooling. And Danny gave up on living a normal human life.

That last part was perhaps the easiest for Danny. Amity Park was already considered too liminal for them to have any “sentience”. The GIW had all but declared war on the Realms with their continuous violent actions upon his people and the land itself.

It wasn’t difficult for Amity to give up their “rights” and “humanity” either. They said good riddance to the world that never helped them, to the heroes that ignored their cries for help. And they bowed to Phantom, declaring him their King, just as he declared them citizens of the Infinite Realms.

He welcomed his liminals with open arms, vowing to protect them from any harm that would come their way, just as he would with any of his other citizens. He gave them a home in the Realms, an island- no a haunt of their own should they wish to truly reject the land of the living, and they accepted. Not many wanted to try their luck against the human government.

But with a God, no, their King on their side, they knew their safety and happiness was all but assured. After all, it was Phantom who protected them even as they turned their own backs at him. It was Phantom who fought against foes that could have erased him from existence.

And of course it was Phantom who would now receive any and all support he could ever want and need should he declare war against the humans of Earth. No, there was no need for people of the Infinite Realms to worry. High King Phantom was a God after all. It was only ever his right to exact divine punishment onto those who opposed and threatened his will. It was not their fault if the humans actively went against his will. No, the humans had no one but themselves to blame for whatever came for them.

#dc x dp #dp x dc #dc x dp prompt #dp x dc prompt #the infinite realms is home to more than just ghosts #like demons and other things too #it uses the king as its host to ensure its people’s survival and in turn makes the king a god #pariah dark went against the realms will #so he was sealed away and not killed because you can not kill an already dead god #the people of the realms were skeptical of having such a young king #but Danny’s a quick learner and turned out to be really good #amity park vs GIW wouldn’t be the first war he’s led #Danny gave himself a god complex bc people respect him more that way #it’s a mask he only uses outside of the realms #he’s acts normally when he’s with citizens of the realms #can a god even have a god complex??#amity park moved to the infinite realms after the GIW tried killing them all #JL and JLD are struggling trying to find a way to negotiate a peace agreement #but amity park feels abandoned and spiteful so they refuse #lucky for the JL that it’s Phantom who’s in charge #or maybe that’s the reason they’re not so lucky #amity found out Danny was a god and ran with it #this might be a good way to like make this into an arranged marriage au with a person of your choice #make Danny as old or as young as you want #Danny will do what he needs to make sure his people are safe and happy

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artist-ellen · 6 months ago

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Hawaiian inspired Mermaid

Much like last year.... drawing historical mermay just inspired me to draw more historically inspired mermaids. It lit a fire in me to finally finish enough for my next coloring book! I still need plenty more however, so far I'm at 30 mermaids... wish me luck :D

I had initially hoped to make the Hawaiian mermaid a jellyfish but tragically the Spotted Jellyfish were my strongest shape & design contenders. Spotted Jellyfish are disqualified on the basis of being an invasive Australian species of Jellyfish. The other jellyfish options I could find were all sadly too clear to make into a jellyfish maid. So I pivoted. (Every time I see that word I hear a certain sound clip) While looking at other marine creatures that live in/around Hawaii I scrolled past the Manta ray... and how could I resist? Moana got me good with the association game.

This opened a new box of challenges. How to make a mer-ray without making it look like someone riding a ray? I went through a few options before eventually landing on this design. I based her accessories on the attire of performers from various Merry Monarch competitions, but sadly a skirt made the idea less clear so it was defeated.

I am the artist! Do not post without permission & credit! Thank you! Come visit me over on: instagram, tiktok or check out my coloring book available now \ („• ֊ •„) /

https://linktr.ee/ellen.artistic

#historical mermaid #historical mermay #mermaid #mermay #digital illustration #historically inspired #historical fashion #ellen artsitic #hawaii

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pitchsidestories · 4 months ago

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love me like you hate me II Millie Bright x Reader

masterlist I word count: 2215

a/n: thanks to the anon who requested this, we hope you all enjoy it. 😌

It almost felt like your first day of school.

Nervousness mixed with excitement in the pit of your stomach.

Joining Chelsea was a brand-new start for you. You had spend the majority of your life in Lyon, going through all of Olympiques youth teams. So transferring to a new club in a different country felt like a huge step but Sonia Bompastor, your former coach at Lyon, had wanted you in her new team and you knew that you could trust her judgement.

