Emperor Caracalla X Fem!Reader: Hermâs
Emperor Caracalla x Fem!Reader: Hermâs
A/N: The little lad dances once again.
I got this idea from listening to the soundtrack for Spirit. I’m a fucking horse girl at heart.
I also wanted to write about the true “quirky girl” experience. The majority of the time, the quirky girl isn’t beloved by all. In fact, many find her quite annoying.
I wanted to write about a sheltered, immature girl whose main character syndrome fucks her over when she finds someone that can match her delulu. I wanted to write a story where the reader is genuinely as stupid and naive, as well as childish, as the moron twins are.
Sometimes, we need a stupid reader.
Summary: Was this truly happening? Have the gods at last acknowledged your existence as the main character of your childhood narrative?
Warnings: Caracalla being a creep, period accurate misogyny, mentions of marrying off daughters to old men, Geta plotting evil, slight smutty elements
Credits: massive shoutout to @writhingg and @rxqueenotd for beta reading my clown shoes writing, as well as dealing with me screaming about my Shayla.
Dividers by: @strangergraphics-archive
You found yourself groaning awake in your bed the morning after your sojourn in the stables.
Despite the consistent treatments of echinacea salve and rendered animal fat, the large bruise on your thigh still stung and bled through the linens— your father’s new war stallion was not one to be trifled with. Whereas you had intended to capture the hearts of the handsome stable hands by taming the horse, your poor planning and recklessness had almost killed you.
The stallion had been a gift— war spoil— from a distant land far to the east. The animal was a beautiful golden buckskin with singed brown legs and dark mane; for a moment, you mistook him for one of the golden horses that pulled Sol’s chariot across the sky. One could imagine the distinct markings as telling a story of his divine origin.
Perhaps the fiery rays of the sun singed his legs, mane and tail, and maybe the light bleached his hide— just as it tended to wash out the dyed colors of forgotten laundry hanging on a line.
He was beautiful.
So different from the broken ones you had been able to ride bareback as a small child, you naively thought all this poor creature needed to be tamed was a tender hand. Someone who understood his divine origin, and respected him for it. Only heroes in your childhood fairytales could tame such a beast, and you fancied yourself to be of their rank.
Unfortunately, your status as a chosen one was called into question. The animal was still half possessed by the wilds, and the scent of the working mares around him drove him into a lovesick madness. You jumped without thinking onto his back, and the animal had tried everything in his power to throw you. Both of you went down when he reared, and landed on your sides when the horse lost footing in the arena.
Instead of a potential stable hand suitor rushing to your side to help, your father corralled the stallion, and it was Mother Lucilla who appeared with her maid Leta when she heard your cries of agony. Leta scolded you with a clicking of her tongue as she hauled you up, and your mother’s deep contralto barked out as she gave you a verbal lashing.
“What were you thinking?! Moronic child! Preposterous piss-ant! Behaving as though I’ve never taught you sense! You could have broken your neck, you could have been killed! Foolishness!”
While you were carted back to the house in a lectus, you could hear the young stable hands laughing at your idiocy. Doubled over, they slapped at their bare knees and mimicked your cries and moans of pain in high pitched voices. Baiting, ugly, almost sexual sounding cries, they laughed and hooted until chastised back into their duties by your father’s hard gaze.
The old stable master had yet again approached your father, begging Acacius to do something about these repeated infractions.
“General! With all due respect, your daughter is a nuisance, a menace to my animals and to society! The horse may be ruined because of her stupidity.”
“She is only a child…”
“Does she not count nineteen years, General?! She is more than old enough to be wed, certainly old enough to know better. Perhaps it would do her some good to marry a man of advanced age and wisdom, surely he would straighten out her insolence with a sound beating!”
Even though the war horses were your favorite creatures in all the land, never again would you enter your father’s stables. Far too much embarrassment had cowed you, and you feared that if you made just one more misstep with his animals, that this time your father really would punish you rather than make excuses. Acacius had been cross this time, inflexible with your punishment. Under threat of a good thrashing by your mother, you were not to leave the domus, nor were you allowed to breach even the threshold of the atrium for any excuse. Never in your life had you seen your father so angry…
For a moment you were afraid. Afraid that this time, he would listen to the advice of those he trusted, and ship you off to some shriveled old man who would break your spirit.
You stayed put in your bed as your mother and her maid bathed your wounds and stood by as you recovered. When you began to grow restless, your impotent begging for mercy from hateful Mother Lucilla earned you a few moments alone in the hortus.
You loved the hortus. It was a grand design of your late mother’s creation, consisting entirely of things which were either medicinal or able to be used in various dishes. This time of the year it would be awash with a rainbow of perfumed shrubbery; the marigolds and roses would be in bloom with the purple lavender, interspersed liberally with chamomile and pansy, and you could preoccupy yourself with endlessly plucking blossoms to savor the taste. The peppery marigolds and aromatic rose petals were the taste of summer, a comfort whenever you were distressed.
This task could be accomplished alone, leaving you to ruminate on your embarrassment. Settling against a marble bench near the laurel tree, you lay reclined, with legs splayed on either side of the seat as you chewed the petals on a marigold blossom.
There was no one to stop you. Lucilla’s impatience and eye for meticulous detail were soon distracted by matters of the home. With strict instruction to stay put until she came to fetch you, she departed to attend her responsibilities among the servants in preparation for Acacius’s departure. There was food to be purchased and stored beforehand, monetary affairs to settle, as well as a thousand different things to consider for the duration of the General’s campaign. Certainly no time to devote fully to a rambunctious youth who paced the length of the gardens, limping the entire way.
You could hardly imagine it. In a week’s time, your father would be gone for nearly half a year…
The thought was almost frightening and would have put you in your sickbed, had not you already gone to great lengths to harden your heart. This was nothing at all new. Acacius had left often before when you were young, hence why he’d married Lucilla. The marriage was one of mutual benefit: you would have someone to care for you besides your late mother’s selected wet nurse, and Lucilla would have a child of her own to love and raise, a comfor to her heart for the one she’d lost.
You loved Lucilla. But the thought of losing your father, your last biological connection, and being left alone in the world still frightened you. There was always a chance that this would be the one time Acacius wouldn’t come back— and you wished that the emperors would stop sending your father away.
When Acacius left the domus, the mood of the home became sullen. Prayer was ceaselessly carried out in the lararium. Tithes, incense, and blood libations offered to the gods were overseen by your mother, and she could be gone for hours at a time at temple while you stayed behind in your cubiculum.
When at last you tired of eating flowers, you began carelessly scattering blood red rose petals into your mother’s font filled with carp while asking questions of Venus. You were imagining her responses, looking for her answers taking shape in the patterns the petals made in the water, when you heard mad giggling from behind a pillar towards the domus’ portico.
Whipping around, you looked for the source, eyes widening at the unfamiliar sound.
The giggle increased, and you could see wine colored silken damask dart behind a marble column.
What in the name of the gods was that?!
Nymph? Genius loci? One of the marble gods from the lararium— a statuette— come to life to play with you? You weren’t sure, but your heart was racing, breathing staccato as you crept closer to find out.
The scraping of leather sandals against marble could be heard when you approached. Heavy footed and a little clumsy: the perpetrator moved opposite you. You veered to the left, he to the right.
You saw a flash of hair the color of sunset. As well as the smallest glimpse of blue-gray eyes.
Grinning at the game, you decided to go for a feint. The two of you circled the pillar for a time, the high pitched giggling increasing. The giggle drowned out the sound your footsteps made when you doubled back around the pillar, laying hands on the shoulders of the intruder.
“Caught you!” You sing-songed.
He screeched, his ringed hands covering his face, and you both toppled out of the portico into the grass.
“I caught you!” You cried out again, as you leaned down to pull his hands away from his flushed face.
“You did not! Liar! I was hunting you for sport.” Exclaimed the intruder.
“You aren’t supposed to giggle when chasing your quarry.” You smiled, finally yanking his wrists apart and holding them.
“Liar! You lie! No you didn’t!”
You loved the way the man’s face turned rose pink across pock marked cheeks, his aquiline nose scrunching in anger.
“The laughter was a tactoc… um… A tac… it was an idea of my own design to catch you unawares!”
“Fool!” You smiled, keeping his wrists in a secured hold.
Quickly you rolled off of the interloper when he attempted to knee you between your legs, not knowing who he was or what he was doing snooping in the hortus. He must have been some sort of benevolent spirit sent by the gods. Perhaps even one in disguise, for he was certainly dressed in such opulent finery. Wine colored damask silk with golden zardozi embroidery made his toga picta, with gems of all size and color sewn into the fabric. They caught the sunlight, and the pinpricks of color reflected against your skin.
“You look as if the gods laid your gold and jewels across your neck themselves.” You whistled.
The intruder’s movements were feminine, almost demure. So unlike the more burly movements of generals, or the confident strides of the stable hands. As he sat cross legged, the sound made by the cuffs at his wrists clattering against the gems was captivating. Golden discs the size of libum hung from his ears and chimed with his movements as well.
“You dress like a nymph.” He murmured.
Pert, pink lips parted to allow his tongue to lick across, his smile revealing a single shimmering gold incisor. Surely he must be something otherworldly… you’d never seen someone with a golden tooth before.
“Tell me, nymph, have I stumbled into your secret grove?” He asked.
“No.” You were tickled at the insinuation, “I am no nymph. This is my father’s garden.”
“Your father? That’s not so, this is General Acacius’s garden!”
“General Acacius is my father.”
The intruder shook his head in vehement denial.
“Liar! Lady Lucilla counts forty nine years, and I would have known if she had birthed a child!”
“She is not my blood mother. I counted only three years when my father married her.” You responded, flicking off a half chewed petal from your chin.
Although you knew stories of wicked stepmothers, Lucilla had managed to break the molded stereotype. The first time your father left you alone with her, you bawled like an infant. The good lady had not punished you for your insolence, instead she swept you into her arms and showered your forehead with a thousand kisses.
She was a doting mother, your true mother, the one not of womb but of the heart; who held you and cared for you even when you were insolent.
“And your mother allows you to romp wild in your father’s garden?! To dress like a brothel whore, entertaining strange men?”
The stranger let forth a high pitched giggle, one that made you laugh with him. It was easy to feel inadequate, particularly in the face of such opulence and finery as he wore. The privacy of the garden allowed for leniency in your dress. You had wandered out of your cubiculum in a shrunken, thin, faded green stola that gave a clear view of your bandaged thigh and leg. A mismatched pale pink palla was slung carelessly around your shoulders, and you had long since abandoned your worn out calfskin sandals somewhere in the shrubbery.
“No! I dress like this because I should do as I wish in my own domus. And besides, what would a strange man be doing in my father’s garden to begin with?” You asked, “We were not told of visitors coming.”
“Not all visitors have to announce themselves.” He said haughtily, “Certainly not one as important as myself!”
A fist pounded against his chest in an intimidating boom, the sound reminiscent of a drum.
“Important?” You asked, cocking your head to the side, “Are you a messenger of some sort?”
Your nursemaid and her chatterbox daughter often told you stories of such divine messengers. Half asleep with daydreaming, you would sit at your window as your nurse embroidered crisp linens with geometric patterns, telling stories about Mercury— Hermâs she called him, in the language of the Hellenes— and his wily ways of bestowing divine fortunes and boons upon unsuspecting persons.
“Perhaps I am— a god’s messenger— in my divine disguise…!” exclaimed your stranger.
Your eyes were sparkling. Innocent and sweet.
“Truly?” You asked, crawling to him on all fours. Blissfully unaware of the sensuality in such a movement.
“Indeed. I am a bearer, a messenger, sent by Jupiter himself.” He said, his eyes trained lower on your body, “And I come bearing a secret, strictly for the young flower that hides in her father’s garden.”
“What message have you come to give me?” You asked.
“This divine message is for your ear alone.” He said, his voice lowering to a conspirator’s whisper, “Keep it secret, keep it safe. The gods have deemed you worthy of a special gift, but should you spoil the secret, they will take it away and rain down lighting from the west upon your house!”
“How wonderful!” You exclaimed, your excitement masking the fear of the stranger’s thinly veiled curse, “I’ve never had a message of my very own before!”
“Well then, prepare to be blessed, sweet one. For this message is for your ears alone… Come to my knee, let me whisper it to you.”
You sat upon his lap as he beckoned, nodding enthusiastically and sighing, holding both hands to your cheeks. The stranger leaned closer, cupping his hands over your ear as his lips grazed the shell.
