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ohmyeyesmyeyes · 1 year ago

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change my mind - ln4

summary: inspired by 1D's song of the same title - are we friends or are we more?

warnings: f!reader, hints at anxiety and insomnia, that vegas crash, angst, miscommunication (it gets solved dw), swearing, maybe a little bit of awkwardness, fluff. also feel like it drops off towards the end so i might have to come back and edit it at some point

word count: 9.7k

Since the crash it felt as though you’d been holding your breath. Right from when the camera on the straight seemed to jolt from an unexpected impact; on the way to the medical centre; in the car to the hospital. In fact, it only felt like you’d released that breath when Lando had given you the key to his hotel room and you’d shut it behind you.

Then, and only then, it felt like you could breathe.

Your head thudded against the door, the view of The Strip visible even from where you were stood – the neon lights were difficult to miss in the night, even more so when the entire room was still shrouded in darkness. You inhaled through your nose, ensuring to fill your lungs with some much needed air, before breathing it out through your mouth.

Your heart was still racing, something squeezing in your chest, and the exhaustion seemed to blanket you in that very moment, your brain constantly replaying the sounds and the mangled sight of his car. It seemed intent, however, on showing you flickers of his face as he’d climbed out of the Medical Car, trying not to wince at the ache in his bones as his Dad pressed him into a hug or as any part of him made contact with the hospital bed.

In all honesty, you didn’t think you’d ever been so anxious before. Those paralysing seconds where the only thing heard on the radio was static just seemed to have occurred so long ago, but that one moment seemed to cement the dread poured into your chest from then on.

Until now, until he’d given you the key to his room, until your eyes seemed to find all the McLaren paraphernalia and kit thrown carelessly over the back of chairs, on hooks, folded neatly inside a suitcase. Then all of the tension you’d harboured, not wanting to overstep or interrupt the medical exams just to ask him if he was okay, to hold his hand – you weren’t even sure if the latter was for his sake or yours.

You sighed, pushing yourself off the door and flicking on the lights. The mess was even worse in the light, and it wasn’t just limited to McLaren merch – there were undies and socks (it was unclear if they were clean, and you weren’t about to figure that out) scattered about, random pairings of t-shirts and joggers near the open suitcase, but not in it.

You rolled your eyes, putting your bag on the desk, and reaching for the TV remote to switch on the F1 TV channel as background noise. You didn’t really know why he’d given you his key, but you supposed it could have had something to do with the look on your face, or how your hands had been a little shaky, or how you’d barely spoken a word to him – not for lack of him trying or anything: Lando had actively tried to ask you questions, but with all the medical staff and McLaren members surrounding him, that task had been a little difficult.

And the first thing that had sprung to mind when you’d stepped into the lift up to his room was to run him a bath because after that rather bruising session, it was probably the best soother, but now that you’d been faced with this absolute calamity (you’d seen teenage boys’ rooms tidier than this), you weren’t entirely sure how you could not at least help him pack – to an extent.

Clearing the space off the floors and making sure he slept in a bed not made out of his own clothes was a start.

You shrugged off your jacket and hung it on the back of the door before stepping over some clothes and opening the bathroom door. You’d prepared to be met with more remnants of a burgled wardrobe, but contrary to the living space, there was nothing in the bathroom except a Spider-Man wash bag – potions and lotions neatly stacked inside.

There were some bottles in the corner shelf in the tub, the hotel logo branded on the front, and after running the tap until the water started to get warmer, you put in the plug and poured in some foam before returning back to the living space.

Your eyes immediately seemed to zip to the TV above the desk, Ted Kravitz wandering down the paddock talking to someone holding a framed photo of…Valterri’s bum. You blinked, automatically moving to the kettle and flicking the switch on.

Coffee was a must for you to stay awake longer.

And it was then that you started to pick up some clothing off his floor, collating the articles on top of his bed and you’d made it through three quarters of the entire pile when the buzzer for the lock on the door went off.

It was Lando. Decked in a jacket definitely not his own, with the way it seemed to dwarf him: the sleeves had been haphazardly pushed up his forearms, probably to make use of his hands, and the body of the jacket hung past his hips.

When he turned to face the room after locking the door behind him, his eyes seemed to stick first on the empty floor before trailing to you, something soft. He had bags under his eyes, and you could tell he’d been wearing headphones in the meeting because his hair had flattened slightly in the middle.

You didn’t move from where you’d sat, but from the unreadable expression on his face and the way he seemed to hesitate, it had you questioning whether he’d intended for you to still be in his room when he came back – but then he wouldn’t have given you the key, surely?

His lips twitched, and that second-guessing seemed to vanish completely at his lame attempt to smile for you – even though it was clearly forced with the entire whirlwind of the entire race, but there was a hint of authenticity because of the softness in his eyes, and without even meaning to, you felt a smile begin to creep on your own face.

At that, he seemed to gain movement in his legs, and made his way to the desk, head snapping up to the TV for a brief second, before shedding the jacket and putting his key down.

It was his sluggish movements that seemed to have that knot of anxiety punching its way through your stomach once more (it had dwindled somewhat when he’d walked through the door), and you inhaled somewhat sharply, “Are you okay?”

It was the first word you’d spoken out loud, and the roughness of your voice seemed to shock both of you, because you blinked, and he spun on his heel, eyebrows raising. You felt yourself wince, and you swallowed out of instinct–

“Just a bit achy–Can you stand up a second, I just–” He sighed, cutting himself off and stepping forwards.

You furrowed your brows, placing the shirt in your hands on the bed, and doing as he said, and it was barely a second when–

Oh.

He’d almost instantly tugged you into him, his arms settling across your shoulders, his chin tucked against your temple. He was warm and soft, even despite the hard ridges you knew existed under his fireproof shirt. Something felt off, though, and it was with a hurried hum that you realised you hadn’t reciprocated it.

It was a bit of a shock, being hugged by Lando so tightly, so close. Even more so because neither of you had ever really touched before; there’d been the odd shoulder brush when you’d been standing next to each other, the odd purposeful hand touch when one of you had slapped the other’s out of the way – but it had never been this: his chin touching your temple and his hands strong across your back and shoulders, pulling you as close to him as he could manage.

And then you seemed to regain sense in your arms because you automatically seemed to reach one arm across his back and the other slung across his waist, head tilting a little upwards to somewhat nestle itself into the crook of his neck.

If you were being honest, hugs weren’t usually your kind of thing, but you could tolerate (a tad of an understatement) it from Lando, even in his post-three-lap-stint and slight stench of sweat.

You stayed like that for a while, the knot in your chest easing gradually now you’d got your hands on him, and by the time he spoke up, disrupting the peace that you’d managed to find, you felt like you had to blink yourself awake, “Feel better now. I’m sorry I ruined your first race.” He mumbled, stomach tensing as he spoke.

You took a moment, “You didn’t ruin it–”

“I did.”

You pulled yourself away from him, but almost like he’d practised it, his hands clasped onto yours, preventing you from moving too far away, and he brought them up to around shoulder height between you both, his fingers twiddling with yours to distract himself, “Well, then, I forgive you.” You shrugged.

His hands were slightly rough to touch, and a little colder than yours, and you tried not to let the absentminded way he was playing with your hands cloud your brain because it was distracting, especially with the way his thumb seemed intent on stroking repetitive patterns across the back of your hand. Not to mention the way his eyes seemed to flit between your mouth and your eyes, as though he wanted to watch you speak and commit it to his memory, as you spoke.

It sent your blood thrumming a little.

He nodded slowly, as though he was digesting your words, but he took too long to say something else so you said the other thing that had been on the tip of your tongue, “I’d have lost interest in it anyway, ‘cos you weren’t driving.”

He smirked at that, “No you wouldn’t have.”

He was right – to an extent. The only positive about the Vegas track was that the drivers were racing in the Championship and sport you’d been following closely for years. But other than the investment in the championship, that was about where your interest in that specific race ended – with Lando’s crash.

“Well, I’d have rather gone with you than sit in your garage without you on-site.” You admitted, honesty dripping from every word, “Especially because I probably wouldn’t have known if you were okay if I stayed.”

He swallowed, your eyes unconsciously watching his throat bob, “How come?”

You pulled your joined hands down, shrugging and avoiding eye contact in order to actually gain the courage to say what had immediately come to mind.

Why was it so difficult for you to actually say what you felt? God forbid you actually want to let him know what he meant.

“You’re important and I care about you.” You rushed out, chewing the inside of your cheek nervously.

When he didn’t say anything you pulled your hands out of his and were about to change the entire conversation back to the bath you’d run him when his eyes crinkled out of the corner of your eyes. He had one of those cheeky smiles on his face, like he was aware he probably shouldn’t have been smiling like that at that moment in time, but thinking that only seemed to make him worse. And when you fully turned to look at him again, you were struck with the thought that you’d never known anyone to smile with their entire being like Lando Norris seemed to do unfailingly and everyday.

His happiness was just so infectious that it was part of the reason you liked him so much – but it also made you want to…protect it, you guessed. And when he stopped smiling earlier, after you’d been told to meet him in the medical centre, the world seemed to shake, because he was very rarely ever smiling.

He didn’t stop smiling, even when you looked straight at him, not impressed with his silence in the slightest and huffing to let him know.

“What?” You asked, one eyebrow raised and slightly self-conscious of what you were doing and wearing and what you probably looked like after the day you’d had.

He shrugged, shaking his head, smile never drooping one bit, “You care about me.”

It wasn’t a question, more so a statement of shock – repetition to drill it into his head.

You nodded, swallowing, slightly embarrassed at having to say it again, “Yeah.”

He nodded this time, pushing himself onto his tiptoes for a second, “I care about you too. You’re important to me.”

You won’t deny that your heart did a little skip at his words, or that your cheeks threatened to blossom with heat, or that hearing him say those words to you didn’t send your pulse spiralling a little out of control.

It was an unfamiliar feeling, being this vulnerable to someone not related to you. It was weird, but because of who it was and because of the circumstances, it felt oddly right.

“That’s nice.” You muttered, crossing your arms and avoiding looking at him.

You didn’t know what to do with yourself. It wasn’t as though he’d confessed his undying love for you or anything, but it was nice to hear. You knew where you stood with him.

“It is.” He agreed.

There was a beat of silence, and you took the liberty of changing the subject before it could get too awkward too quickly, “I ran you a hot bath, by the way. It felt like the right thing to do after….”

“Thank you.” His tone was a little sombre, but still every bit sincere. A cloud seemed to hang over the both of you for a second, “Sorry I didn’t get to talk to you when everything went–”

“You don’t have to keep apologising.” You breathed, sitting back down on the edge of the bed and resuming some folding to give yourself something to do.

“But I do–”

“Shut the fuck up.” You laughed a little, immediately dropping your expression to correct yourself, “With respect.”

Lando smiled a little at that, “If you insist, but–” You groaned, rolling your eyes, “I just want to check in and make sure I didn’t scare you, y’know, would you still come to another race?”

You blinked, “Course I would.”

There wasn’t really a doubt about it. The scare of the day had worn off in the span of your conversation, it was just that period of not knowing, and the fact that a TV screen didn’t do the cars justice in the speed. They went so much faster than you initially expected.

“Good.” Then, “Are you okay, though?”

“Yeah, it was just a lot, that’s all. Like, the impact, the broken car, then you were talking about everything that hurt but somehow you weren’t injured? I don’t know.” You sighed in resignation, “Do you ever get scared in the car?”

He seemed to think about it for a moment, “The day I get scared is the day I stop driving. Fear in the car makes you crazy.”

“What about when you lose control and you know you’re gonna crash out?”

You watched him closely as his throat bobbed and he slowly stepped over to the bathroom doorframe, leaning against it to look at you thoughtfully, “There’s definitely a moment where my heart sort of skips a beat, kind of like when you miss a step on the stairs, but the adrenalin doesn’t really let me get scared at that moment. It’s scary when I watch it back and realise if I’d have been a metre or so closer I might not be here. But I don’t like thinking about it if it doesn’t happen.”

You paused the folding, “When you said your heart does that skip, can you think or is your mind just blank?”