That’s why you were now taking your first steps on Chelseas training ground, ready to join your coach and your new teammates.

Sonia gave you an encouraging smile before she turned to her players. “Bonjour, girls. Before we begin, I want to introduce someone to you. This is our new player, y/n.“, she said in her heavily accented English.

You waved nervously at the others: “Salut.“

At least there were some familiar faces smiling back at you.

Sonia continued: “We worked together in Lyon. She is already very experienced for her age and she will play Centre back. We brought her in to ‘ave more competition at this position, especially with Millie.“

“Excuse me, what?!”, a tall, blonde woman said incredulously. Millie, you assumed.

Sonia shrugged: “That is football, Millie. It will ‘elp you improve.“

“Oh, wow. But I’m the captain. I…“, she started, seemingly unsure how to express her anger.

“Someone’s scared.“, Lucy teased. She was one of the few people you already knew from her time at Lyon, back when you had just joined the senior team.

Millie rolled her eyes at her teammate: “I’m not scared of a child.“

“I’m not a child. I’m 22.“, you protested, studying the older woman that you would have to compete with. Your heart sank a bit. She was a European champion, a regular starting player for her club and country and while you had your fair share of trophies, contending for the same position with her would be no easy task.

Millie gave you an unimpressed look: “You’re barely out of girlhood, you still got a lot to learn. Welcome to Chelsea, this will be very different to Lyon.“ There was an icy edge to her voice as she said the last part.

Hushed whispers passed between the other players.

“I’m sure you two will get along well.“, Sonia said but you weren’t sure if she was being naively positive or if it was just irony. It didn’t matter. Millies behaviour towards you had already made your blood boil and you refused to let her have the last word in this.

As the team slowly started to disperse for their warm-up, you caught up with the blonde defender: “Good luck, Millie. I won’t make this easy for you.“

She barely even looked at you when she replied cooly: “Don’t worry. I won’t either.“

Before you were able to answer Catarina Macário wrapped her arms around you for a tight hug. “Y/n, good to have you back in the team.”, the American beamed at you. Back in Lyon you two were good friends likely because of the small age difference between you both. Also, it was her who helped you with improving your English skills. Admittedly, it felt good to see her again especially after the frosty exchange you had with your new captain.

“I can’t wait to play with you again.”, you told her excitedly.

“Very good decision from Sonia to get you.”, she grinned.

“She was very convincing during her phone calls. And to honest I needed a change of scenery.”, you confessed with a crooked smile on your lips.

“Did you get tired of getting tackled by Wendie during training?”, Catarina teased you amused.

“Yes.”, you nodded chuckling while you received another pad on the shoulder from a familiar face.

“Missed us kid?”, Lucy asked winking.

“Of course I did.”, you responded in an honest tone.

The older defender looked at you more closely before she confirmed. “Me too.”

A few days had passed since your introduction, the team has flown to the US for a preseason tour and the first stop was New York. On the way to the hotel Millie sat down next to Lucy. From the bus windows they could see the famous skyline of the city, but the Chelsea captain didn’t had eyes for that, she felt the urge to talk to her England teammate about you.

“Why are you so nice to y/n, she’s so arrogant, Lucy.”, the blonde huffed.

“No, she’s sweet.”, Lucy disagreed smiling.

“Not with me, have you seen how she attacks me in training?”, the younger defender countered frustrated.

“It’s not that bad, Millie.”, the dark-haired player assured her smirking.

” When we were young, we wouldn’t have dared to play like that with older players in our team.”, Millie shook her head.

“Well times are changing. And I like that aggressiveness.”, the older woman reminded her.

“Of course you do. God, I just hate her so much.”, she groaned. Much too late Millie realized that you had heard her last words. Immediately when the bus stopped in front of your hotel you were the first to leave it.

“Looks like you have something to fix, skipper.”, Lucy observed.

“Shit, I obviously didn’t mean hate just that she frustrates me so much.”, the Chelsea captain mumbled biting her lip guiltily.

“Tell her that not me.”, her England teammate replied sounding serious.

“Cat our captain hates me.”, you whispered in your friend’s ear, sitting on your suitcases in the huge lobby while waiting for your room keys.

“Millie doesn’t hate anyone.”, Catarina objected gently.

“But you heard her.”

“She clearly didn’t mean it.”, she gave a smile of encouragement.

“How do you know? She seems to like everyone except me.”, you helplessly ran the hand through your hair.

