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.
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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
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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__ ❤️
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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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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
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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.
an: going to be honest, i don't really know what this is. i'm sleepy 😔
it wasn't uncommon for lando to miss you whilst he was away racing. he knew he couldn't bring you to every race, and he respected that you had other aspirations and responsibilities away from supporting him at races. but god did he need you now.
it wasn't like a regular craving that he could shake away with a quick scroll through some pictures of you together, no, this was different. it was the kind of desire that he did prepare for, but never knew could actually happen. he needed to hear you. desperately too.
he'd been trying to get himself off to some odd voice notes here and there for a while that evening, but it wasn't enough. he needed to hear your voice again, and craved to even be told what to do by you.
in an act of desperation, he called you, not expecting you to answer. it was an ungodly hour for you at home, so he wasn't getting his hopes up for anything, but luckily he'd struck gold.
you stirred from your sleep, groggily turning over to your bedside table to see lando's name lit up on your phone. lethargically answering the phone, you croakily spoke into the microphone, wondering what your boyfriend's reasoning was for calling you at such an ungodly hour.
when lando answered, his voice was already a little breathless. his cock was half hard as he rested topless on his large bed in his hotel room, one hand just aimlessly tracing over his bulge whilst the other held his phone in his hand.
"you sound a little breathless," you asked out of concern. "you alright, lan?" you asked with a genuine concern, "you don't sound very well," you added with your eyebrow raised.
"me? oh, i'm alright babe," he laughed off, fisting himself through his boxers. "just got a little bit of a cold that's all," he mumbled, closing his eyes as he continued to rub up and down the now painfully straining cock in his boxers.
with a hum, you shrugged it off. you started to talk, rambling about things going on at home, blissfully unaware of lando pleasuring himself to your voice. lando's hands came to nearly rip his boxers from his body, letting his angry red cock bounce free onto his lower stomach, tip leaking with salty pre-cum.
lando continued to stroke his length as you continued rambling, thumb smearing the pre-cum down his length, whilst his curls fell on his pillow as he tilted his head upwards in pleasure. his mind was hazy, high on not only the adrenaline pumping through his veins, but the ecstasy of hearing your voice after so long apart.
losing any self awareness, lando let out a short whine, biting his lip to try and suppress it as much as possible, but failing miserably. your eyes widened in realisation, stopping what you were saying mid conversation to question what the hell lando just did.
"why did you just moan?" you asked bluntly and directly, adjusting yourself upwards on your bed.
"n-no!" lando exclaimed, grip hard on his twitching length as his froze, hot blood pumping through his veins. "why the hell would i moan?" he tried to laugh off, but you weren't having it.
"are you touching yourself to the sound of my voice?" you asked rather bluntly again, but lando could sense the smirk plastered on your face from his end of the line.
"why would i do that?!" he blurted out sheepishly, trying to lie through his teeth but failing miserably. "i'm not touching myself," he denied again, "i just-, i just missed your voice, okay?"
"aw, that's cute," you mumbled, "but i'd bet you'd need me to tell you what to do, wouldn't you? i bet you're so lost without the sound of my voice in your ear," you trailed off as lando grabbed his throbbing cock, thrusting the fleshlight around it so it fitted ever so snugly.
"please," he whined stupidly, phone now discarded to the corner of the mattress. "i need you," lando panted, pleading nearly as the breath was sucked out of his lungs in the breathless gasps escaping his lips.
"tell me what you want me to do, baby. i'm all yours," he added, biting his bottom lip at the feeling of the fleshlight fitted snugly around his throbbing length, making him a mess. but god did you revel off of that.
"yeah?" you asked, "you're all mine, are you?" you hummed with a devilish excitement flurrying in your insides. "why don't you let me hear those pretty little noises that you make whilst you tell me how you're feeling, hm?"
"fuck," he panted, fisting his cock with the toy. "it's just-," he stuttered, tears forming in his eyes as he continued to jerk himself off, "i just need to feel you- inside of me, and i can't-," he cut himself off as he whimpered, biting down on his hand to suppress a moan mixed with a sob.
"oh, it's that bad, huh?" you cooed, "you really miss me that much, lando? aren't you such a sweet thing," you murmured, voice laced with venomous sweetness as you felt your panties become wet from hearing lando's moans vibrate through your phone's speaker.
"if i cum please just promise me that you'll come to my next race," lando breathed as his hips rolled in a haste rhythm whilst thrusting the toy harder onto his cock. "that's all i ask," he added, before groaning, "fuck-, i'm close."
"oh you're close?" you hummed with a raised eyebrow. after a moment of pondering, listening to lando's moans grow louder and louder, you answered, "alright, i'll come to your next race," giggling before adding in a sultry mumble, "come for me, lando."
salty tears streamed down lando's face as he let out a guttural moan, hot spurts of come painting the inside of his fleshlight. the sticky white trailed down his length, painting the inside of his thighs as he panted, coming down from his high.
"good boy," you praised as lando whimpered, chest heaving. "that feel better, lando? i bet it does, doesn't it," you murmured into the phone with a sadistic smile on your face.
"now turn on your camera," you commanded, "i want to see what pathetic mess my stupid boyfriend made on his toy thinking about me." <3
summary: just life when you're a pro tennis player and your fuckbuddy is a formula 1 driver
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pairing: lando x afab reader (F/M) - Pro Tennis Player Reader - friends with benefits dynamics
tw: smut !!
word count: around 8k ( open for a possible part two)
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“Again! You’re too slow on the second ball! Focus on your recovery.”
You cursed under your breath but obeyed, bouncing lightly on the balls of your feet, racquet ready.
You were definitely out of breath. You couldn’t afford it, but you were.
This wasn’t the moment to take shortcuts. For the first time in your professional tennis career, you were heading into a tournament as a top 10 seed: your name printed higher on the draw sheet than ever before, suddenly burdened with expectation and pressure. Everyone would be watching to see if you could back it up. If your ranking was proof of something permanent, or just a lucky run.
Being the underdog had its freedom, yes: you could swing freely, surprise people. But now, eyes followed you everywhere. Every practice was dissected, every result compared against expectation.
“Alright, let’s close on serves. Get your rhythm right before we wrap.”
You nodded, dragging yourself back onto the baseline. The basket of balls had been rolled closer, each yellow sphere practically daring you to prove you belonged inside that top 10. You bounced the first ball deliberately, keeping the toss steady, elbow tucked close to your rib cage.
The first serve came out crisp: flat, down the T, a clean ace if it had been match play.
Just like that.
“Again. Rely on muscle memory.”
You wiped your palm against your skirt and bounced another ball, preparing for a wide slice.
And that’s when you heard it. A ripple of laughter, deeper voices drifting over from the far side of the club.
You tried not to look, you really did. But instinct tugged your eyes across the complex.
And there he was.
Lando Norris, unmistakable even at a distance, was strolling toward the padel enclosure with three friends in tow. With that relaxed bounce, cap flipped backwards, sunglasses hooked to his t-shirt, the casual arrogance of a man who never had to fight to be noticed.
You smirked. Of course he was here.
“Oh, great,” you muttered to yourself, getting ready for another serve.
Monaco had a way of making collisions feel inevitable, as if the city itself were a carefully designed maze where the same people were always meant to cross paths again, no matter how carefully they tried to avoid it.
You could pretend coincidence for a while, but eventually the word lost its meaning. Especially when it came to Lando.
That was how it had started. Once. Just once, you’d told yourself afterward, standing barefoot in a hotel room that still smelled faintly of champagne and sex, watching dawn creep over the port.
It had been after his Monaco win.
You’d both escaped early from a sponsor event, traded a look that said should we? and why not?, and somehow ended up making out behind a closed door before either of you had the sense to overthink it.
You remembered thinking, even then, that it had been absurdly easy. Too easy, maybe. No awkward explanations, no pretence. You both knew. Your bodies were your livelihoods, tuned and punished in equal measure, and there was something almost comforting about being with someone who treated that as a given instead of a novelty.
It should have ended there. A single, private night filed away under things that happen when there’s too much free champagne available.
Except it didn’t.
Because a few weeks later there you were again, standing at yet another sponsor party. Different city but same kind of music and same polite conversations looping endlessly around.
You hadn’t planned it. You never did. It just… happened. Again. A shared look. A joke whispered too close to be entirely innocent. An excuse about early mornings and long days that everyone accepted without question. Another hotel hallway, another door clicking shut behind you. The second time had felt less reckless and somehow more dangerous for it, because you both knew exactly what you were choosing.
Then there had been Barcelona…or rather, Madrid first. You’d been there for a tournament, exhausted in the particular way that only came from grinding through long matches under a merciless sun, your body sore and your head buzzing with half-finished points that could’ve been played better. His message had popped up late one evening, after you were already out of the competition.
Why don’t you come to Barcelona for a few days?
It was absurd, really: detouring to another city in the middle of a tournament swing just because a Formula 1 driver suggested it.
And yet, by the time you closed your suitcase two days later, you were shaking your head at yourself, lips quirking with a smile you couldn’t quite suppress.
The sex was too good for that, so disarmingly right it had rewired your sense of risk. Every time you were together, it was as if he read you before you spoke; he knew when to push, how to push, how to make you go crazy and when to let you rest, taking you slow and unhurrily.
It left you wrecked in the best possible way, overstimulated and breathless, wondering how something could feel so mutual it almost felt choreographed, as if your bodies had agreed on this long before you did.
You snapped back to reality, tossing the ball again. It wasn’t the right moment to think about you two naked under satin sheets, when your coach was two meter away waiting for you to deliver some serves.
But well, your rhythm was already broken, the ball drifting too far forward. You chased it, making contact awkwardly, sending it into the net.
Horrible.
You blew out a breath, adjusted your visor, and tried again. Toss, too high this time, your wrist snapping late. The serve flew long, clipping the back fence.
Terrible.
“Are you kidding me?” your coach exploded, stepping forward, hands on hips. “What the hell is that? Focus! You don’t get to spray serves like a junior. Eyes on the ball!”
From across the way, a burst of laughter broke out, the kind of easy, careless noise that cut sharper because you knew exactly who it belonged to. You didn’t dare look, but you could hear it: Lando and his mates, already on the padel court, joking, messing around with their warm-up swings. The timing of it stung, like the sound was aimed at you, even if it wasn’t.
You bounced the ball once, twice, forcing yourself to tune it out.
Split step. Relax your hand. You visualized the motion, smooth and fluid, the ball toss rising just above eye level, the racquet drop falling into the slot behind your back. Legs drove upward, shoulder uncoiling like a spring, contact crisp, strings cutting clean through.
Thwack.
The ball ripped down the T, grazing the inside of the line. An ace.
Fucking finally.
“Yes,” your coach snapped, approving. “Thank you. Again.”
You wiped the back of your wrist across your forehead, blocking out the stray noise. Ball in hand, bounce-bounce, toss. You found the rhythm again. Wide slice, dragging the returner off the court. Then a heavy kicker, arcing up, exploding off the box with vicious spin. One after another, hammering the service box until the echo of contact and the spray of clay drowned everything else out.
By the time the basket was empty, your shirt clung to your back, and your shoulder ached.
You drained the last of your water and slung your racquet bag over your shoulder, body still humming from the repetition. Your coach gave you a final nod.
“Good work today! Same focus tomorrow, yeah?”
“Yep, got it,” you said, voice hoarse but steady.
As you started toward the exit gate, the scrape of clay under your shoes mixing with the faint pop of padel balls being struck in the court opposite, something yellow rolled lazily across the gravel and bumped to a stop near your feet.
“Hey!” a voice called. “Sorry—could you grab that for us?”
You glanced down. A padel ball. Smaller, lighter than your own, sitting just beside the bench. With a small sigh, you bent, scooping it up.
When you straightened, three pairs of eyes were on you.
Lando leaned against the mesh fence, padel racquet dangling loosely from his hand, grin tugging wide at the corner of his mouth. His cap was still backwards, curls sticking out underneath, eyes alight with the same energy that had broken your rhythm earlier.
Outside of your secret bubble, you were friends. Kinda. In public, at least.
It helped that, in truth, you didn’t really know each other. No shared childhood memories, no deep conversations about fears and future plans, no emotional dialogues. What you shared lived firmly in the present, contained to specific places and moments, and that made it easier to keep everything else clean.
And somehow, it worked. No rumors followed you down red carpets. No whispers curled through paddocks or press rooms. No speculative headlines pairing your names together with a question mark and a winking tone.
And that was good.
Cause you’re primary ultimate focus was tennis. And becoming the N°1 in the WTA ranking.
And his primary ultimate focus was Formula One.
What you had wasn’t a distraction; it was just a way to cope with that demanding mechanism that revolved around being an international professional athlete.
You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the small smile tugging at your lips. You played with the ball in your hands and walked toward the padel courts, visor shading your eyes.
“You know,” you started, leaning casually against the fence, “I’m a little disappointed.”
“Why’s that?” His tone was already cocky, already playing the game.
“Because I thought you were brave enough to step onto a real court. Clay, baseline, the whole thing. But no, here you are, hiding in the kiddie pool.” You gestured at the padel court, your voice dripping with mock sympathy. “Padel, Lando? Really?”
His friends burst out laughing, which only made his smirk widen. He pushed his cap back with one hand.
“Padel takes skill,” he shot back.
“Sure,” you said sweetly. “Hand-eye coordination, I’ll give you that”
“Ouch.” He pressed a hand to his chest in mock injury. “And here I was about to invite you to play.”
“Don’t,” you deadpanned. “I don’t humiliate people for free.”
That got another round of laughter as he shook his head. His eyes stayed locked on you, that mischievous glint unmistakable.
“Oh come on, are you sure you don’t want to play with us?” Lando pressed, tilting his head, that grin curling wider. He twirled the padel racquet in his hand like it was an extension of himself, casually confident, deliberately careless. “Could be fun. I’ll even go easy on you.”
You snorted, crossing your arms loosely over your chest, weight leaning into one hip. “Tempting, but no, thank you.”
His brows shot up, mock-offended, but you continued. “I just had a three-hour training block, and unless one of you plans to sub out, you’re already all set, see? I’d hate to ruin the symmetry.”
That earned a round of chuckles from his friends, who were already shifting back into their positions on the padel court. But Lando stayed put by the fence, attention anchored on you like you were the only person who mattered in that moment.
“You’re scared,” he said finally, voice light but edged with challenge.
You raised an eyebrow. “Scared?”
“Mhm.” He nodded as if it were a fact, lips quirking. “Big star, plays in front of thousands of people, wins tournaments, but one tiny padel match? Too much.”
You laughed under your breath, shaking your head, though your pulse skipped traitorously at the way he said it. His eyes never wavered, warm and sharp all at once, tugging at you with a pull you pretended not to feel.
“I play tennis, not padel, so keep telling yourself that,” you murmured, adjusting the strap of your bag on your shoulder. “Whatever helps you sleep at night.”