“Blank. It happens so fast. I know I have to move my hands, though, but I think that’s partly just instinct driven into us from when we were kids. I don’t really have to think about that, but–” He pulled a face, running a hand over his chest and huffing a laugh, “If it’s fast I’m thinking ‘fuck, this is gonna hurt’.”

That made you laugh.

Then he looked over his shoulder and you stood up, taking the hint.

“Wai–What’re you doing?” He stood up straight, watching as you made your way over to the desk to pick up your bag.

You pulled a face, pointing to the door, “I’m gonna go, and you’re gonna have a bath.”

“No.” He shook his head defiantly, walking over to you with a frown on his face.

You blinked, “Yes.”

“No.”

“I didn’t realise that when bathtime was mentioned that you’d stomp your foot and pout at me.” You smothered a smile behind your hand, eyes sparkling with amusement as Lando went to defend himself, only to realise that he had in fact reverted to pouting (as far as an adult man could when sulking).

“No.” He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, “I thought you might stay over tonight?”

You froze. Then promptly unfroze, “Why?”

“For a sleepover, I don’t know.” He shrugged.

“I don’t think—” You halted, taking in the way his face seemed to fall slightly, “Do you want me to stay?”

You didn’t not want to. You’d admit that much to yourself. The idea of sharing a bed with someone you trusted platonically and had a crush on was about as appealing as the guaranteed night of uninterrupted sleep (that didn’t run the risk of being crushed, someone breathing heavily in your ear, or someone talking in their sleep).

The corner of his mouth twitched as he tilted his head, “I’d like for you to stay, but I want you to say you want to stay because you want to, not just because I want you to and you feel obligated to stay.”

You took another step forward, about to say yes, before he interrupted again.

“Um–” His voice was slightly high in pitch, a sure sign that he’d begun to panic slightly, but before you let him succumb to (clear) disappointment (it did wonders for your ego) and potentially embarrass himself, you cut over him.

“I’m gonna go get my PJ’s–” he grinned, “and then I’ll come back here–” began taking off the legs of his racing suit, “for a sleepover, or whatever, sound good?”

“Sounds incredible, darling.” He winked, throwing you a charming smirk that had you standing in the doorway (for longer than what was probably deemed appropriate to gather yourself), and he turned into the bathroom, disappearing from sight.

***

Walking back into Lando’s room with wet hair, a clean face, the PJ’s you’d packed (not expecting a sleepover), your current book, and a hotel robe, all felt very intimate. It might have had something to do with the fact that you knew he’d also be freshly washed with wet hair and wearing his PJ’s and in bed — waiting for you.

And when you rounded the corner after buzzing yourself in, Lando was sitting against the headboard, one arm slung over the top of his head and his other hand clutching his phone. He must have been anticipating your arrival if the way he threw his phone further down the covers was any indication, and the way he smiled at you, dimples on show and everything, had you turning to avoid looking at him and hanging the robe over the back of the bathroom door.

The boy is too cute.

“Fancy seeing you here.” He grinned, unconsciously rubbing a palm down his arm and still maintaining a mischievous smile.

“It’s almost like we planned it.” You threw over your shoulder before climbing onto the bed.

He breathed a laugh, “Almost. Cute PJ’s, by the way.” He trailed his eyes meaningfully down your figure as you threw the duvet over yourself, getting comfy.

You’d not packed sexy PJ’s by any means. In fact, you hardly owned a proper pair of pyjamas, and rather just threw on a random t-shirt with whatever bottoms were comfiest and warmest, hence the fact you’d packed a pair of faux-boxer shorts and were wearing a Quadrant Bleach tee that Ria had given you a while ago.

“Rumour has it you couldn’t decide what merch to give me so Ria took it into her own hands.” You gestured to your shirt, smiling rather pointedly in his direction. He squirmed a little, and it was then, as he curled in on himself slightly, that the duvet fell around his torso from where it had been pulled right up to his chin to keep a draught out.

He was fucking shirtless. And when that seemed to register in your head and through your eyes, you were squirming. His pecs, bronze skin and moles were on view and you suddenly had no clue how to act.

Luckily for you, Lando seemed to have the same problem for whatever reason.

“Yeah. I had one of pretty much everything lined up for you, but it wouldn’t have been ‘financially viable’ apparently.”

Oh. You felt your brows shoot up in pleasant surprise.

“I didn’t know that.”

“That was the point.” Lando said, rather self-deprecating, “It looks good on you, though.”

A ‘thank you’ was on the tip of your tongue, but before it could slip out, your brain seemed to take on another direction, one much bolder than what was characteristic of you, “I don’t know, I think LN4 stuff’d look nicer.”

It shocked him as much as it shocked you — that much you could tell by the way that his eyebrows seemed to disappear under the damp curls that had hung across his forehead from where he’d clearly initially combed them backwards. His mouth seemed to drop a little, and his cheeks reddened.

But you barely had time to school your own face into one of confidence to fully own what you just said before he was spurting words out himself.

“Wanna test that theory?”

And he was climbing out of bed before you could even utter a word of protest.

You’d never been so thankful that he didn’t have eyes at the back of his head because when he took a step away from the bed, clad in nothing but black boxer briefs that clung almost maddeningly to his thighs, you practically had a heart attack. It was hard to rip your eyes away, if you were being honest.

But the very second he turned back to face you, throwing a long-sleeved tee in your direction, you somehow managed to look at him without even a smidge of blush on your face or without wearing an expression that assembled one of sheer awe.

Then you blinked and the t-shirt was hitting you in the face. It was a black 100 Race one.

A new one.

And because it hit you in the face the first thing you noticed was the smell. Now, Lando Norris was not a smelly person, at all. In fact, that t-shirt smelled so unfairly divine that you wanted to eat it. Melt it into a smoothie and drink it. In a normal way.

You had it in your hands and were looking pointedly at Lando for about seven seconds until he got the hint to turn around and close his eyes.

In return for his previous goodwill, you threw the Quadrant shirt at his back and climbed out of bed to assess it in the mirror. It was a slightly smaller fit than the other t-shirt, so it didn’t hang past your hips, or over your hands like you’d expected.

Oddly enough, it was almost a perfect fit.

Lando walked into the background of the mirror, catching your eye as he nodded appreciatively.

“Better than Bleach?” You asked, pushing the sleeves up to your elbow before climbing back under the covers.

His answer was him folding the Bleach t-shirt neatly and placing it on the desk.

“Way better.”

There wasn’t anything said for a while after that. Lando got back under the covers, snuggling down into his pillow and browsing through his phone, while you opened your book and kept your bedside light on to read for a while.

Until Lando seemingly couldn’t take the silence and turned his phone off, rolling towards the middle of the bed on his front and looking up at you.

He was content on letting you read for a while, eyes fluttering shut every now and again as though he was trying to fight sleep, when he muttered something under his breath.

“Sorry?” You bent your head, finishing reading the sentence before turning to see him blinking slowly, lashes kissing his cheeks as he rested his face against his elbow.

“Do you read every night?” He repeated, not in the least bit offended you weren’t paying him attention.

You hummed, nodding, slouching further into the mattress.

“How come?” He asked, fingers stretching to gently twiddle a small section of your hair before dropping it.

“I have trouble sleeping sometimes, and reading helps.”

“How?”

You shrugged, “It gets my brain to shut up.”

“Does anything else help?” He mumbled, eyebrow twitching.

You wanted to say yes. That some other things could help, but for one, you didn’t have the results to back up that claim, and two, you weren’t about to suggest trying it to Lando.

“I don’t think so.”

Lando hummed and didn’t say anything else, giving you the opportunity to switch off your bedside lamp, shrouding the whole room in darkness. Despite the coolness of the Vegas nights, the heat of another body under a duvet was enough to send your skin tingling with goosebumps and bury yourself deeper under the covers.

A gentle tugging on your hair once you’d settled was what had your eyes opening.

You hadn’t really been trying to sleep, per se, but Lando hadn’t so much as moved a muscle since you’d switched off the light, and his silence had you assuming he’d been trying to sleep, at least until his fingers had delicately begun twisting your damp hair.

If you hadn’t found it so shocking, it would have been soothing.

It took a while for your eyes to adjust, but once they did, all you could make out was the faint outline of Lando’s head and the gleam of his eyes from the light from The Strip.

Your eyes immediately scrunched shut, unable to tell if he thought you were asleep.

Then—“pretty” he breathed, your heart stuttering wildly in your chest.

He thought you were sleeping.

And he stopped twirling your hair, nestling his cheek into the pillow.

***

You woke up early and with Lando’s arm slung lazily across your waist, one of his legs stuck across yours. You froze momentarily, not having any recollection of exactly when you’d both ended up with him half draped over you, but considering you couldn’t remember much after hearing his whisper, you assumed you must have just gone right to sleep.

Which meant this happened in the night.

You tilted your head fractionally, eyes slipping over to where Lando was now on his stomach, cheek squished right into the pillow and a crease between his brows.

And then that short moment was interrupted by something uncomfortably occurring in your chest.

Your free hand (the other was sandwiched between your hip and Lando’s, nicely toasty of you did say so yourself) blindly reached for your bedside table, scrabbling at an uncomfortable angle until you found your phone. It took a while to manage to slide it across the wood for you to pick it up, and you groaned at the time displayed on the screen.

08:31.

You didn’t need to leave for the airport for another twelve hours, and had already mostly packed in your room. The only issue apart from your current predicament was the rumbling of your stomach, prompting some encouragement to get out of bed.

Which you absolutely did not want to do.

It was warm and you were being cuddled by a sleepy Lando, you weren’t about to risk waking him up. Even though it was your first race, you knew how exhausted he usually was the day after.

So you opted for scrolling on your phone, not before removing your hand from between you both and instead using it to hold the forearm he’d thrown over your waist.

The hotel corridors started to get a little noisier, doors shutting and opening, footsteps thumping, at around half nine/ten o’clock.

It must have been the neighbouring slam of the door that had Lando jolting awake — jumping as though he’d been thrown down the stairs in a dream. You stifled a laugh, trying not to smile at his rapid blinking, until his eyes settled on you, brows accusatory when he realised you were on the brink of laughing at him.

He groaned, slamming his face back onto the pillow and yawning, his arm briefly tensing as he stretched.

“How long have you been awake?” He mumbled, tilting his head so as to not muffle his words against the pillow.

“About an hour.”

He frowned, removing his arm from your hold and flipping himself onto his back, yawning, “How come you didn’t wake me up?”

You blinked, “Because it was half eight and you were asleep.”

He nodded, scratching the back of his head, “You hungry?”

“Yeah. You want to get breakfast downstairs, or–”

“Room service is good with me.”

Lando turned to hide his smile as he reached for the phone. Selfishly he wanted to stay in bed longer – the outside world was chilly – and there was the added bonus that you were there. Obviously he’d want more time with just the two of you, because outside this room, you guys barely got time for a conversation without being interrupted.

That was excluding the scheduled takeaways you both had every time he was back in town (it had started out as a joke because you were both so busy and no one seemed to be able to decide on specific dates, so you’d taken it into your own hands and…here you were), and he suspected that was when the more serious feelings started.

So, no, he’d rather not go downstairs where other people would interrupt and he’d barely get to talk to you.

“D’you know what you–What’re you doing?” He furrowed his brows,, about to hand you the menu when he stopped short of everything and watched you wander over to the front of the room.

Out of bed. Wearing his shirt.

Looking fucking incredible.

And he was thinking he could probably get used to this.

But his brain was going haywire because he didn’t want you to leave.

You said nothing, which did virtually nothing to ease his sense of panic, until you held up the TV remote, running a tired hand through your hair before tiptoeing back to the bed and sliding back under the covers like you belonged there.

“No.” You hummed, taking the menu from him and simultaneously flicking through the TV guide for something to watch.

“Did you sleep okay last night?” He found himself asking, noting the still-sleepy look about you – but not necessarily the bad kind of sleepy. You looked well-rested with rosy cheeks and bright eyes.

Pretty.

“Yeah. It was cosy.” You flashed him a warm smile, eye contact brief before going back to the menu, “What about you?”

“I’ll probably just have pancakes–”

“No,” you breathed a laugh, “Did you sleep well?”