“I know her.”, the American said firmly.

You left it at that, even though you didn’t fully believe your former Lyon teammate. Especially when the days in the US were exactly like the ones back at London, with Millie mostly ignoring you and you trying to prove her wrong in every training.

You were surprised when she finally acknowledged your existence just a day later. It was only the two of you in the hotel room you had to share when Millie suddenly decided: “Y/n, we have to talk.“

“About what?”, you asked, unsure about the direction in which this conversation would be going.

The older defender crossed her arms in front of her chest, her face with an unreadable expression. “About what you’ve heard.“

“Cat says you didn’t mean it but I think it sounded like you did.“, you said, keeping a watchful eye on her from your bed.

She huffed out a breath: “Let’s just say I phrased it wrong, okay? I don’t hate you, I hate the way you act in training.“

“But I’m just challenging you.“, you frowned at her.

“You’re risking injuries.“, Millie said plainly, the clear accusation hidden in the neutrality of her voice. You could tell she was straining to keep a normal conversation.

You shook your head: “No, I don’t want to hurt anyone. I know what I’m doing…“

Millie scoffed: “You’re still a child. You don’t have a clue about what you are doing.“

You rolled your eyes. Of course she would play the age card again. You just wanted this talk to end.

“I’m 22. That’s ‘ardly a child.“

“Listen, all I’m saying is that one day you’re going to injure someone like that.“

“Millie, I won more Champions League titles than you so I’m not as inexperienced as you think.“, you explained, voice tinged with slight annoyance.

“Oh, you mean the titles you won from the bench?”, she retorted.

“No, I actually played.“

“Not in the finals.“

“So you did watch our games?”, you asked before you could decide to throw some French swear words at her.

“No.“

“Not even after Sonia was announced as the new coach?”

“No.“

“I see.“, you nodded slowly, not sure what you actually saw apart from Millies indifference.

“So can we agree that you take it down a notch in training?”

“Yes.“, you agreed begrudgingly. “If you stop thinking I’m still a child.“

From your point of view, that was all that had to be said. The conversation was over. You got up from the bed and pulled your Chelsea shirt over your head, ready to switch into your pyjamas. It was only when you stripped of your sweatpants as well that you noticed Millies gaze on you.

“Stop staring, Captain Bright.“, you laughed through the awkwardness.

She didn’t look away, she also didn’t smile. “Why don’t you get dressed somewhere else?”

“Why don’t you turn around to look at the wall? At least you got proof that I’m not a kid anymore.”, you suggested with a cheeky grin on your face.

“Guess I do. But why do I’ve to turn around? There’s a bathroom right here.”, Millie commented.

“Boring plus it ruins the fantasy.”, you added still smiling.

“What are you even talking about?”, the blonde asked confused.

“Oh, please.”, you kept teasing her for her prude Englishness.

“You French girls are so weird.”, she claimed mildly amused by your behaviour.

“Yeah, but your eyes seemed to like it.”, you smirked.

“Are you done now? I’d like to sleep?”, the older defender changed quickly to a safer topic.

“Good night, Millie.”, you muttered while switching off the light.

“Night, y/n.”, Millie sounded almost half asleep. She hasn’t stopped thinking about your abs, but she would never admit that to you somehow, they followed her into her sweet dreams.

In training you couldn’t stop yourself from mocking your captain, still there was a more loving undertone in the way you talked to her now that wasn’t there before.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever.”, Millie tried to shrug it off.

“Whatever? The young won over the old and you don’t care?”, you pretended to be scandalized by her seemingly unbothered reaction.

Soon, you’d regret your cheekiness as the captain swept you off your feet to carry you to the ice bathtub and let you fall right into the cold.

“Ah, no!”, you yelled.

“That’s what you get for making fun of team old.”, the English woman explained, biting back a smile.

At dinner Lucy elbowed her teammate playfully. “You’re starting to like her too, Millie.”

“Oh, shut up.”, she pushed her friends arm away from her, her cheeks had turned slightly pink.

“No, it’s true you use every opportunity to touch her like.”, Guro intervened giggling.

“Like what?”, Millie interrupted the Norwegian forward impatiently.

“Like you’re into her.”, Lucy remarked, rolling her eyes at the cluelessness of her England teammate.

“I’m not.”, she protested.

“If you say so..”, Guro responded humoured.

