Warnings: mentions of alcohol, drugs, mature language
Previous | next
Saturday 11 pm. Be ready. Pip
Pip texted you Saturday morning and you accidentally (or not) forgot to text Dan. Shit happens. As promised, Pip came to pick you up at around 10.30, but you had to sneak out of the house.
“And where are you going?” Your father’s voice came from the living room. Crap. It’s difficult to sneak on a policeman. “I made some friends and they invited me for a sleepover” you lied. “You already made friends?” He asked incredulously. “Yes, Dad. I’m quite likeable, you know” you rolled your eyes. “I know that. Is Da Silva invited too?” He asked. “Maybe he’ll show up. Anyways, I’ll be fine.”
“I know. Take care and text me when you come home.”
“Will, Dad” you said before leaving the house and jumping into Pip’s car. Pip introduced Ravi and asked about where your bodyguard was. “Probably sleeping” you shrugged. “Who? Dan?” Ravi asked. “Yea. Long story, don’t ask” you replied. “So what are we gonna do? When we get there, I mean” you asked. “Well, what do you want to know?” Pip asked. “If he knows if Max went to calamities in other towns, obviously using the drugs Howie was selling” you explained. “No further questions” Ravi said.
“So where’s this party?” You asked as Pip stopped the car near a forest. “The Caves. We have to walk to get inside” Pip explained. “You don’t seem the type to know it around here” you said. “She has experience with this” Ravi said sarcastically. “No further question, Ravi” you joked.
“Oh no”
“What, Pip?”
“Did you text Dan?”
“Who?”
“Da Silva”
“Ah, no. Why?”
“Because he’s right there” Pip said and you all looked where she was pointing.
—
You got out of the car and spotted Dan at the cave entry. He looked unusual with normal clothes. You could see colourful lights and already drunk teenagers around. “Never got your text, Cooper” was the first thing he said. “Because you’re not invited, Da Silva” you replied. “And why is that?”
“You’re old. And I’m very well on my own”
“Yeah right. You don’t even know what’s in there. Pip can tell you, can’t you Pip?” Dan asked.
“Okayyy, let’s go inside” Ravi said before any of you could come up with another sarcastic remark.
———
The smell of drugs and alcohol hit you instantly. Everything around you was blurry, just like that night. All your memories came back and you felt like suffocating. “Let’s find Howie fast and get out of here” you said. “Don’t you enjoy parties, Cooper?” Dan asked. “You can stay more if you want. I don’t” you replied. “If we split, we might find him faster” Pip suggested. So you were stuck with Da Silva again. Some slimy guy approached you, offering you a drink, saying something about going to some room. Dan shoved him out of the way (Bodyguard duties), but not before the drink ended up spilled on your t-shirt.. “I could’ve done that” you said. “And worse” Dan replied. “That was one of my favourite t-shirts by the way” you whined. “I’ll buy you a new one, Cooper”.
Around a corner, you saw a group of guys smoking and talking. One of them seemed to be Howie, as Pip described his physical appearance to you. You went closer, but he wasn’t the person you were looking for. “Damn, girl. Wanna fuck?” What was with all these slimy guys here. “No thanks” you replied, pushing him away. “C’mon. I have drugs. You won’t remember anything” he insisted. “She said no” Dan interrupted. “I know you want to get some p*ssy, but leave us alone” the drugged guy said. “And he will” you stated. “Kiss me” you whispered to Dan. “What?”
“God’s sake” you rolled your eyes and pressed your lips to his. “Ah I see” the slummy guy stumbled away. You wanted to break the kiss, push Dan away, but his grip on your waist tightened as he deepened the kiss. His hand at the small of your back pressed your palms against his chest. He was a good kisser, but he didn’t have to know that. “Get a room” someone said. Dan immediately recognised the voice and pulled away. “That’s him.” He took your hand and followed the guy. You were still feeling dizzy from that kiss or because drugs were in the air. Who knows?
You turned around a corner and here he was. “Hey, man. My girl wants some drugs from you” Dan said casually. “Sorry but you don’t seem the type” the dealer replied bored. “Then she wants to ask you a question” Dan said. “That also costs money” Howie grinned. “DAN! What the hell?” You shouted as he shoved Howie against the wall. “You’ll reply to her question. Or I’ll make sure you get back in prison” he warned. “Alright, man. Calm down” Howie blabbered. “Ask away.”
“Were you selling drugs to Max Hastings?”
“I thought everyone knew that” Howie replied and Dan shoved him harder. “Alright, yes”
“Do you know where Max was using those drugs?”
“At parties, just like this one”
“Do you know if he attended parties in other towns?”
“Yea, he did. Said the chicks here ain’t funny”
“Do you remember if he mentioned any town?”
“Oh here you were” Pip and Ravi appeared around the corner.
“Yeah, yeah. It was something like Eshcamb or something”
“Ashcombe?”
“Yeah, that’s it”
As soon as the words left his mouth, you collapsed on the floor. Pip, Ravi and Dan were immediately by your side. You don’t remember what happened after, just that Dan carried you outside in his arms and you were in his car on the way home.
“This was a stupid idea. Very stupid” Dan said. “Hey… I can’t go home. I told my Dad I have a sleepover with some friends” you said when you could think straight. Never going to that freaking parties ever again. “Do you even have friends?” He asked. “Yea. Unlike you, Da Silva”
“What am I gonna do with you now?”
“Can I…” you doubted if it was a good idea after what happened tonight. “Come at your place?” He shot you a shocked look. “I guess… I live with my sister, Nat” he shrugged. “It’s okay. If you want. It was just an idea. You can say no.”
“I don’t want to say no. Plus, I’m not letting you sleep God knows where” he said as he parked the car in front of his house.
“Your last chance to say no”
“Not a chance” he said, unlocking the door. You stepped inside. Small, minimalist, just like him. Wait why do you know that? “There’s a guest room on the left” he whispered. “Why are you whispering?”
“Where were you at this hour?” A short blonde haired girl appeared from the living room. She looked over to you, then back at Dan. “You have a girlfriend and didn’t tell me? I feel offended” she faked crying. “Nat, this is Y/N, not my girlfriend” Dan said. “Nice to meet you” you said. “Same to you. You went to a party?” She asked shocked, seeing the stain on your shirt. “No”
“Don’t lie, Da Silva” you mused.
“Oooo! I like her already” Nat grinned. “As I was saying, the guests room’s on the left. I’ll bring you some new clothes” Dan said and disappeared into his room. “So… tough night?” Nat asked. “Can’t even imagine” you replied. “First time in there?” She asked. “Unfortunately, not. As ugly as I remember” you said. “Found some of Nat’s old clothes. They’ll fit you” Dan said, throwing you a bunch of clothes. “It’s more romantic if they’re your clothes” Nat suggested. “I think I’m fine. Thanks” you said, trying to find your way to the room. “On the left. The bathroom is on the right” Dan said as you entered the room.
Back in the living room, Nat and Dan were having a fiery conversation. “Just don’t make her feel weird” Dan said. “Me? You’re making things weird” Nat replied. “Don’t imply things like ‘oh your girlfriend’s here’ because she’s not my girlfriend. She’s my boss’s daughter and he asked me to protect her.”
“Okay bodyguard. Don’t get angry with me. But she looks like she’s seen death people” Nat said. “Parties ain’t my cup of tea really” you said. “How much did you hear?” Dan asked. “I wanted some water. You can continue arguing” you said, going in the kitchen. “I’ll bring you some. Go back” Dan said. “Okay, Dad” you rolled your eyes and Nat snorted. “Just act normally” was the last thing Dan said to his sister. “You’re the one freaking out, not me” she replied and went to her room.
“Come in” you said after hearing a knock at the door. “Here’s a glass of water. Do you need anything?” Dan asked. “They don’t fit you?”
“I guess yea, but I wanted to take a shower first” and wash the smell of drugs or rather the memory of that night. “Yeah uh bathroom’s right here” he pointed back to a door. “Thanks. Also I think the top won’t fit me. Can you bring me another t-shirt?” You asked. “Yea sure. You’ll find a towel in there” he said and you entered the bathroom.
Shower thoughts. Worse things ever Uf you don’t hold a concert. If Max was there that night…. he was there I know it…. he drugged those poor girls… he must pay for that… also…Nat’s clothes would fit you just right….why did you lie…. he might bring one of his…. not that it would make any difference… did you like that kiss…. no, don’t go there, Y/N… it’s dangerous territory.
When you were done with the shower, you went back to the room and got dressed. Yeah, definitely one of Dan’s t-shirt because it was way too big. “Everything good?” His voice snapped you out of any thoughts you could have. “Y-yeah. Fine. Thanks for letting me stay” you said. “Sure. I’ll see you in the morning. Goodnight, Cooper.”
“What do you mean they’re reopening the case? They didn’t find me guilty for the charges”
“There seems to be a secret witness”
“And she or he decided to appear now?”
“It seems so”
“Fuck”
Max was arguing with his lawyer.
“When will they bear witness?”
“I don’t know yet. We’ll keep in touch”
— Y/N’s pov—
The following day, you decided to go running without your bodyguard. You decided to re-listen to the podcast on the way, but bumped into someone who Adi happened to be running. “Sorry” you said, picking up your AirPods and checking to see if the person was alright. “Haven’t seen you around here” the guy said. “Goldfish memory. I think these are yours” you said, giving him a pair of pods. “What was said in the podcast… it’s not true” he said, giving yours back. “And you expect me to believe you, Max Hastings?” You asked. “You’re the secret witness. Because of you, they’re reopening the case”
“No shit Sherlock”
“Why are you doing this to me? You and Pip, I bet you get along well”
“Ha! You see, Max, the thing about surprises is that they’re either good or bad. But you don’t get to choose which ones you get. I’ll see you in court” you said, speeding off before he could say anything.