You shifted your weight, already angling toward the exit, but not without one last jab. “Anyway, good luck with the kiddie pool. I’ve actually got places to be.”
You lifted a hand in a casual wave, already walking away. His friends shouted a quick goodbye, the sound of their laughter and playful trash talk already filling the court again. But you didn’t have to look back to know he was still watching you.
“See you around, then!” Lando’s voice carried easily, pitched just loud enough to make sure it hooked you.
You felt it.
The weight of his gaze, tracking every step, burning hotter than the late-morning sun on your skin. It was that same unshakable awareness that had ruined your serve earlier, like a string pulled taut between you, invisible but undeniable. You’d gotten used to walking away just before it snapped.
And yet, as you slipped through the gates, you couldn’t stop yourself from glancing back once, visor shadowing your eyes.
Sure enough, Lando was still by the fence, racquet hanging loosely from his hand, eyes locked on you like he wasn’t even trying to hide it. When your gazes met, his smirk returned, small and sharp, as if he already knew you’d look back.
By the time you showered, toweled off and pulled on fresh clothes, you’d convinced yourself you were back on solid ground. Calm. Neutral. Ready to move on with your day.
And then your phone buzzed against the bench.
Lando: Dinner. My place tonight?
Five minutes. Almost on the dot.
There was something almost impressive about his timing, as if he’d waited just long enough to seem casual without risking that window where overthinking crept in. You stared at the screen, lips pressing together, a breath slipping out through your nose that was halfway to a laugh.
You already knew what it entailed. Of course you did.
With the only difference that it has never been at his place. Or yours.
Always neutral territory.
But you told yourself it didn’t mean anything. Right? That it was just logistics, convenience, Monaco being Monaco. It was better than bookig another hotel room last minute. Still, you found yourself checking the door to make sure the locker room was empty, as if privacy suddenly mattered more than it had a minute ago.
You typed back before you could talk yourself out of it.
Send the address.
Setting the phone down, face-up this time, you watched the screen fade to black like a decision locking itself in place.
Then, you finished getting ready, smoothing your hair, swapping your trainers for sandals, catching your own reflection in the mirror and tilting your head like you were appraising someone else entirely. You looked fine. Normal. Unbothered. And if there was a flicker of anticipation behind your eyes, it was subtle enough to deny.
The sports club was quieter when you left, the afternoon heat mellowing into something warmer and heavier, and you walked past the courts without looking toward the padel enclosure, refusing to check whether he was still there, because that felt like tempting fate.
Once at home getting ready took longer than it should have, not because you didn’t know what to wear but because you kept circling the decision like it mattered more than it did.
This wasn’t a date. You knew that, and you reminded yourself of that firmly while choosing something simple, comfortable, the kind of outfit that didn’t try too hard and that it was probably gonna be left on the floor for hte majority of the night.
By the time you left your apartment, the sky had shifted into early evening, Monaco bathed in that golden, cinematic light that made everything look more romantic than it had any right to be. You slid into your car and let the engine hum to life, fingers drumming lightly against the steering wheel as you pulled onto the road, the route to his place familiar enough to feel automatic.
You hadn’t even made it halfway there when your car’s dashboard lit up with an incoming call.
Your manager’s name.
You sighed, long and slow, the sound filling the space of the car as you considered, briefly, letting it ring out. Then you answered, because yeah, you had to.
The conversation unfolded predictably at first, the polite check-in, the acknowledgement of your recent results, words carefully chosen to sound supportive without being reassuring. You kept your eyes on the road, nodding along even though they couldn’t see you, offering the right responses at the right moments, your tone professional and controlled.
But then the shift came, subtle enough that you almost missed it until it was already there.
Expectations. Targets. The importance of momentum.
“You know, they think it’s time to take some big concrete results home this year!”
Your manager spoke about your main sponsor in the careful language of someone delivering news they knew would land heavily, explaining how pleased they were with your consistency, how impressed they’d been by your rise, before gently steering the conversation toward what came next. Concrete results. A definitive statement. A win in a big tournament.
Or what?
They would drop you? Your manager didn’t say it clearly, but it didn’t take a genius to understand that the intensions weren’t far from there.
You tightened your grip on the steering wheel, knuckles whitening just slightly as you navigated a curve you could drive blindfolded. You let them talk, absorbing the words without interrupting, because interrupting wouldn’t change anything. There was no point protesting.
You’d been close, they acknowledged that. Painfully close. Finals that slipped through your fingers, semifinals that turned on a single point, a single misjudged shot. Enough to prove you belonged, apparently, but not enough to satisfy people who liked their success neat and definitive. But close, apparently, was no longer enough.
And now this pressure was all going to be transfered towards your next tournament, in a few weeks.
You ended the call with the same practiced calm you always did, your voice steady, agreeable, professional, even as your fingers lingered on the steering wheel a second longer than necessary.
You told yourself, firmly, that you were not bringing this with you. Not tonight. Tonight was not for spiraling, not for replaying lost points or imagining headlines that didn’t exist yet. Tonight was supposed to be easy. Light. That was what whatever passed between you and Lando existed precisely.
So you did what you’d always done best.
You compartmentalized.
One moment you were replaying your manager’s careful phrasing “concrete results”, “big tournaments coming up” and the next you were standing still, keys dangling loosely from your fingers, the world narrowing to a single door in front of you.
And before you couldn even overthink it, that door opened.
Lando stood there barefoot, sleeves of his t-shirt pushed up his forearms, hair still damp like he’d showered recently and not bothered to fully dry it.
“There you are,” he said, voice warm, casual, like this was the most natural thing in the world.
“Hi,” you replied, the word slipping out softer than you intended, followed by a small smile you hadn’t consciously decided to offer.
He stepped aside without ceremony, one hand gesturing you in. “Come in.”
His apartment was very him. Polished but a little messy. Minimalist but with a touch of extravagant that made it interesting.
And helmets. Helmets everywhere. Perfectly integrated in the forniture, visibe but not too cocky to scream egocentric. Not begged to be noticed.
“Want a drink?” he asked, already moving toward the kitchen. “Water, wine, anything?”
“Yeah, water’s perfect, thank you,” you replied, your smile widening just a fraction as you peeled off your coat and draped it over the back of a barstool at his open-plan kitchen island.
He nodded, already padding toward the fridge in those bare feet that slapped lightly against the polished hardwood floors, pulling out a chilled bottle and twisting the cap off with a practiced flick before handing it over
“How was training?”
“Brutal, as usual, but good” You took a long sip, the icy water sliding down your throat like a brief reprieve, and leaned against the island. “Until someone invaded the padel court and started firing balls into mine. Really disruptive “
His mouth curved instantly. “Oh? Did we distract you?”
You lifted a brow, playing along. “Not even close.”
“Really,” he said, stepping closer, invading your space with deliberate ease. “Because I could’ve sworn I felt you staring at us.”
“I was judging your awful technique,” you replied, tilting your head.
“Mmh,” he hummed, clearly unconvinced, gaze dropping briefly to your lips. “Lucky for you, I have other talents.”
You didn’t get the chance to respond.
He kissed you then, sudden but unhurried, the kind of kiss that felt inevitable rather than impulsive.
Your bag slipped from your shoulder, hitting the floor with a dull thud that neither of you acknowledged. His hand cradled your jaw, thumb stroking your cheekbone with firm possession while his other slid to the small of your back, pulling your hips flush against him, and for a moment, instinct took over and you kissed him back.
Your lips parting eagerly under his, tongue tangling with his in a slick, heated dance, your fingers digging into the warm skin of his waist where his t-shirt had ridden up, nails scraping lightly over the ridges of muscle there as you pressed back, chasing that electric pull.
But only for a moment.
Because somewhere between his lips moving against yours and the familiar press of his body close to yours, your thoughts slipped sideways.
Concrete results.
Your mouth responded automatically, but there was a half-second lag between action and intention, a fraction too slow to go unnoticed.
He felt it. Of course.
He pulled back just enough to look at you, his forehead resting lightly against yours. “Hey,” he said quietly. “You okay?” Breaths mingling in ragged puffs as his thumb traced your lower lip, swollen from his kisses
You smiled before you thought about it, a natural reflex to mask the noise inside your head. “Yeah. Just a little tired.”
It was convincing. Or so you tried to be.
You kissed him again before he could press further and he groaned into your mouth as his hands roamed with purpose now, gripping your ass to hoist you up onto the island edge, your legs parting instinctively to hook around his waist.
It was so easy for you to pull him between your thighs cause he’d easily fit there like he was made for it.
You stumbled towards the bedroom then, clothes peeled off frantically until you tumbled in underwear onto the mattress together in a heated sprawl, him hovering over you, familiar in the way things become when repetition dulls the novelty but sharpens the intimacy.
And yet.
Even there, with his weight grounding you and his hands warm and sure, your mind drifted. Again.
With his lips still on yours and his hands grabbing your skin, you involuntarily started thinking about tournaments you hadn’t won yet, about points lost by margins so thin they still haunted you, about the particular cruelty of being praised for consistency and for your “almost made it”.
Lando shifted slightly, sensing it again, pulling back just enough to look at you properly this time. His brow creased, just a little. “What’s wrong?” he said, not accusatory, just observant, his thumb absently stroking the inside of your knee.
“Nothing, I promise” You brushed it off instinctively, tugging his mouth back toward yours with a deliberate grind of your hips that was more meant to distract him rather than anything else.
But he felt it again, of course he did.
And this time, with a low, reluctant groan, he pulled away completely sitting back on his heels, looking at you with an expression that wiped the teasing from his face entirely.
“Hey,” he said quietly, steady but firm now. “Don’t do that, what’s going on?”
You blinked, breath still uneven, heart doing that annoying thing where it sped up for the wrong reason.
For a moment, you considered pushing back anyway, throwing out another easy excuse, another half-truth wrapped in a smile, because that was easier than admitting that your head felt like it was full of noise you couldn’t turn down.
But the effort of pretending suddenly felt exhausting, like trying to keep your balance on a point you already knew you’d lost.
You let out a slow breath, one hand coming up to rub your forehead as you looked away. “I’m sorry,” you said finally, voice softer, stripped of its practiced polish. “I’m just… I’m not really in the mood right now.”
The surprise flickered across his face immediately, brief but unmistakable, like he hadn’t expected that ending to the sentence, not from you, not tonight. Then it faded, replaced by something gentler, more careful, as he nodded once.
“Hey,” he said again, quieter this time. “That’s okay.”
He shifted without hesitation, rolling onto his side beside you, propping himself up on one elbow to face you, not pushing, not asking anything else, just there.
You stayed quiet for a few seconds longer than was strictly comfortable, the ceiling still holding your attention as if the answer might be written somewhere between the shadows and the soft glow of the bedside lamp. Then, without looking at him, the words slipped out.
“How do you do it?”
He shifted slightly beside you, confusion crossing his face as he turned his head to look at you properly. “Do what?”
You swallowed, fingers worrying at the edge of the pillowcase. “Cope,” you said, still staring upward. “With the pressure… and everyone’s expectations.”
That earned you a longer pause. You could almost hear the mental recalibration happening in his brain.
“I… don’t understand,” he said slowly. “Where is this coming from?”
You huffed out a quiet, humorless breath, finally turning your head toward him. His expression wasn’t teasing now, wasn’t amused or flirtatious, just attentive in a way that made you suddenly feel very exposed.
“I’m sorry,” you said quickly, before he could say anything else. “I know this is not really our thing. Talking about this stuff, I mean.” You gave a small shrug, as if that could minimize it. “But I guess I just—” You stopped, searching for the right words, then abandoned the effort. “I just need to get it out of my system.”
You hesitated for half a second, then went for honesty instead of polish. “I think my main sponsor is going to drop me if I don’t win my next tournament.”
The shift in him was immediate. His posture straightened, the easy looseness gone, replaced by something sharper, more focused. “What?” he said. “Why?”
“I don’t know,” you replied, the frustration creeping in despite yourself. “My manager called me while I was driving here. Apparently I’m not delivering ‘concrete results.’” You made air quotes without smiling. “Their words, not mine.”
He frowned, clearly processing. “That doesn’t make sense,” he said. “You’re top ten.”
You let out a short laugh, one that sounded a little too brittle to be funny. “Yeah. But I haven’t won a Slam. Or a Masters thousand. And they want that.” You turned onto your side to face him fully now, the words spilling faster. “Finals don’t count. Semis don’t count. ‘Almost’ doesn’t count.”
For a moment, he just looked at you, eyes steady, expression unreadable in that way of his when he was actually thinking instead of performing ease. “That’s insane,” he said finally. “You know that, right?”
“Tell that to the people signing the checks,” you replied quietly.
He exhaled, rubbing a hand over his face before dropping it back onto the mattress between you. “Okay,” he said, slower now, choosing his words. “First of all, I think it’s different for everyone…”
You watched him as he spoke, the way his gaze drifted briefly to the far wall, like he was checking in with his own thoughts before letting them out. “But for me,” he continued, “I kind of had to learn early on to focus only on what I can actually control. Training. Preparation. What I do in the car. The decisions I make lap by lap.” He shrugged lightly, a familiar gesture. “Everything else? The noise, the opinions, the expectations… most of the time that’s not really up to me.”
You hummed quietly, encouraging him to go on.
“There are weekends where I do everything right,” he added, glancing back at you, “and it still doesn’t work out. And there are weekends where things click in ways I couldn’t have planned if I tried.” His mouth curved in a small, wry smile. “At some point, you’re just left trusting the process. Trusting that if you keep doing the work, it’ll come.”
You studied the line of his jaw, the calm certainty in his voice, and felt some of the tightness in your chest ease, just a fraction. “So you don’t think about what people expect from you?”
“Oh, I think about it,” he said with a quiet laugh. “I just try not to let it drive the car. Because that’s when it gets messy.” He paused, then added more seriously, “People’s expectations are their problem. Not yours.”
He paused. Eyes locked in yours.
“Do you think you’re doing a good job?”
The question caught you off guard, not because it was complicated, but because no one ever seemed to ask it like that, stripped of context, rankings, expectations, future projections.
“Yeah,” you said simply. “I do.”
His expression softened, the tension in his shoulders easing as if he’d been waiting for that confirmation more than you had. “Good,” he said. “That’s what matters”
You lay back against the pillow, eyes closing briefly as you breathed in. “I just hate that sometimes,” you admitted, voice quieter now, “no matter how hard I work, my dreams still depend on someone else. On sponsors, contracts, decisions I don’t get to make.”
He nodded slowly, letting out.a small laugh “Yeah,” he said. “Tell me about it” He shifted closer, shoulder brushing yours. “But I still think… at the end of the day, we’re more in charge of our destiny than it feels like.”
“You really think so?”
“Yeah,” he said, meeting your gaze. “Because when it finally happens, when you win that tournament, it won’t be just luck. It’ll be because you were ready when the moment showed up.”
You smiled then, small but genuine, and for the first time that night, it reached your eyes.
He was right.