“You don’t believe me.”, Millie sighed dramatically.

“Not a word.”, Erin affirmed.

“It’s pretty obvious.”, Lucy added.

“You know what they say about hatred and love.”, the Norwegian started laughing.

“Stop being annoying.”, the blonde begged her friend.

“I’m just saying.”, Guro threw an innocent smile at her.

“Maybe I don’t hate her anymore.”, Millie acknowledged quietly, hoping that they didn’t hear that confession.

“We know.”, Lucy declared annoyed.

You shook your head to yourself. You had watched from the table across from Millies friend group and couldn’t believe that they really thought you wouldn’t notice that they talked about you.

Patiently, you waited until the end of dinner and when everyone got up, you walked over to Millie.

With a smirk on your lips, you whispered into her ear: “Love me like you hate me then.“

The older defender paused and stared at you, dumbfounded.

“What? What’s that supposed to mean? I…“

You bit back a smile and prompted her to continue: “You?”

Millie caught herself quickly and rolled her eyes: “I wouldn’t go that far to say that I love you.“

“Oh, there’s no need to rush this but would you go on a date with me, captain?”, you continued flirting with her.

She blinked at you, apparently unsure if you meant it or not.

“A date?“, she echoed. “Like a real, honest-to-god date?”

You nodded confidently: “Oui.“

“Why?” She still studied you with narrowed eyes as if she could see right through you this way.

“Why not?”, you shrugged nonchalantly.

It was clearly not the answer Millie was waiting for. Still, she only said: “Okay.“

Now it was on you to look surprised: “So it’s a yes?”

Millies face softened into a smile: “Yes.“

Excitedly, you got onto your tiptoes and pressed a kiss to her cheek: “After our next test game?”

“Saturday then.“,, Millie agreed with a single nod.

“I can’t wait.“, you smiled at her.

Millie watched you with a fondness that she hadn’t allowed herself to show up until now. And you had to admit, it looked good on her.

Going on a date with you on that Sunday the older woman realized that it was easy to hate you for your arrogance, the way you played without compromises, your stubbornness but it turned out to be even easier to love you for your passion of the game, the way you took a real interest in her stories and your smile which lit up the whole dim lit restaurant you were eating at.

#millie bright #millie bright x reader #millie bright imagine #woso x reader #engwnt #lionesses #woso #woso imagine #woso fanfics #woso one shot #chelsea fcw #chelsea women #woso community #woso oneshot #catarina macario #lucy bronze

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aliferous-ly · 8 months ago

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A ghost haunted season 10. Certainly not a malicious one, if a bit mischievous - and one had to keep a careful eye out to catch him.

Jevin heard him first, deep underground. He was hunting iron, early in the season, and he was having the worst luck. He even looked up where iron should be, to make sure the updates hadn't changed anything! Alas, the iron evaded him. Jevin might have to resort to begging and then jump straight to a farm.

And he kept hearing these crackly, faint snickers. At first he thought he'd been on a voice channel accidentally, but, no, his comm wasn't connected. Then, just to make sure, he disconnected it entirely - but the laughter prevailed. Jevin chalked it up to too many sleepless nights, and went to find an overachieving hermit already building an iron farm.

Stress heard him next, but as someone who heard murmuring monsters on a good day, she didn't give it a second thought. Clear as day she heard an, "oh, bugger." She thought, you and me both, monster, before going along with her day.

Then it was Xisuma, though he didn't hear anyone, he saw. It was a mere glimmer out of the corner of his eye. White hair, stout, pickaxe slung lovingly over a shoulder. When he looked back there was nothing. He resolved to run diagnostics on his helmet, because something was clearly haywire.

And in Joel's defense, he was both exhausted and brand new to hermitcraft. It wasn't like people had nametags on, they were a group of friends! So when an old man grumbled by, lost as could be within the shopping district, Joel furrowed his brows but ultimately was too tired to ruminate. He overheard the man saying something about shroomlights and called out, "Tango has the permit, but he doesn't have a shop up yet!"

The man startled, muttered something about "permits?" before scuttling off like a spooked horse. Joel shrugged. It was called hermitcraft, after all. There had to be loads of people he hadn't met yet.

Small instances added up. Scar fell asleep making a tree, hidden amongst the branches, and was spooked awake by the sound of a player dying. But when he checked his comm, nothing showed up. A dream, he thought uneasily.

I just need sleep, Tango thought.