— on the phone —
“I think I met Max”
“What? Y/N, he could hurt you”
“I’m fine. I just…”
“I’ll come pick you up. Send me the location”
“Thanks, but I wasn’t in any danger, Da Silva”
“Max is dangerous. It’s better to avoid him”
“We just bumped into each other”
“Then why did you call me, Cooper?”
“Don’t flatter yourself. You’re still my bodyguard remember?”
“I thought you didn’t need one”
“Maybe I was wrong” you shrugged. “Yeah sure. Just don’t risk it before the trial” he said, dropping you home. “Thanks, Da Silva”
——— Y/N’s pov ———
You were in your room, taking notes on what you discovered so far.
Andie was selling drugs to Max
Max used the drugs on Becca
Andie and Becca had a fight => Andie’s death
“Y/N!! We have guests for dinner” your father called from downstairs. Yeah, just what I wanted. You heard a rock hit the window to your room. What the hell. You looked out of the window, but couldn’t see anyone. “Y/N!!” “I’m coming.”
You went downstairs. Of course your dad invited Inspector Hawkins and Da Silva. Great. Now you had to make conversation with them. “Y/N, bring the dessert. She made it” your father said. You went to the kitchen and found a note on the counter top.
We need to talk
You went back to the living room with the desserts, while your dad and Hawkins were talking. “You wanted to talk about something?” You whispered to Dan.
“Now you want to make conversation”
“I’m serious, Da Silva”
“Not really”
“Did you tell my father about that?”
“What?”
“M A X”
“I should tell him”
“What to tell me?” Your father butted in. “And what are you whispering about?”
“Dan wanted to tell you that we’re going in the garden” you lied, standing. “Alright” your dad shrugged. “You coming?” You whispered yelled to Dan. “Yeah.”
“Why do you keep lying?”
“Not your business, Da Silva”
“It is. Just say the truth”
“Like Max did?” You asked and heard a snort. “That wasn’t me” Dan said. “Nice one” Pip came from behind the bushes. “Did you get my note?” She asked. “Yeah. Could’ve signed it” you rolled your eyes. “What are you doing here, Pip?” Dan asked. “Just came to talk to her” Pip shrugged.
“About what?”
“Not your business, Da Silva”
“About Max. Are you the secret witness?” Pip asked. “She can’t tell you that” Dan said.
“Yes, I am”
“Cooper! Your identity was supposed to be a secret.”
“Whatever. We need to make Max go down. Bad” you said. “I’m with you” Pip said. “This won’t be good” Dan sighed. “Why is he here?” Pip asked.
“I’m her bodyguard”
“Unfortunately” you said. “I need to find the drug dealer.”
“Howie Bowers” Pip said.
“And where can I find him?” You asked. “Not even think about it, Cooper”
“At calamities”
“Don’t even—“
“Don’t be such a mouse, Da Silva” you said. “Have you ever been to one of those? Do you know what’s there in that hell hole?” He asked, angrily. “Shut up, Da Silva” you said through greeted teeth. “There’s one at the weekend. We can go. I’ll bring Ravi” Pip suggested. “Absolutely no” Dan said. “Great idea, Pip” you said. “Then I’m coming too” Dan said.
“Aren’t you too old for that?” You snorted. “Ha ha. Very funny”
“Here’s my number. We’ll keep in touch” Pip said, leaving.
“Are you always like this?”
“Like what?”
“Stubborn, Cooper”
“Sometimes”
“You and Pip are alike. Trouble”
“You can stay at home, Da Silva. But I’m going to the party”
“Absolutely not alone. Your father would kill me”
“He’d do me a favour” you replied.
“Hey! What are you doing there?” Your father asked. Good thing you were behind a bush. “Just talking with Da Silva” you said, going back into the house. “Actually I was just about to leave” Dan said. “Don’t ruin my plans” you whispered, looking him death in the eyes. “I’m coming with you. Just text me okay” he said. He was sticking around too much for your liking.
summary: lando norris is sick of the constant matchmaking attempts from team principals, sponsors, and fellow drivers. After yet another dinner where an older executive tries to set him up with his “brilliant and beautiful” niece, he snaps. In a moment of desperation, he turns to y/n, a friend-of-a-friend who’s equally unimpressed by the F1 circus. She’s witty, down to earth and most importantly, doesn’t care about his fame.
warnings: none
part 2
Lando sighed as he sat in his car, gripping the steering wheel a little too tight. Another sponsor dinner. Another room full of dusty old farts in suits, each one more eager to squeeze him into their corporate mould than the last.
They wanted to integrate every aspect of his life, his social media, his dating life, even his hobbies all under the guise of “brand synergy.”
Fine. Fine. He could do this. He could smile, nod, and pretend he cared about their latest innovative campaign featuring some overpriced watch or cologne. Because the alternative? Zak’s wrath tomorrow. And no one wanted to deal with Zak when he was in a mood.
With a groan, he dragged himself out of the car and trudged toward the venue, his polished shoes clicking against the pavement like a countdown to his own slow death.
The moment he stepped into the room, the scent of expensive cologne and forced enthusiasm hit him like a wall. Executives in stiff suits mingled with brand sponsors who looked at him like he was a living billboard they’d just won the rights to.
One of them, some guy from a luxury watch company immediately latched onto him, already mid-sentence about “aligning his personal brand with their legacy.” Lando pasted on his most charming smile, but inside, he was screaming.
A hand clapped his shoulder firm, proprietary, the kind of grip that said, “This one’s mine,” He turned to find Richard Vale, a silver-haired sponsor from some luxury watch brand, beaming at him like a proud uncle.
“Lando, my boy!” Richard boomed, “You remember my niece, right? Clara? She’s here tonight!” Lando’s stomach dropped. Oh no.
Before he could protest, a woman stepped forward tall, polished, with a smile that had been rehearsed in front of a mirror. Clara Vale. She extended a manicured hand, “Lando, it’s so lovely to see you again.”
Lando shook her hand, his grip just a little too tight, “Likewise.”
Clara’s eyes flickered with something like calculation, “I was just telling Uncle Richard how much I love following F1. Such dedicated fans, aren’t we?”
Lando’s smile felt like it was cracking, “Oh, you’re a fan, are you?” He could already see the headlines: ‘Lando Norris and Clara Vale: A Match Made in Sponsor Heaven.’
Richard clapped his hands together, "Why don’t the two of you sit together for dinner? I’ve put you at the same table!”
Lando’s teeth ground together. Of course you did.
The dinner was a nightmare. Clara spent the first twenty minutes grilling him about his long-term plans. Not his career. Not his goals. His personal life.
“Do you see yourself settling down soon?” she asked, swirling her wine like it was a magic 8-ball. Lando nearly choked, “Uh. I—”
“Because my uncle says you’re very focused on your career right now,” she continued, as if this were a normal conversation,“But everyone needs balance, don’t they?”
Lando’s fork hovered over his plate. Balance? He wanted to scream. He wanted to throw his napkin down and walk out. But that would mean Zak’s wrath, and Lando wasn’t in the mood for another lecture about “professionalism.”
Instead, he forced a laugh,“Yeah. Balance. Totally.”
Clara leaned in, “You know, my friend Sophia is also into motorsport. She’s a huge fan.” Lando’s eye twitched. “She’s adorable,” Clara pressed, “And she’s dying to meet you.” Lando’s grip on his fork whitened his knuckles.
By the time he escaped the restaurant, Lando was running on empty.
He slid into his car, slamming the door behind him. The silence was a blessing. For the first time all night, he could breathe.
But the relief was short-lived. His phone buzzed another text from Richard Vale. “Great to see you two getting along! Sophia would love to meet you at the next event, let’s set something up!”
Lando hurled his phone into the passenger seat like it had personally offended him.
This was it. He was sick of it. Sick of being a pawn. Sick of being paraded around like a prize stallion at a county fair. He started the engine and peeled out of the parking lot, the city lights blurring past him as he drove.
By the time he got home, Lando was a shell of himself.
He kicked off his shoes, tossed his jacket onto the couch, and collapsed onto his bed. The soft sheets felt like heaven against his tense neck and back muscles. He stared at the ceiling, his mind racing, “What the hell am I doing?”
Then, in a moment of desperation, he sat up. Max. Max would understand and hopefully help. He dialled his best friend’s number, pressing the phone to his ear. Max picked up on the first ring, “Dude! How was the dinner?”
Lando rubbed his face, “I need your help.” was silent for a beat. Then, cautiously, “What happened?” Lando exhaled, long and shaky, “I can’t do this anymore, Max. I can’t deal with constant interrogations at every dinner, the nagging about my personal life."
Another pause. Then, Max’s voice softened, “Okay. Okay. What do you need?”
Lando swallowed hard, “This may sound crazy but I need someone who doesn’t care about my fame, who’ll keep me grounded, who’ll tell me when I’m being an idiot.”
Max chuckled, “Sounds like you need a therapist.”
“No,” Lando’s voice was firm, “I need a cover.” Max went quiet, then slowly, “How about y/n?”
“The y/n?” Lando questioned, “The one who hates F1 and is absolutely nuts?” Max whistled, “The one and only.” Lando was desperate and he honestly could not think of anyone else who might have given him a chance without selling out to the press for their 5 minutes of fame.
Lando knew you all the way back from his karting days in Europe. Max, Lando, and a few others had raced together in junior series, and your brother Jake, had been one of their mechanics. A quiet, intense guy who never spoke much but fixed engines like magic.
You had been around the paddock back then helping Jake with designs, sketching custom decals for their karts, always with a sharp eye and sharper tongue. You’d been the one to redesign their team livery one year, turning their clunky sponsor-heavy look into something sleek and modern. Lando had hated how much better it was than his own.
You’d called him out more times than he could count.
“Your social media posts look like a sponsor’s brochure, not a person’s feed,” you told him once, after he’d posted a glossy ad for his sunglasses collection, “If you’re going to post, at least make it yours.”
Lando had bristled. But deep down? He’d known you was right.
You kept in touch after Jake moved on to bigger teams, Max and you had stayed friends, bonding over their shared disdain for F1’s superficial side. Lando had seen her a few times over the years, always at random events, always unimpressed by all the glitz and glamour. And now? Now he needed that unimpressed, brutally honest, design-major friend more than ever.
