you may have accidentally crashed your boyfriend's vintage ferrari
note: had a few people asking for a sequel to baby you can drive my car, so i just had to provide. hope you guys like it as much as you did the first part :) not proofread bc google docs was pissing me off 🙄
word count: 5.3k
warnings : smut (18+ mdni), unprotected sex, oral (m receiving), semi public sex (during a twitch stream), little bit of cum play, one kys joke, swearing
fc: inde navarrette
･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･
yourusername just posted
liked by kikagomes, lando, and others
yourusername: no one tell the gt3 rs that i’m cheating on her 🤫🤐
view all comments:
user: God that car is so sexy
user: can’t believe yn is posting about a car that isn’t lando’s porsche. is the world ending?
lando: Please please please be careful, love.
⤷yourusername: yes sir 🫡
user: lando can’t handle u pick me instead 😛
⤷lando: Kill yourself
comment deleted by author
⤷user: LANDO YOU CANT SAY THAT
kikagomes: hawt 🔥🔥
comment liked by author
view story replies:
↳user: good luck girl
↳user: WHAT DID YOU DOOOOOOO
↳pierregasly: He’s going to kill you lol
↳yourusername: FUCK OFF PIERRE
↳user: oh you’re dead
—
you pace around lando’s apartment, waiting for him to get home. normally, you’d be the one picking him up from the airport after a race, but since he’s not letting you drive any of his cars (valid) and your own nissan skyline is currently in the shop, lando is stuck getting a ride home from the airport. you’re somewhat glad you don’t have to pick him up, you can’t imagine how uncomfortable that car ride would have been. you’re already full of anxiety, guilt churning in your stomach as you ruminate on the mistake you’d made. you didn’t mean to crash his car, you loved that f40 as much he did. you know just how important that sleek rosso corso car was, not just to lando, but to the history of ferrari and car enthusiasts everywhere. only 1,300 of these cars still exist and you just totalled one because you’d let the rear get out from under you while taking a turn. how could you be so stupid? you’ll be lucky if lando ever forgives you.
your spiral is cut off by the sound of someone at the front door. you stop pacing, standing frozen in the entry way and watch as the lock clicks and the door knob turns. you want to go hide in the bedroom, maybe under the bed? the closet might be better. you’re running out of time to make yourself disappear, your heart is basically beating out of your chest, and you’re sweating, but you can’t move. your brain is sending signals to your body, shouting at your legs to walk! run away! go, go, go! but they won’t listen. you know it's too late when lando finally opens the door. he enters the apartment, dragging his tumi suitcase behind him, his matching backpack hanging off his shoulder. he looks exhausted, a hat covering his curls that are surely a mess underneath, and the hood of his jacket pulled up over his head. the bags under his eyes are prominent and his brows are furrowed, his mind likely going over all the mistakes he thinks he made during the weekend and beating himself up. your awful news about his car couldn’t have come at a worse time, and the guilt you feel multiplies. first his girlfriend crashes his rare vintage car and then he doesn’t finish a race that he’d been leading, what a fucking mess.
you stand in the entryway, watching as he slips off his shoes and slides his bag off his shoulder, setting it on the floor to deal with later. you wait for him to acknowledge you, crossing your arms and trying to hold yourself together. you’ve been worrying over what god awful “punishment” he mentioned for days now. your boyfriend doesn’t say anything to you when he looks up and notices you standing in wait, walking past you into the kitchen. you nervously turn to follow him, leaning up against the counter as he grabs a glass out of the cabinet and fills it up with water. the silence is stifling, your mind is running a mile a minute trying to come up with something to say but drawing a blank. this is torture.
“um,” you speak up, finally drawing his attention to you. you wish you hadn’t when you see the unimpressed look he gives you. “so…how was your flight?”
he doesn’t reply, just turns back to his water, quickly drinking the rest of the liquid and setting the glass in the sink. lando goes back to the front door, leaving you standing in the kitchen, unsure of what to do. he grabs his backpack and suitcase, taking them into the bedroom and slamming the door behind him. your heart is in your throat and you feel tears start to prick at your eyes and you blink a few times to stop them. you don’t know what to do, you’ve never upset him like this before. you stand in the kitchen twiddling your thumbs for a few minutes, waiting to see if he’d come back out but the door stays closed. you walk down the hallway to the bedroom door, standing in front of it like a child too scared to tell their mom that they have a science fair project and it’s due the next day. you gather all the courage in your body, forcing down your anxiety and setting your shoulders. you knock on the door and wait a moment, but lando doesn’t acknowledge it. you knock again, still nothing.
“lan?” you reach a hand out to turn the knob to open the door, but find that he’s locked you out. “can we talk?”
“go sit down.” he finally speaks to you, his voice coming through the door muffled. “i’ll be out in a minute.”
you try not to read into the tone of his voice too deeply, but you can’t help but think he sounds pissed. you’re so worried about what’s going to happen next but you listen and go take a seat on the couch like the good girl you are.
lando takes much longer than a minute to come out of the room, you’re left waiting for almost a half hour while he does who knows what in the bedroom. you’re way too anxious to doomscroll on your phone or watch tv, so you just sit there on the couch, picking at your cuticles and pulling at a loose thread on the throw pillow you have resting on your lap. the minutes tick down and the silence is so loud, only interrupted by the sound of the air conditioning kicking on.
he finally leaves the bedroom and joins you in the living room. his curls are damp and he’s changed, you suppose he must have showered but your thoughts were too loud to even notice the water start running. you stare at him as he walks around the couch and joins you, sitting much further away than he normally would. you attempt to make it less obvious that you’re nervous, but lando knows you so well at this point, there’s no point in trying.
“relax, yn.” he leans back on the couch, legs spreading wide as he relaxes. you force yourself not to look, you can’t get distracted by horny thoughts right now. even if his thighs look so good where the fabric of his shorts ride up, exposing the tanned flesh you love to touch and grab and bite. it doesn’t help that he’s, like always, going commando. ok. stop looking. don’t make eye contact with it. look anywhere else! you look down at the pillow in your lap instead, better to just keep your head down. “nothing bad is going to happen.”
“that’s exactly what someone says right before something bad happens!”
“i forgot how dramatic you are.” he turns to look at you and you’re surprised to see a smile on his face. it’s like the lando that walked through the door earlier washed away in the shower and your happy, sweet boyfriend is back. you're getting whiplash. he stretches out an arm toward you, moving on the couch to face you a bit more directly. “come here.”
you do as he says and crawl across the couch, coming to rest in his lap. he puts his arm around you and you rest your head on his shoulder, slipping your arms around his waist.
“i missed you.” you mumble into his chest. he pets your head, a hand running through your hair, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “i’m so, so, sorry, lando. it was an accident, i swear. i’m so stupid, i can’t believe i did that. i don’t know how i can make it up to you, i-”
“baby, stop.” he uses the grip he has on your hair to lift your head so he can make eye contact with you. you pout at him, tears welling up in your eyes. you’re so worried he hates you, you don’t know how he could forgive you for this. “i was upset, maybe i still am a little bit. but i’m just glad you’re okay, that’s the most important thing to me. a fucking car is nothing compared to you, okay?”
“but it’s a ferrari f40!” you whine, tucking your head back into his chest and using the soft cotton of his shirt to soak up your tears. “enzo ferrari is rolling in his grave. i can feel him cursing my entire bloodline.”
“oh my god, stop it.” he laughs at you, putting his arms around your waist in a hug and squeezing you tightly to try and get you to relax. “it’s fine, baby. i know you’ll make it up to me.”
“i will! i’ll do whatever you want, lando.” you lean back in his arms to look at him again, reaching up to grab his face to make sure he’s really looking at you and understands your words. “i. will. do. anything.”
“i’ll keep that in mind.” he moves his hands from your waist to grab under your thighs, holding you up as he stands from the couch. you quickly wrap your legs around his waist, moving your hands to grip onto his shoulders so you don’t fall. god it’s so hot when he reminds you how strong he is. “c’mon, time for you to show me how much you missed me.”
your legs squeeze tighter around his waist at his words and he gives your ass a little smack when you do, laughing at you. lando carries you into the bed room, kicking the door shut behind him and tossing you onto the bed. you lay back, resting your head on the pillows. your heart is racing as you watch lando stand over you at the edge of the bed. he lifts his shirt up, taking it off and throwing it somewhere behind him and you take a moment to admire his abs. fuck, you can’t believe he’s real and he’s your’s. how’d you get so lucky? he climbs onto the bed, kneeling over your prone body. you smile up at him as he looks down at you. there’s something in his gaze that you can’t figure out, but before you can think about it much more, he grabs your thighs and spreads your legs so that he can fit in between them. he yanks your shorts and panties down your legs and they join his shirt on the floor.
lando pushes your shirt up your body, lifting it over your chest and exposing your tits, your nipples hardening at the cool air of the room. he reaches up a hand, pinching your nipple and smirking at the whine you let out. he lets go, his hands cupping both of your breasts in his hands and leans down to kiss the soft flesh, nipping at the skin and quickly soothing the bite with his tongue. you let out breathy moans and whines as he does, you feel yourself getting wetter and lando is rock hard, his cock pressing against your core.
“missed these tits so much.” lando presses another kiss to your chest and lets your breasts go, moving his hands down to your thighs. he spreads you open even more, pressing your thigh into the mattress. you blush as he stares at your pussy, biting his lip and doing that thing with his tongue that always has you dripping. he takes two fingers and spreads your folds, leaning down to spit onto your clit, mixing his saliva with your juices. you moan as he plays with your clit, core clenching around nothing.
“lando, please.” you whine at him, reaching a hand out to slap at his thigh. “fuck me already.”
“so demanding.” he sits up a bit, pulling his shorts down to release his cock. you almost moan at the sight of it, you’ll never get over how perfect it is. he strokes his cock a few times then scoots closer to you, grabbing a pillow and shoving it under your ass to get a better angle.
lando rubs his cock between your folds a few times, spreading your wetness further. normally, he’d do a little foreplay, finger you or eat you out, but you’re already soaking wet and he doesn’t want to wait any longer to get inside you. the head of his cock presses against your hole, forcing its way inside and stretching you out. you let out a loud moan at the feeling, the stretch deliciously painful.
“ah- fuck.”
“how’s that feel, baby?”
“so good, keep going. please lan.”
lando pushes more deeply into you, his fat cock brushing against your walls has you clenching around him and he groans. he rubs your clit to loosen you up, leaning down to kiss your lips. you return the kiss eagerly, your arms wrapping around his shoulders and pulling him closer to you. the kiss is filthy, lando’s tongue licking into your mouth, rubbing against your own. he pulls back from the kiss and grabs your jaw, forcing your mouth open wide. you know exactly what he wants and you comply, opening your mouth and sticking out your tongue. he smirks at your quick response, holding your jaw a little tighter and spitting into your waiting mouth. you swallow what he gives you and smile at him, feeling dazed. he hasn’t even started moving yet, his cock just resting inside you, almost touching that spot that has you forgetting your own name.
“good girl.” he pats your cheek, letting go of your jaw and sitting up. his movement has his cock pushing deeper inside you and you moan, pussy clenching around him again. “you ready for it?”
when you nod he grabs your thighs, pulling you closer and grinding his cock deeply into you. he finally pulls out of you, cock slipping out from your wetness and rubbing against your folds. he groans, wrapping a hand around his cock and stroking it before pushing it back inside you. you almost shout at the feeling, the breath leaving your lungs. he doesn’t give you a chance to catch your breath, setting a furious pace and pounding into you with a vengeance. all thoughts leave your head at this point, if there were any even remaining. he grunts as he thrusts in and out, the sound of skin slapping mixing with the breathy moans you can’t help but let out. lando leans down to kiss you again, but you could hardly call it kissing. you pant open mouthed against his lips, barely able to get yourself to kiss him back. he smiles against your lips at your struggle, moving away from your mouth and going toward your neck, kissing down your jaw and biting the skin harshly, causing you to whimper. he soothes it with a kiss, and continues to move down your body. his hands and mouth return to your tits, sucking a nipple into his mouth and using his other hand to pinch and pull at the other. you’d feel bad for his neighbors over your volume, if you could feel anything besides lando’s cock stretching you open.
you feel a tightness in your core, knowing that you’re about to reach that high. lando can tell you’re almost there by the way you clench around him and he speeds up his thrusts, trying to get you even closer. you’re almost at the peak, core spasming around his cock, muscles stiffening in anticipation.
just before that wave of pleasure can overtake you, lando pulls out of you. you cry out at him in complaint, glaring at him with tears pricking at your eyes. you were so close and he fucking ruined it.
“lando, please!” you grab at his hips to pull him closer but he doesn’t budge. he hovers above you, stroking his cock and bringing himself to completion. he groans loudly, head thrown back, and releases his load right on your abdomen, the cum spurting from his cock puddling on the soft skin of your tummy. you just stare at him, openmouthed as he rubs his cock into the pool of cum on your stomach, making a mess of it. “what the fuck.”
lando breathes heavy as he kneels above you, chest heaving from exhaustion. he looks at you with an evil look in his eye, but he’s smiling at the same time. he pats your thigh, moving to get off of the bed but you grab one of his arms, stopping him.
“baby, where are you going? we’re not done yet!” you pout at him as he pulls his arm from your grip, standing from the bed and grabbing his shirt off of the floor to rub the cum off his cock and your body. “lando?”
“remember when i said we’d talk about your punishment when i got home?” you balk at his words. you completely forgot about the punishment. “i thought about it on the flight home and came up with the perfect idea.”
“what do you mean?”
“no more sex until i decide i’m not upset anymore, or until my car gets fixed. whichever comes first.” he runs a hand through his curls, bending down to grab his shorts and slipping them back on. “are you hungry? i’m starved.”
“what the fuck, no i’m not hungry.” you sit up in the bed, pissed off at his words. “what do you mean no more sex? you know if you’re not going to fuck me, i can get myself off easily on my own.”
“yeah, yeah. i know all about that box of toys you keep in the back of my closet. but you’re not going to use those, baby.”
“you’re going to stop me?” you challenge him, you’re absolutely not having this stupid punishment he’s come up with. it sounds like torture.
“i won’t have to stop you. you’re going to listen because you like being my obedient, good girl who does as i say, don’t you?”
the look on his face has you hesitating, you hate that he knows you so well. you’re going to figure out a way to get out of this, but for now you’ll pretend to go along with it.
“fine, if that’s what you want.” you slip out of the bed fully nude, standing in front of him and looking up at him. “you really think you can last very long? i don’t think you can.”
“oh, i’ll be fine.” he rests his hands on your hips, squeezing the flesh. you glare at your boyfriend, you can’t believe how evil this man actually is.
“you could have at least let me cum.”
“where’s the fun in that, baby?”
—
view story replies:
↳lando: Wtf whos car is this??
↳lando: Tell me its not one of mine
↳lando: YN ANSWER ME
↳yourusername: omg chill out
↳yourusername: its not one of urs
↳lando: Then who
↳yourusername: pierre
↳lando: How the hell did you get gasly to let you drive one of his cars
↳yourusername: what he doesn’t know won’t hurt him 😁
↳lando: Please dont get yourself arrested i am begging you
↳lando: I cant handle anymore stress
↳pierregasly: Is that my fucking car?
↳yourusername: do i know u?
↳pierregasly: Putain I wish you and Kika were not related
↳yourusername: you know you love me peepee!
↳pierregasly: I TOLD YOU NOT TO CALL ME THAT
yourusername just posted
liked by kikagomes and others
yourusername: god forbid a girl accidentally crash a car
view all comments:
user: LMAO HES PISSED ISNT HE
⤷yourusername: mind ur damn business
user: at least it wasn’t the porsche
⤷yourusername: PREACH
ferrari: Hai la faccia come il culo
⤷yourusername: hey what the fuck
user: the tifosi are coming for your ass
⤷yourusername: @.charles_leclerc call me 😛
⤷lando: Go on keep digging yourself into a deeper hole
⤷yourusername: i want you to dig yourself deeper into MY hole
⤷user: GIRL
⤷user: good god lando put her on a leash
⤷lando: You think i havent tried?
yourusername just posted
liked by lando and others
yourusername: its hot out there
view all comments:
lando: Youre so hot baby
⤷yourusername: dont say things like that if ur not going to do something about it later
⤷lando: Oh look at that the week countdown just reset!
⤷yourusername: FUCK
⤷user: i don’t even want to know what these two are talking about
user: is this a thirst trap
⤷yourusername: idk is it working
⤷user: based on lando’s comment, no!
—
you can tell lando is still streaming when you get home, the sound of a high pitched scream followed by his girlish little giggle echoes down the hallway from his office. you slip off your shoes and head into the bedroom to shower and change. you’d been out with kika for the afternoon, sunbathing by the pool at pierre’s apartment. as you get ready to shower, you pull up lando’s stream on your phone, wanting to see what he’s doing. you’re not surprised to see that he’s playing counterstrike. you send a message in the chat, greeting your boyfriend and his viewers. they react as expected, the chat going wild knowing you’re watching. lando, of course, gets irritated that his watchers have shifted their focus to you, begging for him to let you join the stream. he whines at the waning attention and jokingly begs his mods to ban you from the stream. you laugh at his overreaction and turn the stream off, setting your phone on the bathroom counter and hoping into the shower. it’s as you’re washing your hair that you come up with an idea. lando might have added more time to the countdown that he’d given you, but he never said that the week long timeframe extended to you giving him head. and it’s been a week since you’d had that conversation, so technically you wouldn’t be doing anything wrong by getting on your knees for him. you giggle to yourself, resisting the urge to cartoonishly rub your hands together like a villain.
fully refreshed from your shower and excited to get started on your plan, you turn lando’s stream back on. you want to find the perfect moment to sneak into his office. that moment comes when lando tells chat he’ll be right back, turning off his camera and muting his mic. you hear him walk into the other bathroom and you take your chance, quietly sneaking your way into his streaming room and slipping under his desk. your boyfriend is oblivious, so you know he won’t notice you down here if you cram yourself against the wall. he comes back from the bathroom and flops down in his gaming chair, scooting closer to the desk. lando is a chronic manspreader, so your body fits perfectly between his legs. you’ve gotten away with it, he has no clue you’re in here with him.
you wait until lando is distracted chatting shit with max to make yourself known, placing your hands on his sweatpant clad thighs. he jumps when he feels your touch, stopping himself from letting out a scream when he sees your sweet face looking up at him from underneath his desk. he glares at you, turning his camera off and muting himself again.
“what the hell are you doing?” he tries to roll back from the desk, clearly intending to get you out from under there, but you stop him, clenching your hands into the fabric of his pants. “i told you to stay out, you little gremlin.”
“i missed you.” you pout at him, resting your head on his thigh, widening your eyes and blinking up at him. “please let me stay, i’ll be quiet!”
“ugh, fine.” he pats your cheek and pushes his chair back up to the desk. you relax, keeping your head laying on his thigh and taking your phone out to scroll for a bit. you need to wait until he’s distracted again to start messing with him. you can’t go all in at once, otherwise he’ll just kick you out. you have to ease into it.
lando goes back to talking to max and his chat, starting up another game of counterstrike. you listen to him play for a little while. you don’t want to be the reason he has a shitty match, so you wait until he dies on his own to get started. you rub your hand up and down his thigh, moving your head just an inch further up his leg. you’re worried you’ve already gotten caught when his hand lands on your head, but he just runs his fingers through your hair. you look up at him, admiring the view from this angle, watching the way his adams apple bobs when he swallows. a little more time passes and you move even closer to his pelvis, your hand “accidentally” brushing his cock over his pants. he flinches from the feeling, looking down at you with a glare. you mouth and apology and he goes back to looking at the monitors in front of him. you decide now is the time to go for it, rubbing your hand up and down his dick, feeling him harden beneath your touch. he grabs your hand, stopping you and you look up at him innocently. he holds your wrist, giving you a look that definitely means stop. you pretend to listen, moving your hand to rest back on his thigh. from where your head rests on his leg, your field of vision is overtaken by the tent in lando’s sweatpants. you try not to drool, can’t let yourself get too distracted until your mission is completed.
you don’t do anything suspicious for a few minutes, letting him fall into a sense of security and dropping his defenses. when he’s bragging to max over top fragging in the game, you take your chance. you turn your head and put your mouth on him, gathering spit in your mouth to dampen the fabric of his pants. he curses, legs closing around your head. he apologizes to chat and plays off his reaction, telling his viewers that he saw a bug. he grips your hair and yanks your head away from his dick, stopping you from continuing. he gives a small shake of his head and you grin up at him, putting a finger to your lips and signalling him to be quiet. you force your head back down between his legs, causing his hand to tighten in your hair. it hurts a little when he tugs the strands, trying to get your head away from his cock, but you refuse to be stopped. he eventually lets go of you, knowing there’s no point in resisting. you slip your fingers beneath the waistband of his pants, starting to pull them off and he helps you, lifting his hips and spreading his legs further.
you take his cock into your hand, stroking up and down, spreading the precum beading at his tip to make the movement easier. he stifles a groan when you finally take him into your mouth. he pretends to be fine, telling chat that nothing is wrong. he’s lucky that he’s playing a game like counterstrike, since it allows him to hide some of the foul noises you know he’ll be letting out soon. you lick a stripe up his shaft and open your mouth wide, taking as much of it as you can and using your hand to twist around what you can’t reach. you swallow around his cock and look up at him, watching as he tries his hardest to make his face look normal. honestly, he looks like he’s in pain, his brow furrowed and his jaw clenched. you pull off of him, dribbling spit onto his tip and suckle at the head. you go back down, taking him even deeper and he throws his head back, groaning, hips lifting off the seat and thrusting his cock further into your throat.
“fuck me.” he curses loudly, clenching his eyes closed and shoving a hand back into your hair to hold you in place. his chat is none the wiser, his reaction coming at the same time he got shot in the back of the head in game. “i hate this fucking game.”
you try not to laugh at how he’s playing it off, focusing your attention back onto his dick. he relaxes a bit in his chair, hips moving forward a little and your face presses deeper into his crotch. he releases the grip he has on your hair and goes back to trying to play his game, you can tell he’s distracted by how quickly he dies every round. you pull off of his cock and take it back in, deep throating him. you swallow around his cock, face pressed into his pelvis, the soft hair at his groin tickling your nose. you breath deeply, forcing yourself not to choke on his fat cock. you release him from your mouth again, running your hand up and down the shaft and reaching down to squeeze at his balls. he jerks, legs closing around your head. you can tell he’s getting close and he knows it too. you let him finish out his match, lazily jerking his cock to hold him off from coming.
lando decides to ruin your fun a little bit, telling chat that he’s done streaming for now and that he’ll see them next time. he turns off the stream and triple checks that everything is shut down, before he looks at you where you’re kneeling beneath his desk.
“you’re a menace, you know that?”
you don’t answer him, taking his cock back into your mouth as deeply as you can. he almost folds over, leaning forward and pressing a hand onto your head, forcing you even deeper around him. you can’t stop yourself from choking this time, but he doesn’t let you up. he thrusts into your mouth, letting out all of the moans and whines that he’d been holding in, swearing at the feeling of your mouth around his throbbing cock.
“fuck, i’m right there.” he groans, his grip on your head moving you up and down his shaft. “you gonna let me cum in that pretty mouth of yours?”
you hum around his cock in response. you wait until he’s right about to cum, pulling your head off of him and pushing his chair away from you. you watch his cock twitch, balls tightening, precum leaking from the angry red tip. he glares at you in shock, breathing heavily. you stand up from the floor, getting out from under his desk.
“baby, what the fuck?” he’s breathless, whining for you to finish him off. “i was so close”
“aw, what's wrong? didn’t get to cum?” you laugh at him, wiping the spit from your lips and head to the door. “now you know how i feel.”
—
view story replies:
↳user: so true queen
↳user: i know what you did
↳yourusername: idk what ur talking about!
↳user: breaking twitch terms of service you are going to get lando BANNED
↳user: I know ur ass was under his desk 🎤
↳yourusername: whaaat? no way
view story replies:
↳lando: I thought i was your true love
↳yourusername: know your place bitch
↳lando: Youre so mean :(
↳maxfewtrell: You don’t deserve her.
↳yourusername: don’t even start with me mf i’ll run you over with this car
summary: gf love language? biting lando. his reaction? confused and obsessed.
Lando’s phone buzzes on the kitchen counter, but he doesn’t move because you’re currently latched onto his shoulder with your teeth and he’s frozen, kinda laughing and half sighing.
“This again?” he asks, not really trying to stop you.
You hum against his skin.
“Is this payback for not sharing the last cinnamon roll?”
You pull away just enough to say, “You knew I wanted that one.”
“I asked if you wanted half.”
“I wanted the whole thing and you knew it.”
He laughs and rubs the spot you’ve just bitten, nothing too dramatic just enough pressure to acknowledge it. There's no mark, not yet.
Lando is learning that you nip when you're happy and you nibble when you're annoyed. He gets a different kind of bite for each mood and he’s started identifying them like candy.
You’ve only been dating a few months, still figuring out the rhythms, still testing the boundaries but the biting? That started early. Third date, actually. You were both at a café, waiting too long for a takeaway and he made some joke about being too famous and doesn't have patience to wait for something so simple. You laugh leaned over and bit his forearm.
He didn’t flinch. He just blinked at you and went “Okay, so you’re one of those.”
And somehow, that was that.
Now he’s got a working theory that you were a particularly affectionate puppy in a past life.
“Do I need to call someone?” he says now, turning his head to glance at you. “Get your mother on the line, maybe?”
You raise your head. “Why?”
“So I can tell her the toddler she left in my flat is starting to bite. Might be defective, might need to be returned.”
You smack his chest lightly.
He grins. “I’m serious, what’s her number?”
“Why would I give you my mum’s number?”
“So I can return you with the receipt.”
“I am the receipt.”
He laughs again, one of those full body laughs you’ve already become addicted to.
He’s warm under you, you’re half straddling his lap on the sofa, hoodie sleeves pushed up, legs tangled with his. He’s technically still wearing socks but no shirt. One of his arms is wrapped loosely around your waist, like he doesn’t want to risk you falling off and the other is trailing idly up and down your thigh like his fingers are bored when they’re not touching you.
You let your teeth graze his shoulder again, just a soft press of pressure.
He sighs. “See? That’s the playful one.”
You smile. “What do you mean?”
“You have types” he says, very seriously. “There’s the warning nibble, the excited chomp, the I’m-sleepy-but-I-love-you lazy bite…”
You roll your eyes. “You’re making that up.”
“I am documenting it in a private file.”
You shift your weight until your chin is on his collarbone. “What’s your love language then?”
“Physical touch.”
You blink. “That makes sense.”
He nods slowly. “I like having you close, like…” He tugs the edge of your hoodie. “This just knowing you’re here with me now, that you’re real and we are actually living this moment.”
His voice is quiet, almost too sincere for how early this still is.
You tilt your head, looking at him. “So if I’m biting you it's because I love you…”
“Then I’m touching you because I love you back.”
You make a small sound in your throat. “That’s disgustingly sweet.”
“You’re the one chewing on me like a pastry.”
“Don’t tempt me.”
He grins. “I never do.”
You lean up and kiss his cheek, then his jaw, then just beneath his ear, where you know he’s ticklish.
“Okay, that’s illegal” he says, squirming.
You sink your teeth gently into his neck.
“Baby…” he warns, laughing.
“Is that the ´don’t start something you can’t finish´ tone?” you tease.
“That’s the ´we still haven’t done the laundry and I’m trying to be responsible´ tone.”
You groan. “You’re no fun today.”
“Oh, I am plenty fun, just like my socks clean.”
“You’re the most polite chew toy I’ve ever dated.”
He gasps. “Ever? As in plural? Should I be worried?”
You nuzzle into his shoulder. “Only if you run out of cinnamon rolls again.”
He pretends to consider this. “Noted, so you stay fed and I don’t get mauled. Got it”
You pause for a second, letting the quiet settle. The flat hums softly around you distant traffic, the whir of the fridge, the echo of afternoon sun pressing lazy streaks across the floor. His chest rises and falls beneath your cheek. You think about how quickly he’s become familiar. How easy it is to be close to him and how fast the affection came, and how little you feel like questioning it.
“You really don’t mind?” you ask suddenly, voice quieter now. “That I… do that?”
“Bite me?”
You nod against him.
He wraps both arms around you tight. “No, not even a little.”
You lift your head. “Be honest.”
“I am.” His eyes are soft. “I’ve never dated someone who does it, but… it’s kind of you, It makes sense. You don’t say everything you feel out loud, so I think you just leave it in toothprints.”
Your heart does something weird.
He kisses the side of your face.
“And hey” he adds, “the little vamp never drawn blood, so you know. Five stars, would recommend.”
You roll your eyes. “You’re ridiculous.”
“I’m serious.”
“I could bite you right now.”
“I’m offering my wrist.”
You lean forward. Instead of biting, you kiss him slow, lingering, a little surprised by how easy it is to fall into him like that. His fingers tighten slightly at your waist. When you pull away, his eyes are still half closed.
“You’re lucky I like you” you murmur.
“You’re lucky I like weird girls who bite.”
You go for his shoulder again, laughing.
•*´¨`*•.¸¸.•*´¨`*•.¸¸.•*´¨`*•.¸¸.•*´¨`*•.¸¸.•
I did this for me, biting people is my love language and a boy once joked that I must be a toddler 🙃
English is not my first language and I don't want it to be. Any mistakes are made out of pure hatred and disrespect for this language. The English have taken enough from this world, I will not let them have my tongue as well.
fav genre of men ? the ones who love to love you i.e. sweet gestures they make when they're smitten
﹙ 🥐 ﹚ 𝒻em ! 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋 ✴ 𝖻𝗈𝗒𝖿𝗋𝗂𝖾𝗇𝖽 ! multi f1 ◟ 🏁 blurbs ◜ᴗ◝ featuring. ln¹ cl¹⁶ gr⁶³ radio. hi, lovelies! here's a very late valentine's treat. and a good practice round for me at writing for these dudes <3 ／ 𝐋𝐈𝐁𝐑𝐀𝐑𝐘.
LANDO NORRIS
He doesn’t tell you he’s doing it.
Not when the cameras are in his face and he’s giving the usual practiced grin, entertaining questions about strategy and the endless ‘what if's. Not when the day officially ends but the garage is still buzzing with team personnel packing up equipment, and the media centre is a beacon of everything he'd rather avoid like a plague.
Lando's good at that. Infusing every word with enough enthusiasm to hide the fact that his heart is somewhere else entirely.
He checks his phone the second he’s out of range for any long lenses to capture his horrifyingly warm expression. There’s a message from you—sent an hour ago, because you always try to time them with when he gets in and out of the cockpit.
So so proud of you, sweetheart <3 Get some rest. And have a safe flight tmrw!
His chest tightens in that quiet way it always does when it reads the unmistakable undertone of care in your every word.
Theoretically, Lando should be on a shuttle to the Hilton where they'd checked him in for the weekend. Maybe exploit his ambassador status by ordering half the room service menu, or take up some of the other drivers on their offer of a night out.
But something in envisioning himself eating his weight in burgers and chips, or changing into something remotely appropriate for a high-end club only serves to make Lando uneasy.
So instead, he bolts it to Jon's rented Chevy Malibu and has the decency to look sheepish as the other man eyes him knowingly. Two hours later, Lando is on the next flight to Nice after bidding you an early night under the guise of feeling absolutely knackered. Which is not far from the truth, he thinks, as he snaps his headphones into place, staring at the bejeweled skyline with sleep lidded eyes.
He tells himself that it’s the right sort of impulsiveness. Why the hell does he earn so much if he won't reap the benefits once in a while? That he’s tired. That he just wants his own bed.
Though who is he kidding —Lando just wants you.
By the time he lands and books a cab to Monaco, it’s properly late. Like the kind where every straggler is sluggish on the streets: either dead on their feet or shitfaced. Lando's got his carry-on slung over one shoulder, having left most of his racing gear with his management to take to Woking. Blessed two week break, he's never been more glad for those.
No florist in their right mind is operating at this hour but the idea of showing up to your doorstep empty-handed is preposterous. So he takes his liberties at the first open 24 hour supermarket—cap pulled low, mask on—and piles all your favourite sweets in a basket to dump on the checkout counter.
There's a voice in the back of his head that oddly resembles his nutritionist nagging about so much processed sugar. But then Lando imagines your face, beaming brightly at him with one cheek stuffed full with chocolate, and he thinks he'll gladly tear up his weekly meal plan and throw it in the open sea.
And in the blink of an eye, he's standing outside your flat, nervous in a way that makes zero sense.
He's faced the fear of his life flashing before his eyes in terrible crashes, handled interviews with a straight face after heartbreak races. But this? This makes him feel faint enough for a breeze to knock over.
Before he can overthink it, he rings the doorbell.
Lando hears some shuffling on the other side, imagines the confusion on your face as you waddle down the hallway toward the entrance, clearly not expecting anyone at midnight, and peer into the CCTV display. He grins wryly at the blinking red light.
The door bangs open with frantic disbelief.
You are in pyjamas—bright pink satin with printed strawberries that have seen better days—with your hair twisted into a loose bun. The way you blink slowly reminds him of a cat while your brain catches up with your eyes.
“…Lan?”
He swallows visibly, slightly lost for words. Just gives you that soft, crooked smile—high strung caricature of a public image sanded down into something real.
“Hi,” Lando says, almost shy.
Your shoulder bumps against the doorframe when you take a step forward. “You– You’re not supposed to be here until tomorrow.”
“Yeah, well.” He shifts his weight from one foot to the other, rubbing over the stubble he hasn't shaved. Like he needs to occupy his hands with something until they inevitably reach forward. “I got bored.”
Your laugh comes out breathless. “You changed your flight because you were bored?”
He shrugs, but his ears are pink. “Might’ve wanted to see you.”
That’s when you step forward and wrap your arms around him. It should scare him how easily you fit: his arms around your waist while you hug his shoulders firmly, his chin resting on the juncture of your neck. Melded together like butter on warm toast.
Lando exhales. It’s not dramatic. It’s not cinematic. It’s just so much relief. His face presses into your hair and he holds you tighter than he means to. He’s been running on dry gulps all weekend and suddenly someone has dropped him into an oasis.
“You’re mad,” you murmur against his hoodie. “Absolutely fucking ridiculous.”
“Maybe. Possibly.”
“And exhausted probably. Jesus, Lan.”
“Oh, absolutely,” he chuckles, nosing at your skin to feel you shiver.
You pull back, hands on either side of his head, looking up at him. He only slightly choked knowing he feels so precious under your gaze. He thinks he's a mirror of your expression. “You didn’t have to do this.”
“I know.” His thumb brushes your cheek gently. “I wanted to,” Lando says, retrieving the chocolates out from behind his back like he’s in a cheesy fucking rom-com, the packaging slightly crushed. “Peace offering for abandoning you for a week.”
You cradle the heart-shaped box as if it's priceless treasure. “You were working.”
“Uh-huh. Anyway, I agreed to spoil you until forever, and that starts with giving you cavities.”
You smile at him in that way that makes his stomach flip and hug him again. “You’re so stupid. Welcome home, baby.”
And if he melts under the those orange porch lights, that is nobody's fucking business innit? You usher him inside, and Lando toes off his shoes by the door impatiently, a force of habit. They fall lopsided by your perfectly arranged shoes like they belong there. Like he belongs where you are.
CHARLES LECLERC
He doesn’t mean to overhear.
Charles makes it back after his morning run, unhooks the leash off Leo's harness and lets the puppy run free into the flat. He's walking past the bedroom while stripping off his sweat-soaked shirt when he catches your voice drifting, animated in that way it gets when you're talking to your best friend. It's a losing battle against the smile taking over his face.
“I’m serious,” you say, nearly shrieking in insistence. “Men who can cook? Husband material. Immediately.”
Charles slows. He doesn’t stop completely—he’s not that obvious—but he absolutely slows.
“Like, imagine coming home after work or something, and he's got dinner ready and plated? I would fold,” you sigh, dreamily and his eyebrows shoot towards his hairline. Huh.
Charles continues down the hallway as if nothing happened. But there's this restlessness crawling under his skin. It's not that he disagrees about culinary competence being sexy, but what the hell, he never knew it's that high in your book of ideal qualities.
A quality Charles doesn't think he's ever shown or even has. But what did you call it? Husband material? He can fucking manage that, alright.
By the time you hang up after a long drawn weekly catchup, the apartment is suspiciously quiet. Some might say it's too quiet.
Never one to deny your curiosity, you kick both feet off the side of your bed and wander towards the kitchen. And immediately you are met with a scene that looks… intense, for a lack of better adjectives.
There’s flour all over the counter. A pan that is visibly smoking. Three different spice containers are open at once in the cabinet. And in the middle of it all stands Charles, sleeves pushed up, brow furrowed in deep concentration while he wrestles with the salt and pepper shakers like he's performing some complicated folk dance.
“Cha?” you say carefully, stepping past the archway past the dining table.
He jumps, swiveling around to spot you leaning on the kitchen island. His eyes are blown wide and he looks distinctly like a toddler who got caught stealing from the cookie jar. “Ah— you’re not supposed to be here!”
You sputter, taken aback. “Supposed to— this is my kitchen.”
“Yes, but,” Charles gestures vaguely behind him, "consider this a temporary takeover. Go, sit at the table. I will be done soon.”
“Done with what?” You blink at him owlishly. “What’s happening?”
His shoulders drop as if he's being forced to confess to a crime. “I am cooking.”
You stare. “For me?”
He clears his throat, attempting casual, but there is a prominent flush to his cheeks “Yes. Now, will you please go sit down? You are ruining the surprise.”
You try very hard not to smile too widely. “Okay.”
You retreat to the dining table while he continues moving around the kitchen with determined energy. There’s a lot of stirring. A questionable amount of salt being added. A brief muttered string of curses in French when something sizzles too aggressively.
After a while, Charles appears with a plate of spaghetti with a generous amount of cheese and green onions sprinkled on top. It looks decent, if you ignore the charred bits of pasta and tomatoes that look a little too brown.
Yet you cannot help feeling giddy when he sets the food down in front of you triumphantly. A spoil of war, almost. “Voilà.”
But then you notice the stub of bandaid stuck to his little finger and a groan bubbles out. You take his hand into your own to inspect the cut and he slumps into the chair beside you. “Was butchering your finger worth it, love? Why did you suddenly want to cook anyway? Thought we were ordering in today.”
Charles squirms in place, suddenly put on the spot. He's clearly conflicted but ultimately sighs. “You said earlier… that men who cook are…” He trails off, blushing plainly for all to see.
Your eyes widen. “You heard that?”
“Maybe,” he mutters.
And oh, your heart melts. You hadn’t spared much thought when you said it, it was just gossiping for gossip's sake when your friend mentioned her latest date was an actual chef.
Not that there is anything wrong with not being able to cook five star meals. You yourself aren't too keen on it, nor do you have the patience for complicated dishes. But, Charles, with his sweet consideration and eagerness to help in any way, had always been miffed that he is utterly useless in the kitchen.
So, you have a solid system in place. You cook while Charles cleans, and you happily make do with takeout when laziness creeps in.
But knowing that he has even tried just because of an offhand comment you made? That has you reaching for a fork like a starved caveman, shovelling it into your mouth.
It’s— Okay. Slightly burnt. Definitely salty and the pasta is somewhat overdone. But it’s warm and the care Charles has put into it is clear as day. Starting with the unevenly chopped onions and excessive dairy, in a bid to follow some internet recipe, no doubt. All the while ignoring to scale down for the portion size.
And it’s him. And he’s watching you like he is waiting for the most important result of his entire life.
You light up instantly. “Charlie!”
His shoulders tense. “Yes?”
“This is amazing!”
Relief floods him so quickly it’s almost painful how sweet it is. He narrows his eyes jokingly. “Really?”
“Really.” You take another bite to prove your point, nodding. “I love it.”
The smile that breaks across his face has your stupid traitorous heart stumbling. Charles huffs, in relief perhaps, before picking up a fork and twisting the pasta onto it. You brace yourself as he takes a bite.
The smile fades. He chews, then pauses, and his eyebrows lift comically, blanching. “Mon chou, it is so fucking salty.”
You shake your head, stuffing your face to match the cavity of your chest brimming with happiness. “It is flavorful.”
Charles frowns, fingers tracing up your arm as if he's debating yanking the fork out of your grasp. “And maybe a little burned. Stop forcing yourself to eat it. It's terrible.”
“It’s caramelized,” you argue. “And you really think you can force me to do anything? I love this, and I will finish it, thank you very much.”
He looks at you suspiciously. “You are lying.”
“I am not! Seriously, you did great for your first try. You can't expect to get a Michelin star right away, can you?”
He studies you for a second longer, then laughs softly, the tension draining out of him. “Okay. Maybe I got a bit excited with the salt.”
“Yes, a bit,” you concede, squeezing his hand into your own. “Charles.” He looks up and your smile softens into something gentle and certain. “The fact that you heard me say that and decided to cook for me? That is peak husband material.”
Charles’ breath catches just slightly. “Even if I nearly gave you food poisoning?” he teases.
“Especially then." You lean in to press your lips to his cheek and laughing at the sauce smeared there.
His eyes are shining and he’s absolutely overwhelmed, yet trying his hardest not to show it. “I wanted to do something for you. I wanted you to come home and feel… taken care of.”
Your heart aches.
“I do,” you say. “I feel very taken care of.”
And it rings true especially when he tugs you into his arms without another word, and you're practically falling onto his lap. His forehead rests against yours. You like Charles even when he can't cook to save his life. You love Charles because he'll try anything to make you the happiest version of yourself.
GEORGE RUSSELL
The thing is, you hadn’t even asked him to come with. George had clocked you stumbling around the living room halfway into your shoes, scouring for car keys and unsurprisingly failing at both. He'd walked into the bedroom, came back with a scarf and gently looped it around your neck.
“Grab an energy bar, at least. I'll get the car out,” he said, dangling the keys in front of you.
“I’m literally just running errands,” you'd replied, cupping his face and getting on your tiptoes to kiss him softly. “It'll be boring. Plus, you have plans.”
“Plans of playing video games. I can ask Alex to reschedule,” George insists, already walking towards the door. “And I love boring. I can do with some boring right now.”
Now you glance back at him in the middle of the store and chuckle. There’s an inflated tote bag hooked over one shoulder, two glossy shopping bags dangling from his fingers, and somehow he’s also holding your iced coffee because you said it was “getting in the way” of sifting through clothes.
“You okay back there?” you ask sweetly.
George adjusts his grip, posture still perfectly upright despite the growing collection. “I'm alright.”
“You can put some down, you know,” you say for the hundredth time, crossing your—completely empty—arms.
“And have you carry them instead?” He scoffs playfully. “What kind of boyfriend would I be?”
You tilt your head thoughtfully. “The normal kind.”
He gives you a look. “Well, I don't want to be the normal kind. You deserve better than that. Now which dress are we thinking, because I'm not sure about the whole polka dots.”
George follows you from rack to rack without complaint—well, without real complaint. There’s the occasional sigh when you disappear into a fitting room for the fourth time. “How many versions of the same top do you need?” he calls from outside.
“They’re all different,” you giggle through the response.
When you pull back the curtains and step down from the elevated platform meant to prop you up like a doll at the back of your favorite—and only a little obnoxious—boutique, he looks up from his phone, mildly exasperated. “They’re all white, sweetheart.”
“This one is cream,” you counter, tugging the fabric down to your naval. Your face scrunches in concentration, tongue poking out.
“Ah. Of course. Game changer,” George sighs, biting back a fond smile.
But when you turn away from the mirror to show him, he straightens immediately. The teasing fades, replaced with genuine focus. He hums, “Turn, please.”
You roll your eyes, twirling around with the necessary amount of dramatic flair. “I didn’t realize I was dating a fashion guru. Which one is it gonna be, good sir?”
George taps his chin once, twice, thrice, before he nods. “Yeah, this is the one. The other is way too similar to the pink one you already have.”
“You think?” You ask, surprised.
His attention to detail always catches you off-guard but it's nothing new. He is always meticulous, especially about things he cares for. You just happen to be at the very top of that list.
“Mm.” His gaze softens. “You look… really good.”
There’s no over-the-top dramatics with him. Just quiet certainty. Like he’s stating a fact. It comes to him like a rehearsed vow but every time, the words are honeyed with so much sincerity. It swells inside your chest; unasked, unconditionally adored.
You end up buying it. And the skirt he'd picked when he got bored of waiting idly while you changed. And the shoes you definitely hadn’t planned on purchasing but he insisted, saying they complete the look.
By the time you reach the checkout counter, you’re doing that thing where you mentally calculate and pretend you’re not slightly stressed about the egregious sum total.
George, meanwhile, has neatly stacked all the bags by his feet, hands on his hips, standing like he’s waiting at an airport lounge to hear the PA system clearly.
The cashier scans the final item. “That’ll be—” You’re already reaching for your wallet as she announces the bill when George suddenly steps forward, tapping the back of his phone against the scanner.
“George,” you make a frustrated noise, feeling a little ruffled.
“I’ve got it.” He doesn’t even look at you, just smiles at the lady who hands him the receipt, scanning it to make sure everything's as it should be.
“I can pay for my own things.”
“I know,” he says calmly. His fingers find yours, entwining together perfectly while he wrangles all the shopping bags in his other hand. “But I want to. So, you just have to deal with it, darling.”
You stare at him with ill-veiled disbelief and the begrudging flutter in your stomach. Might as well commit to the bit and call it a butterfly zoo. “You didn’t have to do that.”
George glances down at you, faint grin tugging at his lips. “I like taking care of you.”
“And I love that you do! But seriously, it was a lot.”
He shrugs slightly. “It’s just money.” As though a couple thousand euros are pocket change. Well, to him maybe they are. Still it makes you squirmish with every realization. "If it bothers you, consider you looking fantastic as repayment."
“That’s not the point,” you huff, feeling increasingly like you're arguing with a wall. You cannot hate him for it, for catering to your whims whenever and wherever. Not when every action of his feels like a warm embrace.
He has that way about him, leading you without being overshadowing. You like to be independent, and that's something he cherishes about you. But more than often, he does these things without any fanfare.
Footing the entire bill on group dinners. Ordering flowers when he's away; not just for you, but all your friends if they're around. Never letting you drive if he can help it. Not because you're incapable, but because he loves to take you places. To steal glances of your wide eyes and lips parted in awe at the scenery flashing past, deliberately speeding up on empty streets to have you holding the overhead handle for dear life as you end up shrieking with laughter.
Small things that mean the world.
You barely suppress a startle when George hooks a finger under your chin, gently tipping your face up just enough to meet his bright azure gaze.
“The point,” he says, whispering it like a secret, “is that I enjoy doing things for you. Carrying your ridiculous number of things. Standing outside fitting rooms for an hour. Treating you just because it makes me very, very happy.”
And the clarity washes over you like a recurring tide: he doesn’t like the mundane so much as he likes the time spent with you. He likes being yours. The rest of it is just… confetti.
Your lips twitch. “An hour?”
George scoffs, draping an arm around your shoulders as you walk out. “At the very least.”
“Oh, you drama queen.” You nuzzle into him, resting your hand on his chest for a few seconds. You don't expect it to slow the hummingbird against your ribs. “You’re spoiling me. I'm going to develop a horrible habit and lose all my financial competence.”
He leans down enough so only you can hear him, breath ghosting over your ears, ticklish. “You got me,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to the side of your head. “That was my plan all along.”
more yapping. 💌 i wanted to squeeze in carlos' part into this too. i wrote and rewrote it so many times, but it just wouldn't feel right. hope you guys still enjoyed these three and some lovin. mwah ~ (๑ᵔ⤙ᵔ๑)
hiii girl i love your blog sm!!!! i was wondering if you write for formula 1 drivers too since i read that you love formula 1 too? if so, i would love some lando smut (maybe him being a bit more aggressive after a race or something like that) thanks!!
Finish Line
pairing: Lando Norris x female reader
description: You're prepared to celebrate Lando's P3 after the Barcelona GP, but first he needs to take his frustration out on you.
The roar of the Barcelona crowd is still a distant hum in your ears as you navigate the maze of the motorhome corridors. P3. A podium. It should be a celebration, but the tense line of Lando's jaw tells a different story. He says nothing as you walk to the car, his silence a heavy blanket.
The moment you're settled in the passenger seat, his hand finds your thigh, his grip firm, a stark contrast to his usual playful touches.
The drive to the hotel is suffocatingly quiet. You watch the city lights blur past, feeling the tension thrumming through him, radiating from his hand on your leg.
He is frustrated, simmering with a dissatisfaction that has nothing to do with the race result itself and everything to do with the win that has slipped through his fingers, just like so many others this season.
The moment the hotel room door clicks shut, the dam breaks. He doesn't turn on the lights, just pulls you into the dimly lit room and onto his lap as he sits on the edge of the plush armchair. His mouth is on yours, hungry and demanding.
You respond instantly, your arms wrapping around his neck, your body pressing against his as you try to soothe the frustration you can feel coiling in his muscles. You begin to move, grinding down onto his lap, trying to give him the release he so clearly needs.
His hands shoot to your hips, stopping your movements with a force that makes you gasp. He breaks the kiss, his breathing ragged in the near-darkness. "No," he growls, his voice low and rough. "Stop."
You freeze, looking down at him. His eyes are dark, burning with an intensity you've only seen a few times before. "I need to be in control tonight," he says, his thumbs stroking the skin just above the waistband of your jeans. "You're going to do what I say. Can you do that for me babe?"
A shiver of anticipation runs down your spine. You nod, your voice barely a whisper. "Yes."
He stands, taking your hand and leading you into the bedroom. He turns you to face him, his eyes holding yours as he slowly, deliberately, unbuttons your shirt, letting it fall to the floor. He unhooks your bra, his fingers grazing your skin and then his hands move to your jeans, tugging them down along with your panties until you stand naked before him. He doesn't touch you again, not yet. He just watches, his gaze so possessive it feels like a physical touch.
He walks over to his suitcase, rummaging for a moment before pulling out a red silk tie, the one he'd worn to a sponsor event last week. Your heart hammers against your ribs. He returns to you, taking your wrists in his strong hands.
"Arms behind your back," he commands.
You obey, a thrill shooting through you as he wraps the cool silk around your wrists, binding them securely. The knot is firm, efficient and you find yourself completely at his mercy.
"On your knees," he orders, his voice leaving no room for argument.
You sink to the plush carpet, looking up at him. He quickly sheds his own clothes, his body all lean muscle and sharp angles in the dim light. He stands before you, his cock hard and jutting out, the tip already glistening. He guides your head forward with one hand tangled in your hair.