You turned your head toward him, meaning to say something light or teasing to balance the weight of the moment, but the words never quite made it past your lips.
He was already watching you. His expression was soft, open in a way that felt almost intimate given how carefully you both usually avoided that territory, and for a second it struck you how rare it was to be looked at like that without expectation attached.
You lifted your hand and let your fingers settle against his cheek, your thumb brushing lightly along his jaw. He leaned into the touch without thinking, eyes flicking down to your mouth and then back up again, as if he were taking his cue from you.
That was what you’d needed, you realized then. Not urgency. Not distraction. Not even sex, though it had crossed your mind more than once tonight.
What you’d needed were those few words, spoken without judgment or pressure, grounding you back into yourself when your thoughts had been threatening to scatter in every direction at once. They had soothed something inside you in a way you hadn’t expected, in a way you hadn’t known to ask for.
So you didn’t answer him.
You closed the distance instead, pressing your lips to his in a kiss that was slower and softer than before. This time it wasn’t about proving anything or trying to lose yourself in sensation. His hand came up to rest at your waist, warm and steady, and you felt him relax beneath your touch, meeting you there without question.
And finally, your mind was quiet.
The kiss shifted almost without you noticing, the softness giving way to something warmer, more insistent, as if the relief you’d been holding back finally found somewhere to go. His hand slid more securely at your waist, fingers pressing in just enough to anchor you there, and you felt the familiar spark catch, the kind that always lived just under the surface between you, waiting for the slightest excuse.
For a moment, you were only aware of the heat of him, the quiet sounds between breaths, the way his thumb traced an unconscious arc against your side.
And then he pulled back.
Not abruptly, not coldly, just enough to look at you properly again, his forehead resting briefly against yours.
“Hey,” he murmured. “You know we don’t have to do anything, right?” His eyes searched your face, not suspicious, just careful. “We can just… have dinner and Chill. Watch something stupid. Whatever you want.”
You smiled at that, softer than before but steadier, and lifted your hand to his jaw again, grounding yourself in the feel of him. “I know,” you said quietly. “But I’m good. Really.” You met his gaze, letting him see it. “Head’s clear now. I promise.”
He studied you for a beat longer, then nodded, the tension easing from his shoulders as a small smile tugged at his mouth. “You sure?”
You didn’t give him time to overthink it, didn’t waste a second on words. You leaned in again, sealing his mouth with a brief, teasing kiss; tongue flicking once against his before you pulled away, letting your lips trail lower in a scorching path along the column of his throat, sucking lightly at the pulse hammering there. “Yeah, positive.”
And with that, your hand dipped boldly between your bodies, fingers slipping past the elastic waistband of his boxers to wrap around his cock; thick and velvet-hard, already leaking steadily from the tip as you gave him a firm, twisting stroke from root to crown, thumb smearing the pre-cum in a slick glide that had his hips jerking up into your grip
Lando half-moaned, half-laughed, the sound rumbling deep and breathless from his chest, a choked “Fuck—wow, my words did really inspire you, yeah?” spilling out in that cheeky British drawl, even as his free hand fisted the sheets, abs clenching under your other palm where it splayed across his stomach.
You laughed low against his skin, the vibration drawing another shudder from him. “They definetely did,” you murmured, nipping the hinge of his jaw, your grip slick and unrelenting to really show him you were okay, more than okay, finally here in the filthy rhythm of it.
You and Lando lay tangled on your sides, face to face in the rumpled sheets; breaths syncing in hot, ragged bursts as your fist pumped his cock with slick, twisting strokes that had him thrusting lazily into your grip.
His hand tightened at the nape of your neck, holding you there while his other arm hooked under your thigh, hoisting your leg up high over his hip in one fluid, possessive yank, before he slotted his thick thigh between yours; the coarse hair and muscle grinding right up against your soaked folds with delicious pressure that made you whine into his kiss.
You got so utterly lost in it then, the world narrowing to the fllawless heat of his mouth devouring yours, tongues sliding sloppy and deep, teeth clashing, your hips rocking instinctively to hump his thigh, dragging your swollen clit over the rigid flex of it with every needy grind that smeared fresh arousal down his skin.
His free hand roamed everywhere: palming the heavy swell of your tits through your bra, rough fingers pinching and rolling your nipples into stiff peaks that throbbed under the lace before hooking into the straps and yanking them down roughly.
The clasp snapped open with a quick twist at your back and he shoved the fabric aside to expose your bare breasts, kneading the soft flesh with greedy squeezes that had milked moans from your throat.
You were so consumed by the blaze of his touch that your hand faltered on his cock, strokes slowing to a distracted squeeze before falling away entirely, forgotten in the haze.
But he didn’t mind, not one fucking bit, didn’t even break rhythm, just growled low into your mouth before abandoning your lips to latch onto the frantic pulse at your neck, sucking hard enough to bruise as his teeth scraped the tender skin.
With a shift of his hips, he rolled fully on top of you, pinning you beneath his weight in the best way: his cock trapped heavy and leaking between your bellies, twitching against your skin as his fingers quickly hooked into your panties, ripping them down your thighs in a frantic tear that left you fully bare and exposed, the ruined lace dangling from one ankle like a trophy before he kicked it off entirely.
“Fuck,” he rasped between kisses, lips dragging wet and stinging along your collarbone, nipping the swell of your breast before soothing with a broad lick, his hand now free to roam your naked curves, “It was fucking hot to see you train today,” he confessed.
“… was so hard not to follow you into the locker room and fuck you right there.”
Breathless, ragged laugh punched out of you at his confession, “What stopped you then?” you gasped out, nails digging into the bunched muscles of his shoulders as he continued to lavish your breasts with bruising kisses and rough, possessive squeezes.
At that, Lando pulled back just enough to look down at you, a wicked grin spreading across his flushed face. He let out a low, throaty chuckle, the sound vibrating through his chest where it pressed against yours. “Why?” he teased, “Would’ve you liked it? Would’ve liked the risk?” His thumb stroked the sharp bone of your hip, his gaze locking onto yours with playful intensity. “Hearing every footstep outside the door, knowing anyone could walk in and see me buried balls-deep in you?”
Oh, he was playing dirty.
He didn’t give you a chance to answer, didn’t wait for the breathy yes already forming on your swollen lips.
With a growl that was half-laugh, half-pure hunger, he lowered himself between your legs in one fluid, predatory slide, his broad shoulders pushing your thighs apart until you were spread wide open for him.
One hand remained latched possessively on your breast, kneading the soft flesh and pinching your nipple into a stiff, aching peak; the other hand released your hip to hook under your knee, spreading you even wider before his fingers laced tightly with yours, palm pressing your joined hands into the mattress.
And then he devoured you.
His mouth crashed onto your pussy with no preamble, no gentle exploration. His tongue speared deep inside you in one long, filthy lick from your soaked entrance all the way up to your throbbing clit, lapping up the gush of your arousal with a groan that vibrated against your most sensitive flesh.
“Fuck, your taste…” He ate you out like a man possessed: tongue fucking you in deep, rhythmic plunges before flattening to swirl broad, relentless circles around your clit, sucking the swollen bud into his mouth.
You cursed and moaned, a litany of broken fucks and oh gods spilling from your lips as your mind fractured, splintering far away from all the worries and the sponsor anxieties that had shadowed you when you first walked into his apartment.
Now there was only this: the searing heat of his mouth devouring your cunt, the rough, possessive grip of his hand still kneading your breast, the slick, filthy sounds of his tongue fucking deep into your dripping core before swirling with relentless precision over your swollen clit.
You were left fighting to control your breathing, to not explode too soon, but it’s a losing battle; every time he sucked your clit into the wet heat of his mouth, sent another violent tremor through your limbs, coiling the pleasure tighter and tighter in your belly until it’s a white-hot knot begging for release.
“Lan, I’m so close…” you barely whispered but then, when you came, it crashed over you with shocking force, your back arching off the bed as your pussy convulsed around his tongue, gushing fresh wetness that he drank down with greedy.
And through it all, you couldn’t stop smiling, a breathless, dazed grin spreading across your face even as tears pricked the corners of your eyes… because that’s exactly what this is about, isn’t it?
This raw, uncomplicated hunger, this mutual understanding that stripped away everything else until it was just two bodies chasing the same fire. It was why you kept seeing each other, why you kept crashing into his orbit: for moments like this, where the world narrowed to sweat and skin and shared, shuddering release.
And with him, it was something else. Better and more intense than anything.
You stay like that for a few seconds, panting and smiling dopily at each other in the aftermath: him kneeling back on his heels between your splayed legs, his mouth and chin glistening with your spend, a smug, boyish grin lighting up his flushed face; you lying sprawled and boneless on the rumpled sheets, chest heaving as the last tremors subside.
And after a few moments, without a word, you just lazily rolled over onto your stomach, ass lifting in a deliberate, inviting arch as you buried your face in the pillows with a contented sigh, presenting yourself to him fully.
Lando let out a low, delighted laugh “Oh, just like that?” he teased.
His hands came down on your ass immediately, palms smoothing over the curves with a possessive squeeze before one lifted and came down in a sharp, playful smack that echoed in the quiet room.
"No 'please,' no 'fuck me, Lando'—just ass up, ready to go? Wonderful" he murmured against your shoulder blade, nipping the skin there before lining himself up at your entrance, the broad head nudging against your sensitive, swollen folds. "Now let's see if I can fuck all those other thoughts right out of you for good, yeah?”
☆ warnings: mean dom!lando is wdc, a lot of face slapping, spanking, unprotected p in v, kinda heavy degradation, praise kink, consent check ins, brat taming, established rel ⋆ inspo: (x)(x)(x)
⋆ ‧ ⋅ ☾ ‧ ⋆ ⋅ ☽ ⋆ ‧ ⋅
you made the rule as a joke at first.
only when he wins.
it was supposed to be teasing. playful. a way to make race weekends feel charged instead of stressful. a kiss on the cheek when he lost. a whispered 'next time' when he came home frustrated and buzzing with adrenaline he had nowhere to put.
but seasons are long.
and lando doesn’t lose quietly.
whenever he stood on the top step with champagne drying in his hair and that feral light in his eyes, he came home to you. open and eager. you touched him like he’d earned it. celebratory and greedy.
whenever he lost, he never pushed. never crossed the line. he just watched you, storing it all up. every denied night. you still kissed him, still curled around him at night. still loved him.
you just didn’t fuck him.
at first he laughed about it. called you a menace. said you were evil.
the season dragged on.
podiums slipped through his fingers. some wins turned into seconds. some seconds into bad weekends. frustration followed him home.
you kept your rule. you slept beside him. you kissed him. you didn’t fuck him.
and lando never complained. that was the worst part.
he didn’t beg. didn’t sulk or push. he just got quieter. tighter with all that energy with nowhere to go. every loss added another layer of restraint. another night of him lying awake beside you with his jaw clenched. cock hard and hands fisted in the sheets.
you told yourself you were pushing him to be his best.
lando told himself he was keeping score.
world champion.
the night felt electric. champagne dried sticky on his skin, the weight of the trophy feeling so light in his adrenaline fueled hands. he hasn’t touched you since the paddock. barely spoke. just that hand at the small of your back, claiming space.
now you’re alone.
the door clicks shut. silence.
lando turns slowly. he looks at you like he’s about to collect debt.
he crowds you without touching. forces you to look up at him. his hand lifts, thumb brushing under your chin.
“you remember the rule?” he asks.
you nod. “i only fuck you when you win.”
his mouth twitches in a slow smile.
“wrong.” he says. “you get fucked when i win.”
your gaze shifts to the floor. embarrassed and hot. he's so pent up, you can tell.
"are you okay with me being rough tonight?”
you hesitate for half a second.
it’s not fear. it’s anticipation.
“…yes.”
“good.” he says. “because i’ve been very patient. undress."
you listen to him. no room for bratty remarks today.
the first slap happens before you can overthink it. it surprises you. that’s the point.
he turns you around and his hand lands against your ass. sharp enough to steal the air from your lungs. not cruel, not careless. your body reacts before your brain does. your eyes widen.
he stills instantly.
his thumb presses under your chin, forcing your gaze up. his voice is low. controlled. “talk to me.”
your heart is racing. your skin is buzzing where he touched you. where he hit you. he had spanked you before, but this felt different. intentional. harsh.
"i-i liked it.”
lando looks satisfied. “yeah? good girl.”
the next strike comes harder. you feel it properly. heat spreads fast and deep. the kind that makes your knees weak. you make a small sound.
lando hums, pleased. “that one is for every time i came home with my cock aching and you just kissed me goodnight.”
another. measured, controlled.
“you still with me?”
“yes, fuck.” you breathe.
his hand is warm and grounding on your hip between strikes. every hit is followed by a soft touch. fingers smoothing over the sting. thumb tracing lazy circles. he’s reminding your body who is in charge.
“you’re taking it so well,” he says quietly. “didn’t know you had this in you.”
you flush under his gaze.
“this is gonna be new.” lando mumbles vaguely.
his hand comes up to your face. he pauses.
he slaps your face. it's firm. controlled. loud enough to ring.
your head turns a bit with the force of it. not painful but shocking. heat spreads across your face.
you stare at him. stunned.
his eyes search your face immediately.
“still here?” it’s almost mocking, but there is care seeping through his little act.
“…yeah, right here.” you breathe.
“good girl.”
the words hit harder than his hand did. he doesn’t give you time to process before his palm lands on your face again. sharp. deliberate and possessive. your body reacts instinctively, a soft wrecked sound escaping you. he hums.
“did it scare you?” he asks.
“…no.”
“did you like it?”
your silence answers for you. he smiles again. low, dangerous.
“thought so.”
another strike. slower, heavier. his hand rests on your face. warm, claiming.
“you take this so well. your body knows it deserves it.”
your breath comes shallow. you're getting wet from being slapped. it's fucking humiliating.
“you’re so much prettier like this,” he continues. “obedient. quiet. aching.”
you whine in response. shamelessly nodding.
he pulls you upright. fingers under your chin, forcing your gaze up.
“you look fucking perfect taking it.”
the degradation is creeping in so softly. so sweetly. it's not shouted, it feels earned.
he guides you toward the bed. his simple presence feels comforting. reliable. his hand is moving from your face to your waist.
“you don’t get to fuck champions, hm.” he says quietly. “you get to be used by one.”
fuck.
his thumb brushes your cheek, the same spot he slapped earlier. then, he slaps your pretty face again. your body is warm, overstimulated. cunt is dripping and still untouched. he keeps hold of your face. he pushes you back until the back of your legs hit the bed. you stumble and he takes advantage of that, his hand firm on your throat. not squeezing, just anchoring you there while he leans in close.
the bed dips as he presses you down. his own body follows without hesitation. he frees his cock from his boxers. hard, and fucking aching. he pushes it against you.
“you feel that? that’s what you're made for, baby.”
another slap. firmer. this one lands on your skin harshly. your breath hitches, hands grasping onto his bare torso.