Oh. He could feel his cheeks redden at the mistake, and nodded. In truth, he didn’t think he’d ever slept so well, even despite being a small bundle of nerves from the mere knowledge that you’d actually changed your mind and said yes to a sleepover, and the fact that you were less than three feet away. That was ignoring when he’d woken up to find out you’d been awake for so long and not wanted to wake him up or move him from where he’d (rather sheepishly) managed to hug you in his sleep.

“Cosy.” Was all he said, taking the menu back from you, “What’ll it be for you?”

“Pancakes, too, please.” You grinned at him, turning back to the TV.

He nodded, numbly reaching for the phone on his bedside table and rattling off the order, making sure to add in a glasses of milk and orange juice to accompany it.

When he’d finished and turned back to the TV, to you, there was a question written on your face as you pointed to the TV.

The Hangover.

“When in Vegas, right?” You asked, raising a brow and awaiting his answer.

He’d seen that movie a million times, had even watched it on Thursday (he’d never tell you that), but there was something about the hope and excitement written on your face that had him nodding along, not wanting to disappoint you this early in the morning.

God, he felt so bad when he crashed yesterday.

Not only had he ruined the race experience for you, but he’d worried you. You hadn’t even needed to say anything after the whole debacle (he hadn’t actually given you a real answer when you’d asked him why he wanted you to come with him to the hospital and whatever) for him to read it on your face.

He’d had every intention of whispering reassurances and holding your hand or doing something to have you closer than the edges of a constant small crowd, but he’d been strapped down and people had been talking over each other, and he just hadn’t had the chance.

Until the car ride back to the paddock. Sure, Jon was sitting next to him, but he’d kindly and rather respectfully chosen to ring Zak and give him an update, and then Lando took that brief moment of opportunity to hold your hand. He didn’t say anything, but almost as soon as his hand had touched yours he felt better – lighter. And he noticed that the weight on your shoulders and the crease between your brow lessened.

He sighed wistfully, tuning back into the film, but it was barely five minutes later when there was a knock on the door.

Room service.

He stopped you from moving, taking it upon himself to answer the door (he couldn’t tell if he was imagining it or not, but he swore he could feel your eyes on him as he walked past the end of the bed).

He cracked the door open, eyes on the floor where he expected the tray to be, only to look down and see a pair of trainers that most definitely belonged to Max.

His eyes shot up, and he hid himself behind the door, careful of you back around the corner, but wanting to shield himself from any passerbyers in the corridor – a photo of him answering the door in nothing but his undies would be pretty embarrassing – and glared at his friend, confusion clearly evident on his face.

Max was grinning like a madman, trying and failing to sneak a look behind Lando, “So?” He whispered, and Lando felt himself already getting irritated at the clear insinuation of that one singular word.

“No.” He answered, closing his eyes briefly and resting his temple against the door.

Max was quiet, “No.” He repeated, an element of disbelief etched on his face.

“No.” Lando groaned quietly, “Is that all?”

“No.” Max hissed, “Why not?”

Lando felt himself shrug, “Didn’t come up.”

Max blinked, rather frustrated, “You were supposed to make it come up.”

“Well I didn’t.”

“Clearly.” Max folded his arms across his chest and Lando rolled his eyes, “How come you’re only wearing your boxers?”

Lando looked down, brows furrowing, “What’s wrong with boxers?”

“The lack of other clothes? You always wear PJ’s.” Lando watched as the penny dropped in Max’s head, his eyes widening and his mouth forming an ‘o’ shape. Then he frowned, “Show off.”

Lando shook his head, “And what about it? I just wanted to be sure.”

“And are you?”

Lando chose not to say anything, just threw a cautious look behind his shoulder – one which prompted Max to jump to his reassurances.

“She does, okay?” He whispered softly, a pitiful look on his face, “I know that because of the way she looks at you when you’re not looking. She cares about you, man.” There was a pause, and Lando was too nervous to even look straight at Max, so he chose to focus on a spot above his head, completely missing the way Max hesitated, “She told P.”

Lando felt his neck practically snap to look at Max, nervousness completely abolished. His heart started thrumming with anticipation and the only thing he was capable of doing was staring so hard at Max the man’s skin prickled, “What?” Lando breathed, hoping he hadn’t just heard things in a mad craze.

Max screwed his eyes shut, shaking his head, “I shouldn’t be telling you this–”

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed, Hagrid, but the situation is kinda dire here.” Lando cut in.

Max rolled his eyes, “Yeah, it’s kinda hard not to notice you’re a fucking chicken.”

“I’m on the brink of an anxiety attack.”

“Get a grip.” Max glared, half wanting to smack some sense into Lando and the other half wanting to laugh at the petrified look on his face.

“I can’t.” Lando threw the door open a little further out of frustration, hands going to grip Max’s shoulders in desperation.

Max breathed. He blinked. And then Lando thought he made an expression that looked as though he’d just suffered the most painful bout of trapped gas, “Don’t tell anyone–”

“Oh, thank fuck.”

“But P told me that they had a girls night with Ria, and they got to talking about guys, and P asked her if she had her eye on anyone and she got all blushy–”

“Get on with it.” Lando clenched his jaw, eyes darting down the corridor.

“I’m getting to it. Can she hear us? Actually, it doesn’t matter – but she got blushy and quiet and it turns out she’s liked you since we all went out for dinner the day after Silverstone, y’know, because she couldn’t go to the race, and you guys sat next to each other and she just liked you.”

(You could hear every word of what was being said.)

Lando felt his lips part in shock. Silverstone was towards the start of the season and there was one race left of the season.

July, August, September, October, November. You’d liked him for five months and hidden it from him that well? Since July? You guys could have been together-together since July?

Lando could feel his brain start to explode. His thoughts were getting louder–since July?–and Max’s face wasn’t doing anything to help it. If anything his big eyes were making it worse.

“Yeah, I know, it’s hard to believe.” Max muttered, and it seemed to snap Lando out of his shock-induced reverie.

“Oi.” Lando defended, “Did she say what made her like me?” He slowly took his hands off his friends shoulders.

Max nodded, “You talked to her the whole night. You were kind, funny, endearing, cute, nice to the waiter. Apparently she felt kind of bad you didn’t talk much to anyone else–”

“I didn’t talk to anyone else because I really liked her already.” Lando whispered, trying not to smile.

Max smirked, “Well, you need to tell her that, not me.”

Lando nodded, “Yeah. Bye.” And shut the door in Max’s face, taking a second to breathe and plant a small, non-suspicious-granting smile on his face before bounding around the corner to his side of the bed, flashing you a wider grin as he threw himself on the bed.

You swallowed, anxiety twirling in your stomach. You knew that telling P that stuff was likely to get back to Max, and then there was a chance that Max had told Lando – but you were shocked to find that Max had just chosen to hold onto that information out of loyalty to you. It warmed you, knowing you’d got a friend in Max, but it was also a little frustrating because you’d specifically been counting on P telling Max telling Lando. Maybe put a few feelers out.

And there was nothing reported back, so you just assumed Lando didn’t like you like that.

But he apparently did?

It was a tough thing to accept (a good thing to accept, you guessed), but not at all what you expected. You’d been planning for heartbreak (not that you'd planned to tell him), but now within the span of a two minute conversation, you had liberty to not expect disappointment.

And that was a little intimidating.

But Lando hadn’t stopped smiling since he’d put himself back on the bed, not bothering to get back under the covers considering it had been Max at the door, not room service–

“Who was it?” You asked, wanting to keep up the pretence of not having heard every word of their private conversation.

Lando hummed, one arm draped over his hair as he ripped his eyes away from the screen, “Sorry?”

He was looking at your mouth when you spoke, “Who was at the door?”

Then his eyes zipped to yours, “Just Max, he wanted to know if we were having breakfast downstairs. Sent him on his way.”

You nodded.

You could mention what you just heard, ask him if he remembered the dinner out. No, not subtle enough. He’d clock onto it immediately.

But you couldn’t just not say something.

Your hands darted out to fiddle with the edge of the duvet, where it was tucked around your torso. You weren’t even paying attention to the film anymore. You don’t know how long you let your mind run rings around your anxiety, but it was Lando’s hand creeping closer towards yours out of the corner of your eyes that had your head quietening. You watched him push his hand across the covers until it got within a centimetre of yours.

You could feel the warmth from his hand radiating on your skin, and his hesitation was clearly an opportunity for you to pull your hand away.

So you placed your palm on top of his upturned one. And he closed his fingers over your knuckles.

“You okay?” He asked softly.

You couldn’t look at him, but you could feel his concerned gaze burn against your cheek, “Yeah, just thinking.” You took a breath, looking up at him, “Do you ever wish we could have met earlier?”

He was nodding before you’d even finished talking, his entire face sincere in a way you didn’t think you’d ever seen, “All the time. I think meeting you earlier would have just made my life a lot easier.”

You tilted your head, squeezing his hand as you felt some colour rush to your cheeks, “What do you mean?”

He shrugged, “You make me feel calm, like, I look at you and I just feel better.”

He was looking at you like he was expecting you to say something back immediately, but your mind had gone blank.

So blank.

And then you felt his hand slowly slipping from your grip, his shoulders moving back to the centre of the bed from he’d leaned across to hold your hand, and you squeezed his hand, not wanting him to move away. You just needed a second to gather your thoughts.

“I need t–”

A knock at the door sounded.

Lando’s eyes darted from you to the door, back and forth, clearly torn. It wasn’t exactly a secret that you were about to say something serious – something that would change the entire dynamic of your relationship – but the interruption…

And at the thought of cold food after your stomach had been growling for the past hour, you made the decision for him. You unlaced your hands, pushing yourself off the bed and opening the door before you could change your mind or look at his face.

Neither of you said anything for the rest of breakfast, and nothing but an awkward, tense silence seemed to envelope the room.

The next time you saw him was when the group had decided to go for a last minute stroll, one of the stops being the shopping centre in the Venetian. Lando was walking with Max,;Ria with you behind them, and the rest of the group were trailing behind, occasionally laughing loudly. They were pretty raucous, and you and Ria were far enough behind Max and Lando that they couldn’t hear what you were talking about.

Ria had linked your arms, a mischievous twinkle in her eye as she pulled you closer after Lando had thrown another anxious glance over his shoulder to check on you, “Lando keeps checking you out.” She whispered.

You shook your head, momentarily biting the inside of your cheek, “He’s making sure I don’t run off.”

She frowned, looking back at Lando, who seemed to spin quickly after getting caught, “Why would you run off?”

You shrugged, trying not to think too much about it, “I overheard him and Max talking this morning about him liking me, and then Max told him about that night when we slept over at P’s place–”

“Yeah, because you wanted P to tell Max to tell Lando–” Ria nodded along.

“Exactly. Anyway, it turns out Max never told Lando, so since July, Lando’s been clueless about it all, and we had sort of a chat when he came back, and I was going to tell him–” Ria shot you a look, “I was, because if i didn’t tell him then, I never would’ve.” You groaned, “But then room service came and we haven’t talked since. But I think he knew I was going to say something, but–I don’t know.”

Ria seemed to think about it for a second, “He probably thinks you changed your mind.” She muttered.

You nodded, “I know, that’s the thing. I chickened out of telling him and then I thought he’d think I changed my mind, and then my brain seems to want to tell me that because he thinks I don’t like him anymore he won’t like me anymore, even though he’s not like that. At all. But now I can’t tell him because there’s people everywhere.”

Ria patted your arm, pulling out her phone, “Do you know what you’re gonna say to him?”

“No, I’m hoping it’ll come to me in the moment.” Even the thought of it sent a knot of anxiety plummeting in your stomach.

“Okay, this is what’s gonna happen: when we get to the shopping centre, everyone will want to go to the craziest shop they see first, okay? You say you want to get a drink first, and Max’ll get Lando to go with you.”

You nodded, “Okay.”

“I’ll text Max. You have to promise you’ll do it, though. Everyone needs to be put out of their misery.”

You raised a sceptical brow, “Everyone?”

She nodded, “Neither of you are subtle.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

As it happened, Ria’s theory was right. About seven people made an immediate beeline for the nearest shop with lights in the front and an array of weird things in the window (in all honesty, you were too nervous to even pay attention to what it was, it could have just been any high street shop).