"Open up," he murmurs. "Show me how good you can be for me."
You take him into your mouth, working him with your tongue, hollowing your cheeks. He lets out a low groan, his hips rocking forward slightly. "That's it," he praises, his voice thick. "Just like that. Fucking perfect."
You take him deeper, your movements becoming more frantic, more eager. He lets you set the pace for a moment before his grip on your hair tightens, guiding you, controlling the rhythm. He begins to thrust into your mouth, a little rougher, a little deeper each time, testing your limits.
"Look at me," he demands. You look up, your eyes watering slightly as you meet his intense gaze. "God, you look so beautiful like this. So helpless."
He uses you, his movements becoming more erratic, his breathing harsher. Just when you think he is about to come, he pulls back, leaving you gasping for air.
He pulls you to your feet and bends you over the edge of the bed, your bound hands making you feel even more exposed. His hand comes down on your ass with a sharp smack. The sting is immediate, followed by a wave of heat.
"Count," he commands.
"One," you breathe out.
Another smack, on the other cheek. "Two."
He soothes the reddened skin with his palm before his fingers slide between your legs, finding you slick and ready. He teases your entrance for a moment before sinking two fingers inside you, curling them just right. A moan escapes your lips as he pumps them in and out, his other hand pressing down on the small of your back, holding you in place.
"You're so wet for me," he murmurs, his voice a low rumble. "So desperate. You're doing so good, taking everything I give you."
He withdraws his fingers, leaving you empty and aching. You feel the bed dip as he positions himself behind you. He grips your hips and then he is pushing into you, filling you in one slow, deep thrust that steals your breath. He gives you a moment to adjust before he begins to move, his pace punishing, his hips snapping against yours with a force that makes the bedframe rattle.
One of his hands moves from your hip to your hair, winding it around his fist and pulling your head back. The arch it forces in your spine is delicious, allowing him to sink even deeper.
"You love this, don't you?" he grunts, his voice ragged. "Love being helpless under me. Taking my cock like the good girl you are."
You can only moan in response, the words lost in the overwhelming sensation. He is everywhere, the stretch of him, the grip on your hair, the sound of his skin slapping against yours, the dirty praise that is the only thing holding you together.
"Fuck," he groans, his rhythm faltering. "I'm going to come."
His free hand snakes around to your clit, rubbing tight, hard circles. That is all it takes and your orgasm crashes over you, intense and blinding. You cry out his name as your body convulses around him. He follows you over with a final, deep thrust, burying himself inside you as he comes with a long, guttural groan.
He stays inside you for a moment longer before slowly pulling out. He gently unties your wrists, his movements tender and careful. He brings your hands to his lips, kissing the light red marks the silk has left on your skin.
He pulls you onto the bed with him, wrapping his arms around you and holding you close. The dominant man from moments before is gone, replaced by the Lando you know, his touch now gentle and reverent. He kisses your forehead, your cheeks, your lips, a soft kiss that is full of apology and adoration.
"You're so good to me," he whispers against your skin. "I love you so much."
description: When you and Lando cuddle up on a private jet to Spielberg, his gratitude for your support quickly turns into a passionate encounter high above the clouds.
The soft hum of the private jet's engines creates a cocoon of intimacy as you're curled up against Lando's side, his arm wrapped securely around your shoulders. The Austrian landscape passes thousands of feet below, but your focus is entirely on the man beside you.
"Nervous about Spielberg?" you ask softly, your fingers playing with the curls at the nape of his neck.
Lando turns his head to press a kiss to your forehead. "Less nervous when you're here. Honestly, I don't think I could do this without you."
Your heart swells at his words. "That's sweet, but you're the one with the talent. I just cheer from the sidelines."
"Stop that," he says, pulling you onto his lap so you're straddling him. "Your support, your love… it's everything. I'm the luckiest man alive to have you."
His eyes are sincere, filled with an emotion that makes your breath catch. You lean in, pressing your lips to his in a soft, tender kiss that quickly deepens. What starts gentle becomes demanding, hungry. His hands grip your hips, pulling you closer as you begin to grind against him, seeking relief from the ache building between your thighs.
Lando thrusts up against you, a low groan escaping his lips. "God, I want you," he murmurs against your mouth. "Right here, right now."
"We can't," you protest, though your body betrays you as you continue to move against him. "Someone could walk in."
"We've got hours before landing," he counters, his hands sliding under your shirt. "We just have to be quiet."
His persuasive words, combined with his skilled fingers tracing patterns on your back, dissolve your remaining resistance. You nod and Lando doesn't waste a moment. His hands move to the waistband of your pants, undoing the button and zipper before sliding them down your hips.
You shift to help him remove the garment, along with your panties, leaving your lower half exposed. His fingers find your slick folds, teasing your entrance before circling your clit. You bite your lip to suppress a moan as he works you open, preparing you for what's to come.
"Already so wet for me," he praises, his voice thick with desire. "Can't wait to be inside you."
After a few moments of his expert ministrations, you're more than ready. Lando frees himself from his own pants, his erection standing proud and ready. He positions himself at your entrance and you slowly lower yourself onto him, taking him inch by inch.
A soft moan escapes your lips as he fills you completely. "Shh, love," he reminds you with a smirk. "Remember, we need to be quiet."
You begin to move, riding him slowly at first, then with increasing urgency. Lando's hands guide your hips, setting a rhythm that has you seeing stars.
"That's it, baby," he praises, his voice husky. "Ride me just like that. Fuck, you feel incredible. So tight, so perfect around my cock."
His dirty talk sends a jolt of pleasure through you and you can't help but moan louder, which results in Lando quickly putting his fingers to your lips.
"Suck," he commands and you obey, taking his digits into your mouth and swirling your tongue around them. "Good girl. So obedient for me."
He begins to thrust up harder, meeting your downward movements with increasing force. The cabin fills with the sounds of your bodies joining, of your muffled moans around his fingers, of his whispered praises and filthy words.
"Look at you," he murmurs, his eyes dark with lust. "Taking my cock so well. You're amazing, absolutely perfect. I love watching you ride me, love the way your breasts bounce with every thrust."
His free hand moves to your clit, rubbing tight circles that push you closer to the edge. "Come for me, love. Let go. I want to feel you come all over my cock."
His words are your undoing. Your orgasm crashes over you, waves of pleasure pulsing through your body as you clench around him. Lando follows you over the edge with a guttural groan, his release hot and deep inside you.
For a long moment, you stay joined, Lando still inside you as you both catch your breath. He pulls you into a tender embrace, his lips pressing soft kisses to your neck and shoulders.
"I adore you," he whispers against your skin. "More than words can say. Thank you for being here with me, for supporting me through everything."
Hello can i request a lando smut wherein reader is sore af from last nights shenanigans so he “makes up for it” by eating her out sensually like if u were to cook eggs low n slow, thats exactly how lando would eat her ykwim i hope u see d vision 😭
N she’s just there losing her mind but he’s taking his sweet time massaging tf out of her pussy using his tongue and/or fingers aksksksksk
Breakfast in bed | LN⁴
.✦ ݁˖ summary ──── The morning has lots of ways of revealing the cost of a reckless night. Good thing Lando knows exactly how to deal with the aftermath.
.✦ ݁˖ pairing ──── Lando Norris x she/her reader
.✦ ݁˖ rating ──── explicit
.✦ ݁˖ warnings ──── 18+, mature/sexual content, established relationship, descriptive language, swearing, lazy makeout sessions, references to prior rough sex causing physical soreness, oral ─ (f)receiving, graphic descriptions of bodily fluids and detailed anatomical focus, teasing, overstimulation, thirsty Lando.
.✦ ݁˖ word count ──── 2.9k
.✦ ݁˖ date ──── Apr. 11, 2026
.✦ ݁˖ a/n ──── Enjoy this quickie while I’m in the corner, severing ties with my writing demon, because my drafts are filled with unfinished business. Booo writer’s block 😠👎🏻
“STAY,” SAYS LANDO in a sleepy voice, tightening his arm around her waist.
The morning light filters through the gauzy curtains in soft beige tones, bathing the bedroom in a warm glow that feels like a gentle embrace from the sun itself. It’s the second raceless weekend in a row, which means no cameras, engines or schedules pulling them from the quiet of their bed.
They lie together under a rumpled blanket, naked bodies pressing close to each other, their skin still carrying the faint musk of last night’s sweat. The material is smooth to the touch, worn cotton textured like chicken fluff that is heavy enough to trap the heat between them but light enough to let the morning air tease at the edges of it.
“Let go,” she insists, copying the same tone, “I wanna shower.”
Lando’s eyes flutter open to find her face inches from his. They are as clear as an untouched lake in the light of day, giving him a look far too angelic for the thoughts that are running through his mind right now. His curls framing his face like a halo and his lazy smile add to the same narrative, but she knows better than to fall for it.
Well, again. Once was enough, and now she’s here, heart bursting with joy every time she catches sight of the small dimples on his cheeks.
Her hair fans across the pillow like snakes, a few strands catching on his stubbled jaw as he shifts. Judging by the way she looks at him, Lando has a pretty good idea of what she might be thinking, and he’s ready to bet that he is the focal point of that thought, so he mumbles something incoherent and she responds with a small whine, her lips parting to let out a chuckle. Which is the perfect opportunity for him to seal his mouth to hers in a lazy kiss.
His lips are warm, slightly chapped from the dry air in the hotels he’s been living in, brushing over hers with tenderness. The girl shighs into him, her breath still holding a faded taste of mint from the toothpaste they shared before collapsing into bed. It does not take long before he deepens it, wanting more — so much more, always —, their heartbeats syncing in a buzz that echoes through their ribcages.
Blindly yet knowing its way around, her hand slides up his back, fingers digging into the firm muscles there, feeling a subtle flex while he tries to bring her closer, as if there’s still physical space left between them that he hasn’t covered. Because of that, the blanket shifts with their movement, the fabric rasping against their skin and making a sound similar to the ocean waves before a storm. Her breasts press more insistent to his chest as a result, nipples hardening against his pecs.
Lando’s hair is slightly damp from sweat-dried sleep, the smell of his shampoo blending deliciously with his natural scent while it tickles her forehead as he angles his head to get a better taste. He whimpers silently when her teeth graze his lower lip instead of giving him a verbal warning, a needy sound that travels straight into her mouth, forcing her to echo it with a whine of her own.
“Mmmh, you’re so warm,” he breathes against her lips, letting the words slip in between nips and sucks without breaking the kiss.
She hums in agreement just as their tongues tangle intimately, exploring with a heated slowness that makes her pulse race faster and cause her thighs to squeeze together under the blanket. Feeling her intention, Lando’s hand starts roaming her side, palm tracing the curve of her hip with a patience that sends shivers across her skin and leaves goosebumps behind.
The kiss intensifies with each passing second, inhales and exhales coming faster, whimpers punctuating the wet sounds of their mouths. Her heart hammers in her ears like a drum, and she feels his matching it, strong beneath her palm on his chest. It sends her crying softly when he pulls back to nip at her jaw, then returns to devour her lips, the eagerness building like a slow-burning fire.
Entranced by her wordless responses, Lando’s free hand drifts lower, slipping beneath the blanket to trail down her stomach. Sure of what he’s about to find, his long fingers part her thighs gently, seeking the warmth between her legs. He doesn’t need to think, just circles her entrance with a featherlight touch, then slides one finger inside, intending to coax her completely awake with pleasure. But she winces instead, an unexpected hiss escaping through her lips as pain flares around the area.
Lando freezes, his eyes snapping fully open. Any trace of sleep vanishes in an instant and he withdraws his hand immediately, concern painting subtle lines across his brow as he pulls back in order to search her face.
“Baby, what’s wrong?” his voice stays low but it’s noticeably urgent, the same hand now resting protetively on her thigh. “Did that hurt? Did I hurt you?”
She bites her lip at the same time her body is slowly coming down from the interrupted intimacy. “No, I…” she trails off, trying to catch her breath, “I must be a little sore, that’s it,” the girl admits, her voice soaked in lingering need. “From last night,” she explains.
“Oh,” he nods, wetting his lower lip.
“Yeah, it’s okay.”
Lando’s expression softens, the sudden tension easing from his shoulders. He leans in to place a gentle kiss to her forehead, then her temple, his lips brushing with care everywhere they touch her skin. The blanket settles around them in a comforting weight once he gathers her closer without putting unnecessary pressure, now that he’s aware of the damage he’s done.
“I’m sorry,” although his voice is tender, there’s a small trace of pride underneath that she cannot miss. “I should’ve been more careful.”
The girl shakes her head, hand finding his on her thigh, squeezing reassuringly. “No, baby, you were fine,” she says before correcting herself, “So, so good, actually. Amazingly good.”
He smiles, brushing a lock of hair from her face. “Can’t argue with that, if you can feel me hours later… but I don’t want to hurt you. Ever.”
“Alright, don’t sound so smug about it,” she rolls her eyes, making him smile even wider.
“I said I was sorry, didn’t I?”
“And the look on your face says just that, liar.”
“Let me make it up to you then, hm?” suggests Lando, pressing his lips back on her temple. His voice drops to an intimate whisper, eyes searching hers for permission the moment he turns to look at her again. “Soft and slow, whatever you need.”
“There’s no need to. I’ll be fine after a warm bath,” she insists, but Lando can easily notice a hint of reluctance in her eyes; the same eyes he knows so well when they are filled with desire but too proud to ask for more.
Lando’s gaze holds hers for a fraction too long, managing to reveal her honesty with a knowing smile.
“But I want to,” he assures her. “Please?”
Before she can protest any further, Lando dips his head, pressing open-mouthed kisses along the column of her neck, his facial hair scraping lightly against her sensitive skin in ways that seem to be sprinkling fireworks in its wake.
The morning light continues its lazy dance across the room, highlighting the shine of his broad shoulders as he moves lower, then lower. His lips trail between her breasts, lingering on the swell of each, tongue flicking out to taste the salt of her. She arches slightly, fingers threading into his curls to hold him there for a while as she breaths in, just to enjoy the feel of his mouth. One inhale later, Lando continues kissing down her stomach, smiling at the faint tremor in her muscles and the way her abdomen contracts under his touch; he is absolutely sure that even if he were blind, he’d still be able to read her.
Her scent grows stronger as he descends, an intimate reminder of their night’s… excesses. Firmly, he pauses at her hips, hands sliding to each side of her body, grabbing her thighs and, with gentle pressure, Lando spreads her legs wider, settling between them on his knees. What awaits him there is just the proof of both his skill and her lust: her folds flushed a deep, rosy shade, swollen and tender from the hours of relentless thrusting and grinding that had left her spent. The skin around her entrance bears faint marks of friction, a subtle bruising that speaks to how thoroughtly he’s had her, stretching her limits until dawn.
He parts her with his fingers, carefully watching as her core pulses in a rhythmic throb that imitates her heartbeat, slick with arousal despite the soreness. She’s so wet, contrary to what she’s just affirmed, the evidence glistening in the sunlight, even as her body protests the ache.
Leaning in, Lando’s breath fans over her pussy in tiny breezes, then he blows against it but he doesn’t dive in yet. He knows her curves like the corners of his favorite circuit, and is painfully aware of what her body needs. Taking his time with her is the best strategy here, drawing out the anticipation to amplify everything that follows. He wants her orgasm to crash over her like waves against the cliffs, powerful and all-consuming, devastating even, turning her into someone desperate for the release only he can give.
A fix that hits every nerve.
At once.
So he starts slow, agonizingly so, lips brushing the crease where her thigh meets her hip, kissing the tender skin there with tiny presses. He nips careful at the flesh, then soothes with his tongue, tracing small circles that make her hips twitch involuntarily, even though he’s not nearly close to where she wants him.
“Come on, Lando,” she squirms beneath him, a pronounced whine escaping her throat.
He ignores the sound for now, focusing on the subtler cues: the way she tenses, her thighs seeking to clamp around his head, and how her fingers are blindly searching to fist the sheets. Lando’s mouth wanders higher then, kissing the crease just outside her folds, so close that she can feel the heat of his breath on her clit but not the contact she craves. He returns to her inner thighs after that, sucking lightly until her skin blooms pink, marking her with affection rather than the usual possession.
The room fills quickly with the quiet sounds of his devotion — wet smack of kisses, her deepening breaths and the rustle of the blanket as she starts stirring impatiently. Lando has to hold her down with both hands, his thumbs stroking soothing patterns on the undersides of her thighs, anchoring her to him as he keeps teasing; he knows the delay winds her higher, turning every touch that will follow into the most delicious experience that no god could ever offer.
Finally, when her body arches off the bed, he goes in. He sticks his tongue out, wide and relaxed in order to flatten it against her from entrance to clit in one long lick, covering as much of her as possible. Her texture is velvet-soft under him, swollen and as responsive as always, her wettness coating his taste buds with a tangy sweetness that makes Lando hum in approval.
“Oh, shit,” she gasps, legs quivering as they keep trying to close, but he keeps them parted, repeating the same motion in broad strokes that lap at her pussy without hurry, making sure to stimulate every inch of it.
After the initial shock, his tongue explores the outer lips, tracing the edges before delving inward to gather her essence with skillful swipes. He feels her pulse against his mouth, a deep throb quickening, her body opening to him like a flower in the sun the moment his lips seal around the most sensitive spot to suckle gently, drawing out more of her slickness.
“Right there, fuck…” she cries out, hips bucking subtly as her whines turn to breathy pleas.
He appreciates her guidance, but Lando tunes into her physical feedback instead. The flutter of her inner walls is everything he needs in order to adjust himself when he nears her clit, and the way her toes curl once pleasure spikes supports his assumptions. He zeros in there, mouth hovering before applying a steady suction directly to the swollen nub, pulling it between his lips with enough pressure to make stars burst behind her eyelids. Her back bows once more, and he releases her from his mouth slowly, tongue sliding up and down the peak with a flat press before building again.
Rinse and repeat: suck, hold, release, lick, each cycle pushing her closer to the sweet edge.
In her ecstatic state, she thinks that Lando has never eaten her out this good before, but it’s because he knows her too well, and this time around is supposed to feel different. The man who’s taken her apart with rough hands and relentless thrusts is now piecing her back together with gentleness. His fingers join occasionally, not penetrating but circling her hole, dipping just the tip inside to feel her clench before withdrawing, all while his mouth keeps soothing her in the most sweet-agonizing-hot-euphoric-tears-inducing way.
The soreness fades under his undivided attention, transmuted into molten heat, her insides pulsing with need and not the same pain from earlier.
“Please,” she inhales sharply, fingers twisting in his hair. “Need it… harder. Suck it harder,” sweat beads on her skin as she guids his head more into her.
Lando’s own arousal stirs, his cock hardening against the mattress. “That’s good, baby,” he pulls back for a breath of air, enough to whisper hotly, “Grind on my tongue like that. Show me how you need it.”
He resumes the same rhythm the moment she moans again, tongue delving deeper this time, lapping at her slit where her arousal pools thicker every time he goes back for more. He savors the way she surrenders to him, all the discomfort melting into liquid heat inside his mouth. Each wide stroke covers her entirely, from the tender outer edges to the slick channel as he works his jaw to coax the pleasure out of her.
Her breaths come in pants by now, the walls of their bedroom echoing with wet sounds and a lot of sobs.
“The fucking mouth on you, baby. Don’t stop, don’t stop,” she begs, hands grabbing fistfuls of his curls to keep him between her legs while, in the meantime, her thighs lose their stability around his shoulders.
Lando obeys without second thought, nose brushing her clit every time his tongue thrusts shallowly inside her, curling to tease her sensitive spots. The pressure becomes too much in a blink of an eye and, soon, her hips begin to shake instinctively to chase the friction, grinding against his face in desperate rhythm.
Feeling her impatience, a smile curves Lando’s mouth, the smug expression buried between her legs but felt in the way his cheeks dimple against her clit. At that, he sucks harder, tongue flicking in tandem, teasing the underside before flattening wide again, collecting every tremor from her aching body. It makes him groan against her pussy like a savage animal, the buzzing of it sending fresh sparks of pleasure shooting up her spine.
He tries to adjust his position again, preparing himself for what he’s setting her off to, gripping her ass to hold her in place. His thumbs move on instinct to spread her wider so he can bury his tongue deeper. At the new angle, her whines grow louder, muffled only by the press of his head between her legs. He can feel her tightening as she nears the edge, and the throbbing only spurs him on, his own arousal spiking at the thought of making her shatter like this, with nothing but his tongue playing at her clit.
When it hits, it’s a privilege to drink her in, the flood of her wettness coating his chin, then running down his wide neck, warm, like spilled coffee. A rich and unfiltered essence that he laps up greedily, prolonging the bliss to make her release all the more devastating.
Uninterrupted series of moans fill the air, her walls clenching around nothing as pleasure spills out of her, accompanied by her hips jerking erratically. Each contraction sends jolts of bliss radiating outward that Lando swallows with an asphyxiated groan. Her body shudders violently as she rides the peak, fingers still locked in his curls, holding him there through the aftershocks that ripple endlessly.
Her pleasure fuels his, the intimacy of holding her through it until his knuckles turn white making Lando’s heart race as much as his cock. So he doesn’t let up, sucking gently to claim every last pulse, until she slumps back on the bed, all spent and glowing; he lingers there for a moment longer, pressing tiny kisses to her heated skin.
Finally, when he lifts his head, his face is flushed as if he ran a marathon, lips and chin glistening with her slickness like it’s some sort of prize. Drunk on her, Lando places one more kiss to her inner thigh before wiping his mouth with the back of his hand and settling beside her, cupping her hip.
“Fuckin’ love it when you feed me breakfast in bed,” his smile turns into a playful grin as he brushes his nose against her cheek. “How about some coffee now?”
. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ MASTERLIST . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁
Thank you for reading!
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Hiii i’ve seen your post about witting a book! Congrats!!! that’s awesomene!
i wanna add that me like the other anon loveeee your work!! and yes, your second chance ex lovers is pure gold!
can i request lando and ex lover reader having like an affair, they don’t know if they are together or not because they are in the same group of childhood friends and they grew up together, their families are like besties and they are forced to see eachother frequently even at family events but they’ve been screwing around every chance they get secretly snd none of their friends know , because they feel like it’s the only compromise for having eachother in their lives without complications and at some point during a party they are almost getting caught cause someone comes back home while they are doing it
idk if this is something you’d be willing to write! but i imagined like a good amount of banter and comedy but at the same time angst and passion!
LOVE UUU!! i’ll be queuing at the bookshop to buy your book as soon as it’s out!
Winning hand | LN⁴
💌 REQUESTED by anon ──── Thank you so, so much for supporting my work, you’re the sweetest 😭🤍 I promise you guys will be the first to know if I manage to get my shit together and finally publish my project. Also, I know the party setting it’s kind of basic for this type of request, but hopefully I didn’t derail too far from what you’ve envisioned. Anyway, thanks again and happy reading ^^
🃏 summary ──── A little fiasco about childhood friends, second chances, and playing your cards right.
🃏 pairing ──── Lando Norris x she/her reader
🃏 rating ──── explicit
🃏 warnings ──── 18+, mature/sexual content, descriptive language, swearing, unresolved tension, mentions of alcohol and drinking, confrontation and emotional conflict, fingering & oral ─ (f)receiving, unprotected sex, fluff & smut, various cameos.
🃏 word count ──── 7.8k
🃏 date ──── Dec. 30, 2024
🃏 a/n ──── That being said, this is the last LN⁴ one-shot of the year. Thank you so much for making the past 2 months more bearable for me, and hopefully we’ll get to grow together into the next year. Take care of yourselves, spend as much time as you can with the people you love, and for the ones who sent requests my way, know that they’re (eventually) coming. Love you all and see you soon 🤍🎀
FOR MOST OF their lives, it had been innocent.
They’ve known each other since they were kids, their lives stitched together by years of memories together, family connections, and the kind of history that feels impossible to escape, no matter how hard they’ve tried. Their families were inseparable, and by extension, so were they; holidays, vacations, and every mundane day in between.
But time has only one direction, and a lot of things can change in a year, a month, a week, even a day.
For most of their lives, it had been innocent.
Somewhere along the way, the dynamic shifted. It didn’t happen in a year, a month, a week or a day. Truth is, none of them actually knows the when, the how or the why.
The first kiss had been unexpected, born out of a summer evening and a bottle of stolen alcohol they’d shared in her dad’s wine cellar, hiding from their families. They were 16 at the time, and they never talked about it, not properly, but they never stopped either. Just like that, in time, they became each other’s first in every possible way.
Their relationship, if you could even call it that, evolved into something undefined and intoxicating. Lots of stolen moments, late nights, whispered conversations, and fleeting touches behind closed doors. Now, it’s a game they both know how to play, the rules unspoken, but understood by both parties.
They dated once, a year ago, but it was way too complicated for them to keep pretending it was working. Too much time apart is never good. Not when you try to build and maintain something. So, they’re not together, not officially, but the pull is undeniable. Surprisingly, keeping their ‘complication’ a secret was exactly what they needed; it’s easier this way. Safer. A compromise they’re both willing to make.
Max’s new place hums with energy, the low thrum of bass-heavy music blending seamlessly with the cacophony of conversations and bursts of laughter. The party sprawls across the open-plan living room, with clusters of people perched on couches, leaning against counters, or swirling drinks in their hands.
Amidst the buzz, their group is huddled around the coffee table in the corner of the living room, playing Uno. A few empty beer bottles and half-eaten bowls of chips clutter the table between them, innocent casualties of the night’s ongoing pulse.
“Lando, if you play another Draw Four, I swear I’m gonna jump on you,” Ria warns, narrowing her eyes at him. She’s leaned forward on her elbows, her focus razor-sharp despite the gin and tonic in her hand.
Lando grins, twirling a card between his fingers. “I’d like to see you try,” he teases, his eyes flickering over the table, but not before catching her gaze. It’s quick, just a split second, but it lingers in the tension that’s always present when it comes to them.
She smirks, pretending not to notice, just as her stomach twists in a familiar, unwelcome way. “Just play your card, Norris,” the girl says, tilting her head.
“Don’t rush me, love,” he replies smoothly, the term of endearment slipping out so casually that it makes her heart stutter.
The others notice, of course, because they always do. Connor snorts, nudging Ethan with his elbow, while Morgan rolls his eyes in exaggerated exasperation.
“Goodness gracious, mate. Just go fuck already, and spare us. Max’s gaming room is empty, anyway,” Morgan yells, drawing laughs from everyone except the two people in question. And Max.
“No one is fucking in my gaming room, yeah?” says Max, throwing another card on the table, eyeing Lando up and down, while pointing a finger at his friend. “I’m serious, mate.”
“Jesus. Let’s jus focus on the game, people,” Lando chimes in, though the corner of his mouth twitches with amusement.
The cards pile up in the center, bright reds and blues clashing in a game that’s somehow both chaotic and competitive. Ria drops a Reverse with a flourish, grinning when it disrupts Ethan’s carefully planned move. Ethan groans, shoving his chair back and glaring at her.
“Literally fuck this game. I’m out,” he says, getting up to leave, while the blonde girl starts laughing.
Half an hour later, the space gets somehow smaller, quieter, even with the hum of the party carrying on around them. The others have drifted away, absorbed in conversations or drinks, or conversations and drinks. Still, Lando and her are locked in their own little world as the game stretches into its final act.
They sit cross-legged on the floor, with the coffee table between them, the once-busy atmosphere around reduced to white noise. She leans forward, elbow braced on the edge of the table, her gaze sharp and focused on her last two cards. Lando mirrors her posture, though there’s a lazy grin tugging at his lips, one that doesn’t quite match the intensity in his eyes as they flick between her and his hand.
“Don’t mess this up, Norris,” she warns, voice light but edged with challenge.
“I won’t, I won’t,” he replies, spinning a card between his fingers. “But you might.”
She narrows her eyes. “You’re so bluffing.”
“Am I?” his grin widens, his confidence unshakable.
The playful edge between them is now stained with something warmer, something they both pretend not to notice. When she plays her second-to-last card, her voice cuts through the air.
“Uno,” the girl announces, sitting up straighter, her smile gleaming with smug satisfaction.
Lando pauses, glancing at his cards; he has her. He can make her draw four, ruin her victory lap, and turn the game in his favor. It would be so easy. But as he looks up, he sees the way her eyes sparkle, the way her lips quirk into that small, victorious smile that makes his chest tighten in the best way. Naturally, he hesitates because it’s not the game he cares about. It’s her. Her joy, the way her confidence radiates when she wins, even at something as silly as a stupid card game. And right now, he realizes he’d rather lose a hundred games than take that spark away from her.
“Your move,” the girl prompts impatiently, tapping her fingers on the table.
Lando sighs dramatically, as if conceding defeat is the hardest thing he’s ever done. “Fine,” he says, laying down a harmless card.
Her last one hits the table with a loud slap, throwing her hands in the air. “And that’s how it’s done, you sucker!”
Lando chuckles, leaning back on his hands. “You’re insufferable, you know that?”
“Maybe,” she agrees, standing and pointing at him with mock authority, “But you’re still the loser, so you’ll have to clean all that up,” she continues, gesturing at the mess of cards scattered across the table.
As he gathers the deck, watching her saunter off toward the kitchen, her smugness is practically radiating off her. He can’t help but smile, shaking his head.
Totally worth it.
A moment later, Lando gets up, glancing around to make sure no one’s paying attention. Then, his feet move almost of their own accord, following the path to the kitchen. When he steps inside, he finds her leaning against the counter, pouring herself another drink. The door clicks shut behind him, the sound sharp, letting her know she’s not alone anymore.
She finally turns, eyebrows raised. “Can you be more obvious than that?”
Lando leans back against the door, nodding his head while shoving his hands in his pockets, a crooked smile playing on his lips. “Easily. But I thought I’d see if the reigning Uno champion needed anything.”
He moves towards her with a purpose that makes her heart beat faster; she saw him hunting before. His eyes flick to the drink in her hand, and before she can react, Lando takes it gently from her fingers.
“You’ve had enough of this,” he says softly, a teasing lilt to his voice, though his gaze holds something deeper. He places the glass on the far counter, far enough that neither of them can easily reach it.
“Says who?” she asks, excited to provoke him.
“I say,” Lando’s voice has so much determination behind it that it makes her swallow her own words.
Her breath catches as his hands hover near her waist, not quite touching but close enough to make her feel the heat of his presence. He shifts, his fingers brushing against the fabric of her dress, hesitant at first, as though testing her boundaries. At that, she tilts her head to look up at him, her fingers moving almost instinctively to touch his jawline.
“And who are you?” the girl finally asks.
The tension thickens in the air they’re sharing when her fingertips graze his skin, his jaw clenching beneath her touch. Lando inhales deeply, his eyes closing briefly before they lock onto hers again, darker than usual.
“Fuck around,” says Lando in a low voice. “Find out.”
His hands finally land on her hips, lifting her with ease onto the counter. The cold surface beneath her contrasts sharply with the heat radiating from his body as he steps closer, slotting himself between her knees. After that, the world shrinks to just them, the space between their faces reduced to a tiny whisper. His nose brushes against hers, a soft, innocent gesture that makes her heart grow ten times in size. His breath fans over her lips, his words so quiet she almost misses them.
“You look beautiful tonight,” says Lando, his voice rough yet tender. “These past few weeks have been...” his voice trails off, swallowig the lump in his throat, “I’ve missed you.”
Her hands slide up his arms, fingers curling over his shoulders as she leans in, her lips brushing his as she whispers, “Then why didn’t you—”
Just as she’s about to scold him for ghosting her, the door flies open with a loud noise, making them both flinch.
“Where’s the beer?” Connor’s voice cuts through the charged silence, loud and boisterous as he stumbles into the kitchen, his grin as wide as it is oblivious.
Lando groans quietly, stepping back quickly, his expression shifting into something far more neutral. “In the fridge, mate,” he says, his tone calm and collected despite the storm she knows is still brewing inside him.
Connor doesn’t notice a thing, too busy rooting around in the fridge for another bottle.
She stays on the counter the entire time, her cheeks flushed and her breathing uneven as she tries to compose herself.
Lando shoots her a quick glance, his lips twitching into a small smirk before turning to help his friend, grabbing a beer from the fridge and handing it to Connor.
“Did you go blind all of a sudden? Here you go,” says Lando, pushing the bottle into his friend’s chest. “Let’s get you back before you clear out the entire stock.”
Connor laughs, slinging an arm around Lando’s shoulders as they head back to the living room. Lando glances over his shoulder one last time, his eyes meeting hers for a brief moment before he disappears through the door.
A COUPLE OF hours later, the room roars with life, the bass vibrating through the floor as bodies move in sync with the beat. The air is heavy with the scent of different perfumes, energy drinks, and alcohol, the colored LEDs casting a kaleidoscope of light that bounces off the dancing crowd.
She lets herself get swept up in the chaos, her hand clasped in Ria’s as they spin each other around, their laughter cutting through the music. The rhythm is intoxicating, the tension from earlier forgotten as she moves, her body surrendering to the music completely.
And then, out of nowhere, she feels a pair of hands on her waist, big, warm, and so very familiar. She knows it’s him before she even turns, her breath catching as Lando’s presence envelops her. He doesn’t say anything at first, just pulls her closer to him, their bodies falling into an easy rhythm that feels as natural as breathing.
Her hands instinctively fly to his, their fingers intertwining as he holds her against him. Lando’s chest presses against her back, his breath warm against the side of her neck. He’s so much taller than her, his frame towering over her petite body, and she feels the possessiveness in the way his fingers grip her waist, anchoring her to him like a keychain. It makes her stomach flip, enjoying it more than she should.
Her movements slow at the feeling, syncing to his as he takes control. Instinctively, Lando’s hips press against hers, and she feels the growing evidence of his desire through the thin fabric of her dress. Her heart skips a beat, a shiver running down her spine as he leans in, his lips brushing against her ear.
“You’re driving me wild,” he says, barely audible over the music. “Maybe we should take Ginge’s advice and disappear upstairs.”
She twists her head slightly, enough to catch a glimpse of his mischievous grin. “People will notice.”
He chuckles, the sound vibrating against her back. “So what?” he asks, continuing when he sees confusion painting her face. “No one’s paying attention,” says Lando, his tone dripping with confidence. “Just look around. Everyone’s too drunk to care.”
“Are you drunk?” she asks, only turing to look at him shaking his head.
After that, her mind starts spinning as his lips brush against her ear again. Lando’s hands slide lower, cupping her ass through her dress, his touch firm while he leans in closer, his voice dropping to a seductive whisper.
“Coming or not?”
Before she can answer, he steps back, squeezing her hand for the briefest moment before letting it go, his body heat lingering like a ghost around her. He starts toward the stairs, his movements confident, knowing she’ll be the one to follow him this time.
Her heart pounds as she watches him disappear upstairs, torn between reason and his magnetic pull. But without even realizing it, her feet are moving, carrying her up the stairs after him.
Max’s gaming room is painted in a deep charcoal gray, accented by strips of LED lights glowing in soft blue. A triple monitor is mounted on one wall, the dark screens reflecting the faint light. A sleek gaming chair sits in the center of it all, surrounded by an array of high-tech equipment, from consoles to headphones hanging neatly on their stands. The shelves are lined with a few books, collectibles, trophies, and Lando’s mini helmets throughout his Formula 1 seasons.
The centerpiece, though, is the massive floor-to-ceiling windows that span one entire wall, offering an uninterrupted view of the city skyline.
Lando waits leaning against the door frame, letting her enter first, a wry smile at the corner of his mouth. She steps inside hesitantly, her heels clicking softly against the polished wooden floor. The moment the door locks behind them with a quiet click, the silence is absolute, wrapping around them like a cocoon, realizing quickly that the room is soundproof.
She takes a few steps forward, her fingers trailing over the edge of the desk, the cool surface smooth beneath her touch. The faint scent of Max’s cologne lingers in the air, mingling with the hum of electronics on standby.
Lando watches her from afar, his arms crossed casually over his chest, but his eyes follow her every move. He doesn’t rush her, letting her explore the surroundings at her own pace.
Her fingers glide further over the back of the gaming chair, then along the edge of a shelf, before finally coming to rest on the thick glass of the window. She gazes out at the city, her reflection visible against the backdrop of twinkling lights. The view is breathtaking, but she barely notices, her focus drawn inward by the storm of emotions swirling inside her, because she can sense his eyes on her.
Lando moves silently, his presence warm and solid as his arms wrap around her waist. His hands are firm but gentle, sliding down over her hips before slipping under the hem of her dress. His fingertips trace small patterns against her soft skin, igniting a fire that spreads through her body.
She turns to face him, her arms traveling up to wrap around his neck. Her fingers tangle in the curls at the nape of his neck, tugging gently as she looks up at him. With a small sigh, her eyes search his, finding a tenderness there that makes her heart ache. She loves that look on him, but hates how she can’t see it as often as she would like.
Lando’s hands shift lower, gripping her thighs as he lifts her effortlessly in his arms. She gasps, her back pressing against the cool glass of the window. He presses his lips to her collarbone, then lower to the heated skin of her chest, his breath hot against her. Her fingers bury deeper in his hair, pulling his head up so their eyes meet again. The tension from earlier snaps as she pulls him into a kiss, profound and purposeful, her lips moving against his with a desperation that matches the fire building between them.
Lando’s breath hitches as her hips press into his, the intentional movement sending a jolt of heat through his body. Without breaking their kiss, he adjusts his grip on her, his strong hands supporting her thighs as he walks them both across the room. She clings to him, her fingers threading through his hair, her lips trailing along his jawline as he walks to the plush armchair tucked near the bookshelf. He sinks into it with her still in his arms, her body fitting perfectly on his lap.
The girl shifts, her knees on either side of his hips as she settles in, her dress riding up slightly. Her hands move to the buttons of his shirt, deftly undoing them one by one, exposing the tanned skin beneath. Her lips follow the path of her hands, leaving a trail of wet kisses along his chest. She lingers on the curve of his collarbone, her tongue flicking out to taste him, eliciting a low whimper from his throat. Lando leans back into the chair, letting her take her time, his head tilted slightly to watch her with hooded eyes, dark and full of want.
“Enjoying yourself?” he speaks softly, his voice thick with amusement and desire.
The girl smirks against his skin, her fingers grazing over the muscle of his chest as she hums in response, “Very much. What about you?”
As a response, his hands slide down to cup her ass, his fingers digging into the soft flesh as he helps guide her movements. With so much intention, he grinds her hips against him, the friction sending sparks of pleasure through both of them. She gasps, her head tipping back as he presses her harder against his growing length.
“Lando,” she whispers, her voice breathy.
He smiles, leaning forward to nip at the sensitive skin of her neck, his hands never stopping their rhythm. “What is it, love?” he teases against her ear in the same manner he always does.
The shift in her demeanor is instant, the energy between them going from electric to tense in a heartbeat. Her body stiffens at the word ‘love’, and she pulls back, her expression shuttered. Lando frowns in confusion, the heat in his body still thrumming, but now accompanied by a gnawing sense of dread.
“Hey, what’s wrong?” he asks, his voice cautious now.
She shakes her head, slipping off his lap and smoothing her dress, avoiding his gaze on purpose. “Nothing. I just. I need a moment.”
Still sitting, his confusion is mixing with a rising sense of panic. He’s half-hard, his shirt unbuttoned, his heart pounding, but all of that pales compared to the way she’s looking anywhere but at him.
“Wait,” says Lando, standing quickly, his brows knitting together. “What’s going on? Did I do something?”
“It’s nothing,” she replies, slightly annoyed, her tone clipped as she turns away from him.
“Don’t do thid. It’s not nothing,” he counters, taking a step closer. His voice is gentle, but there’s an edge of desperation behind it. “Please, talk to me?”
She exhales sharply, her arms wrapping around herself as she keeps her back to him. “I said I need a moment, Lando.”
The way she won’t look at him stings more than he wants to admit.
“A moment for what?” asks Lando, irritation creeping into his tone. “To avoid me? What the hell did I do?”
That’s when she snaps, spinning around to face him, her eyes blazing. “Stop calling me love.”
He blinks, thrown by the venom in her tone. “What?”
“You don’t mean it. You never do,” she says, her voice trembling, though her anger is steady. “You say it because it fits the moment. And it’s pissing me off.”
His jaw tightens, and he crosses his arms at his chest, his confusion giving way to frustration. “That’s bullshit, and you know it. I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t mean it.”
“Oh, wouldn’t you?” she fires back, stepping closer. “Then how come you throw it around like it’s nothing, Lando? All the damn time, it drives me insane.”
He pinches the bridge of his nose, squeezing his eyes shut and exhaling with an annoyed sound. “I’ve never treated you like nothing. Don’t twist this into something it’s not.”
“Then stop acting like words are enough,” she fires back, her voice rising. “Because they’re not. You don’t get to call me something like that just because you’re horny or because it sounds good in the moment. It’s not fair.”
“Fair?” he repeats, incredulous. “What about what’s fair to me? What about all the times I’ve shown you that you’re not just some hookup? That you actually matter to me. Come on, what is this really about?”
Her laugh is bitter. “Shown me? All you’ve shown me, Lando, is how good you are at hiding. You’re all talk. Always have been.”
“See, now that’s not fair,” he says, his voice cracking slightly. “You were the one who said it’s better to stay just friends, then did nothing to stop me when I came to you. You know I’ll always come to you,” adds Lando as a fact. “So, don’t put that on me, because it’s not the case.”
“Oh, isn’t it?” she retorts. “I’d have trouble believing you even if you fell on your knees in front of me, because you’re always. Just. Talk. You never follow through, and that’s why it’s better to stay just friends.”
Her words hit him like a punch to the gut, and for a moment, he just stares at her, his chest heaving.
Then, slowly, as if the weight of her accusation has physically buckled him, Lando sinks to his knees. Her breath catches as she watches him, stunned. He wraps his arms around her waist, holding her tightly, his head resting against her stomach. When he looks up at her, his eyes are glassy, as if he tries to keep his emotions under control, but failing at it.
“I’m not just talk,” he says, his voice low but steady. “I’m here, right now. What more do you need from me?”
Her hands hover in the air, uncertain, before they come to rest gently on his shoulders. She looks down at him, her anger ebbing away, replaced by something softer. And aching.
“I need you to mean it,” she whispers.
“I do,” he rushes to say, his grip tightening around her.
As a desperate gesture, Lando presses his lips to her bare thighs. The tension between them shifts for the hundredth time tonight, softening with every kiss he leaves on her skin. Each touch feels reverent, as if he’s trying to carve his devotion into her body, for her to feel it and for the world to see it.
“You’re it for me,” he speaks against her skin, glancing up at her with his eyes unguarded. “You always were. Ever since we were kids.” She swallows hard, the warmth of his words sinking into her as he continues, “You’re the only one who knows me. You’ve seen every side of me, the good, the bad, the stupid. All of it. And I know you. I know everything about you, the things you don’t tell anyone else. We’ve always had that, haven’t we? Something no one else could touch.”
Her chest tightens as his words hit home. His hands slide down her legs, his thumbs brushing over her skin as if he’s trying to mold himself into her.
“I hate that I couldn’t make it work the first time,” says Lando, his voice breaking slightly. “I hate that I didn’t try harder. But even after all that, I can’t stay away from you. You can’t either,” he points out. “You’re the only one who’s ever mattered, and you know it. Fuck it, our friends know it. They see it. They see what I see… That you’re mine, and I’m yours, no matter how much we fight it.” His lips graze her inner thigh now, and she shivers, her breath hitching at the intensity of his words and the way his hands never stop caressing her. “Of course I love you,” whispers Lando, the confession hanging heavy above their heads. “I always have. I’d be crazy not to.”
Tears blur her vision as she listens, her heart pounding in her chest. Slowly, she lifts his chin with her fingers, forcing him to look at her. Lando’s eyes are desperate, pleading, searching hers for a hint of understanding.
“Believe me,” he begs, his voice barely above a whisper.
She takes a shaky breath in, her gaze locked with his. Then, without a word, she presses the sharp point of her high heel into his thigh, not hard enough to hurt, but enough to send a message. He smiles faintly, understanding, and moves to help her slide the shoes off her feet.
When she stands, now smaller without the height of her heels, he rises to his full height, towering over her. The look on his face is equal parts adoration and hunger, and she reaches for his shirt, her fingers skimming his skin as she pushes it off his shoulders. The fabric falls to the floor in a forgotten heap, and he steps closer, their bodies almost touching.
His hands find her waist again, his thumbs brushing the curve of her hip as she moves to unbutton his jeans. Their breaths come faster as they help each other shed the rest of their clothes, the tension and passion building with each passing second.
They stumble back toward the chair, their movements uncoordinated but instinctive. He lowers her onto the seat, her body sinking into the plush fabric as he follows, hyperaware of the way they fit together so perfectly. Every touch, every kiss, every whispered word feels like coming home, and as he presses his forehead to hers, they both know there’s no going back from this — this is it.
Lando kneels again, his eyes never leaving hers as his hands slide down her thighs with purpose. His grip is firm while he pulls her to the edge of the chair, his strength undeniable yet gentle, a combination that sends a shiver after shiver through her. The soft fabric of the chair cushions her, but there’s nothing soft about the way Lando handles her, all decisive and full of intent.
She stops breathing when he spreads her legs wider, his large hands gripping her thighs to keep her steady in front of him. His gaze immediately flickers to her core, full of hunger. She’s trembling under his touch, gripping the arms of the chair for stability just as he leans forward.
The first touch of his tongue is hot, firm, and rushed. He parts her folds with his fingers, collecting her wetness, and spreads it with an audible slickness that makes her gasp. His eyes flick up to hers, a smirk ghosting across his lips before he dives in again. His tongue moves like he knows her, like he’s memorized every spot that makes her whimper in pleasure. He alternates between slow, languid strokes and quick flicks on her clit, keeping her on the edge of control. Her hips move involuntarily, rocking against him, chasing the feeling that’s building deep inside her.
“Lan,” she breathes.
He squeezes her thigh with one hand, his fingers pressing hard enough to leave marks. The silent message is clear: Let me take care of you. His other hand moves back between her legs, his fingers finding her clit with expert precision, circling it in time with his tongue.
She’s helpless against the onslaught, her body arching as the sweet feeling builds to an unbearable peak. Her breaths come faster, her hands clawing the blanket that’s resting on the arm of the chair, so tightly that her knuckles turn white. Lando groans against her, the vibration of the sound shooting straight through her, pushing her even closer to the edge.
“Oh, shit,” she gasps, her hips jerking as his tongue works her over. “Fuck, Lando. What are you—”
Her string of unfinished thoughts makes his heart race, Lando’s hand tightening on her thigh on instinct, holding her close as she lifts her hips to meet his movements. His name spills from her lips again, a desperate cry this time, and he redoubles his efforts, only to push her over the edge.
His fingers curl inside her, pressing against that perfect spot that makes her jaw drop, her thighs quivering against his shoulders. The rhythm of his hand is relentless, a steady pulse that syncs perfectly with the sweet flicks of his tongue against her clit. The contrast of sensations between the firm stretch of his fingers and the velvety warmth of his mouth overwhelms her, pulling her further into bliss. Every nerve in her body feels like it’s on fire, the tension in her core winding tighter with every stroke of his fingers, and every gentle suction from his lips.
The only anchor she has left is him: the man whose name she can’t stop moaning, the man who knows her body as if he owns her.
Lando groans against her wetness, and the smug satisfaction in his chest grows. He loves the way she falls apart for him, the way her voice shakes when she says his name like a prayer, over and over. He loves knowing he’s the one unraveling her, that he has this power over her, that she’s utterly his, in the end.
“That’s it, baby,” he encourages her, his lips brushing her sensitive skin between kisses. “Let me taste you.”
Her body obeys before her mind does, a shuddering gasp escaping her lips as her climax crashes over her. Her walls clamp around his fingers, and her hips jerk uncontrollably against his mouth as he continues, drawing every last ripple of pleasure from her. She’s not in Max’s room anymore, she’s not even on this planet; she’s somewhere far beyond, floating weightlessly in the haze of ecstasy, and the only word that lingers in her mind, that passes through her lips in breathless repetition, is his name.
He watches her losing it, utterly mesmerized by her beauty. The way her face contorts with pleasure, the way her body trembles beneath his hands, and it’s everything to him.
Lando slows his movements as she begins to come down, his fingers slipping out of her gently, his tongue tracing delicate, feather-light circles over her oversensitive clit before he finally pulls away. A thin string of saliva mixed with her release connects his mouth to it, glistening in the low light as he leans back, the sight almost obscene. He pauses for a moment before lifting a hand to wipe his mouth, the corner of his lips curling into a satisfied grin.
She’s a mess, her chest rising and falling rapidly as she tries to catch her breath, her cheeks flushed. And he’s never felt more proud and content than he does in this moment, knowing he gave her that.
He presses a soft kiss to the inside of her thigh, his fingers tracing the faint marks he left there, before looking up at her.
“You okay?” asks Lando, his voice husky.
Instead of using her words, she pulls him in without hesitation, her fingers threading through his curls as their lips collide. The kiss is passionate yet lazy, since she is too spent to rush it. Her legs wrap around Lando, attaching herself to him, and he rises with her in his arms like she weighs nothing at all. The motion is seamless, natural, as if their bodies are following a script written long ago. He settles back into the chair, drawing her onto his lap. She feels him beneath her, hard and eager, his arousal pressing insistently against her.
The girl brushes a hand over his chest, letting her fingers trail down his stomach before wrapping them gently around his cock. Lando shudders under her touch, his breath hitching as her thumb brushes over the sensitive tip, collecting the bead of pre-cum and, without breaking eye contact, she lifts her thumb to her mouth. She sucks gently, her lips closing around the digit, her tongue swirling as if savoring the taste. His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows hard, the sight of her making his chest tighten, and his breathing grows uneven.
“Are you planning to kill me?” he rasps in a strained voice, filled with both awe and desire.
“Not yet,” she replies in a teasing voice, the words like silk against his ear. “Want to feel you first.”
Lando exhales sharply. “Same thing.”
She laughs at his failed attempt to breathe normally. “Unless you want me to return the favor first?”
Lando shakes his head, his hands tightening on her hips as his gaze locks onto hers. “No,” he refuses in a definitive tone. “Need to be inside you.”
Her heart stutters at the intensity in his eyes, and she doesn’t hesitate when he lifts her slightly, positioning her over him. His hands grip her firmly as he lowers her on his throbbing cock, inch by inch, the stretch stealing the air from both of their lungs. They moan in unison, their bodies adjusting to the sweet connection.