“The gods have great plans for you.” He breathed.
A gasp of delight escaped you, enjoying the fact that your mystery messenger was so close. Whispering sweetness into your ear.
“The gods have told me you are to be given everything your heart desires, my beautiful nymph.” He said, “You will be the envy of all: walking marbled halls while draped in damask silks, vibrant jewels, and gossamer. Your name whispered in reverent prayer upon the tongue of the thousands who will see you in the imperator’s box at the colosseum-…”
“How would this be possible?” You interrupted softly, “I’ve never been outside of these walls, let alone in the palace.”
“You dare to question your divine messenger?! Do not underestimate the might of the gods, nymph. They can make anything so.”
He held your chin in his hand, the softness of his fingertips contrasting the tight grip he maintained, as if expecting you to try and get away.
“They can elevate you to a princess— no! To an empress, if they so desire. The gods wish to use you as their instrument, and they desire to give you everything you could ever want. Money, luxury, power, wine, sexual pleasure…”
“And… and how soon would this happen?” You asked softly.
“Very soon, my sweet one. Your time will come on the first day of the month of Juno, matter of fact.”
It felt so impossibly far away. Too far to even consider. But the fact that such an exciting blessing was to be bestowed during the month of weddings eluded you.
You bounced in excitement on his lap, his hands immediately reaching out to hold your hips steady. Hissing at the pain as he pressed your bruise, you attempted to re-adjust yourself when you felt something press against your inner thigh.
“What in the name of the gods is that?! It… it feels as though you’ve a dagger strapped to your leg.” You said, grinding your thigh against the protrusion.
The messenger froze, and his cheeks turned crimson. A large, impish grin spread from ear to ear, catlike, as if he was preparing to steal a morsel.
“Undo the belt at my tunic, and find out what it may be.” He said, breathless, a perverse look in his eye.
With an impatient huff, you almost rent the damask fabric of his robes in two, demanding that your messenger help you…
But the calling of your mother interrupted the overwhelming need to see what he had strapped to his leg.
“Oh…!” You sighed, a puff of breath escaping past your lips, “I have to go. I’m sorry, but thank you! Thank you for bringing me this message! Tell the gods I will accept this blessing and that I am most thankful to them, and to the messenger who told this to me!”
Before the messenger could protest, you quickly kissed both of his cheeks, scrambling to your feet as you ran off towards the house. As you approached your mother, running breathlessly up to her, you noticed something odd. It appeared as though her heart was racing, almost as if Lucilla was agitated
“What is it, mother?” You asked, out of breath.
Servants were darting every which way, making preparations to feed their guests and make the house presentable. Leta— your mother’s servant— was ordering the others to set the domus to rights, and you were shocked when Lucilla glowered at your unkempt visage.
“What have you been doing?!” Lucilla exclaimed, brushing leaves and petals off your stola, “I allowed you to take a walk, not roll in the shrubbery— is this a stain?!”
“What is this fuss mother…?” You attempted, but your words were stopped by Leta turning your head to look at you.
“My lady, shall I clean your daughter and dress her in the damask?” Asked the handmaiden.
“Yes, quickly! Make sure she is presentable.”
“What’s going on?!” You squeaked, both women taking you by an arm and leading you away like a prisoner to your cubiculum.
“We have been… graced, by the presence of the twin imperators—…”
“THE EMPERORS?!”
“Hush! Yes, the imperators, my darling. You will not speak out of turn again. You will smile and say little more than a polite greeting, after which we shall keep you in your cubiculum, and pray to the gods that you are spared from the lechery of men…”
Lucilla gave you no room to fret, nor to protest. She instead lead you away, to dress you in her armor of modest silk layers and a thick palla.
All the while, you could not stop thinking of the messenger’s promises.
Luxury…
Wine…
Sexual pleasure…
Unannounced guests and the multitude of problems they brought with them hardly made an impression upon your mind, not when there were such wonderful boons coming your way. All divinely ordained, draped like a zardozi embroidered sheet over the hidden evils of the machinations at hand.
In your ignorance, you believed in the lies of the powerful. Blindly trusting in your place as the chosen of the gods, and feeling the least bit better than at last, your worthiness was recognized.
“Caracalla, what in the name of the gods are you doing…?”
The stern tone of his brother, Geta, interrupted his moment of thoughtfulness as Caracalla watched his nymph run back to the house. His brother was scheming, his giggling increasing to a fever pitch, and Geta raised an eyebrow as Caracalla pointed to the home.
“Enjoying the touch and warmth of a beautiful nymph.” Caracalla beamed.
“… a nymph…” Geta deadpanned.
“Indeed. Simple and pure, with a supple breast-…”
“There are no nymphs in a general’s garden.”
“There are!” Caracalla argued.
“You are mistaken. For I only saw a pauper run from you. What have I told you of infecting the inferiors of other men’s houses? You will deplete Rome of slaves with your appetites.” Geta groused.
“This one was no slave! She is Lucilla’s daughter.” Caracalla snapped.
“The general and Lucilla have no daughters.” Geta said.
“Oh but they do, brother! Acacius hides this charming rose in his garden, away from the eyes of men.”
“Is not Lucilla past the age of childbearing?”
“His seed must have overcome that obstacle.” Cackled Caracalla, “For he has quite the lovely young spawn. Very innocent, and eager to believe every word from my lips.”
“What schemes do you invent in that empty head of yours…?” Geta asked, although he knew the answer already. He could see Caracalla’s maddened mind already concocting the most convoluted, outrageous ideas; the grey blue of his iris overtaken by dilating black pupils.
“Do not tell me…” Geta grinned wickedly.
“You know me so well.” Caracalla smiled, “It is a simple thing, really. Turning nymphs into empresses…”
Geta laughed out loud at his brother’s plotting.
“And how much would you ask for her?”
“Two million denarii!”
“Charity, brother, charity...” Geta laughed, “Acacius is a general after all, not a nobleman. Keep your dowry request under one hundred thousand denarii, or you shall never have her.”
“Only one hundred thousand?!”
“Yes, brother. To be paid in coin, land, or flesh, in the customary three years time-… Well… No, no. We may extend the dowry installments to five. After all, we are sending him away to fight your campaign in Numidia. He will need some time. You’ll want to wed her and bed her before he leaves as well.”
“I would have preferred the two million…” pouted Caracalla.
“Whatever for? The money is of little consequence. You would only piss away two million on whores, and her father would sooner give her away to someone else. This conquest will be far more simple, exercise your power and will it so. I shall give my blessing as the arrangement is not without benefits.”
When Caracalla’s feverish mind could not connect the dots, Geta prompted him.
“She is Lucilla’s legitimate heir. Marry her daughter, and you secure not only the title, but a closer position to the good lady herself… Slake your thirst for flesh with both this nubile creature’s affections, and with the attentions of her comely mother as well.”
More Posts from Dazecrea and Others
hiii !! just read like ,, a BUNCH of ur lumen au stuff ,,,, truly i am brainrotted now because i'm just thinking of so many different scenarios involving the lumens and i am just . EXCITED !!! its SUCHHHH a good concept im a big big sucker for soulmate stuff ,,,,
i was just wondering how you feel about jayvik x reader ,,,, TWO lumens ,,,,,,,, idk if you write for anything poly or not, but id love to hear your thoughts on it !!! either through headcanons or a ficlet, whichever you feel like :]
my first viktor x reader x jayce piece i’ve ever written… wait is this my first poly drabble?? it might be actually! i hope it’s fun to read ♥️
warnings: fem!reader, slight negative feelings of not being good enough, but overall fluff!!!
The scientific jargon that came with having not one but both of your fated being inventors was overwhelming. The words they tossed around became an entire other language since you’d all gotten closer. It left you feeling unbearably empty-headed, wondering why the universe would bond you to such intelligent men.
They were already changing an entire city with their ideas, and you would bet the world would soon bear their mark as well. In comparison, you were a meager artist making ends meet at festivals and street corners. Sure, maybe your work could be seen on a few shop signs or covering a wall or two in a cafe, but that was as famous as you’d ever be—a stranger to the passing eye.
“We need to widen the cylindrical chamber, maybe add an exhaust pipe to help with the cooldown.”
Jayce’s voice slipped through your head, smooth and confident and making no sense. You’d gotten rather good and tuning out the meat of the conversations, only recognizing the tones and emotions.
The heavy, warm accent of Viktor’s replied, swirling in the back of your mind as your pencil swiped over the heavy parchment against your thighs.
Recently, they’d begun inviting you to their lab to spend your free time in their company. There were two desks to choose from, though they were usually piled high with blueprints or notes. Jayce had moved a couch into the space for your comfort, placed in the corner and under a window, well away from any dangerous work they had their hands on, though they usually took anything too precarious into another portion of the building.
Their assistant, Sky, was in and out, always double-checking if you needed anything. She was a kind young woman, curly hair and glasses and a smile that made anyone feel at home. She brought you your own coffee and snacks, promising it was no trouble since she was already bringing them to Viktor and Jayce, anyway.
“You actually eat them,” she chuckled. “Jayce will if he notices they’re there, but it’s a long shot most days.”
You understood what she meant, seeing how focused the men became on their gadgets and studies. You’re sure if you got up and left they wouldn’t notice for a good, long while.
Today was one of those days, though there was peace in your private little corner as you sketched away. You squinted over the top of your sketchbook, skimming the outline of Viktor’s goggles pressed into his thick, winding hair and quickly adding the little licks of tresses to the paper before he was moving again.
You switched targets, taking in Jayce’s side profile and adding a bit more depth to his eyebrow and under eye.
Taking a moment to look between both drawings, you were hit with their beauty once more.
Jayce was deemed the academy’s “pretty boy,” with his strong jaw and perfect smile. He was a clean cut handsome, peak health and built with broad shoulders. He knew how to use those looks to his advantage.
On the other end was Viktor. He was a haunting beauty, sleek and angular. If he had the same charisma with speaking to the masses as Jayce did, that accent would gain him more than a fair share of admirers, but his confidence and skills lied elsewhere. He had a sharp eye and wore his emotions rather loudly on his face.
Where Jayce had faint lines from how much he smiled, Viktor had a feather soft crease between his brows from how often he furrowed them. Where the golden boy’s hands were always warm, his partner’s was cold. They made such gorgeous opposites, yet they held so many comparisons in mannerisms when it came to their shared hobbies and passions.
It was safe to say you adored them and their intricacies.
Taking a slow, deep breath you checked both shoulders before moving the tuft of black in your periphery into your hand. Gold shimmered between the dark mass that made up Jayce’s lumen, settling deeper into your palm as you raised your arms and stretched.
When you moved your drawing pad to the side, you spotted Viktor’s wedged between the apex of your thighs. Swallowing your gasp, you scooped it up, praying it hadn’t been smushed the entire time.
“When did you get there?” you whispered, rubbing your pointer finger into the tawny fuzz of his light. His lumen had always had a bit more give to it, leaving it to wedge itself under your leg or your shirt collar. Viktor’s preferred to be as close as possible to you, even if it left his lumen squished.
Jayce’s lumen was firmer, still soft but in a velveteen sort of sensation. It was bigger, taking up a good portion of your palm. Now your second month with it, you’d learned if it wasn’t on one of your shoulders, it was likely circling your head. His never went far either.
You wondered if you’d received Jayce’s lumen first, if it would have more of an attachment to you. As it stood, you’d had Viktor’s since you were young while he’d held Jayce’s and Jayce yours. The three of you being tied together had become quite the story as there went many outward poly fateds in Piltover, but luckily the gawking had passed after the first handful of weeks.
It was only a few days ago that Viktor confessed he’d been rather confused when he’d met Jayce and the lumens had flashed against one another.
“There were no similarities,” he’d explained, holding up one long, thin finger for your lumen to rest on as it hovered in front of him. The three of you were cozied up in your lackluster apartment—a studio more than a bedroom but it had a nice pullout couch and plenty of blankets to rest on in front of your heater. “Jayce was ecstatic, of course, but I was ruminating over your lumen when we first met.”
“I thought he hated me,” Jayce had murmured, breath warm against your ear as you laughed.
“I did not hate you,” huffed Viktor on your other side, rolling his eyes as he dropped his hand, your lumen resting within. “I wasn’t aware we had a third, yet—it was puzzling.”
“I had to explain it to him,” Jayce chuckled. “One of my old friends was in a poly.”