Max was silent for a long moment then, cautiously, “You realize she’s not just some random person, right? She’s—”
“I know who she is,” Lando cut in, “And she already knows me. Remember karting? Remember how she used to roast my social media?”
Max let out a low laugh, “Damn. You’re really scraping the barrel now.”
Lando’s jaw tightened, “I don’t care. I need someone who’ll tell me the truth. The only one who’ll look at me and see Lando, not Lando Norris, F1 Driver."
Max sighed, “Alright. I’ll text you her number. But if she roasts you into next week, do not say I didn’t warn you.” Lando almost laughed. Almost, “I can handle it.”
(He hoped.)
The next day Lando stared at his phone screen, your contact info glowing back at him. His thumb hovered over the screen before he finally typed out a message.
L: Hey. It’s Lando. Max gave me your number. I need a favour. A big one.
L: Are you free for a drink? Somewhere neutral. Somewhere you won’t have to pretend to like me.
He hit send before he could second-guess himself. Then he threw his phone onto the bed and paced the length of his apartment.
His phone buzzed, Lando lunged for it, heart in his throat.
Y/n: Wow. You actually went there. Fine. But only because I want to see if you’ve gotten any worse at being insufferable since the last time I saw you.
Y/n: Meet me at Fog and Fern in an hour and if you’re late I’m leaving.
Reading your replies, Lando grinned genuinely for the first time in days.
Lando arrived fashionably late (because of course he did), scanning the room for you, then he saw you, dressed in casual clothes and hair tied back, a sketchbook open in front of you. You were doodling in the margins and your brow furrowed in concentration, completely unaware of the room’s attention.
He hesitated but made his way over to your table, as he approached he cleared his throat, “Hey.” You flipped a page in your sketchbook, still not glancing at him, “You’re late.”
“Five minutes,” Lando protested.
“In my world, that’s eternity,” you said dryly, “Sit down, Norris and tell me what you need me for enough to actually contact me.”
“Sooo?” you said, finally looking up.
Lando blinked, “Please don’t think I’m crazy but I need you to be my fake girlfriend,” he quickly said.
Your eyes were sharp, assessing, and completely unimpressed, “You want me to be your fake girlfriend.” “Uh. Yeah.” He said feeling on edge.
“Why me?”
“Because you’re the only one who won’t suck up to me,” he admitted, “Because you’ve seen me at my worst remember our karting days? And you’re one the only person I know that won’t kiss up to me for their 5 minutes of fame.”
You leaned back, crossing your arms, “And what do I get out of this?”
Lando raised an eyebrow, “What do you want?”
“A design project,” you said instantly, “Your racing suit is hideous. I could redesign it into something sleek and modern.”
Lando grinned, “Deal.”
You smirked, “Don’t look so happy. This is a business arrangement.”
“Sure,” Lando said, leaning forward, “So, partner let’s get to work.”
Fast forward to the week of the Monaco Grand Prix and you are almost at Lando’s apartment, over the past few weeks you and Lando had kept in contact though texts here and there and came up with the kick off your plan at the grand prix with the most eyes everywhere.
You arrived at his door and shoot him a text that you’re outside, in less than a minute the door opens and Lando stood there, leaning against the doorframe, his hands tucked into the pockets of his jeans, he looked taller than you remembered.
His hair was messy, like he’d been running his hands through it all day, and his T-shirt clung to him in a way that made you realize she’d never seen him off-duty before. For a second, neither of you spoke.
Then Lando pushed off the doorframe, his grin widening, “Took you long enough.”
You stepped inside, your bag slung over your shoulder, “Traffic.”
“Bullshit,” he said, shutting the door behind you, “You just like making me wait.”
You smirked, “Maybe.”
The apartment was even better in person warm, lived-in, and full of character. The floor-to-ceiling windows framed the Mediterranean Sea, the water shimmering under the afternoon sun. It felt like a home, not a showroom.
You dropped your bag by the door, “This place is actually… nice.”
Lando raised an eyebrow, “High praise.”
You walked over to the window, your fingers brushing against the sill as you took in the view, “You’re not what I expected, Norris.”
“Good or bad?” he asked, stepping beside you.
“Still deciding,” you admitted.
He laughed, and the sound filled the room in a way that made her chest tighten.
After getting set up in his guest room and changing into some comfy clothes you wondered into the kitchen where Lando was staring blankly at a menu, phone in hand.
Lando glanced up, relieved, “I was thinking Italian. Or Thai. Or… I don’t know, something that doesn’t require a Michelin-starred chef.”
You laughed, “Smart man.”
They settled on Thai food, green curry, pad Thai, and spring rolls and Lando ordered with the enthusiasm of someone who’d never actually used a food delivery app before. ”Extra chili sauce,” he added, “I like it spicy.”
You raised an eyebrow, “You say that now…”
The food arrived steaming and fragrant, and they spread it out on the coffee table in front of the couch. Lando had already cracked open a bottle of wine, and you had claimed the spot by the window, where the view of the city at night was stunning.
You took a bite of pad thai and nodded, “Not terrible.”
You wiped your hands on a napkin and leaned back against the couch, “Alright. Let’s talk about this.”
Lando swallowed, “The fake relationship?”
“Yeah.” You swirled your wine, “We need to get this right. No room for mistakes.”
“Agreed.”
You pointed at him with your chopsticks, “First rule, we keep it believable, no obvious tells.”
“No tells like you rolling your eyes every time someone mentions F1.” Lando mimed the motion.
“Got it,” you said, “No eye-rolling. What else?”
“Second rule, we have to sell it. A lot of hand-holding, arm around the waist, the occasional ‘accidental’ kiss if the moment calls for it.”
You smirked, “Accidental kiss?”
“Yeah,” Lando said, trying to sound casual, “Like, if someone’s taking a photo, we lean in. Something like that.”
You raised an eyebrow, “And if I want it to be less accidental?”
Lando’s brows shot up, “What?”
“I’m just saying,” you said, shrugging, “If we’re doing this, we might as well commit, because I don’t do half-assed performances.”
Silence stretched between them, thick and uncomfortable in the best way. Lando cleared his throat, " Third rule, we don’t overdo it. No PDA in private. If we’re alone, we can be ourselves.”
Lando laughed, “Noted.”
Your tone turned serious, “Fourth rule, no falling for each other. This is a business deal, nothing more.”
Lando’s grin faltered, “Seriously?”
“Seriously,” you said firmly, “We keep emotions out of it. No messy feelings, no complications.”
Lando clinked his glass against yours, “Deal.”
He held your gaze, and for the first time, he really looked at you not as a shield, not as a fake girlfriend, but as Y/N.
summary: lando norris is sick of the constant matchmaking attempts from team principals, sponsors, and fellow drivers. After yet another dinner where an older executive tries to set him up with his “brilliant and beautiful” niece, he snaps. In a moment of desperation, he turns to y/n, a friend-of-a-friend who’s equally unimpressed by the F1 circus. She’s witty, down to earth and most importantly, doesn’t care about his fame.
warnings: none
Two days before the Monaco Grand Prix Lando and you thought that it would be a good idea to test the waters by going to a small café nearby. You sat beside him in the passenger seat, sunglasses perched on your head and fingers tapping absently against the door. You glanced at him with a neutral but curious expression.
“You’re quiet,” Lando said, glancing at you.
“I’m observing,” you replied with a measured tone, “Which is apparently a crime in your world.”
Lando smirked, “Not a crime just… unusual.”
You pulled up to the café, a charming little spot with wrought-iron tables and a view of the harbour. Lando killed the engine and turned to her, “Ready?”
You pushed open your door before he could finish, “I was born ready.”
Lando stepped out, meeting you on the sidewalk, “You’re annoyingly confident.”
“And you’re stuck with me,” you shot back, though your tone lacked the usual bite.
The café was busy but not crowded, the kind of place where locals and tourists mixed without anyone batting an eye. They slid into a corner table, and you immediately picked up the menu, scanning it with a critical eye. “Do not order anything weird,” you warned, though it sounded more like a matter-of-fact statement after the other night with the chili sauce.
Lando picked up his own menu, though he already knew what he wanted, “I’ll have you know my taste is refined.”
You didn’t look up, “Whatever you say Norris.”
You ordered coffee and pastries, and for a while, they just sat in silence, sipping their drinks. You stirred sugar into your coffee, “So what’s the plan for the race weekend? The whole public couple thing?” Lando set his cup down, “We stick to the rules. No obvious tells, touch when it’s necessary, keep it believable.”
You nodded, “And if someone asks about us?”
“We say we’ve known each other for years. Old friends.”
Your fingers tapped the table, “Old friends,” She tested the phrase, your tone sceptical. “That’s it?”
Lando shrugged, “What else do you suggest?”
“I don’t know. Maybe something about how we met? Like… in karting? Or through Max?”
You nodded, with a neutral expression, “Fine. Through Max.”
Lando turned back to you just in time for the server to bring you’re your pastries, as she rested down your plates she turned as said, “Aren’t you two lovely?”
You both blinked and the older lady grin widened, “You remind me of my husband and I when we were younger.” You could practically feel Lando trying to decide whether to correct her but you squeezed his arm for him to remember what today was about. The woman clearly mistook the silence for shyness.
“Oh, don't worry,” she continued, “I won't embarrass you too much.” Too much. That implied some amount of embarrassment was already planned, wonderful.
Lando recovered first, “What makes you think we're together?”
The woman looked between the two of you as if the answer should have been obvious, “Darling, I've owned this café for twenty years.”
“Okay...”
“I've watched first dates, blind dates, breakups, proposals, affairs, marriages, and at least three people who thought they were being subtle when they absolutely weren't.” Lando's grin was already starting to appear, you immediately disliked where this was going.
The woman pointed toward him, “For starters, you walked in holding the door for her.”
“That's just being polite,” you stated trying to brush it off.