She doesn’t move right away. Instead, she rests her head on his shoulder, sighing deeply as her arms wrap around his neck. He’s already sweaty, and she loves the way his heat transfers to her skin, enveoping her entirely in his scent.
They stay like that, breathing together, their bodies perfectly still. Then, Lando presses his face into hers, his lips brushing her cheek as if to remind himself how lucky he is. His hands stroke her back, steady and reassuring, while they let the moment grow between them, until she breaks the silence.
“I love you, too,” she whispers against his shoulder, her voice filled with emotion.
Her words break something open in him, and he pulls her closer against his chest, his hands sliding up to cradle the back of her head. “I know,” he assures her softly. “I feel you.”
The girl starts to move then, her hips rolling tentatively, as if savoring every second of him. Lando’s hands guide her, his grip firm but gentle, his thumbs pressing into her waist to set a measured pace. The chair creaks softly beneath them, the quiet rhythm of their movements filling the space. Her lips part with every motion, her breath spilling out in uneven gasps as the pleasure builds slowly but surely.
Her body trembles above him, her thighs quivering as she moves, their pace instinctively increasing. There’s a grace to her movements, a natural rhythm that leaves Lando utterly hypnotized, no matter how many times they’ve done this before. She always does it so effortlessly, driven not just by the guidance of his hands but by her own want and need.
His gaze is locked on her, drinking in every detail: the flush of her cheeks, the way her lips part with soft, breathless moans, the mesmerizing sway of her body. His eyes drop to her chest, captivated by the way her tits bounce with every rise and fall. His restraint snaps, and he leans forward without thinking, his mouth finding one of her nipples.
He wraps his lips around the sensitive peak, sucking gently before his tongue flicks against it. Her breath grows rapid, her movements faltering for just a brief second as her hands fly to his shoulders for balance. His hands cup her waist, his thumbs pressing into her soft skin as if urging her to keep going.
“Lando,” she breathes, her voice shaking with pleasure, the sound shooting straight through him. Her pace quickens again, spurred on by the heat of his mouth and the steady pressure of him guiding her. “Look at me,” she orders gently.
Lando lifts his head, her eyes meeting his, while his hands move on her hips.
“Fuck, you feel amazing,” he breaths, his head falling back briefly before his gaze snaps back to hers. “Wanna have you like this everyday.”
Her walls flutter around him, drawing another strangled moan from his lips. Her thighs are burning from the effort, but she doesn’t stop. She’s driven by his words, and the way he looks at her, as if she’s his entire world.
But the pressure inside her builds rapidly, her breath hitching with every movement. She leans forward, her lips brushing his ear. “Yeah,” she gasps. “So good, I can’t—”
“You can, love,” he whispers fiercely, his voice both a command and a promise. “Don’t you wanna be good for me, hm?”
All she can do is nod at him, swallowing hard at the way he L-bombed her again. Only this time, it felt different, going straight to her heart instead of her stomach.
The tip of his cock presses so deeply inside her that it feels like he’s imprinted on her very soul, the sensation overwhelming and all-consuming. Her walls begin to squeeze him tightly, the pulsing waves of her climax gripping him with a force that borders on unbearable bliss. The pleasure is blinding, leaving her completely undone as her cries echo in the quiet room, her nails digging into his shoulders as she collapses against his chest.
Lando moans deeply, the sound rough and guttural, his body tense as he holds her trembling frame. Her pussy keeps hugging his length, pulling him deeper into her, and he feels the hot rush of her release spill over their joined bodies, making everything slick and impossibly intimate. Her hips jerk involuntarily, riding out the aftershocks, and he feels every tremor, every pulse, sending him spiraling toward his own breaking point.
He grips her tightly, his fingers pressing into her as he thrusts upward, his movements growing erratic and desperate. He’s lost in the way she feels around him, how perfectly she fits, how her body wants all of him without mercy.
“Fucking hell, baby,” he rasps as he chases the same release that’s stolen her breath. “Say yes, please. Let me fuck you like this everyday. Holy fucking shit.”
Her head rests against his shoulder, her lips brushing against his neck while she moans weakly as he fucks his cock deeper. It’s too much and not enough all at once, until he drives into her one final time before he lets go. A deep, shuddering moan escapes his throat as his release overtakes him, his cock throbbing inside her, filling her completely as his hips stutter against hers. He’s still holding her tightly, their bodies locked together, both of them shaking as the last waves of pleasure ripple through them, leaving them spent and sated in the afterglow.
The room gets silent again, except for their labored breathing.
Then, he finds the strength to speak again, “Say yes?” asks Lando in a whispered voice, his lips brushing against her temple.
She lifts her head, a small, tired smile tugging at her lips as her eyes meet his. “We’ll talk about it.”
THE MORNING LIGHT filters through the edges of the curtains in Max’s gaming room, bathing the space in a pale gray.
Lando stirs first, his head lolling against the back of the chair as consciousness pulls him out of his sleep. His arms tighten instinctively around the warm weight sprawled on top of him; she’s still asleep, her cheek pressed to his bare chest, the soft rise and fall of her breathing steady and comforting.
As he shifts slightly to ease the stiffness in his back, she stirs too, nuzzling her face deeper against him with a sleepy hum.
“Hey,” Lando whispers, his voice raspy from sleep, as his hand comes up to brush through her hair, his fingers threading lazily through the strands. His touch is warm and intimate, a silent comfort in the quiet morning.
But his hand doesn’t stop there, though. It drifts lower, skimming over her bare shoulder and along the curve of her chest. He cups her breast gently, his palm warm against her skin, and a contented sigh escapes him as his eyes fall closed again. His thumb brushes over her nipple, the gesture instinctive and tender, as if he needs to feel every part of her even in his half-asleep state.
She lets out a little whimper, her eyes fluttering open enough to squint up at him. “Too early,” she mumbles, her voice muffled against his skin, sighing at his touch.
Lando chuckles. “Pretty sure it’s almost lunch.”
She tilts her head up slightly, her sleepy gaze meeting his, a lazy smile tugging at her lips. “Max is going to kill us. To death,” she says, managing to get another high-pitched chuckle out of him.
“Only if he catches us,” he replies, leaning his head back against the chair and grinning.
She laughs. “We better get out of here before he does then.”
Reluctantly, they untangle themselves from the cocoon of the blanket draped over them and get dressed lazily. Lando’s eyes trail over her, unabashedly watching as she smooths her dress down and runs her fingers through her hair in a futile attempt to tame it.
“Stop staring,” she teases, turning to look at him as she gathers the blanket.
“Can’t help it,” he replies, a boyish grin spreading across his face. “I’m actually so in love with you.”
“Shut up,” she huffs, her cheeks flushing a soft pink as she turns away, trying to avoid his gaze.
He steps closer, his hand brushing her arm to stop her. “Don’t hide. Let me see you,” he says softly, his tone playful but laced with sincerity.
She rolls her eyes but smiles, giving him a playful shove before turning to fold the blanket and place it neatly on the chair. But before she can move away, Lando grabs her wrist and tugs her back into his arms, wrapping them snugly around her waist. He looks down at her, his eyes still heavy with sleep but filled with a warmth that makes her heart flutter.
She turns around, her fingers reaching up to lazily comb through his curls, smoothing the messy strands as if styling them would make him look any less irresistible. His lips quirk into a crooked smile, but before he can tease her, he leans in, capturing her mouth with his.
His morning kisses are lazy but sweet, unhurried and tender, as though time itself has paused just for them. His lips move against hers with an intoxicating rhythm, and her hands slide up to rest on his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath her fingers.
When they finally pull back, her eyes flicker down to his lips, still swollen from their kiss. She presses her fingertips lightly against his mouth, silencing whatever playful remark he was about to make.
“Don’t ruin it,” she says, her voice teasing but warning, making Lando smile.
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he whispers, leaning his forehead against hers.
As they leave the room, Lando leans down to press one more kiss to her temple, his hand lingering on the small of her back as he gestures for her to go ahead of him. She glances back at him with a smirk but obliges, descending the stairs quietly.
The living room looks like a crime scene. Connor is sprawled across the couch, one arm hanging limply off the side, his face half-buried in a throw pillow. At his feet, Morgan is curled into a tight ball, the hood of his sweatshirt pulled over his head. Ethan lies on the floor nearby, clutching a plush ball as if it’s a lifeline, his body surrounded by a meticulously arranged outline of plastic cups.
She stifles a laugh, covering her mouth with her hand as she looks back at Lando. In response, he shakes his head, his own lips twitching with amusement.
“Do you think someone planned the cup thing, or did Ethan just fall into it?” she whispers, her voice barely audible.
“Knowing this lot, I’d bet on both,” Lando replies, his grin widening.
They tiptoe towards the coffee table, careful not to disturb the fragile peace as Lando starts looking for his phone and keys. The clinking of glass and the shuffle of objects are the only sounds until he accidentally knocks over an empty bottle, the crash breaking the silence like a firework.
Connor bolts upright on the couch, his wavy hair sticking out at odd angles as he squints blearily around the room. “Fuck’s sake, mate.”
From then on, the movement triggers a chain reaction: Ethan startles, knocking over the cups around him with a cacophonous clatter that echoes through the house. Morgan stirs next, groaning loudly as he stretches out on the floor.
“Fuck outta here,” Morgan mumbles, his voice muffled by his hood.
Before anyone can fully process the chaos, Max appears in the living room, his hair disheveled and his face twisted in an expression of sleep-deprived annoyance. His gaze sharpens when he sees his friends, taking in their rumpled clothes, her hastily tied hair, and the suspiciously guilty expressions on both their faces. His brows knit together in dawning realization.
“I have one question, and then I’ll erase everything that happened in the last twenty-four hours from my memory,” Max points a finger between them, his gaze narrowing.
She stiffens, her eyes darting to Lando, who is already trying to concoct some sort of defense.
“In my new gaming room?”
Thank you for reading!
The silence that follows is deafening, until Morgan breaks it. “Bet’s a bet, Maxy boy,” he calls after Max in a sleepy voice as he storms out, mumbling in disbelief.
. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ MASTERLIST . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁
None of my works are available for reposting on other platforms. Reblogs, likes, and comments are deeply appreciated ♥︎
2025 : you're currently sick, but lando was hoping to stream; however, the boyfriend part of him can't leave you alone in your bedroom, so he comes up with an idea to have you join him in his stream. even if you're off camera.
lando norris x f!reader ୨୧ word count : 2.2k ୨୧ warnings : language, being sick (cold/flu), mentions of sex (but nothing happens), lando carries you at one point ୨୧ mdni ୨୧ requested: yes!
part of the lando's heart series.
lando was suppose to stream today. he had it all lined up for weeks now, planning to stream with max and connor. and you originally planned to stay in the living room, watching the great british baking show on netflix which is what you usually watched when lando streamed.
key word: originally.
because somehow over the last day you got sick. and it wasn't pretty. coughing, runny nose, body sore. lando was basically your nurse on demand. getting you medicine, checking your temperature, making you soup (making is a term used lightly). you looked and felt absolutely pitiful.
lando felt terrible because he hated seeing you in pain.
he was in the process of messaging max to cancel his plans as he sat next to you in bed. you, in a state of constant in and out of consciousness, eyes heavy as you just barely registered what was on his phone screen.
"hey," your voice is rough from the congestion, and it gains lando's attention immediately. your hand comes and smacks itself on top of lando's phone and weakly knocking it out of his hands and into his lap.
your boyfriend lets out a laugh at you before his hand comes up to brush the stray and bed-headed hairs out of your face. "i know what you're about to do..." you trail with a weak sigh, exhausted just from talking. "don't cancel your stream cause of me," you mumble with a pout as you move to rest your head against his arm.
"but baby, you don't feel good. i need to make sure you're alright," he says, looking down at you with soft eyes. you've closed your eyes, breath soft and a little nasally from your stuffy nose. and lando honestly think you fell asleep again.
but then you reopen your eyes with a huff, eyebrows furrowed, "please don't cancel it because of me. i'll be fine, i'll probably just be asleep anyways."
lando is about to say something to counter your words before he thinks of something. remembering that there's a way for him to possibly stream and keep an eye on you.
"what if you stay on your little sofa, off camera, while i stream?" he offers and you crane your neck to look up at him – eyes glassy and face looking flushed. "that way i'm right there if you need me," he adds.
you don't answer, instead laying your head back against his arm. "okay..." you manage out.
which is how you ended up laying on your small lounge sofa that sits in the corner of lando's office and next to his desk. you're lucky the little mauve pink sofa even managed to fit, but you knew with lando involved he was going to make it fit. he wanted you to have your own spot in every part of the apartment, even the places that you were perfectly fine not having a single thing in – aka his office.
you remember him insisting on it as he moved the little sofa into the office and basically rearranged the entire room. just for you. "i want you to be able to have a place to sit when i stream. you know... in case you want to sit with me and keep me company. you had never felt so special before and right after you both finished rearranging the office, you pushed him down onto your small sofa and rode him.
"you okay, pretty girl?" lando's voice is light in concern as he looks at you from his gaming chair. headset on as he's getting ready to turn his mic and camera on to start.
you nod your head, giving him a thumbs up as you try to not think about all the times he's fucked you on this sofa. you let out a sigh as you reached for your airpods, sticking one in as you fiddled with your ipad, opening netflix before putting on... yeah, you guessed it: the great british baking show.
you should really learn how to bake, you think as the show's opening music fills your right ear. you adjust yourself, upper body sinking into the plush cushions of the sofa as you pull the hood of lando's hoodie up. the scent of his cologne just faintly filling your clogged senses and it brings you a sense of comfort.
"if you need anything let me, okay?" he adds after having watched you get comfortable.
"okay," you breathe out softly right before lando is turning his camera on and immediately talking to max, connor, and chat.
"now quick disclaimer," lando begins as his eyes flicker over to you, who is already slowly dozing off. "but y/n is with us today– no, chat she is not coming on camera so don't even ask," he deadpans when he already sees the messages flooding in at the news of you being there.
he leans back in his chair, arms folding behind his head as he continues, "she's not feeling well right now, so she's just going to lay down and relax." he watches as messages of 'get well soon's flooded the chat. then one message catches his attention:
lando is part time f1 driver and full time boyfriend
he reads it out loud and can't help but laugh at it, "yeah... you're not wrong," he says as his eyes drift over to you once more. your eyes are closed, mouth parted just a little and he tries to bite back the smile that overtakes him.
the stream then proceeds as usual, him bantering back and forth with max over something stupid one of them did. him spending too much time trying to get his inventory organized. he's, for the most part, fully focused on his game; however, viewers can't ignore how his eyes flicker to somewhere off camera whenever you move. eyes focused on you to make sure you don't suddenly need anything.
at one point, you had dozed off long enough for a few episodes of your show to autoplay which prompted netflix to ask 'are you still watching?' and of course you don't realize this until the ipad's screen goes black. you don't know how long you were out, stretching a little bit as you let out a weak groan before you're trying to unlock your ipad.
but the damn thing just won't unlock and your eyes are too tired to let you put in the correct passcode. you let out a small whine of annoyance before you're calling out, "landooooo," softly as you drag his name out.
lando looks over to you, your voice just faintly being picked up by his mic and chat immediately screaming about how cute you sound.
STOP THAT WAS SO CUTE 😭😭😭
nooooooo she really is sick, poor thing
omg the way she calls for lando was kind of cute
"what's wrong, baby?" he asks sliding closer to you, just out of frame as you weakly hand him your ipad.
"unlock it please," you say, and lando lets out a small chuckle before he's taking the ipad and doing what you ask. and since he's such an amazing boyfriend – his words, not yours – he goes ahead and hits continue for the next episode to play.
"need anything else?" he asks, voice soft as his hand rubs your calf over the blanket, giving it a comforting squeeze.
"no, thank you," you say, before blowing him a kiss and he grins at you before catching it and pressing his hand to his lips.
he then slides back into view and continues the stream. "is y/n okay?" max asks once lando gets settled again.
"yeah, she's good, just needed help unlocking her ipad," he lets out with a small laugh as they start the next round in their game.
you snuggle back into the cushions, feeling a slight hot flash come over you and you reach for your water bottle that was nearby before pressing the cold metal against your cheek. the coldness helps the hot flash settle as you unconsciously cuddle with it as you watch the bakers compete during bread week.
about thirty minutes later and you're knocked out against. the mixture of the show combined with lando's voice is what lulls you to sleep. when he glances over, he can't help but smile at how cute you look despite knowing you don't feel good. lando just thinks you constantly look cute, he can't help it.
when you wake up suddenly, you are awoken with a coughing fit. you hold your water bottle tightly to your chest as you sit up, coughing into your arm. your sudden coughing cuts lando off from what he was saying as he turns to look at you, the camera catching his look of concern that overtakes him.
BRO THATS A NASTY COUGH
is she okay????
oh god she's sick sick 😭😭😭
after a few seconds, you finally stop and you take the moment to get a drink of your water before falling back into the cushion of the sofa.
"you still alive?" he asks, trying to keep the mood light despite being a little worried.
"barely," you say, tone tired and just slightly amused.
he let's out a laugh under his breath, "yeah?" you let out a hum, shifting just enough to get comfortable again. "you need anything?" he repeats his question from earlier and you shake your head.
"no..." you trail off not because you wanted to say more, but because of just how tired you sounded – despite having been sleeping for most of the day.
lando looks at you for a second longer before nodding and once again going back to his game. max making a comment about lando sucking at the game which just made the f1 driver roll his eyes and say something back in response.
"i'm gonna end it soon, so i can get y/n to bed properly. she's due to take her medicine again anyways," lando says, by this point he's been almost streaming for three hours and you were once again beginning to doze off.
take care of your girl lando
hope she gets better soon!!
tell her we love her pls 🙏
however, instead of watching your baking show, you were instead watching him. heart beating a little faster whenever he laughed or smiled at something max or connor said that you couldn't hear.
"chat says they love you and hope you get better soon," he says, eyes meeting yours and smile on his lips as he gets ready to end the stream.
"love you, chat!" you shout loud enough for his mic to catch and lando laughs at how strained your voice sounds.
"alright, bye guys," lando says before officially ending the stream and also saying bye to max and connor for the night. "the guys hope you get better soon," he adds and you give him a finger heart as another coughing fit comes on.
your boyfriend is quick to turn his stuff off before he gets up from his chair and comes closer to you. he gently takes your ipad and water bottle from your lap and puts them on his desk before he wraps his arms around you and picks you up.
you immediately rest your head against his chest as he carries you out of his office and down the hall to your shared bedroom. "my poor princess, let's get you to bed," he says, kissing your forehead before he's laying you down. "do you want something to eat?"
the thought of eating honestly didn't sound all that pleasant at the moment, so you just shake your head as you settle into bed. pulling the covers up to your chin as lando's hand comes up to feel your forehead.
"still a little warm, want a wet cloth?"
"yes, please," you say and he nods before leaving the room. a minute, maybe three passes before he comes back with a cloth, your water bottle, and medicine.
"take this and then you can go to sleep," he says and you easily take the medicine before putting your water bottle back on your bedside table.
"are you going to lay down with me?" you ask softly, glassy eyes looking up at him as he sits at the edge of the bed. he puts the wet cloth on your forehead, the coldness sending a pleasant chill over your body.
"give me an hour and i'll come to bed, okay?" you nod your head before lando is leaning over and kissing the crown of your head. he takes your airpod out, that you completely forgot you had in, and sets it on your bedside before he's getting up and walking out of the room once more.
you don't know what he does, but by the time lando is coming to bed, you've already dozed back off – laying on your side, cloth still halfway clinging to your forehead. and lando tries hard not to laugh, not wanting to wake you up. when he does climb into bed, arms wrapping around you, lando feels your whole body relax in his embrace.
"i love you, princess, i hope you feel better soon," he mumbles quietly as he closes his eyes and lets sleep overtake him like it finally has for you.
summary: lando always says that yn russell is his future wife. the entire paddock thinks he's just joking, but he's not. wc: 6k + social media posts
folkie radio: HERE IT IS !!! FINALLY !! i loved writing lovesick puppy lando so so much and i really hope you love him too. PLEASE SEND YOUR FEEDBACK AND LEAVE A REBLOG !
MASTERLIST | MY PATREON
liked by georgerussell63, landonorris and 206,378 others
yn.russell silverstone race weekends always hit different 🥹 big bro starting front row tomorrow and i couldn’t be prouder LETS GOOOO
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username1 the most iconic russell
username2 COME ON RUSSELL NATION
landonorris excuse me why didn’t you include a picture of your future husband here ??
↳ yn.russell lando your delusions are talking again
↳ username1 hey he ALWAYS does this
↳ username2 lando and yn’s banter will never get old
carmenmmundt Love you both ❤️
username3 LANDO BEING ANNOYING IN THIS COMMENT SECTION AS ALWAYS
charles_leclerc I see homeboy trying to shoot his shot again
↳ landonorris what are you talking about? we’ll get married
↳ yn.russell LANDO STOP 😭
username4 she’s the real paddock princess
username5 lando really said fake it till you make it
username6 GEORGIE BOY DID IT
georgerussell63 Love you so much little one 🤍 Also Lando, she’s still my sister
↳ landonorris and? she’s my girl 😍
↳ yn.russell STOP
liked by yn.russell, maxverstappen1 and 986,409 others
landonorris honey i’m hooooome 🇬🇧😘 picture by my favorite girl @/yn.russell
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username1 LANDOOOOO
username2 the papaya hat is killing me
username3 CALLING LITTLE RUSSELL HIS GIRL AS ALWAYS
mclaren Papaya forever 🧡
username4 manifesting lando and yn wedding
carlossainz55 Just wait until George finds you cabron
↳ landonorris he knows she’s my future wife
↳ georgerussell63 I HATE YOU
username5 DYING AT THIS COMMENT SECTION LANDO YOU HAVE NO SHAME
username6 lando and yn are my favorite platonic lovers (actually there’s nothing platonic about them we all know it)
username7 SO BOYFRIEND CODED
yn.russell lando i need you to look at me when i tell you this…
↳ landonorris yes i do darling 😍
↳ georgerussell63 I’m literally never letting you two fly together again
↳ username1 IM WHEEZING
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You're lounging in George's motorhome at the track, scrolling through your phone while he reviews data with Alex. Carmen is perched on the sofa beside you, both of you sharing occasional knowing looks at the boys' intense focus on lap times.
"Oh, by the way," you say casually, not looking up from your phone, "I won't be around for dinner tonight. Got a date."
The effect is immediate. George's head snaps up from the screen, Alex nearly drops his water bottle, and Carmen tries (and fails) to hide her amused smile.
"A date?" George's protective brother mode activates instantly. "With who?"
"That new marketing guy from McLaren," you reply, finally glancing up. "Jacob. You know, the one I was talking to at the paddock party last week?"
"The tall blonde one?" Alex pipes up, earning himself a sharp look from George.
"Not helping, mate," George mutters.
"He seems nice," Carmen offers diplomatically, though there's something knowing in her expression that you can't quite read.
"Speaking of nice," Alex says with a poorly concealed grin, "should we tell Lando? You know, since he's been planning your wedding since 2018 and all."
The friendship between you and Lando dates back to karting days, when you'd tag along with George to races. You were fourteen when you first met a tiny, curly-haired Lando who immediately declared you were "pretty cool for a girl." Despite George's protective big brother routine, you and Lando became inseparable during race weekends.
The marriage jokes started right when Lando was making his F2 debut. You were both hanging out in the paddock when he suddenly announced, "When we get married, our wedding colors have to be papaya orange. Because I know I'll drive for Mclaren"
"Bold of you to assume I'd marry you, Norris," you'd laughed.
"Please, you love me," he'd grinned, throwing an arm around your shoulders. "Plus, I've already told my mum you're the one. Can't disappoint her now, darling."
That was the first time he called you darling, but it certainly wasn't the last. Over the years, the pet names multiplied - love, sweetheart, future wife - each one delivered with that characteristic Lando grin that somehow managed to be both cheeky and endearing.
But at the end of the day, he was Lando. And it was all jokes.
"He's probably too busy planning our honeymoon in papaya-colored paradise to care about my actual dating life," you said, trying to sound casual.
"I wouldn't be so sure about that," Carmen murmurs, just as the door bursts open.
Lando's characteristic energy walks in, his curls slightly messy from his helmet. "Hello lads! Future wife," he grins, making his way over and dramatically flopping onto the couch, his head landing in your lap like it's his designated spot.
"Comfortable?" you ask dryly, but your hand automatically goes to his curls.
"Very," he beams up at you. "Why's everyone looking so serious though? Did George finally realize his neck's too long?"
"Ha ha," George deadpans, while Carmen tries to hide her laugh behind her hand.
"Little Russell was just telling us she's got a date tonight," Alex announces, clearly enjoying the drama unfolding.
Lando sits up so fast he nearly headbutts you. "A what now?"
"A date," you repeat, watching as his face does a complicated journey before settling on forced nonchalance. "With Jacob from marketing."
"McLaren Jacob?" Lando's voice goes up an octave. "My Jacob?"
"He's not your Jacob," you roll your eyes. "And yes, that Jacob."
"The one who still can't figure out how to work the coffee machine?" Lando scoffs, repositioning himself to face you properly. "Come on, darling, you can do better than that. What happened to our sacred Friday night FIFA tournaments?"
"Sacred?" George snorts. "Is that what you call screaming at the TV when she beats you?"
"Oi, whose side are you on?" Lando throws a nearby cushion at George. "Besides, I let her win. Can't have my girl crying, can I?"
"Your girl?" you raise an eyebrow, ignoring the way your stomach flips at his words.
"Obviously," he grins, but there's something slightly off about it. "Who else is going to fulfill my mum's dreams of having you as a daughter-in-law?"
"I'm sure Jacob would love to hear about these marriage plans," Alex teases, earning himself a glare from Lando.
"He better watch himself," Lando mutters, then louder, "Where's he taking you anyway? Probably somewhere boring like that chain restaurant near the factory."
"Actually," you say, "he's taking me to that new rooftop place in town."
"The one I said we should try?" Lando looks genuinely offended now. "That's just... that's just rude, love. I called dibs on taking you there."
"When exactly did you call dibs?" Carmen asks innocently.
"In my head," Lando protests. "This is not fair."
You poke his side. "Jealous, Norris?"
"Of course I am," he says, and for a moment, his voice loses its playful edge. "Can't have someone stealing my future wife away. We've got plans, remember? House in Surrey, three kids, dog named Fernando..."
"You've really thought this through, haven't you?" you laugh.
"Been planning our future since I was fourteen, love," he grins, but there's something soft in his eyes. "Now, would you cancel on Jacob and have a proper movie night with your future husband instead?"
"Still not your wife, Lando," you remind him.
"Not yet," he corrects, "But I'm a patient man, darling."
"Okay this is getting weird," Alex chimes in, "Lando, we're leaving. Little Russell, have fun on your date."
"Right," Lando stands up, but his usual bouncy energy seems subdued. "Have fun with boring Jacob. But just remember," he points at you with mock seriousness, though something flickers in his eyes, "I'm not giving up without a fight. Can't let some marketing guy steal the love of my life, can I?"
"The love of your life?" you roll your eyes, ignoring the way your heart skips.
"Since karting, darling," he winks, but it doesn't quite reach his eyes. "Come on, Alex, let's leave the Russell siblings to their protective brother-sister chat."
As soon as the door closes behind them, Carmen turns to you with raised eyebrows. "You really have that boy pining over you, you know that right?"
"Oh please," you wave her off, though your cheeks feel warm. "We're just joking around. We've been doing this since forever."
"Sure, sister, sure," George snorts, exchanging a knowing look with Carmen. "Because every guy I know plans out their future house in Surrey with their 'joke' wife."
"And names their future dog Fernando," Carmen adds.
"It's just Lando being Lando," you insist, but you can't help glancing at the door where he'd disappeared. "He jokes like this with everyone."
"Really?" Carmen leans forward. "Because I've never heard him call anyone else 'the love of his life' or 'darling' or plan out their wedding colors."
"Or look like someone kicked his puppy when they mention going on a date with someone else," George adds.
"You're both reading way too much into this," you say, standing up and grabbing your bag. "I have to go get ready for my date with Jacob."
"The date that Lando looked absolutely thrilled about," George mutters under his breath.
You pretend not to hear him as you leave, trying to ignore the way Lando's slightly hurt expression keeps playing in your mind.
Because it's all jokes. And he's just Lando.
───────── ౨ৎ ─────────
liked by carmenmmundt, lilymhe and 211,984 others
yn.russell great great night 😙
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username1 OMGG LITTLE RUSSELL
username2 she's so pretty its not fair
flonorris1 we need to catch up 👀
username3 HUHH DID LANDO FINALLY ASK HER OUT
username4 how did george allow her to go on a date
charles_leclerc Oblivious little baby russell
↳ yn.russell ?
↳ username1 EXPLAIN
iamrebeccad Prettiest girl 😍
jacob___ ❤️
↳ yn.russell 😘
↳ georgerussell63 I'm watching...
↳ username1 IM YELLING
↳ username2 WHATS GOING ONNN
landonorris the prettiest girl in the world and my future wife idc idc
↳ username1 lando have some class ffs
↳ yn.russell ENOUGH
───────── ౨ৎ ─────────
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liked by carmenmmundt, jacob__ and 229,836 others
yn.russell snaps from the summer break 💙 happy happy
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username1 AN ICON
username2 i wish i was this pinterest feed coded
carmenmmundt Love you my girl !
username3 HOLD ON. THE SECOND PICTURE
username4 did she just soft launch 👀👀
username5 LITTLE RUSSELL HAS A BOYFRIEND ?????
username6 if her bf is not lando we don’t want it
alex_albon i know someone who’s NOT going to like this
landonorris my darling 😍😍 do u miss me as much as i miss youuuu?
↳ username1 HES SHAMELESS
↳ yn.russell STOP THIS MADNESS
georgerussell63 I know a lot of ways to make a crash look accidental
↳ yn.russell you’re literally not intimidating anyone BYE
↳ username1 SO SHE DOES HAVE A BF
jacob__ ❤️
───────── ౨ৎ ─────────
The sun is surprisingly bright as you make your way through the Zandvoort paddock, dodging various team personnel rushing around for Thursday preparations. The summer break was finally over and it was time for race cars again. You're just turning the corner when you hear a familiar voice.
"There's my darling!" Lando calls out, jogging over with his signature grin. "Thought you'd forgotten about your future husband during the break."
Before you can respond, he's pulled you into a tight hug. You catch a whiff of his familiar cologne, the one he's worn since F2, and automatically hug him back.
"How was your summer?" he asks, keeping an arm around your shoulders as he starts walking with you. "Did you miss me terribly? Cry yourself to sleep thinking about our FIFA rematch?"
"Actually," you start, feeling unexpectedly nervous, "I've got some news."
"Oh?" His eyes light up. "Did George finally admit his neck is abnormally long? Because I've been saying—"
"Jacob and I are officially together," you cut in quickly, like ripping off a bandaid. "Like, properly together. Boyfriend and girlfriend."
Lando's step falters slightly, his arm dropping from your shoulders. "What?"
"Yeah," you continue, fiddling with your paddock pass. "We kept seeing each other after that first date, and during the break... it just got serious."
"Serious?" His voice sounds strange. "How serious? When did this— why am I just finding out about this?"
"We wanted to keep it quiet at first, you know? But he talked to the higher-ups at McLaren today about dating someone connected to another team, and they're cool with it, so..." you trail off, watching his face carefully.
"Cool with it," he repeats slowly. Then, visibly forcing his usual grin, "Well, that's... that's great, love. Really great. Though I have to say, my mum will be devastated. She was really counting on those papaya-themed grandchildren."
But his joke falls flat, lacking its usual warmth. His smile doesn't quite reach his eyes.
"Lando—"
"No, really," he cuts in, running a hand through his curls. "I'm happy for you. Even if he is rubbish at making coffee. And boring. And probably doesn't even know your favorite ice cream flavor is mint chocolate chip, or that you secretly love watching those terrible reality shows, or that you—" he stops himself, clearing his throat. "Anyway. Good for you. Both of you."
You're about to respond when his race engineer calls him over.
"Duty calls," he says, already backing away. "But hey, tell Jacob he better treat my future wife right. Even if she's... not actually my future wife anymore."
He tries to wink, but it looks more like a flinch. Before you can say anything else, he's gone, leaving you standing alone in the paddock with an inexplicable heaviness in your chest.
But you immediately brush it off. Because at the end of the day, he's just Lando.
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liked by carmenmmundt, lilymhe and 276,504 others
yn.russell making it official 🤍 @/jacob___
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username1 OH?
username2 YALL HE WORKS FOR MCLAREN ??
username3 what happened to lando ?? the marriage proposal??
georgerussell63 About time you stopped sneaking around 🙄
↳ yn.russell shut up old man
↳ carlossainz55 Protective brother mode activated
carmenmmundt You guys look so cute! ❤️
↳ yn.russell love you xxx
alex_albon Well this is going to be interesting 👀
↳ landonorris mate.
↳ alex_albon what? I said nothing
username4 But what about Lando?? 😭 They were literally perfect together
usernsme5 nooo my ship is sinking
username6 the way lando looks at her tho…
jacob___❤️
↳ yn.russell 🤍
landonorris i guess i need to find a new future wife then 🤷♂️ applications open x
↳ danielricciardo i volunteer as tribute mate
↳ landonorris sorry mate you're not george's sister
↳ carlossainz55 You okay there buddy?
↳ yn.russell don't worry, you'll always be my favorite husband-that-never-was x
↳ landonorris 💔
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yn.russell has added to their stories
landonorris has replied to your story
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The Singapore night air is thick with humidity and celebration. The club's bass thrums through your bones as you watch Lando being congratulated for what feels like the hundredth time. He's practically glowing, champagne-drunk and victory-high, but something seems off about his smile.
"Babe, want another drink?" Jacob's voice pulls your attention back. His hand is possessively placed on your lower back, and you notice Lando's eyes flicker to it before he quickly looks away.
Across the VIP section, Alex nudges Charles, nodding towards where Lando is now aggressively stabbing at his ice with a straw.
"Subtle, mate," Alex smirks, sliding into the booth beside Lando. "Very subtle."
"Don't know what you're talking about," Lando mutters, but his eyes betray him, darting back to where Jacob is now whispering something in your ear.
"Ah, l'amour," Charles sighs dramatically. "It is painful, no?"
"Nothing's painful," Lando protests, straightening up. "I just won a Grand Prix, in case you forgot."
"And yet you look like someone stole your puppy," Alex points out.
"Or your future wife," Charles adds with a knowing look.
"She was never actually going to be my future wife," Lando says, but his voice lacks conviction. "It was just jokes. Always has been. She's George's sister, for fuck's sake."
"Right," Alex drawls. "So you wouldn't mind if I told you they're probably going to move in together soon?"
Lando chokes on his drink. "They're what?"
"He's joking," Charles quickly intervenes, shooting Alex a look. "But your reaction..."
"Means nothing," Lando insists, but his knuckles are white around his glass. "I just... I don't want her to rush into anything. As a friend. A protective friend. Who happens to be her brother's mate. And her future husband. But like, as a joke. Obviously."
"Obviously," Alex repeats dryly.
Suddenly, Charles straightens up. "Where did they go?"
The spot where you and Jacob were standing is empty. Lando's eyes scan the crowd, something uneasy settling in his stomach.
"Probably just getting more drinks," he says, but he's already standing up.
"Lando..." Alex starts.
"I just need some air," Lando cuts him off, making his way through the crowd.
The corridor leading to the outdoor area is quieter, the music muffled. That's when he hears raised voices.
"You're being ridiculous," Jacob's voice is sharp. "I was just talking to her."
"With your hand on her waist?" Your voice sounds tired. "While I was right there?"
"Oh, so I can't even network now? That's literally my job, YN. But I wouldn't expect you to understand that, since you're only here because of your brother."
Lando's feet move before his brain catches up.
"Everything alright out here?" His voice is deliberately light, but there's steel underneath.
"Fine," Jacob snaps. "Just having a private conversation with my girlfriend."
"Doesn't sound very private," Lando steps closer to you instinctively. "Or very pleasant."
"This doesn't concern you, Norris."
"See, that's where you're wrong, mate," Lando's usual playful demeanor is gone. "YN's wellbeing always concerns me. Future wife contract, remember? Legally binding and all that."
"We're still doing that joke?" Jacob scoffs. "Bit pathetic, don't you think?"
"Not as pathetic as hitting on sponsors' daughters while your girlfriend watches," Lando retorts, then softer, to you: "You okay, darling?"
The familiar pet name makes your chest tight. "I'm fine, Lando."
"Great, she's fine," Jacob moves to grab your arm. "Let's go."
"Touch her like that again," Lando's voice is deadly quiet, "and you'll be looking for a new marketing job. Might want to learn how the coffee machine works first though."
Jacob looks between you and Lando, jaw clenched. "Whatever. This is bullshit anyway. Call me when you're done playing happy families with your brother's friend."
He storms off, leaving you and Lando in charged silence.
"So," Lando finally says, attempting his usual lightness, "does this mean I can keep the dog name Fernando?"
You let out a watery laugh, and without thinking, he pulls you into a hug. You fit against him like you always have, his cologne familiar and comforting.
"My darling," he murmurs into your hair, then catches himself. "I mean... sorry. Probably shouldn't call you that anymore."
You pull back slightly to look at him. "You've been calling me that since we were teenagers."
"Yeah, well," he gives you a half-smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes, "things change, don't they?"
The way he's looking at you makes your heart stutter. Has he always looked at you like that?
"Is he always like this?" Lando asks quietly, still holding you close. His usual playful tone is gone, replaced by something more serious than you're used to hearing from him.
"No, no," you shake your head quickly. Maybe too quickly, because Lando's brow furrows as he studies your face. "It's not— he's not usually... it was just a misunderstanding."
He's silent for a moment, his hands fidgeting like they always do when he's worried about something. "You'd tell me though, right? If he ever... if he's not good to you? Or tell George at least?"
"Of course," you try to smile reassuringly. "But really, today was just a bad night. Too much pressure, too much champagne..."
"YN," he cuts in, and the way he says your name instead of one of his usual pet names makes you look up at him. His eyes are intense, concerned. "Promise me."
"I promise," you say softly. "You're a great friend, Lando."
Something flickers across his face – so quick you almost miss it – before his signature grin returns, though it doesn't quite reach his eyes.
"Friend?" he scoffs, but his voice sounds slightly strained. "Future husband, remember? Can't have my darling dealing with drama alone. Bad for our future marriage prospects."
You laugh, and he joins in, but there's something heavy hanging in the air between you. Before either of you can say anything else, Alex's voice carries from the doorway.
"Found them! Everything okay out here?"
"Never better," Lando announces, stepping back and throwing an arm around your shoulders with practiced ease. But you notice how his smile doesn't quite match the one in all those podium photos from earlier. "Just reminding the future Mrs. Norris about our very legitimate marriage contract. Very binding. Legally waterproof and everything."
He's doing that thing he does when he's uncomfortable – talking too fast, jokes tumbling out one after another. But his hand squeezes your shoulder gently before he lets go, and you catch him glancing back at you as he bounces toward the club entrance, his "Let's celebrate my amazing win, shall we?" almost drowning out the sound of your heart beating too fast.
Alex watches the exchange with knowing eyes but mercifully says nothing, just offers his arm to escort you back inside.
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texts between george and yn
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liked by landonorris, georgerussell63 and 287,540 others
yn.russell british boy steps foot in mexico city and instantly thinks he's a local... who's gonna tell him
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username1 LANDO X LITTLE RUSSELL IS SO BACKKK
username2 he looks so cuute
username3 i know her bf is not going to like this
alex_albon he can't even keep tequila shots down. such a fake
↳ landonorris want to test that theory?
↳ charles_leclerc Poor little Lando Norris
username4 HELP SHES SO IN LOVE WITH HIM 😭
jacob___ 👀
↳ username1 i know he's JEALOUS
username5 the way yn's feed is like 60% lando
username6 MY PARENTS
landonorris why is my future wife so mean to me
↳ yn.russell LANDO
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Later that afternoon, you're sitting with Carmen in the Mercedes hospitality when George joins you, stealing a bite of your sandwich.
"Get your own food," you swat his hand away.
"Sharing is caring, little sis," he grins, then notices your expression. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing's wrong," you say automatically, but Carmen raises an eyebrow.
"She's overthinking," Carmen supplies helpfully. "About Jacob."
"I'm not overthinking," you protest. "I'm just... thinking. Normal amounts of thinking."
"About?" George prompts.
You fidget with your paddock pass. "He wants me to meet his parents. After Abu Dhabi. Says it's time we got more serious."
George's expression shifts slightly. "And you want that?"
"I mean... yeah? I think so. It makes sense, right? We've been together for a few months now, things are good..."
"Are they?" Carmen asks gently.
"Of course they are," you say, but your voice lacks conviction. "The Singapore thing was just a one-off. He apologized. He's been really sweet since then."
"Sweet enough to make up for being a dick?" George mutters.
"George."
"Sorry, sorry," he holds up his hands. "Just... you don't sound very excited about meeting his parents."
"I am excited," you insist. "It's just... a big step."
"Not as big as naming your future dog Fernando," Carmen says under her breath.
You shoot her a warning look. "Can we not?"
"Not what?" George asks.
"Nothing," you say quickly. "Just... Carmen thinks I'm not fully committed because..."
"Because you still light up every time Lando calls you 'darling'?" Carmen finishes.
"That's not— he calls everyone darling."
"No, he doesn't," George and Carmen say in unison.
"I hate you both," you groan. "Look, Lando and I are friends. That's all we've ever been. The whole future wife thing is just our running joke."
"Sure," Carmen nods. "That's why he looks like someone kicked his puppy every time Jacob touches you."
"He does not—" you start, but stop when you catch sight of Lando walking past. He gives you a small wave and his signature grin, but something about it seems off.
"Doesn't what?" George prompts.
"Nothing," you shake your head. "I should go. Jacob's waiting for me."
As you leave, you hear Carmen say to George, "They're both idiots, aren't they?"
"Complete idiots," George agrees. "But at least they're consistent about it."
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liked by landonorris, carmenmmundt and 298,605 others
yn.russell happy birthday to my favorite “future husband” 🎂 from stealing your caps in karting to stealing your FIFA records (still undefeated btw), you've somehow become one of my favorite people in this weird little world of ours. here's to many more years of terrible jokes, impromptu dance parties in the garage, and you pretending to let me win at everything (we both know I'm just better 😌). love you loads landolorian 🤍
ps: fernando the nonexistent dog says happy birthday to his future dad x
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username1 THIS IS TOO CUTE
username2 YOUR HONOR IM CRYING
landonorris still waiting for that marriage certificate darling 💍 also you definitely cheated at FIFA last time
↳ yn.russell sounds like someone's a sore loser
↳ landonorris sounds like someone's avoiding the marriage topic
↳ georgerussell63 get a room you two
↳ landonorris working on it mate
↳ username1 LANDO WTF
↳ username2 HE HAS NO SHAME
mclaren Happy Birthday @/landonorris! @/yn.russell when's the wedding?
↳ landonorris asking the real questions admin
↳ oscarpiastri I'll officiate
↳ landonorris DEAL
↳ yn.russell STOP IT
jacob___ 🙄
↳ landonorris problem mate?
↳ yn.russell boys.
↳ username3 THE TENSION
username4 why aren't they together yet??
username5 my heart can't take this anymore just date already
liked by username1, username2 and 3,976 others
f1.gossip Lando Norris and YN Russell spotted getting cozy at his birthday celebration last night. Swipe for more 👀
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username1 "just friends" my ass
username2 no because why does he look at her like she hung the stars
username3 wait where's jacob? 👀
↳ username1 apparently he left early...
↳ username2 he posted from a different party later that night
username4 george watching his best friend and his sister like 🧍♂️
↳ username1 he's been watching this slow burn for years poor man
username5 jacob watching these photos like 👁👄👁
username6 the way lando calls her darling more than her actual boyfriend does
username7 who's gonna tell jacob his girlfriend has better chemistry with lando in these photos than their entire instagram feed
username8 the "future wife" jokes don't seem so jokey anymore huh
username9 okay but can we talk about how she literally glows when she's around him?
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The afternoon sun filters through your apartment windows as you put the finishing touches on your makeup. You're going out to dinner with Jacob - another fancy restaurant, another chance for him to network while you smile politely beside him.
A knock at your door makes you pause. Opening it reveals Lando, holding a bag of takeaway and what appears to be your favorite ice cream.
"Oh," he says, taking in your dress and heels. "You're going out."
"Yeah," you adjust your earring, but can't help smiling at the familiar sight of him with food. "With Jacob. Remember?"
"Right," his smile dims slightly. "The boyfriend. Must've slipped my mind." He holds up the bags. "I brought provisions for our traditional post-race debrief. You know, where you tell me how amazing I was and I pretend to be humble about it?"
You laugh despite yourself. "Since when are you ever humble?"
"I'm incredibly humble. The most humble. No one's more humble than me," he grins, then peers around you into the apartment. "But seriously, can't you reschedule? I got your favorite ice cream. Mint chocolate chip, because I'm the best future husband ever."
"Still going with that, are we?" you ask, turning back to the mirror to check your lipstick.
"Always, darling," he follows you in, setting the food down and flopping onto your couch like he owns it. "It's legally binding, remember? Can't disappoint my mum now."
"I can't tonight," you say, checking your phone. "Jacob said he has something important to tell me."
"The one who made you cry?" Lando's voice loses some of its playfulness.
"That was one time," you defend, though without heat. "And he apologized. He actually told me he loves me last week. Says he wants us to be serious."
Lando sits up straighter, his usual energetic demeanor momentarily stilled. "And do you? Love him?"
"You don't know anything about my relationship, Lando," you say, but it comes out softer than intended.
"I know you," he counters, standing up and moving to lean against the wall near your mirror. "I know you scrunch your nose when you're trying not to laugh at bad jokes. I know you secretly love those terrible reality shows but pretend you're 'just watching them ironically.' I know you stress-eat ice cream when George has a bad race."
"That's different," you say, but you're fighting a smile.
"Is it?" he challenges, but his tone is gentle. "Look, I just... I want you to be happy. Even if it means dealing with boring Jacob who still can't work the coffee machine."
"He figured it out last week, actually," you laugh.
"Finally! Only took him what, six months?" Lando grins, then sobers slightly. "But seriously, if he makes you happy..."
"He does," you say, though something in your chest tightens. "Most of the time."
"Most of the time?" Lando raises an eyebrow. "That's not exactly a ringing endorsement, darling."
"Nobody's perfect."
"I am," he says immediately, making you laugh. "What? I'm just saying, our future children would have excellent genes. Plus, I make a mean cup of coffee."
Your phone buzzes - a text from Jacob asking where you are.
"I have to go," you say, grabbing your purse. "Lock up when you leave?"
"Fine," he sighs dramatically. "Abandon your future husband with melting ice cream. But just know, Fernando the dog is very disappointed in you."
"Still haven't given up on that name, huh?"
"Never," he grins, but something flickers in his eyes. "Save me some time this weekend? For proper FIFA revenge?"
"You mean so I can beat you again?"
"Excuse you, I let you win," he protests, following you to the door. "It's part of my long-term strategy."
"Which is?"
"Can't have my future wife thinking I'm bad at something, can I?" he winks. "Even though we both know I'm actually terrible at FIFA."
You shake your head, laughing. "Goodbye, Lando."
"Wait," he calls as you start down the hall. "Just... be happy, yeah? Even if it's with someone who took six months to learn how to make coffee."
"I am happy," you say, but even to your own ears, it sounds more like a question than a statement.
"If you say so, darling," he says quietly. "But just remember, the Fernando name reservation is still valid. You know, in case the coffee-challenged boyfriend doesn't work out."
You roll your eyes but can't help smiling as you walk away, trying to ignore the way your heart seems to be arguing with your head about exactly what - or who - makes you happiest. Behind you, you can hear him humming what sounds suspiciously like the wedding march, and you have to bite your lip to keep from laughing.
Because at the end of the day, he's still Lando. Your Lando. Even if you're not quite ready to admit what that really means.
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liked by carmenmmundt, lilymhe and 276,498 others
yn.russell last dinner date before heading back to the circus 🏎️ @/jacob___
username4 i feel like shit is about to hit the fan reaaaally soon
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"I just don't understand why you have to be there for every single race," Jacob's voice carries down the paddock corridor. "It's not like you're actually part of the team."
You're standing outside the McLaren hospitality, what started as a casual conversation having turned into yet another argument. "My brother races in F1, and Lando's one of my closest friends. Of course I'm going to be here."
"Right, Lando," Jacob scoffs. "Because God forbid you miss one of his races. Wouldn't want to disappoint your 'future husband.'"
"Don't do that," you say tiredly. "You know it's just a joke."
"Is it? Because from where I'm standing, it looks like you'd rather spend time with him than support your actual boyfriend's career."
"Your career? I've been to every single marketing event you've asked me to attend. I've smiled and networked and played the perfect girlfriend."
"Perfect?" He laughs humorlessly. "You barely talk to any of the sponsors. You're too busy hanging out in the Mercedes garage or watching Lando's practice sessions."
"That's not fair—"
"You know what's not fair? Having a girlfriend who's more invested in other people's careers than mine."
"I didn't realize I was supposed to give up my entire life just because we're dating."
"Your entire life?" His voice rises. "You mean hanging around the paddock like some glorified fan?"
You step back like he's slapped you. "Is that what you think I am?"
"I think," he says coldly, "that you need to figure out what's more important - playing happy families with your brother's friends or having a real relationship with someone who's actually going somewhere in life."
"Hey!" A sharp voice cuts through the tension. George is standing there, face thunderous. "What the hell is going on here?"
"Just having a private conversation with my girlfriend," Jacob says stiffly.
"Doesn't sound very private to me," George steps closer, positioning himself slightly in front of you. "Or very respectful."
"George, it's fine," you start, but he cuts you off.
"No, it's not fine," he says, not taking his eyes off Jacob. "No one talks to my sister like that."
Jacob holds up his hands. "Look, this is between me and YN."
"Not anymore it's not," George's voice is dangerously calm. "I think you should leave."
For a moment, it looks like Jacob might argue, but something in George's expression makes him think better of it. "Whatever. Call me when you're ready to be a proper girlfriend."
As he walks away, George turns to you, his anger melting into concern. "You okay?"
"I'm fine," you say automatically, but your voice wavers.
"Come on," he wraps an arm around your shoulders, leading you toward his driver room. "Let's talk."