Wow, someone's wearing a sick costume, Skizz thought. Too bad I'm too busy to go chat right now!

Who's messing with my hourglass now? Doc thought. Only, there wasn't anyone else on the server at the time. Probably an armor stand prank.

It all came to head when Hypno stumbled across his fifth stripmine in one mining session. He rolled his eyes, because of course Wels had created tunnels beneath Hypno's place just to be a nuisance. Except when he pointed it out to Wels, who was on call with Hypno but was busy caving, Wels expressed confusion.

"I've only made one or two strip mines. And they're not near you," Wels said.

Hypno saw a wisp of white hair turning a corner. "Haha, very funny, Wels. Come on out."

"I'm not joking?" Wels said in confusion. In the same beat he got the achievement for sneaking successfully past a shrieker for the first time and Hypno was far too high up to be near an ancient city.

"Maybe it's someone else?" Hypno murmured, checking who was online. Grian and Joel, who were having their own shenanigans blowing up the comms (it involved TNT, so the blowing up was quite literal). Impulse had just left. Etho, who could be a contender if Hypno didn't know he'd fallen asleep at the post office three hours ago. Plus, what sort of prank would this be, from Etho?

He explored the endless strip mines and got so lost that he had to dig his way up. When he mentioned the strangeness to Keralis, the man lit up and exclaimed that he'd found the same thing, how weird was that, huh?

Hypno investigated. If there was a bug in the world he'd need to know.

"You know, it might not be a bug," Cleo said meaningfully. They fidgeted with a tear in their clothes.

"What else would it be?" Hypno asked, mystified.

"Maybe it's a player. You know. Someone we never removed from the whitelist."

Cleo raised an eyebrow. It wasn't in their nature to beat around the bush, but at the same time they didn't want to act crass. Not for this.

Tentative realization trickled through Hypno. He nodded and abruptly left, unsure how to feel.

The information spread slowly through the rest of the server. Joe took to leaving boxes of torches and iron pickaxes about, and every so often would have to refill them. He didn't ask, but everyone swore they hadn't been stealing. Who would need an iron pickaxe at this point, anyway?

One night, Cub let off a slew of fireworks that were spherical and solid green. He heard a faint chuckle on the breeze, and raised a drink in quiet salute.

So, yes. A ghost haunted season 10. But ghost haunting had such a negative connotation, didn't it? The hermits, if they spoke about him at all, much preferred to call him the True Hermit who never left.

#mysnippets #hermitaday #tinfoilchef #added a read more even tho its not That long #i dont like having long posts on my dash lol #his videos are so chill and i love that u can hear his mouse clicking every time lol #also jev not finding iron etc is noncanon i made that shit up entirely

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formulawolff · 7 months ago

Text

xvii. facing reality - t.w.

pairing: female driver!reader x toto wolff

word count: 2.9k

warnings: cursing, age gap relationships, (slight) sexism, unfair treatment of drivers, toto being down bad per usual, mentions of divorce, allegations of infidelity, james being a dick, yadayadayada

a/n: i am aware that it is solely up to the drivers in terms of contract talks, negotiations, etc. however, let's just pretend that we do not see it and that there are some restrictions when it comes to our golden girl. okay? okay cool :p

prev. | next.

the only noise was the dull roar of the engine, and well, the occasional shuffle of papers as he flips through his notebook, careful not to produce much movement in his shoulder.

nestled on his right shoulder was your head, your breathing rhythmic, both arms cuddling his bicep.

turning his head, his mouth places a kiss on your temple, “i love you, sweet girl.”

˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖

the ease in which the words flowed from his lips sent a ripple of bliss throughout his chest. the warm, cozy feeling only intensifies tenfold as you wrinkle your nose, nuzzling into the fabric of his button-up. although you’re deep in slumber, you respond, voice thickened with exhaustion.

“i love you, toto.”

