Writer of wrestling and occasionally TVD fanfiction. Spends a fair amount of time drooling over ex-Shield members. Find my stories here: www.fanfiction.net/~jxtina
Most of my stuff is WWE based - specifically Roman Reigns (and other former Shield members).
But my new muse is Lando Norris of Formula 1 fame.
Lando Norris/Mia
The Chase - Masterlist
Shine On You - Masterlist
Roman Reigns/Katherine
Note: the first two are just musings, the story technically starts from The Meet Cute
Untitled
Late Night Chats
The Meet Cute
The Third Date
No Imagination Required
The Request
Control
---
Temporary Escape
New fic but written ages ago. It's still a slightly work in progress, so bear with me!
Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
Part 4
Part 5
---
I'm slowly moving my original postings (from way back in 2016/17) from fanfiction.net over here - seems like the fanfic community is more active over here these days so thought I'd just share. For context, this started with a one-shot called Homecoming and then it just spiralled into a whole series of one-shots, first focusing on Roman Reigns and an OC and then Seth Rollins and Dean Ambrose with respective OCs.
There is a third part to come... currently sat with a glass of rose and a Kinder Bueno (soz Lando but means more for me) trying to finish it.
But this updates a long one - enjoy!
Pairing: Lando x Fem!OC
Word Count: 6.9k (wahey! I'm such an idiot lol)
Warnings: Swearing, fluffy, plenty of references their previous NSFW fun... 18+, MDNI
Saturday
Mia’s grip on Ruby’s arm tightens as they weave through the paddock. There’s a light patter of rain on the umbrella shielding them as they side-step puddles, following a McLaren rep towards the team’s hospitality suite. With her free hand, Mia nervously adjusts the lanyards around her neck, the brightly coloured passes fluttering in the breeze before she clutches them to her chest tightly.
Glancing sideways at Ruby, she watches how breezy and casual her friend looks, as if being here is absolutely normal. She feels the complete opposite. Even as they waited to collect their passes, Ruby had been chatting easily with the couple next to them, whilst Mia nodded and smiled along all the while looking around nervously and adjusting her bag, coat and hair with slightly shaky hands.
Despite the damp weather, the paddock is buzzing. From beneath the umbrella, Mia watches people gather outside various hospitality suites, waiting in anticipation for… whoever. She hasn’t got a clue who anyone is.
And that, really, feels like the problem - everything about this feels unfamiliar. Just on a much bigger scale than she could even imagine. And the more unfamiliar it feels, the more uneasy and unsettled she becomes.
“What am I doing here?” she murmurs to Ruby.
“To watch a good-looking guy - or several for that matter - drive very fast cars?”
Mia is about to reply when the McLaren rep pipes up. “This way,” she says over her shoulder and then leads them up a short ramp and inside a shiny black and orange building. They pause to shake out their umbrellas and it gives Mia a chance to get her bearings.
The entrance opens up immediately into a hospitality area - nearly half the tables are already occupied with a mix of team members, clearly identified by their branded kit and other guests. The smell of coffee and pastries wafts over her and there’s a light hum of chatter. She feels a slight wave of relief when no-one looks up or their way, unbothered by their presence.
“So,” the rep continues as she leads them to an empty table tucked away in a corner. “There’s tea and coffee on offer and the bar is open too. There will be lunch later too. I’ll let Lando know you’re here - he’s in a meeting right now but I’m sure he’ll pop over when he’s free. And I’ll be back just before the practice session starts to show you where you can view all the action.”
“Thank you,” Ruby chirps cheerfully, settling into a chair. Mia manages to murmur a thank you of her own, grateful when she sits herself so as not to keep standing on her now very wobbly legs.
Tugging her coat off her shoulders she looks down at her outfit. “Are you sure I look okay?”
“Yes,” Ruby replies. “But if you don't believe me…” she whips her phone out. “Smile.”
Mia swears she blinks instead but it's too late, Ruby is already tapping away and then Mia feels her phone buzz.
Girls. Tell her she looks amazing because she doesn't believe me 🙄
Within seconds the messages flood through.
Lydia: STUNNING MIA! 😍
Cass: Give the guy a chance Mia! 🔥🔥🔥
Lizzie: Perfection! 💃
“See?” Ruby tells her. “You really should have gone to his hotel last night. I think you needed the stress relief,” she winks.
“Hilarious,” Mia scowls, running a hand through her hair.
Ruby looks around, nodding at a waitress standing nearby who immediately heads towards them. “Would a drink help?”
Mia shakes her head and then nods. “Not alcohol. Coffee. And water.”
As Ruby relays the order and adds her own, Mia senses a shift in the room. Glancing around, her heart leaps into her mouth as she sees a hive of activity on the other side of the suite. Several McLaren-clad individuals have emerged, all clutching iPads and files. As they filter out to tables or towards the entrance, she spots Lando.
The straw to his water bottle between his teeth as he nods at the team member showing him something on their phone. One hand creeps along the neckline of his open polo shirt, round to the back of his neck whilst the other briefly removes his hat so he can ruffle his hair before replacing it again, water bottle swinging freely from his mouth for those brief seconds.
He seems to move in slow motion - pausing at one table and then another to say hi - and then his head lifts and he spots Mia in the corner. His face, already arranged into what looked to be a genuine smile, seems to brighten even more, his grin wider, his cheeks… Is he blushing, she half-thinks.
Then she feels her own cheeks redden as he holds her gaze, suddenly making a bee-line for them.
Mia is so focused on him, that she doesn’t realise until he’s almost in touching distance that he isn’t alone. Whilst the rest of the staff have peeled away, two remain - one in a similar branded shirt to Lando and the other in just regular clothes. They hover at a slight distance as Lando closes the gap. Ruby is rising next to her and Mia finds herself doing the same, her eyes never leaving Lando, his never leaving hers.
“Hi,” he says, his arm reaching out to hug Ruby briefly, his eyes still on Mia, flickering down briefly to take in the sweetheart neckline of her black top and the way her high-waisted jeans hug her hips. His gaze lingers just a second too long before he meets her eyes again.
And then he’s moving towards her, his arm curling around her shoulders, pulling her close for a fraction longer than he hugged Ruby, before his hand shifts, slowly gliding over her back, fingers lingering for a split second on the bare skin between the hem of her top and the waistband of her jeans. She shivers at his touch, her head swimming as she breathes in his familiar scent, her mind going elsewhere for a second - warm sheets, his bare chest, his mouth on her neck, his hands kneading her ass - before she’s back in the here and now, with Lando brushing past her to pull up a chair.
“You’ve got 10 minutes, mate,” a voice pipes up and Mia turns to see the guy in the branded polo shirt stepping forward.
“No worries,” Lando tells him. “Mia, Ruby, this is Jon, my trainer.” Jon gives a brief wave and then steps away entirely.
“And who’s the other guy?” Ruby nods not-so-subtly at the other guy who takes a seat two tables over.
“Oh,” Lando gives a slightly embarrassed smile. “That’s my security guy.”
“Interesting,” Ruby says with a grin.
“Jesus,” Mia mutters. “See? What did I tell you? She’s trouble with a capital T,” she mutters to Lando who just laughs. “You didn’t tell me you had security.”
Lando rubs the back of his neck awkwardly. “Seemed a bit of a knobbish thing to bring up… But yeah, maybe I should have said something. Sorry.”
“You’re not going to tell me he was lurking in the shadows a few weeks ago are you?” She asks, raising an eyebrow.
“Events and race weekends only, I swear,” he says, holding his hands up in defence, his eyes pleading innocence.
The innocence is short-lived. The waitress reappears with their drinks and as Mia shifts to the side to make room for the tray, she feels Lando’s breath on her cheek. Warm. Close.
She turns slightly and he’s right there, eyes locked on her, his lips twitching. She swallows and it takes all her strength to pull back rather than lean fully into him.
Steadying herself, she glances out the window, trying to focus on anything but the way her skin still buzzes from his brief touch. “You’re still driving in this?”
She can feel Lando’s gaze sweep over her before he turns to the glass. “Sure. I’ve driven in worse.”
“Does it make much difference?”
He shrugs. “Track’s slicker. Less grip. You’ve got to feel your way through it.”
“Sounds tricky.” She lifts her coffee, needing something to do with her hands.
His eyes drop to her mouth, just for a second. “Not if you know what you’re doing.”
“Confidence. I like it.”
From the corner of her eye, she sees him lean back, a slow grin spreading across his face. “It’s all in the touch,” he says, and this time, she looks right at him.
Ruby sets her coffee down with a clunk, making Mia jump. “Sorry - were you two still talking about the weather, or…?”
Lando lets out a snort of laughter, as Mia feels her cheeks flush and then she has to stop herself from gasping as under the cover of the table, Lando’s hand slides over her thigh and softly squeezes.
The memories come flooding back in an instant.
His hand on her bare leg in the car.
His hands pushing her thighs apart in bed before he peppered her skin with kisses.
The way his hands would slide under her ass and up her back as he settled between her legs and pulled her hungrily to his mouth.