You turned to Ria, “I’m gonna go get a coffee, I’ll meet you back here?”

She nodded, finding Max, who seemed to be on the lookout for her, and winked.

You took a deep breath, already beginning to walk away from the group. You’d all craned over a map on the way in so you knew vaguely which direction you were heading in, and when a hurried pair of footsteps jogged closer, your nerves seemed to only get worse.

Then Lando stepped next to you, and oddly enough, the anxiety you’d been holding onto all morning seemed to evaporate. And then it seemed to come crashing back in when you actually took in the expression on his face.

There was a slight downwards curve to his mouth, and his eyes were wide, brows furrowed. He looked a little frantic. And sad.

You wanted to drag your hand down his face and wipe it off.

In fact, you hated it so much that you stopped mid-step and grabbed his forearm without even thinking about it, “Is everything oka–”

“Are we still friends?” He breathed, eyes darting around your face.

You blinked, mouth parting at the loaded question. If you said yes you’d basically be rejecting him and that was the last thing you wanted to do; if you said no, you didn’t know what would happen. He could take it the wrong way and assume you didn’t want to be anything at all, but you were going to tell him – you had to, you promised Ria.

Even if it meant breaking his heart a little bit first, it’d have the best outcome.

You turned back around briefly, eyes scanning for a more private alcove, and dragged him to the nearest corridor, out of any possible stray eyes. It was a bit busy today, with the race last night–

You pushed him against the wall gently, hands wringing together. He slumped, clearly trying not to get too defeated by your silence after he’d spoken. But then his eyes dropped to your hands and he straightened, something unreadable on his face.

“I don’t want to still be friends.” You said, sighing and crossing your arms.

It was his turn to speak now. You seemed incapable of saying anything else at that moment.

He swallowed, brows furrowing. His face looked less despondent, so you took that as a win. He seemed to have been expecting you to say something like that (that was why he phrased the question in such a way!) because he pushed himself off the wall a little, “In what way?”

You rolled your eyes, “In an I like you way.”

“Romantically?” He took another step closer, a cheeky smile starting to curve at his mouth, and you said nothing at him.

Only this time it was of your own will.

He huffed a laugh, “I just need to hear you say it.”

“Romantically.”

It felt like a relief getting those words off your chest to the person you needed to say them to.

He seemed to think so too, because he grinned. Wider than he had before – like he had done last night, when he’d smiled with his entire being. His eyes crinkled in that way you adored, and his smile seemed ot reach his ears, “Thank fuck.” He breathed.

Then that was all he said.

You raised your brow, “Dude.” You encouraged, gesturing to him to go on.

He pulled a face, “Don’t ‘dude’ me.”

“You haven’t given me a reason not to ‘dude’ you.”

“I like you too, dickhead.” He grumbled, “A little less than before you called me ‘dude’, though.”

“I’m liking you less by the second.” You stated, trying not to laugh at the situation, “Romantically?” You checked, echoing his earlier question and also mocking it slightly.

“Romantically.” He clarified.

You both went silent, just drinking each other up in a way you hadn’t been able to five minutes ago. He looked gorgeous, as per usual. His hair was a little messier than it usually would be, probably a combination of the last-second plans and the fact that he wasn’t going to be showing his face on international TV. His face looked less restrained, like because he knew he didn’t have to hold back from looking at you everywhere, it was a weight lifted from his chest. His eyes were still smiling, glimmering a little, and his smile was softer – more secretive. His hands were flexing at his sides, as though he didn’t know what to do with them.

His hoodie hugged his shoulders, practically begging you to run your hands over them – but you didn’t. He looked snug, again, and before you could restrain yourself, you reached out and took one of his hands. His response was immediate, clasping his hand around yours and looking at you with a burning intensity. Only, you used your other hand to pull up his sleeve.

His forearm was tanned beautifully, veins completely visible. You’d never been allowed to just twist his arm around to your desire and simply look. You swallowed, tilting your head up to meet his eyes. His tongue darted out to wet his bottom lip and he caught it with his teeth.

You nudged your head closer, his nose softly bumping against your cheek.

Blood seemed to pump through your veins even faster than it already was. You could feel where you’d both stepped into each other, where his legs were pressed against yours, where your hands were still gripping, your other hand slipping off his forearm.

You could feel his breath tickle your cheek and your eyes fluttered shut briefly before snapping open. He was still looking at you, and in that split second he used the leverage of your conjoined hands to pull you even closer. You stumbled a little into him, tripping over his trainers, chests colliding. Your free hand slapped out to stop your falling, landing directly on top of his shoulder to brace yourself.

If anything, his little pull seemed to work because you were closer than before. All you had to do was lean closer–

“I want to kiss you but I want to take you on a date first.” He whispered, sucking the inside of his cheek nervously.

You had to stop yourself from rolling your eyes, “Because you’re a gentleman.”

He nodded, leaning closer despite his words. His eyes seemed to be zeroed in on your lips, and your mouth curved into a smile almost instantly at that observation. Then he smiled, nodding, your foreheads touching, “Yeah.”

“What kind of gentleman would you be if I wanted you to kiss me but you said no?” You breathed.

“Not a very good one.”

Lando’s lips were softer than you imagined, but there was a soul-crushing desperation behind it – a need, maybe the thought that someone could walk past the end of the corridor at any second and ruin this little pocket of relief, so he needed to make it last. You were eager, meeting him with an equal force that seemed to knock the air out of your lungs and weaken your knees – but his hold on you, he was touching you everywhere: one hand was on your cheek and laced in your hair, the other holding your back and pushing him against you – and you were practically leaning on him.

You didn’t know if it was the culmination of pent up feeling being released, or the fact that you were kissing him, but it felt euphoric; the way you seemed to move together was almost as if it had been rehearsed – which was insane, if you really thought about it. But you couldn’t, because he was practically kissing the breath out of your lungs, and you don’t know when it happened but you were pressing against him roughly, one hand on the back of his neck and the other wound in his hair.

And then you pulled away, breathing heavily. Your pulse was hammering and your blood was singing. You knew your cheeks would be red and your lips would be swollen, hair messy, but in that moment you couldn’t honestly find it within yourself to care.

And then he smirked, taking in your appearance.

His hair was practically everywhere. It looked like he’d just rolled out of bed after a deep sleep on one side of his face, and his cheeks were flushed, as were the tips of his ears and the slither of chest you could see from where his hoodie had slipped and been tugged.

Then you smacked him on the arm – not very hard. More of a light tap. He hissed nonetheless, smirk dropping but eyes still glazed over and watching you with what you now knew was lovesick intrigue.

“You’re a fucking chicken.” You pointed at him, “We could have been doing that last night.”

His expression dropped, eyes refocusing, “No, we could have been doing that since July.”

You tilted your head, “Maybe August, because I would have had to actually make sure I liked you.”

His expression dropped a little, an inquisitive smile still on his face, “Did you hear that entire conversation with Max?”

“It was hard to miss.”

“Oh.” He nodded, a smile on his face as he looped one hand around your shoulder, pulling you closer. You thought he was pulling you in for another kiss, your hand pressed comfortably against his chest, and he was an eyelash-length away from it when he stopped.

You were about to groan.

“What do you mean you had to make sure you liked me?” His brow was arched, but his tone wasn’t malicious or suspicious in any way. If anything it was coated with a thinly veiled layer of curiosity.

You shrugged, “Crushes go away. This kind of seemed to stick.”

“Lucky for me.” He kissed you, hands pressed against your cheeks in a display of faux passion and drama, before letting you go, hands not leaving you or letting you stray too far.

“So you never said when you started to like me.” You murmured, just loud enough for him to hear.

He huffed a laugh, shaking his head and avoiding eye contact.

“Now is not the time to get shy on me.” You breathed, a hand going to hold his sleeve.

“I’m not shy, I just—” He shook his head, self-deprecation evident, “If I had to say, probably May.”

You stalled, not able to say much, “Monaco?”

“Yeah.”

Then something warm seemed to bloom in your chest and you felt your eyes soften and a small smile creep in your face at the admission, “When we met?”

He inhaled sharply, “Pretty much. I think the crush started when you offered to help me take my helmet photos.”

You laughed, “Those photos were pretty funny.”

He nodded, eyes darting again to the end of the corridor, “We can talk about all that later—”

“Agreed—”

“But I just wanna kiss you again.”

You just pulled him in.

#lando norris oneshot #lando norris x reader #lando norris imagine

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hearts4golbach · 3 months ago

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could you write something johnnie x reader where the roles are reversed in cuff me?

Yes, Officer.

pairing:

Police Officer!Johnnie Guilbert x Prisoner!Fem!Reader.

a/n:

also based off of this request.

i wanna write more interesting oneshots like this. GUESS WHOS GOING TO GET TO ACTUALLY SEE FALLING IN REVERSE LIVE??? (if youve read the night shift, you know.)

proofread/not proofread

warnings:

slight gun play, guns, blood/violence mention, pet names (sugar, ma, mama, etc,) SMUT 18+, oral sex (M receiving,) spanking, rough sex, semi-public sex, manhandling, unprotected sex, fanfic logic.

word count:

2.0k

your feet slapped against the pavement as you ran as fast as you could. rain patted against the street, a soft sound mixed with your harsh panting. you dipped into the forest, hoping no one would find you there, you needed to rest. your chest burned as you heaved, trying to catch your breath. rocks stabbed into your feet, making them ache and bleed. your white, stained tank top was now wet with sweat, and you could've sworn there was a puddle of it in your neon orange joggers. you began to walk further into the woods, promising yourself no one would be able to find you.

you found a decent place to sit on a log that was covered in dirt, but it was better than the slick grass and mud. you sat there, staring at the ground as you contemplated your options. you needed to get as far away from Los Angeles as possible. but how? you had no money, no car, no jo-

"put your fucking hands up!" a voice yelled from behind you. you whipped around, "if you run, i will shoot you." he added, walking towards you carefully. "you don't want me to call for backup, do you, ms. L/n?"

you stood up slowly, tossing your hands in the air as you turned around. there stood officer Guilbert, his gray camouflage gun pointed directly at your head. he walked towards you slowly. officer Guilbert was your favorite officer form the prison, not to mention, the most attractive. his sunglasses seemed to be glued to his face, seeing as they were on this late at night.

"still won't take off those damn glasses?" you teased. at this point, his gun was pressed into your forehead. the cold metal sent shivers down his spine. he didn't react to your snarky comment. "you wouldn't dare shoot that."

"don't fucking test me, sugar." Sugar was officer Guilbert's pet name for you. he had obviously taken some what of a liking to you, seeing as he hadn't given any of the other girls a nickname of any sorts. a light pink blush glowed on your face, making officer Guilbert smirk. "you wanna tell me what the hell you're doing out here?"

you rested your aching arms on his shoulders, stepping closer to him. " i want to feel free. don't you get it, officer?" he loved when you called him just 'officer,' you knew it for a fact. you knew he was holding eye contact, even though his sunglasses kept you from knowing for sure.

he lowered his gun slightly, dragging it down your cheek and to your chest. he dragged it down further, resulting in him slightly pulling down your tank top to reveal some cleavage. "you know, you're too pretty to be out here all by yourself. I'm sorry, ma. I'm going to need you to turn around and put your hands behind your back."

you groaned, giving him puppy dog eyes before turning around and doing as he told you. "yes, officer." you hummed, trying to weisle your way out of the situation.

he took a pair of cuffs off of his belt and locked them onto you. "why don't you turn back around and get on your knees, sweetheart?"

your heart jumped at his request. you slowly turned to face him before dropping to your knees. dirt clung to your pants and wood chips stabbed into your knees, but you found it extremely hard to care. the pain attributed to the adrenaline rushing through your veins.

Officer Guilbert squatted down, coming face to face with you. "you think i wouldn't hear about your little crush on me? your cell mates don't know how to keep their mouths shut. i know about your fantasies about me, ms. L/n. you wanna tell me what that's all about?" a strong hand gripped your chin, tilting your head up to look at him.