“get some rest,” he murmurs, “i’ll wake you when we make it to montreal.”

sometimes the bustling season schedule had its perks. since drivers were not required to fly in with their teams to races, typically everyone flew separately from their respective locations. so, toto had you accompany him on his jet to canada, where the two of you could be alone for just a little while longer.

approximately twelve hours longer, where you would have to go your separate ways once landing. it was arranged that theodore would be driving you to the track, where you would be able to reunite with alex and the rest of the williams crew.

meanwhile, mr. wolff had a few business obligations to attend. one was a meeting with a few potential investors for the 2025 season, while the other obligation was a little more personal.

someone had to recognize your accomplishments over the last few weeks.

and he was going to be that person.

to add to your bracelet, toto arranged a meeting with a private jeweler where he would pick out four more charms to add to your bracelet.

one for sazuka. one for miami. one for emilia romagna. and finally, one for monaco.

the initial plan was to gift you the new charms before qualifying, so that you could have a few more additions to your bracelet. in toto’s mind, he liked to imagine that the bracelet was your good luck charm.

after all, it seemed to be working.

with the current driver standings, you were at the top of the board. max was behind you, trailing by a decent amount of points. at his tail was charles leclerc, lando norris in fourth. although your name was a hot topic in the world of formula one, rumors flying that you were the main contender for the title, it was still too early to make any definitive judgments.

formula one was ever-changing. a single race could shift the leaderboard, as many drivers were close in points. a single weekend could also shift the team standings, as williams was now thrust in the mix for the second or third spot, fighting tooth and nail with red bull, ferrari and mclaren.

it was all thanks to you. your reflexes, your critical thinking, your ability to remain level-headed under pressure, and your exceptional knowledge of the cars and the sport were the reason why williams was in their position.

it was the sole reason why you were the leader of the pack. sure, the car helped, but a majority of the credit was due to the american driver.

the first american female driver to ever win points. the first to ever win a grand prix. the first woman to win five consecutive grand prixes.

the only woman to ever win a grand prix.

you were one of one.

additionally, you were the second woman in the history of the sport to ever score points, decades after lella lombardi paved the way.

there was so much at stake, so much weight to be carried on your shoulders.

yet, here you were, lightly snoring, your lips parted as your brows twitched, lashes fluttering.

it seemed the closer the two you got, there was always something that tried to pry you further apart.

hours ago, toto received an email in his inbox from the mercedes public relations team, formally asking the team principal if he could maintain his distance from the williams driver. this was mainly for the sake of the image of the team as a whole.

to manage this, he needed to refrain from speaking to the driver in either one of the garages, in the paddock, in any area of the track or designated team areas. this was to be during press conferences, and well throughout any public interaction with the driver before, during, or between racing events.

of course, mercedes supported the decisions he made in his personal life wholeheartedly and wanted nothing but the best for him when it came to his romantic and personal endeavors. however, with the current public perception of his romantic relationship with the williams driver, it was best that he focused solely on the team and their potential accomplishments for the time-being. the team was his top priority for the weekend.

oh, and the most crucial aspect of the entire email.

we hope that you abide by our advice and take the necessary precautions. we are hoping for a great weekend in canada!

some fucking email that was.

although there was no formal threat of repercussions, the team principal was not going to take any risks.

even if it slightly killed him inside to do so.

it appeared that in order to have access to you, toto was going to have to tread carefully. there would have to be thoroughly coordinated meetings, where he would have to sneak away just to even catch a glimpse of your gorgeous face. he would have to slip into your motorhome in the late hours of the night, just as he used to in jeddah, suzuka, and miami.

however, since that kiss in monaco, things were a little more intense.

there were eyes now. on both of you.

eyes that would follow his every move, watching as he departed from the paddock or garage. eyes that were trained by pr teams to ensure that the delicate mercedes reputation remained intact. eyes that were determined to keep the two of you separated, no matter his frustration or protest.

you were going to be so close, yet so far.

he would be able to look, but not touch.

and fuck, was that shit was going to drive him absolutely insane.

on a similar note, you had gotten the notification from the williams public relation team just as you were boarding the jet.

although you received the same sort of message within the email, you also happened to get a text from james.

that one was far more threatening, laced with a sour bitterness that had toto’s blood boiling, his fists tightening on the armrests, knuckles tinged white.

i do not want to see you look in the direction of the mercedes paddock while we’re in montreal. and if i catch you talking to him between practices or the race…

as much as toto prompted you to get into contact with the human resources department to report the text, you protested. mostly due to the fact that you were already in hot water with williams. despite their reassurances that you were not to face consequences for monaco, there was still that anxiety gnawing away at you, an ever-looming thought in the back of your mind.

even if you weren’t in trouble for your romantic pursuits, williams had made it very clear that they did not approve of the relationship.

at least, their public relations department, some members of the board, and james, your team principal, had made it very clear.

and to you, that was enough to keep you on your best behavior.

however, there were approximately eleven more hours of the flight before you made it to your destination.

for the mercedes team principal, that meant he had to savor your presence for eleven more hours before the two of were forced to go your separate ways.

fuck the mercedes pr team for suggesting those pitiful rules. fuck the williams pr team for reminding you of their disapproval.

and most importantly, fuck james vowles for speaking to you that way.

˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖

“there she is!”

“hi,” you wave, suppressing a giggle as he waggles his brows, pointing finger guns in your direction.

“how’d it gooo? did you two lay under the starlight and give one another googly eyes until the sun rose over the beautiful mountains of monte carlo?”

alex is peering at you, his gaze honed in as you shrug, “it was fine.”

he scoffs, rolling his eyes, “you guys spent days together and you can’t tell me a single detail?”

carefully, you scan the room, taking in your surroundings. currently, you were in the williams paddock, situated next to alex in one of the many debrief rooms. james was going to arrive any minute, ben in tow, along with members of the core crew.

keeping your voice low, you fidget with the sleeves your hoodie, grateful for the traces of citrus and spice that lingered, “james texted me before i boarded my flight here.”

alex straightens in his seat, leaning forward so that your voice didn’t have to carry, “no shot. what did he say?”

“he said that he didn’t want me to even look in the direction of the mercedes paddock,” the words are shaky, brimmed with apprehension, “the text had a really off-putting tone to it. toto wanted me to report it but i’m not sure if i should. i’m already in an awkward position with williams and i don’t want to complicate things further.”

alex’s tongue runs along his lower lip, the driver’s brows scrunched together. there’s concern glittering in his gaze, his fingers resting on his chin.

“that’s really shitty of james considering i was there at that meeting following monaco. everyone seemed to be in good standing with one another. i remember patrick reminding you over and over again that you weren’t in any sort of trouble. maybe he said that so you could focus on the race this weekend?”

“probably,” you mutter, slumping into the chair, “it just fucking sucks, you know? all of this back and forth. it’s like having fucking vertigo. one minute i feel like i’m on cloud nine, and the world loves me. james is over the moon, and the crew is hoisting me up into the air. within seconds, everyone is avoiding me. they’re shooting me dirty looks or spreading shit about me on social media. they’ll murmur under their breath that i’m a homewrecker or a slut.”

before you know it, alex has several tissues is his grasp, gently laying them on your thigh. raising your read, you feel the slickness of tears on your heated cheeks, your palms clammy as you wipe them on your sweats.

“i cannot imagine how fucking hard this must be for you.”

“it is,” your lower lip trembles as you dab the tissue on your lids, “why do you think i flew out to monte carlo? why do you think i’ve been avoiding wantage? ignoring the emails? i just don’t feel like my relationship with williams is genuine anymore. sometimes i regret that race in monaco–”

“hey,” a thumb massages your shoulder, his voice light, “don’t ever feel guilty about that race.”

you shake your head, the words spilling out of gritted teeth, “if i would have let charles overtale me, he would have won. i would have never left that podium. i would have never kissed–”

“everything okay in here?”

a voice rings through the room, your head swiveling to the doorway.

james enters the room, the williams crew following in suit. using your sleeve, you brush away the tears, exhaling as alex tosses the tissues in the nearest trash bin. he scrunches his nose, nudging you with his knee.

“you’re welcome for that.”

“what would i do without you?” a laugh bubbles up in your throat as he wraps his arm around your shoulder, bringing you in for an affectionate embrace.

his mouth hovers by your ear, eyes darting to james before shifting back to you, “we can talk more later. i promise. i want to know how you and your pookie bear are doing!”

“okay you two,” james clicks his tongue, “i hate to interrupt gossip hour, but it’s time to discuss racing strategies for the weekend. unfortunately spilling secrets about a certain team principal does not get us anywhere in terms of winning.”

at his snide remark, you feel a twinge of frustration brew in your stomach, churning it into a knot as james’ attention falls on you, his arms folded across his chest, brow arched ever so slightly.

“can you promise us that you’ll be one hundred percent focused on the race this weekend? one hundred percent dedicated to williams and only williams?”

your jaw clenches, brows knitting together, “isn’t that what i’ve been – yes. i can promise you that.i’ll be dedicated to the team this weekend, just as i’ve always been.”