“Hey,” he murmurs. “I’ve gotta go. But give me a few minutes. I’ll text you.”
She stares at him blankly for a second. “What for?”
“You’ll see,” he grins.
He draws his hand back slowly before rising, murmuring a ‘see you later’ to both of them and then he’s gone.
“You could cut the sexual tension with a knife,” Ruby observes. “Another reason why you should have gone to his hotel last night. You two wouldn’t be sitting here navigating innuendo.”
“I was just making conversation,” Mia mutters, making Ruby scoff.
Her phone beeps quietly in her bag, but loud enough for her to hear. Her fingers tremble slightly as she reaches for it, turning it over to read the notification.
The second door behind you. Go up the stairs, first door on the right x
Her heart skips a beat. He wants her to go there now? Won’t it be obvious?
“You okay?” Ruby asks.
“Yeah,” Mia murmurs, still staring at the text. “Actually I’m just going to find the toilets.”
“Sure, I’ll be here,” Ruby reaches for her own phone.
Sliding her own phone into her back pocket, Mia somehow manages to instruct her legs to cross the suite. As she approaches the door Lando had told her to go through, it opens.
Shit, she thinks. But no-one stops her, in fact, they hold the door for her, smiling politely as she passes and manages to get out a squeak of thanks.
Up the stairs she goes and they feel never-ending like this is the longest hike ever. And then she’s at the top and the door to the right is in front of her, his name staring back at her. She hesitates - does she knock?
It feels rude not to.
She taps gently and then pushes the handle. At the same time the door is pulled open from the inside and she stumbles straight into Lando. His arm curls around her waist, steadying her for a second and then pulling her fully into him and the room. The door clicks shut behind them and it’s like a starting gun.
His mouth crashes against hers, almost knocking the breath from her. It’s desperate, but tender. His hands cradle her face as he backs them up against the door with a soft thud. Her hands are loose on his waist, but as the kiss deepens, they slide up to his chest, clutching at the collar of his t-shirt, holding him firm to her.
Three weeks without touching each other and now they can’t stop. His body is pressed flush against her, his fingers tangling in her hair for a moment before they ghost over her shoulders and down to her waist. A thumb nudges under the hem of her top and her responding gasp is swallowed by his kiss.
It’s needy, so needy and it gives her flashbacks to that first time in his apartment, pinned against the wall in his hallway the second the door closed behind them.
Only now there’s no prospect of continuing beyond a kiss.
She should have gone to his hotel, she thinks with a pang of regret as Lando reluctantly, breathlessly, pulls back. His forehead rests against hers, his breath hot and ragged.
“Fuck,” he murmurs, a hand rising so he can brush his thumb over her cheek. “Really wish you’d come to my hotel last night.”
“Me too,” she sighs softly. “I'm sorry.”
He cups her face gently. “Don't be.”
His lips meet hers again, softer this time. Her fingers still grip his t-shirt, her knuckles almost white as she clings to him, like he might disappear if she doesn’t.
“I should go,” she mumbles into his mouth, grinning as he whines in reply. She releases his shirt to touch his cheek, nudging him back slightly. “You've got a meeting and I'm not supposed to be a distraction, remember?”
His eyes silently plead with her, flickering down to her mouth as he tilts his head to the side. Once, twice, he brushes his lips over hers before he takes a step back.
“Did you mean it?” He asks as she reaches out to wipe a smear of lipstick from the corner of his mouth. His hand captures hers, his lips lightly pressing to the tips of her fingers.
“Mean what?”
“Last night,” he arches an eyebrow.
“What about it?
“Your reply.”
“Oh.” Mia glances down before looking back up with a soft smirk as she meets his hopeful gaze. “Yeah. I did.”
He inhales deeply, his eyes closing for a second. “Gonna hold you to that.”
Her breath catches for a second before she lets out a soft laugh. “A promise is a promise,” she murmurs as his hand curls gently around her neck again, his thumb brushing just under her jaw.
He leans in, slow once again and Mia finds herself swallowing the moan that’s desperate to break free.
“I should go,” she says again as they pull back.
Lando groans faintly but nods reluctantly. She leans forward, breathing him in one last time as she smooths down the collar of his t-shirt, grinning as she feels his hands skim down her back once last time.
And then she reaches behind her to open the door and slips out before either of them can change their minds.
If her ascent on the stairs felt slow and laboured, the descent feels like she’s floating on air. She can still feel his hands on her, his lips on hers, his breath hot and heavy. She runs her fingers through her hair nervously, eyes darting around to see if anyone will meet her and know exactly where she just came from. But the coast, surprisingly, remains clear.
At the bottom of the stairs, she hesitates and then she doubles-back down the corridor, heading to the toilets as a precaution. Inside, the harsh lighting does nothing to hide her just-kissed lips, lipstick faded. Nor does it help the glow in her cheeks and her dilated pupils. Her hair is mussed, her shirt slightly askew. She hastily corrects as much as she can before she darts back out into the corridor and pulls open the door back into the main suite.
The chatter hits her instantly and she has to take a deep breath to keep her face neutral as she weaves back through the tables to Ruby, who is looking intensely down at her phone. Only when Mia takes her seat, does she look up.
“You were gone for a while. Get lost did you?” Ruby’s words are light but when Mia catches her eye, she’s met with a raised eyebrow that makes her look away instantly.
“There was a queue,” she shrugs, reaching for her coffee, almost flinching at the almost cool cup. Shit, she was gone for longer than she thought.
“Funny, I didn't see anyone coming out of there before you.”
Mia lifts the cup and takes a small sip of cold coffee, trying not to grimace. Ruby watches her with an impassive face. “And I was catching up on messages,” Mia adds casually as she quickly places the cup back on the table.
“Oh really?” Ruby’s lips twitch.
Mia reaches into her back pocket for her phone. “Yeah, from-” she stops short as she sees 16 unread messages from the group chat. She looks up at Ruby who just smirks.
“What? I promised them updates.”
“Rubes…” Mia groans as she unlocks her phone and then her eyes widen.
Ruby: Look who got reunited. AT LAST.
The next message is a photo of Mia and Lando, her face slightly obscured, his in full view, smirk included and his hand under the table and on her leg.
“What the fuck?” Mia hears herself blurt out.
“Oh please, you were both in broad daylight, anyone could have spotted it really.”
Mia feels a wave of panic wash over her and it’s clear it reaches her eyes because Ruby hastily adds: “But I was blocking the line of sight. As was that fit security guy…”
Cass: STOP IT. THE HAND.
Lizzie: How did she NOT go to his room last night?
“You told them about last night?” Mia groans again. Ruby just grins.
Lydia: Oh guaranteed she’s going there tonight after that.
Ruby: And now she’s conveniently gone to loo… I think not.
Ruby: Left me sitting here all alone.
Cass: And where did L go?
Ruby: To a ‘meeting’
Lizzie: They think they’re soooo subtle.
Ruby: She’s been gone for like 10 minutes now.
Lydia: He’s got the pace to get a lot done in 10 minutes.
Ruby: Girls. I have eyes on. I repeat: EYES ON.
Ruby: Looking a little flushed. Lies incoming in… 3 2 1…
Cass: Long queue? Got lost?
Ruby: Got it in one babe!
“I hate you all,” Mia scowls.
“Whatever,” Ruby rolls her eyes. “So… c’mon. How was it?” She wiggles her eyebrows suggestively.
Mia refuses to take the bait but her silence is answer enough.
“That good, huh?” Ruby hums, leaning back smugly. “Did it make up for last night?”
Mia’s mouth twitches but she still says nothing. But her brain is in overdrive.
The thud of the door behind her.
The way his hands cupped her face, sending shivers down her spine.
The soft hum that radiated from him as they kissed.
The rasp of breath against her cheek.
His thumb brushing tenderly over her jaw.
The feeling of his body pressed firmly against hers as she melted into his touch.
She takes another sip of the stone-cold coffee, swallowing it down despite herself, desperately trying to get her head back in the game and to ignore the heat building low in her stomach.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she mutters under breath, but Ruby’s grin just widens.
**
“C’mon,” Ruby says as she nods at the McLaren rep heading their way.
“I'm not sure,” Mia murmurs. “I think I'd rather stay here.”
“We stayed here earlier,” Ruby almost whines. “Do you know how many people would kill to be able to stand in the back of an F1 garage?”
“It just feels too close.”
“You won't be any bother,” the rep pipes up cheerily. “We wouldn't offer it if it was a problem!”
“See?” Ruby picks up her handbag and almost hoists Mia out of her chair. “Let's go.”
It's a short walk from the hospitality area across the paddock walkway and into the garage but Mia finds herself gripping Ruby’s arm more tightly than before. There’s more fans, eagerly gathered and awaiting a chance to catch a quick photo with their favourite and there are camera crews everywhere trying to capture images of fans, guests, team members and drivers alike.
At the garage entrance, their passes are checked and then they are ushered hastily down the corridor that turns sharply at the end. It's a hive of activity and Mia’s eyes widen as she takes in the rear ends of the cars up close and personal for the first time. Mechanics swarm each one making last minute adjustments, whilst other team members hover by large computer screens covered in graphs and colour codes sets of data.