Once inside, you sink onto the couch while George grabs two water bottles. "How long has he been talking to you like that?"
"It's not... it's not usually that bad," you say, fidgeting with the bottle label. "He's just stressed about work."
"That's not an excuse," George sits beside you. "Has he said things like this before? About you being just a fan?"
You stay quiet, which is answer enough.
"YN," George's voice softens. "Why didn't you tell me?"
"Because it's embarrassing," you admit quietly. "He's right, isn't he? I am just hanging around because of you."
"Stop," George says firmly. "You've been part of this world since we were kids. You understand racing better than half the people in the paddock. Hell, you probably know more about tire strategies than some of the engineers."
You manage a small laugh. "Only because you never shut up about them."
"Exactly," he grins, then turns serious again. "Look, being here isn't just about me. It's your life too. You've built relationships with everyone here. Carmen loves you, Alex considers you a little sister, and Lando..."
"Don't," you cut him off. "Please don't bring Lando into this."
George studies you for a moment. "Why not? He's your best friend."
"Because..." you trail off, not sure how to explain the complicated mix of emotions that surface whenever Lando's name comes up lately.
"Because Jacob's jealous of him?" George suggests gently.
"He's not... it's not like that."
"Isn't it?" George raises an eyebrow. "Because from where I'm sitting, it looks like your boyfriend has a problem with how close you are to someone who's been in your life a lot longer than he has."
"Lando and I are just friends," you say, but the words feel hollow.
"Are you?" George asks softly. "Because friends don't look at each other the way you two do. Friends don't have elaborate future plans including dogs named Fernando. Friends don't get that look in their eyes when the other person is dating someone else."
"George..."
"I'm just saying," he continues, "maybe Jacob isn't entirely wrong to be jealous. Just... wrong about everything else."
You're quiet for a moment, processing. "I don't know what to do."
"Yes, you do," George says simply. "You just need to be honest with yourself about what - or who - actually makes you happy."
"It's not that simple."
"Why not?" He challenges. "Because from what I just heard, Jacob doesn't make you happy. He makes you feel small. And my little sister," he squeezes your shoulder, "deserves someone who makes her feel like she could take on the world."
"Someone like Lando?" You ask quietly.
"I didn't say that," George grins. "But now that you mention it..."
You shove him playfully. "Shut up."
"Make me," he laughs, then sobers. "Seriously though, YN. You deserve better than someone who makes you question your place here. This is your home too."
You lean your head on his shoulder. "When did you get so wise?"
"I've always been wise. I'm the older sibling, remember?"
"By like two years!"
"Still counts," he says smugly, then adds more seriously, "Just... promise me you'll think about what I said? About being honest with yourself?"
"I promise," you say softly, even as your mind drifts to a certain curly-haired driver who's probably wondering where you are for your traditional pre-race FIFA tournament.
"Good," George stands up. "Now, want to go watch Lando absolutely butcher his quali prep? I heard he's still convinced he can take turn 3 flat out."
You laugh, letting him pull you up. "Some things never change, do they?"
"Nope," George agrees, but there's something knowing in his smile. "And some things are just waiting for you to realize they've been there all along."
As you walk toward the McLaren garage, you can't help but think about how some of the best things in life start as jokes - like a fourteen-year-old boy declaring you'll have papaya orange wedding colors, or a nickname that feels more like home than any other word in the world.
Maybe it's time to stop pretending it's all just a joke.
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liked by georgerussell63, carmenmmundt and 301,988 others
yn.russell my big brother just won in VEGAS!!! 🏆✨ from watching you race karts in the rain to watching you stand on top of the podium under those lights... i've never been prouder to be a russell. you deserve this more than anyone georgie. also thanks for letting me steal your champagne and ruin your hair before the photos 😘
ps: mum's crying, dad's crying, i'm crying, even fernando the dog is crying and he's not real x
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username1 I LOVE THEM SMMMM
username2 THIS IS MY FAMILY
georgerussell63 love you little sis ❤️ (but i was definitely the cuter kid)
↳ yn_russell keep telling yourself that x
↳ landonorris can confirm yn was the cuter kid
↳ georgerussell63 no one asked you lando
↳ landonorris just supporting my future wife mate
↳ yn.russell boys please this is george's moment
username2 THE WAY SHE RAN TO HIM IN PARC FERME 😭
username3 sibling goals fr
username4 ok but can we talk about how lando waited to celebrate with george until after yn had her moment with him 🥺
↳ username1 future brother in law behavior
username5 wait why isn't jacob in any of these photos? Wasn't he there?
carmenmmundt so proud of you both ❤️
↳ landonorris *all three of us
↳ carmenmmundt ?
↳ landonorris future wife = future family
↳ yn.russell this is GEORGE'S post omg
↳ landonorris sorry darling carry on x
charles_leclerc the russell genes are strong
↳ landonorris hopefully our kids get her genes
↳ georgerussell63 LANDO.
↳ yn.russell i swear to god
↳ landonorris what? just planning ahead 😌
username6 THIS COMMENT SECTION IS KILLING ME
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yn.russell has added to their stories
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The Abu Dhabi night is alive with celebration, the McLaren garage covered in papaya and champagne. But you're hidden away in one of the quiet corridors behind hospitality, mascara smudged, trying to muffle your sobs.
"There you are, darling! We've been looking everywhere for—" Lando's voice cuts off abruptly when he sees you. "YN?"
You quickly try to wipe your tears, but it's too late. His championship-winning smile vanishes instantly as he drops down beside you.
"Hey, hey, what's wrong?" His voice is soft, concerned. When you don't answer, he gently takes your hands away from your face. "Talk to me."
"It's stupid," you manage to say. "You should be celebrating. You just won the constructors'."
"Pretty sure the champagne will still be there in ten minutes," he says, thumb brushing away a tear from your cheek. "What happened?"
You take a shaky breath. "Jacob... he..." Your voice breaks.
Lando's expression hardens. "What did he do?"
"He broke up with me," you let out a bitter laugh. "Apparently now that he's secured a position at Mercedes for next season, he doesn't need the Russell connection anymore."
"He what?" Lando's voice is dangerously quiet.
"Turns out I was just... convenient. A way to get closer to Toto. To Mercedes." Your voice cracks again. "God, I feel so stupid."
"You're not stupid," Lando says fiercely. "He's the stupid one. He's worse than stupid, he's a complete—"
"I really thought..." you cut him off, fresh tears falling. "I actually thought he cared about me."
Without hesitation, Lando pulls you into his arms. You bury your face in his race suit, still damp with champagne, and let yourself break.
"I've got you," he murmurs into your hair. "I've got you, darling."
You stay like that for a while, his hands running soothingly up and down your back as you cry. The distant sounds of celebration feel like they're from another world.
"Want me to crash his car?" Lando finally asks, making you let out a watery laugh. "I could do it. Make it look like an accident. I am a professional driver, after all."
"Lando..."
"Or we could put laxatives in his coffee. Though he'd probably notice, since he still can't make a proper cup himself."
Despite everything, you find yourself smiling slightly.
"There's my girl," he says softly, then catches himself. "I mean... sorry. Probably shouldn't..."
"It's okay," you whisper. "I've always been your girl. Even if it was just as a joke."
Something shifts in his expression. "YN..."
"Don't," you pull back slightly. "Please. I can't... I can't lose you too. Not tonight."
He studies your face for a long moment, then nods, pulling you back against his chest. "You'll never lose me. Future husband contract, remember? Legally binding. Can't get rid of me that easily."
You close your eyes, breathing in his familiar scent. "Promise?"
"Promise," he kisses the top of your head. "Besides, Fernando still needs both his parents."
This gets a real laugh out of you. "We don't actually have a dog, Lando."
"Yet," he corrects. "We don't have a dog yet. But when we do—"
"His name will be Fernando," you finish with him, and for a moment, everything feels okay again.
"Want me to get George?" he asks after a while.
You shake your head. "Not yet. Can we just... stay here for a bit?"
"As long as you need," he says, and you can hear his heart beating steadily under your ear. "I'm not going anywhere."
In the distance, someone calls his name.
"Go," you start to pull away. "They need their champion."
"They can wait," he says firmly, pulling you back. "You need me more."
And maybe it's the way he says it, or the gentle kiss he presses to your temple, or how his arms feel like the safest place in the world, but suddenly you realize what everyone's been trying to tell you all along.
This was never just a joke to him.
And maybe, just maybe, it was never really a joke to you either.
But that's a revelation for another night, when your heart isn't quite so broken and his race suit isn't covered in your tears. For now, you let yourself be held by your best friend, your future husband, your Lando, as the Abu Dhabi night carries on without you.
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liked by landonorris, georgerussell63 and 288,760 others
yn.russell back to my favorite job: professional thirdwheel 🏖️ (at least they feed me occasionally) @/georgerussell63 @/carmenmmundt
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username1 MY PARENTS
username2 wait... where's jacob? 👀
↳ username1 he unfollowed her last week 👀
↳ username3 tea incoming
georgerussell63 You love us
↳ yn.russell debatable
↳ carmenmmund We literally paid for your dinner
↳ yn.russell okay fine you're alright
landonorris need a fourth wheel? 👀
↳ yn.russell ...
↳ landonorris i'll bring snacks
username4 THE WAY LANDO COMMENTED SO FAST
username5 LANDO THIS IS YOUR CHANCE
username6 single little russell era is coming
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The winter sun is setting early, casting long shadows across your apartment. It's been a month days since Abu Dhabi, a months since Jacob revealed his true colors, and you're curled up on your couch in your comfiest sweats, surrounded by empty ice cream containers.
George and Carmen tried to cheer you up, making you tag along on their vacation, but now that you were back home, the sulking feeling inevitably came back too.
A familiar pattern of knocks at your door makes you groan. "Go away, Lando."
"Not a chance, darling," his voice calls back. "I come bearing provisions!"
"I don't need provisions," you call out, but you're already getting up to open the door. "I need to wallow in peace."
You open the door to find Lando, arms full of bags, wearing a ridiculously oversized hoodie that you're pretty sure belongs to George.
"Wallowing is officially cancelled," he announces, breezing past you into the apartment. "We're having a proper heartbreak recovery session."
"We are?"
"Absolutely," he starts unpacking the bags. "I've got all the essentials. More ice cream - mint chocolate chip, obviously. Every terrible rom-com Netflix has to offer. Popcorn. Those weird crisps you like that no one else understands. And..." he pulls out a bottle with flourish, "your favorite wine."
"Lando..."
"No arguments," he says firmly, but gently. "I'm not leaving you alone to cry over that coffee-challenged idiot."
"I wasn't crying," you protest weakly.
He raises an eyebrow at your clearly tear-stained face. "Right. And I'm not the most talented driver on the grid."
This actually makes you laugh. "Your modesty never fails to amaze me."
"I know, I know, I'm incredible," he grins, already making himself at home on your couch. "Now come here. We're starting with The Notebook because I know it's your guilty pleasure, even though you pretend to hate it."
"I do hate it," you say, but you're already curling up next to him.
"Sure you do, darling," he throws a blanket over both of you. "Just like you hate reality TV and actually love Jacob's boring marketing presentations."
You wince slightly at Jacob's name, and Lando immediately softens.
"Sorry," he says quietly. "No more mentions of He Who Shall Not Be Named. Though I still think we should put glitter in his car ventilation system."
"George already offered to have him banned from the paddock," you smile slightly.
"Good man, your brother," Lando nods approvingly. "Though my revenge plans are much more creative. I was thinking we could reprogram his laptop to only play 'Baby Shark' when he opens PowerPoint..."
You can't help but laugh. "You're ridiculous."
"Made you smile though, didn't I?" he says softly, and something in his voice makes you look up at him.
"You always do," you admit quietly.
He holds your gaze for a moment before clearing his throat. "Right, well, that's what future husbands are for, isn't it? Can't have my darling being sad. Bad for our wedding photos."
"Still going with that, are we?"
"Always," he says, and despite his light tone, there's something earnest in his eyes. "Someone's got to look after you properly."
"I can look after myself," you point out.
"Oh, I know," he grins. "But it's more fun together, isn't it? Plus, who else is going to appreciate your terrible taste in movies?"
"My taste is not terrible!"
"Darling, you genuinely enjoyed that film about the talking cats."
"It was artistic!"
"It was horrifying," he laughs, pulling you closer. "But I watched it three times with you anyway."
"Because you're a good friend," you say softly.
Something flickers across his face. "Yeah," he says after a moment. "The best friend you'll ever have. Even if you have questionable taste in everything except future husbands."
You roll your eyes but can't help smiling. "Speaking of questionable taste, weren't we supposed to be watching The Notebook?"
"Oh right!" he brightens, grabbing the remote. "Time to pretend you're not going to cry at the end."
"I never cry at the end."
"Darling, you've cried every single time we've watched it."
"Have not!"
"Have too! Remember last time? You got tears all over my favorite hoodie."
"That was one time!"
"One time this month, maybe," he grins, then softens. "It's okay though. My hoodies are always available for your tears. Even if they're about stupid coffee-challenged marketing guys who don't deserve them."
You lean your head on his shoulder. "Thank you, Lando."
"For what?"
"For being you. For being here. For..." you gesture at all the supplies he brought. "For everything."
He's quiet for a moment, then presses a kiss to the top of your head. "Always, darling. In sickness and in health, remember?"
"We're not actually married, Lando."
"Yet," he corrects, but there's something in his voice that makes your heart skip. "We're not actually married yet."
The movie starts playing, but you're more aware of his steady breathing, of how perfectly you fit against his side, of how safe you feel in this moment. And maybe it's too soon, maybe your heart is still too raw, but you can't help but think that maybe, just maybe, the right person has been here all along.
But that's a thought for another day. For now, you let yourself be comforted by your best friend, your constant, your Lando, as he quotes along with the movie and keeps you supplied with ice cream and terrible jokes until you're laughing more than you're crying.
And if you do end up crying at the end of The Notebook, well, his hoodie is already there to catch your tears.
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liked by landonorris, carmenmmundt and 291,483 others
yn.russell FIRST RACE OF THE SEASON. WHAT A RIDE !!!! lando winning and georgie on podium. ALEX P5 !!!! all of my boys killing it 🥺 so happy to be back, i missed this so much
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username1 LITTLE RUSSELL BIGGEST SUPPORTER
username2 SHE WAS SO HAPPY FOR LANDO OMFG
username3 still gutted for the missed mclaren 1-2 but GEORGE P3!!
carmenmmundt You almost broke my hand with all the squeezing !! Missed you so happy my girl 🤍
↳ username1 AHH LITTLE RUSSELL IS HEALING
username4 the way she JUMPED into lando's arms
ciscanorris My future daughter in law! It was so good to see you
↳ username1 AHH MAMA NORRIS CLAIMING HER
landonorris THAT WAS FOR YOU MY DARLINGGG
↳ yourinstagram 🥺
↳ username2 AHH SHE DIDN'T CORRECT HIM
georgerussell63 Love you sis, even tho you hugged Lando first
↳ yn.russell he won okay
↳ landonorris and i'm her future husband
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The Miami night air is warm and sweet, carrying the distant sounds of celebration from the post race party below. You're leaning against the balcony railing, watching the lights of the circuit sparkle in the distance, when familiar footsteps approach.
"There's my darling," Lando's voice is soft as he joins you. "Hiding from your adoring public?"
You smile, not looking away from the view. "Just needed some air."
The past few months flash through your mind - Lando showing up at your door with takeaway after particularly hard days, marathon gaming sessions that somehow always ended with you falling asleep on his shoulder, countless movie nights where he'd quote every line just to make you laugh. He never let you wallow, never let you retreat into sadness. Whether it was surprising you with your favorite coffee in the morning or sending you ridiculous memes at 3 AM, he was constantly there, slowly piecing your heart back together without you even realizing it.
"Penny for your thoughts?" he asks, bumping your shoulder gently with his.
"Just thinking about everything that's changed since last season."
He hums in agreement. "Good changes though, right?"
You finally turn to look at him, really look at him. His curls slightly messy from running his hands through them - a nervous habit you've known since you were teenagers. But there's something different in the way he's looking at you now, something that makes your heart skip.
"Yeah," you say softly. "Good changes."
He takes a step closer, and suddenly the air feels charged with possibility. "You know, I've been thinking..."
"Dangerous hobby," you tease, falling into your familiar pattern.
"Very dangerous," he agrees, but his voice is serious. "Been thinking about how sometimes the best things in life start as jokes."
Your breath catches. "Lando..."
"Like when a fourteen-year-old boy tells this pretty girl she's going to be his future wife," he continues, taking another step closer. "And he keeps saying it for years, making it this big running joke, because it's easier than admitting that maybe, just maybe, it was never really a joke at all."
"What are you saying?" you whisper, though your heart already knows the answer.
He reaches up, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, his hand lingering on your cheek. "I'm saying that I've been in love with you since we were kids. I'm saying that every time I called you darling, every time I talked about our future dog Fernando, every time I claimed the future husband title - I meant it. All of it."
"Lando..." your voice wavers.
"I know it's only been a few months since... everything," he says quickly. "And if you're not ready, if you don't feel the same way, we can pretend this never happened. We can go back to just joking around. But I needed you to know that for me, it was never just a joke. You were never just a joke."
You stare at him, this boy who's been your constant, your safe place, your home for so long. And suddenly everything clicks into place.
"I'm going to kiss you now," he says softly, giving you time to pull away if you want to.
You don't.
His lips meet yours, gentle at first, like he's afraid you might break. But when your hands slide into his curls, pulling him closer, the kiss deepens into something that feels like coming home and falling free all at once.
When you finally break apart, he rests his forehead against yours. "So," he says, slightly breathless, "about that legally binding marriage contract..."
You laugh, the sound full of joy. "Still going with that, are we?"
"Always," he grins, pressing another quick kiss to your lips. "Though now I'm thinking maybe we should make it official. You know, for Fernando's sake."
"We still don't have a dog, Lando."
"Yet," he corrects, pulling you closer. "We don't have a dog yet. But we will. Right after the wedding. Which will definitely have papaya orange colors because I called dibs when we were fourteen and—"
You cut him off with another kiss, feeling him smile against your lips.
"FINALLY!"
You break apart to find George standing in the doorway, grinning like he just won the championship.
"Ever heard of knocking?" Lando grumbles, but he doesn't let go of you.
"On a balcony door?" George raises an eyebrow. "Besides, I've been watching you two dance around each other for months. Years, actually."
"Have not," you protest.
"Have too," both men say in unison.
"I hate you both," you mutter, but you're fighting a smile.
"No you don't," Lando says confidently. "You love me. You're going to marry me and we're going to have a dog named Fernando and—"
"Still with the dog name?" George groans.
"It's tradition!" Lando defends. "Tell him, darling, tell him how important traditions are."
You look between your brother and the boy - no, the man - who's been your everything for so long, and feel your heart might burst with happiness.
"Actually," you say slowly, "I was thinking maybe we could name the dog George."
"What?" both men exclaim.
You burst out laughing at their expressions. "Just kidding. Fernando it is."
"See?" Lando beams at George. "She agrees with me. Because she loves me. Because we're getting married. Because—"
"Because it was never really a joke?" you finish softly.
His expression softens as he looks at you. "Never."
"Right," George clears his throat. "I'm going to leave before this gets any more sickeningly sweet. But Lando?"
"Yeah?"
"Hurt my sister and they'll never find your body."
"Please," Lando scoffs, pulling you closer. "I've been planning our future since I was fourteen. I'm not about to mess it up now."
As George leaves, shaking his head but smiling, Lando turns back to you.
"So," he says, his eyes twinkling, "about those wedding colors..."
You silence him with another kiss, thinking about how sometimes the best love stories start as jokes, and how sometimes the person you're meant to be with has been there all along, calling you darling and planning your future with a dog named Fernando.
And maybe, just maybe, those papaya orange wedding colors don't sound so bad after all.
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liked by landonorris, georgerussell63 and 201,384 others
yn.russell turns out some jokes become reality 🧡 @/landonorris (yes, we're actually getting the dog. yes, his name will be fernando. no, this isn't a drill - the future wife position has officially been filled, i love you my lando)
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username1 SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP IS THIS ACTUALLY HAPPENING??? 😭😭😭
username2 THE WAY I JUST SCREAMED IN THE MIDDLE OF STARBUCKS
username3 THE FUTURE WIFE JOKES WERE REAL ALL ALONG
georgerussell63 About bloody time 🙄 (but actually very happy for you both)
alex_albon the group chat can finally rest, no more "should I tell her?" messages from lando every 5 minutes
carmenmmundt The paddock's favorite love story
ciscanorris Finally! I've only been waiting for this announcement since they were teenagers 🥰
username4 the way this man has been calling her darling for YEARS and we all thought it was just banter 😭😭
username5 THE WAY I'VE BEEN WAITING FOR THIS SINCE 2019
username6 ok but can we talk about how he's literally been manifesting this since they were TEENAGERS???
username7 this is actually the cutest thing ever like???? he's been planning their wedding since he was 14???? hello???
username8 the way george is probably somewhere being like "finally i don't have to pretend i don't see them flirting"
landonorris worth the wait, every single second❤️ love you darling x
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It's a lazy Sunday afternoon in late summer, and you're curled up on your couch with a book when you hear Lando's key in the door. You smile, not looking up - he's been coming and going from your place so much lately that it feels more like his home than his own apartment.
"Darling!" his voice calls out, sounding suspiciously excited. "Close your eyes!"
"Why?" you ask warily. "Last time you had a surprise, it didn't end well."
"Just trust me!"
You sigh fondly, closing your eyes. "Fine, but this better be good."
You hear him moving around, and then something warm and furry lands in your lap.
Your eyes fly open to find yourself face to face with the most adorable chocolate Labrador puppy you've ever seen. The puppy immediately starts licking your face while Lando watches, beaming with pure joy.
"Lando..." you breathe, already in love with the wiggling bundle of fur. "What did you do?"
"Well," he drops onto the couch beside you, reaching over to scratch the puppy's ears, "I was thinking about how we've been together for months now, and living together basically even though we pretend we don't, and how there's this one very important member of our family still missing..."
"You didn't," you whisper, even as the puppy settles contentedly in your lap.
"I did," he grins. "Meet Fernando. Finally."
You look between Lando and the puppy - Fernando - feeling your heart might burst. "You actually named him Fernando?"
"Of course I did! I've been planning this since I was fourteen, remember?" His eyes soften. "Plus, I made you a promise, didn't I?"
"We're not married yet," you point out, but you can't stop smiling.
"Yet," he emphasizes, leaning over to kiss your cheek. "But really, I thought... I mean, we practically live together anyway. Might as well make it official. You, me, and Fernando."
You look down at the puppy, who's now snoring softly in your lap, then back at Lando. "Are you asking me to move in with you? Properly?"
"Maybe," he fidgets slightly. "Unless you think it's too soon? I know we haven't been together that long, but it feels like we've been building towards this forever, you know? And I thought, with Fernando here now..."
You cut off his rambling with a kiss. "Yes."
"Yes?"
"Yes, I'll move in with you. Properly. All three of us."
His face lights up like you've just given him the best gift in the world. "Really?"
"Really," you laugh.
"You're ridiculous," you tell him fondly.
"You love it," he says confidently.
"I do," you admit softly. "I love you."
His expression melts into that soft look he reserves just for you. "I love you too, darling. Both of you," he adds as Fernando stirs and licks his hand.
Just then, your phone buzzes - a text from George.
"Oh no," you groan, reading it. "George is coming over."
"Perfect!" Lando brightens. "He can meet his nephew!"
"You did not just call our dog George's nephew."
"Of course I did! He's family now. Speaking of which..." he pulls out his phone, "my mum's been asking when we're bringing Fernando to visit."
Before you can respond, George's voice carries through the door. "Why is there puppy food in the hallway?"
Lando jumps up excitedly. "Ready to meet Uncle George, Fernando?"
The puppy perks up at his name, tail wagging as George opens the door.
"You didn't," George says, taking in the scene.
"We did!" Lando announces proudly. "Meet your nephew!"
"My... nephew?"
"Fernando Russell-Norris," Lando declares. "Well, technically just Norris for now, but that'll change once your sister finally agrees to marry me."
"Still waiting on that proposal, aren't you?" George smirks.
"All in good time," Lando winks at you. "Got to do it properly, haven't I?"
You watch George pretend not to be completely smitten with Fernando, while Lando chatters about all his plans for family weekends and teaching Fernando tricks. You can't help but think about how sometimes the best things in life start as jokes about future marriages and dogs named Fernando.
"Our little family," Lando says softly, pulling you close while Fernando attempts to climb into George's lap.
And as you lean into his side, watching your brother and your boyfriend argue about who gets to be Fernando's favorite uncle (while the puppy seems more interested in chewing George's shoelaces), you realize that this - this moment, this love, this little family - is better than any dream you could have had.
It's your reality. Your perfect, slightly chaotic, absolutely wonderful reality.
Pairing: Lando Norris x EX!Personal Assistant!Reader
Description: You're Lando Norris's former personal assistant—fired eighteen months ago after he told you he loved you in a Qatar hotel room, then panicked. Now he's a World Champion with a new girlfriend and a mess of an assistant, and he needs you back. Just for two weeks of training, he says. Except Lando's never been good at keeping things professional, and some feelings don't stay buried.
Genre: second chance romance, forced proximity, angst with a happy ending, workplace-adjacent tension, emotional groveling, he's down BAD
WC: 21k
Note: Firstly, I want to apologize for how long this took to put out. I really struggled with finding the ending that felt right. And the paragraphs may feel overwhelming in length—I hit the 1,000 block limit like 40 times and had to condense everything. I proofread, stopped, then proofread again because it didn't feel good enough, and the cycle continued. So, about half is proofread and half isn't, which means there could be errors. Thank you for your patience and your kind words. I want to wish you Happy Holidays if you celebrate, and I'll continue doing my best with this little hobby of mine.
Leaving your job is the best thing that's ever happened to you. That's what you tell yourself, anyway. That's what you've been telling yourself for a year and a half now, and if you say it enough times, eventually it might feel true. The severance package Lando gave you was obscene. Guilt money, obviously, even though you're not calling it that out loud, but that's what it is—guilty money, hush money, please don't sue me for firing you thirty seconds after I came inside you money. Enough that you don't need to work. Enough that you're free.
Free. You're so fucking free that you've tried pottery three times and hated it every single time. You're so free that you've reorganized your closet by color, then by season, then by color again because the first way was better. You're so free that last Tuesday you stood in the shower and counted to three hundred just to see if you could.
The clay fights you. That's what they don't tell you about pottery. Your hands cramp and the instructor keeps saying feel the clay's energy like the clay has energy, like the clay is anything other than wet dirt that collapses the second you think you're getting somewhere. You even tried running. Running is just you and your thoughts for however many miles you can stand. Not ideal. Not even close to ideal. Guitar's gathering dust in the corner. Duolingo sends you passive-aggressive notifications about your streak. You've considered learning Portuguese but that feels pointed, feels like something you shouldn't examine too closely.
Two weeks ago, Lando Norris won the World Championship. You watched it from your apartment because you're a masochist, apparently. You sat on your couch in Monaco and watched him spray champagne and cry and lift the trophy, and you thought, good for him. You thought, I'm happy for him. You thought those things and none of them were true.
Last Friday he went to the FIA Prize Giving ceremony in Rwanda with his beautiful girlfriend to collect his trophy. The photos were everywhere. Every sports website, every F1 account, probably on the fucking news in countries that don't even have racing. His girlfriend, Magui, wore a black dress that made her look like a goddess reincarnated. He wore a tuxedo. They looked like they were attending their own wedding. That's a thought you're not examining. That way lies madness.
You abandon your collapsing bowl. Scrub the clay off your hands—it gets under your fingernails, stays there for hours. The instructor asks if you're signing up for next week. "I'll think about it," you say.
You're not signing up. You already know you're not signing up. Outside, Monaco is cold for December. Your apartment is fifteen minutes away if you walk fast, twelve if you're really moving. You've timed it. You don't go home, and you tell yourself you're just walking. Just getting some air. Just clearing your head after an hour of fighting with clay that had no interest in becoming anything other than a lopsided mess. That's what you tell yourself, and maybe it's even true. Except you're walking toward the harbor instead of toward your apartment, which is the opposite direction, which means you're either lost in your own city or you're lying to yourself. Probably the second one.
And the wonderful thing about Monaco is that it's small. Stupidly small. You can walk from one end to the other in under an hour. Which means you can't really avoid anything, can't really escape anyone, can't really pretend you're not living in the same two square kilometers as—you stop that thought before it finishes.
There's a sports bar on the corner. The kind that has screens covering every available wall, the kind that shows every race, every match, every game that matters. You've walked past it a hundred times. You've never gone in.
Today, you're going in. Just for a drink, you tell yourself. Just for one drink because it's cold outside and your apartment is empty and you're allowed to get a drink at a sports bar without it meaning anything. The bartender is maybe twenty-five, definitely Australian, probably works here because Monaco is where F1 people end up when they're not important enough to actually work in F1. He looks up when you walk in.
"What can I get you?"
"Vodka tonic." He makes it. You don't drink it. Instead, you just hold it and look at the screens because that's what you do in sports bars, you look at the screens. There are eight screens total. Three of them are showing football. Two are showing tennis. One is showing some sport you don't recognize—maybe rugby, maybe something else entirely. And one is showing a replay of the Abu Dhabi Grand Prix. The final lap. Lando crossing the line. The radio message. The celebration. You watch him climb out of the car. Watch him collapse into his team's arms. Watch the whole thing you already watched two weeks ago from your couch, except now you're watching it in a bar in Monaco while a drunk British guy three seats down yells "FUCKING LEGEND" at the screen.
The bartender notices you watching. "You follow F1?"
"Not really," you lie.
"Shame. That race was incredible. Norris finally did it, you know? After all these years."
"Yeah. I heard."
"Best season I've ever seen. Guy's a machine." He's polishing a glass, still talking. "And his girlfriend, mate. You seen her? Absolute smoke show."
You finish your vodka tonic in one go. It burns. "Another?" the bartender asks.
"No. Thanks." You pay and leave. Outside, the cold air hits you like a slap. You start walking. Not toward home. Just walking again. The thing about Lando firing you is that you still don't understand it. You've had a year and a half to make it make sense and it doesn't. It will never make sense.
He'd looked at you. Really looked at you, the way he used to in hotel rooms and empty conference rooms and all those in-between moments when it was just the two of you and nothing else in the world mattered. He'd touched your face. You'd touched his. For one perfect second, you'd thought maybe this is it, maybe this is where everything gets fixed. Then his expression changed and he'd pulled away and gotten dressed like he couldn't stand to be near you anymore.
I fucking love you, he'd said. In that hotel room in Qatar, buried inside your cunt, saying it like it was being torn out of him. Like he couldn't help it. Like he actually meant the fucking words. And then ten minutes later, boom, you're fired.
Just like that. You're fired. Two words that ended everything. You've spent eighteen months trying to figure out how someone tells you they love you and then removes you from their life entirely. How someone can look at you like you're the only person who matters and then just stop. Just move on. Just win a championship and fall in love with someone else and be happy, be so fucking happy that you can see it in every photo, every interview, every goddamn Instagram story.
He touches her differently than he touched you. He touches her casually. His hand on her waist, his fingers interlaced with hers, easy and comfortable and public. Like he's allowed to. Like it's simple. He never touched you like that. He touched you like he was desperate. Like he was trying to memorize the feeling. Like he was afraid—of what, you still don't know. Afraid you'd disappear, maybe? Afraid someone would see? Afraid it meant something.
It did mean something. It meant everything. At least it did to you. You miss him. That's the pathetic truth of it all. You miss him so much that sometimes you can't breathe. You miss his 3 AM phone calls. You miss fixing his disasters. You miss the way he'd look at you when he thought you weren't paying attention, like he was trying to figure out a puzzle he couldn't solve. You miss the feeling of him. His hands, his mouth, the weight of him, the way he'd say your name like it meant something.
You miss all of it and he's moved on and you're walking through Monaco at sunset thinking about someone who fired you eighteen months ago and probably hasn't thought about you since.
Your doorbell rings at 9:16 PM on December 19th. You're not expecting anyone. You consider ignoring it—consider pretending you're not home, consider going back to the book you're not reading. mBut, then, the doorbell rings again.
You should just pretend you're not home. Should pretend a lot of things that aren't walking to the door. You walk to the door anyway. Look through the peephole and your heart stops. Actually fucking stops in your chest. Lando Norris is standing in your hallway. He's wearing a cream Loewe sweatshirt and jeans, one hand shoved in his pocket while the other coddles his phone, and he's looking at it like he has all the time in the world. His hair is also shorter than it was in Qatar.
So, you do the only rational thing, the totally rational thing, and open the door. "Finally." He looks up from his phone. "I was about to use the spare key."
"You don't have a spare key."
"Don't I?" He walks past you into your apartment before you can stop him. "Nice place. Very clean and entirely very sad."
"Excuse me?"
"It looks like no one actually lives here." He's examining your bookshelf now, tilting his head to read the spines. "When did you become this person?"
"What are you doing here, Lando."
"Came to see you, obviously." He picks up a book, flips through it, puts it back in the wrong spot. "How've you been?"
"How have I been? Are you fucking kidding me?"
"Yeah. How are you? What've you been up to? Pottery, I heard. That's cute."
Your stomach drops. "How did you know about pottery."
"I know things." He sits on your couch. Your couch. Like he belongs there. "You quit that too, I assume. Seems to be your pattern lately."
"My pattern."
"Quitting things. Pottery, yoga, that book club." He gestures at your apartment. "Living like a goddamn ghost."
"Get out."
"In a second. I need to talk to you about something first." He leans back, arms spread across the back of your couch. "The new assistant isn't working out."
You stare at him. "Emma. She's trying, I'll give her that. But she's not you. Doesn't think like you. Doesn't anticipate things like you did." He says it so casually. Like he's commenting on the weather. "She's kind of useless, actually."
"And?"
"And I need you to train her."
The audacity. The fucking audacity of Lando Norris. "Are you insane?"
"No. Why would I be insane?"
"You fired me."
"I know. I was there."
"You fired me eighteen months ago and now you're asking me to train your replacement."
"She's not your replacement. That would imply she's anywhere near as competent as you were. Which she's not." He examines his nails. "I'm asking you to train her so she can be at least seventy percent as useful as you were. That's all."
"Get out of my apartment."
"Why are you being so difficult about this? It's a simple request. A few weeks of your time. I'll pay you whatever you want. You're not exactly busy." His eyes flick around your apartment. "Are you."
"That's not the point."
"Then what is the point?"
"The point is you fired me. The point is you told me I was done. The point is you haven't spoken to me in a year and a half and now you show up here like nothing happened."
"Something happened?"
You want to hit him. Want to actually punch the asshole in the face. "Qatar. Something happened in Qatar."
"Oh, that." He waves a hand. "Ancient history. We've both moved on."
"Have we."
"Haven't we? You have your pottery classes. I have my championship." He smiles. That smile. The one that used to make you feel like you were in on a joke and now just makes you want to scream. "We're both doing great."
"Lando."
"What?"
"Get the fuck out."
"I'm at the Fairmont. Room 412." He stands up, stretches. "Think about it. I need an answer by tomorrow morning."
"The answer is no."
"Sure it is." He's walking toward the door. Pauses with his hand on the doorknob. "You look good, by the way. Tired, but good."
He leaves before you can respond. You stand there in your apartment. Your very clean, very empty apartment. Your heart is doing something in your chest and your hands are shaking. Lando Norris showed up after eighteen months and asked you to train his assistant like it was the most reasonable request in the world. Made you feel crazy for being angry. Commented on your home and your pottery classes and the fact that you're living like a ghost. How does he know about the pottery classes. How does he know anything?
You walk to your couch. The cushion where he sat is still slightly compressed and you stare at it. He knows about pottery. About yoga. About the book club you got kicked out of. He's been watching. Or keeping track. Or something. For eighteen months you thought he'd forgotten about you entirely. That you'd been erased from his life as cleanly as you'd been erased from his Instagram captions. And now it turns out he's been aware of you this whole time. Aware enough to know about pottery classes in Monaco. Aware enough to know you quit.
The Fairmont is twelve minutes from here if you walk fast. You're not going to the Fairmont. You're not training Emma. You're not doing any of it. You lasted forty-seven minutes before you grabbed your keys.
When you enter Fairmont hotel, you walk past the front desk without making eye contact with anyone, past the bar where well-dressed people are having well-dressed conversations, past the elevator bank to the one marked for floors three through six.
You press the button. Wait. Watch the numbers descend. Four, three, two, one. The doors open and you step inside before you can change your mind. Fourth floor. Room 412. The elevator is playing jazz, soft and inoffensive, the kind of music designed to make you forget you're in a metal box suspended by cables. You watch the numbers climb. One, two, three, four. The doors open.
The hallway is long and carpeted in a pattern that's probably meant to be elegant but just makes you slightly dizzy if you look at it too long. Room 412 is at the end, past eleven other rooms, past the ice machine, past the window that overlooks the harbor. You stand there for a moment. The door is dark wood with a brass handle and a number plaque that's slightly crooked. You can hear voices from one of the other rooms, muffled by walls and distance. Someone's watching television. Someone else is laughing. You knock on Lando's door.
The door opens immediately, like he was standing right there, like he was waiting.
"Took you long enough," Lando says. He's changed. Different sweatshirt, this one grey, same jeans. His hair is still damp like he showered after leaving your apartment, and you can smell his soap from here—clean and you don't recognize it but that fits him anyway, fits this version of him that exists in hotel rooms and galas and Instagram posts with his girlfriend.
"Can I come in or are you going to make me stand in the hallway?"
He steps aside and you walk in. The room is bigger than you expected, bigger than it needs to be for one person. There's a king bed with white sheets, a sitting area with a couch and two chairs, a desk by the window with a view of the harbor that's probably spectacular in daylight but right now just shows darkness and distant lights. His suitcase is open on the floor, clothes spilling out in a way that's chaotic and familiar and makes your fingers itch to organize it. There's a bottle of champagne on the desk. Two glasses next to it.
"You knew I'd come," you say.
"Of course I knew." He closes the door behind you. "You always come." The certainty in his voice makes you want to scream.
"Don't flatter yourself."
"I'm not flattering myself. I'm stating facts." He walks past you to the desk, picks up the champagne bottle, examines the label like it matters. "You lasted, what, an hour?"
"Forty-seven minutes."
"Forty-seven minutes." He looks at you now, really looks at you, and there's something in his expression that you can't read, something that might be satisfaction or might be something else entirely. Either way, you don't entertain the thought. "You counted."
"I count everything now."
"I know you do." He says it so casually, like it's obvious, like of course he knows. And maybe he does know. Maybe he knows about the counting and the pottery and the book club and every other pathetic thing you've been doing for the past eighteen months while he's been winning championships and falling in love.
"How do you know about the pottery classes?" you ask.
"I told you. I know things."
"That's not an answer."
"It's the only answer you're getting." He pours champagne into both glasses even though you haven't said you want any. "Emma will be there on Monday. I need you there by nine."
"I didn't say yes."
"You're here, aren't you?"
He hands you a glass and you take it. You're not sure as to why you take it but you do, and now you're standing in his hotel room holding champagne and trying to remember how you got here, trying to remember the exact sequence of decisions that led from your apartment to this moment. "This is insane," you say.
"Probably."
"You fired me."
"I remember."
"You told me you loved me and then you fired me."
Something flickers across his face. Fast, there and gone before you can identify it. "That was a while ago."
"So?"
"So we've both moved on." He takes a sip of his champagne, watching you over the rim of the glass. "Haven't we?"
"I don't know, have we?"
"You tell me." He sets his glass down on the desk, leans back against it. "You're the one who showed up at my hotel room at ten PM."
"You literally asked me to."
"I asked you to think about training Emma. I didn't ask you to come here." He tilts his head, studying you in that way he used to. "But here you are anyway."
You hate that he's right. Hate that he knew exactly what would happen when he showed up at your apartment. Hate that after eighteen months of nothing, he can still make you do exactly what he wants with barely any effort at all. "Why me?" you ask. "Why not hire someone else to train her? Someone who doesn't have a history with you?"
"Because no one else knows how I work."
"That's not a good enough reason."
"It's the only reason." He crosses his arms. "You know my schedule better than I do. You know what I need before I need it. You know how to fix problems before they become problems. No one else can do that."
"Emma could learn."
"Emma is twenty-three years old and terrified of me. Every time I ask her a question she looks like she's going to cry." He says it without sympathy, just a simple observation, a simple fact. "She's not you."
Your stomach lurches, "Good. She shouldn't be me."
"Why not?"
"Because being me got me fired."
"No." He pushes off from the desk, takes a step closer. "Being you got you promoted from assistant to whatever we were. Getting fired came after."
"After you decided you were done with me."
"I never said I was done with you."
"You fired me. That's pretty definitive."
"Is it?" He's close enough now that you can see the exact color of his eyes in the hotel room lighting—that blue-green that changes depending on what he's wearing, what the weather is, what mood he's in. Right now they're darker, more blue than green, and fixed on you with an intensity that makes your stomach twist. "Because here you are. In my hotel room. Eighteen months later. Doesn't seem very definitive to me."
You should leave. Should put down the champagne glass you're still holding, should walk out of this hotel room, should tell him to train Emma himself or hire someone else or figure it the fuck out on his own. You don't leave.
"Monday," he says. "Nine AM. MTC. I'll have everything ready for you—schedules, systems, all of it. Two weeks. That's all I need."
"And after two weeks?"
"After two weeks you go back to your life. Pottery classes or whatever else you're doing to pass the time." The dismissiveness in his tone makes you want to throw your champagne in his face.
"I want double your normal consulting rate," you say instead.
"Done."
"And I'm not working with you directly. Just Emma."
"Fine."
"And if she's actually incompetent, if she can't learn this, I'm out. I'm not babysitting someone who can't do the job."
"She can learn. She's not stupid, she's just not you." He picks up his champagne glass again. "Anything else?"
"Yeah. What does your girlfriend think about this?" The question comes out before you can stop it. You watch his expression carefully, looking for any sign that it bothers him, that the mention of Magui does something to him the way the thought of her does something to you.
Nothing. His expression doesn't change at all. "Magui doesn't care about my work arrangements," he says.
"You told her you're hiring your ex-assistant as a consultant?"
"I told her I'm getting help training the new hire. She said that's great." He takes another sip. "She's very supportive." Of course Magui is supportive and understanding and completely unthreatened by the fact that her boyfriend is hiring the woman he fired after sleeping with her. Of course she's goddamn utterly perfect.
"Monday," you say. "Nine AM. Two weeks. Then I'm done."
"Deal." He sets his glass down, extends his hand like this is a business transaction, like you're colleagues making an agreement and not two people who destroyed each other eighteen months ago.
You shake his hand. His palm is warm, rough with calluses from the steering wheel, and the touch of it against your skin makes something in your chest crack open. He doesn't let go immediately. Just holds your hand for a beat too long, his thumb brushing once against your knuckles in a gesture that might be accidental or might be completely intentional.
"It's good to see you," he says quietly.
You pull your hand back. "Don't."
"Don't what?"
"Don't do that. Don't make this into something it's not."
"What am I making it into?"
"You know what."
He smiles. That smile. The one that used to make you feel like you were the only person who mattered and now just makes you feel like you're losing a game you didn't know you were playing. "Monday," he says again.
You leave before you can do something stupid like stay. The hallway is the same length it was before—forty-three steps from his door to the elevator. You count them again anyway. Count them and try not to think about the way his hand felt against yours, the way his eyes looked in the hotel lighting, the way he said it's good to see you like he meant it.
The elevator arrives. You step inside and watch the numbers descend. Four, three, two, one. The doors open to the lobby and you walk out past the bar, past the front desk, past all the well-dressed people living their well-dressed lives. The night air hits you when you step outside and it's cold, colder than it was before, or maybe that's just you.
Monday. Nine AM. Two weeks. You just agreed to spend two weeks training Lando Norris's new assistant, in the same building as him, probably seeing him multiple times a day, pretending that Qatar never happened and that the past eighteen months of pottery classes and counting ceiling tiles were a completely normal and healthy way to process getting fired by someone who said they loved you.
This is fine. You're fine. Everything is completely fine. You walk the twelve minutes home and try to convince yourself that you haven't just made a catastrophic mistake.
Monday arrives with the kind of crystalline Monaco morning that makes you hate how beautiful everything surrounding you is. The sky is aggressively blue. You stand outside the MTC building at 8:47 AM because you're not going to be late, not going to give Lando the satisfaction of waiting for you.
The severance money means you don't technically need this. Could've said no. Should've said no. But here you are anyway, in black trousers and a cream cashmere sweater, your hair pulled back, looking professional and composed and like someone who definitely didn't spend three hours last night googling "how to train someone when you're emotionally compromised."
The building looks the same. Glass and steel and McLaren orange accents, you've been here a thousand times. Walked these halls, sat in these conference rooms, fixed Lando's disasters in every possible corner of this building. You take the elevator to the third floor. Lando's offices are on the fourth, but you're meeting Emma in the conference room, neutral territory. The elevator doors open and she's already there.
Emma is standing outside Conference Room B, clutching a tablet to her chest like it's a life preserver. She's twenty-three, with dark hair in a neat ponytail and wide brown eyes that get wider when she sees you. "Oh my god," she says, and her voice is high and nervous and sweet. "You're here. You're actually here. I'm Emma. Obviously. You know that. Lando said you'd be here at nine but I got here at eight-thirty because I didn't want to be late and I've been standing here for—sorry, I'm talking too much. I do that when I'm nervous. I'm Emma."
"You said that already," you say, but you're smiling despite yourself because she's like a puppy, earnest and eager and probably thirty seconds away from peeing on the floor from excitement.
"Right. Yes. Sorry." She clutches the tablet tighter. "Thank you for doing this. Lando said you were the best and he wasn't exaggerating, I've read all your notes, like all of them, the system you set up is incredible and I've been trying to follow it but I keep messing things up and last week I accidentally booked him on a flight to Barcelona instead of Budapest and he didn't even yell, he just looked at me like I'd kicked a puppy and that was somehow worse—"
"Emma."
She stops mid-sentence. "Yeah?"
"Breathe." She takes a breath. Then another one. "Sorry. I'm nervous. You're kind of a legend around here."
"I'm really not."
"You are, though. Everyone talks about how you could predict what Lando needed before he even asked, how you saved the Singapore weekend when his passport got stolen, how you once fixed a PR disaster with seventeen minutes' notice—"
"That was fifteen minutes."
"See?" Emma's face lights up. "That makes it even more impressive."
You can't help it. You laugh. It's been eighteen months since you laughed in this building, maybe longer. "Come on. Let's get started."
Conference Room B hasn't changed. Same long table, same uncomfortable chairs, same view of the parking lot where you can see Lando's cars if you crane your neck. You don't crane your neck. You spend the first hour going through systems. Calendar management, how Lando color-codes everything but never looks at the color-coding so you have to verbally remind him anyway. The specific way he likes his schedule printed—landscape, not portrait, because he's a psychopath. His coffee order, which changes based on what country he's in but follows a pattern if you pay attention.
Emma takes notes on everything. Actual notes, handwritten in a neat script, asking questions that are surprisingly intelligent. "What about when he's being difficult?" she asks around 10:15. "Like when he just doesn't want to do something?"
"Give me an example."
"Last month he had a sponsor call with Tag Heuer and he just didn't show up. Turned his phone off, then I found him at the gym."
You nod. "That's a Marcus problem."
"Marcus?"
"The Tag Heuer exec. Lando hates him. Too corporate, talks in buzzwords, makes Lando feel like he's in a business school presentation." You pull up the calendar on your tablet. "Did you reschedule?"
"I tried. Marcus was pissed."
"Marcus is always pissed. Did Lando at least send him something? Gift basket, signed merch, something to smooth it over?"
Emma's face falls. "I... uhhhhhh, no?"
"Rule one," you say, and you sound exactly like you used to, competent and certain and completely in control. "When Lando fucks up with a sponsor, you fix it before it becomes a problem. Send Marcus a bottle of something expensive with a handwritten note from Lando. I'll show you where we keep the stationary. Lando won't remember doing it but that's fine. That's the point."
"That feels like lying."
"It's not lying. It's managing expectations. Lando's job is to drive fast and look good in photos. Your job is to make sure he can do both without accidentally destroying his entire career." You look at her. "Can you do that?"
She straightens up. "Yes."
"Good." You're explaining the intricacies of Lando's travel preferences—aisle seat but only on long-haul flights, hates flying commercial but won't admit it's because he's claustrophobic, needs noise-canceling headphones or he gets migraines—when the door opens.
You don't have to look up to know it's him. You can feel it, the way the air in the room shifts, the way Emma's posture goes rigid. "Morning," Lando says, and his voice is casual, easy, like this is completely normal. Like he didn't show up at your apartment four days ago asking you to do exactly this.
You look up. He's in McLaren team gear, black joggers and a papaya polo, his hair still damp from a shower. He looks good. He always looks good. You hate that you still notice. "We're in the middle of something," you say.
"I know. Just wanted to check in. See how it's going." He leans against the doorframe, arms crossed, and his eyes are on you. Just on you. Not on Emma, not on the conference room, just you. "How's she doing?"
"She's sitting right here," Emma says, and there's a tiny bit of spine in it that makes you like her more.
"Right. Sorry." But he doesn't look at Emma. Still looking at you. "How's she doing?"
"Fine. We're going through travel protocols."
"Riveting." He pushes off the doorframe, walks into the room like he owns it. Which, technically, he does. He owns this whole building, or at least McLaren does and he's their golden boy so it's basically the same thing. He stops at the head of the table, one hand braced on the back of a chair. "Mind if I sit in?"
"Yes," you say, at the same time Emma says "No, of course not."
Lando smiles. That smile. "Majority rules." He sits down across from you. Emma looks between you like she's watching a tennis match and can't figure out who's winning.
"Continue," Lando says, gesturing at you like a professor encouraging a student. "Don't let me interrupt."
"You're already interrupting."
"Am I?" He leans back in his chair, arms behind his head. "I'm just sitting here. Very quietly. Being super helpful."
You want to throw your tablet at his head. "Emma, where were we?"
"Um." Emma's looking at her notes but you can see her hands are shaking slightly. "Travel preferences?"
"Right. So Lando needs—"
"I need a lot of things," Lando interrupts. "Very high maintenance. Must be exhausting to keep track of."
You ignore him. "Lando needs at least seven hours of sleep before a race. Which means you're coordinating with his trainer and his PR team to make sure he's not scheduled for anything after nine PM on Saturday nights."