“And, then, he was even more ecstatic,” Viktor sighed but there was affection in it. “I thought you’d follow him home some nights.”
“And leave you all by yourself?” You laid your head on his shoulder, grinning as his eyes fled. It was still so early into the relationship, and he grew flustered with physical affection whereas Jayce sought it every chance. “I’d never.”
“It’s better now, we’re all together,” Jayce hummed, lowering to lay his head in your lap. You brushed your hand through his hair, smiling as his lumen lit up in Viktor’s lap.
“Yes,” Viktor had agreed, careful as he laid his head against yours. “It all feels…complete.”
Your chest warmed at the memory as you held both of their lumens in your hands, giving a fleeting kiss to each. Viktor’s snuggled happily into your palm while Jayce’s pulsed a happy gold before flying off, likely to check in with Viktor.
As your eyes lifted to follow its journey, you jumped when you found Jayce smiling from a few feet away by his desk. He seemed to be shuffling through some papers. Your lumen floated just nice his head, twinkling in the sunlight that shone through the windows behind you.
“Didn’t see you there,” you said, stretching your legs out before standing. Viktor’s lumen left your hand, keeping close to your neck.
“I hope you’re not bored.” He opened an arm up and you approached. You still grew giddy with any chance to be wrapped in his embrace, quick to accept the invitation.
“I like spending time here with you both,” you assured, giggling as he bent down to kiss your forehead. “Gives me plenty of practice.”
His eyes lit up, one of those dark eyebrows lifting. “Oh?”
“I know what you’re about to ask—”
“Please?” His arm wrapped tighter around your waist. “I wanna see.”
“They’re just rough sketches!” you laughed, pushing against his chest.
“C’mon, I bet they’re great! I’m sure Viktor wants to see them, too.”
You shook your head, a mess of giggles as he wrapped both arms around you and slowly edged his way towards the couch.
“Did someone call my name?” asked Viktor, turning from the machine he was working on. A torch was in his hand but luckily still off for the time being. Jayce’s lumen was sitting on his knee.
“Viktor tell her you want to see her art!” Jayce goaded.
“Tell him he needs to wait for a real piece,” you threw back, wrinkling your nose at him as he stuck his tongue out.
“You’ve been drawing us?” Viktor’s voice seeped with awe and innocent curiosity. “May we see?”
Jayce bounced his eyebrows at you, all too smug. “Told you.”
“Fine—fine!” you sighed, throwing your hands up and wiggling out of his hold as you went to grab your canvas notebook. “Don’t gripe when you see your half-finished faces.”
The tap of Viktor’s crutch intermingled with Jayce’s footsteps as they met you by the couch. As you handed over your work, Viktor was the one to accept it as Jace stood over him. Both their eyes went wide at the current page and your hand went straight to your arm as you shuffled in place.
“Those are just warmups, so…”
“Warmups?” Jayce breathed, looking up from the notebook. “These are amazing!”
“I have to agree, the detail is astounding,” Viktor hummed, looking to turn back a page. He caught your eyes before he did. “Is this all right? Tell us if we’re overstepping.”
“No, it’s okay! I’m used to people watching me draw on the street, it’s just… I don’t know.” You shrugged, bringing a hand up as Viktor’s lumen rubbed against your neck. Jayce’s was just settling on your shoulder again. “I care about what you guys think. It’s not anything big like you do, but…”
“Big?” Jayce echoed, both of their sights set on you.
“Well, it’s not as important as what you both do is what I mean.”
“Of course it’s important,” Viktor argued, expression stern.
“But it’s art!” you laughed, waving off the sudden seriousness growing from them. “It’s helping a bunch of people like your creations do. That’s much more important.”
“Art is just as, if not more, important,” he continued, passing the notebook to Jayce. “We are helping people in different ways, but do not do yourself the disservice and think what you create is anything less than what we do.”
“He’s right,” Jayce agreed, holding up your work. “This? This speaks to people. Your work can bring life to a room and lets people save a special moment in time.”
“Okay, don’t butter me up so much or I’ll melt!” you squeaked, too embarrassed to look at them as they chuckled and continued flipping through your sketches. It wasn’t long before the three of you were on the couch, both of them pointing out their favorites.
“Is my hair truly that messy?” Viktor grumbled, raising a hand to it. “Perhaps I should cut it.”
“No, I like it,” you said, grabbing his wrist. “You twirl it when you’re thinking! It’s so sweet.”
He blinked at you. “I do?”
Jayce whistled and you turned and gasped, completely forgetting the drawing you’d done of him in the forge. It was more from memory so your imagination had left it a bit more detailed than the rest.
“Okay, that’s enough!”
You swiped for the book, shutting it as Jayce laughed. Viktor rolled his eyes, smirking as he nudged your shoulder.
“Should I be worried of any scandalous pieces of me in there?”
You pouted, holding the notebook tighter to your chest.
“Oh?” Jayce breathed. “She didn’t say no!”
“You two are the worst!” you groaned, unable to help yourself from smiling as they both laughed in tandem.
vernonboxd 🎥 vernon x rockstar!reader.
movie nights are sacred to you and vernon. a little extra for my catch you when i can verse. ♡
ⓘ established/long-distance relationship, fluff, use of pet names, movie 'reviews' as headcanons. referenced this letterboxd list for some movies vernon has mentioned or recommended.
OOO VERNONBOXD.
Recent Reviews of letterboxd.com/11203km
The Grand Budapest Hotel (2014) ★★★★ Watched April 9, 2022
🐻❄️ says: visually pleasing, classic anderson. saoirse ronan if u read this im free on thursday night and would like to hang out. please respond to this and then hang out with me on thursday night when i'm free. (jk 🎸 ily)
🎸 says: apology not accepted ^ but i loved the tongue-in-cheek humor & deadpan dialogue. agatha & zero's romance >>> would watch again if i needed to see something pretty.
edited to add: if u need to see something pretty, just look in the mirror. ;) yours, 🐻❄️
Spirited Away (2001) ★★★★ 1/2 Watched June 10, 2023
🎸 says: breathtaking, show-stopping, one of ghibli's bests. a crown jewel of animation. incredibly word-building and i will die on that hill despite SOME PEOPLE'S contrasting opinions. i want it on record that i wanted to give this five stars. alas, 4 and 1/2 is a compromise.
🐻❄️ says: not arguing w a rockstar. whatever u say beautiful.
Luca (2021) ★★★★ Watched November 4, 2023
🎸 says: andiamo! has all the elements of a feel-good pixar flick. setting, dialogue, friendship. "we underdogs have to look out for each other, right?" need to go to italy. wink wink, nudge nudge.
🐻❄️ says: booking that flight rn. anyway: well-paced comedy, stunning animation, reminds me a lot of finding nemo. powerful & moving ending (surprisingly). can also open some discussion re: climate tolerance.
edited to add: wait you're kinda hot for that.. - 🎸
The Secret Life of Walter Mitty (2013) ★★★ Watched December 20, 2023
🐻❄️ says: one-time watch typa beat. peaked at the cinematography but story, script, and pacing could have been better. loses composure because of how fantastical it is. overall, just ok.
🎸 says: not much to say about this movie, but i did like the quote -- "to see the world, things dangerous to come to, to see behind walls, draw closer, to find each other, and to feel. that is the purpose of life." words to live by.
Everything Everywhere All at Once (2022) ★★★★★ Watched January 21, 2024
This review may contain spoilers. I can handle the truth.
🐻❄️ says: can't wait to do laundry and taxes with you in this life. (:
› scroll through all my work ദ്ദി ˉ͈̀꒳ˉ͈́ )✧ ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ my masterlist | @xinganhao
The Song of Blackwoods & Brackens: Chapter 15
masterlist
Chapter 15: The Battle of the Burning Mill
cw: graphic depictions of war
𐂃 𐂃 𐂃 𐂃
I didn't know how I got there. All I knew was that these moments were about to be my last.
Everything had happened so quickly. The situation spiraled out of control before I even realized it was occurring.
Smoke was everywhere, bodies were everywhere. I couldn't walk without stepping on someone. I knew I was going to die. I could barely walk, could barely see.
I could live with dying. I made my bed, I'm ready to lie in it.
He and I were doomed from the start. I loved him; It ruined my life.
———
"I wish I could keep my hands off of you." Benjicot says, kissing my forehead repeatedly.
"Touch me all you want, Benji. We've got a month of time to make up for." He smiles, continuing to plant gentle kisses on me.
He holds me close, our bodies still wet and cold from the water. "Does something trouble you?" He asks.
I sigh, "How could you tell?" I pause for a moment. "I just... I curse the Gods for making me as they did."
"What do you mean?"
"A Bracken." I say, saddened. "A Bracken woman."
I turn to face him before continuing, "I want to love you freely with no consequence. I want to stay in bed all day and eat cake with you. I want my brother to love me, despite what I'm doing to our house, to my duty."
"Fuck duty." He says.
"I wish we could just run away together. Live here, hunt, fight, fuck, build our land, maybe our own new house... A family."
"What would you name our house?" He asks.
"Brackwood." I jest, and he laughs.
"You truly do something strange to my heart, my lady." He says. "I think we should return. Midday is nearly upon us."
He pulls me up. We dress and begin our walk back. I don't know why, but I feel an impending sense of doom.
We make it back to the edge of the woods, when Benjicot pulls me in for a tight kiss.
"I love you, my lady." He whispers into my lips. "I've loved you since the day I met you."
"I love you in return, Lord Blackwood."
We part, painfully, like getting a limb cut off during a fight.
I make my way back to the castle, and my heart sinks at the sight before me.
My brother's horse, my uncles carriage, and... a Lannister carriage.
"Oh, no. Oh, Gods no." I whisper to myself. I turn to run, but I turn right into the arms of my uncle.
I gasp in shock, I try to break from his arms but he has me tight.
"Uncle-"
"Be quiet!" He yells. I immediately burst into tears. My uncle curses and drags me into Stone Hedge as I cry and fight and drag my feet.
He covers my mouth to keep the Lannister lords from hearing me sob as we pass the council chambers. He opens my door and shoves me inside to the floor.
"I've had enough of this. You will get out of your brother's clothes this instant or I will cut them off you myself, get you in that bloody dress, and let that Lannister wed and bed you here and now!"
"You wouldn't dare!" I scream at him through tears. He unsheathes his sword.
"Is this how you dare treat the Lady of House Bracken?" I yell as he yanks me by my arm, using his sword to rip through the fabric of the back of my tunic. "Your own brother's daughter?"
He turns me around, forcing me to look upon the most angriest stare I'd ever seen from his eyes. He raises his hand, and lands a cold, harsh slap across my cheeks. I fall to the floor, holding my cut cheek from his ring in pain. "You are to never speak to me of my brother again, or I will have your head. Fuck the Lannister alliance, I will behead you myself."
He waits, but when I say nothing he exits my chambers; My cheek bloody, my clothes ripped, everything perfect beginning to fall apart.
My sadness began to grow into anger. I was so stupid. I did this to myself. It was mine own fault for falling in love with him. I should've just left when I had the chance,
married the Lannister. I hated this place, I hated my brother for never caring, my uncle for the same, the servants, the handmaidens, the other lords. All they did was watch and let it happen.
I stood up and stormed outside, but the guard my uncle placed outside my door grabbed my wrist.
"Let me go. This will be your only warning."
He laughed. "Your uncle said you weren't to leave this room... He said I could use any force I wanted to keep you here."
I unsheathed my sword. He was quick, but I was quicker. With one shove I slammed my sword into his stomach. He fell to his knees, the blood eliciting gurgling, choking sounds as he began to drown in his own blood.
He fell on his face, dead.
I had killed my first man.
While I didn't know it yet, I would kill hundreds more in less than an hour.
I went outside, straight to the boundary stones. My tunic was almost ripped entirely, revealing my whole backside, but I didn't care. I was fuming with so much anger, fear, adrenaline. Nothing would stop me. I was going slightly mad.
I began moving the stones, one by one, by myself. Nothing was about to get in my way.
"Aeron!" I turn and look, to see some Bracken men walking towards me. "You moving the bloody stones again?" They ask laughing.
"Yes." Is all I respond. They begin to help, and I don't make any attempt to stop them. Within 10 minutes, there's a small enough clearing for the cattle to walk through. I chase them with my sword, herding them to the Blackwood land.
Twenty minutes pass of me sitting with the men along the stones, talking.
"Can you even get that thing up?" One of them asks about my sword.