The rep guides them into the small viewing area and Ruby lets Mia tuck them into the furthest spot at the back.
“You can wear these,” the rep says as she passes them both headsets. “You can listen in to the comms between the drivers and their engineers.”
Mia takes the offered headset and slings it over her forearm for now. She can't quite believe the number of people crammed around the car, all focused on different elements. A literal well-oiled machine with everyone clear on their place within it. The noise and chatter is already intense and she can't quite imagine what it will sound like when the engines fire up too.
Ruby nudges her arm gently “You okay?”
Mia shrugs. “Yes. No. Just weird to be so close up.”
“Tempted to bolt?”
“Maybe.”
But as the words leave her mouth, she spots Lando emerge from the corridor behind the garage, heading straight to one of the engineers for a chat. She had only caught brief glimpses of him during the practice session coverage and afterwards, she and Ruby had gone for a walk around the paddock for something to do so had missed him coming back to the suite and even during lunch, she’d not seen him at all.
“Yeah, I think not,” Ruby chuckles quietly next to her.
But Mia is too busy staring to respond with anything other than a half-hearted elbow. She realises that this is the first time she’s seen him up close in his racegear and she finds herself watching intensely as he leans against the desk, eyes focused on whatever the engineer is showing him on the screen.
His race suit is unzipped to his waist and every so often his hands drop to adjust the zip and shift it to above his hips. And then his fingers fiddle with the neck of his base layer, slipping inside the collar and tugging it so it sits more comfortably.
“You're staring,” Ruby murmurs in a sing-song tone, making Mia blink rapidly although she doesn't look away entirely.
Lando is nodding, laughing at something the engineer says and then he moves away from the desk. As he heads towards the far back corner behind his car, his gaze flickers to the viewing area and for a split second, Mia finds herself locking eyes with him. Her breath catches. His face flickers for a second, a small smile tugging at his lips and then he looks away, focus slipping over him as he continues to head to his corner where Jon is waiting patiently.
And she still can’t look away, following his every move as he pulls the body of his race suit up, his arms twisting slightly as he adjusts the sleeves so they sit comfortably. He turns, glancing over at the car and she spies one hand slipping inside the waist of the suit for a second before he starts to tug the zip up to just below his neck.
It's hypnotic, Mia thinks as she watches him take the balaclava from Jon. His fingers seek out his earpieces, adjusting them a few times for comfort before he tugs the black material fully over his head. She watches mesmerised as he slides a hand underneath to adjust his hair before she shifts the material back and forth over his face until he’s happy. Jon hands him his helmet and he yanks it down over his head, nudging it this way and that, hands gripping just beneath the visor for a final adjustment.
She's still watching in a daze when he turns and she realises the visor is up and he's staring right at her again.
His eyes crinkle slightly, a smile that lasts barely a second but she sees it and feels her cheeks flush. She looks down and by the time she dares to look back up, he's stepping into the car and out of sight.
**
The first two qualifying sessions seem to pass by in a blur - there are too many numbers, colours, and prior knowledge that Mia can’t quite grasp. The radio comms make zero sense to her either and she finds it strangely disorientating to hear Lando’s voice crackling into her ear. His voice is calm, focused and undeniably him… but not in the way she’s used to.
All she knows is that he’s fast enough to make it through each session, but beyond that? Nothing feels like it’s registering.
Her heart flips every time he appears on screen. His bright helmet makes him easy to spot and her body tenses as she watches him navigate the track. The only time she breathes freely is when his car reenters the garage for a brief interlude between laps.
The last few minutes are slowly ticking down in the corner of the screen. She’s once again transfixed watching the screen. Beside her she feels Ruby shift, but she’s unable to look away. Suddenly she feels conscious of her hands and where they are. She crosses her arms tightly, trapping them against her body, just as the footage on screen flips to Max Verstappen on a flying lap.
But her focus isn’t on him. No, it’s on the small graphic at the bottom where Lando’s name and number appear, his own time flashing up as he picks his way around the track.
She feels her heart leap into her throat as she sees Verstappen has gone fastest. The footage flips again, this time to Lando as he rounds the final corner and heads down the straight.
She blinks.
A 1 appears next to his name. She’s half-aware of the garage around her, engineers clapping, other guests joining in. But she just stands there, shoulders tight, fingers digging into her sides, unsure of what to do, how to react.
A hand slides over her arm - Ruby - slowly tugging her arms from about her. Mia turns, her eyes still wide to stare at Ruby.
“He did it,” she mumbles, her brain feeling slightly fuzzy from the nerves, the adrenaline, shock and a big dose of pride.
Ruby nods, her eyes bright. “Yeah. That was amazing!” She grins at her and Mia feels her face crack into a smile at last.
“What… what do we do now?”
Ruby’s grin widens. “I feel like I need a cigarette,” she chuckles. “But I think a drink would be good. God knows you look like you need one too.”
**
They tuck themselves back into the same spot in the hospitality suite, this time with ice-cold gin and tonics. They’re strong enough that the first sip instantly calms Mia’s nerves.
“So,” Ruby says as she scrolls through her phone. “I found this place near the hotel for dinner.”
Mia only half-listens, watching footage on a nearby screen of Lando’s post-qualifying interview - no audio, but she feels her heart pound as she sees the wide smile on his face.
“M. Dinner. What do you think?” Ruby says again, this time lightly tapping Mia’s hand.
Mia blinks. “Huh?”
“Clearly I'm the second choice,” Ruby comments dryly. “It’s fine, I know my place.”
“Sorry. Dinner?”
“Yes.”
Mia chews her lip. “I mean I was kinda hoping…” she trails off. “But he’s probably going to be stuck doing interviews for a while…”
“Sure. So come to dinner with me and then text him.”
“I guess…”
Ruby takes another sip of her drink. “But no rush.”
Mia reaches for her drink too but before she can lift the glass, she senses someone behind them. Her heart leaps momentarily but as she glances behind, she sees it’s Jon approaching, not Lando.
He gives her a reassuring smile. “Hey, Lando asked me to give you this.” He holds out a small envelope with nothing written on the front.
For a second, Mia just stares at the envelope and doesn’t move. Only when she sees Ruby’s hand starting to move next to her, does she reach out and take it.
“Thanks,” she murmurs and Jon smiles.
“You’re welcome.”
She watches him turn and leave before her attention drops to her hand. The envelope is unsealed and inside it a key card and folded scrap of paper. Opening it, she sees Lando’s scrawl:
307
You’re not a distraction. Text me when you get this x
She looks up and around, as if she might see him loitering behind her, smirk in place, just waiting to see her reaction. But he’s still only visible via the screen, listening intently to whatever he’s being asked by the journalist.
Just as looks back down, she feels Ruby shift beside her, reaching over to grab the note.
“Oi!”
Too late, Ruby is already reading it, both eyebrows raised. “Okay, dinner can wait. Go and not be a distraction,” she winks at Mia.
“Hilarious,” Mia says dryly.
Ruby snaps her fingers. “What are you waiting for? God, do I have to do everything around here?” She nudges Mia’s phone towards her on the table.
Mia shakes her head with a grin, picking up the phone and tapping out a message:
Got it x
And then:
I’ll be there x
The reply comes a few minutes later:
🙌
“C’mon,” Ruby pushes Mia’s glass towards her. “Drink up. We need to pack your shit up.”
**
Her suitcase rumbles beside her as she heads down the quiet corridor. It’s a contrast to what she’s just had to face outside the hotel - groups of fans waiting to see a glimpse of their favourite driver. She was almost grateful that the car in front of her was apparently carrying another driver and she could slip into the lobby unnoticed. It still felt risky and her heart continues to pound from those brief minutes as she waited for the taxi driver to get her suitcase out of the boot of the car.
She reaches room 307 and tentatively taps the keycard, anticipating it not working and having to head back downstairs to the reception desk to explain. But no, a greenlight appears with a soft click and she pushes open the door.
The suitcase catches on the door for a second and she grimaces as she tugs it firmly over the threshold. She’s surprised it’s still shut - her usual calm packing approach shot to pieces as she scrambled to stuff everything back into it as well as eat the greasy burger and chips she and Ruby had picked up on the way back to the hotel.
Looking around, she sees the made bed and then slowly spots his stuff dotted around the room. Two large suitcases, both open - one propped up against a wall, the other against the desk unit - with various items of clothes spilling out of them. There’s a water bottle on the bedside table, random cables plugged in, a hoodie slung across the back of a chair, trainers kicked underneath it, a half-empty pack of energy bars discarded on the seat.
Her phone buzzes in her pocket and tugs it out to see a message from him.
Last meeting I promise. I'll be there in an hour x
She replies:
No worries. I just got to the hotel x
Lando: Make yourself at home x
She pauses. What does he mean by that? She looks around for a space to stick her suitcase and realises she's going to have to move a pile of clothes to make room. Is that what he means?