“No,” She shook her head, “Being polite is holding the door which he did as well however, looking over your shoulder three times to make sure she actually follows you inside is boyfriend behaviour.”
You turned toward him and Lando suddenly found the floor fascinating. Then she pointed at you, “And you.” You immediately straightened, “What about me?”
“Every time he talks, you pretend you're annoyed,” Lando made a triumphant noise, the traitor. The woman continued, “But every time he looks away, you smile.” Your stomach dropped.
Beside you, Lando went completely silent, “Oh, that's interesting,” he said after a moment.
While you refused to look at him, Lando looked unbearably pleased with himself and you considered leaving. The woman laughed again before leaning against the counter, “Young people always think everyone around them is paying less attention than they actually are.”
The teasing in her voice softened, “Whatever it is, though, it's sweet.” Something about that made the conversation falter because unlike the jokes, that comment wasn't exaggerated it was genuine. For a second, neither you nor Lando seemed to know what to do with it.
Then the woman smiled and picked up her notepad, “Now. Before I start charging you for relationship counselling, can I get you both anything else?”
The tension broke immediately, Lando let out a breathless laugh and you looked down at now slightly cold croissant and despite it all, you found yourself smiling. This time, when you glanced up, Lando caught it. Neither of you looked away quite as quickly as you probably should have.
By the time you stepped back onto the street, the afternoon sun had climbed high enough to cast the harbor in brilliant light. The water glittered beyond the rows of yachts, and the sidewalks were beginning to fill with tourists taking advantage of the weather.
You adjusted the strap of your bag as you walked beside Lando. The café had gone better than expected, not that you planned on telling him that. After a few moments, you slowed and glanced over at him, “So? How’d I do?”
Lando stuffed his hands in his pockets, looking at you, “Good actually, better than I expected.”
“Because one woman thought we were together?”
“No,” his answer came more quickly than you expected, “Because she didn't just think we were together.” You frowned and Lando continued before you could interrupt, “She thought we were comfortable together.”
The observation caught you off guard, you weren't entirely sure why but it did, “You got all of that from one conversation?”
“People can usually tell when something feels forced,” You watched him carefully, it was strange seeing him speak without the usual teasing edge in his voice.
“If we'd spent the entire time acting,” he continued, “she probably would've picked up on it.”
You considered that, the owner hadn't called you a cute couple because either of you had been pretending to be affectionate. If anything, you'd both been acting mostly normal, Which raised a slightly uncomfortable question.
“So what you're saying is...” You hesitated. “We don't actually have to try that hard?”
Lando laughed, “That's exactly what I'm saying.”
Something about the answer eased a tension you hadn't realized you were carrying. You'd spent days wondering what would happen once cameras got involved, whether you'd be expected to play a role with every interaction needing to be calculated. The thought had been exhausting.
“You seem relieved.”
You looked away, “Maybe.”
“Why?”
You shrugged, “Because I don't like pretending to be someone I'm not.” The words left your mouth before you could stop them and for a second, you considered taking them back. Instead, you shoved your hands into your jacket pockets.
Lando was quiet for a moment, not in a surprised way but in a thoughtful one. “You know,” he said eventually, “that's kind of why I thought this would work.”
“Hear me out,” His grin returned briefly, then it faded again, “Most people would've tried way too hard.” You waited, “They would've wanted everything to look perfect, overthought every photo and every interaction.”
“And I don't?”
“You absolutely overthink things,” You rolled your eyes. “But,” he continued before you could argue, “You don't perform.” The comment landed somewhere unexpected. Not because it was particularly flattering but because it felt honest.
Lando shrugged when you didn't respond, “I don't know. I think that's why people buy it.”
You looked ahead toward the car parked farther down the street. For once, neither of you seemed in a rush to continue walking and the conversation had settled into something quieter neither of you quite knew how to handle.
Eventually, you tilted your head, “That's surprisingly insightful.”
His expression brightened immediately and a laugh escaped him, the sound following the two of you as you started walking again and you found that you didn't mind it nearly as much as you thought you should.
You spent the next few days planning all your outfits for the race weekend, getting Lando’s opinion as this was not your forte. Let’s just say there was a lot of arguing. Both of you were very stubborn in your own ways and coordinating outfits made that apparent.
Sometime around midnight on Wednesday, you both gave up, collapsing onto separate huge piles of clothes scattered on the floor.
“This is exhausting, I don’t understand why we have to match,” you said with a throbbing head.
Lando on the nearby pile sighed, “I just think we should make it obvious.”
“We’re going be together and there’s cameras everywhere how much more obvious can we be?” Minutes passed before Lando responded, “How about a compromise, we match only on race day.”
“Fine, that seems easy enough,” you said rolling around and stood up to sort it out.
Around half an hour later, you were even more drained but on the bright side all of the outfits are sorted. You turned to find Lando completely knocked out on the same position on the floor in the clothes. That couldn’t be comfortable so you nudged him with your foot, “You can’t sleep here Norris.”
He groaned and you couldn’t care less so you left him there to deal with his pains in the morning and went to bed.
When you woke up in the morning Lando was gone, you reached for your phone and checked the time, 10am. He was already at the track for media day you thought while beginning your morning bed rot session.
Just as you decided to stop and finally get up, his name popped up.
Lando: You’re probably still asleep but I’ll be back later, went to media day.
Lando: If you need anything just text me.
You gave him a thumbs up emoji and started your last day of freedom before the circus that would begin tomorrow.
The apartment was quiet when you heard the front door unlock. You didn't bother looking up immediately. Lando had been at the circuit since early that morning, and after spending the better part of the day alone, you'd grown used to the silence. The television played softly in the background, more for noise than entertainment, while your laptop sat forgotten on the coffee table.
The door clicked shut and a second later came the unmistakable sound of something being dropped onto the floor. You glanced up just in time to see Lando shrugging off his backpack looking exhausted.
Not physically exhausted but the kind of tired that came from spending an entire day answering the same questions over and over again while pretending each answer was brand new.
“How was media day?” you asked.
Lando let out a dramatic sigh as he walked further into the apartment, you nodded knowingly, “That bad?”
“I spent fifteen minutes answering questions about a radio message I made three months ago.”
You laughed, “I think you'll survive.”
Lando pointed at you as he headed toward the kitchen, “People always say that as if it's reassuring.”
You could hear him opening cupboard doors and the fridge. After a moment, his voice carried back into the living room, “Did you already have dinner?”
You didn't even look away from the television, “I ordered dinner.”
“Without me?” The offended tone in his voice made you smile despite yourself.
A few minutes later, he emerged from the kitchen armed with a bottle of water and one of his premade meals from the freezer now steaming thanks to the microwave. He dropped onto the opposite end of the couch and immediately stretched out like he'd been personally wronged by the entire day.
For a while, neither of you spoke as the television continued playing. Outside, Monaco buzzed with the anticipation that always came before a race weekend. Even from inside the apartment, you could feel it. The city had a different energy now than it had earlier in the week.
Tomorrow it would really begin and the realization had been sitting quietly in the back of your mind all day, apparently Lando had been thinking about it too.
“You know,” he said eventually, staring up at the ceiling, “It's probably going to be weird tomorrow.”
You turned your head, “Weird?”
“Walking into the paddock together,” The fact that he'd brought it up first surprised you.
You'd spent most of the day deliberately not thinking about it, “I hadn't considered that.”
“You're lying,” he said digging into his food.
You sighed, “Obviously I'm lying.”
“Thought so,” Lando sat up slightly, balancing one arm along the back of the couch, “It's not the cameras I'm thinking about.”
That caught your attention, “Is it the people?”
“Yeah,” He shrugged, “The cameras don't care they'll take pictures and move on, it's everyone else.” You understood immediately and the thought wasn't exactly comforting.
Lando seemed to notice your expression, “They'll probably be annoying for a week.”
You stared at him, his laugh filled the room, “I'm trying to be realistic.” For a moment, the tension eased and then it settled back into place not heavy enough to be uncomfortable, just present.
“You know what the worst part is?” you admitted.
Lando glanced over, “What?”
You hesitated before answering not because the thought was particularly personal but mostly because it sounded ridiculous, “I don't actually know how much we're supposed to act.”
His eyebrows lifted, “What do you mean?”
“I mean...” You gestured vaguely, “Are we supposed to hold hands? Sit together? Walk together all day? Nobody gave us instructions.”
Lando considered that, “That's because normal couples don't have instructions.”
He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “The whole reason this works is because we're not trying to script everything.”
You watched him for a moment, his answer sounded suspiciously reasonable actually, annoyingly reasonable.
“We'll figure it out,” The confidence in his voice made it sound simple, as if the next three days weren't about to put both of you under a microscope and walking into one of the most photographed race weekends on the calendar as a newly public couple was completely normal.
You sunk more I to the couch, “You're awfully calm about this.”
Lando smiled, “No, I'm just better at pretending.”
The honesty of the answer caught you off guard and for the first time all evening, neither of you had a joke ready. The silence stretched comfortably between you.
Then, inevitably, “We're still matching on Sunday.”
You groaned immediately, “There he is.”
“There who is?” He questioned.
“The real problem.”
Lando laughed and for the first time all day, the knot of anticipation sitting in your chest loosened slightly, tomorrow would come whether you were ready for it or not, at least you wouldn't be dealing with it alone.
Monaco was already awake by the time the two of you left the apartment. The city seemed to move differently on race weekends. Streets that had been relatively quiet a few days earlier were now crowded with team personnel, sponsors, journalists, and tourists hoping to catch a glimpse of someone important. Even from the passenger seat, you could feel the energy that seemed to settle over the entire principality whenever Formula One arrived.
Lando navigated the familiar roads with one hand resting loosely on the steering wheel. The radio played quietly in the background, though neither of you was really paying attention to it.
You were too busy watching the growing crowds the closer you got to the circuit, the sight should have been familiar by now but it wasn't, not really. Not when this weekend felt different. A camera flashed somewhere on the sidewalk as another driver's car passed in the opposite direction. You watched it disappear through the rear window.