"Well enough for killing Blackwoods." I say, and they laugh.
And then the sweetest voice, like a siren song to my ears, yells in anger.
"BRACKEN!"
I turn and look, unphased. I knew it would be him to come. No one else got more upset over the stones being moved than he did.
His eyes soften. He looks me up, confused at my disheveled appearance. He continues anyway, angry even more so now that he knows I messed with the stones.
"Put the boundary stones back." He says, stern, but not harsh. His way of warning me.
"We didn't move them!" I say, marching towards him.
"Oh, did they move themselves then? Just rolled their way over so Bracken cows can fill their bellies on Blackwood grass?"
"The assize of Riverrun-"
"Fuck the assize," He says, exasperated. "and fuck you. This is our land."
I look at the men behind him, weighing my options, then I look back to him.
"It's Bracken land." His eyes fume with anger, yet he's utterly confused if this is a jest. Was I alright? Everything had been such a dream this morning. He wondered what the bloody hell happened between then and now.
I ignore the snarl on his face and turn to walk away. "Babe killer." I mutter, loud enough for him to hear.
"What did you say?!" He knows it's no longer a jest now. I'm, for some reason, being serious. What he can't figure out is why. He's concerned, yet angry with my blatant disrespect. I stop, nodding my head. Will I do it? Do I dare begin this game?
I turn.
"Your false Queen Rhaenyra is a kinslayer."
He hides the shock in his eyes. Benjicot was fading, and Bloody Ben was returning. He's done with this bullshit game. If I'm willing to roll the dice, he's willing to take the gamble.
"Your uncle declared for Aegon... Did he?" He steps towards me. I say nothing. "Well, then. Let me tell you Aegon Targaryen is no true king."
He steps closer, mere inches away from my face. "Just as you... are no true knight."
I'm fuming, as is he. "You're both craven..." A shove to my chest, "Little..." another. "Cunts!" A final harsh shove, pushing me back into one of the Bracken men.
I unsheathe my sword, aiming it towards him.
He laughs, a frightening laugh, filled with anger and resentment. His lips curl into a smile and he glides his tongue over this teeth. "You wouldn't dare."
Is it a threat, or a plead not to do it?
"Y/N..." He whispers a quiet plea so only I can hear. The clarity began to hit me, the way he said my name like that. I had lost myself for a moment.
I lowered my sword, but it was too late.
One of the men behind me swung at one of the Bracken men, and from there it turned into a ballroom blitz.
The men around us began fighting, swinging their swords. The sound of the metal clashing was deafening.
Someone went to swing their sword at Benji, and I reflected it with my own. The man pushed me aside, shoving me into the boundary stone. I hit my head hard, immediately going dizzy. I touched the warm liquid seeping down my face, and turned to see Benji had struck down the man who pushed me.
He came to me, pulling me on my feet. "We have to go now."
More and more fights began breaking out. For every Blackwood that showed up, another Bracken did as well. The field was becoming surrounded with men, horses were whining, trying to avoid the cross fire. My uncle and brother run up, swords unsheathed, Lannister men hot on their heels.
"Go, now!" Benji yells at me, his voice is fuzzy due to the ringing in my ears.
"I won't leave your side." I yell.
"Y/N, no one is surviving this, go!" He shoves me behind him as my uncle approaches.
"Y/N?" Aeron asks, "What the hell are you doing?"
The fighting around us doesn't cease, in fact it grows, spreading like wildfyre.
"Aeron-"
"Your sister has been ruling in your stead, pretending to be you, Aeron." My uncle yells over the fighting. Aeron grows angry. He unsheathes his sword, going to step around Benji.
"Don't touch her." Benji warns, shoving Aeron back. Aeron stares, shocked.
"What in the Gods names have you done, Y/N?" My uncle asks, immediately understanding everything that has happened while he's been gone.
"Aeron." My uncle starts, "Bring me her head."
"Aeron, my blood, please." I beg.
He sighs, sadly. His voice cracks at his words, "I hope you'll forgive me, sister."
I shove past Benji, sword in my hand, raising it to fight my brother.
"Y/N!" Benji yells, preparing to swing at Aaron.
"Benji, stay back!" I command him. He's terrified to follow that order, but he does.
"Brother, listen to me-"
"How could you betray our family?" He sobs, our swords clashing together.
"We never were a family!" I yell in anger. "You don't know what he's done to me! You never cared! But, I still love you, brother! Please stop this." I cry.
Aeron brings his sword down, slicing it right down my eye.
I fall to the ground, screaming in agony. Blood poured down my face. I was blind. My brother, my twin, had cut out my eye.
Time slowed, yet the next events transpired so fast.
I looked up with my good eye, my brother standing over me, Benjicot with his sword slowly raising, ready to shove it into Arron's back.
My brother cocks his sword back, ready to take my head clean off. I take my hand off my eye, picking up my sword with both hands. It nearly slips from all the blood.
I shove it into my brother's stomach.
The world goes silent. Everyone watches. I just killed the heir to Stone Hedge.
I sob, and pull out my sword. His hands move to his stomach, and he falls to his knees in front of me.
"My blood." I sob, cradling his head in my hands. "I'm so sorry."
"Sister..." His bloody hand reaches up to cradle my bloody cheek. "I am sorry... Sorry I wasn't... a better brother."
He coughs, spitting up blood. I pull him into my lap, sobbing. "We... were born into this world, my sister, but we were never meant to die together."
He closes his eyes, and they never reopen. I sob, cradling his body to my chest. I kiss his head. My childhood best friend, the one I played with, who raised me until my Uncle took him under his possessive control.
"You dare mourn him, when this is your bloody fault. You killed the heir, you whore. You're no true Bracken."
I look up at my uncle, my chest rising and falling with intense anger. Tears fall from my eye.
Benji stares at me, fearful of the woman he loved turning into a mad man before him.
I stand, my brother's body lying at my feet. The fighting continues.
"Kill them all!" I cry out, "Kill every fucking Bracken and Lannister until their line is dead!"
"Get back, Y/N!" Benjicot yells, shoving my arm down to keep me from raising my sword.
"Stand back, My Lord!" A Lannister yells, standing in front of my uncle with his sword drawn.
Bodies start dropping like flies, and in the chaos I lose sight of my uncle. Benji fights behind me the whole time, both of us protecting each other's backs.
I suffer a severe blow to my leg, the gash is deep, making it near impossible to walk on.
"My Lady, you must go immediately." Benjicot says, holding me up to keep me from falling.
"Find my fucking uncle." I mumble.
"It's over! You must go! I will finish this for you, that I swear, My Lady."
I shove him off me, balancing on my good leg. "Don't lose sight of who you are, Y/N. Go now, before it's too late."
"My brother is gone. I will kill my uncle, even if it kills me."
"Then I'm sorry for what I'm about to do." Benji says, holding his sword towards me.
"Why are you protecting him?!" I yell.
"I'm protecting you! Don't be a fool! I will not lose you!"
"Do what you must." I say, raising my sword back. He sighs. I give him one last look, blood covers him from head to toe.
"Don't. Don't make me do this." He begs.
"I always knew you were a cunt, Blackwood." I say. He cries, red tears falling down his cheeks.
"Please. I'm begging."
I swing my sword at him, but he blocks it. The unfortunate part for him is he trained me. I know his moves. I know how to best him.
We fight. I fume with rage, he cries in sadness, both of us mourning who we were just a day ago.
I swing, but he knocks my sword out of my hand and sneaks upon me from the right, where my eye no longer could see him. He grabs my wrist, and I gasp.
"I'm sorry, Y/N."
Everything goes dark.
Stability
A/N: My dudes, I’m so sorry that I have been kinda MIA. I finally got the Steven Tyler fic out that I had been working on for ages. Well, I’ve been working on this one for a lot longer and it’s finally finished. I hope to get all my current requests done soon. Let’s hope in a timely manner. I just need to get my butt in gear and sit down and write this shit. I also hope to have the second part to songs for any occasion done soon. But, time flies when you’re doing just about anything, so we’ll see. Requests are open and I hope you enjoy. Love you guys!!!
*~~*~~*
Masterlist
Slash x Reader
Summary: Y/n’s parents are like every uptight Christian parents of the 80s. So, thinking Footloose would be the right direction. They want nothing to do with rock music and want to keep their daughter far from it. That is until she starts dating a man in a rock band. Now, Y/n’s afraid that they may never see him the same way she does.
Word Count: 1.5k
Warnings: None??? (Slash is referred to by his actual name because Y/n’s parents definitely wouldn’t approve if they had to call him Slash).
Y/n sighed, bored with the conversation that had been going on for what felt like hours even though it had been mere minutes. It wasn’t like it was the first time she’d had to have the conversation - it seemed that every time she’d mention or alluded to rock this conversation would start.
“I’m not saying you can’t date him, Y/n,” her father told her while he flipped through a stack of bills. “All I’m saying is that he isn’t good enough for you. Will he be able to support you once his music career fails? Will he even want to marry you or just discard you once he gets bored?”
Y/n rolled her eyes, leaning against the kitchen counter, wishing nuclear fall out were an option.
Her mother nodded from her place in front of the stove. “Your father has a point, dear. Stability is key to a happy life and he may not be able to offer you that,” she told her daughter while she stirred the pot in front of her. “So, why waste your time with him if you may never get married?”
Like always, she just shrugged. There was no use in arguing as her parents weren’t going to listen to reason. They were those good Christians that the 80s were known for. And like good Christians of the time, rock music was what the devil listened to and Ronald Reagan was the ideal president. Why not? Y/n didn’t care much for politics, so she never cared to understand what was so great about the president. Rock, on the other hand, was something she cared about but her parents never wanted to hear about.
They had been sucked in on the propaganda about the musical genre that had spread around the neighborhood. Anything of the genre was outlawed in her house, which was alright with her. She was limited when around them and anyone else her parents associated with, but she still had freedom outside of the house. As much as her parents wanted to create a safe enviorment like the pastor in Footloose, it wasn’t going to happen. Whether they liked it or not, she listened to the Devil’s music more than she listened to God’s words.
But what really hurt wasn’t that she couldn’t enjoy herself at home and do as she pleased, it was that anything remotely related to that dreadful music wasn’t good enough for her parents. Y/n didn’t care if they liked the same music she did or called her favorite artists and bands Satanist, what she cared about was that they wouldn’t even given the man she loved a chance.
Y/n groaned, sucking in a deep breath. “Who said I want to get married? And that’s not even close to what I was talking about.”
“Than what were you talking about, dear?” her father asked, hiding behind a newspaper.
“I just wanted to know if Saul could come over for dinner or something like that. You know, so I don’t have to hear any more about how he’s not good enough for me from the two of you when you haven’t even met him.”
“I’ll think about.”
She rolled her eyes, pushing herself off the counter. “You do that, dad, you do that.”
*~~*~~*
Saul rocked on his heels nervously, waiting for the door to open. He had been excited to meet Y/n’s parents, after all, his parents were head over heels in love with her. They wanted to be around her more than him, which stung a little. But, damn, it was better than them hating her. After a few seconds, the door opened, exposing an older woman that Saul assumed to be Y/n’s mother.
Opening the door all the way, the woman smiled, “You must be Saul.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Do come it.” She moved out of the way to let him in. “Y/n will be out in a minute. Why don’t we take a seat in the living room.”
It was odd how formal the woman was, but at least she was kind. Her smile didn’t meet her eyes, but how many smiles really did? Y/n didn’t talk about her parents often, but when she did nothing good was said. From what he’d gathered, they were people pleasers and one with the crowd. But, some people were like that, society bred people that way and it took too much strength for some to break away from the crowd.
Stepping into the living, the guitarist glanced over the photos and paintings that dawned the wall. Pictures of Y/n as a small child among her family on vacations, Christmas, and school events. Even if she complained, at least her parents were present. Saul let out a small sigh as he made his way over to the couch, pillows and a blanket strategically placed. He could hear what he thought sounded like a knife hitting a cutting board and feet hitting stairs. Not even a few seconds pasted before Y/n walked into the living room, a huge smile upon her face.
“I’m so glad you’re here,” she said with a smile, embracing him before looking over his apparel. “And I’m so glad you finally figured out how to dress nicely.”
He scoffed, rolling his eyes. “My mother happened to teach me how to do that, I’ll have you know.”