Slowly, carefully, she makes space. She recognises some of the t-shirts and hoodies she moves from his apartment - the rare times they actually wore clothes, she remembers with a faint blush. Every time she moves an item, his scent seems to escape from them, circling her until that’s all she can smell.
At last she manages to squeeze her suitcase up against his. Now what?
She looks at her watch - barely 10 minutes have passed since his text message.
Make yourself at home.
Unzipping her suitcase, she looks at what she hastily packed back in, moving the messier items around to find the neatly rolled up clothes underneath. She debates picking out what to wear tomorrow, checks her phone for the weather, gives up as it feels too much right now and instead goes back to staring at her clothes and wondering what to do next.
She picks up her phone, scrolling to find the right contact and presses the call button.
“Er, why are you phoning me? Haven’t you got better things to be doing right now?”
“He’s not here, Rubes.”
“Oh.”
“I’m just sitting in this hotel room wondering what to do with myself. He’s not going to get here for an hour.”
“Have a shower, put something cute on, get into bed and wait for him?”
“Why do I get the feeling you’ve done this before?”
“You know me too well,” Ruby laughs. “What’s the big deal? I don’t know why you need me to tell you this.”
“Just… He told me to make myself at home. It threw me.”
She hears Ruby sigh. “You need to stop over-thinking. I don’t know how many times I have to tell you that.”
“I know. Okay. Shower. Something cute…” she trails off, her hand drifting over the familiar jumper she never gave back to him. “Bed.”
“Enjoy,” Ruby trills before she hangs up.
Tossing her phone aside, she picks up her wash bag and his jumper.
But she discards the former when she sees his things already neatly lined up in the cubicle. The shower is slightly too hot but she doesn’t care. She just wants that familiar smell of his shower gel and she stands there for way too long breathing it in. It’s all she used at his apartment and every little moment between them comes flooding back.
The way he’d go and get her fresh croissants in the morning, leaving her in bed, wrapped up in the sheets.
The way he always tugged her legs onto his lap when they sat on the sofa watching TV.
The way he always tucked her into his side at night, after making her gasp his name for what felt like hours on end.
Eventually she shuts off the water, dries herself off, removes the rest of her make up and then slips the jumper over her head. Padding back out into the room, she glances at her phone to see another message.
30 minutes x
The time-stamp is 5 minutes ago. Chewing her lip, she glances at her other bag containing her laptop. The only way she’ll stop over-thinking is to distract herself. So she grabs her laptop, pulls back the sheets and settles in.
**
She’s still working her way through her inbox when there’s a soft beep followed by a click of the door lock. She looks up just as he emerges into the room, backpack hanging off one shoulder, his McLaren hoodie slung over the other, his baseball cap resting backwards over his curls.
His eyes drag over her, sitting in his bed, wearing his jumper, his mouth twitching in recognition. His bag slips down to the floor with a soft thud, the hoodie following and then he’s stepping towards her, ridding himself of his trainers before he clambers onto the bed and crawls towards her.
“Hey,” he murmurs softly.
“Hi,” she smiles, closing her laptop and moving it to the bedside table, out of harm's way.
His hands cup her face and she feels herself relaxing into his touch, a shiver curling down her spine as his thumbs brush across her cheeks. His eyes drop to look at his mouth, his head tilting slightly as he closes the gap.
The kiss is soft, tender but deep. His hands slide through her hair, down her back, tugging her towards him as he gently fists a handful of the jumper. Her own hands slide up his arms, fingers fluttering over his biceps, taught against the sleeves of his t-shirt.
He pulls away slowly, resting his forehead against hers for a second.
“I need a shower,” he murmurs, his arms slipping from her.
But before he can move away completely, she grabs his wrist. “Wait.”
“What?” His eyes flicker down to her hand and back up to look at her.
“I didn’t get a chance to tell you earlier - congrats.”
His brows lift slightly.
“For pole, obviously. You were amazing.”
He gives her a shy smile. “Yeah, well I’ve still got a long way to go tomorrow.”
Her fingers tracing over his pulse. “Still. It was impressive.”
He drags his wrist down under her touch so that his fingers can lace with hers as he smiles. “Thanks.”
He lifts her hand with his and her breath catches in her throat as he presses his lips gently to her knuckles, once, twice.
“Shower,” he murmurs again, slipping from her and disappearing into the bathroom.
The room is dim, so she can see a soft glow from under the bathroom door as well as hear the sound of running water.
In Monaco, this would’ve been different. She’d have followed him in an instant.
But now? She’s tempted. But unsure.
Was it an invitation? Or just him being… him? Casual, sleepy, needing to rinse off the day?
She squeezes her eyes shut.
She’s back in his apartment, watching as he leaves her in bed, looking over his shoulder, biting his lip for a split second, his gaze dragging slowly over her as she lies curled against the pillows. He’d give her a soft nod of the head, grinning as she rose from the bed to obediently trot after him, letting him push her against the cold tiles whilst his hands explored every inch of her.
She opens her eyes. But this isn’t then. No nod. No lip bite.
But there was the kiss. The way he held her close. The way his lips brushed over her knuckles. She shakes her head, stopping herself from over-thinking as the shower shuts off.
He reappears a few minutes later, one towel slung low on his hips, the other in his hand as he roughly dries his hair. He pauses, tossing one towel and then the other onto the chair. Mia can’t help but drop her gaze as he heads to the bed naked and pulls the covers back.
The second he climbs into the bed, he’s reaching for her, his hand finding her waist, fingers dragging over the curve of her ass.
He freezes for a second, the realisation that she’s also naked under the jumper hitting him. Her breath hitches as he shifts closer, one leg brushing against hers. He’s impossibly close, his face barely a whisper from hers. His hand stays at her hip, his thumb stroking once, then again slowly. Oh so slowly.
And then he kisses her. Slower still. Yet deeper. Her hand instantly moves to his head, fingers sliding through the slightly damp curls. His hand moves up her back, skimming over the fabric until it finds the curve of her neck.
Her body softens at his touch and she leans willingly into his embrace, completely open for him to do whatever he wants.
But then he pulls back. Just a little.
“Wait,” he mumbles against her lips.
“What’s wrong?” Her voice is breathless.
“Nothing… I just…”
He pauses, pulling back further to prop himself up on one elbow. His hand slips from her neck, a finger trailing over her cheek, under her chin as he tilts her head so he can hold her gaze.
“I… I don’t want you thinking this is something it’s not,” he murmurs.
Mia blinks, her chest tightening.
“I mean - I don’t want you thinking it’s just…” he trails off.
“Sex?” She finishes softly.
He nods slowly. “Yeah. This… This isn’t all this is.”
Her heart pounds. The anxiety, the doubts flooding her for a brief second before they start to ebb away. “I know,” she tells him. And for the first time, she truly means it.
He swallows, leaning in again. But not for another kiss, just to rest his forehead against hers. She feels him take a deep breath as if he’s about to speak again, but he stays quiet. So she says nothing too, just listens to him breathing, her eyes drifting closed. His hand is still on her waist, relaxed, heavy, calming.
After a moment, she murmurs, “Are we trusting each other then?”
She feels him pull back slightly and she opens her eyes to see him looking at her.
“You’re the one who’s naked underneath my jumper,” he says slowly.
“And you’re the one who got into bed fully naked.”
He grins sheepishly before he leans in and kisses her again, softly.
He moves, gently nudging her onto her side so he can curl himself around her, his chest to her back. His arm slips around her waist, his hand resting low on her stomach, but over the jumper. She feels him nestle his face into her hair and she smiles to herself as he takes a deep, slow breath in.
“I missed this,” she hears him mumble quietly. Her heart pounds, her mouth suddenly going dry.
She finds his hand under the duvet, threading her fingers through his.
“I missed it too.”
****
Back soon with the final part... Likes/comments/reblogs welcome! Thank you!
Been hashing this one out for months now and still haven't finished it. Hoping by posting the first part, it will give me the motivation to finish it!
This is the sequel to The Chase. A little update in the world of Lando and Mia, taking place at Zandvoort 2024.
Enjoy!
Pairing: Lando x Fem!OC
Word Count: 2.5k
Warnings: Swearing, little fluffy, lots of references to their previous NSFW fun... 18+, MDNI
Friday
Mia drums her passport against her thigh as she sits in the airport lounge. Glancing at her watch, she sees there’s still 30 minutes before it’s time to board the flight to Amsterdam. Lowering her wrist, she sees her hand tremble and not for the first time.
It did the same last night as she packed her suitcase. And before, when she’d finally said yes to coming to the race, her phone had almost fallen from her grip. She’d managed to hold it together enough that she hoped Lando didn’t notice - although he was too busy grinning ear to ear at the prospect of seeing her again.
She feels the knot in her stomach tighten. On the one hand, she feels giddy with excitement to see him, to touch him, to have him right in front of her, rather than hundreds of miles away and only accessible via her phone. But the giddiness rapidly turns into something else when she remembers this won’t be the same as it was.
This time there’s no safety of his apartment. There’s no peace. No quiet.
The moments of just the two of them will be few and far between. No time just spent wrapped in his bedsheets, passing the hours with chat about nothing as his fingers trail up her arm and hers across his chest before it ends how it always seems to end with them: his hands gripping her hips as they both gasp for breath.