“You know, if you keep staring out the window like that, people are going to assume you're planning your escape,” he said still focused on the road.
You turned your head just enough to look at him, “From what exactly?”
“The weekend. The paddock. Me. Take your pick.” You didn’t have anything to say because sadly he was right, what if this was a mistake.
“I'm just saying,” Lando continued when you didn't respond, “You've barely looked at your phone for the last ten minutes. Usually when you're trying not to think about something, you at least pretend to be busy.”
“And what makes you so certain I'm trying not to think about something?” you questioned.
A grin pulled at the corners of his mouth, “Because I've known you long enough to recognize the difference between your normal face and your 'I am absolutely overthinking this but refuse to admit it' face.” You were surprised he could read you in such a short about of time you’ve been together.
Most people took far longer to notice when something was bothering you, and even then they usually got it wrong. Lando, somehow, seemed to have skipped that stage entirely. Before you could think too much about it, the car slowed. The familiar sight of the paddock entrance appeared ahead, surrounded by barriers, security, and more people than seemed reasonable for that time of the morning.
The conversation faded naturally. Reality had arrived. Lando switched off the engine and leaned back in his seat, letting out a slow breath before finally turning toward you. For the first time all morning, he looked slightly less certain than usual, “Are you ready to get into this?”
For a second, neither of you moved and the question hung in the air between you while the sounds of the paddock drifted in from outside The distant hum of activity that seemed to exist at every Formula One circuit.
Ready wasn't the right word but you doubted there was a right word and the weekend wasn't going to wait for either of you.
"As ready as I'm going to be," you said finally. Lando nodded once before pushing open his door.
The noise hit almost immediately. It wasn't loud exactly, but there was an energy to it that felt impossible to ignore. Everywhere you looked people were moving with purpose, paddock passes swinging from lanyards around their necks as they hurried between hospitality units and garages.
You stepped out beside him and adjusted the strap of your bag. Almost instantly, you noticed a camera pointing in your direction and then one turned into a dozen. The realization made your stomach tighten that people were already paying attention.
“Hey,” You glanced over, Lando was looking at you with an expression that was surprisingly understanding, “Don't look at them.”
You frowned, “How am I supposed to not look at them when they're taking pictures?”
The corner of his mouth twitched, “Look at me or just look forward and keep smiling.” Without making a big deal out of it, he stepped slightly closer as the two of you started toward the entrance. Not enough to feel forced but just enough that nobody looking at the two of you would question why you had arrived together.
The cameras followed as you approached the security you did your best to ignore them as Lando scanned yours and his pass. As you entered he made a bold move and held your hand bringing you closer to his side as you made your way to the motorhome.
Unfortunately, the paddock itself wasn't much less overwhelming. Every few metres someone seemed to stop Lando. One minute he was talking to you, the next he was greeting someone by name, asking about their morning, discussing the day's schedule, then somehow continuing your conversation exactly where he'd left off. You felt slightly like you'd been dropped into the middle of someone else's life.
As you walked hand in hand into the motorhome you heard a lady speak in your direction, “Ah there you are,” she looked between the two of you before her attention settled on you, “You must be y/n.”
You smiled politely, “I am.”
“It's lovely to finally put a face to the name.” Your eyes immediately flicked toward Lando, he of course, looked entirely unbothered.
“I've heard your name once or twice,” she added with a laugh, “Nothing scandalous, I promise.”
“That's reassuring,” You said smiling.
“I'm Sarah, by the way. Welcome to the madness,” She said and then smiled once more before being called away by someone further down the paddock.
You watched her go before turning to Lando as he led you further into the motorhome and toward the lounge area, “So you were mentioning me to people yesterday?”
He glanced over, looking almost confused by the question, “Of course I have.” The answer came so naturally that you didn't know what to do with it and before you could think too much about it, another familiar face appeared. Oscar approached with his hands tucked into his pockets, looking far too amused already.
“So,” he said, stopping in front of the two of you, “you're y/n. It’s nice to finally meet you.” He extended his hand which you shook, then gestured to the girl next to him, “This is my girlfriend, Lily.” Long brown hair fell over her shoulders, and she looked entirely at ease, as though she'd been coming to race weekends her entire life.
She pulled you into a brief hug before you can even say hello and stepped back with a bright smile, “It’s nice to meet you.” You smiled, slightly surprised by the greeting.
“I was beginning to think you weren't real,” she continued, stepping back with a grin, “Lando only told us about you yesterday.”
You smiled, slightly surprised by the greeting.
“I was beginning to think you weren't real,” she continued, stepping back with a grin. “Lando only told us about you yesterday.”
A laugh escaped Oscar while Lando looked betrayed, “You're supposed to be on my side.”
Oscar snorted, “I don't think there's any helping you here, mate.”
You looked between the three of them before your eyes settled back on Lando, “You couldn't stop talking about me?”
He opened his mouth, thought better of it, and then sighed, knowing it was no use and he teasing would just get worse, “I hate all of you.”
Lily laughed loving his misery, “No, you don't.”
A reluctant smile tugged at the corner of his mouth despite himself and unfortunately for him, you caught it and for some reason, the thought of him talking about you enough for everyone to remember your name sat in your mind a little longer than it probably should have.
Lily smiled and tugged on Oscar's hand, “Come on, let's give them a minute.”
Oscar looked disappointed, “I was enjoying this.” With one last amused glance in Lando's direction, the two of them disappeared further into the motorhome.
Silence settled between you, for the first time since arriving, it was just the two of you again. You both sat on the surprisingly comfortable couch and you looked at him and he looked anywhere but at you, “You really told them about me yesterday?”
Finally, he glanced over, “I thought it'd be weird if I just showed up this morning with a girlfriend no one knew existed.”
That was... actually fair, “So you gave them a warning?”
A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, “Something like that.”
You waited a second and then said, “You know I’m not as bad as you think Norris.” He groaned softly, “Can we agree that Lily exaggerated?”
You considered it but just for the fun of it, “Probably not.”
A laugh escaped him despite himself then he looked at you, “You don't mind, do you?” he asked eventually. The question caught you off guard, that’s not something you expected him to ask truthfully, you weren't entirely sure how you felt about it. It was strange, learning that you'd occupied enough of his thoughts yesterday for him to bring you up to the people closest to him.
“No,” you said finally, “I don't mind.” Something in his expression softened, “Good.”
Before either of you can continue a voice boomed towards you all, “Is that who I think it is?” You both turned and a man with a paddock pass and a coffee in hand approached, smiling as he reached the two of you. You recognised him immediately, Zak Brown.
Lando straightened almost instinctively next to you and smiled, “Morning.”
“Morning,” Zak replied before his attention shifted to you, “And you must be y/n.”
You smiled politely and offered your hand, “I am, It's nice to meet you.”
His handshake was warm and easy, immediately putting you at ease, “You too. Welcome to the chaos.”
A small laugh escaped you, “I'm actually a little familiar with the chaos. My brother was a mechanic for karts when we were younger, so I practically grew up around circuits.”
Zak's eyebrows lifted with interest, “Is that right?”
You nodded, “I wasn't the one behind the wheel, but I spent enough weekends in kart paddocks to know how hectic race days can get. My main job was helping with the decals on the karts. If a sponsor sticker needed replacing or something had to be straightened, I was usually the one doing it.”
"So you've been part of a race team before," Zak said with a smile.
"I think 'part of the race team' is a generous way of putting it. I was mostly the unpaid sticker department." You replied
A laugh escaped him, “Trust me, every team needs one of those.”
Beside you, Lando grinned, “See? I told you she'd fit in here."
You looked at him, “I don't think replacing sponsor stickers on a kart qualifies me to work in Formula One.”
“Maybe not,” he said, still smiling, “but it does explain why you don't look completely terrified.”
You replied, “Trust me I am terrified, I was going to say I know what I'm getting myself into, but I'm not sure anything could've prepared me for Monaco.”
“That's probably fair,” Zak said, glancing around the busy motorhome, “Monaco tends to be chaos on another level but it’s special to us. I hope everyone is nice to you so far well.”
Eventually, someone called Zak's name from further down the motorhome. He glanced over his shoulder before looking back at the two of you, “I'd better go before they think I've disappeared.” He smiled warmly at you, “It was lovely meeting you, y/n. Enjoy the weekend.”
“You too,” you replied. With one last nod, he headed further into the hospitality area, already being intercepted by someone else before he'd made it more than a few steps.
The silence that followed was brief. Lando checked the time on his watch and let out a quiet sigh, “I should probably head to the garage.”
You nodded, “Probably.”
He looked almost reluctant to leave, which was slightly surprising, “I won't be gone long.”
You smiled faintly, “I think I can survive an hour without you.”
He corrected, “An hour and a half, actually.”
You wanted to laugh at his micromanaging, “Then I suppose I'll have to be brave.”
A laugh escaped him, “You're funny.”
You rolled your eyes and grinned, “I've been told.”
He shook his head before glancing toward the windows overlooking the paddock, “You can stay here if you want. There's coffee, food, and enough pastries to feed a small country.”
You looked around the hospitality unit. It had quietened considerably since you'd arrived, a few team members sat at tables with laptops open, while others moved in and out with an urgency that suggested the session was approaching, “I think I'll stay here.”
He nodded, “Okay.” But didn’t make a move to remove himself from the sofa. For a second, it felt like there was something else that should be said.
Instead, he smiled, “I'll come find you afterwards.”
“Good luck,” The smile on his face softened.
“Thanks,” Then he turned and disappeared toward the garage.
The motorhome felt strangely different once he was gone, quieter or maybe it only seemed that way because there was no longer anyone talking to you. You found a seat near one of the large windows overlooking the paddock and settled into it, tucking one leg beneath you.
Outside, the entire place seemed to move at twice the speed. Mechanics crossed from one garage to another carrying equipment, engineers walked with tablets in hand, and team members seemed to appear and disappear within seconds.