"well, if you've heard, then i'm sure you already know." you spat, slightly embarrassed.

"you wanna get out of this? use your words, sugar. we can stop any time and i'll take you right back." he teased, a devious smirk plastered on his face. the way he was speaking to you made you throb. you felt arousal pool in your panties. "i have to take you back either way, sweetheart. now is our only time alone, and i plan to use it."

"p-please, officer." you whined, eyes fluttering shut as his calloused thumb ran over your scarred cheek.

"tell me what you want from me, Ms. L/n." he tisked, gripping your chin tighter.

your mouth watered as you noticed the growing bulge in his pants. embarrassment flushed through your body as you spoke, "'wanna suck your dick s'bad, officer Guilbert."

you leaned into his touch, making him smirk. "really?" he replied sarcastically. you chewed your lip and nodded. he pressed a harsh, short kiss to your lips as you melted into his touch. he pulled away and stood up, making you let out a soft moan at the loss of touch. "my pretty girl is just so touch starved, isn't she?"

you watched intently as he unbuckled his pants and pulled them down slowly, revealing the briefs that were restraining his hard cock. your hands strained against the cuffs as you tried to reach out and touch him. "fuck," you whined, looking up at him.

he moved his glasses on top of his head so you could finally see his watercolor eyes. "only good girls get to touch, sugar." yo frowned at his words but didn't protest. "you sure you want to do this?"

you nodded quickly. "yes, yes officer. i want to so fucking bad." you sunk your teeth into your lower lip once more, picking at the shredded skin.

he pulled his boxers down and his dick sprung out. pre cum beaded at the angry red tip. he kept his pants gathered around his mid thigh. you leaned forward, licking from the base of his cock up to his tip. you wrapped your lips around him, making him buck his hips up. you swirled your tongue around his tip, making him groan at the sensation.

"shit," he muttered as you looked up at him with watery eyes. "you're doing s'good. don't worry, sweetheart. i'm gonna get you out of trouble, i was goin' to even before all this." word vomit flowed from his mouth as he watched your every mood.

you hummed against him, making his cock twitch in your mouth. you took him further down your throat. Johnnie choked out a groan. his hand moved to your hair. he grabbed a handful of your hair as he tossed his head back. you bobbed your head faster, rolling your tongue over every detail of his shaft.

"fuck, that's it." you stared at his ink covered skin, admiring his tattoos as you took his cock further into your mouth.

his sensitive tip hit the back of your throat, making you gag around his length. he let out a low whimper, grasping your hair tighter. you couldn't help but smirk, the best you could, at the sounds he was making. "i wish i could break you out of that hell and have you all to myself."

you moaned in response, sending shivers up his spine. he pulled you off of his cock by your hair, the pain making a whimper slip past your lips. his cock was dripping with your spit mixed with his juices. he helped pull you to a standing position. his hand met the area where your jaw meets your neck, gripping it gently as he brought you closer to his face. "you want me to fuck that pretty pussy of yours?"

"fuck me, please." you pleaded, leaning into his touch and kissing his jaw.

he let out a grunt in response. "that's what i thought. so fuckin needy for me, hmm?" his lips crashed against yours as he walked you backwards into the nearest tree. he tasted himself on your tongue, making him groan into your mouth. he kept your hands cuffed as he flipped you around. your face was pressed into the tree as he tugged your baggy sweats down. "you look so fucking good, even in these state ordered tidy widys." he teased, placing a light slap on your ass.

you jumped, giggling as his joke. he kissed along your bare shoulder as he slid your panties down around your ankles to meet your sweats. you arched your back, giving him better access to your wet cunt.

"you're so pretty," he muttered against your skin as he alliance his tip with your wet entrance. he thrusted inside you quickly, causing you to let out a loud moan. "so fucking tight." he grunted, setting a quick face.

he drilled into your pussy, savoring the feeling of you clenching around him. you let out pornographic moans, which amused him and turned him on even further, this was the first time you were being fucked in a year and a half, and he was giving it to you good. his hands gripped the chain of the handcuffs tightly. "fucking shit, officer." you teased the best you could, your. mind fuzzy and cock drunk.

he groaned at the name, pulling the handcuffs so you were up against his chest. he wrapped his freehand around your torso and began to massage your tit. "i'm always staring at you. i love when you wear these white tank tops with no bra, fuck." he said breathlessly. he pinched your pebbled nipple between his finger.

"fuck! 'm so close, officer guilbert. please let-" you cut yourself off with a moan. "please let me cum."

"i got you, mama. let go." his sweet tone was contradictory to his manhandling. he pounded into you relentlessly, his only goal bringing you as well as himself past the edge. "where do you want me?"

"shit, my- my mouth." you panted, your jaw falling open as a loud whimper came out of you. your walls clenched around his cock hard as you came. he helped you ride out your high.

your legs were wobbly as you turned around and dropped to your knees once more. his cock was pulsing, begging for release. you stuck out your tongue, resting his tip on it. you pumped his cock quickly as you looked into his eyes, not breaking eye contact for a second.

he tossed his head back with a loud groan as he came inside of your mouth. you swallowed it all. he looked down at you with nothing but admiration. his gaze softened. "here, get up."

you did as he instructed. he turned you around and unlocked the handcuffs, taking them off and rubbing your wrists gently. he placed a gentle kiss on your shoulder before pulling your underwear and pants back up. you turned around and placed a soft kiss against his lips. he wrapped his arms around you and held you close as you kissed.

you helped him as well, pulling up his pants and buckling them for him. "still can't believe you knew about my crush on you the whole time." you joked, still slightly embarrassed.

Johnnie smiled, pressing one last kiss against your lips. he sighed. "fuck it. go."

you looked at him with a quizzical look. "what?"

"go."

#fanfiction #fanfic #johnnie guilbert #jake and johnnie #jake webber #hearts4golbach #johnnie guilbert x reader #johnnie guilbert x you #tara yummy #johnnie guilbert smut #johnnie and jake #smut #prison au #prison

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mcytblrconfessions · 1 year ago

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pavlov'd myself into associating highcraft the series with jogging (i listen to it on runs) but the negative effect includes everytime i can smell weed i get the urge to go jogging. i smoke weed. i live in a building where multiple people smoke weed. i go to do a food shop and walk by someone who's smoked and it activates my fucked up instinct to immediately break out into a sprint. this fucking sucks. i try to relax and unwind every now and again but my mind's like "wouldn't it be sick if you went jogging" no it fucking wouldn't my tits are out and i have one sock on and are wearing neon green joggers. i would be arrested. fucking highcraft of all things. fucking hell.

hey so are literally any highcraft fans okay?

#confession #mod response #??? of mcytblrconfessions #series: highcraft #mcyt struggle posts

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soongyeopsal · 1 year ago

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What Goes Up...

Summary: Chan is interested in a new kink and you do your job: support him.

▸ Pairing: Chan/Dino x F!reader

▸ Rating / Genre / AU:18+ / pwp, smut / established relationship If you are a minor AND/OR if your account has no age in the bio, you will be blocked upon interacting (liking/reblogging) with this post.

▸ Warnings: exhibitionism

▸ Word Count: 1,956

▸ A/N: Had fun doing this for K-Vanity’s Wanderlust Festival! Prompts used: log ride, established relationship, protagonist is a suspect. Fat thank you to @shuadotcom for beta and juicy kithes for @wonwussy, @wooahaeproductions, and @onlymingyus for the endless encouragement while I worked on this. @bitchlessdino and @idyllic-ghost come get ya’ll juice!

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

“I think I wanna try exhibitionism?” Chan knows you love him, knows he can trust you with anything.

“Ooh!” you gasp, lips quirking upward with intrigue as you study him on the other end of the couch. “Ok babe, let’s try it sometime.”

For all of his trust, Chan looks surprisingly relieved. “Really?”

“Of course! Just gotta figure out the ‘where’ and the ‘when’.” It’s the beginning of a bad idea.

The ‘where’ is the Amped Up Autumn event at the theme park a few highway exits away. An event that you are “absolutely banned” from, as delivered by ride attendant and fellow high school alumni Boo Seungkwan.

You’re not worried, though, and Chan isn’t either – he has no idea about your storied history of getting into trouble in some way or another at this event for the last several years. He also has no idea why you’ve got both a baseball cap and sunglasses on when it’s overcast, but “fashion” is an acceptable enough answer given that you’re not being suspicious otherwise.

Well, not suspicious at first. The two of you wait to enter the park and pick up maps (he can’t know you’re very familiar with it) without incident. It’s when you get to the petting zoo that he starts questioning things.

You start small, pressing against Chan’s side as he feeds a pony. He welcomes your warmth as always, beaming at you before turning back to the activity. When you both reach the smaller barnyard animals, you make it a point to bend at the waist to pet a sheep, ass kissing his crotch. Chan subtly moves back and though you don’t turn around to watch, you’re sure that he’s sure it was just an accident.

Amped Up Autumn is also home to peacocks, spoiled by and socialized with the endless droves of visitors to the park. When Chan nudges you excitedly as a muster of birds approaches, you make sure that there’s no misconstruing your actions.

“Shoot, I’m out of feed. Do you have any left?” You don’t wait for an answer, helping yourself to Chan’s supply. The paper feed bags are relatively shallow, but you make a show of digging in, forcing your hand roughly so he almost drops it. Chan catches it in time, right when you’ve pushed it near his groin. Your fingers spread and continue searching even though they’re so obviously at the bottom, rubbing greedily at his cock through his joggers.

Chan stiffens at the sensation and you watch, delighted as his expression morphs from surprise to confusion to cautious understanding, lips parting and closing again as his eyebrows pinch together. When you’re sure he’s received the message, you retreat with a fistful of mixed grains, making a show of feeding the peacocks. To passerby, you’re just an overenthusiastic attendee, but to Chan, you’re a flashing neon light that says ‘trouble’.

It’s almost comically convenient that Chan’s never been on Sawyer’s Mill, the park’s log flume ride. Even if he had, you would have insisted that you board it today. Thankfully, it takes next to no convincing to get him to join you in line; the thought of just sitting down for a few minutes is appealing enough on its own. You waste no time cozying up to Chan again, pushing your chest into his almost wantonly when you pull him in for a hug while you wait.

He knows you’re teasing by now, but lacks the willpower to stop it. You’re cute and you smell nice and it’s not like he can deny that your tits don’t feel good smushed up against him. The best he can manage is to nervously peek at the other attendees as you slowly snake through the line. You and Chan are one of many touchy couples here, so nobody seems to notice or, if they do, care.

Chan thanks the universe that that’s the case when you stand just ahead of him, hand at your side perfectly level with the seat of his pants. Your pinky keeps rubbing at him through the fabric, coaxing a chub that he can only hide by moving closer to you so your form can shield him from prying eyes.

Is this the longest line at the park or is Chan in purgatory? He’s not sure, but the way you keep prodding is making him desperate to get out of sight so he can just cum already and get back to what was supposed to be a very normal date. Clearly, that’s what you want too since you won’t leave him alone.

“Excuse me, what are you doing?”

You’re almost to the front of the line now and there’s a staffer on guard to make sure that nobody cuts at the last minute. His nametag reads “Seungkwan”. Seungkwan seems laser-focused on you and Chan so the question must be for you, but you just push up your glasses and turn around to scan the lane behind you. “Huh? Who?”

Chan follows your gaze, but is met with park-goers just as confused as you seem to be.

“You!” Seungkwan says, starting to point at you before quickly retracting his finger when his customer service training kicks in fully. He settles for vaguely gesturing at the two of you. “Would you mind taking off your glasses, please?” he asks curtly.

“Next two!”

Another attendant calls your party forward and you grab Chan’s hand to dart away and get into the car (...log?) that awaits you. Just as you leave Seungkwan’s line of sight, Chan spies him muttering something into a walkie talkie.

The ride attendant at the cars is much less interested in you – which is good (?) Chan guesses. “Bags on the floor, hands in at all times, jiggle the safety for me,” they sigh, rehearsed and apathetic as they lower the safety bar onto your laps. You rattle the bar excitedly before squeezing Chan’s knee and the attendant finds this sufficient enough, sending you off with a flat, “Enjoy.” Just as the car jolts into motion, they add, “Oh yeah, hats off. Enjoy.”