“good,” james’ expression is unreadable as he tuts, “okay! let’s get started. ben, would you like to begin with the latest upgrades to the cars?”

mirroring the others, you slide the headphones over your ears, ben’s voice drowning in your ears as dives into the subject at hand.

as much as your mind wanted you to pay attention, to listen closely, you were not present.

not one bit.

your thoughts were elsewhere, wandering back to that one individual.

toto.

fuck, did your heart absolutely ache.

how were you supposed to maintain your distance for an entire weekend if you could barely keep it together after merely hours apart?

you could sense your knee bouncing, your teeth gnashing into your cheek, chewing away at the flesh.

fuck, this was going to suck.

your thumbs itch, urging you to fish your phone out of your pocket. yet, you know that shouldn’t, as there were numerous eyes right along with you in the room. there were a few times in which you did glance at your phone in the past during debriefings, but that was to simply check notifications, pull up footage, or type a quick response to send back to toto.

if james happened to catch you peeking at your phone? oh god, he would probably treat you like some sort of child and have you sit right next to him. just so that he could observe your every move and ensure that you were honed in on the tasks at hand. fuck, if he was frustrated enough, he would probably snatch that phone right out of your hand, keeping it until you all were finished.

the treatment you were receiving since monaco was becoming more and more insulting. almost degrading, really.

sure, you were at the top of the leaderboard. sure, you were one of the best drivers that the team had signed in a years. sure, you were writing history with every record you shattered.

but when you were involved with the team principal of mercedes, those things didn’t really matter. you were treated like a petulant child, disciplined for something that was beyond your control.

there was no reason to punish you over the man you were in love with.

yet, that was just the reality of the situation.

as harsh as it was, it was probably wise to keep the two of you separated. although the pr teams were working overtime, busting their asses to squash the rumors, to silence those whispers, there were still the ever-looming truths.

one, you were engaging in a romantic relationship with a man thirty years older than you.

two, toto was recently divorced. that was not a good look for each party involved. it raised the questions of how long the two of you were really talking, how long you had been tiptoeing around. the heated debates if you actually knew about the divorce or if you were a homewrecker.

and of course, the third and final truth.

the mercedes amg petronas was searching to sign their second driver for the 2025 season. toto especially, as he was their main scout, announcing numerous times that he had spoken with a menagerie of drivers, even beyond formula one.

the hot gossip was that you were to be that second driver. you were the prized pick, a valuable asset to any team on the grid. the apple of toto’s eye. the object of his every desire. the final piece to his puzzle.

although the entire world was under the impression that they were just speculations, they were blissfully unaware that it was indeed the truth.

toto was going to approach james after the canadian grand prix with his proposal.

all he needed was that blessing, the nod of approval to begin the contract talks.

however, there was that one uncertainty. the one thing that both of you were unsure of, waves of anxiety pumping through your veins each time your mind wandered.

there was that possibility that james could say no. that there would be no contract talks.

even though it ultimately was up to the driver, the fia had made it very clear there were to be no private meetings, nothing left in the dark. especially if you were to depart ways from williams and sign with mercedes.

so if james said no, you would be fucked.

majorly, utterly, completely fucked.

˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖

taglist: @k3ira13 @prettiest-at-the-party @annewithaneofthegreengable @zoeyjadetice2010 @sinners-98-world @statuewoman @laura-naruto-fan1998 @nebarious @joalslibrary @swifth0lic @strangegirl974 @thatgirlthatreadswattpad @msbyjackal @annaaepf1 @paigelouise @bborra @bblouifford @s-awturn @upsteadsstuff @omgsuperstarg @younxii @toldyouitwasamelodrama @kravitzwhore @persona1lies @pucksandpower @gisellesprettylies @wonderwolffs @xxforeverinadayxx @theseerbetweenus @simply-the-best23 @ringdingdingdingx @leilanixx @marknolee @rylieverstappen-sargent @whoisss @ajthefujoshi @m-1234 @ihateyougunthersteiner @nicaeno @racecardilfs

as always, thank you guys for the endless support on this series! let me know if you would like to be tagged! we have about three chapters left! i love you all!! <33

#toto wolff #toto wolff x reader #formula 1 #formula 1 x reader #toto wolff x you #toto wolff x y/n #formula one #formula one x reader #alkaline #alkaline: female driver! x toto wolff #james vowles #alex albon #f1 #canada gp 2024 #f1 x reader #formula 1 fanfic #alkaline series

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