Y/n glanced behind her to see her mom walk off to the kitchen. Turning to her boyfriend, she let her shoulders relax. Around Saul, she didn’t have to be the good girl her parents wanted her to be. Around him, it seemed that anything and everything was possible. There were no cookie cutters or boxes that she couldn’t think outside of. The world was her’s to conquer with him by her side and she hoped, she prayed to god, that her parents would see that he was more than just some drugged-up rock star.
“She didn’t give you a hard time, did she?”
Saul shook his head, giving her a small smile. “She was actually really polite. You made her out to sound like she tears heads off of children.”
Y/n laughed, shaking her head. Her mother, tear of heads, not a chance. “She would never do such a thing, not with god watching. And I don’t know why I expected less from her. She’s a saint, I’ll have you know.”
“Then I’m sure my mother will love her. They can discuss saintly things over tea,” he joked, running a hand through his hair, which he through into a neat ponytail.
“My mom doesn’t like tea.”
“Coffee then.”
Before any more could be discussed on what the potential meeting of their mothers, Y/n’s mom poked her head into the room, her presence silencing their conversation.
“Dinner’s ready if you two will head to the table.”
*~~*~~*
With food piled on their plates, everyone was silent. Y/n munched on her green beans, trying to pretend she couldn’t feel the tension that filled the air. Saul seemed unfazed, but Y/n knew better than to believe that. He played cool whether he was internally or not. That was how he went through life. He’s acting skills were amazing whether he knew he possed them or not.
“Y/n tells me your a musician,” her father stated, picking through his salad.
“Yeah, I am,” he confirmed.
Her father shook his head, disappointment written all over it. She knew he was hoping for a different answer. “I hear there isn’t much money in that. Have you considered any other career options?”
Y/n let out a sigh, wishing the world would just swallow her whole. It was no surprise to her that this conversation would come up, but she wished it didn’t matter. The average blue-collar job isn’t for everyone, her father should have known that. Her grandfather was a member of the circus for years. Of course, no one talked about it because it wasn’t an acceptable job in their minds, it still paid the bills.
Placing his silverware on the table, Saul thought for a moment before looking the man in the eye. “Well, I have thought of other career options but I have no passion for them. I know, without a doubt, that music will never be boring to me. Plumbing or accounting or anything else, sure I may make more money doing that, but how long until I get bored? And to be honest, sir, money means nothing to me. It may buy you fancy things, but it really can’t buy happiness, that’s found in the heart.”
Y/n’s father was speechless, but not angry like Y/n and her mother thought he would be. His eyes seemed to light up right before his lips tugged into a smile. “That is a better answer than I gave your father,” he turned to his wife, shaking his head. If only he was smart enough to think of an answer like that.
Y/n couldn’t help but smile with him as she realized that Saul was at least acceptable in her father’s eyes. Her mother, well… she would eventually see the same thing Y/n did. But at least there was no fear of them not approving of him.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
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hey, are you still there? 𖦹 LN4
PAIRINGS: lando norris x female!reader
SUMMARY: you know yourself that it’s sad that you settled on being a backburner, but you didn’t mind crisping up on lando’s backburner as long as he still think of you.
REMINDERS: this is purely fiction, the way how the character is portrayed in my story does not reflect the person that is portraying my character in real life. always separate fiction from reality, and do not repost or copy my work in any way.
WARNINGS: no use of y/n, unrequited love(?), open ending, insecurities, reader being treated as a backburner, childhood best friends, christmas angst, luisa, typos, and few grammatical errors.
WORD COUNT: 4.6k
AUTHOR’S NOTE: i had always wanted to write this for so long, but i’m not sure how to pen it, but finally, here it is! so far, i’m satisfied. i don’t know much about luisa, but i’m sorry that luisa is kind of villainized in this 🥲 i’m sorry. this is like another christmas one shot, sooo haha i intentionally made it as an open ending bc i want to leave the ending to you, and let me apologize now bc this one shot won’t have a part 2. it just felt right for me to leave it as an open ending and leave the ending up to you. so i hope you’ll enjoy this one!
The glow of the snowy afternoon sun filtered through your apartment windows, casting long, golden shadows across the floor as you sat cross-legged amidst a pile of forgotten keepsakes.
Your plan was simple, really. To declutter, toss out what no longer sparked happiness, and finally reclaim some much-needed space in your small New York apartment. But simplicity soon faded the moment you stumbled upon a memory box that was buried beneath old blankets in the closet. You hadn’t thought about it in years, the worn out wooden edges now slightly faded, but just holding the box again made you feel something deep in your chest.
Sliding the lid of the box open, the faint scent of nostalgia greeted you. There was a mixture of paper and dust that carried you back to another time, another place. Polaroid photographs, ticket stubs, concert tickets, and tiny trinkets spilled out as you began to sift through the box’s contents, fingers brushing against fragments of a life you had once shared with someone who knew you better than anyone. Then you saw it—the camcorder.
It sat nestled at the bottom of the box, its black casing slightly scuffed but still intact, as though it had been waiting for you all these years. The sight of it made your breath catch, fingers hesitant as they wrapped around the familiar shape. A small laugh escaped you, soft and bittersweet, as a wave of memories washed over you.
The camcorder had been a gift from your parents, given to you when you were just a teen. At the time, you had rolled your eyes at the thought of having a camcorder. You were not exactly the type to obsess over gadgets or record everything, but your parents had insisted, saying something along the lines of making memories worth keeping.
You hadn’t even opened the box properly before you had told him about it. Lando had always had a thing for photography, an almost childlike fascination with capturing the world around him. Naturally, he had lit up at the mention of the camcorder. You remembered the way his face had brightened, how he had practically snatched it from your hands when he saw it, excitement radiating from him like it was Christmas morning.
“Trust me,” he said, voice brimming with certainty as he flipped the device open with ease. “This is going to be so much fun, you’ll see.”
And it was.
The camcorder had quickly become his, in everything but name. Lando had used it more than you ever had, his artistic streak shining through in the way he would capture the smallest, most mundane moments and make them feel extraordinary. But what stood out the most was his favorite subject. You.
Every time you hung out, or visited a new place, his focus would inevitably turn to you. At first, you had protested, laughing and batting the camcorder away, but over time, it became a rhythm of sorts. Lando, behind the lens, coaxing your laughter and teasing your smile, and you, rolling your eyes but secretly loving the way he saw you. Through the lens, even the quietest days seemed to feel alive.
You traced a finger along the camcorder’s edges, the faint outline of his fingerprints etched invisibly into its surface. Four years. It had been four years since you had left the UK—four years since you had left him. You told yourself that what you did was for the best, that you needed to grow, chase bigger dreams.
Part of it all was true, but the other part, the one which you didn’t say out loud, was the reason why your chest tightened even now. Was because Lando made you feel too much, and you were not sure you could bear it any longer.
You grabbed your laptop, briefly hesitated over the laptop’s keyboard before finally connecting the camcorder. The familiar chime of recognition echoed through the room as your laptop detected the device, and you couldn’t help but feel a pang of nervous anticipation.
It had been years since you last thought about these videos, let alone watched them. As the files began to load, thumbnails filled the screen—tiny, burry windows into the past. You clicked on the first one, and the second is the screen lit up with a younger version of yourself, smiling awkwardly into the lens. Lando’s voice filled the room almost immediately.
“Come on, you can smile better than that!” he teased from behind the camera, chuckling.
Without even realizing it, a small smile tugged at your lips as you watched. The video playing one after another, each one showed a snapshot of your lives back then. There were clips of you on spontaneous trips—forests, city streets, karting, and endless car rides with Lando singing loudly and off-key while you laughed at him.
There were also quieter moments—rainy afternoon when you were sat by your bedroom window, lost in thought, while he filmed you from across the room, calling it aesthetic. Lando captured everything, from the highs to the lows.
The memories felt vivid, almost too vivid, as if you could reach through the screen and relieve those moments. It was the year he had started his Formula 1 career, and the first time you saw him truly chasing his dreams with everything he had, and were beyond proud of him. At the same time, it was also the year you were filling out endless applications to universities in America, unsure of where you wanted to go or what you wanted to do in life. It was like you were both standing on the edge of something new, something big, and it was both thrilling and terrifying.
It was also the year you finally admitted to yourself that what you felt for Lando was no longer just friendship. You had been so close for so long that the shift felt almost imperceptible at first—lingering glance here, flutter in your chest there. But you acknowledged it, there was no going back.
You found yourself looking at him differently, noticing the little things about him that had always been there but suddenly felt so significant. The way how his eyes crinkled when he laughed, his curly hair, aquamarine eyes, the quiet focus he had when working on something he cared about, and most of all, the way he always seemed to know exactly what to say to make you feel better.
But you kept it to yourself. You couldn’t tell Lando, not when he had told you so casually, like it was nothing that he liked someone.
“I don’t even know if she feels the same,” he had said, voice laced with uncertainty.
For a brief moment, a hope sparked in you. Maybe after all this time, Lando felt the same way about you. Maybe this was the moment that you had finally been waiting for.
But that hope shattered almost immediately when he pulled out his phone and showed you a photo. The girl’s name was Luisa, and she was stunning. She was everything that you were not—model, successful, gorgeous, has a radiant smile and a presence that seemed magnetic. Luisa was exactly Lando’s type, and you knew it.
The realization hit you harder than you had expected. You felt dumb and foolish, for even thinking one second that Lando could ever see you that way. You were not like Luisa, you were not the kind of girl who turned heads or made people stop in their tracks. You were just…you. Lando’s best friend. The person he could have a joke with, confide in, and lean on, but will never see you anything as more.
So you stayed quiet. Buried your feelings deep, gaslighting yourself that everything was better the way it is. The less you talk, the less you risked losing him. Maybe if you kept on pretending that everything was fine, you could learn to let him go.
A new clip began to play. You were seated on the edge of a bench, face scrunched in frustration as you ran a hand through your hair. The sound of Lando’s laughter crackled through the speakers, light and teasing, as he zoomed in on your expression from behind the camera.
“You’re such a drama queen,” he said, voice laced with amusement.
It was clear that from that clip that he was trying to cheer you up. It had been one of those moments when everything felt overwhelming. Your plans, future, and feelings. Yet, even in your frustration, Lando had managed to make you laugh. He always did. Watching it now, you couldn’t help but chuckle softly at how young and naïve you looked.
But the video carried more weight than just a frustration afternoon. That day, you had a front-row seat to another chapter in Lando’s pursuit of Luisa. It was the day he told you that he finally confessed his feeling to her, and you could still remember how his voice sounded. It was a mix of hope and vulnerability as he recounted every detail, but his excitement had quickly dimmed when Lando explained how his confession had met an uncertainty from Luisa, not really sure how she felt about Lando.
You remembered how that hurt him, even if he tried to hide it behind his usual bravado. It was one of the few times you had seen Lando genuinely shaken, his confidence chipped away by a single sentence. Still, it did not stop him, if anything, it only made him more determined to win her over.
This is exactly what Lando is—relentless, persistent, unwilling to let go of something he wanted.
Then there was you, caught in the orbit of it all. A pattern had started to form, one you did not want to acknowledge but couldn’t ignore. Whenever Luisa turned her back on him, when his texts went unanswered, or her attention drifted elsewhere, Lando would always find his way to you. His calls would come late at night, voice low and tinged with sadness as he stumbled through excuses to keep you on the line, and you, despite knowing better, would always answer.
Those were the moments you chastised yourself for loving. When Lando was hurt, when he felt small and alone, he always came to you. You were the person he confided in, one he leaned on. It almost felt like you mattered to him in the way you wanted to. Even if you knew, deep down, that it was not that. That it was temporary, a band-aid for his bruised ego—you couldn’t help but savor the attention.
But then, inevitably, Luisa would give him the smallest bit of her time, and you would become invisible to him again. The calls would stop, texts would taper off, and Lando would be lost in the glow of her half-hearted affection. You would feel the ache of being left behind, sting of knowing you were nothing more than a safety net, a placeholder, a convenient fallback plan.
It was a never ending cycle you despised, one that made you look at yourself with pity as you played into it. But whether it was out of hope or some cruel sense of inevitability, you stayed. You let it happen. Time and time again, picking up the pieces when Lando fell apart, only to watch him hand them back to her the moment she glanced his way.
It was always like this. It had always been like this, and somehow, despite everything, you definitely hadn’t learned your lesson.
The video continued to play, the faint static of old footage mixing with Lando’s voice can be heard, his laughter like a distant echo from another life. As you watched yourself on the screen—smiling, frowning, existing in a world where everything felt so much simpler—memories came rushing back, faster and heavier than you had expected. They were not just simple memories of moments, they were reminders of how deeply you felt, how much your life revolved around Lando without you even realizing it.