For the first time all day, you remove your cap and toss it to the floor of the car, exhaling with relief. The car begins its slow, steep ascent and Chan has a lot of questions now. “Babe, is there something you’re not telling me?”

“What do you mean?” You place your hand back on his knee and start rubbing, batting your eyelashes behind your dark lenses. “Are you not having fun?”

Chan tries to shift in his seat, but the safety bar cements him in place. It’s chilly here, between the fall air and shallow water sloshing around you, but he’s a bit warm now. “No, I’m having fun! Just–” your hand creeps up further, skipping over the bar to land limply on his dick. He lets out a shaky breath. “Seems like you had a…plan? For today?”

“Hmm, maybe, maybe not.” Your shit-eating grin clarifies further (as if it’s even necessary at this point).

“Are you sure about this?”

You rest your palm on his crotch, flat and firm. “I am. Are you?”

“I-I’m not sure.”

“Tell me to stop.” It’s not a threat or an order, just a reminder of what you’ve agreed to in conversations past. Experimentation is on the table until somebody calls it off.

Chan does nothing of the sort, instead whimpering and looking away as you continue to toy with him over his pants. You can’t hear him over the noise of the ride, but his refusal to look at you anymore provides plenty of satisfaction and confirmation that you should keep going.

You finally reach the top of the mountain, creeping into a cave that serves as a pit stop before the big fall. The darkride section of Sawyer’s Mill has seen better days, but the animatronic mountain lion that slides from the corner and roars through the speakers is sudden enough to give most newcomers a scare. Chan would have dove to certain doom if not for the bar and your now blatant grip on his cock. It jumps, just a little, in your hand and you’re certain that it’s not from the fear.

Chan slumps in his seat, rattled and frustrated. You don’t need to hear him to know; his cock is full and straining against the fabric. You lean over, breath ghosting the shell of his ear. “Is this enough exposure for you? Can you get off like this?”

He doesn’t answer, just throws his head back in defeat as you slide past the waistband of his joggers and grasp his dick through the slit of his boxers.

“We’ve only got a minute or two, so I sure hope you can,” you singsong, pumping his cock hard and erratic, the way you know he likes it when he just wants to cross the finish line. Watching Chan like this, struggling against the safety bar to hump and screwing his eyes shut in an attempt to forget he’s coming undone publicly, has you soaked through your panties. If you thought you could get away with it, you’d find a way to sneak back in here after hours so Chan could fuck you next to the mountain lion. But alas, this is an occasion to just enjoy the delectable view and the warm precum that’s lubing up your hand as you yank Chan closer to the edge.

Chan is so close; you can tell by the conspicuously audible groan he lets out and the way his heartbeat pounds through him and directly into your palm. He opens his mouth and his eyes roll back and he’s right there–

And then you freeze. Chan whines and refocuses, only to immediately squint as the glaring yellow circle of a flashlight assaults his eyes. He tries to shield himself, arm extending over his face as the light finally moves. Then, he sees it. Another attendee, nametagged “Minghao”, is pointing the light on his tented pants and shaking his head vigorously as he frowns. He doesn’t say anything – he just continues to glower disapprovingly – and that only makes it worse as the beam follows the two of you shamefully through the last ten or so feet of the cave.

Mortifyingly, you don’t flinch at being discovered. Instead, you get back to work and wave at Minghao with your free hand as if this were a routine predicament. Chan moans your name plaintively, but you just lean in again, this time making sure that your lips brush his ear when you speak. “What’s the matter, Chan? Gonna cum?”

You glide your palm down his shaft one last time and tug on the way back up, thumb pressing into the sensitive head. And that’s all it takes. The car sputters as it accelerates and you begin your rapid descent down the slide, water crashing into the car with a force only rivaled by his climax. Chan sees white and feels his stomach rise up to his chest, though he’s honestly not sure if that’s from the ride or your ministrations.

It’s not until you jostle him that he even realizes you’ve reached the bottom and the ride is over. He stumbles from the car, dazed and silent. You’re both soaked through and Chan really hates the sensation of wet clothes on his skin, but the endorphins of afterglow overtake anything else he should be feeling right now.

“Good thing we’re all wet or else someone might notice you had a really good time!” you joke as you lead him through the ride’s exit lane, waltzing along as if you hadn’t just jerked his soul straight from his dick only moments ago.

Despite your nonchalance, Chan spies how quickly you put your cap back on and pull down the brim when you pass the exit gate and the attendee guarding it. As you pass by, Chan notices in his peripheral that it’s Seungkwan again. He doesn’t say a word, but Chan can feel the man’s eyeballs burning a hole in your retreating backs. Among the ambient park noise of Amped Up Autumn, he hears a voice through Seungkwan’s walkie talkie.

“...so gross!”

#kvanity #kwanderlust #svthub #dino x reader #lee chan x reader #seventeen x reader #svt x reader #dino smut #lee chan smut #dino fic #lee chan fic #svt fic #seventeen fic

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captainnameless · 4 months ago

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So lewis has curly hair and so does Lando so i can imagine Carlos having to ask Lewis to help out with all Landos different hair products😂

listen there is a very clear point within the past 4 years where Lando’s hair went from questionable to actually pretty nice and then the curls were curling and i’m all aboard the let’s pretend we have to thank Lewis Hamilton for that.

they’re two different hairtypes for sure but Lewis is fed up with the late night texts from Carlos and takes Lando to a proper barber (aka not Max Fewtrell’s brother sorry Theo I’m coming for your neck) and gets him on some products that work.

hair aside can you imagine the torture Lewis goes through every time he has Lando overnight and wakes up to him matching one of Daniel’s peach colored joggers to his neon yellow grandstand hoodie. he’ll pair it with a god awful bucket hat too and refuses to wear anything else and Lewis questions the existence of a higher power because why would they let this happen.

#littlef1adventures

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mekyrdesign · 2 months ago

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Step back in time with our Retro 1980s Joggers for Women! These stylish joggers blend comfort and nostalgia, featuring a vibrant color palette and classic design elements reminiscent of the iconic 80s era. Made from soft, breathable fabric, the Retro 1980s Joggers for Women are perfect for workouts, casual outings, or lounging at home. Embrace your inner retro vibe and elevate your wardrobe with these chic joggers that celebrate timeless style and laid-back elegance.

#1980s fashion #women's joggers #retro sportswear #vintage joggings #80s clothing #fitness apparel #casual bottoms #athletic wear #neon joggers #nostalgic workout gear

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shopwitchvamp · 3 months ago

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Tomorrow's restock preview is up now!

There will be lots of fan favorites in black, red, and white, including 3 @vetiverfox designs!! (And if you want one of those, get ready ahead of time because they tend to go very fast) See you at the drop tomorrow (8/15) at 5pm CT! 🖤witchvamp.com🖤

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mystictf · 6 days ago

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Big City, Bright Lights

Avengers x Reader (AU)

3.1k Words

The car rolls to a stop, and you hesitate for a moment, gripping the seat belt tight, your heart racing. With a deep breath, you push the door open and step out into the pulsating energy of New York City. The cacophony of honking taxis and chatter mingles with the distant rhythm of street performers, a symphony of sound that is both exhilarating and intimidating.

You gaze up at the towering skyscrapers, their glass facades reflecting the sunlight and the lives within them. Each building seems like a giant, proudly displaying its story - stories of ambition, dreams, and struggles. As your family gathers their things, you take it all in, the smell of the street food mingling with the scent of concrete, a stark contrast to the fresh air of your small hometown. Your parents, filled with a mix of anxiety and excitement, lead the way through the crowded street, navigating the bustling sidewalks as you follow closely behind, feeling smaller than you ever have. You watch as people whiz past - joggers, tourists, businesspeople - all moving with purpose. It’s sensory overload that leaves you momentarily breathless. After what feels like an eternity, you arrive at your new apartment building, a modest structure that stands among the giants, yet it feels oddly comforting. As you step inside, the cool air conditioning wraps around you, offering a momentary reprieve from the summer heat. Your family gathers around, each bearing boxes and bags, your father leading the charge, excitement edging out the fatigue from the long journey.

The apartment is small, but sunlight floods in through the window, illuminating the space. You set down your things and start unpacking, every box you open feels like a jigsaw puzzle piece of your former life. You pull out familiar items: your favourite books, photographs of cherished memories, and trinkets that remind you of home. You try to create a haven in this unfamiliar place, but each item evokes a sense of longing for the past. As evening approaches, your family finally settles into your new life for the first time. You gather around a small table in the cramped kitchen, sharing a simple meal, yet the conversation flows with newfound hope. You share laughter, but it’s accompanied by that underlying tension of change, the bittersweet tug at your heart as you remember what you’ve left behind.

The next day, you wake up with a sense of anticipation. Your parents suggest an adventure to explore the city - an effort to ease the transition and help you feel more at home. The three of you step out, sunlight pouring down as you embark on your first day of discovery. The city unfurls around you, vibrant and alive. You snap photos as you walk by the iconic skyscrapers, Times Square, and Central Park, taking in the sights and sounds that feel both exhilarating and overwhelming. The energy is contagious, and for a moment, you allow yourself to fantasise about new beginnings and the adventures that await. Your parents lead you to a bustling pizzeria, its neon sign glowing invitingly. The aroma of freshly baked crust fills the air, drawing you in as you join the line of eager customers. You scan the menu, excitement bubbling within you. This is it; today you’ll have your first authentic New York pizza. When the pizza arrives - steaming, cheesy, and generously topped - you can hardly contain your excitement. You each grab a slice, the cheese stretching in a glorious mess as you take your first bite. The flavours explode in your mouth - a perfect blend of savoury sauce, melted cheese, and fresh basil. It’s different from the pizza back home, heartier and bursting with flavour. “This is amazing!” You exclaim, joy flooding through you as you take another bite, feeling a hint of comfort amidst the chaos of change. Your parents share amused glances, pleased to see you enjoying this small taste of New York.

You spend the rest of the day exploring more sights - visiting landmarks like the Statue of Liberty and the vibrant streets of Brooklyn. Each moment brings laughter and newfound excitement, helping to momentarily ease the ache of longing for your old life. As the sun begins to set, casting a golden glow across the city, you stand on a street corner with your family, taking in the skyline. It’s breathtaking, and for the first time since the announcement, you feel a flicker of hope. Though the shadows of doubt linger, the pulsating heart of the city calls to you - a reminder that perhaps this is not just an end, but a new beginning waiting to unfold.

Monday arrives, blazing with sunlight and possibility, but all you feel is a growing knot of anxiety coiling in your stomach. The morning drags as you dress - donning the outfit you hope will help you fit in while trying not to think about how different everything is. Your parents offer encouraging words over breakfast, but they fade into the background as your heart races in anticipation.

As you approach the enormous building that houses your new school, the sound of laughter and conversation spills out from the open doors. The sight of students bustling about - some confidently chatting with friends, others navigating their phones - sends your pulse racing. “Okay, here we go,” you mutter to yourself, taking a deep breath. With a hesitant step, you cross the threshold and enter the chaotic world of University Heights High. The sheer size of the hallways overwhelms you. Lockers clang shut, mingled with the sounds of trainers squeaking on the polished floors. You clutch your schedule tightly, scanning the names of unfamiliar classes as you navigate through the crowd. You can feel the butterflies in your stomach fluttering chaotically. Just as you feel the weight of uncertainty threatening to pull you under, a voice cuts through the noise. “Hey! New girl!” You turn to find a confident girl with striking red hair approaching you. Her eyes are bright and inviting, and she flashes a warm smile. “You look a little lost. I’m Natasha,” she says, extending her hand. “Y/N,” you reply, shaking her hand. “It’s my first day here.” “Welcome to the jungle, she quips, her smile infectious. “Trust me, once you get used to it, this place isn’t so bad. Follow me, and I’ll show you the ropes.”