"Unless it's important," Lando adds.
"Nothing is more important than you not crashing the car because you're tired."
"I would never crash because I'm tired. I'd crash because someone else did something stupid."
"Abu Dhabi 2023."
He sits up straighter. "That was different."
"You were exhausted. You'd done press until eleven the night before and you missed the apex on lap forty-three because you were too tired to focus."
"I missed the apex because Ocon was being a dick."
"Lando." You level him with a look. "Are you going to let me train Emma or are you going to argue with me about things that happened two years ago?" Something flickers across his face. Something that might be hurt or might be anger or might be something else entirely. "Fine. Continue."
You continue. Emma asks about race weekend protocols. You explain the specific way Lando likes his debriefs, bullet points, not paragraphs, because he won't read paragraphs. The way he gets quiet before qualifying, needs space, don't try to cheer him up or pump him up just let him be.
"He's a headphone person," you explain. "If he's wearing them, don't bother him unless the building is on fire."
"What if it's actually important?" Emma asks.
"Then text me first— sorry, text whoever his performance coach is and they'll handle it."
"You mean text you," Lando says quietly.
You don't look at him. "Text whoever is listed as his primary contact."
"That's you."
"I'm not his primary contact anymore."
"Yes, you are." He says it with complete certainty. "Never changed it. It's still you."
The room goes very quiet. Emma is looking at her tablet very intently, like she's trying to disappear into it. "We should take a break," you say, standing up. "Emma, fifteen minutes?"
"Yeah. Yes. Absolutely." She practically bolts from the room.
You start gathering your things. Lando stays seated. "You're still my primary contact," he says again.
"Change it."
"Why?"
"Because I don't work for you anymore."
"You're working for me right now."
"I'm consulting. It's temporary."
"Right." He stands up, walks around the table. He's too close now, close enough that you can smell his cologne and your head spins. "Two weeks."
"That's what we agreed."
"Then what?"
"Then I go back to my life and you figure out how to not destroy Emma's will to live."
"C'monnnn, I'm not that bad." You finally look at him. Really look at him. There's a small scar on his left eyebrow that wasn't there before—probably from a crash you didn't see, didn't hear about, weren't there for. He's broader in the shoulders. More defined. Like he's been training harder, pushing himself harder.
"You called her useless," you say quietly. "Emma. You told me she was useless."
"I said she wasn't you."
"Same thing."
"It's really not." He takes another step closer. "You were terrifying. Efficient and cold and you knew exactly what I needed before I needed it. Emma's trying but she's not—"
"She's twenty-three years old and you make her cry."
"I don't make her cry."
"You make her feel like she's failing even when she's doing everything right. That's worse than making her cry."
His jaw tightens. "That's not what I'm doing."
"Isn't it?" You cross your arms. "She accidentally booked you to Barcelona instead of Budapest and you looked at her like she'd killed your dog."
"It was a stupid mistake."
"It was an honest mistake. A mistake I made three times in my first six months working for you and you just laughed and fixed it."
"That was different."
"Why? Because you were fucking me?"
The words hang in the air between you. Lando's expression shutters closed, that thing he does when he doesn't want you to know what he's thinking. "That's not fair," he says finally.
"Nothing about this is fair." You grab your tablet. "I need air."
"Wait—" But you're already leaving, walking out of Conference Room B, past Emma who's hovering in the hallway pretending to look at her phone, toward the elevator. You hit the button. Wait. The doors open.
Lando catches them before they close.
"Move," you say.
"No."
"Lando, I swear to fucking god."
He steps into the elevator. The doors close behind him. It's just the two of you in this small space, and he's looking at you with an intensity that makes your stomach flip. "You're right," he says.
"About what?"
"About Emma. About me being too hard on her." The elevator starts moving down. "I don't mean to. I just—"
"You're comparing her to me."
"Yeah."
"Then stop."
"I can't." His voice is quiet now, raw. "You set an impossible standard and now everyone else just feels wrong."
"That's not my problem."
"Isn't it?" He moves closer. "You're here, aren't you? Training her. Which means some part of you still cares."
"I care about her. Not about you."
"Liar." The elevator dings. Ground floor. The doors open to the lobby and you walk out without looking back. You can feel him following you, his presence like a heat at your back. Outside, the Monaco sun is aggressive and bright. You walk toward the parking lot, no destination in mind, just moving because if you stop moving you might do something stupid like turn around.
"Where are you going?" Lando calls after you.
"Away from you."
"Your car's the other direction." You stop and turn around. He's standing there in the middle of the parking lot, hands in his pockets, looking at you like this is all some game and he's already won.
"What do you want from me?" you ask.
"I want," he stops. Runs a hand through his hair. "I don't know."
"Yes, you do."
"Fine. I want you to stop looking at me like I'm the villain in your story."
"Then stop acting like one."
"I fired you because," He stops again, and this time he looks genuinely frustrated, like the words won't come. "It was getting complicated."
"You said you loved me and then you fired me. That's not complicated. That's just fucking cruel, Lando."
"It wasn't— I wasn't trying to be cruel."
"Then what were you trying to be?" He doesn't answer. Just stands there in the parking lot while people walk past, employees and engineers and team members who definitely recognize both of you and are definitely going to talk about this later.
"Two weeks," you say finally. "I'm going to train Emma for two weeks and then I'm done. I don't want to have this conversation again. I don't want to analyze what happened in Qatar. I don't want closure or explanations or whatever it is you think you need to give me."
"What if I want those things?"
"Then you should've thought about that eighteen months ago." You walk back to the building, back to Conference Room B where Emma is probably still trying to make herself invisible. Lando doesn't follow you this time.
When you get back upstairs, Emma looks up nervously. "Everything okay?"
"Fine," you lie. "Let's talk about how to handle media obligations." You make it through the rest of the morning. Make it through lunch—salads in the cafeteria, Emma chattering nervously about her girlfriend and her apartment in Nice and how she got this job. Make it through the afternoon session on crisis management.
At 4:47 PM, your phone buzzes.
You stare at the messages. Emma is explaining something about how she organized his sponsor contacts but you're not listening anymore. "I need to take care of something," you tell her. "Can you review the crisis management protocols we just covered? I'll quiz you when I get back."
"Yeah, of course." She's already pulling up the documents, eager and focused.
You take the elevator to the fourth floor. Lando's office is at the end of the hall, corner office with windows overlooking the harbor. The door is half-open. You knock anyway.
"Come in," he says. His office is exactly how you remember it. Sleek brown desk, nice chair, shelves lined with trophies and helmets and racing memorabilia. There's a new addition—a photo from Abu Dhabi, him holding the championship trophy, surrounded by his team. You're not in it. Obviously.
Lando is standing by the window, back to you, still in his team gear. "Close the door," he says without turning around.
You close the door. Stay by it. Keep your hand on the handle. "What."
"I owe you an explanation." He turns around finally. His face is serious, none of that cocky confidence from this morning. "About Qatar."
"I don't want a fucking explanation."
"I know you don't want to hear it. I'm telling you anyway." He leans back against the window ledge. "I fired you because I was in love with you and I didn't know what the fuck to do about it."
You stare at him. At Lando Norris standing in his corner office with the nice windows and a championship trophy on his shelf, telling you he fired you because he loved you like that makes any fucking sense at all.
"No," you say.
"No?"
"No. You don't get to do this." You take a step forward, then another, until you're in the middle of his office and your hands are clenched into fists at your sides. "You don't get to rewrite this to make yourself feel better."
"I'm not rewriting anything. I'm telling you what happened."
"What happened is you fucked me and then you panicked and then you got rid of me. Don't dress it up as some grand romantic gesture."
"It wasn't—" He pushes off from the window, agitated now. "I wasn't trying to get rid of you. I was trying to protect you."
"From what?"
"From me. From this." He gestures around the office, at the trophies, at everything. "From being the person everyone whispers about. 'Oh, she's only here because she's sleeping with Lando Norris.' From having everything you accomplished reduced to who you were fucking."
You laugh. It comes out sharp and bitter. "How noble of you. Firing me to protect my reputation."
"It wasn't just about reputation."
"Then what was it about, Lando? Because from where I'm standing, it looks like you got scared. You said something you didn't mean in the heat of the moment and then you couldn't take it back so you just removed the problem entirely."
"I meant it." He takes a step closer. "I meant every fucking word."
"Then why—"
"Because I couldn't keep you and race at the same time!" His voice rises, echoing off the glass walls. "Because every time I got in the car I was thinking about you instead of the track. Because in Suzuka I nearly crashed in turn seven because I was wondering if you were watching. Because I was so gone for you that it was making me dangerous."
You open your mouth. Close it and try to find words that make sense. "You don't get to blame me for your driving," you say finally.
"I'm not blaming you. I'm explaining."
"You're making excuses."
"Jesus Christ." He runs both hands through his hair, messing it up completely. "Why are you being so difficult about this?"
"Difficult?" Your voice is rising now too. "You fired me, Lando. You looked me in the eye and told me I was done and then you disappeared from my life for months. You moved on for fucks sake! You found someone else. You won a fucking championship. And now you want me to what? Thank you for protecting me?"
"No, I want you to understand!"
"I understand perfectly. You wanted me gone so you could focus on your career. Mission accomplished. You got everything you wanted. Congratu-fucking-lations!"
"Everything except you."
The words hit you like a physical blow and you take a step back. Lando closes the distance. He's too close now, close enough that you can see the flecks of gold in his blue-green eyes, close enough that you're breathing the same air.
"You think I moved on?" His voice is lower now, dangerous. "You think I just forgot about you?"
"You're with Magui—"
"Magui is—" He stops. His jaw works. "Magui is uncomplicated. Easy. She doesn't make me feel like I'm losing my fucking mind."
"How nice for you both."
"You're not listening to what I'm saying."
"I'm listening. I just don't believe you."
"Why not?"
"Because if you actually loved me, you would've fought for it. You would've figured it out. You wouldn't have just thrown me away like I was—like I was disposable."
"You were never disposable." His hands come up like he's going to touch you, then drop. "You were the opposite. You were so important it fucking terrified me."
"Past tense."
"What?"
"Were. You keep saying were." You're shaking now, with anger or something else you refuse to name. "Past tense, Lando. Because whatever you felt, it's over now. You made sure of that."
"Is it?" He moves even closer, so close now that his chest is almost touching yours. "Because you came to my hotel room. You agreed to train Emma. You're standing in my office right now when you could've said no to all of it."
"I came because you manipulated me—"
"I asked. You chose."
"Fuck you."
"Yeah?" His voice drops even lower, rough and intimate and infuriating. "Is that what you want?"
Your breath catches. "Don't."
"Don't what? Don't point out that you're still here? That you haven't left even though you could? That you're looking at me right now like you want to hit me or kiss me and you can't decide which?"
"I want to hit you."
"Liar." He reaches up slowly, giving you time to move away. You don't. His fingers brush your jaw, the same way they did in that hotel room in Qatar, and your traitorous body remembers. Remembers everything. "You're still the worst liar I've ever met."
"And you're still an asshole."
"Yeah." His thumb traces along your bottom lip. "But you liked that about me."
"Past tense."
"Sure." He's smiling now, that devastating smile that means he thinks he's winning. "Keep telling yourself that."
You should leave. Should push him away, walk out of this office, text Emma that she's on her own, block Lando's number, and get on the first flight to literally anywhere else. You don't leave. "You're with someone else," you say, but your voice comes out breathy, unconvincing.
"Am I?"
"Magui—"
"Isn't here." His other hand comes up to cup your face, tilting it up toward him. "Hasn't been here. Not in any way that matters."
"That's not—you can't just—"
"I know." His forehead drops to yours. "I know it's fucked up. I know I have no right to any of this. I know I'm the villain in your story and I probably deserve it. But I can't," His voice cracks slightly. "I can't keep pretending I don't still feel it. Can't keep watching you in that conference room teaching Emma things you used to do for me and act like it doesn't make me want to flip the fucking table."
"Lando."
"Tell me you don't feel it too." His eyes search yours. "Tell me Qatar meant nothing. Tell me you don't think about it. Tell me you're over it and I'll back off. I'll let you train Emma and I'll stay away and I'll never bring this up again."
It would be so easy to lie. To say the words he's asking for and walk out and go back to your empty apartment and your pottery classes and your carefully constructed life without him. "I can't," you whisper.
"Can't what?"
"Can't tell you that."
His grip on your face tightens. "Why not?"
"Because it's not true." The admission feels like it's being torn out of you. "I think about it every day. I think about you every day. And I hate it. I hate that you still have this much power over me. I hate that you fired me and moved on and I'm still—I'm still stuck in that hotel room in Qatar waiting for you to explain why you ruined everything."
"I'm explaining now."
"It's too late."
"Is it?" He's so close now his lips are almost touching yours. "Tell me it's too late. Mean it. Make me believe it."
"Lando, don't."
"Don't what? Don't tell you I haven't stopped thinking about you? Don't admit that Magui was supposed to help me move on and it didn't work? Don't say that I've been keeping track of every pottery class and yoga session and book club meeting because I couldn't stop myself?"
"That's creepy."
"I know." He laughs, but it sounds broken. "I know it is. I know I'm fucked up about this. About you. But I can't."
You kiss him before you can talk yourself out of it. It's not soft. It's not sweet. It's eighteen months of anger and hurt and want colliding all at once. Your hands fist in his shirt, pulling him closer, and he makes a sound low in his throat that you remember, that you've heard in dreams and hated yourself for missing. His hands slide from your face to your hair, tilting your head to deepen the kiss, and it's exactly like Qatar and nothing like Qatar at all. In Qatar, it was desperate and finite, both of you knowing it was ending even as it was happening. This feels different. More dangerous.
This feels like a beginning. He walks you backward until your back hits his desk, and his hands are on your waist, lifting you onto it like you weigh nothing. Your legs wrap around him automatically, muscle memory from all those times before, and he's between your thighs and you're both breathing hard. "Fuck," he mutters against your mouth. "Fuck, I missed this."
"Shut up." You pull him back in, kissing him harder, meaner, putting all your anger into it. He takes it, gives it back, his teeth catching your bottom lip hard enough to sting.
His hands slide under your sweater, palms hot against your ribs, and you arch into the touch. You've been so cold for eighteen months and now you're burning up. "We can't," you gasp when he moves to your neck, biting down on that spot below your ear that makes you see stars. "Lando, we can't."
"Why not?" His voice is muffled against your skin, and his hands are still moving, thumbs brushing the underside of your breasts through your bra.
"Because—because Emma is downstairs, because this is your office, because you have a girlfriend."
"I'll break up with her." He says it so casually, like it's already decided. "I'll call her right now."
"Don't be stupid."
"I'm not being stupid. I'm being honest." He pulls back to look at you, and his eyes are dark, pupils blown wide. "I don't want her. I want you. I've always wanted you."
"You fired me."
"Worst decision I've ever made." His hands frame your face again, forcing you to look at him. "And I've made a lot of bad decisions, so that's saying something."
You want to laugh. Want to cry. Want to pull him back in and forget everything that happened between Qatar and now. "This is insane," you say.
"Probably."
"We'll ruin everything. Again."
"Maybe." His thumb brushes across your cheekbone. "Or maybe we'll figure it out this time."
"You don't know that."
"No." He leans in, presses a soft kiss to your forehead, then your nose, then the corner of your mouth. "But I'm willing to risk it if you are."
Your phone buzzes in your pocket. You both freeze. "Don't," Lando says.
"It might be Emma—"
"It can wait." But the spell is broken. Reality is seeping back in through the cracks—the fact that you're sitting on his desk with your sweater rucked up and your lipstick definitely smeared. The fact that Emma is downstairs waiting for you. The fact that Magui exists, whether Lando wants to acknowledge it or not. You slide off the desk, putting distance between you. Your hands are shaking as you pull your sweater back down, try to smooth your hair.
"This was a mistake," you say.
"Don't do that."
"Do what?"
"Pretend it didn't mean anything. You're shit at it." He's watching you with an intensity that makes your skin prickle. "Always have been."
"It meant something in Qatar too. Look how that turned out."
"This is different."
"Is it?" You find your tablet where you dropped it on the floor, clutch it to your chest like Emma did this morning. "Or are you going to fire me again in two weeks when you remember why this is a bad idea?"
"That's not going to happen."
"You don't know that."
"I do, actually." He takes a step toward you. You take a step back. His jaw tightens. "Don't run."
"I'm not running. I'm leaving. There's a difference."
"Is there?" You open the door. Emma is definitely going to know something happened—your face is probably flushed, your lips probably swollen. But you can't stay here. Can't keep looking at him without wanting to touch him again. "Two weeks," you say without turning around. "I'm training Emma for two weeks. That's all this is."
"If that's what you need to tell yourself."
You walk out. Down the hallway, into the elevator, down to the third floor. Emma looks up when you walk in, takes one look at your face, and wisely says nothing. "Sorry," you manage. "That took longer than expected."
"It's fine." She's studying you though, those wide brown eyes taking in everything. "Everything okay?"
"Fine. Let's go over crisis management one more time." You make it through the rest of the day. Make it through Emma's questions and the review session and the walk to your car. Make it all the way home before you finally let yourself fall apart. Your apartment is exactly as empty as you left it. Clean and sad and full of the ghost of pottery classes and yoga sessions you quit.
Your phone buzzes and you brace yourself.
You throw your phone onto the couch. Pour yourself a glass of wine you don't drink. Stand in your living room and touch your lips where they're still tender from his teeth. This is going to end badly. You can see the car crash coming from a mile away and you're walking toward it anyway. Monday down. Thirteen days to go, and you are so undeniably fucked.
Tuesday passes in a blur of Emma and schedules and carefully avoiding the fourth floor. You arrive at 8:45 AM, earlier than necessary, because if you're early then you're in control. Emma is already there—of course she is, eager puppy that she is—with coffee for both of you and questions written neatly in her notebook.
"I was thinking about what you said yesterday," she starts, and you're grateful she doesn't mention the fact that you came back from Lando's office looking like you'd been thoroughly kissed. "About anticipating his needs before he asks?"
"Yeah?"
"How do you do that? Like, how do you know what he's going to want before he knows?" You think about all the times you just knew. Knew he needed silence before quali. Knew he needed distraction after a bad race. Knew he was spiraling before he even realized it himself. "You pay attention," you say finally. "To patterns. To mood shifts. To the things he doesn't say."
"That sounds exhausting."
"It is."
You spend the morning going through his sponsorship portfolio. Emma takes notes on everything—which sponsors require more hand-holding, which ones Lando actually likes, which ones are just obligatory. "Tag Heuer," she says, reading from her tablet. "You mentioned Marcus yesterday. What's the deal there?"
"Marcus is—" You stop, because Lando's walking past the conference room. You can see him through the glass wall, talking to someone from engineering. He doesn't look at you. Doesn't even glance in your direction.
Good. That's good. "Marcus is old-school corporate," you continue, dragging your attention back to Emma. "Thinks racing should be serious and professional. Doesn't understand that half of Lando's appeal is that he's not those things."
"So Lando hates him."
"Lando tolerates him because Tag Heuer pays extremely well."
Emma makes a note. "Got it. Tolerate with expensive gifts."
"Exactly."
Lando walks past again twenty minutes later. Still doesn't look. Wednesday is worse because Lando isn't there at all. "He had to fly to London," Emma explains when you arrive at 9 AM to an empty building. "McLaren board meeting. Won't be back until late."
"Oh." You hate the disappointment that floods through you. Hate that some part of you was expecting him to show up, to push, to do something. "Okay. Good. We can focus without distractions."
Emma gives you a look that suggests she's not as oblivious as you thought. You spend Wednesday going through worst-case scenarios. PR disasters, contract disputes, the time Lando accidentally liked a tweet criticizing the team principal and you had to do damage control for six hours straight.
"The key," you tell Emma, "is to fix it before it becomes a story. Lando's going to fuck up. That's not the question. The question is whether you can contain it before it explodes."
"That's kind of dark."
"Welcome to Formula 1." Your phone stays silent all day. No texts from Lando. No calls. Nothing. Which is fine. Which is what you wanted. You definitely don't check it seventeen times. Wednesday evening you're back in your apartment, staring at your laptop without seeing it, when Charlotte, your close friend finally calls.
"You're avoiding me," she says without preamble.
"I'm not avoiding you. I'm busy."
"Busy doing what? I thought you were living your best unemployed life."
"I'm consulting."
There's a pause. "Consulting for who?"
"It's temporary."
"Babe. Consulting for who?"
You close your eyes. "Lando."
Charlotte makes a noise that's somewhere between a laugh and a groan. "You're kidding."
"I'm training his new assistant. Two weeks. That's it."
"Two weeks of seeing your ex-boss who you were definitely in love with and who fired you after fucking you? That Lando?"
"I wasn't in love with him."
"You counted ceiling tiles for four months after he fired you."
"That's not—that's different."
"Babe." Charlotte's voice goes soft. "What are you doing?"
"I'm helping someone who needs help. Emma's sweet and she's trying and Lando's going to destroy her confidence if someone doesn't teach her how to handle him."
"Very altruistic."
"It is altruistic."
"So nothing's happened?" You think about Monday. About his office and his hands and the way he kissed you like he was drowning.
"Nothing's happened," you lie.
"You're such a bad liar." But Charlotte doesn't push. "Just be careful, okay? I don't want to watch you fall apart again."
"I'm not going to fall apart."
"Promise me."
"I promise." You hang up and immediately check your phone. Still nothing from Lando, which is good. Which is what you need. Right? Right? You make it to 11 PM before you break and text him.
You stare at that last message for longer than you should. Beautiful. He used to call you that, in hotel rooms and early mornings and moments when he thought you weren't paying attention. You plug your phone in across the room so you won't be tempted to respond. It doesn't help. You lie awake until 2 AM thinking about his hands and his mouth and the way he said I'll break up with her like it was simple.
Thursday morning Emma is vibrating with excitement when you arrive. "Okay so I have a question about the simulator sessions," she says before you've even sat down. "How often does he do them and do I need to coordinate with the engineers or does that happen automatically and—"
"Emma. Breathe."
"Right. Sorry. I'm just," She pauses. "He texted me last night."
Your stomach drops. "Lando texted you?"
"Yeah. Just to say I'm doing a good job and he appreciates me being patient while I learn." She's beaming. "That was nice, right? That he took the time to do that?"
"Very nice." Your voice sounds strange even to your own ears.
"He's not as scary as I thought he'd be. I mean, he's still intense, but you can tell he cares about getting things right."
You think about Monday, about the way he looked at you in his office, the way his voice cracked when he said I can't keep pretending. "Yeah," you manage. "He cares about getting things right."
You're midway through explaining the intricacies of coordinating with his performance coach when the door opens. Lando walks in with two coffees and that fucking smile. "Morning," he says, like this is casual, like he didn't disappear for two days. He sets one coffee in front of Emma. "Vanilla latte, right?"
Emma lights up. "You remembered!"
"Course." Then he turns to you and sets the second coffee down. "Oat milk cappuccino. Extra shot."
You stare at the cup. It's from the specific café three blocks away that you used to make him stop at every morning when you worked for him. The one with the good oat milk, not the shit oat milk. "I didn't ask for this," you say.
"I know." He sits down at the table, directly across from you. "But it's 9:30 AM and you've been here since 8:45 and you haven't had your second coffee yet. You get mean after 9:15 if you don't have caffeine."
"I'm not mean," you say.
"You're terrifying." But he says it like it's a compliment. "So. What are we covering today?"
"We?"
"I'm sitting in again. Making sure Emma's getting the full picture." He leans back in his chair, arms crossed. He's in team gear again—black joggers, papaya polo. His hair is messy like he didn't bother styling it. "That okay?"
"Do I have a choice?"
"Not really."
You want to throw the coffee at him. You take a sip instead. It's perfect. Exactly how you like it. The bastard remembers everything. "Fine. We're covering travel coordination. Emma, pull up Lando's schedule for Japan."
The next hour is torture. Lando sits there asking questions, making comments, watching you explain things to Emma with an intensity that makes your skin prickle. Every time you look at him he's already looking at you. "So when we're coordinating flights," you say, pulling up a calendar, "you need to account for jet lag. Lando needs at least two days in-country before a race weekend if it's long-haul."
"What if there's not two days?" Emma asks.
"Then you make it work. But he'll be pissy about it."
"I don't get pissy," Lando interjects.
You level him with a look. "Singapore 2024. You had one day in-country and you snapped at everyone for three days straight."
"That was different."
"How?"
"I had food poisoning."
"You were jet-lagged."
"I was dyyyyying."
"You had a very mild stomachache." Emma is trying very hard not to laugh. Lando is glaring at you, but there's something else in his expression. Something that looks almost like fondness.
"Anyway," you continue, turning back to Emma. "Two days minimum. Schedule accordingly."
At 11 AM, Lando's phone rings. He glances at the screen and his expression shutters. You make it through another twenty minutes before Lando comes back. His expression is carefully neutral, but you can see the tension in his jaw.
"All good?" Emma asks brightly.
"Fine." He sits back down. "Where were we?"
"Simulator sessions," you say. "Emma needs to know how to coordinate."
"Actually," Lando interrupts, "I need to talk to you about something. Work thing. Won't take long."
Emma looks between you. "I can step out—"
"No need." Lando is already standing. "Conference room down the hall. Five minutes."
He walks out. You have no choice but to follow. The conference room is smaller than the one you've been using, no windows, just a table and six chairs and fluorescent lighting that makes everything look slightly sickly. Lando closes the door behind you.
"What's the work thing?" you ask.
"There is no work thing."
"Then why—"
"I needed to see you alone." He's standing too close again, crowding into your space. "Needed to know if Monday was real or if I imagined the whole thing."
"Lando—"
"Did you think about it?" His voice is low, urgent. "The past two days. Did you think about it?"
"That's not, we can't do this here."
"I texted Emma. Told her she's doing a good job. Did she tell you?"
"Yes."
"I did it so you wouldn't think I was only here for you. So you wouldn't accuse me of using this as an excuse." He takes another step closer. "But I am here for you. I'm always here for you."
"You were in London."
"McLaren board meeting. Had to present the championship review. Couldn't get out of it." His hand comes up to your face but doesn't quite touch. "Thought about you the entire time. Especially during the part where they asked about my personal life."
Your breath catches. "What did you say?"
"Said it was complicated." His thumb brushes your cheekbone, so light you might be imagining it. "Said I was working on fixing something I broke."
"Did they ask about Magui?"
Something flickers across his face. "Yeah."
"And?"
"And I told them we were taking a break."
The world tilts. "You what?"
"Called her last night. Told her I needed space to figure some things out." His eyes search yours. "She was surprisingly understanding about it."
"Lando, you can't just do this."
"Can't what? Can't be honest? Can't admit that I've been in a relationship with someone I don't love because I was too fucked up over you to be alone?"
"That's not fair to her."
"I know. Which is why I ended it." His hand is fully cupping your face now. "I'm not doing this halfway. I'm not sneaking around or lying. If we're doing this, I'm all in."
"We're not doing anything—"
"Liar." He's so close now you can count his eyelashes. "You're still the worst liar I've ever met."
"You're being crazy."
"Probably." His lips brush against yours, barely a kiss, more a promise. "But I'm done pretending I don't want this. Want you."
You should push him away. Should remind him that Emma is down the hall, that this is insane, that he broke your heart eighteen months ago and you're not giving him the chance to do it again. You kiss him instead. It's different from Monday. Slower, deeper, less angry and more inevitable. Like you're both finally admitting something you've been avoiding. His hands slide into your hair and you press closer, your back hitting the wall, and he makes that sound again, the one that's half-groan and half-surrender.
"We have to stop," you gasp against his mouth.
"Why?"
"Because Emma is waiting. Because we're in an office building. Because—"
"Because you're scared."
"I'm not scared."
"You're terrified." His forehead rests against yours. "But that's okay. So am I."
"Then why are you pushing this?"
"Because eighteen months without you was worse than being scared." His eyes meet yours. "Because I'd rather risk everything than spend another year and a half counting how long it's been since I touched you." You're saved from responding by your phone buzzing in your pocket. You pull it out, grateful for the interruption.
"Shit." You step back, putting distance between you. "We need to go back."
"In a second." He catches your hand. "Tonight. Come over."
"Lando."
"Not to my place. Neutral ground. There's that restaurant you like on Avenue Princess Grace. The one with the good risotto."
"I know the one."
"Seven PM. Just dinner. Just talking."
"And if I say no?"
"Then I'll respect it." His thumb traces circles on your palm. "But you won't say no."
"You're very sure of yourself."
"I'm sure of you." He lifts your hand to his lips, presses a kiss to your knuckles. "Seven PM."
He leaves before you can argue. You stand there in the conference room, heart racing, lips tingling, completely and utterly fucked. When you get back to the main conference room, Emma takes one look at your face and mercifully says nothing. You make it through the rest of the day. Make it through explaining simulator protocols and race weekend logistics and all the things Emma needs to know.
Lando doesn't come back. At 6 PM, Emma starts packing up. "Same time tomorrow?"
"Yeah. Tomorrow's our last day of basics, then we'll start shadowing some actual events."
"Sounds good." She hesitates. "Can I ask you something?"
"Sure."
"You and Lando. You have history, right?"
You should lie. Should definitely keep it professional. "Yeah," you say instead. "We have history."
"I figured." Emma adjusts her bag. "For what it's worth, I think he's different around you. Lighter. Like he can actually breathe."
She leaves before you can respond. You sit in the empty conference room staring at your phone. At the time. 6:03 PM. You could go home. Pour wine. Pretend tonight isn't happening. Instead, at 6:47 PM, you're standing outside La Maison du Caviar in a black dress you haven't worn in two years, watching Lando get out of his car.
He's in dark jeans and a white button-down, no tie, sleeves rolled up. He looks unfairly good. "You came," he says, and he sounds surprised.
"Don't gloat."
"Wouldn't dream of it." He offers his arm. "Shall we?" Day three. Tension officially at breaking point. This is going to end in flames.
"Wine?" Lando asks once you're seated.
"I can order my own wine."
"I know you can. I'm asking if you want wine."
You do. You desperately do. "Red."
He orders a bottle of something French and expensive without looking at the menu. The sommelier practically bows before walking away. "So," Lando says, leaning back in his chair. "How am I doing?"
"At what?"
"At this. Dinner. Normal human interaction."
"It's been five minutes."
"And?"
"And you're doing fine. Very restrained."
He smiles. That dangerous smile that means trouble. "Just wait."
The wine arrives. It's good. Too good. The kind of good that makes you forget you're supposed to be maintaining boundaries. "Emma's doing well," you say, because work is safe. Work is neutral territory.
"She is. Thanks to you."
"She's a fast learner. She actually listens."
"Unlike me?"
"You listen. You just choose to ignore half of what people tell you."
"Not true. I listened when you told me I needed to be nicer to Emma."
"You texted her once."
"And I brought her coffee this morning. And I'm letting her leave at reasonable hours instead of texting her at midnight about random shit." He takes a sip of wine. "See? Growth."
"Impressive. Want a gold star?"
"I want you to admit I'm trying."
"You're trying," you concede. "Doesn't mean it's working."
"Ouch." The waiter comes to take your order. You get the risotto because Lando was right, it is good here. He gets something with fish that you know he'll eat half of before getting distracted. Once the waiter leaves, Lando leans forward. "So. Eighteen months."
"We're not doing this."
"Doing what?"
"The post-mortem. The 'where did we go wrong' conversation."
"Why not?"
"Because I already know where we went wrong. You fired me."
"Before that. You're skipping the part where we were in love."
Your grip tightens on your wine glass. "We weren't in love."
"I was."
"Don't."
"Don't what? Don't tell you the truth?" He stops, frustrated. "Why are you being so difficult about this?"
"Difficult?" Your voice rises slightly. An older couple two tables over glances your way. You lower it. "You think I'm being difficult?"
"I think you're refusing to have an actual conversation because you're scared of what might happen if you do."
"I'm not scared of anything."
"Bullshit. You're terrified. You've been terrified since Monday when I kissed you and you kissed me back and realized that maybe you're not as over this as you want to be."
"You're so fucking arrogant."
"And you're deflecting."
"I'm being realistic. You broke my heart, Lando. You don't get to just decide we're doing this again because you're bored of your girlfriend."
His jaw tightens. "That's not what this is."
"Then what is it?"
"It's me finally having the balls to fix the worst mistake I ever made."
"By taking me to dinner? By kissing me in conference rooms? That's your plan?"
"My plan is to show you that I'm serious. That this isn't just—" He gestures vaguely. "—nostalgia or whatever you think it is."
"It's been two days."
"It's been eighteen months. Two days is just how long it took me to get you in the same room as me." He refills your wine glass even though you haven't asked. "And before you say it—yes, I know I'm the one who caused those eighteen months. I know I fucked up. I know I hurt you. But I'm here now and I'm trying and you won't even give me a chance to explain. I've had eighteen months to figure out exactly how miserable I am without you." His voice drops. "Because I've tried to move on and I can't. Because every time I get in that fucking car I still think about you in Qatar watching me in FP2 and smiling like you were proud of me."
Your chest aches. "Don't."
"Don't what?"
"Don't say things like that."
"Why not? It's true."
"Because it's not fair." You set your wine glass down too hard. "You don't get to fire me and disappear and show up eighteen months later with pretty words and expect me to just—"
"Just what?"
"Just forget. Just forgive. Just let you back in like you didn't completely destroy me."
The silence that follows is sharp enough to cut. "I know," Lando says finally, quietly. "I know I destroyed you. You think I don't know that? You think I didn't see what I did to you?"
"Clearly not, since you still did it."
"I did it because I was fucking terrified. Because I'd never felt that way about anyone and it was making me insane. Because every time I looked at you I wanted things I didn't know how to want." His hands are clenched on the table. "And I know that's not an excuse. I know it doesn't make it better. But I'm trying to explain—"
"I don't want an explanation. I want you to leave me alone."
"Liar."
"Stop calling me that."
"Then stop lying." He leans forward. "You want me to leave you alone? Fine. Tell me Monday meant nothing. Tell me you felt nothing when I kissed you. Tell me you're not sitting here right now wishing we were anywhere else so you could do it again."
"You're delusional."
"Am I? Because your pupils are dilated and your breathing is uneven and you've been staring at my mouth for the past thirty seconds." Fuck. He's right. You have been.
"That's—I'm not—"
"You're a terrible liar," he says again, and there's something almost gentle in it now. "Always have been. It's one of my favorite things about you."
"I need to use the bathroom." You stand up before he can respond. Navigate through the restaurant on unsteady legs—from the wine or from him, you're not sure. The bathroom is in the back, single-stall, the kind with a heavy wooden door and a lock that actually works.
You close yourself inside and immediately brace your hands on the sink. Your reflection looks back at you—flushed cheeks, bright eyes, lips slightly parted. You look like someone who's losing an argument. Worse, you look like someone who wants to lose. Deep breath. You can do this. You can go back out there, finish dinner like a professional, go home, and forget this ever—
The door opens and Lando steps inside and locks it behind him. "What are you doing?" Your voice comes out breathy, unconvincing.
"What do you think I'm doing?" He's crossing the space between you in two strides, and then his hands are on your waist and he's lifting you onto the sink.
"Someone could—"
"Let them." His mouth finds your neck, that spot below your ear that makes you gasp. "I'm done pretending. Done watching you try to convince yourself you don't want this."
"Lando."
"Tell me to stop." His hands slide up your thighs, pushing your dress higher. "Tell me you don't want this and I'll walk out right now. I'll finish dinner, take you home, never bring it up again."
You should. You should absolutely tell him to stop. "I hate you," you say instead.
"I know." His mouth moves to yours, kissing you hard enough to bruise. "Hate me louder."
Your hands fist in his shirt, pulling him closer even as you're trying to push him away. It's all contradiction—your mouth saying one thing while your body says another, and he can read every single signal.
"This is insane," you gasp when he bites down on your lower lip.
"Probably." His hands are everywhere now—in your hair, on your waist, sliding up your ribs. "Don't care."
"We're in a restaurant bathroom."
"I know." He pulls back just enough to look at you, and his eyes are dark, dangerous. "You want me to stop?"
"Yes."
"Liar." His hand slides higher, fingers tracing the edge of your underwear. "Try again."
"I—fuck—" Your head drops back against the mirror as his fingers slip beneath the fabric, teasing. "This doesn't change anything."
"Doesn't it?" He's watching your face, cataloging every reaction. "Because you're shaking. And your breathing's gone all uneven. And you're so wet I can feel it through your underwear."
"That's not—" You gasp as he presses exactly where you need him. "—not fair."
"Nothing about this is fair." His mouth is on your neck again, biting, sucking, definitely leaving marks. "Been thinking about this for eighteen months. Eighteen months of wondering if you tasted the same, if you'd make those same sounds, if you'd still fall apart the same way."
His fingers slide inside you and you bite your lip to keep from making noise. "Don't." He uses his free hand to pull your lip from between your teeth. "Want to hear you. Want everyone in this fucking restaurant to know what I'm doing to you."
"You're insane."
"And you love it." He adds another finger, curling them just right, and your hips buck against his hand. "There she is. There's my girl."
"Not your girl."
"No?" He slows his movements, teasing. "Then whose girl are you?"
"I'm not—I don't belong to—fuck, don't stop—"
"Say it." His thumb finds your clit and you actually whimper. "Say you're mine."
"Go to hell."
He laughs, and it's dark and possessive and makes you clench around his fingers. "We're already there, beautiful. Might as well enjoy it." He works you with devastating precision—eighteen months and he still remembers exactly what you need. The pressure, the angle, the rhythm that makes your thighs shake. You're gripping his shoulders, nails digging in through his shirt, and he's muttering against your neck in a voice gone rough and desperate.
"So fucking perfect. Missed this. Missed you. Missed making you fall apart on my fingers like you're mine, like you've always been mine—"
"Lando—" You're close, embarrassingly close, everything building sharp and inevitable.
"I know. I can feel it. Can feel you getting tighter." His mouth finds yours, kissing you through it. "Come on, beautiful. Show me. Show me you still want this as much as I do."
You come with his name on your lips and your hands fisted in his hair, and he works you through it, drawing it out until you're shaking and oversensitive and pushing his hand away. "Fuck," you breathe.
"Yeah." He's breathing hard too, forehead pressed against yours, and you can feel how hard he is against your thigh. "So that happened."
Reality comes crashing back. You're in a restaurant bathroom with your dress rucked up and Lando's fingers still inside you and at least twenty people on the other side of the door who definitely heard something. "Oh my god." You push at his chest. "Oh my god, we just—in a public bathroom—"
"Technically a private bathroom." But he's pulling back, giving you space. "No one's going to say anything."
"Everyone's going to say something." You slide off the sink on shaky legs, trying to pull your dress down with trembling hands. "They're going to see us walk out and they're going to know—"
"So what if they know?" He's watching you in the mirror, his reflection overlapping with yours. "I told you. I'm done pretending."
"That's easy for you to say. You're Lando Norris. You can do whatever you want."
"And what are you?"
"I'm the girl who got fired for sleeping with her boss and now everyone's going to think I'm pathetic for coming back."
"No." He steps behind you, hands on your hips, meeting your eyes in the mirror. "You're the girl I've been in love with for two years who I was too much of a coward to keep. And if anyone says anything about you being pathetic, I'll personally destroy them."
You want to argue. Want to list all the reasons this is a terrible idea. Want to protect yourself before he has the chance to hurt you again. Instead you turn around and kiss him. Slower this time, softer, and when you pull back his eyes are closed like he's savoring it.
"This doesn't mean I forgive you," you whisper.
"I know."
"And it doesn't mean we're back together."
"Okay."
"And I still think you're an asshole."
"Fair." He opens his eyes. "But you're here. You came to dinner. You let me—" He gestures vaguely at the sink. "—do that. So maybe we're not as hopeless as you think."
"We're absolutely hopeless."
"Probably." He tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. "But I'm willing to risk it if you are."
You should say no. Should walk out, go home, block his number, and never look back.
"One chance," you hear yourself say. "You get one chance, Lando. You fuck this up, I'm gone. For real this time."
"I won't fuck it up."
"You don't know that."
"Yes, I do." He kisses you again, quick and sure. "Because I'm not losing you twice."
You fix your makeup as best you can. Lando runs his fingers through his hair, trying to make it look less like you've had your hands in it. You both look thoroughly fucked and there's nothing to be done about it.
"Ready?" he asks.
"No."
"Me neither." He unlocks the door. "Let's go anyway."
The meal continues in a strange sort of limbo. Lando orders dessert—some chocolate thing that's probably obscenely expensive—and insists you try it even though you say you're not hungry. He feeds you a bite from his fork and you let him, and somewhere in the back of your mind you're aware that this is a turning point, that you're crossing a line you swore you wouldn't cross.
"Good?" he asks.
"It's fine."
"Just fine?" He takes another bite, considering. "I think it's better than fine."
"You think everything here is better than fine. You probably have stock in this place."
"I don't have stock in this place." He pauses. "I know the owner, though. Nice guy. Makes excellent risotto."
"Of course you do." By the time the check comes, it's nearly 10 PM. The restaurant has thinned out—just a few tables left, couples lingering over wine, the staff starting their closing routines. Lando pays without looking at the total, leaves a tip that's probably more than your entire meal cost.
"Ready?" he asks, standing and offering his hand. You look at it for a moment. At his palm, open and waiting. At the decision you're about to make. You take his hand. Outside, Monaco is cold and beautiful. The kind of night where the Mediterranean is dark glass reflecting city lights, where everything feels suspended and possible. Lando's car is waiting where the valet brought it around—matte black Porsche,
"I can walk," you say, even though you're not letting go of his hand.
"It's cold."
"It's twelve minutes."
"It's twelve minutes in heels." He opens the passenger door. "Let me drive you. Please." There's something in the please that gets you. Something vulnerable and honest that wasn't there before. You get in the car. Lando slides into the driver's seat and the engine purrs to life. He doesn't immediately drive. Just sits there with his hands on the steering wheel, staring out at the street.
"You okay?" you ask.
"Yeah." He glances at you. "Just thinking."
"About?"
"About how I'm going to convince you to let me come upstairs."
Your stomach flips. "Lando."
"I know, I know. You said one chance. I'm not fucking it up." He pulls out into traffic, smooth and controlled. "But I also know that if I drop you off and drive away, you're going to spend the entire night convincing yourself this was a mistake."
"It might be a mistake."
"Or it might not be." He takes the turn toward your apartment, like he's made this drive a thousand times. Maybe he has, in his head. "Either way, I'd rather find out tonight than spend another eighteen months wondering."
You don't respond. Just watch the city slide past through the window, trying to organize your thoughts into something coherent. Trying to figure out when exactly you decided to let this happen. Your apartment building appears too quickly. Lando pulls into a spot on the street—not in front, not obvious, but close enough. He kills the engine and the sudden silence is deafening.
"So," he says.
"So."
"This is the part where you invite me up for coffee that we both know we're not going to drink."
"Is it?"
"Or—" He shifts to face you properly. "—this is the part where you tell me to leave and I respect that and go home alone and hate myself for approximately six hours before texting you something stupid at 4 AM."
"Those are my only two options?"
"Probably not. But they're the most likely ones." His hand finds yours in the dark. "For what it's worth, I'm hoping for the coffee."
You should tell him to leave. Should protect yourself, keep the boundary you've barely managed to maintain. Should remember that this is Lando Norris, who broke your heart eighteen months ago and has given you no real proof that he won't do it again.
"Do you actually want coffee?" you ask instead.
His smile is slow and dangerous. "Not even a little bit."
"Then why did you offer?"
"Because you need the plausible deniability. Need to tell yourself we're just having coffee, just talking, just two adults having a completely professional and appropriate conversation at 10 PM in your apartment." He brings your hand to his lips, kisses your knuckles. "And I'll play along. I'll make coffee and sit on your couch and keep my hands to myself until you give me permission to do otherwise."
"You're very confident I'm going to give you permission."
"I'm not confident about anything right now except that I want you. Have wanted you for two years. Will probably want you for the rest of my life." His eyes meet yours in the dim light. "But I can wait. I'm good at waiting now. Eighteen months taught me patience."
Your heart is doing something complicated in your chest. "One coffee."
"One coffee," he agrees.
You get out of the car before you can change your mind. Lando follows, keeping a careful distance as you walk to your building's entrance. You're aware of his presence behind you—not crowding, not pushing, just there. Patient in a way he never was before. The elevator ride is silent. You're both watching the numbers climb—three, four, five, six, seven. Your floor. The doors open and you lead him down the hallway to your apartment.
Your hands shake slightly as you unlock the door. Lando notices but doesn't comment. Inside, your apartment looks exactly the same as it did when he was here four days ago. Clean and empty and sad. You see it through his eyes again—the bookshelf organized by color, the lack of personal photos, the overall sense that no one actually lives here.
"Coffee," you say, moving toward the kitchen. "How do you take it?"
"However you're making it." He's still standing by the door, hands in his pockets. Not moving. Not presuming. "Nice place."
"You said it was sad last time you were here."
"I said it looked like no one lives here. Different thing." He finally moves, but only to the living room, sitting on the edge of your couch like he's not sure he's allowed. "Do you actually live here or do you just exist in it?"
"That's a very philosophical question for 10 PM."
"I'm a very philosophical guy."
"Since when?"
"Since I spent eighteen months thinking about what I did wrong." He watches you move around the kitchen, getting mugs and grounds and trying to remember how your coffee maker works. "Lots of time to think when you're alone."
"You weren't alone. You had Magui."
"I told you. That was—"
"Uncomplicated. I remember." You measure out coffee with more precision than necessary. "How is she taking the break?"
"She said she saw it coming."
You turn to look at him. "She did?"
"Yeah." He runs a hand through his hair. "Apparently I talk about you. A lot. Even when I'm trying not to."
"That's—" You don't know how to finish that sentence. "—unfortunate for her."
"She's already seeing someone else. Some photographer. They've been friends for a while." He says it casually, like it doesn't bother him at all. "She's happy."
"And you're here."
"I'm here," he confirms.
The coffee maker gurgles to life. You lean against the counter, arms crossed, watching him watch you.
"Why did you really come to Monaco?" you ask. "Not the story about Emma being useless. The real reason."
He's quiet for a moment. "You want the truth?"
"That would be nice."
"I came because I couldn't stay away anymore. Because I won the championship and the first person I wanted to tell was you and you weren't there. Because I went to the Prize Giving with Magui and spent the entire night wishing it was you in that dress." He stands up, finally, moving toward the kitchen. Not quite entering it, just leaning in the doorway. "Because I've been tracking your pottery classes and your yoga sessions and every other thing you've tried to distract yourself with, and I realized I was being a creepy stalker instead of just coming here and saying what I should've said eighteen months ago."
"Which is?"
"That I love you. That firing you was the worst decision I've ever made. That I'm sorry." His voice cracks slightly on the sorry. "That I don't expect you to forgive me but I'm asking anyway."
The coffee maker beeps. You don't move.
"How were you tracking my pottery classes?"
"Really? That's your question?"
"It's a relevant question."
He sighs. "Charlotte."
"Charlotte?" Your voice rises. "Charlotte's been spying on me for you?"
"Not spying. Updating. She thought I should know you were okay."
"I'm going to kill her."
"She was trying to help."
"By reporting my activities to my ex-boss like I'm under surveillance?"
"When you put it that way it sounds bad—"
"It is bad, Lando!" You're fully yelling now, and some part of you knows you're not actually angry about Charlotte, you're angry about everything else—the eighteen months and the pottery classes and the fact that he's standing in your kitchen looking unfairly good and you want him so badly you can barely breathe. "You can't just—you can't track me and show up and expect me to just—"
"To just what?" He moves into the kitchen properly now, crowding into your space. "To just admit you still feel it too? To just let yourself want something instead of punishing yourself for wanting it?"
"I'm not punishing myself—"
"You're living like a ghost. Like you're waiting for permission to actually be alive again." His hands find your waist, not pulling, just holding. "Let me give you permission."
"I don't need your permission."
"Then take it anyway." His forehead drops to yours. "Take what you want. For once, just take it."
You're gripping his shirt. You don't remember reaching for him but you're holding on like he's the only solid thing in the room.
"This is going to end badly," you whisper.
"Probably."
"You're going to break my heart again."
"I'm going to try really hard not to."
"That's not good enough."
"I know." His lips brush yours, barely a kiss. "But it's all I've got."
You kiss him properly this time. Slower than in the restaurant bathroom, less desperate, more like you're both admitting something you've been avoiding. His hands slide up your back and you press closer, and the coffee sits forgotten on the counter, getting cold.
"Bedroom," you breathe against his mouth.
"You sure?"
"If you ask me one more time if I'm sure, I'm changing my mind."
He lifts you like you weigh nothing, your legs wrapping around his waist automatically. He carries you down the hallway, kissing you the whole way, only fumbling slightly when he has to navigate your bedroom door. Your bed is exactly where beds go, and he sets you down on it with a gentleness that makes your chest ache.
"Hi," he says, hovering over you.
"Hi yourself."
"Just so we're clear—this isn't just sex."
"Lando."
"I need you to know that. This isn't me trying to get laid. This is me trying to—" He stops, searching for words. "—to show you I'm serious. That I'm all in."
"You're going to show me you're serious by sleeping with me?"
"I'm going to show you I'm serious by staying." His hand cups your face. "By waking up here tomorrow. By making you actual coffee in the morning. By not running away when it gets complicated."
"It's already complicated."
"Then I guess I'm not going anywhere." He kisses you again, and this time there's a promise in it. A commitment you're not sure either of you are ready for but are making anyway. Your hands find the buttons of his shirt. Start working them open one by one. He watches your face the whole time, like he's memorizing this, like he's afraid if he blinks you'll disappear.
"Still with me?" you ask when his shirt is open, hands spread on his chest.
"Always." His hand slides into your hair. "Even when you don't want me to be."
"Annoyingly persistent."
"One of my best qualities." He pulls your dress over your head in one smooth motion, and then you're both just staring at each other in the dim light from the hallway. "Fuck. I forgot how beautiful you are."
"You saw me three days ago."
"Wasn't close enough." His hands map your body like he's relearning it—ribs, waist, hips, thighs. "Wasn't touching you like this."
You pull him down, tired of talking, tired of thinking, tired of all the reasons this is a terrible idea. His weight settles over you and everything else falls away—the eighteen months, the fear, the certainty that this will end in disaster. Right now, there's just this. Just him. Just the feeling of finally, finally being exactly where you want to be.