Everyone had somewhere to be, something to do and for the first time that morning, you simply sat and watched. You'd spent enough years around karting paddocks to recognise the feeling. The hours before a session always carried a certain energy to them. A nervous excitement. A sense that everything was building toward something.
Formula One, however, seemed to amplify it, everything was bigger, busier and more polished but underneath it all, it still felt familiar. A race weekend was a race weekend. You smiled to yourself at the thought, maybe this won’t be as bad as you'd first assumed.
A few minutes later, the television screens around the hospitality unit switched to the world feed. The graphics appeared and the commentators began their introductions.
Then the message flashed across the screen.
GREEN LIGHT - PIT EXIT OPEN.
Cars slowly filtered out onto the circuit, a McLaren was among the first. You didn't realize you were leaning forward slightly until you saw the familiar papaya car disappear around the bend, there he goes.
The thought appeared uninvited, you watched as his name climbed onto the timing screen. A few people around you continued working, barely paying attention to the television. You, however, found yourself watching every lap. You weren't entirely sure when that happened or why.
But somewhere between the introductions, the chaos of the morning, and Lando promising he'd come find you afterwards, you'd started caring about how his session went.
You frowned slightly at the realization. That seemed dangerous.
So you reached for your coffee and turned your attention back to the screens, pretending you hadn't had the thought at all.
You'd long since finished your coffee by the time the session ended.
The television screens around the hospitality unit switched from timing graphics to replays and interviews, and gradually the room began to fill again. Team members wandered in and out, some discussing strategy, others already moving on to whatever came next in their schedule.
You remained by the window, absentmindedly tracing your finger along the rim of your mug.
“Waiting for someone?” You looked up to find Lily smiling at you.
“A little obvious?” You played along.
“A little,” she laughed, taking the seat opposite you. “How’s your first race weekend coming along?”
“As someone's… girlfriend?” you asked, still stumbling slightly over the word. “Surprisingly okay.”
She smiled knowingly, “You'll get used to it.”
Before she could say anything else, movement outside caught your attention. A familiar flash of papaya orange, a few mechanics and then Lando. Still in his race suit, his curls slightly flattened from wearing his helmet, talking animatedly with one of the engineers as he walked toward the motorhome. Without meaning to, you sat up a little straighter whether it was out of nervousness or something else you weren’t sure.
Lily noticed immediately and a smile spread across her face, “Oh, that's cute.”
You frowned, “What is?”
“Nothing,” There was absolutely something but before you could question her further, the door opened and Lando stepped inside, scanning the room before his eyes landed on you.
His expression changed almost instantly. His smile softened, and despite the number of people around, he walked straight over, “Hey. Sorry that took longer than I thought.”
You shook your head, “I wasn't exactly busy.”
He smiled, “How was your afternoon?”
“Quiet. I watched practice,” You replied.
He looked surprised, “You watched all of it?”
“I had nothing else to do,” He looked suspiciously pleased by that answer, “How was it?”
You shrugged, “I understood more of it than I expected.”
“That's because you're secretly a motorsport expert,” He teased.
“I replaced stickers on karts,” You deadpanned.
Beside you, Lily stood up, “I'll leave you two to it.”
You started, “You don't have to—”
“I really do, besides I should go find Oscar as well," she said, looking entirely too amused. She squeezed your shoulder before disappearing up the glass staircase.
You narrowed your eyes slightly, “I think she enjoys embarrassing people.”
"Oh, definitely, especially me,” Lando dropped into the seat opposite you and let out a long sigh.
“Are you tired?” you questioned looking at his state.
“No, the session was pretty good.” He leaned back in his chair. “It's just Friday, lots of meetings and lots of talking.” You nodded, you understood that feeling.
Then he smiled, “So, are you ready to do all of this again tomorrow?”
You groaned, “No.”
He laughed, “That's fair.”
The drive back to the apartment was quieter than the drive that morning not in an awkward way more of both of you are tired.
Monaco had begun to settle as the evening drew in, the crowds thinning slightly now that practice was over. The moment you stepped through the apartment door, you kicked off your shoes, “I don't know how you do this every weekend.”
Lando laughed from somewhere behind you, “You get used to it.”
“I think I need to lie down for a week,” You disappeared into the kitchen and returned with two bottles of water, tossing one to him.
He caught it easily and after a sip he asked, “Can I get a review of your first day in the paddock?”
You sat and caught your breath for a moment, “It was loud, there were too many people, I learned approximately fifty new names and immediately forgot forty-eight of them.”
He laughed.
“But…” You paused, “No one was suspicious about anything and it wasn’t as scary as I thought it would be.”
A smile spread across his face, “I'm glad.”
You smiled, taking another sip of water. Outside, the sun was beginning to set over Monaco, painting the apartment in shades of gold and orange and tomorrow, you would do it all again. Yet, sitting there on the sofa, exhaustion settling into your bones, it didn't seem nearly as daunting as it had that morning, maybe because it no longer felt like you were doing it alone.
You glanced at Lando, he was already scrolling through his phone, looking entirely at home and, strangely enough, the apartment was beginning to feel a little like home too.
Saturday came even faster and the paddock felt completely different today. Yesterday had been busy, chaotic even, but there had still been a sense of ease to it. People had been smiling, stopping to chat, wandering in and out of the motorhome with coffees in hand.
Today, everyone had a purpose, the mechanics moved quickly around the car, engineers stared at screens full of numbers that meant absolutely nothing to you, and every now and then someone would speak quietly into a headset before disappearing somewhere else.
Even the air felt different, tighter, more focused. You stood off to the side, watching it all happen. In some ways, it reminded you of the karting paddocks you'd spent so much of your childhood in. The scale was entirely different, of course, but the feeling was the same.
The nerves and anticipation before something important. The unspoken understanding that everyone had a job to do, “You've gone quiet again.”
You turned to find Lando standing beside you, already changed into his race suit, “I don't think I've ever heard this place this quiet,” you said.
He looked around the garage and laughed softly, “This is quiet to you?”
“Not literally,” You smiled a little, “I mean… everyone looks serious.”
“That's because it's qualifying, tomorrow will be full blown noise and chaos,” he said coming to sit near you.
“As opposed to yesterday?” You questioned.
He shuffled and fiddled with his suit and said, “Yesterday was just practice,”
“Qualifying's kind of a big deal around here,” he explained, “Especially in Monaco. You can't really overtake much here, it’s narrow and a street circuit, so where you start is pretty important.”
You nodded slowly, “I think even I know that.”
He sarcastically answered, “Oh, wow. So you do listen when I talk.”
“I listen occasionally,” You said taking a sip of your drink
“Occasionally?” He questioned.
“Okay, more like selectively, usually when you're saying something interesting,” You corrected.
He looked personally offended, “I say interesting things all the time.”
Switching topics you glanced around the area once more, “You know I understand it, I just like to piss you off. We used to get like this before races, my brother I mean. He would be running around trying to make sure everything was ready and no one would really talk much until Max and you were in the kart.”
Lando glanced at you, “You miss it?”
The question surprised you and you considered it for a moment, “Sometimes. I don't miss waking up ridiculously early or standing in the rain for hours, but…” You smiled softly. “I miss the atmosphere.”
For a second, he didn't say anything, then a smile appeared on his face, “You fit in here more than you think.” You let out a quiet laugh.
“No, but understanding this…” He gestured around the garage, “Most people walk in here and look for a camera just to get noticed.”
Before you could respond, someone called his name from the other side of the garage, Lando looked over his shoulder before looking back at you, “I've got another meeting in a few minutes.”
“Of course you do,” you said and He laughed.
“You okay staying in here?” he made sure before standing up.
You blinked, “You've asked me that at least three times since yesterday and yes, I'm fine.”
“I know you're fine,” He stated. You folded your arms, “Then why do you keep asking?”
For the first time, he looked almost sheepish, “I don't know.”
You raised an eyebrow, “You don't know?”
“No,” He laughed softly, “I just… don't want you to feel like I've abandoned you, I mean I brought you into this situation for my benefit.”
The answer caught you off guard, you hadn't expected that, “I'll survive an hour on my own, Norris but I also benefit, remember our deal? I get to fix your dorky race suits."
“I know, I know,” he answered standing up.
“Then stop worrying,” you reassured him.
He smiled a little, “Can't help it.”
You shooed him away, “Now go and good luck.”
Sunday, race day was finally here and by the time the two of you arrived at the paddock, it was already buzzing with even more energy than the previous days. You could feel it everywhere. Team personnel moved with purpose, photographers seemed to be stationed at every corner, and fans lined the barriers hoping to catch a glimpse of the drivers before they disappeared into the garages.
The moment you stepped out of the car, you knew the matching outfits were going to be mistake or perhaps a very successful decision. You weren't entirely sure which but just as you two stepped out the car a camera flashed and then another. Successful it is.
At the entrance he scanned his pass and then yours, as you stepped in, he meshed your hands together leading you to wherever he was going. In the paddock you noticed a few people smiling in your direction, one of the photographers even called out, “Love the matching outfits!”
Lando looked over at you grinning from ear to ear, “See, I was right about the outfits.”
You rolled your eyes but thank god for your sunglasses he didn’t see, “Don't start.”
Unfortunately for you, he looked incredibly proud of himself and it only got worse the further you walked in, a few team members complimented your outfit, someone asked where your sunglasses were from and the icing on the cake, one of the women from hospitality smiled at the two of you and said, “You two look lovely today, the matching is very cute.”
Every single time, Lando looked a little more pleased with himself, by the third compliment, he looked downright insufferable.
“You need to stop smiling like that,” He glanced over at you, looking entirely innocent, “Like what?” You rolled your eyes and followed him toward his driver's room.
The room was considerably quieter than the chaos outside.
Lando moved around gathering his things while you sat in one of the chairs, taking in the relative calm.
“I think I've reached a point where I've accepted that this weekend is essentially one long social experiment.” You said playing with the strings of a team hoodie
He laughed, “A social experiment?”