No slow mornings. Or slow evenings for that matter. No chilling in his t-shirt on his sofa, her legs over his thighs, his hand slowly creeping up under the hem of said t-shirt, a finger sliding over her hip and then down following the curve of her underwear, before again, it ends how it always ends between them: him between her legs, her fingers curled in his hair.
None of that.
This time it feels too open, too exposed. It’s public and unknown - at least to Mia. Lando didn’t seem bothered in the slightest at the prospect and she felt a pang of guilt that she couldn’t fully share his enthusiasm. It all just feels… too real. Too much. Too soon.
“Here, have this.” Ruby interrupts her thoughts as she settles into the seat next to her and hands over a glass of champagne. “You look like you need it.”
“Is champagne your answer to everything?”
“Obviously. Especially when it’s free.”
“Thanks for this,” Mia gestures at the lounge.
Ruby waves her thanks away. “Perks of being a frequent flyer.”
Mia takes a sip and exhales slowly. “Is this a bad idea?”
Ruby raises an eyebrow. “Excellent timing as always.”
“It all… It all just feels a bit too real,” she murmurs.
“The man you met a month ago invites you - no, sorry, begs you to come and watch him do his job - an insane job might I add - and you’re worried it all feels a bit too real. It looks like a fucking dream from where I’m sitting.”
“It’s just…” Mia feels her cheeks flush. “We don’t really know each other, do we? I mean, we never really talked-”
“So pray tell, what were you doing every day at his apartment if you weren’t having deep and meaningful conversations?” Ruby’s eyes glint over the top of her glass.
Mia scowls. “Shut up. You know what I mean.”
Ruby waves away her concerns. “You and him have been blowing up each other’s phones non-stop for the last two weeks. Of course you talk.”
“Yeah. But not about anything serious. It’s just…”
“Phone sex?”
“Rubes!”
“What? Those walls in Paris were thin. And you are not as quiet as you think.”
Mia stares at her flabbergasted.
“I’m teasing. Sort of. Anyway, it’s okay for it to just be a weekend where he gets to show off and you get to have fun.”
Mia chews her lip. “Will it be fun? I feel like I’m travelling all this way to barely see him. He’ll have hardly any downtime. And it’s just… different.”
“How so?”
“Those two weeks, it was just like being in a little bubble. It was really intense but we were just hanging out. We barely spoke about anything other than what to eat or do-”
“To each other?” Ruby can’t help but interrupt. “I imagine you’ll spend whatever downtime he has doing exactly that all over again.”
“But it’s public.”
“The time you spend with him doesn’t have to be? Pretty sure anytime he spends away from the track, he’ll be in his hotel room so what’s different from that time in his apartment?”
Mia shrugs. “It just is.” She can feel Ruby’s eyes boring into her head. “Fine, I don’t want to be a distraction.”
“But he invited you,” Ruby says slowly. “You're not showing up unannounced. You didn't push to be invited. He did that off his own back. And anyway, pretty sure he's an expert at blocking out any distractions.”
Mia hears her but she still can't let it go. “I don't think he even gets that much allocation for each race. So why me and you?”
Ruby presses her fingers to her forehead. “The mental gymnastics you are doing to talk yourself out of this are beyond belief. He invited you, M. Accept it. Whatever the reasons. Sex, company, a chance to see what being part of his world means? Any of those reasons sound good to me.”
“He wanted me to come to London.”
“When?”
“When do you think? When he had to go back to the UK to prepare for this half of the season.”
“Why didn't you?”
Mia shrugs. “Felt weird then too.”
“So you came to Paris with me? And had phone sex instead of the actual thing, which was on offer?”
“Don't say it like that,” Mia groans.
Ruby is silent as she drains her glass and glances at her watch. “We’d better head to the gate.”
“Rubes-”
“C’mon.”
“I kept joking that he just wants me there to suck him off.”
Ruby’s eyes widen. “Wow. TMI, M.”
Mia picks at imaginary dust on the table. “What if I'm just some easy hook up for him?”
Ruby reaches over and takes her hand, squeezing it softly. “Okay. I say this with love and kindness. But do you not think that if that's what he wanted, truly wanted, he’d have been spending his nights fucking around with whatever girl he could get? But no. He was texting you non-stop. Calling you. FaceTiming you.” She pauses. “I think you know this isn’t some random hookup anymore. And yeah, that’s probably fucking terrifying to admit. And you don’t have to admit it right now. But you also don’t have to do what you’re doing right now and make up excuses as to why he’s invited you.”
Mia nods, exhaling slowly. “Okay.”
“Okay?”
She nods and Ruby grins. “Then let’s go.”
But just as they stand, there’s an announcement: “Les passagers du vol AF1240 à destination d'Amsterdam ont été retardés - veuillez écouter les mises à jour suivantes. Passengers for flight AF1240 to Amsterdam has been delayed - please listen for further updates.”
“And this is why a lounge is always a good idea,” Ruby grins as Mia slumps back into her chair. “Another glass?”
“Do you rinse the bar when you’re on your way to a brand shoot too?” Mia asks dryly.
Ruby rolls her eyes. “Of course not. But I think these circumstances call for it.”
**
Lando: You should have come here x
Mia: And disturb your beauty sleep? 😉
Lando: Worth it 😏
Mia giggles to herself, earning a soft scoff from Ruby who is on the other side of the double bed.
“Really wish we had booked two rooms now,” Ruby grumbles.
“Well I wasn't planning on sharing with you, was I?”
The delayed flight had put a major dent in her original plan. They were meant to land at six and when she’d agreed to come, Lando had told her in no uncertain words that she should join him at his hotel. She’d been sceptical at the idea but eventually changed her mind thanks to his insistence, not to mention the appeal of seeing him away from the track that first night.
As the hours had ticked by in the hotel lounge, she’d felt the unease build. And when they finally arrived just after ten, her mind had been made up.
Showing up at his hotel in the early evening would have been fine.
But now? Now it felt wrong. Like showing up in the dark meant something else. Like she was smuggling herself in under an expectation. Like the whole weekend would start on the wrong foot.
So while Ruby explained to the receptionist that there would be two guests in one room, Mia typed out a quick message to Lando.
Staying with Ruby. Figured you'd be shattered anyway. Guess I'll see you tomorrow x
And then the back and forth had started, him trying desperately to convince her but she’d remained steadfast. For now at least.
“I don't see why you haven't gone to him anyway,” Ruby says as she props herself up on an elbow.
“It's late.”
“And yet here you are, texting each other anyway. You could be doing whatever you're doing face to face.”
As if on cue, Mia’s phone starts to buzz and Ruby groans. “Bad enough hearing you through a wall.”
Mia ignores her, answering the call. Lando’s face pops up on her screen, his grin wide as he sees her. He's lying in bed, shirtless, one arm stretched over his head, fingers playing absentmindedly with his damp curls.
“Hi,” she says, her own grin matching his.
“You should have come here,” he tells her again. “This,” he gestures to the screen. “Is ridiculous given you are less than a mile away.”
“Good things come to those who wait,” she says with a wink, grinning as he bites his lip, the smirk on his face sending a shiver down her spine.
“You know I don't like waiting.”
Mia giggles as Ruby lets out a loud groan beside her. “Another reason why you should have gone to his hotel - to save me from listening to this.”
Lando’s cheeks flush slightly. “Sorry Ruby,” he calls out. “Someone didn’t mention you were there.”
“Oh yeah. I’m here alright. I didn’t realise the VIP pass truly meant access to all areas,” Ruby says as she leans over to wave at Lando through the screen. She grins as she sees his state of undress. “Oh wow, yeah you really didn’t plan on me being here did you? Mia, what the fuck are you doing in bed with me? I’ll pack your bags for you.”
“Stop it,” Mia gives her friend a gentle shove. “I’m not going anywhere.”
“I’m not sure if I should be taking offense to the fact you’d rather be there than here,” Lando pipes up and Mia turns her attention back to him.
“I… I don’t want to-”
“Distract me?” he finishes.
She nods, watching as he tugs on a curl and then scrapes a hand over his face. “Distraction is exactly what I need,” he tells her.
She gives him a curious look. “Why?”
He shrugs. “Means I don’t overthink everything else.”
She chews her lip. “I’ll bear that in mind.”
“For what?”
“The next time,” she says with a shy grin, as his face cracks into a wide smile, his eyes lighting up.
“Yeah? There’s another race next weekend.”
“Woah, slow down,” she says with a shake of her head. “Can we get through this one first? Plus I’ve got to go home for a few weeks.”
“Where’s home?”
“Wow,” Ruby says dryly. “You guys really didn’t find out much about each other, did you?”
Mia chooses to ignore her. “London. My mum’s there.”
He pauses for a second. “I’ll be in London for a few days after Monza.”
“Good to know.”
Ruby groans again beside her. “You two really need to practice your conversation skills. This is actually painful.”
Lando laughs, his hand disappearing off screen as he chases an itch down his chest. “Okay, okay. Mia, when we’re both in London, maybe we should meet up.”