Your feelings for him had always been the silent undercurrent of your friendship, unspoken but ever-present. You had spent so much time trying to convince yourself that it was just a phase, that you would grow out of it, but you never did.
Instead, those feelings rooted themselves deeper, becoming a part of you. You wondered if the reason you hadn’t moved on was not because you could not, but because you hadn’t really tried at all. Maybe you were afraid, maybe life felt easier when you let it stay messy, undefined—when you clung to the hope that Lando might see you differently someday.
But the reality of it all was far less romantic. You had become his backburner, a place he turned to only when he had nowhere else to go, and the most pathetic part? You didn’t even mind. You let yourself burn quietly on his backburner, knowing full well you would never be the main thing in his life.
No matter how many times you say to yourself that it was okay, that you could handle it, deep down it ate you. There wasn’t anyone else you wanted, there hadn’t been for years. It was always him, it will always be Lando—his laugh, his voice, his stupid smile that made you forget the pain he caused by just being himself. You hated it, and yet you couldn’t even let it go.
Your memory reeled in to that one particular night, a night etched into your memory like a scar. Lando had called you on facetime, his face illuminated by the glow of his phone. His eyes were red, voice trembling with raw emotions as he told you what happened with Luisa.
She had hurt him again, made him feel small in a way that he couldn’t quite put into words. Lando looked so broken, so unlike himself, that it made your heart twist in ways that you did not want to admit.
And yet, you couldn’t help but tease him. You told him how he looked ugly when he cried, masking your own hurt with humor. But inside, there was a flicker of something else—something cruel and selfish. You felt happy that he thought of you in that moment, that you were the person he called when everything else in his life fell apart. It was sick and twisted, and you couldn’t have hated yourself more for it, but it was the truth.
At the same time, you felt conflicted, torn between two versions of yourself. Part of you wanted to scream at him, to tell him how much he had hurt you by treating you like an afterthought. But the other part of you, the part that still believed in him, in the friendship you had shared since you were kids—wanted to comfort him, to be there for him even if it meant breaking yourself in the process.
You always knew how it would go. In a week or so, Lando would be back on his feet, back in Luisa’s orbit, and you would fade into the background again. He would stop calling, texting, and you would be left alone again, waiting for the next time he needed you. You wished you could stop caring, that you could let him go and just move on, but you couldn’t. You cared too much, loved him too deeply, and it was destroying you.
You stayed. You stayed because even though it hurt, even though it made you feel small and invisible, there was still a part of you that believed in him. In the boy who had once held your camcorder, laughing as he filmed you spinning in circles in the park. In the friend who had always been there, even when it felt like the rest of the world wasn’t. You believed in him, even if it meant you couldn’t believe in yourself.
You checked the timestamp on the video and realized it was nearing the end. The final clips began to play, taking you back to a day you remembered so clearly—the beach trip. The screen filled with bright sunlight and sand, camera jerking slightly as Lando filmed you running along the shoreline, wearing one of his bucket hats and sunglasses, your laughter ringing out over the crashing waves.
You watched yourself as if through someone else’s eyes—carefree, alive, darting back and forth like a puppy with boundless energy. Lando’s voice came from behind the camera, teasing you for your antics, and you couldn’t help but chuckle softly at the memory.
It was one of those days you had hoped would change everything. Lando wasn’t thinking about Luisa then. He was with you, laughing, joking, making you feel like maybe you mattered more to him than you let yourself believe. You had clung to that slight flicker of hope every time he drifted back into your orbit, telling yourself that the moments he spent with you would eventually outweigh the hold Luisa had over him. But you know then, deep down, you knew better. You had always known better.
The last clip began to play. The two of you were in one of his cars, the camera shakily capturing the scene as he handed it to you. Lando had insisted you try driving it, grinning with the kind of reckless confidence that was so quintessentially him. You know that he hated someone driving him, especially that it was his car, but he didn’t even hesitated when it came to you.
The video was cut to him standing outside, filming you through the windshield as you tried to maneuver his car into a parking spot, and it was a disaster. He zoomed in on your face, flushed and irritated, as you waved frantically at him to get back inside of his car and help you. Your lips moved as you shouted something at him, your expression twisted in mock anger, but it only made him laugh.
That sound, the sound of his laughter—echoed through the room as you watched yourself scowling at him, completely oblivious to how the moment would look years later.
When the video finally faded to black, you sat there in silence, staring at the black screen of your laptop. A heavy sigh escaped your lips as a sad smile tugged at the corners of your mouth. The memories left a bittersweet feeling in their wake, filling your chest with an ache that never really went away.
You always knew the truth. You would always be in Lando’s corner, even when it felt like he had forgotten you existed. You would stay, waiting in the shadows, knowing full well you were his second choice, or maybe not even a choice at all. Yet, you couldn’t really bring yourself to care, you had settled on being Lando’s backburner long ago, content to exist where he had placed you, because even the smallest scraps of his attention felt like more than you deserved. You knew it would never be enough, but it was all you had.
When you left the UK, you had never properly said goodbye to Lando. You couldn’t face him—not after everything. It had been the hardest thing you had ever done, leaving the place where you grew up and leaving the person that mattered to you the most.
The day you were about to board the plane to America was supposed to be the start of something new for you. But it also turned out to be the same day Lando and Luisa had finally gotten together. It didn’t make sense at first, you had been too wrapped up in your own plans to notice anything strange.
You were so focused on your own future, dreams, and adventure that lay ahead. But the moment you realized what had really happened, the gut-wrenching truth hit you all at once. Despite everything, despite all the years of friendship, despite the deep feelings you had kept buried, Lando had never said a word to you.
The first sign came two weeks before your departure, when you noticed he had not contacted you. Not once. You couldn’t even remember the last time you had spoken, and then, one evening, it hit you. While youwere scrolling through instagram, lost in the sea of photos and videos, you saw it.
Lando and Luisa standing together in a sunlit paradise. They were everywhere—clinging to each other, smiling like they had always been this happy. Their arms wrapped around each other, looking like the couple everyone thought they were meant to be, living out the kind of romance you had always imagined for yourself—only, it was not with you.
It stung more that you could have imagined. It felt like a cruel grip and punch to the stomach—seeing them together, seeing him in a way you never thought you would. There they were, living life, having fun in Dubai, while you had been silently fading into the background, unable to say anything, unable to be anything more than just a shadow.
It suddenly made the decision easier for you. Maybe it was petty, or childish. But at that moment, it felt like it was the only way to protect yourself. You didn’t need to say goodbye, or talk to him again. You didn’t think that talking or saying goodbye to him would even change anything. You didn’t want to face the truth anymore—didn’t want to admit how much it hurts to be forgotten, be pushed aside while he moved on.
So, you did what you had to do. You packed up everything, every piece of your life that had been tangled with Lando’s, and left. You left without a word, without any explanation. The silence between you felt so final, so complete, as if you were never even meant to matter.
When you landed in America, you didn’t waste any second. You changed your number, blocked him on social media, deleted every trace of him from your phone, from your mind, from your life. It was easier that way, right? No more reminders of what you could never have. No more wondering if he still thought about you. It was better to start fresh, even if starting over meant leaving everything you knew behind. You never looked back, at least that’s what you told yourself.
You gently closed your laptop, the soft click of the screen snapping shut, and disconnected the camcorder. You wanted to throw it away, erase it from your life entirely, but something stopped you. Maybe it was the hope that one day, you could look at it without all the pain attached to it, or maybe it was the attachment to something that had once meant so much.
With a deep sigh, you placed it back in the memory box, careful not to let it settle to heavily among the other momentos you had packed away. You knew you wouldn’t be able to part with it—not yet at least. Instead, you pushed the box deeper into your storage room, where it would sit quietly for now, out of sight but never far from your mind.
You stood there for a moment, staring at the box as if it might somehow speak to you, but all it did was remain silent, like everything else in your life that you had tried to put behind you. The soft sound of snow falling outside caught your attention, and you moved toward the window, your gaze drawn to the soft flurry of while blanketing the streets below.
Christmas was approaching in just a week, and for a brief moment, you wished you could go home, back to your family, to the familiar comfort of the holiday season. But the thought quickly passed. Home felt too far now, and you had your own life to navigate, a life in New York that, for all its challenges, had become a place you had grown to love.
You turned away from the window and began to change, pulling on warm clothes fit for the snow outside. It wasn’t much, just a quick errand to stock up on groceries before it got too dark. You didn’t mind the task, it gave you a reason to get out, to take in the city and its wintry charm. The air was fresh and crisp as you made your way out of your apartment, locking the door behind you with a soft click.
The world around you was calm as you stepped out into the quiet of the snowy streets, snowflakes falling gently around you, almost like a veil between you and the hustle of city life. New York felt different in the winter, quieter somehow, even as the holiday decorations began to shine brighter. Streetlights casting long shadows across the snow, and you admired the festive cheer that the city wore like a second skin. You had seen the Christmas tree lighting at the New Haven Green just last week, a tradition that always brought a sense of warmth despite the chill in the air.
Walking through the snow, you felt a small sense of contentment, something you had been searching for but hadn’t fully realized was within reach. The lights, crisp air—all of it made you feel like you had carved out a space of your own here. You hoped that it would stay that way, that the peace you had found wouldn’t be disturbed, even as the holiday season and all its chaos loomed on the horizon.
The grocery store was just a few blocks away, but your thoughts drifted to other things—nothing too heavy, just the soft hum of city life. It had been a peaceful walk, but then, you froze.
Your eyes caught a glimpse of something, or rather someone, someone so familiar in the distance. Curly hair that you could picture in your sleep. At first, you thought it was a trick of the light, a resemblance that your mind conjured up after hours of rewatching old videos. You quickly dismissed the thought, trying to shake it off. It couldn’t be. He wouldn’t be here.
But then, as if the universe had conspired to pull the past back into your life. The person looked up, and everything in your world stopped. It was him.
Your heart pounded in your chest, and you felt your breath hitch in your throat. The air around you seemed to thicken, sounds of the city dimming in the background as you took in the sight of him. Lando. In New York. Of all places he can be in right now, why was he here?
It had taken a long time to convince yourself, year after year, that you were fine, that you had moved on, that everything was better this way. Yet here he was, standing only a few meters away from you, the same familiar figure that had been a part of your life for so long.
You both stood there, frozen in place, just staring at each other as people around passed you by. Neither of you moved, as if the moment held too much weight to let anything else happen. It was like time had bent around you, your mind racing, questions swirling, but none of them found their way to your lips. You couldn’t speak, you weren’t even sure you could breathe.
Lando stood there too, his eyes meeting yours with an intensity that everything else feel irrelevant. You knew he hadn’t expected to see you. Not here, not like this. Yet, there he was—right in front of you, a ghost from your past made flesh, making the familiar ache in your chest resurface.
You had thought you were done with him, that you had moved on, but standing here, with him so close and yet so far, you realized that maybe you had not moved on as much as you thought.
The world around you seemed to hold its breath.
⋆ ˚｡⋆౨ৎ˚ Your Baby Daddy Ain’t a DJ - [Series Intro]
♥ next | series masterlist | main masterlist
♥ pairing: lando norris x fem!reader
♥ synopsis: you didn't think twice about the dj you hooked up with until you found out you were pregnant. turns out the man wasn't just some dj but a famous formula 1 driver.
♥ smau + some written - none of the pictures are mine
♥ warnings: swearing !!!
♥ a/n: tbh this specific type of trope is not my preferred cup of tea to write but that one childish gambino lyric I based the title off of was just so lando coded and I couldn't resist lol
![⋆ ˚｡⋆౨ৎ˚ Your Baby Daddy Ain’t A DJ - [Series Intro]](https://64.media.tumblr.com/58f89b69df7e295405205e1a7a78cf30/76ce27810afe6d2d-66/s500x750/d1f54c7803ce2e53358885c9d802158505f066ff.jpg)
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yourusername at least the girls will always have my back
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"The dad is a dj!?" your mom was completely shocked.
"What the fuck do dj's actually do?" your sister asked.
You covered your face with your hands prompting the two of them to feel even more sympathetic.
"Hey," your sister said, sitting next to you on the couch and putting one of her hands on your shoulder. "It's going to be okay, okay?"
"Mija," your mom joined you two on the cushions. "We will always be there for you."