You rocked back in the chair, tired already of this weekend, “Yes. You dropped me into Formula One and now we're all waiting to see if I adapt or start climbing the walls.”
He turned around, “You know, I don't think you've looked overwhelmed once today.”
You sighed, “I've become very good at pretending.”
While you both discussed how things were going so far while he got ready, after finishing he zipped up his bag, “So, hospitality today?” You told him today your would rather be in the garage, that people would get suspicious if you weren’t there. He agreed and you both made your way over there.
In the garage he placed you where you had a perfect view of the car and a monitor so you can see the race at all times. As you were getting used to the chaos once more, you were so busy watching the mechanics move around the car that you nearly missed someone stopping beside you, “Well, if it isn't our mystery woman.”
You looked up to find Zak smiling at you, “It's good to see you again, y/n.”’ He gestured toward the garage around you, “I'm glad you're getting a front-row seat to the drama today and who knows, maybe you'll bring lover boy some luck.”
You laughed slightly with guilt, “I don't know about that, but it's actually kind of nice being back around all of this. It feels more familiar than I expected.”
Zak responded, “You never know what will happen until the chequered flag falls, after all this is Monaco.” He turned away to leave but he spun around like he remembered something important, “Oh I almost forgot, tonight there’s a small get together on the Mclaren yacht to celebrate with all our sponsors that are here and we would all love for you to be there with Lando, nothing too formal, just dinner and drinks”
Your nerves heightened at the thought of going to meet all these business people and be put under a microscope but this was the point of the ‘relationship’. So you smiled and said, “Thank you Zak, I love would love to come.”
He nodded, “Fantastic, see you both there.” He smiled and walked away busily.
You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding in just as Lando walked into your line of view, you signalled him over, “Zak just invited us to accompany him tonight for a get together with the sponsors that are here,” you spilled out quickly he almost laughed.
Lando noticed that you were a bit overwhelmed by it and tried to assure you, “This is what we’re doing this for remember, we just have to be convincing enough to get these old pricks and their daughters and nieces off my back.”
You nodded to agree, “Right. Now we have an audience, there are cameras everywhere and at least six people looking at us,” he said then wrapped his arms around you, “So, how about you wish your incredibly talented fake boyfriend good luck before his race?”
You reciprocated and hugged him as well, which surprisingly soothed your thoughts for the moment. What you didn’t know was that it did the same for him, “Good luck out there.”
He smiled, “I’ll see you after the race,” and turned making his way to the car and getting in.
Things took a turn in the atmosphere in the garage the moment the car stopped. You didn't need the commentators or the monitor to tell you something had gone wrong. One second, there had been the usual flurry of radio chatter and the low hum of anticipation that always seemed to fill the garage during a race. The next, everything felt still, heavier.
A few mechanics looked toward the screens. One of the engineers sighed quietly and removed his headset another rubbed a hand over his face before already beginning to discuss something with the person beside him. The race continued around them, but for this side of the garage, it felt over.
You had seen this before, same team, different drivers and different races. The disappointment never really changed. You looked back at the monitor.
DNF. Three incredibly frustrating letters for any driver or team to see.
Your stomach sank and a part of you wanted to ask someone what had happened, but another part knew it didn't matter right now because the result was the same.
Lando's race was over and a few minutes later, there was movement near the back of the garage. All heads turned to see Lando, he still had his helmet in one hand, though his grip on it seemed tighter than usual. The smile that usually found its way onto his face after climbing out of the car was nowhere to be seen.
He looked mentally disappointed. Several team members stopped him on the way in. A few words were exchanged, a hand briefly landed on his shoulder, and then he continued walking straight to you and stopped and exhaled, “Well that was terrible.”
You looked at him for a moment then at the helmet in his hand, “I did have a feeling the race wasn't going particularly well when your car stopped moving.”
A laugh escaped him despite himself, “You really know how to make someone feel better.”
You watched him carefully, “I try.” You reached over and took the helmet from him he blinked, “What are you doing?”
You answered setting down the helmet, “You look like you're about to strangle someone with it.”
He smiled, “I wasn't.”
You looked at him, “You thought about it.”
He laughed confirming, “I thought about it.”
You folded your arms, “You know, you used to throw your gloves every time you had a bad karting race.” His eyebrows shot up surprised that you remembered that. You continued, “You usually felt better afterwards, if you'd like to throw something, I think there's a tyre over there.”
He busted out laughing, that was all you’d been aiming for. The two of you remained there for a while longer, watching the rest of the race play out on the monitors. Every now and then, someone would come over to speak with Lando, and every time they did, he looked a little less disappointed than before.
Eventually, the garage began to empty and someone reminded him about the gathering on the yacht later that evening. He looked like he'd completely forgotten about it and frankly so had you.
The drive back to the apartment was much quieter than the drive to the circuit had been that morning. Monaco was still alive outside the windows, the city celebrating another race weekend, but inside the car there was a strange sort of calm.
You caught him staring out at the harbour once or twice, his thoughts clearly still at the circuit, you left him to them.
The apartment was silent when you walked inside, the one that existed after a long day. Lando dropped his keys onto the counter and stood there for a moment before sighing.
Then he looked over at you, “You know, I briefly considered pretending I was too sad to go to the yacht tonight.”
You slipped your shoes off, “And let me suffer through meeting a boat full of rich strangers by myself? That's incredibly selfish of you.”
A laugh escaped him, “I was wondering when you’d start being mean to me again.”
You frowned, “I wasn't aware I'd stopped.”
He smiled, and for the first time since the race ended, it looked genuine. You disappeared down the hallway to your room, only to reappear a few moments later and he was still standing in exactly the same spot, “You should probably shower.”
He looked up, “I know.”
You felt pity for him, “You look like you've been emotionally run over.”
He laughed softly “That's one way of putting it.”
Getting tired of his antics you told him, “I'm serious. We have to go pretend we're a happy couple in an hour at least look presentable.”
He stared at you for a second then another smile appeared, “You really do care in the strangest ways.”
Immediately uncomfortable, you folded your arms, “I care that I don't want to spend an evening with someone who looks like he's about to attend his own funeral.”
That only made him laugh again. And annoyingly enough, hearing it made something in your chest feel lighter. You rolled your eyes, “Go shower, Norris.”
He was still smiling as he disappeared down the hall. Left alone in the living room, you leaned back against the sofa and let out a long breath. The day had been exhausting.
The weekend had been exhausting. And yet, as you thought about the evening ahead, one thing became abundantly clear. You were significantly less nervous about the yacht than you had been earlier, which was either a very good sign or a very bad one.
The Maldives was supposed to be a dream honeymoon for Max and Pietra. Unfortunately, thanks to a seafood disaster and one non-refundable booking, it turned into a “nightmare” for you and Lando Norris.
pairing. Lando Norris x fem! reader.
warnings. romance, humor, slow burn, fake dating -ish, enemies to lovers, forced proximity, 14k words. food poisoning; mention of throwing up. profanity, pet names. inspired by book the unhoneymooners by christina lauren.
soundtrack. non-refundable!, an official playlist.
THE WEDDING WAS PERFECT.
Too perfect—the kind of perfect that practically dares the universe to ruin it out of spite. And honestly, you should’ve known something was coming the moment the string quartet hit that suspiciously angelic high note.
At first, it was subtle. A couple of guests slipped off the dance floor, one by one, like they’d suddenly remembered they left the oven on at home. Someone else excused themselves with the kind of tight smile people wear when they’re trying not to vomit in public. Another guest went pale enough to blend into the tablecloth before disappearing entirely. Nobody panicked. It was a wedding. People drink too much. People overheat. People make questionable choices.
You didn’t think twice about it.
Because why would you? Everything was beautiful. Magical. Soft and glowing and full of love.
Well—except for one glaring exception.
Lando Norris.
Max’s best friend. His best man. The human equivalent of a migraine wrapped in a tux.
He was somehow still laughing, still talking, still managing to irritate you from across the room without even opening his mouth. It was a talent, really. You thought he was smug, insufferable, and entirely too pleased with himself for someone who hadn’t contributed anything meaningful to society except chaos and a few podiums.
As for what he thought about you?
You didn’t care. Truly. Deeply. Profoundly.
(And if you repeated that enough times, maybe one day it would even feel true.)
The only downside to Pietra marrying Max was the unfortunate, unavoidable reality that Lando Norris was now a permanent fixture in your life. A recurring character. A long-term problem. A headache with a lifetime warranty.
The thought alone made your skin crawl in a way that felt almost personal.
The weirdest part wasn’t the disappearing guests or the suspiciously pale groomsman who nearly face‑planted into the cake. No, the weirdest part came when you realized you hadn’t seen Pietra in… a while.
At first, you brushed it off. She was a newlywed. Newlyweds vanish. It’s practically a wedding tradition. Maybe she was touching up her makeup. Maybe she was having a moment with Max. Maybe she was hiding from Lando, which would be completely understandable and honestly relatable.
But something felt off.
Pietra wasn’t the type to disappear without a word, especially not from her own reception—the event she’d planned down to the color of the napkin rings. And the longer you went without seeing her, the more that uneasy little knot twisted in your stomach. It wasn’t panic yet, but it was definitely panic‑adjacent.
So, for your own peace of mind, you pulled out your phone and called her.
The line rang. Once. Twice. Three times.
Then it connected.
“P? Where are you? Are you okay?”
There was a pause—the kind that immediately tells you the answer is no.
When she finally spoke, her voice was thin and shaky, nothing like the glowing, ecstatic bride you’d been celebrating with an hour ago.
“Can you come to our room?”
That was it.
No explanation. No reassurance. No “don’t freak out.”
Just those six words.
The call ended a second later, leaving you staring at your phone like it had personally offended you.
And suddenly, that uneasy feeling in your stomach sharpened into something much closer to full‑blown panic—the kind that makes your heart thump too hard and your brain start listing every possible worst‑case scenario in alphabetical order.
Because if Pietra sounded like that on her wedding night, something was very, very wrong.