Feeling a sense of relief wash over you, you fall into step beside her as she navigates the hallways with ease. “What classes do you have?” She asks, glancing at your schedule. “I’m in Biology first period, then Algebra, and… um, History,” you stammer, peeking over at her as she nods. “Perfect! We have Biology together, so you’re in luck. Just stick with me, and you’ll be good,” she assures you, her confidence easing your nerves. As you enter the biology lab, the atmosphere shifts. The room buzzes with chatter as students mingle and gather around lab tables. Natasha leads you to an empty table in the back where you find a few familiar faces already seated - students who seem just as curious about you as you are about them. “Everyone, this is Y/N. She’s new here,” Natasha introduces you, a spark of enthusiasm in her tone. The others glance up, smiles appearing on their faces. “Hey, welcome!” says a girl with dark hair and lively green eyes. “I’m Wanda. If you need help with anything, I’m your go-to.” “Thanks,” you reply, feeling a warmth spread through you. “And I’m Clint,” adds a boy with a cheeky grin. “I promise I won’t do anything to embarrass you… unless you want to have a little fun with pranks. Then I’m totally in.” You chuckle nervously, the tension beginning to dissolve as the class starts. As the teacher begins to lecture on cell structure, you find yourself sneaking glances at Natasha. She takes notes with ease, clearly engaged, while occasionally sharing smiles with the others.

After class, as the bell rings and students rush out, Natasha looks at you with an encouraging grin. “See? Not so scary, right?” You nod, a grateful smile lighting up your face. “Thanks for being so nice. I was really nervous.” “Oh, trust me,” Natasha said, playfully rolling her eyes, “everyone is nervous on their first day. Just wait until you meet our lunch crew. It’s seriously a motley bunch, but you’ll love them.”

As you walk towards your next class - Algebra - Natasha continues to share tidbits about the school. “Let me guess, you’ve never heard of ‘the Great Pizza Argument’?” She asks, a knowing grin spreading across her face. “Uh, no?” You reply, puzzled. “Oh, it’s a massive debate in this school. You have to pick a side - New York style or Chicago style. It’s all in good fun, but you’ll see!” You can’t help but laugh. “That sounds pretty intense for pizza!” Natasha chuckles, her laughter infectious. “Welcome to New York. Pizza is serious business.” After a few classes, you start to feel more comfortable, especially as you chat with Natasha between lessons. By lunch, the nerves have mostly subsided, replaced by excitement as she leads you to the cafeteria.

The cafeteria buzzes with energy, students spread across tables, animated conversations swirling around you. You step into the cafeteria, the delicious aroma of food filling the air, mingling with laughter and chatter. Natasha looks at you, a playful glint in her eyes. “Brace yourself. This is where the real action happens.” You follow her to a large round table where a diverse group of students is already gathered, their laughter ringing out like a welcoming beacon. Natasha gestures for you to sit, and you take the empty chair next to her. “Everyone, this is Y/N,” Natasha announces, her voice brimming with excitement. Instantly, all eyes turn to you, and you feel the ebb and flow of curiosity and warmth. “Hey there! I’m Sam,” says a tall boy with an easygoing smile, waving a hand. “Don’t worry, we don’t bite.” “Unless it’s pizza,” adds Clint with a grin, causing everyone to chuckle. “I’m Steve,” says a handsome guy next to Clint, his demeanour friendly yet steady. “Welcome to our crazy crew.” You nod, feeling the tension in your shoulders ease a bit. “Thanks! Nice to meet you all.” “And I’m Bucky,” says a dark-haired boy, his gaze steady and warm. He smiles, but there’s a hint of shyness behind his demeanour that makes you feel more at ease.

“So, what do you think of the school so far?” Natasha asks as she digs into her lunch, and you realise you’re hungrily eyeing the spread on the table. “It’s… different,” you admit. “In a good way. A bit overwhelming, honestly.” Sam nods understandingly. “Yeah, it can feel like a whirlwind. But trust me, you’ll get used to it. How was your first class?” “Biology was okay. Pretty interesting stuff,” you reply. “And everyone seemed nice. Natasha helped me a lot.” “Of course she did,” Wanda interjects, rolling her eyes playfully. “She probably gave you all the insider tips we missed when we were new!” Natasha laughs, “Guilty as charged. But seriously, Y/N, if you ever need a breaking-in strategy for teachers or classes, I’m your girl. You just have to promise not to use my name in the process.” “I promise,” you say, grinning as you finally dig into your plate.

The conversation flows freely, each friend sharing funny anecdotes and snippets of their lives. They discuss various school traditions, classes, and upcoming events, their camaraderie infectious. You find yourself leaning in, laughing alongside them, feeling the weight of isolation that followed you from your hometown begins to lift. “So, do you have a favourite food?” Sam asks, nudging you playfully. “Pizza,” you answer automatically, then pause. “Wait, can I say that? I know it’s cliche, but I’ve been really craving it.” “Of course! You’re in the right city for it,” Steve assures you. “You’ll be having all kinds of pizza by the end of the week. Just wait until you try the slices from Joe’s or at the World’s Best Pizza. It’ll blow your mind.” “The Great Pizza Argument is on!” Natasha chimes in, mock-seriously. “New York style is the best. No contest. Chicago? It’s a casserole, not a pizza.” “Careful; you might start a war!” You say, laughing. “But I’m definitely pro-New York. after that first slice, I’m convinced.” “See? She’s already on our side!” Clint exclaims, giving you a thumbs-up. “You’ve made your first important decision in life here!”

You share more stories, passing jokes and jabs as the lunch bell rings, signing an end to your first meal with your new friends. The chatter around the table heightens as everyone gathers their things, moving toward the exit. “I’m so glad you joined us today,” Bucky says, his gaze thoughtful as he walks beside you. “You really seem to fit in. It’s not always this easy to find your groove around here.” “Thanks, Bucky,” you reply, feeling a small warmth at the compliment. “I was definitely worried about how it would go.” “Don’t stress about it too much; we’re here for you,” he assures you. “If you want, we can show you some more cool spots after school. There’s this great coffee shop nearby where we hang out sometimes.” “I’d love that,” you say, excitement spilling out in your voice. As the afternoon classes roll on, you find each lesson more engaging than the last, buoyed by the camaraderie of your new friends. Conversations and laughter spill over into each classroom, making the daunting experience of a new school feel like an exhilarating adventure. By the time the final bell rings, you’re riding a wave of happiness and belonging that feels foreign yet wonderful. Natasha nudges your shoulder, a knowing smile on her face. “You did great, I knew you’d rock it. Ready for our coffee adventure?” “Absolutely! I could use a pick-me-up after all this excitement,” you reply, your spirits lifted and the earlier anxiety replaced with eagerness.

The group shifts into motion, and you follow Natasha, Bucky, Clint and Wanda out of the school, laughter and chatter bouncing off the walls as you weave through the throng of students. The sun is bright and welcoming, casting a golden glow over everything, making the city feel alive and vibrant. As you walk, Natasha pulls out her phone, glancing at a map app. “We need to take a left on Fifth and the coffee shop will be a few blocks down.” “Sounds good,” you say, intrigued by the urban landscape around you. The buildings seem to stretch almost endlessly, and everything buzzes with life. You notice street performers setting up nearby, the sound of a saxophone drifting through the air. “Hey, check that out!” Wanda points toward a small stage where a musician is playing soulful tunes. “Let’s watch for a few minutes before we head out.”

You all gather around, momentarily captivated by the performance. The musician pours emotion into every note, the soulful melody painting the air with warmth. You lose yourself in the music, feeling a connection forming with the city, a thread of something that could be called home. “This is kind of amazing,” you say, glancing at your friends, who nod in agreement, their faces lit with smiles as they sway slightly with the rhythm. “Welcome to New York,” Bucky says, his tone light but with a hint of sincerity. “This city has a way of surprising you when you least expect it.” After a while, they start to move again, and you join the throng as you continue making your way to the coffee shop. The chatter among the group flows seamlessly as they introduce you to more jokes and stories. “I can’t believe we finally found someone who loves pizza as much as we do,” Clint laughs, playfully elbowling you. “You’re officially in.” “Does this mean I get the pizza crown?” You tease back, feeling a camaraderie building with each word exchanged. “Absolutely! But first, you have to earn your stripes at the coffee shop,” Natasha smirks.

When you finally reach the coffee shop, the smell of freshly brewed coffee and baked goods wraps around you like a warm hug. The ambiance inside is cosy, adorned with mismatched furniture and quirky decor that makes it feel perfectly welcoming. “So, what’s your go-to order?” Natasha asks as you approach the counter. “Um, I usually go for a caramel latte,” you reply, glancing at the menu board above. “I see you have great taste. I’ll get you one, on me!” Natasha says, beaming. “No, I can’t let you do that,” you protest softly, feeling a sense of guilt creep in. “Seriously, it’s no big deal,” she insists. “Just consider it a welcome gift.” As you navigate through the cafe line, you feel a sense of belonging washing over you. When it’s your turn, you place your order. Once you have your drinks, the group finds a large table near the window, sunlight spilling over the space and illuminating everyone’s smiling faces. You all settle in, laughter filling the air as you sip on your drinks. Stories and silly banter flow freely, and you find yourself relaxing into the rhythm of the group. Sam dives into a hilarious recount of a past mishap during gym class, illustrating it with grand gestures that have everyone in stitches. “Dude, you should have seen the look on Coach’s face when you fell,” Clint wheezes, wiping tears from his eyes. Even as the jokes bounce around, you feel a little spark of something magical growing within you, a realisation that you might just be starting to carve out a niche in this new place. Natasha catches your eye, and in that moment, a silent understanding passes between you: this is just the beginning.

After the drinks are finished and laughter fills the air, Natasha leans in closer, her voice lowering slightly. “I know you’re still getting settled, but I think you’re going to fit in just fine with us. We’ll show you everything there is to love about this city.” “Thanks, Natasha. I really appreciate it,” you say, sincerity in your voice. “I was really nervous about starting over, but you’ve made it feel a lot less daunting.” Bucky chimes in, his voice gentle, “It takes time to adjust. Just remember, we’ve all been in your shoes at some point. But with friends like us, you’ll have a great time, I promise.” “Right!” Natasha agrees, raising her cup in a toast. “To new beginnings and finding home in unexpected places!” Everyone raises their cups, a chorus of agreement ringing out as you clink your cups together with a soft tinkling. “To new beginnings!” You echo, the words rolling off your tongue with newfound hope. As you settle back into your seat, the chatter begins again, and you can’t help but feel a warmth spreading through you. The laughter, the friendly banter, and the sense of belonging envelop you like a cosy blanket. This was it - this was what you had been missing.

#marvel #marvel au #avengers x reader #natasha romanoff #bucky barnes #steve rogers #clint barton #sam wilson #wanda maximoff #avengers au #avengers x reader au #the New York Chronicles

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maccreadysbaby · 1 year ago

Text

A Hundred Days to Become a Wayne

batfamily + oc insert

tw: none

wanna start from chapter one or read more? here’s the table of contents!

theres only one more chapter (the epilogue) after this what in the world

part twenty-seven

❝ BIG PLASTIC SHOES AND BAGS WITH TUBES ❞

TUESDAY — 4:12AM — DAY 101 — CHRISTMAS EVE

BENTLEY DIDN’T KNOW WHAT TO EXPECT WHEN HE WOKE UP. If he’d be in the great beyond, or in the hospital, or back at Wayne Manor with Dick at his bedside, or in his room at Whittaker Estate. He was pretty sure he dreamed about waking up and trying to explain himself to Bruce (who may or may not have been looming in the corner of his room in Whittaker Estate still dressed as Batman, but neon green).

In his dream, waking up and immediately hopping on the explanation train seemed perfectly plausible. Actually, he probably needed to. Trying to explain himself before anyone could tell him they hated him seemed like a good enough option.

But in reality, when he woke up to bright lights assaulting his eyes and machines and equipment beeping and whirring around him, he just burst into tears.

He’d never been in a hospital before, but the sheer amount of light and noise and white that was around him was enough to make him realize they were terrifying. He was wearing something stiff and scratchy that made him itch a little, and when he lifted his head up enough to see his feet, he realized his left foot looked massive under the blanket compared to his right. And he was wearing a hospital gown. Which was freezing. Everything was freezing, actually, even with the hospital blanket over him, and he was shivering. Or maybe he was trembling, he couldn’t tell. He felt really floaty.