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![⋆ ˚｡⋆౨ৎ˚ Your Baby Daddy Ain’t A DJ - [Series Intro]](https://64.media.tumblr.com/595374aac16e19453b451dc65a86cf5f/76ce27810afe6d2d-8c/s500x750/778eda788aff62168ae37f1966b2d52ad23434fe.jpg)
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yourusername my beautiful daughter camila + her favorite stuffed animal 🤍
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yourbestfriend the prettiest mom
*liked by original poster*
yoursister the plushie needed a shoutout?
yourusername she clutches onto it for dear life
yourbestfriend deer life* 😀
yoursister stop
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![⋆ ˚｡⋆౨ৎ˚ Your Baby Daddy Ain’t A DJ - [Series Intro]](https://64.media.tumblr.com/f1c7885614bcca60d2e68c85d75b24ec/76ce27810afe6d2d-05/s640x960/1646c1a947e1fa39bf692cff3491cfd5b6788378.png)
![⋆ ˚｡⋆౨ৎ˚ Your Baby Daddy Ain’t A DJ - [Series Intro]](https://64.media.tumblr.com/7fa48c9084f751f254ee3d9224fd6a27/76ce27810afe6d2d-7c/s640x960/a6d9b6c7dadf537b54d2dcf0b3e2d7692d5598b5.png)
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end notes: here's the intro/teaser to this little series. I'm so excited to kick it off!
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about me: Hi! I’m Anix or Ani, I’m 22F and obsessed with fast cars and pretty boys!
This is my F1 side blog where I post fics. My main is firefirevampire, feel free to interact over there as well (posts tagged # from the archive are reblogged from main)
My favorite drivers are Franco Colapinto, Oscar Piastri, George Russell, and Lando Norris (in that order)
I write smut, so minors DNI! I do not accept requests, but feel free to send thoughts in the ask box and we can chat :)
Pattern in banner from @ soma_fra on twt | moon divider by strangegraphics-archive
☽ Masterlist | ao3 ☾
everyone talking about mingyu shirtless but bruvs if im being honest i still haven't moved on from this....
wtf am i supposed to do??
die??
Bully - Part 2 of 3
warnings: controlling parents, very brief smut
taglist: @bbyhargrove @whore-of-the-pumpkin-patch @shamidreamer @180-fuck-me @rosey96 @hargrovesswifee @irish-newzealand-idian-dutch
A routine has fallen in to place, Billy’s at your locker every morning with that arrogant smirk on his face and his hand out to ‘steal’ the Hostess snack from you. Little does he know, you started buying two instead of one and more days than not, you buy Snoballs for Billy because you’ve learned they are his favorite of the Hostess variety. You never buy a Ding Dong again, still feeling incredibly embarrassed at the dirty joke he’d made but you switch it up sometimes so he doesn’t suspect you’re buying it solely for the purpose of him. As it turns out, you like the attention you’re getting from him, even if it isn’t very nice attention.
Almost every night the past few weeks, your hand sneaks into your pajama pants as images of Billy flood your mind. You don’t know how to touch yourself, no idea where to even begin but you firmly press your palm against your vagina over your underwear as you think about Billy’s face and his voice. His voice excites you most. You do that until you fall asleep and the stickiness on your thighs has been annoying but not as bed as having to hide your underwear in the morning, afraid of your mother finding it and flipping out about you being a slut or something. You don’t know if liking Billy in this way makes you a slut but you still feel ashamed every time.
“What’s up, loser?” Billy’s voice coats your ears as you begin dialing in your code. The words are meant to be cruel and Billy curses himself for how flirty his tone comes out, glancing around to see if anyone heard.
“Good morning,” you tell him, unzipping your backpack and grabbing the packet of Snoballs and sliding them into his palm.
“You’re like obsessed with these,” he comments, raising an eyebrow. He gives your face another once over and then asks, “What’s that all over your face?”
“It’s called makeup,” you reply, cheeks reddening. You’d put it on in the gas station bathroom and you’d have to wash it off there on your way home.
“You trying to impress some guy?” Billy asks and his tone sounds almost jealous, possessive. It makes your heart beat faster as you think, yeah, you.
“Who is he?” Billy asks pointedly when you don’t respond, looking around like the imaginary suitor could be nearby.
You shrug, taking pleasure in his apparent jealousy though you don’t understand it.
“Probably some other geek,” he snivels, pushing himself up from your locker and retreating down the hall. The interaction leaves you wanting more, craving for him to look at you like that again. It’s odd, though. You can’t fathom why he’s taken an interest in your social life other than to antagonize you for the lack of it.
As you’re walking to class, you see him grope Tina’s ass but his eyes are trained on you and the high pitched giggle she gives hurts your heart. You didn’t even realize they might be a thing. However, she is typically right behind him and making rude comments about your appearance when she can. You force yourself to ignore the jealousy coursing through your blood and get yourself to class.
-
Billy’s outside, smoking alone against the gym wall. He looks up as he hears a vicious laughter and sees you walking with your books pressed tightly to your chest. The laugher is coming from a tall brunette boy behind you, Billy thinks he’s a underclassmen, maybe a sophomore or junior. He takes a drag from his cigarette as he watches on curiously. He wonders if maybe this is the boy you’re wearing makeup for. The kid gets really close to your face, Billy tries to make out what he’s saying but it’s hard to tell from here. He feels jealous, wonders what makes this guy so special. Then the guy shoves your shoulders, causing you to drop all your books to the ground. Billy tenses, it’s like looking in a mirror but instead of the excitement he usually gets from seeing the anguish on your face, he’s incredibly angry. He’s pushing himself up off the wall just as the kids shoving you a second time, however this time, you fall to your knees and hands. Billy barrels over to the bully and you, he grabs onto your elbow and lifts you to your feet before grabbing a hold of the kids collar and shoves him against the wall.
“You like putting your hands on girls?” Billy growls and the kid whimpers and squirms beneath him. “You think you can just push her around?” he seethes, dropping the kids collar.
He winds up his fist, ready to knock the kids lights out when he hears your sniffling. Instead, he shoves the kid and tells him, “I fucking see you even look at her and you’re dead. You hear me?”
“Yeah, yeah,” the kid says frantically, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’ll leave her alone.”
“Now get the fuck out of my sight,” Billy let’s go of his collar. The kid scatters away quickly but Billy doesn’t give him a second glance. He’s stalking over to you and grabbing a hold of your elbow and guides you to the parking lot, ignoring your confused protests. He opens the door to his Camaro and instructs you to sit.
He walks around and pops his trunk open, your eyes following him curiously. Your hearts racing, trying hard not to look at the scrapes on your knee. When you see blood, you panic and you’re already trying to hold back sobs. Billy standing up for you was strange, when you saw him walking over, you’d fully expected him to join in and then when you saw the absolute rage in his eyes. He walks back around and squats down in front of you, lifting a tiny red first aid kit and resting it between your legs. You suddenly feel self conscious, worried that from his angle he can see your underwear so you grab the hem of your skirt and try to cover yourself. Billy pops open the case and grabs out a small stack of antiseptic wipes. He rips open one with his teeth and locks his eyes on yours. Your breath catches in your throat, seeing Billy on his knees between your legs brings chills up the back of your thighs and you choke out a small sob, quickly bringing the back of your hand to wipe away the tears.
“Why are you doing this?” you ask, softly.
Billy begins cleaning up the wounds on your knees, the alcohol on the pads stings the sensitive skin and you hiss.
“Sorry,” he mumbles, “It could get infected if you don’t clean it.”
“No,” you hiccup, “why are you being nice?”
Billy sighs, reaching back into the case and pulling out the tube of Neosporin. He squeezes the ointment on his finger and gently coats the scratches with it. “What do you mean?”
With a sniffle, you continue, “Why do you care? Why did you yell at him?”
“Is that the guy you put all the makeup on for?” Billy looks back up at you, his eyebrows furrowed. He doesn’t get why you’re not thanking him for standing up for you, so he figures that must be why. “That guys a loser, you shouldn’t like him.”
“Huh? What? No, I don’t like him,” you mumble, watching as Billy puts bandages over the cuts. “I just mean, you’re always so mean to me, why are you being nice now?”
Billy closes the box up and looks back up at you, “I’m not mean to you.”
“Yeah, you are,” you argue, “You’re very mean to me. Now you’re acting like you care about me. I don’t understand.”
Billy stands up, looking down at you now. He leans his arm against the side of the Camaro as he peers into your eyes. From his view, the sun catches on your face beautifully even through the shine of your tears, Billy thinks you look gorgeous. He sighs and then mumbles under his breath, “I like you.”
“What?” you ask, unable to hear what he said.
“Nothing,” he groans, pulling you to your feet with a grip on your elbow. “You better get back to class, loser.”
“See?” you shriek, pointing at him. “Mean. You’re being mean, again.”
“It’s not mean,” he seethes as he crosses his arms.
You scoff, feeling your blood boil, “If it’s not mean, what is it? You think it makes me feel good when you call me names or trip me in the halls?”
Billy grins suddenly and it only makes you angrier, you don’t understand him at all. He’s the most confusing person in the whole world. Maybe that’s part of it for him, this is just all a part of his bullying.
“I’m not being mean,” Billy bites his lip and traps you against his car, placing a hand on either side of your shoulders, “I’m flirting with you, loser.”
“Flirt- what?” you look up at him incredulously.
You’ve never experienced someone flirting with you before. You’ve never in your life had a single boy show any interest in you but you didn’t think what Billy was doing was flirting. It kind of makes sense to you, though. Since the teasing had started, you began feeling certain things you’d never felt before, you found yourself looking forward to seeing Billy at school but every girl at this school thought he was cute and you thought so too, so you figured you just liked any attention from such a cute boy. Flirting wasn’t being mean though, was it? That’s not what you’d seen in movies or the romance novels your mom kept hidden in the laundry room. You’d tried to read them a handful of times but always got too embarrassed.
“Flirting,” Billy chuckles, “do you know what that is?”
“Yes!” you fumes, cheeks ablaze. “If you’re flirting with me then that means…”
Billy’s hand drops to your waist, curling around the flesh and squeezing, “Means what?”
You swallow the lump in your throat but it does nothing to help the words climb through. Billy seems to like the reaction he’s getting from you, his fingertips traveling up under your top and ghosting the sensitive skin. You panic, jumping from the touch and pushing his hand away.
“Do you like me?” Billy asks, dropping his hand to his side.
“I don’t know,” you whisper as you look down, embarrassed by the way his touch has made your legs feel shaky.
“You know,” he sings, hooking his knuckle under your chin and urges you to look back up at him. “How does it make you feel when I touch you?”
“Uh…” you swallow hard, eyes darting across the freckles decorating his nose and cheeks. He’s so pretty, his intense gaze has you hypnotized. You don’t even try any further to answer him.
Billy chuckles and steps away from you, “I’m just messing around with you.”
You grab your backpack and scurry off before he can say anything else. You hear his car start up as you’re rushing back to the school, not daring to look back at him.
-
“What happened to you?!” your mother exclaims when you walk through the door.
“Oh, I tripped,” you lie as you try to walk past her. She grabs a hold of your wrist and pulls you back.
“Is that makeup?” she inquires, her tone more sad than angry.
You bring your hand up to your cheek, realizing that you’d forgotten to wash it off on the way home and you’re certain that there’s trails of mascara staining your face. In the daze that Billy had left you in, you’d walked home like a zombie, thoughts clouded with his words, eyes and fingers.
“Momma,” you mumble, “I’m sorry. Some girls at school wanted to put it on me. I was trying to make friends.”
She peels your backpack off and dumps the contents onto the floor, seeing for herself that you were lying as the tube of mascara, lipstick and the tiny compact of blush fall out. Along with the Hostess snack you’d neglected.
“What has gotten into you?” she scolds, “Is it a boy?”
Visions of blonde curls, icy blue eyes and pink lips force their way into your head as you shake it. “No,” you mutter, “I’m just trying to fit in.”
“Acting like a whore is no way to fit in,” she bites back.
You sniffle, tears making their return and you find yourself wanting to run back out the door to find Billy.
“I’m sorry,” you whisper, getting on your knees to collect your school items and shove them back into your backpack. You pick up the makeup and hand them to your mothers expecting hands. Without looking up, you know she’s stomping to the kitchen to throw them away.
“Go to your room,” she orders and you obey without a protest, shutting the door behind you and finding solace in your bed.