“Maybe we should,” she grins back, laughing as Ruby pretends to scream into the pillow beside her. “Fine. Yes. Okay.”
“It’s a date,” he winks.
“Only if it takes place outside of a bedroom,” Ruby mumbles, earning another shove from Mia.
“What did she say?” Lando asks.
“She said it only counts as a date if it takes place outside of a bedroom.”
“Damn, well there goes my plan,” he says, his face scrunching up and Mia finds herself thinking how endearing he looks. “I’ll have to think of some alternative date plans then.”
“I don’t know,” Mia muses with a smirk. “Bedroom sounds good to me.”
“Okay, let’s wrap this up before you two start whispering sweet nothings to each other,” Ruby reaches for the phone and Mia knocks her hand away.
“What time are you getting to the track?” Lando asks as Mia twists away onto her side with the phone still in her hand.
“10ish”
He nods. “I’ll try and find you before the final practice session.”
“Don’t worry,” Mia tells him. “I’m sure this one will be sniffing out the champagne and any single man within a hundred metres.” She flicks her thumb over her shoulder towards Ruby. “So plenty to keep me occupied.”
“Sounds like it.” He pauses and then lowers his voice. “Really wish you were here though.”
“Yeah?” she whispers back. “Why?”
He pauses again, chewing his lip. “Just wanna kiss you.”
Mia feels her heart pound. “Same,” she breathes.
He sighs softly. “Well, guess I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Yeah…”
“Night…”
“Night…”
There’s a pause where neither of them move to hang up and then he murmurs something she doesn’t quite catch and then he’s gone. Mia stares at her phone dumbly and then almost jumps when her phone buzzes and she sees a message from Lando.
Not too late to change your mind…
Another buzz. Another message:
There’s a space for you right here…
And then it buzzes again and she swallows. The sheets are pushed right down, daringly low on his hips. The angle of the photo accentuates the V that leads from his stomach down to what is just about hidden beneath the sheets. Her eyes trail up to his chest, his thick neck and the dirty smirk on his lips that makes her cheeks burn. He knows exactly what he’s doing to her. She’s hypnotised, her eyes wandering back down to the sheet rumpled around his waist.
She chews her lip, staring at the screen before she starts to type out a reply.
That’s not helping me sleep, you know.
No, delete.
You think you’re so funny.
Delete again.
Not fair…
No. She deletes each letter slowly. And then, with her heart thudding, stifling a giggle as she imagines his response, she taps out her final reply:
Move that sheet and I’ll show you exactly where I’d like to be.
She hits send before she can regret it.
She can see he’s online. See that he’s read it. But there’s no reply.
And then:
😩😈
****
Back with Part 2 soon...! Likes, comments, reblogs always welcome!
The late summer sun bleeds through the windows, casting golden streaks across the hardwood floor. The house is too quiet. You’ve spent the whole day drifting from room to room, fingertips grazing along surfaces, pretending you weren’t just waiting for Lando to reappear.
Summer break is nearly over, and with the second half of the season looming, he's back to training—even if he hates every second of it. The workouts, the early mornings, the constant push to stay sharp—it’s not his favorite part. But he does it. Because he has to.
But now, standing in the doorway of the home gym, the silence pays off.
He doesn’t see you at first. He's seated on the workout bench, hunched slightly forward, three fingers gripped tightly in his other hand like he's stretching them out—or maybe nursing them. His brows are furrowed, mouth slack with focus. Sweat drips from his hairline down his neck, slicking his collarbones and tracing a line over the flex of his chest.
His thighs straddle the bench, solid and wide, every inch of him brimming with tension from disuse and the stubbornness to push through. You’ve seen him like this before—when he’s about to make a move, whether on track or in bed. This version of him, concentrated and messy, is your favorite.
You forget the words you meant to say. Something about a snack? Or that it’s too hot to be doing this? You can’t even clear your throat, let alone form a sentence. Your legs stay rooted to the floor. The air is thick. His skin glistens.
But it's not his skin that keeps you staring.
It’s his fingers.
The way they curl and flex as he stretches them, knuckles taut, tendons shifting beneath skin. He winces a little as he grips the middle three tighter, jaw ticking. You can’t tell if it’s pain or just pressure but it doesn’t matter. All you can think about is how those fingers would feel against your skin. Inside you. Around your throat. Holding you open.
Your mouth nearly waters.
You cross your legs, needing something—anything—to press against. It barely helps. You can feel your pulse between your thighs.
That’s when he notices you.
“I’m almost done, babe,” he says without much thought, voice low and casual. He glances down at his fingers, still working them slowly. The motion shouldn't feel intimate, but it does.
“Oh,” he murmurs, almost to himself, like he’s suddenly aware of what exactly you're staring at. His thumb strokes along the length of his middle finger, absentminded but devastating.
Your brain stutters back to life, though your voice is breathy when it comes out.
“Ma-maybe I’ll join you.”
His eyes flick up, wide, and for a second it’s like he stops breathing altogether. You take a step forward. Then another. You don’t break his gaze, even as it darkens with something heavier.
He drops his hand to his thigh, still spread wide around the bench, and watches you approach.
“Yeah?” he says, voice rougher now. “You wanna help me stretch?”
“Oh, I don’t know…” you say, voice light, almost innocent. “I think I would take a stretch.”
You hold his gaze, letting it drop ever so slowly—down his chest, to the gleam of sweat on his abdomen, and finally to where his fingers still rest against his thigh. His lips twitch at the corner, but he doesn’t move. Doesn’t speak. He just watches.
You step over the bench and straddle it, knees brushing against his. The closeness makes your breath hitch, the warmth of his skin radiating straight into yours.
“Comfortable?” he murmurs.
“I could be.”
You both glance down at the same time—at his hand. His long, slick fingers. He flexes them again, slower now, deliberately. The movement makes your mouth part on instinct.
“Can’t stop staring,” he says, voice soft and dangerous. “Bet you’ve been thinking about them all day, haven’t you?”
You don’t answer. You don’t need to. The way you shift in place, grinding subtly into the bench for friction, says it for you.
“Tell me,” he leans forward just slightly, voice just for you now, “what exactly do you want them to do, hmm?”
Your breath shudders. He lifts his hand and brings it to your knee—doesn’t even grip, just rests it there—and your whole body tenses.
“I—” Your eyes flick to his hand. “I don’t know.”
He grins. “You do know. Don´t be shy about it now.”
Then, without warning, he brings his fingers to your mouth.
“Open.”
You do. Obedient. Eager.
He slips two in, slowly, and you close your lips around them like you’ve been craving the taste. He groans low and under his breath but you catch it. You swirl your tongue around them, watching his eyes darken, his pupils blown wide as your mouth works him.
“That’s it,” he breathes. “Look at you.”
You moan around them soft, needy and the sound makes his jaw clench. His hand tightens slightly where it rests on your knee.
“Fuck,” he mutters. “You’re soaked already, aren’t you?”
You nod, still sucking, your thighs clenching around the bench. He slowly pulls his fingers out, the sound slick and sinful.
“I haven’t even touched you properly yet,” he says. “And you’re already falling apart.”
You lean in closer, desperate for more, but he just smirks.
“Patience,” he murmurs. “We’re just getting started.”
The air between you crackles, thick and heavy. His fingers are still glistening from your mouth when he slowly drops them to the bench, dragging them along the edge just beside your thigh—close enough to make you flinch, but not touch.
“I could make you come,” he says, almost conversational, “without ever fucking you.”
Your thighs twitch.
“Just these fingers,” he continues, lifting them again, letting you watch every lazy curl and flex. “Two inside, more if you’re greedy. Curl them just right. Thumb on your clit. I wouldn’t even need to move much, you’d do all the work for me.”
You swallow hard, your mouth dry again despite what just happened. You’re starting to breathe through your thighs, desperate for pressure. For anything.
“Poor baby,” he hums. “Already squirming. And I haven’t even touched you there yet.”
He reaches forward now, finally, hooking his hands under your thighs and tugging—slow, strong—until you're sliding forward, legs falling wider around his knees, straddling him open and shameless. The bench presses hard beneath you. The only thing grounding you.
You grip the sides of it to keep yourself upright, arching slightly back as he leans in, his face still maddeningly calm. Like he has all the time in the world.
“Such a good view like this,” he mutters, tugging at the hem of your shorts. “Look at you.”
You make a soft, breathless sound—half protest, half plea—but you lift your hips, let him peel the shorts down, and when he does, he curses.
“Fuck.”
His thumb brushes just barely over the soaked fabric of your underwear. He groans again, dragging the edge aside for a peek.
“Oh, baby… it’s so easy. I knew you were already this wet.”
The sound you make isn't even a moan—more like a gasp, a choke of arousal and embarrassment all in one.
He smiles, slow and sharp.
“You love it when I talk like this, don’t you?”
You nod, breath hitching again as he lifts one hand—that hand—and brings his thumb back to your mouth.
“Open.”