“that’s for montreal.”
another. “zandvoort.”
fuck. he's bringing up his dnfs. when he missed you the most. when he wanted to drown in your cunt but you were too bratty to let him have it.
another. slower, heavier. “vegas.”
his hand lingers after. it's warm against your skin, immediately soothing what he’s just done. you're silent yet grabbing at his hard cock. you're taking his slaps so well, being such a good girl. it feels fucking good. you start jerking him off.
“you wanted me desperate, didn’t you?”
you nod, hands needily tugging at his pretty cock.
his hand shifts from your face to your hips. he leans in, letting you continue jacking him off slowly. his cock is so red. his mouth gets closer to you, and he checks in with you. you love this side of lando, rough and kind. mean and caring.
"still okay?"
"please, lan. more."
lando swears he's about to cum right there. your wide needy eyes and slutty little pleas earn you another strike on your pretty face. his thumb strokes your cheek again. he's tender, and the contrast makes your cunt throb.
"you're mine when i win. you made that rule, remember?"
you nod.
your legs wrap around him, trying to push him into you. he presses his cock fully into you. fuck. he feels insane inside you. the heat, the weight. it makes you feel wrecked in the best fucking way. the first push is slow, controlled. your hips shift back instinctively. your thighs tremble a bit. everything around you blurs. your only focus is on lando's cock, how deep he's fucking into you. how big he feels whilst stretching you.
"just needed some slaps to put you back in your place, hm?"
fuck fuck fuck.
he spreads your thighs further, putting your legs on his shoulders. his cock hits deeper now. angrier. he's fucking you slow but hard. each drag of his cock against your tight walls feels relentless. almost like a reward, not a punishment. obscene sounds escape your wet cunt but you're too fucked to even notice. you're whimpering. the sting of the slaps still tingling all over your body. his cock keeps hitting your sweet needy spot. his hands grasping your thighs so tightly, he's marking them for tomorrow.
"you're such a good girl now. taking my cock so well. so soaked, fucking pathetic."
he smirks.
his mean words somehow drive his cock deeper into you. the thrusts are precise and your body tightens. your breaths are broken, nails digging into lando's forearms. you're pushing him away, and pulling him back in with your cunt. the praise, the harsh words. they're all getting to you. you're almost there.
he pops a thumb in his mouth, wetting his fingertip. he circles your clit, sharp and rough movements to push you even further. lando is mumbling roughly in your ear as he plays with you. he's reminding you how good you’re doing, how perfect you feel. how you're always worth the wait. the heat in your core snaps and travels through your entire body. you clench around his cock, trembling prettily underneath him. such a pretty mess.
he doesn't let you cum quietly. no, he pushes you through it. owns you through it. lando is still fucking you hard. every pretty sound you whine pulls a reaction from him. a little sharp exhale, a mumbled curse. sometimes, some praise.
"i just really missed you lan. fuck. missed your cock, missed all of you." you're whimpering, all fucked out.
you mess with his brain when you say shit like that in that little needy voice. his own tension snaps and he pins your hips down. his own release follows. it's low and almost guttural as he spills his cum inside you. you're so full of him. he keeps fucking his own cum into you. he wants to claim you properly. own you properly. his grip never leaves your body. he holds you through it, still pressing his body against yours.
you lay beneath him, dead tired but so calm. his breathing slows and he wraps his arms around you. he holds you close, skin so warm. he cups your face again and guides you to meet his eyes. his fingers softly brush your cheeks, still flushed. he's checking on you. you smile, reassuring him quietly without needing to use any words. he presses a kiss on your forehead. his hands stroke your back.
"that was insane. you'll regret making that rule for next season."
you smile sleepily. "only if you actually lose."
he laughs, almost flustered. "you're dangerous. my pretty little reward."
summary: your boy is Formula One World Champion. How insane is that?
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pairing: lando x afab reader (F/M)
tw: smut +18, there's literally no plot im sorry
word count: around 4k
feedback is appreciated!! <3
hi besties!! i know it’s been a minute since i last posted, i’m sorry for disappearing like that 😭 life got in the way but i’m back now (kinda) , and i promise I’ll try to be better!!
also please be gentle with me because this is the first fic /OS i’ve written in months… i’m a little rusty 😅 so let me know what you think in the notes, okay??
and ummm… CAN WE TALK ABOUT THE FACT THAT LANDO NORRIS IS A WORLD CHAMPION???? like??? hello???? surreal doesn’t even begin to cover it
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On the carpet.
You hadn’t even made it ten steps past the door, before Lando’s mouth was on yours.
He didn’t even give you a second to think, let alone care about making it to the bed (or the shower, for that matter) or to process the fact that you honestly had no idea how you even made it back to the hotel room.
And it genuinely hit you only now.
What had just happened.
Now that the door was closed and the adrenaline was finally loosening its claws, you began to understand.
Lando’s hands were warm on your waist, his laugh still buzzing faintly against your lips, and for the first time, it truly sank in: you had watched him become world champion. You had stood there, helpless and breathless, witnessing that impossible, glittering moment unfold like something stolen from a dream too big for the world to hold.
Because the truth was that, when the chequered flag fell, when his name flashed next to the world champion title and the team erupted into a chaos of screams, sobs and papaya confetti, something inside you cracked open in a way you hadn’t anticipated; you felt your throat close, and your chest expand all at once.
This wasn’t just a victory, wasn’t just a title or statistic printed in history books, this was the culmination of years spent giving every piece of himself to a dream he had carried since he was a shy little boy in oversized karting gear. Years and years of heartbreak and setbacks, near-misses and doubts he only ever confessed to you in the dark, when he thought you were half-asleep and wouldn’t remember.
It was about a boy growing into a man who shaped his entire life around a dream that always felt almost out of reach.
And now, that one thing, that impossible, golden thing, was finally his.
His success didn’t just feel like his; it felt like yours too, woven delicately into the fabric of your shared life, into every bruise you soothed, every doubt you countered, every late-night whispered hope he dared to speak because you made the world feel safer for him.
And maybe that was why your heart felt too full now, why your whole body vibrated with warmth.
The celebrations had been a dream and they had swallowed the entire night, stretching from the second he stepped out of the FIA room to the moment you entered the exclusive Abu Dhabi club someone had reserved and booked for the occasion. And every single person around you decided that staying sober was not only unrealistic but also deeply offensive to the spirit of victory.
So you danced, wrapped around your man until your feet hurt, until sweat gathered at the base of your neck and your cheeks were sore from smiling. The team kept opening new bottles, each more unnecessary than the last, but no one cared because how could you possibly toast a childhood dream with moderation?
Now back at the hotel, hours later, at 7am in the morning, you weren’t drunk anymore. Not really, not to the point of slurred words or stumbling alone, but you were certainly far from sober; and Lando was no better, his pupils blown wide and wild with hours of celebration and disbelief, his breath warm with champagne and laughter every time he kissed you.
The stumble happened because you were both trying to walk, kiss and undress each other simultaneously, which, in hindsight, was probably a terrible plan considering the state you were in, but you didn’t begin to care.
And that's the reason why you couldn't reach the bed.
While falling, he made a sound, a delighted groan that vibrated against your lips, as he wrapped his arms around you, twisting mid-fall in this half-instinctive, half-ridiculous attempt to shield you from the impact.
It didn’t work. You still crashed onto the enormous ivory carpet in the center of the suite, bouncing once on its soft surface before settling in a disheveled tangle of limbs and stray pieces of clothing you’d somehow managed to shed along the way.
"Ooops, jeez!"
You lay there for a moment, chest heaving, hair in your mouth, dress bunched around your hips, leg thrown over his, your hand still gripping the collar of his champagne-stained shirt like you were afraid he might evaporate if you let go.
You were both laughing. So hard and loud your abs started to hurt at some point.
And it didn’t stop. Not even when he found your lips again. That’s why it turned out to be messy with teeth clicking, shared breaths that turned into sighs and chuckles vibrating on his tongue as it swept into your mouth.
His hands, which had been braced on the carpet on either side of your head, slid down. One cupped the side of your face, while the other went to your hip, fingers digging into the bunched fabric of your dress, dragging it downward in a slow, deliberate pull that felt less like undressing and more like claiming territory.
You helped, arching off the carpet just enough to let the silky material slide over your thighs, but you were distracted by his mouth leaving yours to trail hot, open-mouthed kisses along your jaw, down the column of your throat. He lingered at the frantic pulse there, sucking gently, and you let out a shaky gasp, your fingers finally releasing their death-grip on his shirt collar to slide into his hair, curling into the soft, sweaty curls at the nape of his neck.
“Lando,” you breathed, and it wasn’t a protest, just a sound, a piece of him given voice.
“Mmm?” The vibration against your skin travelled straight down your spine.
He didn’t wait for an answer, his mouth continuing its descent, over your collarbone, to the lace-edged cup of your bra. He nuzzled against the fabric, breathing you in, before using his teeth to tug the delicate strap off your shoulder. “Fuck, you smell… fucking amazing”
You both didn't want to waste any time. Right there on the ground, on a wool carpet, was fine. More than fine, it was perfect.
He unhooked the clasp of your bra with a clumsy, fumbling twist of his fingers, a task made infinitely harder because he refused to lift his head from your chest. The fabric fell away, and his groan was raw as he repeated. “So fucking good.”
His mouth closed around your nipple without warning, wet and insistent, and you cried out, back bowing off the carpet instantly. The sensation was electric, amplified tenfold by the haze of alcohol still blurring the edges of reason, making the pleasure feel broader, deeper, less precise and more consuming.
He suckled hard at first, then eased his mouth into slow laps, teasing you with the very tip of his tongue. His other hand slid up to cup your remaining breast, thumb circling the tightened peak with deliberate pressure, until you were writhing beneath him, breath breaking into soft, urgent sounds you couldn’t hold back.
Between some desperate kisses, you wrestled with his shirt. It was already hanging open, but the damn thing was trapped under him, tangled in the arms he was using to hold himself up. You pushed at his shoulder, lips brushing his as you murmured, “Off… get this off…”
He broke away with a wet, obscene sound, sitting back on his heels to yank the white fabric over his shoulders in one impatient motion. It inevitably joined the growing pile on the carpet, and for a second, you just stared.
The suite was dim, lit only by the glow of dawn filtering through the sheer curtains, but it was enough to see the sleek lines of his torso, muscles defined from years of relentless and brutal training, now sheened with a light sweat. He looked utterly debauched, hair wild, lips swollen from kissing, eyes dark and hungry as they raked over you, lying half-naked on the ivory wool.
And you were absolutely in love. Utterly and completely.
“ Eager? ” he teased, his hands going to the waistband of his black trousers. But you were already moving, pushing yourself up to kneel before him, knocking his hands away cause yeah, eager.
“Let me.”
Your fingers trembled as you worked the button fly, and he watched you, chest rising and falling rapidly, his hands settling on your bare hips, tracing lines on your skin as you pushed the expensive fabric down over his hips. He helped you then, kicking the trousers and his briefs away in one frantic motion, and then he was just… there. Naked. Hard, flushed and beautiful in the muted light, all lean muscle and intent.
Your world champion ready to fuck you on the hotel carpet.
How surreal.
The last of your clothing was dealt with in two rough and quick tugs, and then he fell back onto the ground, pulling you on top of him so you were straddling his hips, the coarse weave of the carpet biting into your knees, the heat of him pressing insistently against your core. The new position sent a fresh wave of dizziness through you, and you braced your hands on his chest, dropping your forehead to his.
“Wait,” you panted with a giggle, not because you wanted to stop, but because suddenly the world was tilting. “Just… gimme a sec. Head’s spinning.”
He stilled instantly, giggling as his hands come up to cradle your face. His thumbs smoothed over your temples. “Yeah, those tequila shots were a terrible idea, were they?”
“Your idea,” you mumbled with a smile, the words slurring together as you focused on the feel of his skin under your palms, the steady thump of his heart against your fingers. The spinning began to slow, condensing into a warm, pleasant hum in your veins, syncing with the ache between your thighs.
“It was worthy,” he giggled. Then, he shifted his hands from your face, sliding them down your back, tracing the dip of your spine until they settled firmly on your hips. His grip was possessive, grounding. “Better now?”
You nodded, leaning down to brush your nose against his. “Yeah…I just…”
You didn’t know what to say. Or how to say it.
But then he was there, looking at you with those soft, slightly glassy puppy eyes, pupils blown, eyelashes wet from the shower of emotions he had been drowning in all night, and suddenly you couldn’t swallow the words anymore.
“I’m just …” you whispered, your fingers sliding up to frame his jaw the way he’d held yours moments earlier, your thumbs brushing gently over the spots where his helmet straps usually left faint marks. Your breath hitched, unexpectedly fragile. “I’m so unbelievably proud of you.”
His smile faltered, shifting into something tender, almost shy, like the compliment hit him somewhere he didn’t know how to protect.
“I know how much work and dedication you put into this” you continued, your voice thickening. “ And being by your side in this journey and watching you achieve it, it was... the greatest privilege of my life… I just—” You swallowed, leaning your forehead to his, letting your breath fan over his lips. “I love you so much”
His hands tightened on your waist, not rough, but sure. Certain.
“I love you too, baby,” he murmured, voice warm and full. “None of this would’ve been the same without you. You know that.”
He kissed you then, fiercely, like he needed the contact, like he was trying to tell you everything he couldn’t fit into words. You kissed him back with everything you had until you were both breathless, the world spinning for a whole different reason.
You broke the kiss with a smile that trembled against his lips.
“Okay,” you said, trying to sound serious. “Now please, fuck me already.”
A sharp, delighted laugh burst from him, and he surged up to kiss you again, rolling you both over in a smooth motion that left him nestled between your thighs.
“You don’t have to say it twice!”
The weight of him was perfect, grounding. He reached down between your bodies, his fingers sliding through your slickness with a groan that was pure filth.
“Christ, you’re soaked,” he muttered, his words a hot puff against your neck as he positioned himself. “All this just from me kissing you on the floor?”
“Yeah, that…” you fired back, hooking your legs around his hips, digging your feet into the backs of his thighs to pull him closer. “…and the fact that you’re a Formula 1 World Champion!”
He dropped his forehead to yours, his eyes dark pools in the dim light. “Fuck,” he breathed, the word ragged with awe. “It sounds so fucking good coming from you.”
He didn’t wait for you to answer. You didn't. need to. He kissed you, deep and consuming, and as his tongue swept into your mouth, he pushed slowly, inexorably inside.
Just like that.
The stretch was exquisite, a breathtaking fullness that made your eyes roll back. He sank into you with a low, continuous groan, burying himself to the hilt before stilling, both of you trembling with the shock of connection.
“Been thinking about this all night,” he confessed against your lips, his voice a raw scrape of sound. His hips gave a minute, involuntary rock, and you both moaned. “Every time I looked at you in that dress while some sponsor was yapping in my ear… all I could think was how badly I wanted it on the floor”
The fit was perfect, familiar and brand new all at once, stretched and filled in a way that made your toes curl against his calves. He buried his face in the crook of your neck, his entire body trembling with the effort of going slow.