Curling under the covers and closing your eyes, wrapping your arms around yourself. You picture it’s Billy’s arms around you and you find yourself finally answering his question.
“Yes,” you whisper to the empty room. “It feels good when you touch me.”
You wonder what would have happened if you’d just answered him, would he have kissed you? His words before you left ring through your ears, I’m just messing around with you.
-
Your mom has started to pick out your clothes before school. The only dresses and skirts you’re allowed to wear are the ones that go past your knees. Billy’s noticed, thinks the way he approached you scared you and that maybe you were ashamed of the way he looked at you. So he does a complete 180, he stops antagonizing you but not only that, he stops talking to you all together. Which in turn has your self confidence plummeting. You assume it’s because you’re no longer wearing what you wanted to wear.
You’re eager to get his attention back. The first plan is to sneak one of your shorter skirts in your backpack and change into it when you get to school. You had to get crafty since your mom had taken to doing backpack checks before you left each morning. You folded it up as small as you could and volunteered to take the trash out, while you were outside you hid it in the neighbors bushes.
However, when you’re at school and you’ve changed into it, Billy’s eyes still don’t follow you like they used to. Even when you’re walking past him and Tommy in the hallway, you drop your pencil and bend over to pick it up but when you turn around, Billy’s not watching, he’s chewing his pinky nail and looks totally engrossed in whatever dumb thing Tommy is blathering about.
Determined, you start hiding skirts and low cut shirts in your locker, along with some makeup you’d purchased at the drugstore. You purposefully start walking by his car during lunch, where he’s lounging with his friends and you hope that his friends say something to you just so he’ll have a reason to look at you. It doesn’t work. Tina and Carol make comments but Billy’s eyes never fall on you. You’re getting more desperate by the day.
You’re beginning to gather the attention of other boys but it’s nothing compared to the way Billy used to look at you. They’re nervous in their approach, fiddling with their fingers and unable to hold eye contact. Billy’s all about eye contact, like he can see something in there. God, you’d give anything to meet those blues again. Still, you attempt to flirt back with the new suitors, trying to at least learn how but none of them flirt like Billy did. None of them make your heart beat so fast you’re afraid it’s gonna jump right out of your sternum. They don’t make your thighs feel warm and tingly. You don’t think of their faces and voices in the middle of the night when you can’t sleep.
Phase two is in order, you decide. Buying a Snoball every morning and placing it delicately on Billy’s desk behind you in English class before he even walks in. Again, he doesn’t speak to you, doesn’t even look up at you but you hear him open the package and eat the sweets. You wish you weren’t so shy, wish you could turn around and demand his attention but him not rejecting the snack is a win, you think.
One day, it starts up again. In English class, you feel a little tug on your hair. First, you ignore it, certain it was an accident. Then, Billy twists a bigger chunk between his fingers and yanks your head back. You yelp, hands moving to cover your mouth the second the sound flies from it. You turn, Billy’s released his grip on your hair and is pretending to be really interested in something on the ceiling.
“Ms. Y/L/N,” the teacher scolds, “Is there a problem?”
You quickly shake your head, “No. Everything is fine.”
Rubbing the back of your head, you know your face is bright red from embarrassment but mostly from excitement. You weren’t sure why, but you were aroused at the feeling of Billy pulling your hair. You figure it must be from begging for his attention for weeks and finally getting something. It felt so good, you push your hair past your shoulders and onto his desk, urging him to do it again but he doesn’t. However, he knocks the book off your desk when the bell rings, turning to lock eyes with you as you bend down to pick it up, that arrogant smirk plastered across his face. You feel warm all over.
-
Billy was freaking out internally, the way your outfits got less and less revealing, he was worried he’d creeped you out so he panics and ignores you for weeks. He wasn’t good with rejection and that’s what this felt like. To be honest, he’d never truly been rejected romantically.
He notices the short skirt the first day you wear it, but he tells himself there’s no way it’s to catch his attention. Especially when he notices more and more boys talking to you. He figures that you didn’t wear it for him, but for some other boy. When you drop your pencil as you’re walking by, suddenly the rant Tommy’s spewing about his and Carol’s latest fight is the most interesting thing he’s heard. He gnaws on his fingernail and forces his eyes to stay glued to his friends face. He swears he hears you huff as you stomp away, but tells himself it’s wishful thinking. Your outfits get more and more revealing by the day and it drives Billy crazy but he’s a strong man, he refuses to let it get to him.
Then there’s a pack of Snoballs on his desk every day for a week and he’s convinced you’re trying your absolute hardest to tell him you like him without actually saying the words. And Billy likes playing games, so he still doesn’t say or do anything. He wants you to get so frustrated that you scream at him.
Little by little, he begins fucking with you. It starts with grabbing the handful of your hair and pulling your head back. It’s much more aggressive than he’d been in the past but you silently beg for him to do it again, pushing your hair over your shoulders and covering his desk with the strands. He pretends he doesn’t notice, folding his hands behind his head and actually listens to the teachers lecture, daring you to turn around and look at him. When you don’t, he decides he’s gotta do something else, a way to let you know he’s back. He pushes your book off your desk, smirking down at you as his eyes fall to the exposed cleavage as you bend over. The smile on your face tells him everything he needs to know.
The next day, he’s waiting at your locker and you weren’t anticipating it so you’re wearing the outfit your mother picked out. It’s a long skirt that goes to your ankles and a floral button up. You blush, seeing him standing there. You avert your eyes, focusing in on the dial and entering the code.
“Morning,” Billy says, “Hiding something?”
You roll your eyes, grabbing the skirt and shirt you’d hid in your locker and shove it into your backpack. “Be right back,” you mumble, rushing away to the bathroom.
When you exit, he’s still waiting by your locker but he lets his eyes drink in your new outfit. He particularly likes the knee high socks and it’s then that Billy realizes you must have strict parents and for whatever reason, that makes this all the more exciting. The fact that you’re breaking rules just to impress him makes his mouth water.
“You hide a closet in your locker?” he asks when you drop your backpack on the floor.
Blushing, you don’t give him the obvious answer but instead open your locker back up and shove the clothes you arrived in behind your textbooks. You pull out the Hostess snack and hand it to him, seeing the laugh rising in his chest before you hear it.
“Ding Dong, huh? You hinting at something?” he pockets the snack and grins at you.
“Maybe I am,” you admit, willing your cheeks to stay pale. You close your locker and lean against it, looking up at him. Billy bites his lower lip and in the moment, he doesn’t care if it looks like he’s chatting up the nerdiest girl in school. Doesn’t care if anyone notices or says anything.
“Can I pick you up around 8?” Billy asks and you almost shiver, stunned that your plan worked but incredibly nervous at the same time.
You jot down your address on a piece of paper, wondering if you’re exactly ready to lose your virginity on such short notice. However, you’re not sure you can go anymore time without Billy’s attention and you’re willing to get it by any means necessary. You wonder if maybe he’s not after that, but your mother says every man is and Billy is exactly like the boys she’d warned you about. Somehow, that excites you and you want to find out if she was right after all.
“I’ll see you at 8, loser,” Billy tugs on your pigtail before pushing himself off the locker and walking down the hall.
The name is becoming endearing, even if it’s not a nice thing to say to someone it still makes your heart swell. Your fingertips move up to wrap around your pigtail and you tug on it like he had, smiling as you watch him saunter away. Now the hard part, how were you going to sneak out of your house at 8 pm? Your parents were still awake then but they stayed in their room to watch TV, your mom would check on you around 9:30 but she never came into your room, just peeked in. You could easily make it look like you were in your bed.
Giddy with excitement all day, you bounce to and from class. Billy beats you to English class and he winks as you walk in, causing your heart to flutter while you make it to your seat. When you sit, he grabs a hold of your pigtail and pulls it.
“Don’t think I’ve seen such a big smile on your face before,” he comments when you turn to him. He rests his chin on his palm as he looks at you under his heavy eyelashes.
You blush, “You have to park like a block away from my house. Eight is kind of past my curfew.”
“Are you gonna get in trouble?” Billy asks, sounds like he’s actually concerned.
You shake your head, “Only if I get caught.”
Billy nods against his hand, his left hand lifts to grab the necklace you’re wearing and you look down as he gently caresses it.
The teacher closes the door and begins her instruction, you turn with her and focus your eyes up front. Billy won’t stop touching you. He fumbles with the collar of your shirt, traces his fingers against the back of your neck and arms. You have to squeeze your thighs together, gripping your pencil even tighter but you don’t want him to stop. These touches are even better, they’re soft and make you melt.
You’re surprised he’s doing this where eyes can catch it. Occasionally when you glance back, the look on his face makes your stomach tighten, he looks entranced. You don’t know it but he’s fantasizing about taking your clothes off and running his fingers along every inch of your body. When he suddenly stops, you turn to see him shuffling in his seat and he exhales softly, averting his eyes towards the clock in the classroom. You’re oblivious to the fact he’s trying really hard not to pop a boner in class.
Billy lingers after the bell rings and he waves to you, “Later, loser.”
“See you tonight.”
The Art of Letting Go Seventeen ANGST Series # | 1: Always Yours, Never With You
Genre: Angst, Hurt, Hidden Relationship, Emotional Break-up
🍒 Choi Seungcheol | Scoups x Reader
Summary: Being the secret girlfriend of SEVENTEEN’s leader, Choi Seungcheol, means learning how to love in silence. While the world celebrates him, you sit alone, on your birthday, your anniversary, and every special occasion. Not because he doesn’t love you, but because he’s never around to show it. You’ve held on for years, telling yourself love is worth waiting for. But even the deepest love can begin to break in the face of loneliness. And this time, you’re the one choosing to walk away.
The sound of your fingers tapping against the side of your coffee mug was the only noise in your quiet apartment.
No music.
No TV.
No messages.
No Seungcheol.
You checked your phone again, even though you knew. No missed calls. No unread texts.
Just a lock screen photo you hadn’t changed in three years, Seungcheol grinning with one arm wrapped tightly around you, hidden away in the safety of your apartment.
It was your anniversary.
Again.
And he forgot.
Again.
Your eyes stung, but you were too used to the ache to cry now. You set the mug down and stared at the small table you had set earlier that evening.
You still cooked. Still wore the black dress he once said you looked “dangerously beautiful” in. You even lit candles.
But like every other special day, you celebrated it alone.
You told yourself it wasn’t his fault. And maybe it wasn’t. He never intended to hurt you. It was always the schedule. The rehearsals. The tours. The group. The comeback.
You weren’t competing with another person. You were competing with an entire career.
And the most painful out of all?
you were losing...
The soft beep of your door lock jolted you. You quickly wiped under your eyes and stood, heart racing. The door opened slowly, and there he was, Choi Seungcheol, cap low, mask on, eyes tired. But even through exhaustion, he smiled at you the way he always did.
“Happy Anniversary, love,” he said softly.
Your heart cracked. “You remembered.”
He nodded and stepped inside, removing his shoes like he always did. “Barely made it... practice ran over and—”
“You missed it,” you whispered. “Again.”
He looked up, frozen.
“I waited for hours, Cheol. Like I always do. I made dinner, lit candles, dressed up, just like last year. Just like the year before that. And every year... I wait.”
“I’m here now,” he said quickly, walking over to you. “I’m sorry, I swear I didn’t mean to—”
“But you did. You always do,” you said, backing away. “You always mean well. But your love comes in promises, not in presence.”
His expression dropped, hands shaking slightly. “Baby… please don’t say it.”
“I love you, Cheol. God, I love you so much it hurts. But that’s all it does lately. It hurts.”
“No,” he breathed, taking your hands in his. “We can work through this. Just a little longer. I’ll make time. I promise.”
“Don’t,” you said, pulling your hands away. “Don’t make promises you know you can’t keep. I deserve someone who can be there, not just in love, but in life. In real, present moments.”
Silence.
He looked at you like a man losing his world.
“You're still the only home I know,” he whispered.
“And I’ll always be rooting for you,” you replied, voice cracking. “But I can’t keep breaking just to love you.”
You reached for the necklace he gave you, gently unclasped it, and placed it in his palm.
“I was always yours, Cheol... but you were never really with me.”
You turned before he could see you cry, heading to your room, leaving him in the quiet glow of the candles still flickering on the table. The smell of cold dinner filled the room.
He stood there for a long time, necklace clenched in his fist, lips pressed together as tears finally slid down.
Because for the first time,
he couldn’t fix it.
And you weren’t waiting anymore.
A/N: Wow! I... It really hurts...
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