You part your lips again, greedier this time. He slides in with purpose now, pressing down on your tongue, keeping your mouth full while his other hand starts to move—slow, torturous circles against the inside of your thigh.
Not quite where you need him. Not yet.
You moan around his thumb, hips shifting involuntarily, trying to chase friction.
“Not yet,” he says, voice thick with control. “I’ll tell you when.”
And the worst part?
You want him to.
Your breath catches as his thumb presses down harder on your tongue. He watches the way your lips part, the way your jaw slackens around it, like he could read every desperate little thought spilling through your mind just by the way you take his touch.
“Bet you taste as good here,” he mutters, half to himself, then drags his thumb out, wet and glistening.
His other hand trails up—finally, finally—over the inside of your thigh. You feel the brush of his knuckles first, then the slight dip of his wrist as he moves in.
And then contact.
One slow stroke through your folds, slick and unbearably sensitive. You jolt at the first touch, head tipping back slightly, a broken sound slipping from your throat.
He groans softly. “Fuck, you’re dripping.”
You nod, barely breathing, back arching even further, hands gripping the bench behind you so tightly your knuckles go white.
He teases again just one finger, lazy and slow, tracing circles around your entrance without dipping in.
“You want it?” he asks, voice low and smug.
“Y-yes,” you pant. “Please.”
He hums like he’s considering it—like he hasn’t already decided what he’s going to do.
Then, slowly, he slides one finger in.
Your body clenches around it instantly, a shiver running through you at the stretch of it, even if it’s just one. His hand stills inside you, and your hips buck forward instinctively.
But he doesn’t move.
“Feel that?” he asks, leaning in close to your ear, his breath hot against your skin. “Just one, and you’re already so tight.”
You whimper, trying to move your hips again, but his free hand comes down on your thigh—firm, steadying.
“No, baby,” he whispers. “You stay still. You let me have you like this.”
Then, torturously slow, he starts to move that finger—curling it up, dragging it out, then back in. Unhurried. Deep. Precise.
You’re already shaking.
He adds a second, and you cry out, hips rocking despite his grip. He doesn't stop you this time—he lets you ride his hand for a moment, lets you get just enough friction to start climbing toward that dizzying edge.
Then he stops.
Completely.
You gasp, body tense and twitching, your walls fluttering around nothing.
“Lando—please—”
“Not yet,” he says again, with a cruel smile. “You don’t get to come just because you want to.”
You groan, your head falling forward, forehead brushing against his shoulder. You're panting now, every muscle strung tight.
He leans in, kisses your cheek so softly it makes you ache.
“I’ll give you what you need,” he murmurs. “But not until you beg for it. Not until you’re so fucking desperate you can’t say anything else.”
Then—two fingers again—thrusting deep, curling hard into the spot that makes your vision blur.
But just as you start to unravel—
He pulls away.
“Please,” you whisper—voice cracking, small. “Lando, please, I need— I need to—”
He watches you fall apart on the edge of the sentence. Your chest rising and falling, thighs trembling around him, hips twitching as if your body’s trying to finish what he keeps denying.
“Need to what?” he asks, softly cruel. His fingers are still buried inside you, unmoving, just there—reminding you who’s in control.
You shake your head, helpless. “Please. Let me come. I can’t— I need it.”
A long pause.
Then he shifts. His other arm wraps around your lower back, pulling you forward until you’re straddling his thighs completely, chest to chest. You clutch at his shoulders for balance, breath fanning across his neck.
“Alright,” he murmurs, his lips brushing your ear. “You’ve been good.”
And then he moves.
His fingers curl up inside you again, that perfect rhythm returning like he never stopped. Deep and precise. Every stroke sends a sharp, blinding jolt through you. His palm presses against your clit now, every motion designed to undo you.
It doesn’t take long.
You’re already so close, your body trembling with the force of it, moaning shamelessly into his neck. Your hips grind down against his hand, chasing it, needing it.
And when you finally come, it rips through you like a wave—loud and messy, your body jerking, thighs clenching around his. He holds you through it, arm firm around your waist, keeping you grounded while you writhe and cry out against him.
But he doesn’t stop.
His fingers stay inside. His thumb keeps circling. You flinch from the sensitivity, but he just shushes you, his voice all dark velvet now.
“Shh… I know, I know. But you can take it.”
You barely have time to process it before he starts moving again—deeper now, slower but relentless.
You squirm in his lap, trying to lift your hips, but his arm around your back tightens.
“Oh no, baby. Not done yet.”
You’re breathing in gasps now, mind foggy with overstimulation. His fingers drag over that same spot again, and your whole body jerks.
“You think you can take one more?” he asks, voice low and thick.
You don’t know what he means—another orgasm? Another finger?
But it doesn’t matter. You nod, frantic, clinging to him.
“Good girl,” he growls. “Open up for me.”
And then—a third finger presses against your entrance, joining the others slowly, stretching you further than before. Your mouth falls open in a silent cry, head tipping back.
You’re full. Too full.
And still—you want more.
The third finger slides in slow—but it still punches the air right out of your lungs.
The stretch is too much. Too good. You collapse against him without even thinking, your body folding forward as your arms scramble to hold on to something—his shoulders, his chest, his neck. Anything to stop you from tipping over completely.
“Easy,” he murmurs, voice thick with arousal, the barest rasp curling around the word. “You feel that, baby?”
You nod barely, a choked sound falling from your lips that doesn’t resemble a word at all. Just a noise, raw and wrecked.
It goes straight through him.
Your head rests on his shoulder now, lips parted against his skin, and you're making sounds that have no place in the daylight. Unholy sounds—wet and breathy and trembling—moans that spill right into his ear, sending visible shudders down his spine.
He breathes out a curse and tightens his arm around your waist, anchoring you to him.
And then his thumb moves again.
A soft, slow drag over your clit, slick and maddening. Your whole body jerks, thighs twitching violently, but there’s nowhere to go—his hand between your legs, his body caging you in.
You try to close your thighs, instinctively trying to shield yourself from how much it is, but you can’t. Not with him there—his hips wide between yours, thighs bracketing you in place.
“Lando—fuck—Lando, I—” It’s barely a whisper, more like a sob.
You clutch at your own thighs now, hands fisting in your own skin, trying to ground yourself, to hold something through the crushing intensity—but nothing helps. Not when his fingers keep moving, deep and deliberate inside you, his thumb unrelenting.
You’re already there again. It crashes into you like your whole body is detonating from the inside out.
You go still—then trembling—hips stuttering, breath gone completely.
All you can do is whimper, face buried in his shoulder, thighs shaking around him, as your body clenches around his fingers and the high keeps going.
“That’s it,” he growls, voice right in your ear. “So fucking good. God, listen to you. Can’t even talk.”
You shake your head, still trying to breathe. Still feeling it. Still full.
And he hasn’t stopped.
You don’t even realize when he slips his fingers out—when that delicious, punishing stretch is suddenly gone. All you know is the cold shock of emptiness, and the warm, slow tease of him dragging his fingers through your folds instead. Light. Feather-soft. Too soft.
Your whole body twitches, hips trying to follow the sensation, to sink back onto him again—but there’s nothing to sink onto.
“Lando,” you gasp—voice barely there. Just air and heat.
You’re fully collapsed against him now, skin flushed and damp, face buried in his neck, breath stuttering against his pulse. Wrecked. Unraveled. His other hand strokes idly over your lower back, holding you there like you belong.
And those fingers—those fingers—are tormenting you.
They circle the rim of your entrance, slow and teasing, never pressing in. Just tracing, dragging through slick, rubbing softly through folds that are aching, twitching with the aftershocks of your last orgasm and the rising threat of the next.
You let out a broken, pleading noise that you can’t even name. Your whole body trembles against his.
He leans in, mouth grazing the shell of your ear.
“Is this what you wanted?” he whispers, and it’s maddening gentle and cruel all at once.
Your only response is a shiver, a whimper that sounds like yes. He chuckles low in his throat, and you feel it vibrate against your skin.
“I think it is,” he murmurs, dragging his mouth along the side of your neck. “Look at you. Completely gone. Just because of my fingers.”
And then he kisses you there lazy kisses, open-mouthed and slow, just under your jaw, the kind that make your head spin all over again.
“You love being like this, don’t you?” Another kiss, this time higher, nearer to your ear. “Pressed against me, soaking my lap, crying for it.”
He dips his fingers again—just once, shallow, before pulling back and brushing over your clit once and you jolt like you’ve been electrocuted, whimpering into his neck.
“Mm, yeah,” he groans softly, biting your shoulder. “You’ll beg for it again in a minute, won’t you?”
You nod, desperate. Wordless.
And still—he waits.
“Lando, it’s too much, I— I can’t,” you whisper, voice cracking at the edges, more breath than sound.
“I know,” he murmurs.
And still, he doesn’t stop.
He shifts with you like it’s easy, like he’s carried you this way a hundred times. One arm stays locked around your waist, guiding you as he lays you back gently on the narrow bench, body following yours. You're still clutching him, thighs spread and shaking, hips twitching at every brush of air.
“Tell me to stop,” he whispers again, hovering over you, face barely an inch away. “Say the word.”