Even if it's temporary. Even if it's going to hurt later. Right now, though, it's enough.
Days four through fourteen pass in a blur of Emma and schedules and Lando showing up at your apartment every single night like he lives there. He doesn't live there. You've been very clear about that.
"I'm just here a lot," he says on day seven, making coffee in your kitchen at 6 AM like he belongs there. Like it's normal, like this is normal. "That's different from living here."
"You have a toothbrush in my bathroom."
"Emergency toothbrush."
"You have clothes in my closet."
"Just in case."
"Lando."
"What?" He's grinning now, that insufferable grin that makes you want to hit him and kiss him in equal measure. "I'm respecting boundaries. You said I couldn't move in. I'm not moving in. I'm just visiting. A lot."
"You stayed here six nights in a row."
"And I went home on the seventh. See? Not living here."
You throw a dish towel at his head. He catches it, still grinning. The thing is—it's good. Terrifyingly good. He makes you coffee in the morning and you pretend to be annoyed about it. He stays up too late watching old race footage and you fall asleep on his chest listening to his heartbeat. He fucks you against your kitchen counter on day nine and you return the favor in your shower on day eleven and somewhere in between all of that, you stop counting days.
Emma is thriving. That's the word everyone keeps using—thriving. She's confident now, anticipating Lando's needs before he asks, managing his schedule like she's been doing it for years instead of two weeks. "You're amazing," she tells you on day twelve, over coffee in the MTC cafeteria. "Seriously. I don't know how you did this job for so long."
"Practice. Lots of practice."
"And patience. God, so much patience." She stirs her latte. "He's different lately though, have you noticed?"
Your stomach flips. "Different how?"
"Happier? Less stressed? I don't know, he just seems lighter." She smiles. "Whatever you said to him about being nicer to me, it worked. He actually asked about my Christmas plans yesterday. Like, genuine interest. It was weird."
"Good weird?"
"The best weird." She leans forward. "Can I ask you something personal?"
"That depends on the question."
"You and Lando. Are you... I mean, it seems like—" She stops, cheeks flushing. "Sorry. That's none of my business."
"It's complicated."
"That's what everyone says when they're together but don't want to admit it." She's still smiling, not judging, just observing.
Day fourteen arrives with the weight of finality. Your last day training Emma. Your last day having an excuse to be at MTC every morning. Your last day before everything becomes real or falls apart or some combination of both. Emma brings you flowers. Actual flowers—a bouquet of peonies tied with a ribbon.
"Thank you," she says, and her eyes are suspiciously shiny. "For everything. For being patient with me. For not making me feel stupid when I messed up. For teaching me how to do this job without losing my mind."
"You're going to be great," you tell her, and you mean it. "Better than great. You're going to be exactly what he needs."
"I hope so." She hugs you, quick and tight. "Will you still answer if I text you with questions?"
"Of course."
"Even stupid questions?"
"Especially stupid questions."
Lando doesn't show up all day. You tell yourself it's fine, that he's busy, that he's giving you and Emma space to wrap things up properly. You tell yourself a lot of things that aren't quite true. At 5 PM, Emma leaves. You pack up your things—tablet, the notes you've accumulated, the coffee mug you've been using that technically belongs to McLaren. You're stalling. You know you're stalling when your phone buzzes.
You take the elevator to the fourth floor for what might be the last time. Lando's office door is open. He's standing by the window, still in team gear, and he turns when you walk in. "Hey," he says.
"Hey."
"So. Two weeks."
"Two weeks," you confirm.
"Emma's going to be fine."
"She is."
"Thanks to you." He moves toward you, hands in his pockets. "I, uh. I got you something. To say thank you. For the training."
"Lando, you don't have to—"
"I wanted to." He pulls an envelope from his desk drawer. "It's not much. Just a little something." You open it. It's a check. A very large check. More than double what you agreed on.
"This is too much."
"It's not enough." His voice is quiet. "You came back when I asked. You trained Emma. You gave me two weeks when you could've told me to fuck off."
"I did tell you to fuck off."
"And then you came anyway." He's smiling now, that soft smile that's just for you. "Thank you."
"You're welcome." You fold the check, tuck it into your bag. "So I guess this is it."
"Is it?"
"The two weeks are up. I'm done. You and Emma are set."
"What about us?"
There it is. The question you've been avoiding for fourteen days.
"I don't know," you admit. "What about us?"
"I don't want this to end." He says it simply, honestly. "The two weeks are up but I'm not ready to stop seeing you every day. Coming to your apartment. Waking up next to you. All of it."
"Lando."
"I know it's fast. I know we're still figuring things out. But I'm all in. I told you that. I meant it." He takes your hands. "Move in with me."
You stare at him. "What?"
"Move in with me. My place. I have space. A lot of space. You could—"
"No."
"No?"
"We've been doing this for two weeks. That's not enough time to—"
"It's been two years," he interrupts. "Two weeks is just how long it took us to stop being idiots about it."
"That's not how this works."
"Then how does it work?" He's frustrated now, you can see it in the set of his jaw. "Tell me. Tell me what I need to do to prove I'm serious."
"I don't know! I don't have a checklist of requirements. I just," You pull your hands back. "I need time. I need to know this isn't going to fall apart the second things get hard."
"Things are already hard. We're still here."
"Two weeks isn't hard, Lando. Two weeks is the easy part. The hard part is six months from now when you're traveling and I'm here and we haven't seen each other in weeks. The hard part is when I do something that pisses you off and you remember why you fired me in the first place."
"That's not going to happen."
"You don't know that."
He opens his mouth. Closes it. "You're right. I don't know that. But I know I want to try. I know that two weeks with you has been better than eighteen months without you. I know that I'm in love with you and I don't want to waste any more time pretending I'm not."
Your chest aches. "I need to go."
"Where?"
"Home. My home. I need space to think."
"Okay." He doesn't try to stop you. "Will I see you tonight?"
"I don't know."
"Tomorrow?"
"Lando."
"I'm just asking. I'm not pushing." But you can see it in his eyes—the fear that this is it, that you're walking out and not coming back.
"I'll text you," you say finally.
"Promise?"
"Promise."
You leave before you can change your mind. Drive home in a daze, your apartment appearing too quickly. Inside, it's exactly as you left it this morning—coffee mugs in the sink from breakfast with Lando, his shirt draped over your chair, evidence of him everywhere. You sink onto your couch and try to figure out what the fuck you're doing.
Christmas comes three days later and you spend it alone. Lando's in the UK—family obligations, his mum's house in Somerset, the kind of traditional British Christmas that involves too much food and badly wrapped presents and everyone arguing about charades. He invited you. Asked you three times, actually, each time more hopeful than the last.
You said no.
"I don't want to meet your family," you'd told him. "Not yet. It's too much."
"They'd love you."
"That's not the point."
"Then what is the point?"
"The point is I need space. I need to figure out if this is real or if it's just us getting caught up in each other again."
He'd looked like you'd slapped him. "Right. Space. Okay."
He texted you on Christmas morning, then a hour later, and the hour after that. Charlotte called twice asking if you're spending Christmas alone, you lied, she definitely didn't believe you.
The day after Christmas, you're sitting in your apartment in pajamas and the same book you've been pretending to read for three days when your doorbell rings at 2:47 PM. Lando is standing in your hallway in a Christmas sweater—an actual, honest-to-god Christmas sweater with reindeer on it. He's holding a small gift bag, silver with white tissue paper, and he looks nervous.
"Hi," he says.
"Hi."
"Can I come in?"
You step aside. He walks in, setting the gift bag on your coffee table like it might explode. "You didn't have to get me anything," you say.
"I know. I wanted to." He shoves his hands in his pockets. "How was your Christmas?"
"Fine. Quiet."
"Mine was loud. Too loud. Kept thinking about how you'd hate it—all the noise and the people and my mum asking a million questions."
"She asked about me?"
"Yeah. She wanted to know why I invited someone and then showed up alone. Gave me a whole lecture about not screwing things up." He smiles, but it's strained. "She's very wise."
You gesture to the couch. He sits. You sit on the opposite end, keeping distance between you. "The training finished well," he says, like this is a business meeting. "Emma's doing great."
"I know. She texted me."
"Right. Of course." He's fidgeting now, picking at a loose thread on the couch. "I, uh. I missed you. At Christmas. Kept looking around like you might show up even though I knew you wouldn't."
"Lando."
"I know you need space. I'm trying to give you space. But it's been three days and I'm going insane." He looks at you finally. "I don't know how to do this. Don't know how to prove I'm serious without being overwhelming. Don't know how to give you time without feeling like I'm losing you."
"You're not losing me."
"Aren't I?" His voice cracks slightly. "You spent Christmas alone. You won't move in with me. You barely text me back. What am I supposed to think?"
"That I'm scared." The admission comes out quiet. "That I'm terrified this is going to fall apart and I don't know if I'll survive it a second time."
"So don't let it fall apart." He moves closer. "Stay. Fight for this. Give us an actual chance."
"I am giving us a chance."
"Are you? Because from where I'm sitting, it looks like you're preparing for the end before we've even really started." His hand finds yours. "I'm not going anywhere. I don't know how many times I need to say it. I'm not firing you. I'm not leaving. I'm not changing my mind."
"You can't promise that."
"Yes, I can." He reaches for the gift bag, holds it out to you. "Open it."
"Lando."
"Please. Just open it."
You take the bag. Pull out the tissue paper. Inside is a small box, velvet, the kind that makes your heart stop. "It's not what you think," he says quickly. "I mean—just open it."
You open it and it's a key. A single key on a keyring, simple and silver.
You stare at it. "It's to my place," Lando says, words tumbling out fast now. "I know you said you won't move in. I heard you. But I want you to have it anyway. So you can come over whenever. So you know you're always welcome. So you can—" He stops. Takes a breath. "So you can stop thinking of my place as mine and start thinking of it as ours."
Your vision blurs. "Lando."
"I know it's not a grand gesture. I know it's just a key. But I don't know how else to show you I mean it. That I want you in my space, in my life, in everything." His thumb brushes your knuckles. "You said I needed to prove I'm serious. This is me proving it. Take the key. Use it or don't use it. But know it's there. Know you have a place with me whenever you're ready."
You're crying now. Properly crying. And Lando looks panicked.
"Shit. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make you cry. If it's too much—"
You kiss him. Hard and desperate and with your hands fisted in his ridiculous Christmas sweater. "It's perfect," you whisper against his mouth. "You're perfect."
"I'm really not."
"Shut up and let me have this."
He laughs, and it sounds like relief. "Okay."
You pull back, wiping your eyes. The key sits in the box, catching the light.
"I'm still scared," you admit.
"Me too."
"But I want this. I want us."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah." You pick up the key, test its weight in your palm. "I'm not ready to move in yet. But maybe—maybe I could stay over more? Start keeping more things there?"
"Yes. Absolutely. Whatever you want." He's grinning now, that full devastating smile. "You can reorganize my entire closet if you want. Color-code my kitchen. Do that thing you do where you arrange everything by frequency of use."
"You make me sound like a psychopath."
"You are a psychopath. It's one of my favorite things about you." He pulls you into his lap, arms wrapping around you. "Merry Christmas."
"Merry Christmas." You press your face into his neck, breathing him in. "For the record, I missed you too."
"Yeah?"
"So much I almost got on a plane to Somerset."
"You should've."
"Your mum would've hated me. Strange woman showing up on Christmas."
"My mum would've loved you. She already does, actually. Based entirely on my descriptions." He pulls back to look at you. "Fair warning—she's going to want to meet you. Properly. Probably at Easter or something equally family-oriented and terrifying."
"Easter's months away."
"So we have time to prepare." His hand cups your face. "You'll be ready by then. I know you will."
"How are you so sure?"
"Because you're here. Because you're crying over a key. Because you're scared but you're doing it anyway." He kisses your forehead. "That's the bravest thing I know."
You stay like that for a long time—curled up on your couch with Lando, the key in your hand, the future stretching out uncertain and terrifying and full of possibility. It's not perfect. You're still scared. He's still Lando Norris with all the complications that entails. But it's real. And maybe that's enough. Maybe that's everything.
Eight Months Later
The private jet levels off somewhere over Europe. You're curled up in the leather seat across from Lando, watching him pretend to read the same page of his book for the fifth time. You've been living together for six months now—his place became your place became our place somewhere around month three when you finally stopped keeping a drawer at your apartment "just in case." You sold that apartment four months ago. Haven't regretted it once.
"Nervous?" you ask.
"About what?" He sets the book down, reaches for your hand. The promise ring sits on your right hand, exactly where it's been for eight months. You've gotten used to the weight of it. Used to the way Lando looks at it sometimes, like he's planning something.
"You've read the same page five times."
He laughs, caught. "Fine. Maybe a little nervous." He stands up, walks to his bag. "Actually, I have something for you."
"Lando—"
"Close your eyes. Trust me."
You close your eyes. Feel silk brush against your face—a blindfold. He ties it carefully at the back of your head. "What are you doing?"
"Surprising you." He takes your hand. "Just trust me. We'll land soon."
"We're supposed to be going to Belgium."
"We are. Eventually." You can hear the smile in his voice. "But first—a detour." Twenty minutes of torture. You can hear everything but see nothing—the engine, the change in air pressure as you descend, Lando's thumb tracing circles on your palm like he's the one who needs reassurance. The plane touches down. Smooth landing. Lando helps you stand, guides you down the stairs carefully, his hand firm on your waist. The air is different here—warmer than Monaco, with a breeze that smells like salt and something floral you can't quite place.
"Are we at the beach?"
"Maybe. Keep walking." He guides you across tarmac, then pavement, then sand. Definitely sand. You can hear waves now, the rhythmic crash of water against shore. The sand gives way to wood—a deck, maybe a dock. The sound of the waves is louder here. Then he stops. His hands on your shoulders.
"Okay," he says, and his voice is different now. Nervous. "You can take it off."
You untie the blindfold, let it fall.
You're standing on a dock. The sun is setting over crystal-clear water that stretches to the horizon. There's a villa behind you, white stone and huge windows, the kind of place that's definitely not in Belgium. Palm trees. Bougainvillea climbing the walls. The most beautiful sunset you've ever seen painting everything gold and pink.
"Where are we?" you breathe.
"Greece." Lando's voice comes from behind you. "Santorini, specifically."
You turn around and Lando Norris is on one knee. Your heart stops. Actually fucking stops because he's holding a box—a different box than the one from eight months ago. This one is smaller, more delicate, and when he opens it there's a ring inside that catches the sunset and throws light everywhere.
"I know this is fast," he starts, and his voice is shaking. "I know eight months isn't very long in the grand scheme of things. But I've been in love with you for two years. I wasted eighteen months of that being an idiot. And the last eight months have been everything. Coming home to you. Waking up next to you. Fighting about whose turn it is to do dishes and making terrible pasta at midnight and watching you reorganize my closet for the third time." He takes a shaky breath. "I don't want to waste any more time. I don't want to wait until it's been a year or two years or whatever arbitrary timeline is supposed to make this acceptable. I know what I want. I've known since Qatar. I've known since before Qatar."
You're crying already. God, what is happening?
"You make me better. You make everything better. You call me on my shit and you're there at 3 AM when I can't sleep and you make Emma text you updates because you're worried about her even though you don't work for me anymore. I love you. I love you so much it's stupid. And I want to marry you. I want to marry you and fight about coffee orders and have you reorganize our entire life and grow old and—"
"Yes," you interrupt.
He blinks. "What?"
"Yes. I'll marry you. Obviously I'll marry you, you idiot."
"I had a whole speech prepared—"
"I don't care about the speech." You're pulling him up off his knees, laughing and crying at the same time. "Ask me. Properly."
He laughs, stands up, takes the ring out of the box with shaking hands. "Will you marry me?"
"Yes. A thousand times yes."
He slides the ring onto your left hand—your actual left hand, the important one. It sits there catching the light, real and perfect and terrifying. "I can't believe you did this," you say, and you're in his arms now, held tight against his chest. "Greece. A sunset. What about Spa? The race?"
"Fuck Spa." He's grinning against your hair. "We'll get there Sunday. I told Zak I needed a couple days. Told him it was important. Everyone knows—McLaren, Emma, Charlotte. They're all in on it. I've been planning this for three months." He pulls back to look at you, and his eyes are shiny. "I'm yours. For as long as you'll have me."
"Forever, then."
"Forever." He kisses you as the sun sets over Santorini, soft and deep and perfect. When he pulls back, he's still grinning. "No take backs."
Lando pushes the door open to the bedroom and you see champagne on ice, rose petals scattered across the bed, the whole romantic setup that he definitely planned down to the last detail. "You're very sure of yourself," you say, even as he's walking you backward toward the bed. "What if I'd said no?"
"You didn't." His hands find your waist, slide under your shirt. "And even if you had, I would've asked again tomorrow. And the next day. And the day after that until you said yes."
"That's insane."
"That's commitment." He pulls your shirt over your head, tosses it somewhere behind him. "Now stop talking and let me worship my fiancée." The word makes you clench. Fiancée. You're his fiancée now. The ring on your finger catches the candlelight as you reach for him, pulling him closer.
"I love you," you whisper against his mouth.
"I love you too." His hands are everywhere now—in your hair, on your skin, working open the button of your jeans. "And I'm going to spend the rest of the night proving it." He pushes you down onto the bed and follows you, covering your body with his. His mouth finds your neck, biting down just hard enough to make you gasp, and you arch into him. "Shh." He's working his way down, kissing and biting and marking you as he goes. "Let me take care of you. Let me show you what it means to be mine." He makes quick work of the rest of your clothes, and then his mouth is between your thighs and you're fisting your hands in the expensive sheets, gasping his name. He takes his time, licking and sucking and bringing you right to the edge before pulling back.
"Not yet," he says, grinning up at you with his mouth wet and obscene. "Want you desperate for it. Want you begging."
"I hate you."
"No, you don't." He slides two fingers inside you, curling them just right. "You love me. You're going to marry me. And right now, you're going to come for me." He lowers his mouth again and you shatter, coming hard with his name on your lips and your hands in his hair. He works you through it, drawing it out until you're shaking and pushing him away.
"Too much," you gasp.
"Not nearly enough." He's pulling off his own clothes now, and when he's finally naked he settles between your thighs, the head of his cock brushing against you. "Ready?"
"God, yes." He slides in slowly, so slowly, and you can feel every inch. When he's fully seated he stops, just breathing hard against your neck.
"Fuck," he groans. "Feel so good. Always feel so good. My perfect girl. My fiancée. Mine."
"Yours," you agree, wrapping your legs around his waist. "Always yours."
He starts moving then—slow at first, then harder, faster, until the bed is slamming against the wall and you're both gasping. His hand slides between your bodies to find your clit and you're coming again, clenching around him as he fucks you through it. "That's it," he growls. "That's my girl. Come on my cock. Let me feel it, baby."
You're barely down from the second orgasm when you feel the third building. Lando shifts the angle and hits something inside you that makes you sob.
"Right there?" he asks, doing it again. "That the spot?"
"Yes—fuck—yes, don't stop—"
"Never stopping. Never letting you go. You're mine now. Forever." His rhythm is getting erratic, his grip on your hips tightening. "Gonna come inside you. Fill you up. You want that?"
"Yes—please—Lando—"
"Mine," he says fiercely, and then he's kissing you as you both come, him spilling inside you as you clench around him, both of you shaking and completely wrecked. He collapses on top of you, breathing hard. You can feel his heart racing against your chest, matching your own.
"Holy shit," you manage eventually.
"Yeah." He lifts his head to look at you, and he's grinning. "So. Still want to marry me?"
"After that? Absolutely." You trace his jaw with your finger. "Though I'm going to need you to do that again. You know, to make sure."
"Fiancée has demands." He's already hardening inside you again. "I think I can work with that." He does it again. And then again. By the time you finally collapse in a tangle of sweaty limbs and expensive sheets, the moon is high and you can barely move. "Can't believe you're mine," Lando murmurs against your hair, his hand finding yours to trace the ring there.
"Can't believe you proposed on a dock."
"Romantic as fuck."
"Insane as fuck."
"Same thing." He kisses your temple. "Get some sleep. We have Spa on Sunday and I need you well-rested."
"Why?"
"Because I'm going to win that race for you. For my fiancée." He says the word like he's testing it out, like he can't quite believe it's real. "And then I'm going to take you back to Monaco and fuck you in our bed as a race winner and your future husband."
"Very confident."
"Very in love." He pulls you closer. "Now sleep. I'll wake you up properly in a few hours." You fall asleep like that—engaged, thoroughly fucked, in Greece with Lando already planning tomorrow. It's him. It's always been him. And finally, you're both brave enough to admit it.
in which you’re on vacation with your ex boyfriend, the only man who’s been able to make you cum in recent times.
warnings; smut, unprotected sex, eavesdropping, cocky lando, ex lovers, conversations of masturbation and inability to orgasm, hair pulling, oral both receiving, overstimulation, praise, slight degradation, choking ect.
it was a throw away question. one lando probably shouldn’t have brushed off.
“you’re sure you’re fine with her coming?” max had asked so casually despite it being on this tip of his tongue for the last hour, eyes not lifting from his phone to see the way lando looked at him with raised eyebrows.
the driver said your name in confusion, even chuckled. “of course. why wouldn’t i be?” lando followed; a rhetorical question. he knew why max was asking such thing.
he watched as max shrugged, hummed mindlessly as if he didn’t have a response prepared.
“wouldn’t catch me wanting to share a roof with my ex,” max mused; putting his phone down and finally meeting lando’s eyes, glare more so, quick to put his hands up in defence. “just saying. something to think about,” max quickly added.
he had his best friends best interest at heart.
“so what? we tell her she can’t come?” lando scoffed, shaking his head as he leant back into the seat he was occupying. “we’re friends. hasn’t been an issue before.” lando dismissed.
and he wasn’t lying. you’d broken up almost a year ago, which was concerning at first considering you shared the same friend group. were friends before lovers.
but it worked, you’d remained friends. saw each other every now and then, in a group setting. you weren’t as close, obviously, but it wasn’t awkward.
“no i know,” max huffed; even rolling his eyes. “maybe two villa’s is something to think about, that’s all.” max shrugged once more. he wasn’t just thinking of lando, but you as well, his other dear friend.
the brit shook his head, not giving in to the worry max seemed to hold. “not necessary. no different than being at the same hotel.” lando concluded.
he’d seen you on nights out, had conversations with you on boats; you still got an invite and paddock pass to his home race.
there was nothing to worry about. if you two weren’t capable of being friends, such thing would’ve been exposed.
that’s what lando thought anyways.
standing on the deck of a ten bedroom villa in the south of france however, he realised maybe he should’ve considered max’s words more carefully.
small doses of you seemed to differ from your constant presence.
the break up was civil, lando was grateful for such thing. it’d been him who ended things, purely because he felt as if he couldn’t give you the time you deserve. it was a cop out, he feared, realising things were almost too good between the pair of you.
he wasn’t sure he could commit to putting you through a relationship where you wouldn’t get the time and treatment you deserved.
you took it well, an angel in fact; you wanted to hate him for it. but you couldn’t bring yourself too. selfless enough to put the peace of your mutual friends and him first. plus, losing him entirely left a bitter taste in your mouth.
you’d mourned the relationship, cried in private and cursed him to your best friend; and moved on. well, appeared to have.
it went unspoken, amongst the group; in front of you two at least, and between you two as well. not exactly something you were ready to laugh at yet. it just seemed to go… unaddressed.
until it was night two, dinner at a fancy restaurant with maybe a few too many bottles of wine meant piling into ubers to get back to the villa.
it sort of just happened, lando shuffling into the car behind you; leaving you in the middle of him and max; pietra on max’s lap and tom in the front.
your senses were consumed of him immediately, not able to avoid him considering you were practically pressed into his side in an attempt to give pietra enough room.
you glanced up at him once, smiling sheepishly to see his eyes already on you.
“you still wear it,” lando hummed casually, pinky finger reaching to brush over the bracelet he’d bought you a few months into your relationship, grazing your wrist as he did so.
your cheeks went a shade of pink at the observation, and if it weren’t for the fact you were wine drunk you probably would’ve made up an excuse as to why the piece of metal still found it’s way onto your wrist everyday.
“it’s my favourite,” you replied; glancing down at the piece as your hand moved to fiddle with it, small smile playing on your lips.
you missed the grin spread on lando’s face, a sense of pride fulfilling him as he recounted the stress it had caused him just picking out the damn bracelet. he was relieved to see you still wearing it, for some reason.
“i’ve got good taste.” lando bragged, eyes practically begging for yours to meet his again; smiling in amusement when they did as you nudged him.
you were suddenly even more aware of the closeness, the way your knees were touching, how his arm had stretched to rest over the headrest behind you. it was forced proximity sure, but an odd sense of familiarity that you hadn’t felt in a while was accompanying it.
“most of the time,” you mused, earning a nudge back ━ which had a giggle escaping you, one you attempted to hush; not wanting to draw attention to you and lando’s conversation.
if it did, the others in the car would’ve seen the way lando’s face lit up at the sound. he hadn’t made you laugh like that in months, he’d forgotten how good it felt to do so.
he’d almost forgotten how easy you were to be around. how easy it was to fall for you in the first place.
it was as if the universe was punishing him for such thing, because suddenly you were all he could think about once more.
that night, he was simply relaxing in his room; when you came waltzing in.
“p,” your voice hummed as you knocked; pushing the door open before lando could muster a response from inside. “do you have my top━ oh shit, sorry!” you’d cut yourself short when you found yourself standing in lando’s room. not pietra and max’s.
who was luckily just lounging on the bed in his joggers, not far from switching the lamp off and going to sleep.
but he had been shocked to see you enter his room in just a towel.
“you’re fine,” lando chuckled; having sit up. “we swapped rooms this morning… figured they should have a private bathroom,” lando explained; watching as your face softened in some sort of relief.
you hadn’t been crazy. regardless, still embarrassed; the redness on your cheeks clear as you nodded, cringing ever so slightly.
“right; my bad, sorry,” you repeated; not even wanting to imagine what else you could’ve walked in on.
lando simply chuckled, shaking his head as his eyes glanced over your figure just once; unable to help himself. having to swallow to not let himself think back to what he knows is underneath the towel keeping you modest.
“i’m gonna go,” you declared; sheepishly smiling as you turned on your heel; cringing once more now that you were out of sight, not hiding the urgency as you practically fled his room and slammed the door behind you.
lando hadn’t realised he was holding his breath until you left, body relaxing as he flopped back onto the mattress; a curse leaving his lips.
the next morning, you were there again. obviously. yet he couldn’t see you, nor could you see him. so technically he was eavesdropping; but it hadn’t been on purpose.
lando was out on his balcony first, which was above yours it appeared; mindlessly scrolling through his phone before arabella’s voice became audible, who you were rooming with this trip.
“since when did nicolas get ripped,” she’d posed to you, peering at the man who was dipping in the pool; your eyes following her gaze from where you both sat in deck chairs; smoothies in hand.
“he’s always been cute,” you pointed out; shrugging ever so slightly as you adjusted the sunglasses atop your head, rolling your eyes the moment you caught glance of arabella’s grin.
“and he’s always been into you.” arabella chimed, and you should’ve expected her to steer the conversation in such direction.
lando whoever, who hadn’t scrolled past the tik tok which was playing for the fourth time now, had not expected such words.
his eyebrows furrowed in confusion. you and nicolas? yeah right. you two were close friends, he knew that much. but nothing more. surely not.
“we’re friends bella,” you dismissed; shaking your head. slightly flirty friends as of recent, you’d admit. but just friends.
“so? doesn’t have to stay that way,” arabella had grinned ━ and lando felt betrayed; as if it should be him the pair of you were talking about. not nicolas.
“yes it does.” you laughed. “i’m not dating within the friend group ever again,” you spoke in such certainty it had lando confused, he didn’t think it faired that bad the first time.
but he also wasn’t opposed to your declaration. not that he was close to nicolas, in fact he probably knew him the least. but he was a brother of a childhood friend, who’d tagged along the last few trips. and lando had no complaints of the guy.
“don’t be silly,” arabella huffed. “i’m not saying fall in love with him. just that he could end the sex drought you’re stuck in.” arabella hummed, your eyes widening as you hit her softly.
“what? no one can hear us!” arabella spoke dramatically, and you rolled your eyes; no argument because you figured she was right.
however she wasn’t, because lando was still listening. and his interest had suddenly spiked.
“i am not… stuck in a sex drought,” you huffed; not sounding one bit convincing as you glanced at the pool. “men just suck. i’ve given up on having an orgasm.” your words were dramatic, and playful, but still a bit of truth to them.
suddenly lando felt guilty for overhearing, or purposefully listening, but he couldn’t help but be intrigued.
your words made no sense to him; considering nights with you would always lead to multiple orgasms for both of you.
and it wasn’t as if you were short on options.
“gotta do everything yourself these days,” arabella sighed out dramtically in agreement; but she had a boyfriend, and your friendship with the girl wasn’t one for many secrets; you knew she was only ‘relating’ out of sympathy.
truth was; since lando, nothing or no one could compare. not even your own damn fingers.
“can’t even get myself off.” you huffed out almost ashamed, and you only whined when you met arabella’s shocked eyes and slack jaw.
lando suddenly felt intrusive, and flustered from the idea of you touching yourself; one he’d grown familiar with due to long distance. suddenly he was standing and ready to walk himself inside in his room.
“is your body like… broken?” arabella sounded bewildered, and you could only huff.
you’d blame it on stress, or any of your medication if it was possible; you’ve heard stories, knew there could be many reasons as to why your sex drive and urges have suddenly changed. none aligned with your circumstances however.
“just deprived i think,” you sighed.
lando needed to get his mind off your sexual need’s immediately, deciding to go on a run with max to occupy himself. to get you off his mind.
and it worked, until he got back to the villa. hot and out of breath, he found himself in the kitchen ━ pouring a glass of water with ice, eyes wandering out the fold out doors that exposed the luxurious back yard. decking, sun lounges, a pool; and his closest friends.
and his ex girlfriend. in a little bikini. with another man’s hands on her.
he couldn’t help but scoff at the sight, you resting on your stomach as nicolas rubbed sunscreen into your back ━ watching as you grinned and spoke up to him momentarily. you were flirting, he knew that look.
his takeaways from his… eavesdropping, was that you didn’t plan to pursue nicolas. so what the fuck was this?
he wanted to laugh, you were going to seek answers to your problems in nicolas? he almost felt offended; if you needed good sex so badly he felt as if he was the obvious candidate.
“careful mate, you’re staring,” max’s words snapped lando out of his thoughts; causing him to glare at the man quickly, bringing his glass to his lips, unaware that his grip was so tight his knuckles were white.
max’s amusement only escalated, eyebrows raising as he chuckled quietly.
“i wasn’t.” lando murmured, leaning back against the counter. “just didn’t know that was a thing,” he tried to shrug off; eyes returning to where you now sat up, rubbing sunscreen into nicolas’s back now.
had he been oblivious to the pair of you?
“i don’t think it is.” max shrugged, following lando’s gaze momentarily, not overanalysing the sight. everyone was friends here.
lando looked to max in doubt, to check if he was being serious.
“does it matter if it is?” max questioned, sassily too, almost a challenge; and lando was quick to scoff ━ mustering up the best chuckle he could to appear as unbothered as he wanted to be.
“no,” the mclaren driver answered almost too quickly, clearing his throat slightly. “i hope it is. would be a good match,” he overcompensated; left to only flip max off as he chuckled and hummed unconvincingly.
“whatever you say,” max mused.
lando wished he was being honest, but as time passed by it became quite clear he was lying.
dinner that night you were sat at opposite ends of the long table, like usual; regardless, lando’s eyes were trained on you for the majority of the night.
you and nicolas of course. who’d snagged the seat next to you.
forced to watch as you shared food, laughed and chattered away in your own little world.
lando felt sick from the sight; that used to be him. should be him. and while he could only blame himself for it not being him, it was a cruel reminder of what he’d lost.
he felt utterly helpless however, because there was nothing he could do.
he couldn’t even express his dismay to anyone as he watched nicolas help you in the car. left to watch as you both giggled and stumbled up to the villa ahead of the group.
he wanted to intervene, to make his presence known to hopefully at least make it awkward. but he couldn’t bring himself too.
not when you’d been such an angel in the breakup, made things so easy for him from the start of the relationship to now. it just wouldn’t be fair to ruin this for you.
even though it was all he wanted to do.
he noted how you two were first off to go ‘sleep’ that night, halfway through the movie that had been put on. and he suddenly wished he’d downed a few more glasses of red at the restaurant, maybe then he wouldn’t have the capacity to brainstorm up everything and anything you and nicolas could be doing tonight.
he wasn’t going to say it was what kept him up, tossing and turning and unable to fall asleep; but it definitely played on his mind.
it was starting to make sense to him at least; he hadn’t been around you without distractions since the breakup. it suddenly became clear how helpful those distractions are.
3:42 the clock read.
lando hadn’t gotten a second of shut eye, and after two hours of laying there; he conceded. deciding to get a glass of water as if that would be the solution to all his problems.
instead he was just met with the problem itself; you.
surprise, surprise. nicolas was not the answer to your prayers.
you were already keen to tell arabella ‘i told you so’ when you returned to your room. having spent the night in nicolas’.
he was a nice guy, until the clothes came off.
it was nothing new, you on top; he came. you didn’t. he then tried to get you to finish with his fingers, and you faked an orgasm when it became clear he wasn’t finding your clit any time soon.
your frustrations had now multiplied, it felt pathetic. you were ready to give up.
you snuck out the moment he fell asleep, in the kitchen to get a glass of water and for a few moments to yourself.
“shouldn’t be surprised you’re up,” lando made his presence known, having debated running back to his room when he noticed you occupying the kitchen.
typical.
“needed a drink,” you hummed sheepishly; and for some reason when your eyes met his you felt intimidated; as if you needed refuge, turning back around to the fridge to fill your cup up with ice.
maybe it was because you were already sexually frustrated. or the fact you were stood with your ex boyfriend after sneaking out of another guys room.
“same,” lando hummed; moving behind you to grab a glass for himself, and you could feel him waiting behind you as you poured water into the glass.
“nice night?” lando asked when you moved aside so he too could fill his glass, not looking at you for the time being so you wouldn’t decipher the motives in the question. he didn’t need you to know how concerned he was with your night.
you nodded quickly, humming as you still had a mouth full of water, leaning against the counter now.
“yeah, yeah,” you spoke; pursing your lips. it had been. until it wasn’t. “restaurant was lovely,” you smiled; shifting on your feet slightly as you took in his appearance, even in the dull lightly.
his messy curls that look slept on, slightly tired eyes. he looked cozy.
lando nodded, so much on the tip of his tongue. maybe if it was a different hour of the day he’d have the common sense to not speak his mind, but he was slightly sleep deprived and going insane from his own thoughts.
“you know my balcony is above yours,” lando told you; randomly, your eyebrows furrowing ━ coughing out a slight laugh. you weren’t sure where this conversation was going to lead, your guess was awkward silence. not him blurting out something… irrelevant.
it took a few moments for it to dawn on you, the slight curve of lando’s lips into a smirk causing your eyes to widen in realisation.
you’d only been out on the balcony once today.
“oh my god,” you mumbled; cringing as he chuckled, shaking his head ever so slightly. “shut up!” you whisper yelled, leaning forward to whack his arm, which only had him laughing once more as his hands flew up in defence.
“i wasn’t eavesdropping! i swear,” lando mused, shaking his head as your eyebrows raised.
“great, so you just happened to hear all about my sad sex life,” you huffed, and lando couldn’t help the small smile that was refusing to leave his lips; always having adored the sight of you flustered and sheepish.
it didn’t help, the sight of you wearing what seemed to be just an oversized shirt. reminiscent of how his shirts would drape over your body.
“yeah,” lando confirmed sympathetically, causing you to whack him again; no force in your actions as you groaned audibly.
you couldn’t think of anyone you’d rather not hear that conversation; ever so grateful you hadn’t been completely honest with arabella.
you would die of humiliation if you’d told her how you compared every man to lando, how you found no one was able to make you feel anywhere near as good.
but regardless, there was a level of comfort. you trusted the man in front of you.
“nicolas though hm?” lando spoke light heartedly, reminding you of the man you’d just been in bed with.
was it bad he’d slipped your mind completely? having forgotten that he was who sparked such conversation this morning.
“did he make you cum?” his follow up question had you dumbfounded, having not expected such blunt words as your lips parted. “can i ask that?” lando added with a reassuring laugh. but you knew that look in his eyes.
they were darker than usual, he was staring at you intently; practically begging you to step closer.
“no,” you cleared your throat, opting for honesty. “he didn’t.” you huffed, eyes avoiding his for a moment as if you were ashamed. as if it was your fault.
the relief lando felt was pathetic, not that he wished a bad time upon you. or anyone for that matter. but god it felt like the door had been swung right open for him.
he was right; of course nicolas wasn’t going to do it for you.
“i know you can make yourself cum.” lando chimed, pushing himself off the counter and taking a couple steps towards you; ridding any distance as he stood in front of you. “used to be able to at least, seen it myself,” he told you as if you could forget.
you swallowed intently, the tension now almost suffocating. sleeping with an ex was something you swore against; recipe for disaster. but it seemed awfully appealing when it looked like lando did right now.
your cheeks were pink, thinking about the countless times you’d gotten yourself off on facetime calls with the driver, purely because neither of you could wait any longer to see one another again.
“not the same anymore.” your voice was barely above a whisper, it didn’t need to be; not when he was only centimetres away, looking down at you as if he was ready to ravish you.
lando’s eyebrow raised at that, eyes flickering across your face.
it wasn’t the same, you’d worked out the hard way. you only relied on your own devices when you had no other choice; and with that would be lando on the of phone with words of encouragement and direction.
“what, need me to talk you through it again?” his words were teasing as his hand moved to cup your cheek; your stomach turning at the thought. at the fact he seemed like he knew that would do it for you.
you let out a slight breath, shaking your head but you held little confidence in doing so.
“need me to touch you?” he added on, offer sounding almost like a request; words so hushed you could’ve missed them. but you didn’t, you heard him loud and clear.
his eyes were pouring into yours as if he pitied you, but the smirk on his face showed he wanted nothing more than to be the one to solve your problems.
you didn’t even need to think about it, no ifs or buts entering your mind; nothing could make the idea of him seem unappealing.
“please,” you mumbled; eyes pouring up into his, watching as a wicked grin spread on his features; one that made your knees weak.
it was all lando needed to hear, lips pressing against yours in an instant; it coming back to the pair of you quickly. feeling so natural, the way your body melted into his touch; the way your lips moved against each other.
your hands finding a grip on his shirt as his spread across your hips.
lando didn’t waste any time; he wanted to make you cum.
he wasn’t sure if it was because it seemed like a challenge, or because he missed you; but god did he want nothing more than to make you feel good:
his knee pushed between your thighs first, your legs spreading; immediately aware of the finger he was tracing up your inner thigh.
as much as lando missed the feeling of your lips against his, he loved watching you react to every touch and feeling. pulling away but not creating much distance as his fingers brushed over your clothed folds.
you took a sharp breath, shifting your weight to lean against the counter as the anticipation built within, eyes locked on his as he teasingly brushed your clothed clit as well.
he could feel your soaked panties, a wet patch that you knew wasn’t there when you first entered the kitchen.
“you know it doesn’t make sense,” lando started speaking through a breath; his fingers pushing your panties aside with ease, swiping through your folds; spreading your wetness to your clit. “because you’re always so easy for me baby,” he practically cooed as he slipped two fingers inside you.
your jaw fell slack, hips pushing against his hand lightly as you whimpered; cheeks hinting at his taunting words which you’d almost forgotten about and how crazy they drove you.
his free hand returned to your cheek, cupping the side of your face and adjusting your head to ensure you were looking up at him; his head tilting ever so slightly as he gazed down at you.
“so responsive,” he added in a hum; looking incredibly smug, thumb settling on your clit ━ and the moan that escaped you as he circled your sensitive bud had lando’s jaw clenching. he’d missed your pretty sounds.
he was toying with you, teasing. his fingers moving slowly, thumb only lightly circling your clit. yet you hadn’t felt this good in fucking forever, face contorting in pleasure proving such thing.
lando could get lost in the sight, not able to help himself from wanting to give you more.
his fingers gradually picked up the pace, thumb applying more pressure now; but it was when he curled his fingers, grazing that spot he never failed to miss, that you hadn’t been able to find, that a slightly louder moan escaped you.
“ah, ah,” lando hushed you; tapping your cheek lightly. “gotta be quiet baby,” lando hummed through heavy breaths, hating that he had to ask such thing of you.
he wanted to hear you lose control, hear you scream his name like you had countless of times. but he’d hate to be interrupted and have the current sight cut short.
you whined quietly at the request, biting down on your bottom lip as you tried to keep any noise at bay; knowing you had no choice. waking anyone up would be less than ideal.
but somehow, the thought of being caught was the least of your concerns.
your back arched when he added a third, thumb still expertly playing with your clit; your quiet whimpers and moans were growing in volume once more.
lando took matters into his own hands, the hand cupping your cheek shifting so he could tap his pointer finger on your bottom lip; and he had to shut himself up this time as you invited two digits past your lips without second thought.
“fuck,” he mumbled out; eyes fixated on the way you looked up at him with his fingers in your mouth; so similar to the sight of when you’d suck him off. his hard on was almost painful.
your moans were muffled now, thankfully, as your hips pushed forward once more; slowly losing control over your body as the pleasure continued to build.
you’d made a mess on your thighs, his fingers working in and out of you perfectly; beginning to curl his fingers repeatedly had your eyes rolling back.
“yeah, right there baby?” lando mumbled; despite you unable to respond. “gonna make a mess on my fingers yeah? think you deserve to cum,” he smirked ━ and if you could’ve you would’ve cried out, nodding quickly at his words.
your stomach tightened, it was sudden; more sudden than you remembered, lando having caught on to the fact you were cumming before you did; squeezing his fingers as you came undone.
his body was practically holding you up against the counter, vision going white for a moment as your muffled moans filled the air, hips bucking involuntarily once more.
lando wanted to curse himself for ever depriving himself of such thing, watching as you shook in front of him; fingers moving to let you ride out your high, until he was pulling them from your panties, and mouth respectively.
your eyes fluttered open, nothing but awe as you gazed up at him through hooded eyes; panting ever so lightly.
he was smiling cockily, if he didn’t know the root of your issue before, he did now. the way you needed him.
you couldn’t even crush his inflating ego, not when he’d made you cum so hard in a matter of minutes; giving you what you’d been chasing the past few months.
he was about to kiss you again, after moments of admiring your face; but the sound of a door shutting had the moment ruined, reminding both you and him of where you are and what you’re meant to be.
definitely not meant to be caught having a moment at 4 in the morning.
lando was quick in taking a few large strides across the kitchen, positioning himself on the other side of the island as you quickly tugged your shirt down and ran your hand through your hair.
when pietra walked in, it was an innocent sight. plenty of distance between the pair of you, not enough lights on to expose your flushed cheeks or lando’s glistening fingers.
you pretended to be surprised as you brought your glass to your lips, leaning against the counter because your legs were still shaky, lando nodding towards the blonde.
“can’t sleep?” lando hummed in question.
“need to fill my water up.” pietra nodded with a smile, eyes flickering between you in suspicion for a brief moment as she realised this was almost an awkward thing to walk in on. you and him.
if only she knew.
you nodded in agreement, raising your glass of water as lando let out a small chuckle.
“if you need a late night snack, the donuts are great,” lando spoke again; your eyes falling onto him, and you were sure your face was bright red as you watched him bring his fingers to his lips; licking them clean.
you coughed on air, playing it off as if your water went down the wrong way; pietra oblivious as she nodded with a smile.
“i’ll keep that in mind.”
the smirk he’d sent you was sickening, and with that he was saying good night and excusing himself.
lando ended up needing a cold shower that night, with his own hand and images of you burned into his mind.
you were hoping your head would be clear when you woke up, but it was only more scrambled.
you’d gotten what you wanted, was it greedy to only want more?
“good night?” arabella had questioned you, sitting next to you on the long dining table; bowls of cereal in front of pair of you; and the smirk on her face was quite telling.
except she didn’t know the half of it.
“yeah, yeah it was good,” you hummed; eyes shifting to the other end of the table; where lando sat, already staring at you. the mischievous glint in his eye had you looking away quickly, the sly smirk not helping you in trying to play it cool to arabella.
you knew he was listening.
“did your… problem get solved?” arabella attempted to ask without outing you, so oblivious to the fact lando could easily piece together her words.
your eyes narrowed towards her, as if to say ‘shut up.’ which she only looked back at you with wide eyes, finding herself quite discrete.
“well?” arabella pushed, whisper yelling.
“yes,” you huffed; in hopes she would shut up, you could feel lando’s eyes burning into you. the man who solved your problem, unbeknownst to arabella who thought it was nicolas who was responsible.
“ah! how exciting,” arabella grinned; standing up and taking her bowel to the kitchen, only then did you let your eyes fall back on the british driver.
who looked oh so amused, you had to flee; following in the girls steps.
it set the tone for the next few days; longing looks, tempting smirks and lingering touches.
you couldn’t bring yourself to go out of your way and seek more of him; despite how much you wanted it. nicolas had been forgotten about, failing to explain your sudden interest and now lack of in the guy.
lando was all you could think about. how couldn’t you? he’d fingered you in the kitchen, bringing you to a mind blowing orgasm you’d been craving; one you hadn’t experienced since him. and once again, it had gone unaddressed.
the tension was clear; you got peace from the fact he was in the same boat as you.
you hated that he’d walked off so smug that night and you yourself had nothing to brag about, left to accept the fact that you needed him. had missed him.
and he knew it.
so maybe you were tactical, every day the dresses got shorter. bikini’s got smaller. you wanted to see him squirm.
which was easy.
it was ridiculous, how often you felt his gaze burning into you; feeling the heat on your skin from such thing. you’d blame the hot summer sun for the the constant blush on your cheeks but in reality it was him.
made to feel better by the way his jaw was constantly clenched. hands fiddling with one another. leg bouncing impatiently because he was furious with the fact you were no longer his, he couldn’t whisk you away and tear your clothes off like he wanted too.
left to simply stare. dwell on the facts. wish that he somehow gets a moment alone with you again.
there were sliding doors.
two minutes alone underneath the cabin on a boat, both trying to find something to drink. he swore you were about to kiss him before max came bouncing down the stairs.
you’d all gone out one night, somehow it was only you two left at the bar. lando was convinced this was it, he was going to drag you off to the bathroom.
but then arabella appeared, demanding shots.
you’d never admit that you went out to the kitchen most nights, hoping he too would be awake at such ridiculous hour again.
you tried not to get frustrated, even with the knowledge there was only a couple days till you’d be flying back home to reality.
finally however, you got lucky.
lando had gone on a run; unbeknownst to you, who had slept in.
you rejected plans of going to a winery, choosing for a day by the pool to save energy to go out tonight like planned.
your group of friends had attempted to protest your decision, but you insisted. bribed them with a promise you would do some baking while they were out.
that’s where lando found you.
stood in the kitchen. of course.
tiny bikini. typical.
and no one else in sight. lovely.
“smells fucking amazing.” lando hummed; slightly breathless as he sauntered into the kitchen, moving to stand against the island ━ a safe distance between the pair of you.
the voice had startled you, jumping slightly as you turned around.
you smiled appreciatively at his words, attempting to not stare at his exposed torso. tanned skin, beads of sweat decorating it. his muscles only more prominent as he crossed his arms, flexing invitingly.
“would feel bad letting such a big kitchen go to waste,” you explained; shrugging ever so slightly as your eyes returned to the chocolate chip cookies you were currently making. refuge from the sight of him.
he chuckled, and nodded; not that you saw. but his eyes didn’t leave you.
he should go up to his room.
“who’s home?” he couldn’t help but ask, feet planted. he wasn’t going anywhere.
the question had you facing what you were trying to ignore; the fact it was just the pair of you. it was dangerous knowledge.
“just us,” you spoke through a breath. if the tension wasn’t clear before, those two words had it falling upon the pair of you like bricks.
lando nodded once more, lips pursing. you were so tempting. this was what he’d been hoping for. he was impressed he even had the mental strength to consider running off. hiding in his room till your friends returned.
that idea didn’t last long though. moving towards you, you heard him approaching; his presence was demanding.
he was behind you, causing you to freeze. breath stuck in your throat.
“you’re driving me crazy.” he’d whispered, despite no fear of anyone overhearing; and you had to shut your eyes for a brief moment when his lips grazed your ear, ensuring you knew just how in reach he was.
you found some solace in his words, confirming your suspicions. reassuring to know you weren’t the only one going crazy. the only one feeling nostalgic.
“how so?” you played dumb, bottom lip rolling through your teeth ━ regardless your head tilted aside as his lips grazed your skin again, his breath fanning your skin.
you heard him grunt, and it would’ve made you giggle if you weren’t fighting off the urge to jump his bones.
“don’t act like it’s not on purpose.” lando huffed, hands moving to play with the fiddling strings of your bikini, fingertips only just brushing your skin.
you had to draw in another breath, suddenly feeling exposed and vulnerable. you needed some sort of power, just a physical reminder that he too was struggling despite his admission.
so you turned on your feet, eyes flickering up to his as you shrugged your shoulders; breaths slightly irregular from the closeness. right in front of you. trapping you against the counter.
“know you haven’t forgotten that all you need to do is use your words if you want me to fuck you,” lando spoke before you could, oozing cockiness despite his wandering eyes and tense jaw; his patience wearing thin.
once more you were cornered in the kitchen by his attractive frame and blunt words that had your thighs squeezing together.
“goes both ways,” you chimed; worried if you didn’t speak now you wouldn’t get a word in. you knew how this went; it was only a matter of time till you were a mess in his hands.
his eyebrows raised, he even scoffed; if he wasn’t so eager for you to go on he would’ve reminded you it didn’t.
lando always had a kink for making you beg.
“i already got what i wanted,” you hummed; hands moving to rest on his toned abdomen, running down and across the muscles before finding the waistband of his joggers. “something you want?”
your teasing tone had lando remembering just how worked up you got him, how frustrating and almost annoying you were. how annoying it was to deal with your antics that was.
“the other night was more than enough for me baby,” lando mused; not cracking, even with your hands on his body. “always look so pretty when you cum.”
you wish his words didn’t have such a visible effect on you. how flustered you got clear by the way the blood rushed to your cheeks, even while you stood here playing with the waistband of his pants.
it was pathetic; neither of you wanting to crack first, wasting precious time because you both really thought you were above this.
able to be friends. exes who wouldn’t go back to each other.
you knew he wasn’t entirely lying; of course you could remember how you were gifted a man who got off from getting you off. how he’d spent nights with his head just buried between your thighs. making you cum countless of times before he got his dick wet.