“Fuck,” you choked “Fuck, Lando… that’s… oh, god.”
What followed was not graceful. It was a glorious, sloppy, desperate tangle on an expensive carpet. The alcohol made your coordination falter; some thrusts would go slightly off-angle, forcing a breathless, giggling adjustment. Your kisses were more collisions than anything else, all tongue and teeth and shared, panting laughter. He’d try to speak, to murmur something dirty, and it would come out as a slurred, heartfelt jumble.
“You feel…, I can’t… fuck, sorry, I’m trying to say…”
“Shut up,” you gasped, pulling his mouth back to yours.
He obeyed, his rhythm building from a deep, rolling grind into something harder, faster. The carpet burned against your back, a sweet counterpoint to the friction building inside you. His mouth was everywhere: sucking bruises onto your breasts, licking a stripe up your sternum, returning to your lips to swallow your cries.
A part of your brain, the part not drowned in sensation, marvelled at the absurdity. The champagne flutes probably still sat on the minibar. His trophy was likely in a box by the door. And you were here, being ruined on a carpet that cost more than your first car, and it was the most perfect thing you’d ever felt.
Just as that thought crystallised, his hands shifted. They gripped your hips, fingers digging in hard, and in one fluid, shockingly strong motion, he flipped you.
The room spun again, and then you were suddenly straddling him again, his hands still locked on your hips, him buried so deep inside you that you could feel the imprint of him in your stomach. You gasped, bracing your hands on his chest, the new angle making you feel impossibly full, stretched to a breathtaking limit.
“C’mon, baby. Ride me and show me how much you love your World Champion.”
Jesus.
His hair was plastered to his forehead, his lips swollen, and he looked utterly wrecked, but entirely in command at the same time. What a dream.
So you tried. You rose up on trembling thighs, the muscles already burning from the strain of the party, and sank back down with a broken cry. The friction was exquisite, a slow, dragging fullness that made you see stars. But your legs were jelly, your breath coming in shallow, useless pants that inspired zero stamina.
“Lando…” you panted, dropping your forehead to his, your movement faltering into a weak, desperate grind. “… fuck, Lando, I can’t…”
His hands slid from your hips to your ass, gripping you firmly. “You’re doing so good, baby... just take it”
And then he took over. Holding you in place, he planted his feet on the ground and began to piston his hips upward, driving into you from beneath with sharp, powerful thrusts that stole the air from your lungs. Each one jolted through you, the force of it pushing you up only for his hands to drag you back down onto him, over and over, a relentless, pounding rhythm that had you crying out with each impact.
“You feel that?” he breathed against your lips, his thrusts becoming even harder, deeper, each one a deliberate claim. “Feel how deep I am? That’s where I belong, yeah? Right there”
His dirty talk, low and filthily specific, wound the coil inside you tighter. You clung to him, your arms looping around his neck, your mouth finding his in a series of messy, off-centre kisses, and you couldn't help but notice that he still tasted like champagne.
“Lando, please…”
“I know, I know… I got you,” he gritted out. One of his hands left your ass, snaking between your sweat-slicked bodies. His thumb found your clit again, now swollen and sensitive, and pressed down in firm, circular strokes perfectly timed with his upward drives.
It was the final key. The orgasm detonated, a silent, seismic event that ripped through you with violent intensity. Your body seized, back arching violently as a raw, shattered scream was torn from your throat. You clenched around him in rhythmic, pulsing waves, the pleasure so acute it bordered on pain, blinding and absolute.
“Yeah, there she is… my good girl” The sound of his voice, thick with awe and possession, seemed to pull another, deeper wave of pleasure from your core, prolonging the shattering climax until you were sobbing with the intensity of it.
With a final, guttural shout, he slammed up into you one last time, holding you down as he emptied himself deep inside, his own release shuddering through him in long, hot pulses.
You collapsed forward, a boneless, trembling weight on his chest. He held you there, one hand cradling the back of your head, the other splayed possessively over the small of your back, keeping you flush against him even as he softened inside you. His lips moved against your temple, placing a kiss that was surprisingly tender amidst the wreckage. “You alright?” he murmured, his voice wrecked almost a whisper.
You managed a weak nod, your face still buried in the hollow of his neck. “Mmm. Never better.”
A low, breathless chuckle vibrated through his chest. “Liar. You look completely fucked out.” There was no small amount of pride in the observation.
“You completely fucked me out,” you corrected.
“Damn right I did.” The sheer, unapologetic arrogance of it made a laugh bubble up from your own spent core, a soft, shaky thing that he echoed, his shoulders shaking gently beneath you.
Still smiling, you tilted your head up and found his lips. It was a lazy, tender kiss, all soft pressure and warmth, a slow moment to take in after the chaos and the heat.
Then, the heat returned cause he broke the kiss just far enough to speak, and whispered “One more,” his voice still rough but threaded with a bright, giddy energy. “I’m too happy to sleep.”
“Lan!” you laughed against his mouth. “You’re insane, I can’t, my legs have retired.”
“Oh, that’s not a problem” he said, and there was a playful, determined glint in his eyes a second before he moved.
In one smooth, surprisingly strong roll, he had you on your back again on the carpet, his body settling over yours. He was still semi-hard inside you, the sensation a delicious, full reminder. You gasped at the movement, then sighed as he kissed you, deep and sweet, his tongue sweeping in a languid rhythm that promised everything his words did.
“See?” he murmured between kisses.
He rocked his hips once, a shallow, testing thrust that made you both sigh, before reluctantly slipping out of you. You watched, mesmerised by his movements, as he reached down and gave himself a few slow, firm strokes, his eyes locked on yours. The sight of him, tender and focused, bringing himself back to full hardness for you, sent a fresh, aching pulse of desire through your soreness.
Fuck, that was probably the hottest thing you’ve ever seen after seeing him on the podium last night.
Then he was ready, he guided himself back to your entrance, pressing in with an exquisite, gradual slowness that had you arching off the carpet. This time, there was no frantic race. He filled you inch by deliberate inch, until he was fully sheathed, and then he simply stayed there, buried to the hilt, his forehead resting against yours.
“Okay?” he breathed.
“Yeah, perfect,” you whispered back.
He began to move then, a slow, deep, rolling rhythm that was less about friction and more about connection. Each withdrawal was a gentle pull, each thrust a homecoming. You wrapped your legs loosely around his waist, not to urge him on, but to hold him close. Your hands framed his face, your thumbs stroking his cheekbones as you kissed, long and deep and unhurried.
And then, the dirty talk returned. Cause he couldn’t help himself. Even tho, it was softer now, woven into the kisses and the shared breaths. “Love how you feel… so warm and tight for me…” “Never get enough of you…” “My girl taking me so well”
Each whispered word was a brand, a promise, a thread stitching you tighter together in the quiet dark. The only sounds apart from his words were the wet slide of him moving inside you and the broken music of your shared breaths: low moans and sighs, with occasional whispered curses that melted into kisses.
The pleasure was a live wire, sparking from the point where his thumb worked your clit straight down to where he filled you, thick and relentless. It was insane. Irrational. So good words could not explain.
You were overstimulated, exquisitely sensitive. Every nerve ending felt raw and exposed, so that the drag of his cock, the press of his pubic bone against your clit, even the whisper of his chest against your peaked nipples, sent licks of electric fire straight to your core. It was almost too much, a sweet, torturous overload that had tears already pricking at the corners of your eyes.
“Lando…” you whimpered, your fingers clutching at his shoulders, not to push him away, but to pull him impossibly closer. “It’s… it’s so good...”
“I know, baby,” he murmured against your mouth, his voice a low, vibrating hum. “I can feel you squeezing me”
His words, soft and filthy, fanned the flames. You were a live wire, every inch of your skin hypersensitive. The coarse carpet beneath your back, which had been an annoyance, now felt like a thousand points of sensation, and him… him inside you, filling you with this relentless, gentle pressure, was the center of the inferno.
And despite that, you felt like you couldn’t get close enough. Even with 90% of your body being directly in contact with his skin, he felt too far away. You wrapped your legs even higher around his waist, locking your ankles at the small of his back, trying to fuse yourself to him. Your arms wound tightly around his neck, holding him so close your foreheads touched, your breaths mingling in the scant space between your mouths.
“More,” you pleaded “Please, I need...”
He understood. He always did. Instead of pulling back, he braced himself on his forearms, caging your head, and obeyed. He sank deeper, adjusting the angle of his hips so each slow, measured thrust pressed directly against that swollen, tender spot inside you that made you see stars. He dropped his head, capturing your mouth in a kiss that was all soothing tongue and soft lips, swallowing your gasp.
“God, yes… don’t stop” you choked out, your body beginning to tremble beneath him again, not with the sharp violence of your first climax, but with a rising, wave of sensation that was somehow more overwhelming.
He didn’t. He was lost in it, in you. His rhythm faltered, his thrusts becoming shallow, jerking things as his own release gathered. He buried his face in the curve of your neck, his breath hot and ragged against your skin, rocking into you with deep, grinding circles of his hips, each movement designed to worship that impossibly sensitive spot until you were trembling, tears of overstimulation leaking from the corners of your eyes.
This second orgasm didn’t crash; it unfolded. It began as a low, warm tremor in your belly, a pooling heat that spread outward in slow, concentric waves, like a shuddering release that had you crying out softly against his shoulder, your body clasping him in a series of gentle, endless flutters.
With a final, broken thrust, he spilled, a hot, claiming rush that seemed to go on forever, syncing with the last fading echoes of your own pleasure.
He collapsed on you then, a dead weight of utter satisfaction, but instinctively rolled, taking you with him so you were sprawled half on top of him, still intimately joined. His hand found yours on his chest, lacing your fingers together.
For a long time, there was only the sound of that heartbeat and your shared, gradually calming breath. The high, singing tension in your bodies had melted into a heavy, boneless warmth. You were both sticky, sore, and utterly content, a tangled knot of limbs on the now ruined carpet.
A faint shiver ran through you then, the adrenaline and sweat cooling on your skin in the room’s air-conditioned chill. He felt it immediately.
“You cold?” he murmured.
Before you could answer, he was moving. With a grunt of effort, he disentangled just enough to stretch one long arm toward the nearby sofa, fingers scrabbling until they hooked the edge of a small, cashmere throw blanket. He dragged it over, the motion awkward and comical, before draping it haphazardly over both of you.
You couldn’t help the soft laugh that escaped you, muffled against his chest. “We could have just gone to bed, you know.”
“Shhh,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to the top of your head as he settled back, pulling the blanket up to your shoulders and tucking you firmly against his side. “Round three is on the bed”
☆ lia's intro: two pretty girls, one cock and zero shame. lando calls the shots, and nothing is subtle anymore. 18+ mdni.
☆ warnings: fem!reader x lando x fem, switch!fems, dom!lando, threesome, degradation, praise, oral, p in v, teasing, exhibitionism, voyeurism, orgasm control, light choking, fem play, multiple orgasms, strong power dynamics, dumbification, cumplay, subtle hints of pet play, consent check. set in different universe, not directly connected to other fics
⋆ ‧ ⋅ ☾ ‧ ⋆ ⋅ ☽ ⋆ ‧ ⋅
lando wasn’t even pretending to focus on the movie anymore.
you had taken the whole sofa for yourselves, as usual. all curled up in the corner with a blanket thrown over your legs.
it started innocent enough, the kind of casual closeness the three of you always had, but tonight there was an edge to it.
something unspoken, deliberate.
you shifted first, stretching your legs out and letting your head fall onto her shoulder. she let out a sigh at the contact, exaggerated just enough to make lando glance over. she caught his eye and smirked, her fingers slowly pushing a strand of your hair behind her ear.
no words. just a simple look with a lot of shared meaning between them.
“are you two even watching?” lan muttered, mostly to cover the way his pulse got riled up.
“mhmm,” you hummed, but your eyes were nowhere near the screen. you were watching her, lashes low, all pretty and playful.
testing.
your finger traced her jaw softly, making her shiver just slightly.
lando swallowed.
you're both were doing this on purpose. you wanted him to notice.
and god, he so did.
her hand drifted under the blanket to rest on your thigh. it's casual, but not casual at all. her thumb brushed slow circles, tiny movements that had you biting back a smile.
“comfy?” she asked.
“very,” you replied.
then her eyes flicked to lando. inviting, teasing.
he shifted in his seat, and pretended to scroll on his phone, miserably trying not to stare.
she tilted your chin with two fingers, brushing her nose against her own.
your voice dropped, all soft and sweet.
“do it, please.”
that was all she needed.
she leaned in slowly, purposefully giving lando all the time in the world to realise what his pretty friends are about to do.
your lips brushed with soft gasps escaping both of you. your lips met properly in a slow, tender kiss. it was gentle at first, testing the spark you already knew was there. your hand slid into her hair, and her fingers tightened on your thigh, pulling you closer.
you don't rush.
you let it build with little breaths and subtle shifts of your bodies pressing into each other. she broke away only long enough to glance at lando over your shoulder.
he looked wrecked, with his breath caught somewhere in his throat.
“you’re not watching the movie anymore, lan.”
you let out a little giggle, finding her teasing so amusing. you lean into her to kiss her again, slow and shameless.
lan didn’t even try to hide how badly he was watching you now. his pretty friends are being little needy sluts, making out right in front of him.
you broke the kiss again.
“think he’s paying attention now?”
she didn’t even look away from you as she answered, “oh, he hasn’t blinked in two minutes.”
you smirk and continue, hands tangled in each other's hair. you were performing for him, and lando knows this.
you shifted, moving closer to straddle her lap and give lando a better view. the blanket slipped off your legs, and you didn’t bother pulling it back up.
“lannnnnn…,” you whined softly, drawing out his name. “you’re being very quiet.”
lando tried to clear his throat to come up with something cheeky and smart like he usually does when you're doing your usual bullshit like this. this time though, his brain wasn't focusing quite well.
“uh, just letting you two… do whatever you’re doing.”
her laugh was soft.
“you think he likes this?” she murmured softly to you, almost ignoring lando's presence.
“oh, definitely. look at his cock.”
"that's a bit too mean,” she responded, but the tilt to her voice said she loved it.
you hummed, tilting your head as if you were considering going even further. “should i stop?”
“no.” her answer came out too quickly, too eagerly.
and very, much loud enough for lando to hear. he felt heat crawl up his neck, his breath hitched.
you both heard it, and he knows you both heard it.
but you stayed locked on each other, all tangled and so fucking pretty, taking care of each other as if you were completely alone. your bodies pressed together, and your hands roaming all over. you started grindng slowly onto her lap, little whimpers escaping both of you.
she whispered again, loud enough for lando to surely hear.
“he’s staring again.”
you didn’t turn around, you didn’t even acknowledge him.