You don’t. You can’t. You’re too far gone, trembling under the weight of his body and the ache of his absence where you need him most.
He smiles—not smug, but soft. Like he knows every part of you now.
His lips press to yours. A gentle kiss, slow and unhurried, like you're not already soaking his lap and half-crying from how badly you need him. He kisses down your neck, tongue trailing, teeth grazing, then nibbles at the curve of your ear.
You gasp again, another moan escaping you, your body arching into his even without thinking.
Only then does he finally pull his hand up from between your legs, fingers soaked, dripping, glistening in the low light. He stares at them for a beat, breath catching.
“Fuck,” he mutters, eyes dark. “Look what you did.”
You can only watch him wide-eyed, panting, almost pleading.
Then he brings those fingers to his mouth.
And sucks them clean.
Slowly. One at a time. Licking each digit like he’s tasting dessert, groaning low in his throat. His tongue flicks at the base of his knuckles, and your thighs twitch again.
You’re dizzy watching him.
And when he’s done, he looks at you again eyes smoldering now, like he's barely holding himself together.
He reaches down, trailing his wet fingers across your lips.
“Open,” he whispers.
You do.
And he slips them in.
You suck greedily, tongue swirling around them, and it’s him who moans now deep and ragged, his hips dropping hard against yours, finally chasing friction.
The contact shocks a gasp from you both.
You feel it—him—hard and heavy through his shorts, grinding slowly into your soaked heat. The thin barrier does nothing. You feel every movement, every flex of his hips as he lets himself finally take what he needs.
“God, you feel that?” he growls, pulling his fingers from your mouth, dragging them down your chest as he ruts against you. “I’ve been holding back all fucking day.”
His forehead drops to yours, breathing hard.
You’re already so open to him, thighs still twitching, lips parted around the breath you can't catch—so when he finally shifts, tugging his shorts down just enough to free himself, it feels like the world holds its breath.
You certainly do.
And then he presses in.
There’s no warning. No teasing. Just one slow, thick glide of his cock between your folds, catching at your entrance—already so soaked, so ready for him—and then he pushes, hips firm and steady.
You gasp, legs falling wider as he sinks into you inch by inch.
He fills you so deeply it makes your back arch right off the bench, your nails digging into his arms, eyes fluttering shut with a choked moan.
“Fuck, baby,” he groans, voice wrecked. “So tight—always so tight for me.”
He stays there for a moment, buried to the hilt, not moving—just feeling. Letting the stretch and fullness overwhelm you both. You shudder beneath him, chest rising and falling rapidly.
Then he pulls back. Slowly. Until just the tip is left inside.
And thrusts in again deep, deliberate, like he’s staking a claim.
You cry out, head rolling to the side, breath catching.
He finds his rhythm like it’s instinct—slow, firm strokes that rock your body against the bench, controlled but possessive. Every thrust feels like a promise. Like he wants to imprint himself inside you.
“This what you needed?” he murmurs, mouth at your jaw, one hand sliding up to cup your face as he drives into you again. “Needed me to fuck you like this slow and deep, where no one else can ever reach?”
You nod, whimpering, gripping at his back now, trying to pull him impossibly closer.
His forehead presses to yours, lips brushing yours between kisses and curses and panting breaths.
He groans again, slower now, hips dragging all the way out only to slam back in, grinding against your pelvis, his cock hitting every sensitive spot with devastating precision.
“Feel so good,” he whispers. “So fucking perfect like this, spread out for me, taking it all.”
You moan louder, hands tangled in his curls now, body arching into his, chasing every drag and press of his cock like it’s the only thing that matters.
His hand slides down to your thigh, pulling your leg higher around his waist so he can sink even deeper if that was possible. The change in angle rips a cry from your throat.
He groans again, deep and low, like it’s killing him to hold back. But he does. For you.
You don’t know when the tears start.
It’s not from pain—never from that. It’s the pressure, the fullness, the way his cock keeps hitting that spot so deep inside you it turns pleasure into something unbearable, almost too much to hold.
You blink, and they fall—slow trails down your temples as you lie back on the bench, your body trembling, shuddering beneath him. His thrusts haven’t sped up still slow, still deep but they’ve gotten heavier, more deliberate, like every single one is meant to stay with you.
He sees it the second your lip quivers.
“Baby,” he breathes, the word catching in his throat.
He leans in immediately, brushing kisses to your cheeks, catching the tears with his lips as his hand comes up to cradle your face.
“I’ve got you,” he whispers against your skin. “You’re okay. I promise. You’re doing so good for me.”
His voice—low, warm, soothing—makes your chest tighten in a different way, something emotional blooming beneath the tension coiling in your gut.
You’re close again. You can feel it. Your body’s trying to run from it, hips twitching, legs shaking, but there’s nowhere to go not when he’s pressed so deep inside you, holding you so gently even while he fucks you open.
“I know it’s a lot,” he murmurs, kissing your lips now, slow and careful. “You’re so full, huh? So fucking wet, clenching around me like you can’t help it.”
You cry out at that, sobbing into his mouth, your nails digging into his back again as your body tries to contain it this aching pressure, this need to fall apart one more time.
“I’ve got you,” he says again. “Let it go. Let me feel you.”
He shifts just slightly just enough and suddenly that perfect, devastating drag of his cock has you gasping, clenching around him so hard it’s instinct, involuntary.
“Oh my—Lando—fuck—”
“That’s it,” he growls, voice tight and trembling now, his own control slipping as your body contracts around him. “Fuck, baby—God, you’re milking me—”
It tips you over like a wave crashing into shore. Your orgasm rushes up through your spine, curling you forward into his chest as your thighs shake violently around his hips. Your whole body tenses, then breaks sobbing, gasping, your cries muffled against his neck.
And that’s all it takes.
He groans a sound so raw and desperate it vibrates against your heart and his hips slam forward one final time, grinding into you as he comes, thick and hot and deep, filling you completely.
“Fuck—fuck, baby—oh, shit,” he pants, his voice wrecked. “You feel so good—so fucking good—”
His whole body shudders above you, and he collapses into your chest, still inside you, holding you like you might disappear.
You're both breathing hard now, tangled together, soaking and shaking and quiet.
He kisses you again. Your cheek, your temple, your lips. Each one soft, reverent.
“You okay?” he whispers against your mouth, voice hoarse.
“I love you like this,” he says, breath still uneven. “Fucking ruined and mine.”
You're both still trembling, bodies sticky and flushed, tangled together on the narrow bench like the rest of the world doesn't exist.
His breathing slows against your skin. One arm is wrapped tightly around your waist, anchoring you, the other hand tangled in your hair as he presses slow kisses to your temple, your cheek, your jaw.
You smile—barely, weakly—still catching your breath. Your legs feel like they’ve melted.
And then, voice low and wrecked but laced with a tease, you whisper against his neck:
“Thanks for the stretch.”
He freezes for a second—then laughs. That warm, wrecked kind of laugh, breathless and totally undone.
“Jesus,” he groans into your hair. “You’re gonna kill me.”
i’m not gonna sit here and let people rewrite what happened in that lando interview like he was the one out of line. he wasn’t.
rachel’s tone was incredibly condescending. her questions weren't neutral, they were bait. she knew lando was frustrated, knew he’d had contact with max, and instead of asking about the race like a professional, she tried to lead him into saying something she could turn into clickbait. she literally said “what have you learned from this weekend then in battling max because oscar has got past him—" excuse me? EXCUSE ME?
let me paint you little picture of an f1 driver who takes six laps to get past the leader of a race, and only manages it because said leader makes a mistake. then let's paint another picture and put it right next to the first one, of an f1 driver who takes FOUR laps to get past the same driver. guess who’s who? yeah. the second one is lando.
what kind of passive-agressive nonsense is that question. and what exactly is the 'lesson' he’s meant to learn here?
also, and i can’t believe this needs to be said, if you’re a journalist, maybe lead with facts and not whatever vibes you thought you picked up from watching two overtakes and jumping to conclusions. professionalism isn’t that hard.
this is the same guy who defended mariana becker when another journalist tried to belittle her. he’s been consistently respectful in media pens, even when he’s clearly upset, and that includes with female reporters. the issue isn’t this perception of him being disrespectful, the issue is that some journalists push for drama and then act shocked when drivers push back.
he didn’t disrespect her. he didn’t raise his voice. he didn’t insult her. he didn’t storm off. he just didn’t let her lead him into a gotcha quote, and now people are acting like he personally set women in motorsport back fifty years. there isn't another driver on that grid who gets the treatment lando does from fans and let's not forget, when max answers questions in the exact same way, he's praised (actually, he's praised for putting other drivers into the wall so the bar is on the floor for him).
i’m tired of watching people invent narratives because they hate a driver (for the most moronic things). being blunt isn’t a crime. setting boundaries isn’t disrespect. and not feeding into clickbait? honestly, that should be praised.
my dream as a fanfic writer is for one day, one of my fics to be someones comfort fic. like the fic that they reread when they don't feel good and want to be happy. i want my words to comfort someone one day