“cold shower treat you well?” you huffed; not letting him get away with such thing. as if he wasn’t standing here with the need to fuck you.
he smirked at your words, your attitude more so; the playful banter having been something he’d missed. something that wasn’t the same since things became platonic.
“did the job.” he laughed, hands still ghosting over your hips. “jealous i can still get myself off?” he couldn’t help but chuckle; and your jaw dropped at him using confidential information against you.
your hands still on his stomach, whacking lightly which he only chuckled harder at; and if you weren’t embarrassed you’d be taking in the way the smile was lighting up his face.
“that was not something you’re meant to use against me,” you practically grumbled; eyes narrowing up at him and he practically awed at the sight, adoring eyes and all as his hand moved to cup your cheek. his grin not matching the sympathetic eyes.
“i’m sorry,” he mumbled jokingly as he leant forward; not giving you time to reply as he put the both of you out of your misery, lips connecting with yours.
it wasn’t what you’d both expected, the kiss to finally ease the tension that had been building ever since a few nights ago in the same spot; the kiss was slow. passionate and deep, but not rushed.
it didn’t last long; but was nice in the moment however. to feel him.
the urge to feel more however was soon too prominent.
your hands that had linked behind his neck soon tangled in his hair. the grip he had on your waist soon moved to your ass, squeezing the flesh within his hold which had you leaning into him.
he lazily dragged you back with him, his back hitting the kitchen island as he practically held you against his body; lips moving in sync.
you felt his hard on with the movement, contained by his joggers; your own excitement jumping as your hands left his hair to snake down between your bodies; palming him.
the groan against your lips only motivated you; and while you wish you could do what he does, stand here and tease him; you were too keen to get your hands on him. to hear more of those pretty sounds he makes.
so you simply smiled up at him as you pulled away; bending down and settling on your knees; hands tugging his pants and underwear down with you; revealing his cock.
his breaths were a lot heavier as he watched you, leaning back against the counter ever so slightly, gaze fixed downwards as a small smirk tugged on the corner of his mouth.
he hissed as your small hand wrapped around him; thumb swirling the precum ━ you loving every bit of knowing how turned you got him from just a few words and the sight of you.
he wouldn’t ever deny it either; no one did it for him like you did.
“look so pretty on your knees,” lando praised; eager to gain back some control, despite knowing he’d do anything you asked of him right now; your hand feeling much than his did the other night.
you were eager to continue to please, so you didn’t waste any time in taking him in your mouth. it was as if he knew such thing, by the way his eyes were peering down at you.
his head fell back at the sensation, one he’d missed ━ arms flexing as he gripped the counter; a few curses strung together tumbling from his lips as you practically took him in whole first go.
his tip hitting the back of your throat did little to deter you. it was natural, as if you’d done such thing only a few days ago; not months ━ second nature as your tongue swirled his cock.
your eyes remained up, looking through your lashes as your head bobbed ━ knees uncomfortably shifting against the tiles but it was the last thing on your mind with the beautiful man above you.
taking in the way his abs flexed, neck strained and lips parted as you sucked him off ━ gagging occasionally but both of you knew that was no issue.
“missed this fucking mouth,” lando grunted, hand moving to tangle in your hair; both to keep it out of your way and to just have some sort of hold on you.
he was blindsided with pleasure, more than he remembered he’d be. your bikini did little to leave much to the imagination from his angle, watching as your breasts bounced with every movement. matched with your doe eyes, his jaw was slack.
you hummed as he tugged your hair lightly, the sensation one you always welcomed; and he too was reminded of such as he felt the vibrations around him. tugging again with a little more force.
his groans were gradually becoming more regular, hips bucking once or twice ━ pushing his cock further down your throat each time.
“just like that baby, always so good for me,” lando breathed, eyes screwing such momentarily as his head fell back once more.
you almost whined at the vision, wanting to scramble to your feet and kiss at his skin, feel all over him.
and he’d be happy to let you, he was hesitant in having you get him off first regardless; you hadn’t left much room for argument with good reason.
but right now he had no complaints, moans growing slightly louder in volume ━ grip tightening on the strands of your hair. he didn’t give you any warning as he came, but you didn’t need any.
the way he twitched in your mouth, you didn’t miss a beat ━ swallowing all you could; revelling in the way your name left his lips.
your mouth left him with a pop, gazing up at him to meet his adoring eyes, staring down at you as if you were the greatest thing to grace the earth.
because he did think of you as such. you continued to amaze him, he didn’t grow immune to such thing; just had managed to avoid the fact for a while now.
you stood to your feet, relieving your knees of the discomfort; a coy smile plastered on your lips at him panting and flustered.
you felt even, for the other night; reassured you weren’t the only one in need.
lando couldn’t complain either, couldn’t throw a playful comment towards you ━ not when you stood there with messy hair and swollen lips. all he could think about was turning you into a whiny mess, desperate to have you at his mercy again.
it was clear neither of you knew what to say in the few moments of silence; shamelessly admiring the other, catching your breaths. it wasn’t awkward however.
you were happy to feel his lips on yours once more ━ his hands not shy in wandering your body this time, sliding down to your thighs and hoisting you up immediately.
he was swift in turning around and placing you on the counter, stood between your legs as he hummed against your lips.
it wasn’t until his mouth ducked to your neck, then your collar bones, becoming harder to ignore as your head fell back, growing hot from the kisses he placed where-ever he could, that you spoke up.
“should go to your room,” you managed to get out, watching him through hooded eyes as he simply grabbed the material of your bikini to let your breasts fall free, kissing at the skin of them afterwards.
it wasn’t that you were worried on being walked in on, you had the house to yourselves for at least a couple more hours. you knew that. more so just the knowledge this wasn’t your house.
his eyebrows raised as he looked back up at you, hand sprawling over your stomach as he pushed you back slightly; your body blindly following the suggestion as you leant back on your hands.
“i paid for this villa baby, if i wanna fuck you on the counter i will,” lando murmured, hands spreading your thighs further apart; putting you in no position to argue you.
how could you? his words sounded like a promise, one you could only hope he would keep.
you nodded pathetically, suddenly aware of his hands resting high up on your inner thighs; suddenly aware of your own arousal and need for him.
he discarded of your bikini bottoms with ease, admiring your frame for a few moments as his hand reached to squeeze your breast, nipple rolling through his fingers moments later.
“lando,” you breathed; almost in warning, almost a whine. your legs were still spread and you were already resisting the urge to squirm. your patience non existent.
he only grinned, a slight chuckle maybe as his hands pushed your legs further apart once more.
“i got you baby,” lando hummed. “always so needy for me, you need me yeah? don’t you?” he spoke teasingly, tone painfully sweet as his fingers traced over your soaked folds.
you wanted to curse his obvious teasing, point out how you hadn’t been so cruel. but you knew it’d be no use.
you were scared to admit such thing, huffing as your hips bucked upwards momentarily.
“want to hear you say it.” lando grunted when he realised you weren’t planning on speaking; pinching your clit to get his point across, a strangled moan escaping you as your lips parted, falling into submission.
“need you.” you whined almost shamefully, head falling back as if the ceiling would offer you refuge from his hard stare. “please,”
your pleas were always music to his ears, so much so he debated with the idea of teasing you some more; to draw more whines and please out of you. but the way you were spread for him, so ready; he couldn’t help himself any longer.
you yelped at the sudden feeling of his mouth on your clit, sucking at your sensitive bud; not expecting such feeling as your eyes rolled back.
his hands manoeuvred your thighs to place your legs over his shoulders; giving him full access to your core as sweet moans started to escape you.
“o-oh my god,” you whimpered; eyes flickering to the sight of his head between your thighs ━ back arching as his tongue swiped through your folds, assaulting your cunt relentlessly as if he was starved.
you’d been reminded of how good his fingers were; so much so you hadn’t even considered getting his tongue again.
his large hands were squeezing your thighs, a bruising grip to keep you in place; eating you out expertly.
“lando━ feels so good,” you moaned as if that wasn’t clear by the way your hips were pushing against his hold. your right hand left the counter, moving to tangle in his curls, something to grab.
his blue eyes ventured to the sight of you momentarily, and he groaned into your cunt as he took note of the way your face was contorting in pleasure, how your body flinched with every move he made.
whimpers and moans were free falling, lando enjoying every single one ━ glad you could be as loud as you wanted, as loud as he made you.
you knew you were approaching your high shamefully fast, but had little room to care when you’d failed to reach it so much recently.
lando knew your body too well, could tell by the way you were tugging on his curls and creating more force against the hold he had on your thighs that you were about to cum.
he wanted you to let go, tongue flicking and nose bumping your clit ━ you orgasmed hard, suddenly; cumming on his tongue with what almost sounded like a squeal.
he didn’t stop, letting you ride out your high ━ before pulling away, wiping at the corners of his mouth.
you were mistaken however in thinking you would have time to catch your breath, not getting a word out before lando was moving only one leg off his shoulder and sliding two fingers into your entrance suddenly; thumb landing on your sensitive clit.
your body almost didn’t know how to react, falling back onto your hands that found the counter you sat upon once more to stabilise yourself.
“s’ too much,” you whimpered ━ legs attempting to squeeze shut, failing with the angle caused by one leg draped over lando’s shoulder, which allowed his fingers to hit deep within you.
lando hummed in amusement, knowing how much you could take. knowing you always said that, just to whine and cry out if he were to stop.
“too much?” he mocked; fingers curling and your body jerking. “want me to stop?” he breathed; smirking oh so cockily because he knew the answer. chuckling as you shook your head ‘no’ incredibly quickly.
“didn’t think so,” he huffed; thumb speeding up on your clit, rolling over the bud continuously. it was pure ecstasy, the overstimulation overwhelming your entire body.
his breaths were heavy as he admired you, the way you were shaking beneath him. reminiscent of how easily he could you like this, of the nights he made you cum four or five times before fucking you.
it killed him he didn’t have the time to do so again. but he couldn’t possibly complain right now.
“making a mess baby, all over my fingers,” lando spoke; the filthy sounds of his fingers moving in out of you filling the room, and you weren’t sure you’d last much longer when he entered a third. “so greedy. gonna cum again aren’t you?”
it was like he was three steps ahead of your body, leaving you to whine and nod pathetically.
“yeah? that what you want? to cum again?” lando spoke once more; watching as your head fell back, your eyes screwing shut and it satisfied him to see you feel the pleasure he was giving.
he was hard again, purely from his name sounding so fucking incredible as you moaned and moaned, from the perfection you were.
his hand grasping your cheek had your eyes flying open as lando tilted your head forwards to look at him, eyebrows raised in expectance.
“words pretty girl,” lando reminded, chin still between his thumb and index finger ━ struggling to focus on him with the numbing pleasure that was causing tears to form.
you nodded, before processing what he’d said. words. right.
“please lando,” you gasped; eyes pouring into his, pleading with his as your back arched and legs shook. you weren’t sure you’d be able to stop yourself. “gonna cum,” you whined.
lando felt it had been far too long to be cruel, so he simply hummed in appreciation; smiling lazily as he pushed you over the edge as he curled his fingers once more.
your vision went white, screaming his name as you came again, all over his fingers.
lando’s bottom lip rolled through his teeth at the sight, able to take in every moment, no restraint for either of you and it felt fucking amazing.
his hands gently moved your leg off his shoulder, stood between them as his hands massaged your thighs comfortingly, giving you a few moments to come down and catch your breath.
your eyes fluttered open, and immediately you were smiling stupidly at the sight of lando; his own grin mirroring yours as he hummed quietly.
“you’re so beautiful,” he whispered; unable to stop the compliment from escaping him, and your smile only grew; knowing you’d disagree if you caught sight of your tangled hair and flushed cheeks. 
it had your stomach flipping, men compliment you all the time. only lando would gain such a reaction.
“got another one in you?” his question was gentle; the sparkle in his eye daring, and you had no hesitation in nodding.
“need you inside me,” you mumbled, causing the driver’s smirk to return to its rightful place ━ glad your wants were shared.
you may have gone a long time without, but your stamina hadn’t faulted.
lando was tugging you to the edge of the counter at that, and you easily got lost in the kiss that he placed upon your lips; rough and messy as you melted into his hold.
it’d caught you by surprise, when he tugged you down onto your feet, spun your round and bent you over the marble surface; a gasp escaping you.
“missed you so much,” lando sighed; ushering your legs apart as your breath hitched in your throat. you didn’t know what to focus on, his words, your position or the feeling of his hands on your ass.
the confession wasn’t one you’d hold onto, you knew better than to cling to words uttered during sex. but god it felt great to hear.
“missed you too,” you assured him back, moan slipping past your lips as you felt his tip press against your folds; but he made no further movements.
your hips shook slightly, attempting to entice him ━ so needy despite having cum twice already. you just wanted him. all of him.
his hand moved up your back, tangling in your hair and creating a makeshift pony tail ━ one he tugged on immediately, your head snapping up.
“what did i say earlier? about using your words?” lando leant forward, lips grazing your ear; cock pressed against your entrance, causing you to cry out.
your body was overstimulated, tired; tired of his teasing. out of practice to predict his wants.
“want you to fuck me,” you whined quickly, rushing your words out as your hips pressed backwards. “need you lan, please,” you whimpered; sounding oh so desperate lando couldn’t possibly deny you.
he entered you without any more warning, bottoming out as your walls wrapped around him; your gasps intertwining as you gripped the counter below you.
the cool surface against your front did little to cool you down, moaning at the feeling of being so full. full of him again, after so long.
too long.
“always take me so well,” lando grunted in your ear; giving you a few moments to adjust before he was dropping your hair and standing up straight ━ hands finding your hips now.
his thrusts were harsh, rough and deep; not too slow or too fast, ensuring you felt every inch of him as your aching cunt squeezed him.
every move had your body jolting, moans escaping you; the counter and lando the only reason your legs were able to stay upright.
“so-so good,” you stumbled out, eyes rolling back as your body fell limp, unable to process the pleasure you were feeling. what you’d been deprived of and craving.
the driver too was losing himself in the feeling, head thrown back as he moved in and out of you ━ sounds of skin slapping filling up the large and empty space.
it was a mutual feeling, as to why the fuck this didn’t happen sooner. how on earth you two had been in such close proximity throughout the months and not gotten to this point yet.
safe to say keeping your distance now would be difficult.
lando felt the need to be closer, as if he needed more of you despite having you already at his mercy.
his hand found your neck with ease, wrapping around your throat and guiding your head up ━ causing you to stand up right, back against his chest.
he didn’t apply pressure, yet, but just the feeling of his large hand wrapped around the base of your neck had your legs feeling weaker; split open on his cock meaning lando’s body was the only thing holding you up now.
“feel good?” lando’s question was just him chasing praise, knowing you were fucked stupid; but he couldn’t help but want to remind you just who was the reason you could barely form sentences.
you nodded as much as you could in his hold. always nodding, he could ask or say anything and you’d find a way to say yes.
“only i can make you feel this good hm? only i can make you cum?” lando didn’t stop running his mouth, basking in the fact it was him that had the tears spilling out of your eyes. a sense of pride washing over him.
you choked out a yes, his thrusts having only gotten faster ━ and when his hand applied pressure to your neck you were almost certain you were in heaven.
“so perfect, so fucking perfect for me baby,” lando grunted in praise; and the kiss he pressed to your shoulder blade was a vast contrast to the treatment of your cunt.
it really was too much, the few tears and whimpers made that clear to lando; you were only moments away from cumming again and the thought alone had his own high dawning on him.
“come on angel, cum on my cock. cum for me,” he was speaking in your ear again; and you practically screamed as your third orgasm hit ━ body falling limp in his hold.
the way your walls squeezed him had him cumming with you, groaning as his forehead rested on your shoulder ━ erratic breaths filling the room as he stilled inside you.
all his touches were suddenly delicate, pulling out of you as he moved you to lean against the counter, still holding you up slightly as you caught your breath.
it was a comfortable silence, his hands ghosting over your waist as you pressed your eyes shut for a few moments.
you’d expected some sort of regret. an immediate now what? for one of you to panic or flee.
but instead, neither of you wanted the moment to end.
“want to join me for a shower?” lando broke the silence, a half smile that had you feeling an odd sense of relief.
one he felt too when you smiled right back, and nodded in agreement.
he’d chuckled, you would even go as far as to say he was grinning; hands grasping your thighs and picking you up with ease, carrying you off towards the bathroom.
when your friends returned you had been on the sofa, lando out by the pool ━ strategically placed to avoid suspicion, already under the assumption someone would’ve brought up the fact it happened to be you two who stayed back today.
chatter filled the room immediately, lando trudging in to greet everyone. you having stayed seated, purely because you didn’t trust your legs.
“burnt cookies y/n?” max had spoke across the room; having been first to stumble upon the overdone batch sat on the kitchen island you’d spent the last 15 minutes sanitising.
your cheeks flushed, purely because you could sense lando’s eyes burning into you.
you could picture the cocky smirk plastered on his face.
“yeah. my bad,” you laughed sheepishly.
and you were glad to be the only one paying attention when lando passed the back of the couch, finger grazing your shoulder as he did so.
“my bad,” he corrected; your eyes meeting his smug ones in passing.
━━
a/n: did y’all miss my shitty endings???
anyways idk what this is but here it is
unedited atm so apologies xox
as always appreciate feedback so so much, love u all and hope u enjoy 🫶🏼🫶🏼🫶🏼
🟤 a/n ──── The Oscar one-shot is also on its way babes 🎀
📍 Zandvoort, Netherlands
IT ENDS IN an orange haze, just not the one he hoped would see. With his jaw clenched and his helmet clutched tightly in his fist, Lando passes just below the podium as his teammate’s name is announced through the speakers.
Next, he does what he has to do: keeps his tone level calm in the media pen, answering the same questions all over again with composure and professionalism, and celebrates with the team, despite the jumble of feelings knotted in his stomach.
It’s only when he slips into his hotel room that he starts feeling sick. The voices, always waiting for him to crack, rush in the moment the door shuts behind him. The four walls of the room feel like they’re closing on him, pressing against his ribs, making it almost impossible to breathe. He sinks onto the bed and rests his elbows on his knees, rubbing his eyes until he sees alternating white dots. His palms press into them until the darkness swirls, then shighs.
Unlucky.
Not enough.
Not fast enough.
Not smart enough.
The thing about fear, he’s found, is that is always accompanied by doubts; that’s pretty much what fuels it: what if he’ll never be the one? What if the championship slips away because he isn’t as ruthless? What if today he wasn’t just unlucky, but it’s a preview of what’s coming? Because Lando knows that Oscar’s racing IQ was always his biggest, strongest advantage against him. Where Oscar corrects in a matter of laps, Lando needs an extra push, until he finally learns his lesson.
From the outside, everybody sees a kid who grew into a contender, always joking, down to party, always self-deprecating, lighter on the surface than he feels beneath it. They see a driver who hides frustration in fake smiles, but don’t see the guy who asks countless of questions and stays long after the celebrations to help his team clean the garage. And it’s what they don’t see that makes Lando spiral.
He knows who he is, on and off track, but that doesn’t stop him from dissecting each sector time until it isn’t about tenths anymore, but worth. His worth.
Exhausted, he lies back on the mattress, staring at the ceiling where shadows shift with the flickering light outside. His neck is stiff, arms and legs sore, fingers still slightly tingling from the wheel’s vibrations. He can’t help but feel so deep in his bones that what he’s currently doing is constantly letting his people down; his team, his family and friends. Her.
The thought of her squeezes his chest like an invisible claw, strong enough to make him swallow hard against it. For a moment, he closes his eyes and, in the dark, Lando can almost still hear the crowd chanting names that doesn’t include his.
The phone vibrates, its glow cutting through the semi-obscurity of the hotel room, but he turns his head away. The thought of human interaction feels like a chore now, one that he needs to avoid at all costs for his own sanity. Words seem too expensive tonight, so he leaves it to buzz until it eventually dies out.
He forces himself up, then begins with one step after the other across the floor. Every movement seems computerized somehow, because the only way he knows to fight his mind is by setting his body in motion, pretending there’s some control left. The mirror above the sink catches him in the silver light of the bathroom, eyes rimmed red though he hasn’t shed a single tear. His face is pale under the faint sunburn from the summer break, which he now misses dearly. He strips, doesn’t linger, and steps immediately beneath the stream of hot water.
The heat cascades down his tensed muscles, tracing the ache in his shoulders and neck. He presses his palms flat against the tiled wall and bows his head beneath the spray. It definitely helps a little, but the water doesn’t wash out thoughts. Somehow, they rise louder instead, crowding him until there’s no space left to breathe.
Maybe I could’ve afforded this if I didn’t fuck up in Canada, huh? he thinks, while the mistake replays in his mind like a broken DVD. Do I want this too much? Or not bad enough?
The questions build relentlessly, until his chest tightens again, much more intense than before, and he needs to physically squeeze it in his palm to make the weight go away.
He reaches blindly for the shower gel, hand hovering only halfway. Suddenly, the strength in his legs drains without warning, and they fold beneath him. Lando collapses onto the wet tiles, vision blurring as his body leans back, spine pressing into the cold ceramic. He doesn’t cry, it’s just everything breaking surface at once. His jaw works, palms squeezing into fists, and decides to just let it happen.
When it’s over, he drags himself upright, water still running down his back. He has always been pretty good at compartmentalizing. So he steps out as if he’s born again, towel wrapped around his waist, damp curls clinging to his forehead and temples. He looks at himself one last time in the foggy mirror, then turns away with a grimace.
Back in the room, Lando pulls the towel tighter and sinks onto the bed, the mattress dipping beneath his weight. The phone lies waiting where he left it, notifications flooding in the moment he unlocks it; each one is a reminder of how many people are watching, how many expect him to be alright, and how many are already crucifying him online. He clears them one by one, dwelling a little at the texts from Oscar, but ending up dismissing them without engaging.
Almost instantly, another pops up.
If I leave now, I’ll be there in 2 hours.
Lando smiles and, for a second that feels like it’s torn from heaven, the noise in his head stops. His thumb hovers for a while before pressing the call button. The line rings only once and then her voice slips through, turning the blood in his veins into honey and glitter.
“Lan?” she speaks in a small voice, a little scared that he might have called her by mistake and that, in reality, he needs to be alone tonight.
Her voice makes his heart race, forcing him to lean his head back against the headboard, towel slipping lower on his waist as he forces a breath into his lungs. He can’t trust his voice yet, but after a beat of silence, Lando exhales with a tamed sigh.
“Hi, baby,” he manages with a little grin he hopes she can sense.
There’s a pause on her end, then the faintest rustle of fabric, like she’s moving around her room. “I wasn’t joking, you know,” she tells him. “I’ll come if you need me.”
The determination in her tone cuts through him like a knife through butter. He pictures her already pulling open drawers, tugging a bag from the top shelf, one hand clutching the phone tight to her ear. The image nearly breaks him, because he knows she would. Without hesitation. Without complaint. Without even thinking twice.
His hand rubs over his face. “Nah, that’s fine,” he whispers, swallowing down the lump in his throat. “Seriously,” Lando insists. “I’ll see you tomorrow, anyway. I just needed to hear your voice,” he continues, without adding so I can make the ones in my head stop.
On her end, Lando catches the soft click of the lamp switch, and the way she makes herself more comfortable in her bed.
“You don’t sound fine.”
“Uh, just tired,” he tries to be as convincing as possible, but isn’t sure how good of a performer he is at the moment. His voice drags, heavy with exhaustion, “Long day.”
The silence that follows is not quite empty nor weightless. There are a lot of unsaid things that crowds it, but none of them dares to disturb it for a little while.
“I wish I could hold you,” she finally says, her voice as tiny as a whisper.
Lando closes his eyes, the words slapping him across the face. He tilts his head sideways into the pillow, letting her voice wrap around him like he needs protection. From what, he doesn’t know yet.
“Don’t,” he warns. “If you start, I might reconsider your offer,” he jokes weakly.
Her laugh comes through. “And I wouldn’t hold it against you.”
“I know,” says Lando, biting the inside of his cheek, his vision blurring once again. “That’s the problem. You’d drop everything, and I don’t deserve that tonight.”
“Lando…” she breathes his name like she’s about to beg him to stop disregarding himself. “It’s never going to be about merit. Please, don’t insult me like that again.”
It should be, he thinks. All the good things in life should be earned, because that’s the only way he can actually enjoy them. How did he find her, the only exception to the rule? The one he considers himself unworthy of when his mind races faster than his car on the straight.
“I hate when you do this,” she admits. “You’re carrying the whole world on your back when you don’t have to. Not alone, at least. And I wish I could take some—”
Lando swallows, fighting past the sting in his eyes. “You already do, baby,” he cuts her off; it’s the determination in his voice that makes her heart stop talking. “And I can’t thank you enough for it. Just knowing you’re there makes it feel less…” he trails off, because saying less empty would sound a bit too concerning.
Her sigh floats through, a gentle exhale he clings to. “No, I get it. I’m glad you’re not pushing me away,” she says, picking at the skin of her thumb until she feels the sting of blood. She doesn’t want to force it, so she has to gracefully dance around it. “Wanna stay on? We don’t have to talk.”
Lando nods, even though he’s aware she can’t see him, and shifts with a sigh, finally stretching his legs out, the towel loosening around his hips. The phone rests against his ear as the girl on the other end fills the silence with little hums, and the occasional whisper of his name when she wants to make sure he’s still awake.
“Would you like me to sing something for you?” she offers at one point, a small giggle escaping her lips, making Lando smile too.
He hums softly. “Do you have a track list?”
“Twinkle, twinkle little star,” she starts singing in a gentle tone, hearing Lando’s chuckle the moment she does. “Don’t interrupt the performance of my life now,” she instructs him, trying to sound offended. “Otherwise I’ll have to find another way to help you decompress, even if I’m not there.”
He quirks a brow, pressing his head deeper into the pillow. “We’ve never tried phone sex before,” the joke falls flat halfway out of his mouth, but before he can backpedal, she surprises him.
“Yeah,” she asks casually, “Isn’t that crazy?”
His face warms instantly. “I was joking.”
“I’m not,” she teases. “What are you wearing?”
That makes him laugh with his whole chest, but still decides to play along. “Still in my towel, I just got out of the shower.”
The girl hums. “Sounds like I’m missing out,” she says in a light voice, and Lando can practically picture the playful tilt of her lips.
Her teasing lingers in the quiet, while he lets the smile curl slowly across his face before countering, “What am I missing out on then?”
She makes a little pause for dramatic effect, followed by her successful attempt to catch his attention. “The usual,” she says, drawing out the words. “A ratty t-shirt from your first collection. And I may or may not have panties on.”
Lando whines quietly, tipping his head back. His eyes close shut, the smile tugging helplessly wider. “So vile, jeez,” he breathes, dragging a hand through his curls, that are still slightly damp. “‘s killing me that I’m not there to find out myself.”
Her laugh bubbles soft through the speaker, filling the space around him with a warmth he hadn’t realized he needed. He will see her tomorrow, sure, but the desire to have her by his side right now pushes him so close to the edge that if she continues in the same manner, Lando will book the flight himself.
“I feel like you’d love the plot twist.”
“And I feel like kissing you,” he admits. There is no trace of teasing behind them anymore, but his voice dips deeper as he adds, “Slow and deep, the way I always do when I’m frustrated.” He swallows, pressing his free palm against his chest. “To make you understand… you always understand, don’t you?”
There’s silence on her end, but he knows she’s listening, leaning into every word.
“You do, my darling,” he answers for her, a tired smile curling on his lips as he imagines her. “You always get so soft when I kiss you like that, letting me own you entirely.”
She wants to tell him that he already has her, mind and soul and body, but suddenly, the words get stuck in her throat. Her inhale shudders through the speaker, a sound that he feels right down to his toes. “Lando,” the girl cries.
“Yes, love?” replies Lando gently, his voice buzzing through like static in her chest.
Her breath hitches. “Your mouth...”
“What about it, baby?”
“When you talk that way,” she shakes her head, smiling, “It leaves me breathless.”
He can’t stop but picture the way he kisses her, every time with a hunger he cannot explain, even after all this time, like he’s tasting something he knows right away that he’ll never get enough of: his lips fitting perfectly against hers, tugging at her bottom lip, his tongue sneaking in with the goal to make her lose herself to him.
“Only when I talk or…” pushes Lando.
“When you eat me out,” she clarifies, the words firm enough to knock the air straight out of him.
Lando freezes where he’s sitting, his lips parting with a strangled, silent sound. His tongue darts out to wet his lips, his mouth watering at the thought of being between her thighs; blood rushes south so fast he almost breaks.
“Expect it as soon as I walk through the door tomorrow,” he promises, his voice dropping an octave, the need slowly but surely creeping under his skin. “Can’t wait to feel you warm and wet on my tongue,” he pauses, giving in to the ache in his cock under the towel. “So sweet and ready. Ready to drop to your knees too, hm?”
She gets shy at that, but does not hold back from sharing her satisfaction with him. “So fast, baby. I like the weight of you in my mouth,” she whispers. “Feeling you getting hard in real time is so satisfying.”
“It’s all you,” Lando says, his voice mellow through the speaker. “You feel like heaven when you let me slide in. The second your lips wrap around my cock, sucking at my head like you can’t help yourself. Fucking hell, baby. I’m done for.”
Her thighs press together under the sheets, the vivid memory making her squirm restlessly. “Sometimes it feels like so much,” she tells him, her voice breaking into a timid whimper. “Like you get bigger every time.”
Lando groans, his accent curling around her name like velvet. “Keep going.”
She giggles, wetting her lips, heat rising up her chest and neck as she confesses, “I think about when you go so deep into my throat that I can’t do anything else but take it. When I look up at you and you’re so gone just fucking my face, with your fist in my—”
The noise Lando lets out cuts her short, sounding like he’s rather in pain.
He’s already palming himself, squeezing the base of his cock under the towel, his hips twitching with phantom thrusts. “That tight little throat,” he agrees. “Takes me so good, like you were made for it.” His voice cracks the moment he tries to speak again, turning into something close to pleading. “Weren’t you?”
Her chest swells, the heat falling between her legs. “You know it,” she promises, again and again, until she feels dizzy with it. “I miss it so bad.”
Lando nods instinctively, his heart starting to beat faster and faster. “My good girl who likes to swallow my cum, yeah?” he rasps, palming himself harder.
Her breath catches at his tone, already reaching between her legs without thinking, her fingers grazing her soaked slit. She eases the ache with the lightest touch, gasping quietly into the phone; she stopped wondering long ago how quickly her own body betrays her when it comes to Lando. At this point, she no longer cares how the man manages to do it, but how he’s planning to take care of it.
Lando moans, pushing his towel down at last, wrapping his fist around himself. “You do make me so hard. I hate that I’ve gotta jerk off into my hand instead of watching you take it all in your belly like you’re meant to.”
Her pulse pounds as she circles her clit lazily, her thighs relaxing under the covers. “Tell me what you’d do if you were here,” she breathes heavily into her phone.
His tone turns molten in an instant. “I’d spread you open on the bed, eat you until you’re crying my name, then fuck you so good you’d feel me for days.” Lando pauses for a second, his rhythm picking up. “Wouldn’t stop until you’re messy and full, just like you need it.”
Her whimper is sweet on the other end, her fingers picking up the pace too. The wet, slick sound carries faintly through the line, and it makes Lando’s head spin. His hand works harder over his cock, squeezing at the base before dragging up over his aching tip, smearing precum down his shaft. Her body burns hotter with every sound of him: the sharp drag of his breath, the crisp slap of his fist, and the way his voice lowers each time he tries to say her name, but it dies before it reaches the end because he can’t control himself anymore.
The feeling coils inside her like a fever, each noise sparking against her nerves until she’s dripping down her own hand, shaking with want. It’s not just the intimacy of the moment that has her wetter than her fingers can keep up with, but the connection between them as well. Her body is clenching on nothing as if it already knows exactly what it craves, even though it cannot have yet. And somehow, that turns her on ever more.
“That’s it,” Lando encourages her the second he hears the needy sounds. “Feels good, love?”
The girl exhales with a tremor that takes over her body. “I’d prefer your lap, but I can’t complain.”
Lando lets out another string of filthy words, his palm dragging harder over his length at the thought of her rubbing herself against him, his thumb catching on the sensitive slit.
“Where do you need me the most?”
Her voice falters but steadies quickly, emboldened by the way he listens like her words are all he needs. She paints it so vividly for him: his hands gripping her thighs open, his mouth teasing her swollen clit until she’s begging, his fingers filling her deeper while his tongue keeps working her over. Then Lando’s mouth taking her breath away, her skin still slick with his spit and her own release, only for him to drag his messy mouth up her body, leaving wet kisses on her stomach, breasts, and throat as he presses his cock inside her without hesitation. The thought of him filling her while her cunt is still fluttering from his tongue makes her see stars, imagining the way his weight would pin her down, his pace relentless, using every drop he’d coaxed out of her to fuck her into the mattress.
“Holy shit, baby,” he breaths harder. “Such a good girl for telling me exactly what you want,” he continues, his hips jerking helplessly against his grip, mind playing the scene in cruel detail. Just the image of her bent and pliant for him makes his whole body light up with pleasure like a Christmas tree.
“You sound so hot right now,” she blurts, her words broken by the wet sounds of her fingers working herself open.
Lando lets out a timid laugh, blushing even as his hand tightens. “Shut up,” he whines. “I need to see you, please. Wanna see your hand between those pretty thighs.”
She smirks against the phone, even in her fucked-out state. “You first.”
Lando doesn’t waste a second. Angling the phone with one hand, he lets the bedside lamp radiate a soft glow over his flushed cock, thick and straining in his fist, making sure she can see the glisten at the tip where it leaks over his thumb.
Her gasp comes the secon he hits send.
“Fuck’s sake, Lando,” her voice shakes between awe and lust, fingers plunging with more intent inside her. “Gonna make it my lockscreen.”
Lando laughs, but it sounds more like a muted cry, dropping his head back against the pillow, torn between pride and delirium. He barely notices his own ragged breathing until his phone buzzes in his hand. He lifts it sluggishly, his chest heaving, and the moment the image fills his screen, he feels like he’s been punched in the gut.
Her angle is better than his, but the lighting is too dim to be a mere accident. The kind that makes him lean in, fishing to catch every detail. He can make out the unmistakable shine of her wetness, her fingers sliding inside, her swollen lips parting around them with ease. What makes his cock twitch hardest is what he can’t quite see: the perfect picture of her hole stretching around those fingers, just out of view, hidden on purpose to drive him absolutely mad.
“Only two?” he rasps into the phone, crazy with desire. “You’re not holding back on me, are you, love? How tight are you?”
Her reply is immediate, and needier than she intends. “Nothing’s been inside me since you fucked me before you left,” she admits. “Days ago.”
Lando swears under his breath, his fist tightening on instinct. “Fuck. You’ve been walking around all empty and needy, just waiting for me?” he sobs, gradually getting jealous of her own fingers now. “Be a sweetheart and add another. See how you stretch for me, please.”
Her whimper floats through the space between them, and Lando listens like it’s his personal drug. Every little sound is magnified, until she finally pants louder, overwhelmed, as her third finger sinks in.
“How’s it feel?” he asks, impatient. “All the way in?”
She tries, but what comes out is only a desperate moan of his name, high-pitched and delicious.
Lando grits his teeth, cock pulsing in his grip. “Bet you’re so hot inside,” he whispers with his voice broken by the air he inhales only halfway. “You always are. So tight and wet and perfect. How hard are you squeezing those fingers already, hm?” Another moan tears from her throat, longer this time, and he chuckles. “Greedy little thing, you’re hot as fuck.”
“Lando, please,” her voice cuts in. “Need more. Wish they were your fingers,” she cries out.
His chest swells with the knowledge of how much she needs and wants him, but the rush of pleasure coursing through him doesn’t leave Lando much space to dwell. His cock is aching, leaking all over his fist, every stroke sloppier.
“I’d already be knuckle-deep in that tight little cunt, making you squeeze down so hard on me,” he assures her, voice thick with lust.
Her whimper tells him she’s close, and it makes him bite down on his lower lip, his own orgasm building just as fast. But she wants him to take charge. And she knows there’s only one way to pull it out of him.
“Is that so?” she challenges softly, “And would you fuck me afterwards?”
Lando’s jaw clenches, his abs tightening as he fucks his fist with a harsh stroke, allowing himself to see it in his mind: how he’d push himself in, savoring the stretch, the way her pussy always clings to him like she’s begging him never to leave. He’d lift her legs over his shoulders, folding her in half, fucking in so deep she’d feel the weight of him pressing against her stomach. His rhythm would start steady yet calculated, until she’s whining for more, then he’d give it to her the way she always begged him to, with hard thrusts that make the bed rattle beneath them.
His talent for explaining every little thing in the smallest detail does it for her. Lando knows it the moment her cry breaks over the line, desperate and without any shame. She comes loud, so hot it makes his hips thrust helplessly into his hand, chasing the sounds of her pleasure like oxygen.
“There you go,” he praises, “You’re so fucking beautiful when you come, you know that? I’d hold you down and keep you wide open… let myself go so deep that your tiny hole splits just to take me. Take everything I have to give you, baby.”
Her moans tumble through the speaker as he talks her through it, until it tips him over the edge too. With a strangled groan, Lando spills messily into his fist, vision going white behind his eyelids as he loses himself to the thought of his needy girl coming apart because of what he does to her. Even when they’re countries away.
Euphoria rolls through his body in waves, leaving him quivering with pleasure. He doesn’t think he’s ever come that hard just by fucking his fist, and he makes a mental note to try to replicate it every single time they’re apart.
As he keeps breathing fast, Lando’s head lifts a little, a groan slipping past his lips when he looks down at the mess streaked across his abs and hand.
“Shit, baby,” he shighs, rasping into the phone, “You okay?”
Her answer comes a few seconds later, her tone muffled enough to sharpen his hearing. “You are never making me use three fingers again, unless you’re here to clean it up.”
A loud laugh slips out before he can stop it. “Understood.”
Lando grabs the towel still lying beneath him and wipes himself down halfheartedly, shifting until he’s stretched out properly on the bed. This time around, the silence that follows isn’t as awkward; it has a particular warmth, weighted only by the sound of them catching their breaths.
After a while, like it’s been on his tongue, Lando whispers, “Thanks for not bringing up the race.”
Her answer comes as naturally as ever. “It doesn’t matter, Lan. You’ll bounce back like you always do.”
Her trust hits him deeper than he expects. It makes his throat ache, because deep down, in his darkest moments, he has thought about giving up. He’s never told anyone that, but he knows she’d be the only one that would completely understand, if that day ever came.
Hesitantly, he asks the question that gnaws at him anyway. “Would you still love me if I—”
“Yes,” she cuts him off with no hesitation. “Yes. I love you in all your forms, regardless of whether you’re first, second, or dead fucking last, Norris.”
His eyebrows arch when he hears her call him by his last name. “Still a bit heated up, I see,” he teases, his body still vibrating with the memory of her.
“Only because you can’t shut up,” she shoots back. “I watched your post-race interviews. Can’t begin to describe how much I wanted to wrap myself around you and never let you leave my sight again.”
He huffs, a little smile tugging at his lips. “Well, you gave me an orgasm, so I’d say it helped just as much.”
His response gets her cracking a smile too, but then she grows quiet, in an attempt to find the right words that wouldn’t accidentally make him feel like a burden.
“Lando?”
“Yes, love?”
“Promise me you’ll sleep tonight,” he can feel the weight in her voice and how hesitant she sounds. The memory of Brazil hangs between them like a ghost. She doesn’t even have to say it; Lando knows she’s well aware of the ways he tends to practically tear himself apart after a bad race.
He doesn’t answer right away. Just stares at the ceiling instead, throat working, mind replaying every mistake he’s ever done on track. He knows sleep won’t come that easy for him, especially tonight. But he also knows what she needs to hear, regardless if she ends up believing him or not.
“I will,” he lies, feeling the same claw tighten around his chest again.
Her fingers grip the phone harder as if she can sense the deception through the line. “Let’s stay on the phone until we fall asleep then?” she suggests.
“Sure,” he agrees softly. “Tell me about your day.”
. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ MASTERLIST . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁
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࣪ ִֶָ☾. summary ━━━━━━━ A brutal fight erupts between Y/N and Lando at a friends' gathering, where he unknowingly destroys his soulmate in a way no one thought possible. His attack confirms every fear she’s carried alone for years, shattering the last piece of hope she had. That night, overwhelmed by heartbreak and years of buried trauma, Y/N suffers a panic attack more severe than anything she’s ever experienced.
࣪ ִֶָ☾. pairing ━━━━━━━ Lando Norris x she!reader
࣪ ִֶָ☾. word count ━━━━━━━ 10.9k
࣪ ִֶָ☾. warnings ━━━━━━━ slight mention of abusive childhood, vey mean Lando, swearing, medical emergency (panic attack), loads of crying, loads of angst
Series Masterlist
The rain had stopped just as Y/N arrived at Max and Pietra's apartment building in Central London, though the gray clouds still hung heavy and threatening above the city's skyline. She stood for a moment outside the familiar entrance, adjusting the strap of her designer handbag and smoothing down her black cashmere coat. Fourteen months. It had been 14 months since she'd first met Lando Norris through their mutual friends, and 12 months since that fateful afternoon when she'd discovered the devastating truth that had turned her world completely upside down.
Twelve months since she’d seen him shirtless by Max and Pietra’s pool. Twelve months since she’d spotted the intricate, fine-line tattoo—a crescent moon birthmark—on his left hip, the exact same mark that adorned her own skin in the exact same spot. Twelve months of carrying the weight of knowing the universe had played its cruelest joke on her: marking her for a man who looked at her like she was less than nothing, who spoke with barely concealed contempt, and who seemed to take genuine pleasure in making her feel small.
The irony was so perfect it was almost beautiful in its completeness. Almost.
Y/N pressed the buzzer for their apartment, her fingers trembling slightly despite the mild evening temperature. The familiar sound of Pietra's voice crackled through the intercom, warm and welcoming as always, a stark contrast to the ice-cold dread that had settled in Y/N's stomach the moment she'd received the text about tonight's gathering.
"Y/N! Come up, love. We're all here already."
All here already. Which meant he was already there. Which meant she would have to spend the next several hours pretending that her heart didn't shatter a little more each time he looked through her like she was invisible, each time he spoke to everyone else with warmth and charm while reserving nothing but cold politeness for her.
The elevator ride to the 16th floor felt like an eternity, giving Y/N too much time to study her reflection in the polished steel doors. She looked composed, professional, put-together—the image she'd carefully cultivated over years of learning to hide every vulnerable emotion behind a mask of competent indifference. Her long hair fell in soft waves past her shoulders, and her eyes held that particular intensity that came from years of analyzing every interaction, every micro-expression, every subtle shift in tone that might indicate incoming rejection or abandonment.
She'd chosen her outfit carefully tonight—high-waisted black trousers that accentuated the curve of her hips while maintaining an air of sophisticated professionalism, paired with a burgundy silk blouse that brought out the warmth in her skin tone. The outfit was expensive, impeccably tailored, designed to project success and confidence. It was armor, just like everything else in her carefully constructed life.
The elevator doors opened with a soft chime, and Y/N stepped into the familiar hallway. She could already hear voices and laughter from behind Max and Pietra's door—Tom's booming laugh, Ed's animated storytelling voice, Max's quick wit cutting through the conversation. And underneath it all, like a bass note that made her chest tight with unwanted longing, she could hear Lando's voice.
That voice that could go from playful teasing to cutting cruelty in the span of a heartbeat. That voice that spoke to everyone else with such natural charm and warmth, but turned cold and dismissive the moment it was directed at her. The voice that belonged to her soulmate, who would probably laugh if he ever discovered the cosmic joke the universe had played on both of them.
Y/N knocked on the door, forcing her shoulders back and lifting her chin with the practiced confidence that had gotten her through boardroom negotiations and university presentations and every other situation where she'd needed to project strength while feeling fundamentally broken inside.
Pietra opened the door with a bright smile, her warmth immediately filling the space between them. "Y/N! You look stunning as always. Come in, come in. We were just talking about Max's latest disaster in the kitchen."
Y/N stepped into the warm, inviting space of the apartment she'd visited so many times over the past year. The living room was exactly as she remembered—comfortable sofas arranged around a glass coffee table, warm lighting that made everything feel cozy and intimate, floor-to-ceiling windows that offered a stunning view of London's glittering skyline.
"Y/N!" Max called out from his position on the main sofa, raising his wine glass in greeting. "Perfect timing. We were just about to start placing bets on whether Tom can get through the evening without spilling something on himself."
"Hey now," Tom protested from his spot. "That was one time, and it was entirely Lando's fault for making me laugh while I was drinking."
And there it was. The mention of his name that made Y/N's entire body tense despite her best efforts to remain composed. She forced a smile and accepted the glass of wine that Pietra pressed into her hands, using the moment of taking a sip to scan the room and locate him.
He was sitting in the armchair near the window, and the sight of him hit her like it always did—like a physical blow that left her breathless and aching. Lando Norris at twenty-five was devastating in a way that seemed almost unfair, as if the universe had decided to concentrate all its efforts on creating the most beautiful human being possible and then, just for the sake of cosmic humor, had made him her soulmate while ensuring he could barely stand to be in the same room as her.
His curly hair was slightly messy, as if he'd been running his hands through it—a nervous habit she'd noticed over the months of reluctant observation. His green eyes were bright with laughter from whatever conversation had been happening before her arrival, and she felt that familiar twist of pain in her chest as she watched him be charming and animated with everyone except her.
When his gaze finally found hers across the room, the transformation was immediate and devastating. The warmth and humor in his eyes vanished, replaced by that familiar cool indifference that had become as much a part of their interactions as breathing. He gave her the barest nod of acknowledgment—polite, distant, the kind of greeting you'd give to a stranger you had no interest in knowing better.
"Y/N," he said, and even her name sounded different in his mouth than it did when anyone else said it. Clipped. Formal. Devoid of any warmth or interest.
"Lando," she replied, matching his tone exactly, though it cost her everything to keep her voice steady and unaffected.
The others seemed oblivious to the sudden shift in atmosphere, continuing their conversation about Tom's coordination issues and Max's latest cooking disasters. Y/N settled onto the sofa next to Ed, positioning herself so she could participate in the group conversation while keeping Lando in her peripheral vision—a skill she'd developed over months of trying to understand why he treated her so differently from everyone else.
The evening progressed much like every other gathering over the past fourteen months. Lando was his usual charming self with everyone—teasing Max about his latest streaming failures, asking Tom about his new job, complimenting Pietra on the dinner she'd prepared. He laughed at Ed's terrible jokes, offered thoughtful responses to serious topics, and generally embodied the kind of warm, engaging personality that had made him beloved by millions of fans around the world.
With Y/N, he was unpredictable—but mostly unkind. Most days, he was rude in the way only someone who knew exactly how to hurt could be—sharp, dismissive, and laced with quiet contempt. Other times, depending on his mood, the location, or even the time of day, he’d shift without warning—offering a polite nod, a short answer, or, worst of all, nothing at all. He'd ignore her completely, as though she were invisible. On the rare occasions he was civil, it wasn’t kindness—it was cold, calculated detachment. He answered direct questions with minimal effort, never initiated conversation, and kept a distance so deliberate it stung more than open cruelty. Hostility, at least, would have meant she mattered. This—this inconsistency, this indifference—felt like the slowest form of erasure.
Y/N participated in the group conversations with her usual intelligence and dry wit, making observations that made the others laugh, sharing stories from her work that showcased her sharp analytical mind. She was good at this—had always been good at performing normalcy even when everything inside her was screaming. It was a skill learned in childhood, perfected through years of practice in situations where showing weakness meant inviting more pain.
But tonight felt different somehow. Maybe it was the wine, or maybe it was the accumulation of twelve months of carrying the weight of their cosmic connection while being treated like a barely tolerated acquaintance. Maybe it was the way she'd caught him looking at her when he thought she wasn't paying attention—not with indifference, but with something that looked almost like hunger before he quickly looked away.
Whatever it was, when the conversation inevitably turned to relationships, Y/N felt that familiar coil of tension in her stomach begin to tighten.
"I just don't understand it," Lando was saying, running those long fingers through his curls in a gesture that made Y/N's stomach clench with unwanted longing. She watched the way his forearms flexed as he moved, the subtle play of muscle beneath golden skin, the way his hands—those beautiful, capable hands she'd seen grip steering wheels and sign autographs and gesture animatedly during conversations—moved with unconscious grace.
"Where are all the good girls these days? The ones who actually have their shit together. Someone mature, intelligent, who knows what they want in life."
The words hit Y/N like physical blows, each one more devastating than the last. Something hot and bitter rose in her throat—a mixture of fury and heartbreak that threatened to choke her. Here he was, describing exactly what she was.
Mature. Intelligent. Someone who knows what they want.
She was all of those things—had two degrees, spoke four languages fluently, could analyze market trends and debate European history with the best of them. But sitting here, listening to him describe his perfect woman while looking right through her like she didn’t exist, felt like being slowly skinned alive.
The soulmate mark on her hip burned like acid under her skin, a constant reminder of the cosmic joke that was her existence. Somewhere in the universe's grand design, she was supposed to be his everything. His perfect match, his other half, his completion. Instead, she was his invisible annoyance, his least favorite person in any room.
"I mean, I want something real," Lando continued, his voice gaining that passionate intensity that appeared whenever he talked about something that mattered to him. "Someone who challenges me, who doesn't just want me for fame or the money. A proper relationship, marriage material. Someone I could actually see myself building a life with."
Y/N's fingers tightened on her wine glass until her knuckles went white. Marriage material. Someone who challenges him. The universe had literally designed her to be those things for him, had marked them both before birth as perfect matches, and he was sitting there describing her while simultaneously treating her like she was invisible.
Max snorted from his position next to Pietra, his arm draped casually around his girlfriend's shoulders. "Mate, maybe you're looking in the wrong places."
"That's just it, though," Lando said, leaning forward in his chair, those green eyes filled with frustration. "I don't even know where to look anymore. Everyone seems so superficial, so focused on the lifestyle rather than actually building something meaningful."
Marriage material. Someone who challenges him. Someone mature and intelligent.