“let him,” you murmured, kissing her neck, moving down to her chest. “he won’t do anything.”
she let out a dangerous little laugh. “i know. he never does.”
lan felt his jaw clench.
he knows exactly what you're doing, and fuck he's just letting you push all his buttons.
she ran her fingers slowly down your back. “he just gets all flustered, sits there like a little loser.”
you agreed, taking off her shorts and kissing further down her chest. “mhm, soo pathetic.”
she glances at lando, and you notice that.
“don’t look at him, baby. he can’t handle you like i do.”
fuck.
lan felt something in him snap, become all hot and sharp.
he didn’t even realize he stood up.
one second he was sitting there, trying to breathe through the way his cock strained against his sweatpants. and then, he's near you.
silent and controlled.
you girls didn't even notice at first. you were still on her lap, kissing her like you owned her, until you sensed lando's presence.
you both quietly stop, and look up at lando.
all wide eyed and so fucking pretty, as if you're ready to start apologising for being such fucking brats.
but lando didn’t give you any time.
instead, his hand slid to your jaw first with fingers firm, and thumb pressing just enough to angle your face up to him and make you look at him. it's not rough, not hurting, but claiming. showing you he could handle her how he wanted.
and with his other hand, he wrapped his fingers around her throat. not squeezing, just holding.
the shift was instant.
“so i’m pathetic?” he murmured, tilting your chin higher. your lips parted with a tiny sound you didn’t mean to make.
“and i can’t handle you?” he added, brushing his thumb once along the other girl's pulse on her neck.
neither of you answered.
he leaned in closer.
“cute.” he said softly, "the two of you seem awfully quiet now.”
she swallowed hard. lando’s hand on her throat felt impossibly good.
you tried to smirk, to hold your ground. but your breath kept catching, your thighs pressing together under him.
lando's mouth tipped into a slow smirk of his own.
he squeezed his grip on both of you, just enough to make you blush harder and your cunts wetter.
she let out a small, involuntary whimper. your eyes fluttered shut for a moment, overwhelmed.
lan’s voice sharpened.
“look at me.”
you both did, instantly. two pretty girls staring up at him.
lando's jaw flexed and his cock twitched.
he stepped closer, towering over both of you and pressing himself perfectly between your bodies. his gaze dropped to your lips, all swollen from the little show you put on for him earlier.
neither of you moved.
lando kept one hand firm on her throat, the other on your jaw, just holding you in place. finally, he let out a slow exhale.
not angry or flustered. just, in control.
“if we’re doing this, we’re doing it my way.”
you bit her lip at the firm guidance. she nodded.
“rule one.” he said, whilst sitting down on the sofa and guiding you both down on their knees in front of him.
“you give me a show, a proper one. you keep being pretty for me, but only because i tell you to. not because you’re trying to wind me up like two dumb whores.”
you swallowed hard, voice barely audible.
“okay…”
“you answer with ‘yes, lan.’”
your breath hitched. “yes, lan.”
his gaze shifted to the other girl, all pretty waiting on her knees.
“and you?”
she nodded fast. “yes, lan.”
lando hummed, satisfied.
“rule two, neither of you cum without being told to.”
you both squirmed softly, thighs pressing together involuntarily as your cheeks redden.
lando gave you a slow, knowing smile.
“of course you like that, two little teases finally getting told what to do and be put in their places.”
he slides each hand into your hair, guiding your attention downward to his cock. he is not forcing, but simply directing.
“rule three.”
lando takes his cock out. it's thick, heavy and angrily leaking so much already.
he paused, letting the implication of his cock being ready for you pretty girls, hang thick in the air.
“you continue making out, but on me. right here.”
fuck fuck fuck.
you leaned in, without a single thought in you pretty little heads.
playfully, you grab his cock and lick it together, as if it's a fucking toy to play with.
you giggle, testing the waters. your pretty lips meet each other, slowly taking care of lando's cock at the same time. you're licking, sucking and downright getting pathetically dumb on his cock.
the other girl puts lando's cock in your mouth, encouraging you to make lando feel so good with your tight throat. lando notices this, and softly pats her head, as if to reward her for being such a good girl, a good influence.
you pull away from lando's cock and return the favour, putting lando's cock inside her mouth and gently encouraging her to be good for lando.
lando adds on to this encouragement, softly praising both of you for taking him so fucking well. two pretty girls, two wet tongues and two tight throats to fuck. lando is going fucking insane, and you're looking at him like he's the best thing that ever happened to you. tears streaming down your cute faces, mouths full of his cock.
“such good girls, my pretty girls. fucking hell…"
lando positioned you exactly how he wanted, making you kiss each other as he held onto your hair and fucked his cock between your connected lips. he can't handle your throats anymore, he was about to cum so fucking quickly just by looking at both of you together, let alone by having his cock squeezed so deliciously by you taking turns.
"that’s it, such pretty girls finally being so good for me.”
lando hadn’t expected to fall apart so fast. he expected to keep control, be slow and dominating. but the way he’s watching you kiss his cock together, lando can barely fucking keep it together. you're so fucking pretty, so eager showing him exactly how badly you wanted to impress him.
lando’s head fell back, fingers tangled into both your hair as he took turns again fucking into your mouths, keeping you exactly where he wanted them. he fucks you, and then the other waits patiently on her knees for her turn. then, he lets go of your hair and lets you have some of your own fun together with his cock.
“fuck, slowly.”
he’s breathing slowly, voice cracking in a way he would never admit.
“slow down.”
you didn’t.
you were too focused, giving him the show he told you to give. your lips working in perfect sync on his cock again, just like how you made out right in front him just to ruin him.
lando’s thighs trembled.
he’s close. he told you to slow down, and you just won’t fucking listen.
cock hungry sluts.
he pulled back abruptly, and a low strangled sound escaped his throat.
“no, stop… fucking hell, i said stop.”
both girls froze. you're both looking up at him with wide, startled eyes. lips flushed and wet, your breathing hard.
he took a deep breath.
“i’m not finishing this early just because you two want to show off, like little sluts.”
her lips curled into a small smile. your hand slid up lando’s thigh, not to tease but to just quietly show that you're already missing his cock.
lando looked down at you, letting out a soft laugh that sounded almost like disbelief.
“you two,” he murmured, brushing both his thumb across your cheeks. “you’re going to kill me….”
you tilted your head, almost like a curious little pet.
“do you want us to stop?”
lando’s jaw tightened. he cupped you face.
“i want you to listen.”
he shifted his touch to the other girl.
“and i want to make sure you both actually want this.”
your expressions softened instantly.
“we do.” she whispered.
“say it clearly.”
it wasn’t a mean command, just a show of care pushing through the dominance.
you looked down, too blushy and flustered to meet his eyes.
she, however, leaned into his touch.
“lan… we want you.”
you nodded, you hand closing around his wrist, gently tugging and subtly asking for attention.
he closed his eyes for a brief moment, the soft confirmation hitting somewhere deeper than just his lust. something heavier.
he guided your bodies gently, shifting you slightly to the left, and her slightly to the right. he’s positioning you, arranging and controlling the moment with absolute intention.
“keep your hands on each other,” he murmured, lifting your chins so you kept eye contact with him. “….but keep your attention all on me.”
he sat back on the couch, legs spread and posture comfortable but in control.
both your eyes darkened with heat.
“oh, and you don’t get to finish. not until i say so.”
your breath hitched. she bit her lip.
he wants you to continue your little show, so he can shamelessly enjoy you without any pathetic stupid excuses.
you both moved instantly, softly undressing each other further and remembering which things lando liked the most. which things you would do in front of him that made lando blush, look away and try to look so occupied while his big cock would be aching in his pants.
you settled first into place, laying down on the bed and giving him the prettiest view with your thighs parted just enough. she followed, sliding in beside your thighs, softly kissing and touching.
but this time it was different. you're exploring familar touches with new intentions, with the intention to be seen and praised by lando.
lan watched from the opposite sofa, chest rising and falling. his eyes heavy and dark as he took in the sight of you pretty girls.
“good…” he murmured, voice low. “just like that, touch her the way she likes.”
that little shit.
all this time he’s been pretending to never look at you, to never pay any mind to your teasing. but he’s actually been watching, learning what both of you like. what makes you squirm and so needy.
lando directed you gently.
“slide your hand down her thigh. she likes when you start slow.”
she obeyed immediately, her palm moving in a teasing, deliberate stroke down your outer thigh. you whined, leaning further into the other girl as a pretty invitation.
lando’s hand drifted to his own cock.
slow strokes, matching your soft pace. he’s not giving himself anything more than a tease, just enough to stay in the moment and enjoy his pretty girls without tipping over that edge again.
“you two… fucking unbelievable.”
and then, you both broke your silence.
“lannn… please.”
“…moreeee.”
his grip on his cock tightened.
“oh, you need more?” he said, leaning back with that cocky egde. “already?”
you both nod.
too fast, too eager, too desperate.
lando lets out a soft laugh, mocking but pleased. very fucking pleased.
“look at you both,” he murmured. “touching each other isn’t enough anymore, hm? so fucking needy you can barely think straight without some cock inside you.”
you whimpered. she presses her thighs together in frustration.
“you’re begging for me?” he added, voice dropping even lower. “for pathetic lando that never does anything?”
“fuck please, just do something.”
lando’s breath hitched.
two gorgeous girls, his girls, laid out so prettily for him, touching each other as if to prepare for his cock. you're begging for him, your cunts fucking dripping.
so shameless.
“tell me exactly what you want, both of you.” he commanded softly.
your cheeks flush, voice trembling. you tried first.
“please use us, lan.”
she echoes you, more desperate. “fuck, please just come here.”
lando moved closer, his cock so hard and patient.
“then you’re going to listen, okay? let me take care of you, both of you.”
lando’s hands lingered on both of you, steady and sure, guiding you into the positions he wanted. your body pressed into the bed, thighs spread and your breathing all shaky. she stayed close, straddling your face and letting you explore her with your tongue.
“fuck, now that’s a sight.” lando murmured, watching your pretty body all laid out in front of him, giving the other girl all the pleasure she deserves.
he lets you play together for a while, watching you so focused on licking her clit, helping her make those pretty little noises.
then, he puts his cock inside you.
you let out a whine, breath all shaky from eating the other girl out.
“fuck, be gentle please. it’s been so long, lan…”
the words came out fragmented, a shy confession mixed with more neediness.
lando’s thumb brushed along your cheek, you feel so good and so fucking tight.
“i know, baby. i’ll take care of you, okay? but you have to be good for me and take care of her too. c’mon, show me how good you can both be.”
he’s thrusting slow deep strokes into you, each thrust pushing more pressure into the other girl's cunt. you're fucking dazed out, completely being used, cunt throbbing full of lando and you mouth full of her.
you're exactly where you want to be.
she grinds on your soft lips, chasing her own pleasure whilst holding eye contact with lando.
“i’m so close, lan…” she pressed even further against you.
lando’s chest tightened at the sight, and his cock twitched inside you. his girls so focused on each other, and still so focused on him. the other girl is usually so fucking bratty, yet here she is just begging for lando's permission.
he's moaning without even realising, all low and throaty.
“pretty fucking girls, just needed me to show you what to do.”
he leaned closer to you, his mouth latching onto your sensitive nipples, as if to praise you for doing so well for both of them.
the other girl's little noises become louder, more desperate. she’s so close, clit so sensitive from you obediently kissing her clit her over and over again whilst getting railed by lando.
“you’re gonna cum? she’s so good isn’t she? that’s okay, show me how good she fucking feels.”
she let out a soft needy giggle, realising how lando is pretending to ignore you, even though his own cock splitting you open. by time, lando picked up on both of your kinks, and he’s sinfully using them against you.
“fuckkkk, lan. we’re yours. soo fucking yours.”
lando’s grin deepened. her grip tightened onto you, and she finally felt that familiar rush down her spine, thighs almost clamping over your face.
“thats it, make it worth fucking my time.”
lando almost came right there.
but he can’t yet, only one of his girls came so far. praise rolled off his tongue, mixed with that touch of degradation that he knows you love so fucking much.
he pulls out of you, just to tease you. you whine at the feeling of being empty again and dumbly try to pull him back.
“pathetic little sluts, such good girls.”
his fingers moved with purpose, rubbing your clit in the same way he has seen her tease you from over your clothes. tight, pressing circles that make your eyes roll back and your breathing suddenly so shaky.
her hands continued to explore, now jerking lando’s cock as he focuses on making you cum, just like she did a few minutes ago.
"…give her some kisses, pretty girl deserves it.”
in an instant she leaned down onto you and pressed light wet kisses over your neck and chest, and mixed with lando’s attack on your clit, you instantly burst. a pathetic whine escapes you as you're mumbling a string of gratitude towards both of them, thanking them making you feel so fucking good.
then, lando shifted the focus again. his hands pushed the other girl down on her back, encouraging her to part her legs for him. you remained close, still caught up in soft dazed whimpering.
he watched you. both obeying, both needing him.
his cock pushed into her, who immediately let out a soft whine at the thick pressure. he buried his cock inside her, selfishly using her to chase his own high. he’s pounding into her, making her let out the softest sluttiest whimpers whilst she’s still giving you the attention she knows you need.
it’s amazing really, how lando somehow ensured that both of his girls were being guided, responding to him and each other. both feeling pure fucking pleasure.
his eyes flicked between you.
she was squirming full of his cock, all eager with her lips and hands all over you. every gasp, every tiny moan from both of you made lando’s chest tighten and his cock get even closer to cumming. this is the absolute proof that you were both his, completely under his control and just so fucking desperate for him.
“my eager girls, so greedy for for me. taking all they want, hm?”
he let his hands roam over her whilst his cock continued attacking her cervix. you're trembling, straddling her as little soft whines keep escaping your throat.
“you hear that?” he whispered, thumb brushing a stray strand of hair from the other girl's face. “that’s you being so so good for me. that’s you being my good girls.”
her gasp turned into a soft, needy whine.
“lan, fuck. i’m so close again.” you confessed, still grinding on her soft lips.
he looked at you and then at her, guiding her with firm hands pressing her hips down. “such good girls, taking care of each other.”
both of you whimpered, caught in the balance of lando’s gentle dominance. he leaned closer, eyes softening. lan’s hands held the other girl down even more firmly, and you responded instinctively, moving quicker and using her soft lips.
all your bodies somehow pressed together, all connected under lando's presence.
"…all for me. that’s it, perfect. just like that.”
you broke the silence again, a soft high pitched whimper escaping your flushed body as you reached your second high of the night. you lay down, clinging to her side intimately and softly your breath.
lando's voice got all shaky, cock feeling way too good buried inside the other girl after all the insane attention his cock got throughout the night. the heat and intensity of the moment is pushing him even further to the edge, seeing his two pretty girls be all dumb and cute for him.
he leaned back slightly, in awe of the view.
“look at you two… so fucking gorgeous, holy shit."
she giggled as her nails digged deeper into lando's back, all needy and dumb from his cock endlessly ruining her insides.