“Are you in pain?”

He flinched at the familiar voice, and for the first time since he woke, his watery eyes traveled around the room. There was a tube going from a bag filled with liquid into his arm, a few tables on each side of his bed, and three chairs against the wall to his left. Damian was in one of those chairs.

He was wearing a green hoodie and joggers now, not his Robin suit, and he looked tired. His greenish-blue eyes were dull like he’d nearly been asleep. His hair wasn’t messy, but it wasn’t as nice as it usually was, and Bentley very suddenly realized that he probably hated his guts.

Instead of responding, he sat up in the bed and pulled his knees up to his chest beneath the scratchy blanket and gown. He had a big… plastic boot thing on his left foot, he realized when he glanced under the blankets. It made his foot feel huge and heavy and he didn’t like it. Sitting with his knees up felt weird with it on. He went to wrap his arms around his legs but it pulled against the tube in his arm with a jolt of pain, and he was just so confused and scared and overwhelmed that he buried his head in his knees and sobbed pitifully.

Of course, when the truth comes to light, he’s alone in the room with the one Wayne that was most likely to kill him.

He heard Damian shift. He lifted his head up just enough to see him nearing the edge of the bed, so he brought his shaky hands up and signed sloppily:

I’m so sorry.

Damian said nothing, but watched him calculatively. So Bentley continued to move his hands.

I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.

“Bentley-”

I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry I’m so sorry I’m so sorry I’m so sorry I’m so sorry I’m so sorry I’m so sorry-

“Bentley, stop.” Damian, who was now at the edge of the bed, latched onto his wrists to stop his hands from continuing the messy movements. “No one is upset with you.”

He froze.

What? No, they had to be upset with him. He’d lied to them. Plotted against them. He was a traitor. A traitor on top of all those things his dad had called him.

Bentley said nothing, and Damian let go of his wrists. He wiped the tears off of his face with the palm of his hand only for more to take their place. He signed again.

Don’t lie.

Damian scrunched his face up, half in confusion, half in offense. “I am not lying to you.”

Bentley didn’t say anything. His head was starting to hurt, but he wasn’t sure if it was from being pistol whipped, crying, or trying to comprehend everything that was going on. Somehow the Wayne’s weren’t mad at him for being a dirty traitor even though they should’ve been? Even though he completely deserved it?

He moved his hands again, this time fingerspelling. Bruce isn’t mad?

Damian shook his head from where he stood. “No.”

Dick?

“Of course not,”

Jason? Tim? Cass? Duke? Steph?

Damian shook his head. “No one.”

You?

The other boy exhaled sharply, crossing his arms. “I’m not upset with you. It would be foolish of me.”

Bentley said nothing, but sniffled, his shoulders still shuddering with small cries he couldn’t seem to stop. Why didn’t they hate him? Why were they still being nice to him? It didn’t make any sense.

Damian sighed lightly, and sat down on the edge of the bed. “Grayson is here, but he stepped out to have a word with the doctor. Father, Todd, and the rest are making sure your father and all of his contacts are properly taken care of, since they possess such sensitive information.”

Bentley hiccuped quietly, turning his head to the side on his knees to hide it from Damian. (He wasn’t sure why, it was obvious he was crying.)

“I’m really sorry,” He whispered into his knees. His throat was scratchy and sore, and he had no idea why, but whispering was about all he could do.

Damian just looked at him for a moment. And then he sighed again, and stood up with a grumble and a quiet: “Scoot over.”

Bentley blinked, and then obeyed, scooting farther to the right toward the stupid tube bag thing that was in his arm. He stayed completely silent and watched as Damian climbed up on the bed and positioned himself right next to him.

“You have no need to apologize,” He stated. “All of this was forced on you by a self-serving bigot who used fear to manipulate you into doing his will. It would be idiotic for anybody to hold that against you.”

Bentley said nothing, but wiped his eyes on the blanket that covered his knees.

“And when it came down to it, you were willing to take punishment instead of making the wrong decision,” He sucked in a breath. “And while running away was hardly the ideal choice, I am… impressed. Most children would crumble under the pressure.”

Bentley thought Damian sounded a little more Robin-ey right then than usual, but he didn’t mind. His brain was stuck on the words I am impressed, and didn’t hear much of what was said afterward. He noticed that his tears were slowly dying down.

With a deep breath and a quiet exhale, and the sudden realization that he was pretty exhausted (like, sleep-for-a-year-straight exhausted), Bentley leaned his head on Damian’s shoulder.

Which he probably wouldn’t have done if his mind wasn’t still floating from anesthesia and crying hadn’t just used ninety-percent of his available energy. But he was still halfway on drugs, and his energy was fading by the minute, and Damian was comfortable.

Much to Bentley’s surprise, he didn’t argue. Maybe it was because he felt bad that he was in the hospital, or pitied him because of everything that had happened, but he didn’t care. He was just glad he wasn’t alone.

A few voices approached the door, and after a minute, it swung open.

He saw a thin layer of weariness clouding Dick Grayson’s eyes for only a moment before an excited, childish shine replaced it. He was in normal clothes, too, now, a blue jacket and joggers, and his black hair was a disheveled fluff. “You’re awake!”

Bentley said nothing, but turned his head into Damian’s shoulder to hide the fact that his eyes decided it was time to cry again. (Seriously, he didn’t even really know why he was crying this time.) He felt Damian’s hand drift up and rest on the back of his head, a mannerism he undoubtedly inherited from Dick.

Bentley heard them murmur to one another, and the words anesthesia and angry came up, but he didn’t catch the whole thing due to his quiet, breathy sobs. (Crying this much was starting to get embarrassing.)

“Hey there, kiddo,” Dick’s voice drifted from one side of the bed to the other, and Bentley felt a hand land on his right calf. “Bruce will be on his way soon. And if you want anyone else, I can shoot them a text.”

Bentley didn’t respond apart from the quiet cries that were wracking his body, so Dick just lightly rubbed his leg.

“You know, Jason cries when he wakes up from anesthesia, too.”

He found the confidence to turn his head back forward, so he could see Dick. He was crouched by the bed with one arm on the mattress, his head propped on the other.

“Really?” He whispered with a sniff, nearly inaudibly. Dick nodded.

“Oh yeah, you’d think he was trying to fill the Nile River. And then he gets all mad and embarrassed about it,” He chuckled lightly, and the noise helped Bentley relax a little. Not to mention the mental image of the Red Hood crying from the same thing made him a little less embarrassed.

“And Tim just gets really mad. He wants Cass and Cass only when he wakes up,”

Bentley found himself wiping his eyes, and his crying was tapering off into sniffles and occasional hiccups. Damian was doing the Dick-stroke-the-hair thing and it was working.

“And don’t even get me started on Bruce — he’s the worst. He goes into, like, broody two-thousand-eight emo boy mode. Once, even Alfred gave up and left me to deal with him,”

Bentley cracked a smile, and Dick patted his leg, satisfied that he made him a little happier. “You sleepy, kiddo?”

He wasn’t sure sleepy covered it. Exhausted didn’t even seem to cover it, actually. He was so tired he wouldn’t doubt it if he just fell over right then. How was he so tired when he just woke up?

“You can rest. We’ll be right here the whole time,”

Part of Bentley didn’t want to go back to sleep, in fear they’d actually be gone when he woke up, but the exhaustion seemed to overrule it. Because with two Waynes by his side and the reassurance he wouldn’t be alone, Bentley fell asleep quicker than he knew he could. (On Damian, who still hadn’t protested, by the way.)

—

TUESDAY — 6:42AM — DAY 101 — CHRISTMAS EVE

When he woke up, bleary-eyed but less floaty than before, they were still there.

Bentley was alone in the bed, but Dick had pulled a chair right up to the edge and was folded in half over the mattress, jacket off, dead asleep. His hand was still resting on Bentley’s leg. Damian was in one of the other chairs, curled up tightly with the jacket Dick had shed, also dead asleep. How long had they been awake on Bentley’s accord?

He didn’t have much time to think about that, though, because Damian’s head was resting on someone’s shoulder, and that someone was Bruce. And Bruce was a hundred percent awake.

“Hey, bud. How are you feeling?” He questioned lowly, in an attempt not to wake his sleeping sons. His eyes were dull, but he looked alert and not tired in the slightest.

Bentley took note of his own body — his head was definitely hurting more now, like the floaty stuff had been helping him not hurt, and his ankle throbbed every now and then. Not to mention the soreness (and probably bruise) on his chest from being kicked. And his throat was still raw. All in all, not great, but it was laughable compared to the searing agony he had been in at the warehouse.

So he lifted his hands and quickly signed: Hurts.

Bruce frowned. “I’m sorry. It should be time for the doctor to come back with more pain meds soon. She just needs to run a few more tests and we’ll be able to take you home.”

Take him home? Take him home as in to their home, the Manor? Or take him home as in drive him to Whittaker Estate and leave him on the doorstep? Or maybe to a stranger’s house after social services hears about him?

He stayed silent, picking at the edge of the hospital blanket.

“I never forgot, you know. About your mom,”

Bentley glanced over at him, and they made eye contact for a moment, as if Bruce was considering leaving it at that. Then he continued: “Dick was seventeen, and had just gotten in a car wreck of his own. I was scared and reckless. I… never imagined my mistake could cause anything like what you’ve endured. I’m so sorry.”

Bentley wasn’t sure what to say, but he was cold. So he sat up slowly and peeled the blanket off of him, swung his legs over the side of the bed, and stood up. It felt weird with the massive shoe-thing. The tube-bag that was hooked on his arm was on a stand, kind of like a coat rack but with wheels, so he grabbed it and pulled it with him. Around the bed and across the room until he stopped in front of Bruce.

He signed: I’m cold.

He hadn’t even finished moving his hands and Bruce had already opened his arms, and Bentley climbed into his lap without hesitation. Hopefully it helped him understand that he wasn’t upset at him for his mom, and that it wasn’t really his fault his father was terrible.

If they could forgive Bentley for everything he’d done, he could forgive him. Bruce closed his arms around him and he sank into the warmth.

Bentley lifted his hands again, fingerspelling a few words he didn’t know in between: You're really not mad at me?

“Of course not,” Bruce replied, adjusting the drip stand in front of them. “None of it was your fault. How could I be mad at you?”

A quiet calm washed over the room, and Bentley rested his head on him. He could see Damian’s head precariously positioned on Bruce’s shoulder in just the right way that it wouldn’t slip off.

They stayed quiet for a while, before the child lifted his hands once more in a messy mixture of signing and fingerspelling. What happened to my father?

Bruce exhaled a heavy breath. “He’s alive, and he’s going to jail,” There was a stiff pause. “I’m going to have to call my social worker so you can talk to her.”

Ah, crap. That’s exactly what Bentley didn’t want to hear. A pit formed in his stomach, and he sat up so he could see Bruce better, hands moving in a slightly faster, anxious manner.

They’re going to take me away?

“No, no. I didn’t mean to startle you,” He stated, rubbing his back a little. “We need to have a meeting with her so you can tell her about your dad, so I can get emergency custody. It’s the same thing I did with Tim.”

Bentley relaxed a little, but he still didn’t know what half of that meant. What does that mean?

“Custody? It means I’ll be your legal guardian,” He explained softly.

Bentley blinked. You’ll be my dad?

Bruce chuckled. “If you want me to be. Or I can just be Bruce — that’s what Dick, Jason, and Tim call me.”

Bentley blinked for a moment, trying to take in exactly what he was being told. He’d mentioned giving him to the Waynes to his father as some kind of last ditch effort, but he never expected he would actually be able to achieve that. It kind of made him want to cry again. His father had said it was exactly what he wanted… and it was.

Bruce ruffled his hair gently. “But we don’t have to talk about it right now — we’ll handle all of that when you’re feeling better, okay? For now, you should get some more rest.”

That sounded like a good idea, because Bentley was getting tired again. He settled into Bruce’s lap and sighed deeply, and for the first time, when he thought about the rest of his life, he felt hope.

—

dedicated to @sassenashsworld 💛

—

tag list!

@fleur-alise @cademygod @sarcopterygiian

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