The irony was so perfectly cruel, she could barely breathe. The hypocrisy was so staggering it made something snap inside Y/N’s chest. A laugh escaped before she could stop it—bitter, sharp, slicing through the room like broken glass.
The sound made everyone turn to look at her, but she only had eyes for Lando—whose gaze had sharpened with something dangerously close to irritation.
"Something funny?" His tone was already defensive, already hostile. The way it always was when he spoke to her, like her very existence offended him on some fundamental level.
Y/N set her wine glass down on the coffee table with careful precision, her movements controlled despite the storm raging inside her chest. "It's just..." she began. "The hypocrisy is rather amusing, don't you think?"
"Hypocrisy?" Lando's voice was getting colder, more defensive. The atmosphere in the room shifted palpably, the easy warmth of moments before replaced by a tension that made everyone else fall silent.
"You sitting there, complaining about not being able to find a good woman, a mature woman, while you're still..."
"While I'm still what?" Lando interrupted, leaning forward in his chair. His eyes were full of anger now, all pretense of polite indifference abandoned.
"You're sitting here complaining about not being able to find a good girl, a mature woman who knows what she wants," she said, her voice steady as stone. "But how exactly do you expect to attract someone like that when you're still hung up on your ex-girlfriend?"
The temperature in the room seemed to drop ten degrees. Pietra shifted uncomfortably, her usually warm demeanor cooling as she sensed the brewing storm. Tom cleared his throat awkwardly while Ed suddenly found his glass fascinating.
Lando's entire body went rigid, every muscle tensing like a predator preparing to strike. "I'm not hung up on anyone," he said, but there was something too sharp in his voice, too quick in his denial.
"Really?" Y/N's voice was silk over steel, deceptively soft but deadly. "Because your Instagram says otherwise. Your family's Instagram says otherwise. Hell, every tabloid article about you and your little PR puppet says otherwise."
The words hung in the air like a challenge, and Y/N watched Lando's face cycle through several emotions—surprise, anger, and something that might have been shame before it was quickly masked by fury.
"You've been stalking my Instagram?" The accusation came out sharp and ugly, designed to put her on the defensive, to shift the blame, to cast her as the villain in this scenario. It was a tactic she recognized from childhood, from parents who turned every legitimate grievance into proof of her own moral failings.
But Y/N had been fighting battles since she was five years old, and had learned to weaponize words before most children could even tie their shoes. She didn’t flinch, didn’t back down, didn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing her rattled.
"It's called having functional eyesight, Lando. Every time you and Matilde take your pathetic little PR strolls around Monaco—which, by the way, everyone can see right through—the articles always include screenshots. Screenshots of you still following your ex girlfriend, Olivia. Of your mother still commenting heart emojis on her posts. Of your father still liking her pictures from vacations she takes with her new boyfriend."
Each word was delivered with surgical precision, designed to cut deep. Y/N watched Lando’s face flush red, his hands clenching into fists on the armrests of his chair. Those beautiful forearms were tense with barely contained rage, veins standing out against his tanned skin, knuckles turning white from the force of his grip.
Even in anger—even as she systematically destroyed him with words—she couldn’t help but notice how beautiful he was. How the fury made his green eyes even more intense, how the muscle in his jaw jumped as he fought for control.
"How I handle my social media is none of your fucking business," he said, his voice low and dangerous.
"You're absolutely right," Y/N replied, her voice getting quieter, more dangerous. Years of boardroom negotiations had taught her that the softer you spoke, the more powerful your words became. "It's not. But you asked where all the good girls are, and I'm telling you. No self-respecting woman with actual standards is going to want to compete with the ghost of your ex-girlfriend. No one wants to be someone's consolation prize."
The truth of her words hit the room like a bomb. Y/N could see it in the way Tom and Ed exchanged glances, in the way Max shifted uncomfortably, in the way Pietra's face showed a mixture of concern and fascination. But mostly, she could see it in the way Lando's face went completely white before flushing with fury.
"That's complete bullshit," he said, standing now, using his height like a weapon. He loomed over her seated form, and for a moment, that old, instinctive fear flickered in Y/N’s chest—the kind she'd carried since childhood, from people who used their physical presence to silence her. But she’d learned long ago not to flinch, not to hand anyone that kind of power.
"Is it?" she asked, rising to her feet. She only came up to his nose, but her presence was unshakable. She held his gaze, calm and unyielding. "When was the last time you posted about being single? When was the last time you removed the pictures of you and Olivia from your Instagram? When was the last time you asked your family to stop engaging with her posts?"
"I don't—"
"When was the last time you took off that fucking bracelet she gave you?"
The words exploded out of her with more venom than she'd intended, and she saw Lando's hand instinctively move to his wrist, to the metal bangle that had become as much a part of his daily uniform as his watch or his racing gloves. Y/N had watched him wear that bracelet for fourteen months, had felt physically sick every time she saw it catching the light, every time she was forced to confront the visual reminder that he was still carrying pieces of another woman with him everywhere he went.
"You don't know what you're talking about," Lando said, but his voice lacked conviction now. His hand was still touching the bracelet, as if he was suddenly aware of its weight on his wrist.
"Don't I?" Y/N laughed, but there was no humor in the sound. "I know that you wear her jewelry every single day. I know that your family treats her like she's still part of the family even though you broke up three years ago. I know that you claim to want something real while maintaining connections to someone who's moved on with someone else."
"You can deny it all you want," Y/N continued, her small frame vibrating with barely contained fury, every muscle tense with the effort of not screaming. "But actions speak louder than words, don't they? And your actions are screaming that you're still completely hung up on a woman who moved on from you three fucking years ago."
The profanity felt good on her tongue, felt like the only way to adequately express the rage and hurt that had been building inside her for over a year. She saw Lando flinch slightly at her tone, saw something flicker across his face that might have been hurt if she hadn't known better.
"I'm not asking anyone to compete with anything," Lando snapped, taking a step closer to her. "Olivia and I ended on good terms. We're friends. There's nothing wrong with that."
The word 'friends' hit Y/N like a physical blow. She felt that familiar burning in her chest, the rage that had carried her through every dark moment of her life. The rage that had kept her warm through childhood and teenage humiliations and every moment in her adult life when she'd felt small and unwanted and completely disposable.
"Friends," she repeated, tasting the word like poison on her tongue. "Is that what you call still wearing her bracelet?"
"We ended things amicably. There's nothing wrong with staying civil with an ex."
"Civil?" Y/N said, her voice rising. "Civil is not blocking them, fine. Civil is being polite if you run into them. Civil is not maintaining constant social media connections, wearing jewelry they gave you—" her eyes flicked pointedly to his wrist "—and having your mother comment heart emojis on their beach photos!"
The silence that followed was deafening. Max cleared his throat awkwardly, but neither Y/N nor Lando acknowledged him.
"That bracelet—" Lando's voice was low, dangerous, "—is none of your business."
"It is when you're sitting here whining about not finding someone!" Y/N's hands clenched into fists at her sides. "No ‘good woman’ is going to want to wonder if she's just a placeholder until Olivia decides she wants you back."
"You don't know what you're talking about." Each word was precisely enunciated, his accent thickening with anger. "Olivia has a boyfriend. She's moved on."
"Has she? Have you?" Y/N challenged. "Because from where I'm standing, it looks like you're keeping your options open. Still maintaining those connections, just in case. Tell me, Lando, do you deny it?"
The muscle in his jaw jumped. His eyes—those beautiful eyes that haunted her dreams—narrowed into slits. The silence stretched between them, taut as a wire.
"That's what I thought," Y/N said quietly, but the words carried the weight of a shout.
You don't know anything about my relationships," Lando spat. "What makes you such an expert? When's the last time you even had a boyfriend? Hell, have you ever even had a real one? I’ve actually been in relationships—what do you even know about any of this? I bet you’ve never had a real boyfriend in your entire life."
The words hit their mark with devastating precision. Y/N felt her breath catch, felt the familiar shame crawl up her throat like bile. He was right, of course. She'd never been kissed, never been held, never been chosen by anyone. Not even by him, her supposed soulmate, who looked at her like she was absolutely nothing.
The cruelty of it was breathtaking. Here was the man the universe had supposedly designed for her, the person who was meant to love and understand her better than anyone else in the world, and he was using her deepest insecurities as weapons against her.
But she'd learned long ago how to weaponize her pain, how to turn her wounds into ammunition.
"That's completely irrelevant," she said, each word precisely enunciated. "We're not talking about my romantic history or lack thereof. We're talking about your complete inability to understand why decent women run in the opposite direction when they see you coming."
"My inability?" Lando laughed, but there was no humor in it. The sound was harsh, ugly, designed to cut. "You want to psychoanalyze my relationship with my ex? Fine. Let's talk about how you push everyone away before they can get close. Let's talk about how you've built walls so high that no one can climb them."
Y/N felt her carefully constructed composure beginning to crack. He was getting too close to truths she'd never voiced aloud, cutting too near to wounds that had never properly healed. "You don't know what you're talking about."
"Don't I?" Lando's laugh was harsh, nothing like his usual warm chuckle. "It's obvious to anyone who bothers to look. You're terrified of being vulnerable, so you criticize everyone else who tries. At least I put myself out there. At least I try."
"Try?" Y/N's voice cracked on the word. "You call what you do trying? Messaging models on Instagram isn't trying, Lando. Leaving clubs with a different girl every weekend isn't trying. It's collecting conquests."
The temperature in the room seemed to drop ten degrees. Even their friends, who had been watching the exchange like a tennis match, collectively held their breath.
"Conquests?" Lando's voice was deadly quiet. "Is that what you think of me?"
"Everyone thinks that of you," Y/N said, even as part of her screamed to take it back. "Your reputation precedes you. All those girls who've sold stories about you, all those photos of you leaving parties with different women—"
"You believe tabloid gossip now?"
"Are you denying it? Are you saying you haven't slept with dozens of women? That you didn't spend the first 6 years of your career treating the paddock like your personal dating pool?"
Lando's face had gone pale. His hands were clenched so tightly at his sides that the veins in his forearms stood out in sharp relief. "My past is my past."
"But it's not the past, is it?" Y/N pressed on, unable to stop now that the floodgates had opened. "It's your present too. The parties, the girls, the constant need for attention—"
"Attention?" He stepped even closer, and Y/N had to fight the urge to step back. "You think I do this for attention?"
"Don't you? The PR games with—" Lando cut her off.
"That's rich, coming from someone who's built their entire personality around being bitter and alone."
The words hit like physical blows, each one finding its mark with surgical precision. Y/N felt something inside her chest begin to crumble, felt the careful walls she'd built around her heart start to crack under the assault.
"I'm not bitter," Y/N said, and she could hear her voice beginning to shake despite her best efforts. "I just have standards. And those standards don't include men who are too emotionally weak to let go of the past."
"Weak?" The word came out like a roar. Lando took another step closer, close enough that she could see the flecks of gold in his green eyes, could smell the subtle scent of his cologne mixed with something that was purely him. "You think I'm weak?"
"I think you're a coward," Y/N said without hesitation, the words coming from some deep, dark place inside her that had been fed on years of disappointment and rejection. "You want this perfect woman, this mature, intelligent partner, but you're too fucking scared to actually make yourself available for her. You keep one foot in your past because it's safe. Because if you never fully commit to moving forward, you never risk being hurt again."
The accusation hung between them like a live wire, sparking with dangerous electricity. Y/N could see that her words had found their target, could see the way Lando's face went through a series of expressions—shock, recognition, fury.
"You don't know anything about me," he said, his voice low and dangerous. "You sit there in your fancy apartment in a very prestigious area of London, with your fancy job and your fancy education, and you think you have everyone figured out. But you don't know shit about what I've been through or why I make the choices I make."
"I'm not the one pretending to be something I'm not!" Y/N said.
"Aren't you?" The words cracked like a whip between them. "At least I'm honest about who I am. I don't pretend to be perfect while judging everyone else."
"I don't—"
"You do!" His voice rose to nearly a shout. "You sit there every fucking time we're together, watching everyone, analyzing everyone, finding everyone wanting. Like you're so much better than the rest of us who actually dare to feel things, to make mistakes, to be human!"
"Being human doesn't mean being reckless with other people's feelings!"
"Whose feelings?" He threw his arms wide. "Whose feelings have I been reckless with? The girls who knew exactly what they were getting into? The ones who wanted the same thing I did—a good time, no strings attached? Or is this about your feelings?"
The question hung between them like a loaded gun. Y/N felt the blood drain from her face.
"My feelings have nothing to do with this," she said, but her voice came out whisper-thin.
"Don't they?" Lando moved even closer, close enough that she could see the way his chest rose and fell with each angry breath. "Because from where I'm standing, it sounds like you're taking this all very personally for someone who claims not to care."
"I don't—"
"You don't what? Don't care? Then why are you so invested in my love life? Why does it matter to you if I still wear a bracelet my ex gave me? Why do you care if I sleep with models or party too much or—"
"I said I don't care! You're the one playing innocent, asking yourself why you can't find someone serious—and I'm answering your stupid question," Y/N replied, her voice steady despite the chaos raging inside her. "From your actions, it looks like you're terrified of real intimacy. It's clear you'd rather play games with PR relationships and keep wearing jewelry from dead relationships than risk actually putting yourself out there for something real."
"And what about you?" Lando's voice was getting uglier now, more vicious. "What's your excuse for being completely fucking miserable all the time? What's your excuse for treating everyone around you like they're beneath you?"
"I don't—"
"You do," Lando interrupted, and Y/N could see that he was hitting his stride now, could see that he'd found his target and was preparing to destroy it. "You walk into every room like you're doing everyone a favor by gracing them with your presence. You act like you're so much smarter, so much more sophisticated than everyone else. But really, you're just terrified that if you let anyone get close enough to see who you really are, they'll realize there's nothing there worth knowing."
Each word was a knife, expertly wielded to cause maximum damage. Y/N felt them slice through her defenses, finding every vulnerable spot she’d tried so hard to protect.
The worst part was that some of it was true—she did keep people at a distance, did shield herself behind walls of competence and sophistication. And now, those walls were starting to crack. She could feel the little girl bleeding through—the one who’d been thrown into hallways, called names, told she was worthless.
But he didn't know why. He didn't know about the childhood that had taught her that love was conditional and dangerous, that vulnerability was punished, that the only safe way to exist was to make yourself indispensable through achievement and control.
"At least I don't parade fake relationships around for publicity," she managed, her voice shaking despite her best efforts to keep it steady.
"Fake relationships?" Lando's laugh was harsh and meant to humiliate. "You mean Matilde? That's work, Y/N. That's business. Something you might understand if you lived in the real world instead of your ivory tower."
"The real world?" Y/N's voice rose, her famous composure finally beginning to crack like ice in a spring thaw. "You think you live in the real world? You live in a fucking bubble where everything is handed to you on a silver platter, where people pay you millions to drive in circles, where you've never had to work for anything meaningful in your entire privileged life."
"I've worked for everything I have," Lando shot back, his face flushed with anger and indignation. "I've been racing since I was a kid. I've sacrificed everything for this career."
"Have you?" Y/N's voice was gaining strength now, feeding off her anger like a fire feeding off oxygen. "Because from where I'm sitting, it looks like you've just had an extended adolescence. You get to play with expensive toys for a living while the rest of us have real jobs, real responsibilities, real fucking problems."
"Real problems?" Lando's voice dripped with disdain, with the casual dismissal that only came from genuine privilege. "Like what? Like sitting in your fancy apartment judging people on the internet? Like working your cute little nine-to-five job that probably pays you less than I make in a single day?"
The classism in his voice, the casual dismissal of her work, of her struggles, of everything she'd built for herself—it was like being slapped across the face with a glove made of contempt. Y/N felt something hot and dangerous surge through her veins, felt every careful lesson in emotional control her childhood had taught her begin to crumble.
"You privileged piece of shit," Y/N whispered, her voice deadly quiet. "You have absolutely no idea what I've been through. No idea what I've had to overcome to get where I am."
"Oh, here we go," Lando said, rolling his eyes with theatrical exaggeration. "The sob story. Poor little Y/N, had to move to London all by herself. Had to get a job like every other adult in the world. Had to actually work for things instead of having them handed to her. How absolutely tragic."
"You don't know anything about my life," Y/N said, and there was something in her voice that should have warned him to stop. Something dark and dangerous and barely contained, like a dam about to burst.
But Lando was too angry to listen, too hurt by her words to care about the warning signs. Too focused on inflicting damage to notice that he was about to cross a line that could never be uncrossed.
"I know enough," he said, his voice getting crueler with every word. "I know you're a miserable person who gets off on making everyone else miserable too. You sit there acting superior to everyone when you're just angry that no one wants you."
The words hung in the air like a toxic cloud. Y/N felt them settle into her bones, into all the spaces where her childhood fears lived. All the spaces that whispered that she was unlovable, unwanted, destined to spend her life alone.
But Lando wasn't done. He was just getting started.
"You act like you're too good for everyone," Lando pressed on. "But really, you're just scared. Scared that if you let someone close enough to see who you really are, they'll realize there's nothing special about you at all."
He kept going, his voice turning uglier, more vicious, like he could sense how much damage he was doing and wanted to twist the knife. "You're cold. You're bitter. You're judgmental. You suck the fucking joy out of every room you walk into."
Each word was a precision strike, aimed at her deepest insecurities with the accuracy of someone who'd been watching her, studying her, learning her weaknesses even as he pretended to despise her.
"You want to know why you've never had a real relationship? It's not because you have standards. It's because you're completely incapable of human connection. You're broken, Y/N. And not in some romantic, fixable way that makes for a good movie. You're just fundamentally, irreparably broken."
The silence that followed was deafening. Y/N stood there, swaying slightly on her feet, feeling like she'd been hit by a freight train. Or maybe like she'd been thrown out into a hallway again, abandoned and alone while neighbours walked past and pretended not to see her.
Her soulmate—the person the universe had chosen to love her unconditionally—had just told her she was fundamentally broken. Had just confirmed every terrible thing she'd ever believed about herself, every fear that haunted her in the darkest hours of the night.
The irony was so cruel it was almost funny. Almost.
"Y/N," Pietra said softly, starting to rise from the sofa, her voice thick with horror at what she'd just witnessed.
But Lando still wasn't done. He was too caught up in his own fury, too intoxicated by the power of words to wound, to stop now.
"You know what the worst part is?" he continued, his voice dripping with contempt. "You actually think you're better than everyone else. You sit there with your fancy education and your perfect grammar and your sophisticated opinions, and you judge all of us like we're beneath you. But at least we're capable of happiness. At least we can connect with other human beings. You're just..." he paused, searching for the most devastating word possible. "You're just pathetic."
Y/N felt something inside her chest shatter completely. Some last, fragile piece of hope that she'd been protecting without even realizing it. The piece that had whispered, maybe someday, maybe if he knew, maybe if he understood...
That piece was dead now, murdered by his words and buried under the weight of his disgust.
The mark on her hip felt like it was burning straight through her skin, a constant reminder of the cosmic joke that was her life. Somewhere in the universe, there was supposed to be someone who loved her perfectly, who understood her completely, who chose her above all others.
Instead, she got Lando Norris. Beautiful, talented, charismatic Lando Norris, who looked at her like she was less than human and spoke to her like she was something that needed to be exterminated.
Y/N looked around the room at her friends—Max and Pietra looking shocked and uncomfortable, Tom and Ed staring with wide eyes, everyone frozen in the aftermath of the emotional explosion that had just torn through their peaceful evening.
"You're right," she said quietly, her voice steady despite the storm raging inside her chest. "I am pathetic. I'm broken and pathetic and completely unlovable. But at least I know it. At least I'm not walking around pretending to be something I'm not, desperate for a love I'm too much of a coward to actually pursue."
She turned to the room, to their friends who had sat in horrified silence through the entire exchange. "I'm sorry," she said simply. "I'll go."
She moved toward the door, her legs somehow still carrying her despite feeling like they were made of lead. Every step was agony, every breath felt like swallowing glass—but she forced herself to keep going.
Y/N was already gathering her purse with hands that shook only slightly. She couldn’t look at any of them again. Couldn’t bring herself to meet Lando’s gaze to see if there was any regret there—any recognition of how far he’d gone. Any humanity left in those green eyes that had once made her dream of impossible things.
She couldn’t stay in this room another second, not while breathing the same air as the man who was supposed to love her unconditionally—who had just eviscerated her with surgical precision.
At the door, she paused one last time, not turning around.
"And Lando?" she said, her hand on the door handle, her voice carrying clearly across the silent room. "When you're lying in bed tonight, still wearing her bracelet, still wondering why you can't find your perfect woman—remember this conversation. Remember that maybe the problem isn't that there aren't any good women out there. Maybe the problem is that you're not good enough for them."
She pulled the door open, then paused again, some masochistic part of her needing to twist the knife one more time.
"You want to know what your real problem is? It's not that you're still hung up on Olivia. It's that you're exactly the kind of man who would rather destroy someone else than admit you might be wrong. You're cruel, Lando. Genuinely cruel. And no amount of money or fame or pretty eyes is going to change that."
Y/N stepped out into the hallway and pulled the door closed behind her, cutting off whatever response Lando might have had. The silence in the corridor was deafening after the emotional intensity of the fight, and she stood there for a moment, trying to process what had just happened.
She'd fought with her soulmate. Had screamed at him, had been cruel to him, had exposed her deepest wounds only to have them used against her. The man the universe had supposedly designed for her had just told her she was fundamentally broken and unlovable, and the worst part was that she was starting to believe he might be right.
The elevator ride down felt like descending into hell. Y/N stared at her reflection in the polished steel doors and saw exactly what Lando had described—a cold, bitter woman who pushed everyone away before they could hurt her. A woman so damaged by her childhood that she couldn't connect with other human beings even when they were literally designed by the universe to be hers.
She thought about the way he'd looked at her during their fight—not with the careful blankness he usually employed, but with genuine disgust. Like she was something repulsive that had crawled out from under a rock. Like her very existence offended him on some fundamental level.
And maybe it did. Maybe that was why he'd been so cruel to her from the moment they met. Maybe on some subconscious level, he could sense the connection between them and rejected it utterly. Rejected her utterly.
The thought made her laugh, but it came out broken and bitter. Of course her soulmate would be the one person in the world who couldn't stand her. Of course the universe would give her someone who confirmed every terrible thing she'd ever believed about herself.
Her parents had told her she was worthless, disposable, a burden they never wanted. The boy in school had told her she was pathetic, laughable, deserving of public humiliation. And now her soulmate had told her she was fundamentally broken, irreparably damaged, incapable of human connection.
Maybe they were all right. Maybe there really was something wrong with her, something that made her unlovable no matter how hard she tried to fix herself, no matter how much she achieved or how much she grew.
When she finally made it to her apartment, she went straight to her bathroom and stared at herself in the mirror. Her face was blotchy and swollen from crying tears she didn't remember shedding, her hair was a mess, her clothes were wrinkled. She looked exactly like what she was: a broken woman who had just been destroyed by the person who was supposed to love her most.
She pulled up her shirt and looked at the mark on her hip—that soulmate mark that was supposed to represent destiny, cosmic connection, perfect love. In the harsh bathroom lighting, it looked like nothing more than a birthmark. A random pattern of pigmentation that meant absolutely nothing.
What a joke. What a cosmic, cruel, devastating joke.
She thought about telling him. About marching up to his hotel or cornering him the next day and showing him the mark. About watching his face as he realized that the universe had played the cruelest possible trick on both of them.
But what would be the point? He'd made his feelings about her perfectly clear. Learning that they were soulmates wouldn't change anything except to add a layer of cosmic irony to their mutual hatred. If anything, it would probably make him treat her even worse, knowing that he was stuck with her for eternity.
No, she decided. She would keep her secret. Would carry it like all her other secrets—quietly, privately, without burdening anyone else with the weight of it.
The tears came again then, great heaving sobs that shook her entire body. She slid down the bathroom wall until she was sitting on the cold tile floor, crying for the fight, for the cruel words, for the look in Lando's eyes when he'd told her she was broken.
But mostly, she cried for the death of a dream she'd barely let herself acknowledge. The tiny, secret hope that maybe, someday, when he learned they were soulmates, everything would change. That he would see her differently, understand her differently, maybe even love her.
That hope was dead now, murdered by his words and buried under the weight of his disgust.
Because even if he ever found out the truth—even if he ever learned that the universe had marked them for each other—nothing would change. He would still see her as broken, as unworthy, as fundamentally unlovable.
And maybe, Y/N thought as she finally cried herself into exhaustion on her bathroom floor, maybe he would be right.
Maybe she really was fundamentally broken. Maybe she really was incapable of human connection. Maybe the universe had made a mistake when it paired them together, had somehow failed to account for the fact that she was too damaged to be anyone's soulmate.
Maybe she was destined to spend the rest of her life loving someone who looked at her like she was absolutely nothing at all.
The mark on her hip burned like a brand, a constant reminder of the cosmic joke that was her existence. Somewhere out there, other people were finding their soulmates, were experiencing the joy and completeness that came with cosmic connection.
But not her. Never her.
She was Y/N, the girl nobody wanted. Not her parents, not her classmates, not the universe itself, it seemed.
And certainly not Lando Norris, no matter what some meaningless mark on her skin might suggest.
Y/N stood in her bathroom for what felt like hours, staring at her reflection in the unforgiving fluorescent light. Her face was a roadmap of devastation—red-rimmed eyes that looked like she'd been crying for days instead of hours, blotchy skin that bore the evidence of every tear she'd shed, hair that hung limp and disheveled around her shoulders. She looked like a woman who had been systematically destroyed, and maybe that's exactly what she was.
The shower called to her like a sanctuary, promising the illusion of washing away the evening's horrors. She turned the water as hot as she could stand it, watching the steam begin to fog the mirror until her reflection mercifully disappeared. The pragmatism that had carried her through childhood trauma whispered that she should eat something, should drink water, should take care of the basic needs that would help her body process the alcohol and stress. But she couldn't bring herself to care about any of that.
Food felt impossible when her stomach was twisted into knots of anguish. Water felt pointless when she was drowning in an ocean of her own tears. Self-care felt like a mockery when the person she was supposed to care for had just been declared fundamentally unworthy of love by the one person whose opinion mattered most.
She stripped off her clothes mechanically, each piece of fabric feeling heavy with the weight of the evening's memories.
When she finally stepped under the scalding spray, the tears came again with renewed force. The hot water mixed with her sobs, washing away the salt tracks on her cheeks only for them to be immediately replaced by fresh ones. She braced her hands against the shower wall and let herself break completely, let herself feel the full weight of what Lando had done to her.
The worst part wasn't even the specific words he'd used, though each one had been chosen with surgical precision to cause maximum damage. The worst part was the look in his eyes when he'd said them—the complete and utter conviction that every cruel assessment was justified, that she deserved every verbal blow he'd delivered.
You're fundamentally, irreparably broken.
The words echoed in her mind like a death sentence, made worse by the fact that they'd come from someone whose DNA was literally designed to complement hers. If her soulmate could look at her and see nothing but damage, nothing but a pathetic woman who sucked the joy out of every room she entered, then what hope did she have with anyone else?
Y/N slid down the shower wall until she was sitting on the tile floor, hot water cascading over her hunched form as she wrapped her arms around her knees and sobbed. This was worse than anything her parents had ever done to her. Their cruelty had been born of their own trauma, their own inability to process emotions in healthy ways. They'd hurt her because they didn't know better, because they were products of their own damaged childhoods.
But Lando—Lando had hurt her with full awareness of what he was doing. She'd seen the moment when he'd realized how much damage his words were causing, had watched his eyes sharpen with something that looked almost like satisfaction as he'd found each new vulnerability to exploit. He'd taken her deepest insecurities, the fears she'd spent years trying to overcome, and had weaponized them against her with the skill of someone who understood exactly how to destroy another person.
Her parents had broken her accidentally. Lando had broken her on purpose.
The water began to run cold, but Y/N couldn't summon the energy to move. She sat there on the shower floor, shivering as the temperature dropped, feeling like the cold was appropriate somehow. Like her body was finally matching the frozen wasteland that her heart had become.
When she finally forced herself to stand and turn off the water, her legs felt like they belonged to someone else. Everything felt disconnected, like she was watching herself go through the motions of drying off and putting on pajamas from somewhere outside her own body. The dissociation was familiar—a defense mechanism that had carried her through the worst moments of her childhood, when the only way to survive was to mentally remove herself from the situation until it was over.
But this situation would never be over. She would have to carry the knowledge of what Lando really thought of her for the rest of her life, would have to see him at future gatherings and pretend that his words hadn't carved out pieces of her soul and left them bleeding on Max and Pietra's living room floor.
Y/N crawled into her bed without bothering to turn on any lights, pulling the covers up to her chin like a child seeking comfort from monsters that couldn't be defeated by hiding. The Egyptian cotton sheets that usually felt luxurious against her skin now felt rough and foreign, as if even her own bed was rejecting her presence.
The tears started again almost immediately, and this time they came with a violence that scared her. These weren't the controlled tears she'd shed in the shower, or even the angry tears that had punctuated their fight. These were the kind of tears that came from the deepest part of her psyche, from the wounded child who had never been properly comforted, who had learned to cry silently so as not to invite more punishment.
She pressed her face into her pillow to muffle the sounds that were escaping from her throat—sounds that didn't seem human, that sounded like an animal caught in a trap. The pillow quickly became soaked with tears and snot, but she didn't care. Nothing mattered anymore except the overwhelming need to release the pain that was threatening to consume her from the inside out.
You're just pathetic.
The words played on repeat in her mind, accompanied by the image of Lando's face as he'd delivered them. She'd seen disgust there, contempt, a kind of clinical detachment as he'd dissected her personality and found it wanting. No anger, which might have suggested passion of some kind. Just cold, calculated destruction delivered with the precision of a surgeon removing a tumor.
Y/N clutched her phone, considering calling Sophie, a good friend from work, or maybe her parents, or anyone who might be able to offer some comfort in this moment of complete devastation. But every time she started to dial, she stopped herself. What could she possibly say? That she'd had a fight with Lando and he'd said mean things to her? It sounded so trivial when reduced to simple terms, so childish and overdramatic.
She couldn't explain that he was her soulmate without revealing a secret she'd guarded for twelve months. Couldn't explain why his words carried more weight than anyone else's without admitting to the cosmic connection that made his rejection so much more devastating than ordinary cruelty.
And even if she could explain, what would be the point? Sophie would probably try to smooth things over, would suggest that Lando hadn't meant what he'd said, that he'd been drunk or angry or simply lashing out without thinking. But Y/N had seen his face. Had heard the conviction in his voice. He'd meant every word, had probably been thinking those things about her for fourteen months and had finally found an excuse to voice them.
The hunger clawed at her stomach, a sharp reminder that she'd only had wine at dinner, that her body was running on nothing but alcohol and adrenaline and heartbreak. But the thought of food made her feel sick. How could she nourish a body that housed a soul so fundamentally flawed that even the universe's perfect design couldn't make it lovable?
She rolled onto her side and stared out the floor-to-ceiling windows that offered a spectacular view of London's skyline. The city glittered below her like a constellation of possibilities, millions of people living their lives, falling in love, being chosen, being wanted. And here she was, 54 floors above it all, completely alone with the knowledge that she was the exception to every rule about love and connection and human worth.
Somewhere out there, Lando was probably going to sleep without a care in the world, completely unaware that he'd just destroyed the person who was literally made for him.
Maybe he was right to be disgusted by her. Maybe the universe had made a mistake, had somehow paired her with someone so far out of her league that his natural instinct was to reject her entirely. Maybe she was supposed to be grateful that he'd never shown any romantic interest, that he'd saved them both from the cosmic embarrassment of a fundamentally mismatched pairing.
You suck the fucking joy out of every room you walk into.
The accusation felt particularly cruel because it contained just enough truth to burrow deep into her psyche and take root. She did guard herself carefully in social situations, did hold herself apart from the easy camaraderie that seemed to come so naturally to everyone else. But that was survival, not malice. That was the result of a childhood that had taught her that letting people see your real emotions was a guarantee that those emotions would be used against you.
Y/N pulled her knees to her chest and rocked slightly, a self-soothing motion she'd developed as a child when the fights between her parents got too loud, when the threats became too real, when the only comfort available was the comfort she could provide herself. The motion was automatic now, muscle memory that activated during times of extreme distress.
She thought about her therapist's words, about being the product of emotional unpredictability and conditional love, about how her nervous system had adapted to survive chaos by becoming hyper-independent and emotionally constipated. Her therapist would probably say that Lando's attack had triggered every abandonment wound she'd ever carried, and had activated the deepest core belief that she was fundamentally unworthy of love.
But knowing the psychological mechanisms didn't make the pain any less real. Understanding why she was broken didn't make her any less broken. And it certainly didn't change the fact that the person who was supposed to see past all her defenses, who was supposed to love her despite her flaws, had instead chosen to use those flaws as weapons against her.
The hours crawled by with agonizing slowness. Y/N watched the digital clock on her nightstand tick from 11:47 PM to midnight to 1:00 AM, each minute feeling like an eternity of pain that had to be endured. She tried closing her eyes, tried willing herself into unconsciousness, but every time she started to drift off, Lando's voice would echo in her mind with fresh cruelty.
You're completely incapable of human connection.
The words felt like a prophecy, a future written in stone. If she couldn't connect with her soulmate, if the person literally designed by the universe to complement her found her so repulsive that he felt compelled to destroy her, then what hope did she have of ever finding love or acceptance or even basic human warmth?
Around 2:00 AM, she gave up pretending to try to sleep and turned on her phone, scrolling mindlessly through social media feeds full of people living their apparently perfect lives. Happy couples posting anniversary photos, friends celebrating promotions, families gathered around dinner tables with genuine smiles. The images felt like they were from another planet, a world where people were capable of the kind of joy and connection that seemed permanently out of her reach.
She almost opened Instagram to look at Lando's profile, some masochistic part of her wanting to torture herself with images of him looking happy and carefree, probably already having forgotten about their fight entirely. But she stopped herself just in time, knowing that seeing his face would only make everything worse.
Instead, she found herself googling articles about soulmate connections, searching for some explanation of how the universe could have gotten things so wrong. The articles were full of romantic nonsense about instant recognition and unbreakable bonds, about soulmates who found each other across crowded rooms and knew immediately that they were meant to be together.
None of them mentioned what happened when your soulmate looked at you with disgust. None of them offered guidance for what to do when the person who was supposed to complete you spent over a year treating you like an unwelcome stranger. None of them acknowledged that sometimes the universe's grand design was nothing more than a cosmic practical joke played on people who were already damaged beyond repair.
Y/N threw her phone across the room, not caring when it hit the wall with a sharp crack that probably indicated a broken screen. The sound was satisfying somehow, a physical manifestation of the internal destruction she was experiencing. At least now her phone matched the rest of her life—broken and probably beyond repair.
The tears came in waves throughout the night, sometimes subsiding to a trickle that allowed her to catch her breath, sometimes returning with such force that she had to bury her face in her pillow to avoid disturbing her neighbors. Her throat became raw from crying, her eyes swollen to the point where she could barely see, her chest tight with the effort of breathing around the constant sobs.
She'd cried before—had cried when her parents threw her out of the house, had cried when that boy in school humiliated her, had cried during those first terrifying weeks in London when everything felt foreign and hostile. But this was different. This was the kind of crying that came from complete hopelessness, from the realization that the one person who was supposed to love her unconditionally had instead chosen to confirm every terrible thing she'd ever believed about herself.
Around 3:00 AM, she found herself thinking about her grandmother from her father's side, the woman who had tried so hard to break up her parents' marriage. Maybe the old woman had been right all along. Maybe Y/N's mother wasn't worthy of the family name, and maybe Y/N had inherited that unworthiness, had carried it in her DNA like a genetic curse that made her fundamentally unlovable.
The thought sent her into a fresh spiral of anguish, because even her parents—damaged and cruel as they had been—had at least loved each other enough to fight for their relationship. Her father had been willing to threaten his own mother to protect his marriage, had chosen his wife over his family of origin when forced to make that decision.
But Y/N had never inspired that kind of devotion in anyone. Had never been worth fighting for, never been worth choosing, never been worth protecting. Even her soulmate, who should have been programmed by the universe to cherish and defend her, had instead chosen to tear her apart at the first opportunity.
Y/N made a decision in that moment, lying in her bed at 3:17 AM with tears streaming down her face and her heart breaking in ways she didn't know were possible. She would never tell him. Would never give him the opportunity to reject her knowing what she really was to him. Would never put herself through the devastation of watching him realize that even the universe's perfect design couldn't make her lovable.
She would carry this secret to her grave, would love him from afar with the knowledge that it would never be returned, would never be acknowledged, would never be anything more than a source of endless pain.
Because that's what broken people did. They protected others from their damage, even when it destroyed them in the process.
Even when it meant spending eternity loving someone who thought they were fundamentally unworthy of love.
Even when it meant accepting that maybe, just maybe, everyone who had ever told her she was worthless had been right all along.
The decision brought no peace, only a cold kind of resignation that settled into her bones like winter frost. She would continue to attend gatherings where he was present, would continue to pretend that his presence didn't affect her, and would continue to guard the secret that was slowly killing her from the inside out.
By 4:00 AM, her body had begun to rebel against the sustained emotional assault. Her hands were shaking uncontrollably, her breathing had become shallow and rapid, and her heart was racing like she'd just run a marathon. The physical symptoms only added to her distress, creating a feedback loop where her body's stress response made her more anxious, which in turn made her body react more severely.
She tried the breathing exercises her therapist had taught her, tried to ground herself by focusing on physical sensations like the texture of her sheets and the temperature of the air against her skin. But nothing worked. The panic was too strong, the emotional pain too overwhelming for any coping mechanism to penetrate.
As the sky began to lighten with the first hints of dawn, Y/N realized that she hadn't stopped crying for a single moment in the past seven hours. Her body was dehydrated, her head was pounding, and her chest felt like someone was sitting on it. But still the tears came, as if her body was trying to expel the poison of Lando's words through her eyes.
The hunger had evolved from a dull ache to sharp, stabbing pains that made her curl into an even tighter ball. But the thought of food still made her nauseous. Her body was running on pure emotional adrenaline, sustained by nothing but grief and the wine that was probably still circulating through her system.
Around 5:30 AM, she heard her neighbors beginning to stir—the sound of footsteps in the hallway, the distant hum of morning news programs, the everyday sounds of people starting their normal days. The normalcy of it all felt surreal, like she was watching life happen from behind glass, separate and excluded from the simple pleasure of routine human existence.
Y/N tried one more time to force herself to sleep, pulling her duvet over her head and squeezing her eyes shut. But behind her closed lids, all she could see was Lando's face as he'd delivered his final judgment, the clinical detachment with which he'd dissected her personality and found it lacking.
You're just fundamentally, irreparably broken.
The words had taken on a life of their own, echoing through her mind with the persistence of a song stuck on repeat. They felt true in a way that made her stomach clench with despair, true in a way that made every breath feel like an act of defiance against the obvious fact that she shouldn't exist, shouldn't take up space in a world where she clearly didn't belong.
By 6:00 AM, something in her body had reached its breaking point. The sustained emotional trauma, combined with the lack of sleep, lack of food, and lingering alcohol in her system, had created a perfect storm of physical distress. Her heart was racing so fast she could hear it pounding in her ears, drowning out all other sounds. Her breathing had become so shallow and rapid that she was starting to feel lightheaded.
And then, suddenly, she couldn't breathe at all.
The panic attack hit her like a freight train, sudden and overwhelming in its intensity. Her chest seized up completely, as if someone had wrapped steel bands around her ribs and was tightening them with each passing second. Her heart rate spiked even higher, so fast that she was convinced it would burst from the strain. Her hands went numb, her vision started to blur, and her entire body was consumed with the absolute certainty that she was dying.
This was it. This was how it would end. Alone in her expensive apartment, destroyed by the cruelest words her soulmate could devise, dying of a heart attack at twenty-five because her body had finally given up under the weight of a lifetime of emotional trauma.
With the last rational thought she could manage, Y/N grabbed her cracked phone from where she'd thrown it against the wall and dialed 999 with trembling fingers that barely obeyed her commands.
"Emergency services, what's your emergency?"
"I think... I think I'm having a heart attack," she gasped into the phone, her voice barely recognizable even to herself. "I can't breathe... my heart is racing... I think I'm dying."
okay since you're back i have a very serious question.. how do we think lando being so shy reflects in the bedroom and his sex life
If anything, Lando’s duality should be studied. He may give off that adorable, shy guy who giggles through awkward small talk, but once the bedroom door closes, I don’t think he’s ever held back. I’m a firm believer that he’s a bit selfish too. And honestly, as he should. I encourage you all to be 😁🎀
18+ content ahead.
── .✦ At first, his shyness leaks through clumsiness. He might fumble a flirty line or two, giggling as he accidentally brushes your hand, but the second clothes start coming off, he knows he’s in charge. Depending on the mood, he may or may not ask for permission to kiss you and pin you against the nearest wall. He’s also good at communicating what he wants (a skill every driver has if we’re being honest, since communication is a crucial part of their job), whispering a sweet “strip for me”. He likes to watch, so better put on a show while at it. Because before you know, his love language (physical touch, change my mind you won’t) blends with his impatience, and he’s gonna be all over you.
── .✦ His selfishness isn’t mean-spirited, it’s how he gets revved up. Lando loves being first. And that lights a fire that makes him ravenous to return the favor tenfold. So he’ll be there, cock in hand, hard as he guides your head down, making sure to bury his fingers in your hair. His impatience will push him to urge you with a “suck it deep,” while his hips are bucking up to fuck your mouth, eyes locked on how your lips stretch around him. He cums fast and, now that he’s fueled by the high, he’s eager to spread your legs wide and bury his face between your thighs. Tongue out. Lapping at your clit until you’re shaking. And begging. And moan his name. He stops when you’re a mess, only to slide his cock back in, still hard from the thrill of taking what he wanted.
── .✦ Since shy Lando doesn’t translate to quiet in bed, the contrast of it all makes him pretty chatty, I’d say. He’s all about dirty talk and praising, especially when he’s close. Bonus points if it goes both ways. During a rough fuck, you’d hear him swearing and, at times, very descriptive as he’s pounding into you from behind, with hands bruising your ass. He’ll return to his bubbly personality post-orgasm, don’t hold your breath.
── .✦ Drawing from his confident, adrenaline-junkie side (hello, racer boy), Lando’s sex life veers into possessiveness as well. Think him holding your wrists with one hand, maybe even tying them to the headboard with his belt (a girl can dream), teasing your entrance with his tip before slamming in with a pace that has the bed creaking. The selfishness also shows when he edges himself inside you, pulling out right before he cums to hear you beg, only thrusting back in to fill you up.
── .✦ He recovers quickly; insane stamina of a high performance athlete. Cock twitches back to life as he fingers you lazily, mentioning oh, so matter-of-factly how he’s gonna fuck you next. With him, it’s all about this cycle, taking you to fuel the next wave of pleasure he delivers, leaving you both overly satisfied.
Bottom line: shy exterior hiding a soft, dominant side who thrives on give-and-take where he takes first.
Summary: Lando hooks up with y/n and suddenly she's the only thing he can focus on. Thankfully it's the off season, but is y/n even interested?
Verstappen!reader
Word count: 1.7k
Everything about that night is like an everlasting echo.
The drag over their skin over each other, the soft glisten of sweat in the dim light, the rebound of her moans off the walls, how his name sounded in a whiney voice, the plush of her lips against his, the sharp nails marking his skin. It was all like a fever dream.
It goes around and around so often in his head Lando gets dizzy.
It was all the way back in Austin, before the weekend got started. The news of McLaren deciding Lando had crossed a line in Singapore towards his teammate.
Y/n, much like her brother, found the entire idea of racing his teammate requiring a punishment completely ridiculous. Somehow the decision to see Lando and just chat with him about that led to hooking up.
They weren't drunk or caught up in hidden feelings.
If anything y/n was just an outlet, but Lando's mind has been stuck on her ever since.
It's like she's a drug. He only got one hit but it's enough to be the only thing he can think about. She is the only thing he can think about.
Part of him hoped she'd be around for celebrations or that she'd find him to congratulate, but she's actually been a ghost since they hooked up. Not that she disappeared in and instant and nothing seemed unusual like she was regretful or guilty about it.
Y/n tends to be a bit of a black sheep with the Verstappen family, she's close to her brother but unlike Max she holds a lot against Jos for their upbringing and she tends to find more peace away from them. So y/n house and pet sits for her older brother a lot and enjoys the luxuries Monaco has to offer.
Lando couldn't help but pay a visit when he'd casually asked Max if he wanted someone to check on the animals and Max confirmed y/n was there so there was no need.
"Alright, alright! Nino, leave Sassy alone." Y/n states from behind the door before it swings open and y/n appears looking like she definitely couldn't handle anymore pets from her brother. "Lando? Hey. What are you doing here?"
"Max mentioned you were here. Figured I'd pay a visit. Make sure you're alright."
"There's something wonderful called a phone. You can call or text if you're concerned." Y/n points out but steps aside to invite him in never the less. "Max has a strict no sex rule for me under his roof. So if that's what you're here for then you're out of luck."
Lando feels a little bad that she assumed that and she's maybe a little right about it. Not that sex was all he wanted but maybe it was a motive.
"Wow, I was joking but you look so disappointed." Y/n laughs while Lando clears his throat.
"Sorry. It's just...you haven't actually spoken to me since we had sex."
"I know I haven't." Y/n states then frowning. "And I know you've not been able to stop thinking about me since we hooked up."
"Bit rude to ignore me this whole time." Lando mumbles since if she knew how he's been feeling then why has she been completely ignoring him since then. "Or was I so bad you couldn't bear to look at me?"
"More like I couldn't look Max in the eye after he caught wind of it. A lot of people know, Lando. You might've been in a bubble of racing but some of us aren't."
That was something Lando wasn't quite aware of, admittedly he doesn't see stuff online like he used to mainly for his own peace of mind.
"So you've stayed away from me because of Max?"
"No. I stayed away because you didn't need the distraction of me and trying to figure out what we want from each other when you were in a title fight."
"I think you might've helped me focus." Lando mumbles earning a sigh before y/n slumps down on the sofa and he follows her lead. "You've been annoyingly constant in my head since then."
"Have I?" Y/n hums not seeming at all convinced. "Have I? Or have you just been reliving what was some pretty incredible sex?"
Lando smirks taking the compliment where he can before he shifts a little and sighs looking at his hands for a moment.
"Y/n, can I take you on a date?"
"I don't know, I'll have to think on it. I have responsibilities you know?" Y/n sighs looking around the 3 cats and dog that seem entirely unbothered by her presence.
"Just say yes, you muppet."
"Not as charming as hearing you moan my name." Y/n states clicking her tongue in faux disapproval of his attitude before she grins at him. "Fine. Let's go on a date-but then what?"
Lando can tell this is a test of some sort, her way of gaining an understanding of what he wants from her.
"You know...I don't actually know if a date is right for us."
"There's an us."
"There's a we had sex." Y/n sighs then shaking her head. "You don't know what you want and while I'm willing to hook up one time. I'm not wasting my life trying to figure out what a man wants when doesn't even know. If you're only looking for sex, you're looking in the wrong place. And I think you came here hoping for something that simple, which is fine. I'm happy to make it clear that up as something that's not going to happen."
"I don't just want sex."
"Then what do you want?-after a date. because you can't come here professing some strung up thoughts on one occasion and then expect me to take a leap of faith. I'm not that type of person."
"I don't want to promise something if things don't work out." Lando mumbles while y/n smiles at him sadly. "Don't give me that look."
"Lando-"
"Don't Lando me. Give me a chance. Just one chance, if they date sucks, if I am so completely disappointing that you have to tell Max and have him play the big brother role to scare me off then that's fine. But don't just shut me down because of the chance that it might not work."
"Well you really know how to put me in my place."
A silence falls between the two and really they know y/n holds all the cards in this situation between them. It's her choice and if she says no then really Lando can't force her.
-
Sitting across from Lando at a restaurant that isn't so expensive and luxury that she has to feel uncomfortable but nice enough that is makes sure that she knows he's not just chosen some random location without a thought put into it.
"So...staying away from the one topic you've not been able to stop talking about. What's next for the karting?" Y/n asks, clearly intending not to talk about being champion. After all her brother has been champion for 4 years and Lando has non stop spoken about it after winning. Not bragging but just because people assume it's the best thing to talk to.
"LN Karting is going places." Lando nods then shrugging a little. "Quadrant has a few things lined up. I got a lot on my agenda before the season picks back up."
"It's crazy how much time the winter break used to be compared to how short it is now. I don't know how Kelly does it with Max and having the girls."
"Yeah, there's a lot more to balance in a shorter amount of time and I seem to keep adding to things I need to make time for." Lando smiles earning a hum. "But I think I've already proven I'm good at multitasking to you before so that's not something you need to be concerned about."
Y/n laughs a little at that. Ice broken. It's not uncomfortable.
And they talk, they keep the conversation normal and Lando makes sure to do everything to show he's got a genuine interest in hearing about her and what she's doing.
But eventually the restaurant closes and Lando's paid the bill and got them out of there, deciding to take y/n down to the docks despite it being freezing since it's the middle of winter and Monaco isn't immune to the seasons.
"I should get back. The animals gotta be fed." Y/n sighs making Lando nod a little at her, thumb brushing over her knuckles as he keeps hold of her hand that he'd linked to his own as soon as they stepped out into the cold.
"I do have to tell you something before I ask you on another date." Lando states earning a small hum. "Max messaged me and told me that if I'm not going to back off then I better not fuck it up. He's giving me one chance to not hurt you and it's down to you if you want to give me a chance."
"What if Max didn't give you a chance and I did?"
"Then I'd listen to what you want. But I just wanted you to know Max knows. For transparency sake." Lando states earning a small smile.
"I knew he'd know. He has cameras around the apartment for if someone isn't in for the animals. Mainly the cats." Y/n smiles before she sighs and turns looping her hands around his neck. "Ask me."
Lando frowns for a moment before realising what she's instructing him to do.
"Will you go on a second date with me?"
"Yes."
"And be my girlfriend officially because I've waited months already."
"Oh you're setting terms now?" Y/n laughs earning a grin.
'I'm a champion now, I'm used to winning the good things."
"I was waiting for you to drop that title in conversation." Y/n laughs before she nods and kisses him. "Alright, I'll agree to a second date and to be your girlfriend."
"Good because I really want to take you on a second date and be your boyfriend." Lando grins seeming so happy about it that y/n really can't have doubts about how genuine he is about it.