"you…you’re insane, lan,” she whispered, a soft laugh breaking through.
you giggled too, your eyes sparkling looking at the both of them enjoying themselves. like a very good girl, you take initiative and rub her clit as lando continues to rail her pretty cunt.
you want her and lando to both feel good, and you want to show that. she clenches around lando's cock, something inside snapping as a rush of heat travels down her body and her eyes close shut. lando chuckled at the pretty view. he brushes a hand down each of your shoulders, guiding you closer.
he is now so close, so fucking close.
he pulls out of her and continues to ramble, mumbling how good his girls are for him and how lucky he is. he strokes his cock, thumb swirling around his sensitive tip as he holds his gaze onto the two pretty girls waiting for him, eager and kind.
ribbons of cum escape his cock, along with a deep groan leaving lando's throat.
he coats both of your chests with his cum, biting his lips at the filthy and gorgeous sight. you look insane like this, two pretty girls so happy to be marked and used by him.
lando finally collapses near you both, sweaty and grateful for you. you all laugh softly.
you lay near lando, both hugging him so comfortably.
it's not awkward, it's playful. it's that intimate feeling that somehow feels so good, just right.
nooooooo don't be a coward, write the fic!!! We could never judge you, we want the filth!!! ALL of it!!!
Swallow | LN⁴
🔸️ inspired by this ask
🔸️ summary ──── Summer break is about to end, which is why they are taking advantage of every moment of peace they have left before returning to the real world.
🔸️ pairing ──── Lando Norris x she/her reader
🔸️ rating ──── explicit
🔸️ warnings ──── 18+, mature/sexual content, descriptive language, enclosed environment, sexual innuendo, cursing, light teasing, smut, oral ─ (f)receiving, cum play & spitting, unprotected sex, overstimulation, Lando is obsessed, fluff at the end, bittersweet because they don’t want summer to end (this was sitting unedited in my drafts since late August oopsies).
🔸️ word count ──── 2.7k
🔸️ date ──── Nov. 12, 2025
🔸️ a/n ──── I know it’s been a couple of months and this is barely enough, but I’ve been facing the horrors, my friends, and they persist (both physically and mentally). I’m trying to go back into writing one-shots, but the updates might come a bit slower, because when I’m not around, my writer mind is plagued with scenarios and schemes for the book I’m (still) attempting to get to a complete first draft. It’s... a lot of work, but thank you for being so patient with me. Next update coming soon (hopefully) 😁🤞🏻
📍 A secluded cove on the Costa Brava, Spain
IT BEGAN TO rain in the morning, and by lunchtime, it became clear that the weather had settled on a mood of its own. The sound of raindrops against the windows has become the rhythm of the day, shattering any hope they had of spending at least a few hours on the beach before their vacation ends and having to return to real life.
The resort they are staying at looks beautiful even under grey skies, though. Pale stone walls glisten wet, and beyond the balcony, the palm trees bend lazily with the weight of the storm.
Inside their room, curtains sway lazily with the evening breeze, blending the smell of salt from the sea outside with the smell of sex from the hours they’ve spent tangled in each other, since they couldn’t find another activity to keep them busy. Although they tried to watch a Spanish movie that was on, but quickly got bored of throwing incorrect translations at each other.
She lies against him now, her body looking like a beautiful wreck of exhaustion, skin warm and newly tanned. She’s draped in one of his white shirts, though it does little to hide the curve of her thighs or the heat radiating off her still.
Lando knows he should let her sleep. There is still plenty of time until dinner, and the fact that they’ll have to wake up early to catch their flight is just another reason why they both need to rest. They’ve been at it all afternoon — he swears it wasn’t his intention, but can’t complain either — and the faint pink marks his fingers left on her hips remind him just how rough he can get in the haze of her pleas.
Truth be told, his cock hasn’t stayed soft for longer than a couple of hours at a time since they arrived. One glance at his girlfriend, seeing her sweaty and ruined by him, and he’s suddenly hard again, obsessed with the way she falls apart under his touch. Again and again, no matter how many times he had brought her to this state before.
A small smile curls at his lips as he lets his hand slip under the hem of the shirt. The skin of her stomach is silky smooth, hot and familiar, but lower, his fingers graze the sticky mess he left buried inside her. It makes him sigh quietly, her face distorting in pleasure being the only image his mind can still project.
Careful not to wake her yet, Lando nudges her knees apart, making more room for himself between them. The sight alone has him swallowing hard, her thighs parting for him like instinct. His heart kicks in his chest, but it isn’t nerves. At this point, it’s pure madness. He lives for worshiping her, keeping her full, reminding her times on end that no matter how needy she gets, he’ll always be there to take care of her.
When he’s close enough, her scent hits him full force, sweet and dizzying in the way it makes his mouth water like he’s been conditioned to; he is sure nothing in the world tastes that good. She lingers on his tongue, in his lungs, in every heartbeat that stumbles when she’s near. It’s the way she’s so deep under his skin to the point it turned him into someone who forgets where he ends and she begins. He’s simply transfixed by the sight of her, used and wrecked, already stretched by the thick weight of him, and he has to remind himself that he can still be a man who knows restraint, even when every part of him is aching to give in. It should make him feel guilty, but then Lando remembers all the times she begged him to fuck her harder, and any trace of guilt evaporates under the memory that gives him goosebumps every time he recalls it.
She did this to him without even trying, and he let her.
Would let her again.
Would let himself fall from grace, if it meant she’d smile when he landed.
Gently, with the kind of patience only she brings out in him, he drags a finger up her slit, gathering every bit of slick that’s leaking from her. He has to bite back a whimper in the process, forcing himself to stay quiet in case she stirs. Then slowly, he eases one finger inside, and the reaction is instant: her body clamps down on him like she’s been waiting for it all along, pulling at his finger with such greedy tightness it makes his breath catch. As a reaction, the girl lets out a soft cry, but she doesn’t fully wake.
Knowing he’s running out of time, Lando leans in, mouth parting, and presses his tongue flat against her swollen folds. The same taste that haunts his dreams floods his senses now, both salty and sweet and achingly familiar, a hum of relief coming out of his throat. The sound vibrates through her, makes her hips twitch subconsciously, pushing closer to his mouth as if even in this in-between state, she knows he won’t fail to make her see stars.
Lando closes his eyes, lost to the sensation of her warmth and softness coating his tongue. He licks long stripes along her clit, soothing the soreness he left behind with tender strokes. Every little squirm of hers drives him deeper into that madness, unintentionally causing him to crave more of her: more sounds, more reactions, more proof that she’ll always be his most intoxicating obsession.
Gradually, his breath kicks up, his cock straining painfully against the mattress as he grinds down, just trying to take the edge off while he devours her; the faint whisper of his name on her lips only fuels him further.
Her thighs quiver, then close around his head, wanting to keep him there forever as if it is his home, his safe place.
Lando chuckles against her, but he pries them back open with firm hands on her inner thighs. “Nah, baby. Keep ‘em wide for me.”
And then he’s there, his tongue pushing into her, splitting her open with one goal in mind. She gasps, moaning properly now, fingers darting into his curls, tugging at them with desperation that makes his heart race faster. The more she pulls, the harder he works, flattening his tongue, swirling it, lapping up everything she gives him.
Her voice is music in his ears, breaking on his name, “Lando. Fuck… Lando, please.”
He grins, pulling back to rasp, “There she is,” half growl, half praise, before he dives back in.
This time, he presses his plump lips against her gaping hole, sealing around her with no way of missing anything. And sucks. Hard. His stomach flips, the taste hitting him like a punch: the sharp tang of her arousal, mixed with the saltier remnants of his cum he’d left inside her. It’s borderline obscene, too intimate, and it makes him whine like he’s the one being pleasured.
She cries high in her throat, arching up into his mouth, her body trembling under the assault of his tongue working deep, pulling every drop out of her. Once he’s satisfied and makes sure he can’t gather anymore, Lando lifts his head from between her legs, his lips shining like a blanket of stars on a clear midnight sky. Then he moves fast, bracing himself above her, his curls wild, pupils blown wide with mischief. He opens his mouth and lets the slick he’s been savoring pool on his tongue, then spits it straight into her waiting mouth. She gasps at the heat of it, half-moaning the second he immediately crushes his mouth against hers in a kiss. It’s messy and frantic, spit and cum and her own taste shared between them, their tongues tangling with want that borders on desperation.
He too cannot abstain from the mess between them, moaning as loud into her mouth, gripping her jaw with one hand to keep her there, tasting every bit of the filth they’ve made together before parting slightly.
“Swallow,” he rasps.
She would’ve swallowed on instinct anyway; is second nature by now.
The girl attempts an inhale but chokes, her back arching off the sheets, legs wrapping around his waist. “Come here,” her voice cracks with anticipation, body trembling with desire in every cell. “Get inside, since that’s how you wanna wake me up,” she talks fast, her hand fumbling between them, searching blindly, until she finds him heavy and flushed, aching in her grasp.
It takes nothing more than her guiding him, tugging lightly, for Lando to line himself up with ease. Her body’s ready, dripping from all his teasing, and the moment his tip nudges her opening, it’s like they both break at once. She welcomes him in, her cunt swallowing the thick length, inch by inch.
Lando almost sobs deep in his chest, forehead dropping against hers as he bottoms out, fully seated inside her. His hand instinctively trails down to her neck, fingers tracing its fragile outline, squeezing as he pulls out, only to thrust back in with much force. There’s no patience left in him, and no room for gentleness. The wet sounds of him sliding through her tight heat fill the room, mixing with her breathy moans. Every time his cock hits that spot deep inside, her cry pitches higher, her nails clawing into the arm that keeps her in place, in order to anchor herself.
He shudders, teeth gritted, his thick head dragging perfectly against her sweet spot. He knows it’s only a matter of time before he loses it. Before her walls pull the release out of him and he stuffs her full all over again. The thought alone has his hips driving faster, chasing that inevitable end with every needy thrust.
“Can’t get enough of you,” Lando growls against her lips, his thrusts powerful enough to rattle the frame beneath them. “How am I supposed to go back to work after this?”
Her nails dig further into his bicep, head tipped back against the pillow. “Quit,” she jokes, but Lando still nods in agreement, leaning to steal another kiss.
It turns messy fast, her whimpers slipping out of her throat the moment he thrusts so deep that the bed continues its protests with every snap of his hips.
“Fucking take it, baby,” he pants, voice breaking, “Get your favorite thing, just like that.”
“You’re my favorite thing,” she mewls, her palms cupping each side of his face, pressing her thumb into his lower lip to catch his attention.
The honesty behind her words wreck him. Lando falters only for a heartbeat, his cock throbbing violently inside her before he lets go, the rush hitting him like a tidal wave. White-hot euphoria floods out of him, so hard that it leaks between their joined bodies, dripping down her folds while staring at her face as if seeing her in a new light.
The girl doesn’t break until the very end, her orgasm ripping through her just as he starts to pull out, leaving only his swollen tip stretching her entrance. Pulsing and spent, he holds it there, letting her gush around him, then groans as he pushes back inside a couple more times in order to guide her through it. It’s everything he needed, and more, collapsing against her chest, sweaty and breathless.
She kisses his temple softly, listening to how his breathing evens out, little by little, his hand absentmindedly tracing the slope of her side. As a response, Lando hums with satisfaction, cheek pressed against her skin, eyes sparkling up at her like she’s the only thing in the world.
It would be perfect if she doesn’t immediately push at his shoulder, making him grunt as she twists to reach the nightstand.
“Pardon, where’s your heart? Kicking me off already?” he teases, watching her rummage blindly until her fingers close around a small pack of cinnamon drops.
She smirks, tearing it open and popping one into her mouth before holding the next to his lips. “Not yet,” she replies, voice muffled as she snuggles back against him. “Getting rid of the taste of us before I start craving round… six? That’s crazy,” she laughs. “Should we just accept we’re feral cave people now?”
Lando smirks, sucking on his drop before asking, “Would you rather play sudoku?”
“I can kick your ass at sudoku very well,” the girl shoots him an immediate look.
“Yeah, ‘cause you’re a nerd,” he shrugs.
“And what about it?”
“Nothing,” says Lando, his eyebrows raising for a fraction. “I think it’s hot.”
Acting on instinct, his long fingers move to brush along her temple, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear. The touch is gentle, a small act of innocent love after the avalanche of dirty scenarios that crossed his mind just a few minutes ago; she does that to him. He guides her closer then, until her head finds its place against his bare chest, where his heartbeat thunders steady beneath.
It’s quiet for a while, but then she shighs, pretending to think. In reality, this thought had plagued her mind since the very first day they arrived here. “I don’t wanna leave this place,” she whispers, disturbing the stillness.
Lando can’t answer right away. He’s still too caught up in her and the aftertaste of their connection, content to just hum in return, a soft sound that barely registers in her ears. However, the way he keeps tracing his fingers along her side, tells her everything she needs to know. It’s almost absentminded, the way he touches her, memorizing her in silence, even though his gaze is somewhere far away, not lost, but lingering in that quiet space between satisfaction and exhaustion.
The girl tilts her head to look at him, a faint smile appearing on her face. “Lan? You woke me up like that only to fall asleep on me now?”
His mouth twitches, its corners lifting just a little. “Mhm... sue me.”
She laughs, her hand finding his, fingers brushing along his palm before she laces them together. He squeezes back for a fraction, the pressure of it reassuring.
“We’re still getting dinner later, right?”
With his eyes closed now, Lando lets out a breathy chuckle, “Didn’t you just eat?”
It takes her half a second to register what he means, and when she does, her cheeks flush instantly, blooming a warm, embarrassed red. “Lando,” she warns, mortified but trying not to laugh.
“Don’t blame me?” he says innocently, even though he’s grinning now, “You walked right into that one.”
She drops his hand with a huff only to smack his chest, hard enough to make him flinch and laugh out loud. “Disgusting, disgusting man!”
“Alright, mate. No violence,” he’s twisting away from her swat but too tired to actually escape.
“Stop being an idiot then,” she fires back, though the way her lips fight a smile betrays her.
He finally rolls onto his side to face her, his grin softening into something that looks a lot like gratitude and affection. “Don’t worry, I made reservations,” he says, voice a little rough, exhaution still clinging to the edges of it.
She frowns. “You did?”
Lando nods. “Somewhere nice. So don’t think you’re getting out of wearing that red dress you packed.”
Before she can argue, he’s already tugging her closer to him once again, one arm slipping around her waist. He kisses her gently and unrushed, trying to stretch the moment out as far as it will go. Her fingers curl around his neck, the world outside their little bubble disappearing every time he kisses her like that. And when he finally pulls away, it’s only by a breath, their warmth lingering between them like a string neither of them wants to let go of.
“Thank you,” she says, and Lando knows it goes deeper than him being thoughtful. It’s for all the small things he’s learned without her ever having to say them. For communicating without words.
Thank you for noticing.
Thank you for listening.
Thank you for remembering.
Thank you for making space for me.
“Always.”
. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ MASTERLIST . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁
Thank you for reading!
None of my works are available for reposting on other platforms. Reblogs, likes, and comments are deeply appreciated ♥︎
warnings: smut, mdni, 18+, threesome, porn with no plot, oral (male receiving), alcohol, blindfolds
summary: a little halloween game between max, lando and y/n gets a little out of hand (in a good way)…happy halloween, loves 👻🎃
notes: max f is soooooo hot, argue with a wall babes ❤️
masterlist
Y/n took the bottle from Lando, bringing it to her lips as Max placed his empty bottle in the middle.
“Spin the bottle,” he responded to her quizzical look as the spicy liquid poured down the back of her throat.
“With three people?” the girl snorted, handing Lando his bottle back as he tested his arms on the sofa behind him, his legs parted as he eyed his best friend with a smirk.
Max rolled his eyes.
“It’ll be fine,” he said, looking between them.
“Don’t complain when you end up snogging Lando then,” Y/n snickered, leaning forward as she reached for the bottle, giving it a spin, “we’ll do truth or dare,”
Originally, the party had been a lot more people, but as the number soon trickled down as it grew later. Til it was just them three.
Her eyes followed the green glass as it slowed, landing on…Max.
“Alright, Max,” she grinned, rubbing her hands together, “truth or dare?”
“Truth,”
“Pussy,” Lando snorted behind his hand, covering it with a cough.
Max ignored him.
“You ever kissed a guy before?” the girl pressed, grinning at the loom of annoyance that crossed his face.
“You’re seriously starting with that?” he adjusted his black top, his mask and other accessories of his costume chucked somewhere else in the room.
“Well?”
“Yeah. Once,” he muttered, picking at his nails.
Lando looked up.
“Yeah? Who?” Y/n leaned forward, her interest suddenly peaking as Max rolled his eyes.
“You get to ask one question,” he reminded her, cheeks flushed slightly red. Lando’s gaze followed him.
Max took the bottle in his hand, rolling it over before he placed it down, giving it a spin. Lando.
He quirked an eyebrow, staring at his best friend, almost like a challenge.
“Truth or dare?” the words almost came out like a drawl, the tension between Max and Lando was thick.
“Dare,”
Max paused for a second, like he didn’t think Lando would have chosen a dare so early.
“Kiss the hottest person in the room,”
There was a pause.
“Can’t,” Lando shrugged, adjusting his arm on the sofa, “can’t kiss two people at once,”
Another moment of awkward silence.
“Right,” Y/n cleared her throat, snatching the bottle from his hand and taking a swig.
“Woah, easy,” Max pulled it from her hand as the liquid burned in her mouth, “you’ll pass out at the rate you’re drinkin’,”
“This game sucks,” Lando grumbled, standing up from where he was sat on the floor, dusting his hands on his sides as the other two watched, eyebrows raised.
“Pardon?”
“It’s dead boring,” he grabbed his phone from the side, “do something interesting instead,”
Y/n and Max exchanged a look, watching as Lando threw himself onto the couch, staring at his phone screen.
“Well,” the girl snatched the phone from his hands, thrusting it onto the armchair behind her, “find something interesting for us to do, then,”
“I don’t know,” Lando rolled his eyes sarcastically as Max chucked the bottle into the bin, “get fucked and give me my phone back,”
“No can do when I’m stuck with idiots like you both,”
Lando raised a brow.
“Alright,” he stood up from the sofa, swinging his legs over the plush seating area, “I’ve got an idea for a game,”
“Yeah?” Max kicked another bottle to the side, probably from another person from earlier.
“Go on,” Y/n prompted.
“We blindfold her,” he nodded his head to the girl in front of him, “and fuck her. See if she can guess who it is,”
Max paused. So did Y/n.
Neither of them had expected anything of that sort to come out of his mouth, let alone something so…lewd. So filthy. So hot.
“Alright,” Y/n finally broke the silence, her voice more airy than before, “I’m up for it,”
They both turned to Max.
“Yeah,” he said, his eyes shining, pupils dilated.
The wings from her costume were discarded in the corner, along with their masks and other bits. “A blindfold,” Max muttered, “we need one,”
“I’ve got one,” Lando said, turning towards the stairs as the other two turned to each other, Max’s eyebrow raised.
Y/n shot him a look as if to say, it’s Lando, why are you surprised?
He finally re-emerged, the black blindfold in his half shaking hand as he passed it to Max, letting him slide it onto her face, giving her the benefit of vision as he helped her onto the sofa.
Then, he covered her vision.
“I’ve seen a dick before, mate,” Lando raised a brow at the expression on his friend’s face.
He’d already undone his belt, dropping it to the floor, along with his trousers, turning to Max expectantly.
“Take your time,” the girl mused, kicking her legs together.
“Alright,” Lando swallowed the lump in his throat, his gaze involuntarily drawn to his friend, semi-hard, his tip leaking pre-cum as he hung limp against his own thigh.
“You go first,” Max mouthed, stepping back silently as Y/n waited expectantly on the sofa.
Lando nodded, his mouth dry as he walked forwards, resisting the urge to touch her face.
She looked beautiful, now say in the remnants of what had once been her angel costume, a little sparkly top and a tiny skirt that covered…well, nothing.
He wrapped a hand round the base of his cock, giving himself two long pumps, almost squeezing the pre-cum to his tip.
Max gave him an encouraging nod.
Y/n reached a shaky hand, her fingers brushing his tip as he sank his teeth into his lower lip, resisting the urge to moan.
She gently slid her fingers round his shaft, pumping him slowly, spreading his pre-cum along his length.
He was thick in her hand, veins and ridges prominent, pulsing in her palm.
Lando could see the concentration on her face, her eyebrows creased together.
Then, she wrapped her lips round his tip.
His knees almost buckled, his arms straining as he held the back of the sofa behind her, her tongue flicking over his tip like the taste alone would give it away.
Max shot him a warning look.
And what a sight Lando was.
His cheeks flushed pink, pupils blown wide, mouth dry as Y/n bobbed her head, sliding him in and out of her mouth, wrapping her hands on the base.
He felt good in her mouth. Thicker than she’d expected - not that she knew who it was - but still long.
Max watched, his hand aching to wrap around his own dick.
“Okay,” she pulled back, his dick twitching again her lips at the sudden loss of contact, “next,”
Max stepped forwards, his dick a lot more hard than before, aching against his abdomen.
And once again, Y/n repeated her little process.
Her hand came to his dick, sliding over his shaft, feeling every vein and ridge along the bottom, his head throbbing in her palm.
He was different to Lando.
Where Lando had more girth, Max had more length.
Again, Y/n wrapped her lips round his head, swirling him round her mouth, her tongue teasing every sensitive part, like she knew him before she’d ever done it.
His teeth dug into his lips, cheeks growing hotter.
Now he understood why Lando could hardly keep it in.
He was stood behind them, his eyes firmly fixed on where her lips met his dick, his hand wrapped round his own length, her salvia still wet on his cock.
She slowly bobbed her head, right til his tip met the back of her throat, holding herself, before she pulled back.
“Okay,” she said, adjusting where she sat, her thighs rubbing together, “that’s easy,”
Lando sent his friend a look.
“First one was Lando,” Y/n said, a proud smirk on her face, “and second was Max,”
Max raised a brow, silently asking how she knew.
“Lando whimpers,” she shrugged, adjusting the low neckline of her top as the other man rolled his eyes, cheeks pink, dick still throbbing against his thigh, “so, we gonna finish?”
They both looked to her, eyes sparkling.
Y/n giggled as they both almost rushed to her, Lando’s hands instantly undoing her top, the other fiddling with the ribbons on her skirt.
The girl smiled, sinking her teeth into her bottom lip as he ditched the strings of her top, simply ripping it off her body.
“That was expensive,” she whined, almost pouting.
“Don’t act innocent,” Lando muttered, “not when we all know where your mouth was a few seconds ago,”
Max had gone silent for a second.
“What?” the girl asked, her lashes fluttering innocently as Lando looked to him too, eyebrow raised.
“She’s not wearing panties,” his voice was gruff, cheeks flushed red as Lando’s eyes widened.
“So what?” she huffed, “just hurry up,”
Y/n rolled her eyes, lifting her hips for Max to slide the skirt down her thighs.
Lando’s eyes followed her body as she moved towards Max, her lips on his as she moaned, her hands dancing under the hem of his shirt, his dick pressed to her arm.
Her lashes fluttered against her cheeks, lips moving messily in tandem with the other man’s.
“Hey,”
They finally broke apart, Lando’s cheeks painted bright red, a look of sharp annoyance across his fine features.
“Jealousy seems to be a great motivator for you,” she hummed as he peppered kissed down her shoulders, Max’s hands busying thing her hair back.
“No,” Lando’s hands came to his friend’s wrist, shaky, “I want it down,”
He let go of her slowly.
“Bossy,” Y/n noted.
“Stop wasting time,” Lando pulled her back towards him, frustration in his tone as he climbed on top of her, her head resting on the arm rest.
“It’s not just you, mate,” Max scoffed, adjusting her head as it dipped back, hanging off the edge.
“Just shut up and fuck me,” the girl huffed, “even now you can’t stop being annoying,”
“Sorry,” Lando muttered, his knees either side of her waist as he took himself into his hand, painfully hard and desperate.
Her legs absentmindedly wrapped round his waist as he stared at her pussy, almost dripping in heat.
“I’ve dreamed of this,” he muttered, more to himself as he a pressed the pad of his finger to her clit, watching her body shiver with pleasure.
“I’ll take it that you like what you see,” she giggled.
Max’s eyes snapped to his hand, watching as Lando dipped his fingers into her heat, spreading her pussy lips apart, and gently gliding his finger against her opening.
“So pretty,” he muttered, rubbing circles against her sensitive bud.
Y/n moaned, her need dribbling down her thighs, hair hanging off the sofa as Lando slid a finger into her aching hole.
“Keep it on,” she looked up, her eyes watching as his other hand reached to remove the ring on his free finger, “please,”
“Yes ma’am,”
Lando added another finger, her pussy glistening under the light as he pumped in and out of her, his thumb rubbing against her clit, his free hadn’t holding her stomach down.
“Fuck,” he cursed, watching where his finger met her sweet cunt, eyes side
He groaned, sliding his slick finger out from her hole and bringing it to his lips, swirling her juices round his mouth.
Max made a choked noise.
Lando tore his eyes from the girl below him, meeting the needy ones of his best friend.
He pulled his finger from his own mouth with a soft ‘pop’, holding his other one out.
“Taste?”
Max didn’t need telling twice. His hand wrapped round Lando’s wrist, bringing his other slick finger to his mouth, groaning at the sweet taste of her juices.
All three of them could’ve cum right there.
“Please,” she gasped, her legs squeezing together, like she was trying to create some sort of friction.
“Please what?” Lando leaned forwards, watching her eyes shimmer with need.
“Fuck me, please, I need you. Both of you,” her hands were shaking, her hand itching to come between her thighs.
“You go first,” Max finally spoke, his voice hoarse as he spoke to Lando.
He nodded, taking his dick into his hand and gently pressing his tip between her pussy lips as she moaned, her pussy clenching round nothing.
“Already moving like that and I’m not even in you,” he snorted.
He changed that soon enough, sliding his heat into her pussy, watching her face confront into a mix of pleasure and need, aching for all of him.
“More…please,”
“Your wish is my command,”
Lando pushed all the way, his dick sliding into her hole, right until he was down to the hilt, his dick pulsing inside of her.
“Feel that?” he dragged Y/n’s hand to her tummy, bulging inside of her, “that’s me, right there, and it’s all for you,”
He punctuated his promise with a slow drag of his hips, pulling almost all the way out, before he sunk back into warmth.
“Not very patient, are we?” he mused, watching as she rubbed her hips down, almost bouncing on him.
Lando pulled back from where he leaned over her, lifting his shirt over his chest as Max did the same, taking his cock in his hand. “Can I…?” he held his tip close to her lips.
Y/n nodded, her nails digging into Lando’s biceps as she parted her lips.
“Come on, Y/n,” Lando spoke through gritted teeth, “you know that’s not wide enough for Max,”
She opened her mouth wider.
“Good,”
“Oh, fuck,” Max groaned, sinking into her mouth like it was her pussy, enveloping him in her warm salvia.
“She really is a good girl, isn’t she?” Lando held his arms either side of her head as he sped up his rhythm, hitting her g-spot with every sharp thrust, the veins in his arms twitching.
Y/n whined, squeezing her legs together as Lando pulled out, teasing her, the sound muffled by Max’s dick
She moaned again as he bullied his cock back into her, settling deep and nestled right up has isn’t her sensitive spot.
She gasped for breath, her head tipped over the sofa as Max pulled out, his dick coated in her salvia.
“She’s so good, isn’t she?” Lando leaned over her, his hips snapping against hers, continuing his assault on her pussy.
“The best,” Max grunted, sliding back into her mouth, welcomed by her tongue.
Y/n’s pussy clenched round his dick, so hard he almost saw stars.
“Swap,” Lando’s voice was hoarse, “you need to feel this,”
They both pulled out in sync, leaving both her mouth and pussy empty as she whined.
The change was evident, her face aching as soon as she wrapped more than Lando’s tip into her mouth.
Max was long too, sliding into her easier, but stopping almost three quarters in before he’d hit her cervix.
“It’s okay, dove,” he whispered, stroking her hair from her face as she reached a hand to Lando’s cock.
Her hands claw at his shoulders, her pussy sore but full of need, so close.
Y/n moaned against Lando’s dick, her mouth full of him, pulling in her mouth as he pushed more of himself into her mouth, her nose pressed to his abdomen.
She gasped for breath, choking as Lando pulled out from her mouth.
“Y’gonna be good f’me and swallow?” he tilted her head up, her cheeks flushed red as she nodded, eyes wide.
“That’s my girl,” he grunted, his voice gruff as he pushed back into the warmth of her throat.
Y/n gasped, Max’s cock pressed against her as he fucked her into the sofa, his arms straining as her thighs squeezed round him.
Once, twice-
Her thighs spammed as she finished, her pussy clenching tight round the man on top of her as Lando groaned, sinking deep in her throat.
They came at the same time, Lando’s seed pooling in hot, thick ropes and Max’s squirting inside of her, coating the inside of her pussy.
Her vision went white, blissed out as she swallowed every drop of cum he gave her, his dick soft as he pulled from her lips.
“Fucking hell,” Lando’s arms strained against the sofa as he held himself up, gently lifting Y/n’s head.
“Y’alright?” Max pulled himself free, grabbing a towel from the side, wiping her thighs down as she nodded, her head resting against Lando’s bicep.
“Neck’s sore,” she mumbled, “but I’m okay,”
“Sorry,” Lando winced, “let’s get to sleep, okay? Then we can…discuss it in the morning,”
Y/n nodded. “Gonna shower first,”
“Wait for me,” Max said, “there’s space for us all,”
Maybe spin the bottle did bring about some good things.