You hurried through the hotel hallway, moving as fast as your heels would let you—which, unfortunately, was not very fast at all. Your phone was still in your hand, screen glowing with the last call, and you were so focused on Pietra’s shaky voice replaying in your head that you didn’t even look up when you turned the corner.
Which is exactly why you slammed straight into someone.
“Ow!”
You stumbled back, clutching your phone like it might soften the impact. And then you looked up.
Of course.
Of course it was Lando Norris.
Because why wouldn’t the universe add insult to injury.
He steadied himself, then gave you a once‑over that somehow managed to be both annoyed and judgmental, like you’d personally offended him by existing in his path.
“Watch it,” he said.
“You watch it,” you shot back, because you refused to let him have the last word. Not tonight. Not ever.
You pointed a finger at him, ready to continue the argument you two had apparently been having since the day you met—but then you both reached for the same door handle.
Pietra and Max’s room.
You froze.
He froze.
“What the fuck are you—”
Before either of you could finish, a voice croaked from inside the room. Weak. Miserable. Dramatic in a way only one person could manage.
“Stop flirting and come in! Both of you!”
Max.
Or, more accurately, whatever was left of Max.
Lando grimaced so hard it looked painful. “If he says that again, I’m going to be sick.”
He shot you a look—the kind that said this is your fault somehow—before pushing the door open.
Honestly?
You felt the same way.
Instead of dignifying him with a response, you rolled your eyes so hard it was practically a workout and followed him inside.
Whatever was happening inside the room looked like something straight out of a low‑budget horror movie—the kind where you already know half the cast won’t make it to the sequel.
The wedding? Completely forgotten. Pietra’s dress was crumpled in a sad little heap on the floor, like it had given up on life. Max’s tux jacket was draped over a chair in a way that suggested he’d either thrown it or collapsed out of it. Hard to tell.
Pietra was curled up on the bed, pale and miserable, clutching a pillow like it was the only thing anchoring her to this world. Max sat hunched over at the table with his head in his hands, breathing like someone who had seen things. Terrible things. Things he would never emotionally recover from.
“For newlyweds, you two look horrible,” Lando observed, because apparently he felt the need to narrate the obvious.
As if the scene didn’t already scream we are dying.
“You have no idea,” Pietra groaned, her voice barely above a whisper.
“Never eating seafood again,” Max muttered into his palms.
You frowned, stepping further into the room. “What happened?”
“The seafood happened,” Pietra said weakly, like the words themselves were painful.
Max lifted his head just enough to confirm it. “It was bad. Everyone’s sick.”
“Everyone?” you repeated, because surely this couldn’t be as dramatic as it sounded.
“My parents are sick. Pietra’s cousins are sick. Half the wedding is sick.” He swallowed hard, face twisting. “I think I’m gonna thr—”
“Okay, mate, we get it,” Lando cut in quickly, hands up like he was warding off a demon.
Neither of you needed the visual.
A heavy silence settled over the room—the kind that comes right before someone admits something truly stupid.
And then Lando, because he physically could not help himself, added,
“I told you seafood was a terrible idea.”
Max slowly lifted his head, eyes dead, soul gone. “Not helping.”
“Just saying.”
Of course he was.
Suddenly, a thought hit you—sharp and obvious, like the kind of realization you really should’ve had ten minutes earlier.
You turned to Lando, narrowing your eyes.
“If everyone ate the seafood… why aren’t you sick?”
He looked at you like you’d just accused him of kicking puppies for fun. His whole face twisted, offended on a spiritual level.
“I hate seafood,” he said, dripping with disgust. Like it was common knowledge. Like it was printed on his passport. Like you were personally stupid for not knowing his dietary preferences.
Before you could roll your eyes hard enough to sprain something, he pointed right back at you.
“Could ask you the same. Why aren’t you sick?”
“I’m on a diet,” you said with a shrug, as if that explained everything.
His eyebrows shot up, and he looked far too pleased with himself as he looked toward Max.
“See? This is what happens when you order seafood even though half your guests don’t even eat it.”
“You two don’t mean half the guests,” Pietra muttered from the bed, rolling her eyes so weakly it was almost impressive she managed it at all.
“Well—but that’s not why you’re here,” Max started.
The tone in his voice shifted. Instantly. Like someone had dimmed the lights and added ominous background music.
This wasn’t a joke anymore.
Even Lando went quiet—which was honestly the most alarming symptom in the room.
“We can’t go on our honeymoon,” Max said weakly. “We literally can’t even stand, let alone fly to the Maldives.”
Pietra raised a shaky hand from the bed, like she was giving sworn testimony. “Also… it’s non‑refundable.”
As if that somehow made the situation more tragic.
Which, unfortunately, it did.
“And?” you asked slowly, because you already didn’t like where this was going. “What does that have to do with us?”
Max glanced at Pietra.
Then at you.
Then at Lando.
Then back at you.
“Since you’re the only ones who are able to go…”
No.
No, no, no.
Absolutely not.
Your stomach dropped so fast it felt like missing a step on the stairs.
Did they just—
Did they seriously just—
“Absolutely not,” Lando cut in immediately, shaking his head so hard his curls bounced.
For once, you agreed with him.
Violently.
Because there was no universe—none—where you and Lando Norris should be sent on a romantic, luxury honeymoon together.
Which, of course, meant that was exactly what was about to happen.
No.
No, absolutely not.
Your stomach dropped so fast you felt it in your toes. They weren’t actually suggesting this. They couldn’t be. This had to be a fever dream caused by secondhand seafood fumes.
For once, you were perfectly aligned with him. A rare, terrifying moment of unity.
But Max wasn’t done.
“It’s a private villa,” he said, voice wobbling. “Some newlywed activities—”
You stared at him like he’d just confessed to a crime. “Did you hit your head while eating the seafood too?”
Because that was the only explanation. Truly. The man had lost brain function. You were going to wake up any second now. Maybe you’d fall off a chair and snap back into the correct timeline. Or maybe you should hit your head and skip straight to the part where none of this was happening.
“It’ll go to waste if you don’t go,” Pietra added, sounding both tragic and dramatic, which was impressive considering she looked like she might faint at any moment.
Lando let out a sharp, disbelieving laugh. “Then let it go to waste. Problem solved.”
“Good thing we’re not asking you,” Max said, ignoring him completely. “We’re telling you.”
Silence fell over the room.
Not the normal kind.
The bad kind.
The kind that meant decisions had already been made without your consent.
“I already called the resort,” Max continued, like he was ripping off a Band‑Aid. “We told them we’re sick and can’t go. But our—also freshly married—friends will go instead of us.”
You blinked.
Once.
Twice.
No.
No.
Absolutely no.
What the actual fuck.
This had to be illegal. Or a prank. Or a shared hallucination brought on by the cursed seafood poisoning half the hotel.
Max was clearly too exhausted to keep talking. Pietra, unfortunately, was not. She pushed herself up just enough to finish his sentence, her voice thin but determined.
“We just changed the names,” she said, like that explained anything at all.
You stared at her, waiting for the part where she clarified. She didn’t.
“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”
Pietra smiled—weakly, proudly, and completely out of touch with reality. She looked like she might faint at any second, yet somehow she still had the nerve to look pleased with herself.
“From now on, you’re Mr. and Mrs. Norris!”
The words hung in the air like a bomb that hadn’t decided whether to explode or not. Too cheerful. Too final. Too insane to process.
For a moment, nobody reacted. The room went still, like even the walls were trying to understand what she’d just said.
Then everything reacted at once.
“I hope you’re fucking kidding,” Lando said, voice flat and sharp.
“No,” Pietra replied immediately, not even blinking.
“I’m not going anywhere with her,” he snapped, pointing at you like you were the problem.
“I’m not going anywhere with him,” you shot back at the exact same time, because if he was pointing, you were pointing too.
Silence fell again—heavy, miserable, the kind that made you want to walk straight into the ocean.
Max didn’t even lift his head. He just groaned into the table like he’d accepted his fate and yours.
Pietra sighed, sounding far too calm for someone who had just detonated your life. “Well,” she said, “good thing it’s already done.”
And just like that, your nightmare didn’t just have a name.
It had a reservation.
A villa.
A flight to the Maldives.
And a husband you didn’t even like.
When the realization finally settled between you and your apparently new husband, all you could do was let out a long, exhausted groan—the kind that came from deep in your soul, the kind that said I did not sign up for this. It was the only reaction your brain could manage. Your thoughts were basically just static and disbelief.
Lando, on the other hand, had plenty of energy left to complain.
“Mate, I love you,” he said, turning toward Max with the dramatic flair of someone delivering a eulogy, “but right now I hate you so much.”
Max didn’t even lift his head. He didn’t argue. He didn’t defend himself. He just sat there, hunched over the table like a man who had accepted every bad decision that led him to this moment.
Pietra gave a weak little wave from the bed, like she was blessing a doomed union. “You’ll thank us later,” she mumbled, which was bold for someone who looked like she might pass out mid‑sentence.
Lando exhaled sharply, then looked between you, Max, and Pietra with the expression of a man who had lost all hope in humanity. “Enjoy your free honeymoon,” he said flatly. A beat. “Lovebirds.”
You and Lando turned to each other at the exact same time.
“No.”
It came out perfectly synchronized—same tone, same disgust, same absolute refusal. If you weren’t so horrified, you might’ve been impressed.
And for the first time all night, even Max looked slightly amused. His mouth twitched, just barely, like he wanted to smile but didn’t have the physical strength to commit to it.
Which was great.
Fantastic.
Wonderful.
At least someone was enjoying the beginning of your shared nightmare.
────────────
The moment you stepped off the boat, you regretted not eating the seafood too. Honestly, at least then you’d be back at the hotel, curled up on a bathroom floor, dramatically begging for death like everyone else. Instead, you were here—in paradise—with the one person who could make even the Maldives feel like a punishment. You were at that stage of life where you would genuinely prefer food poisoning over spending any time alone with Lando Norris. And that said a lot.
The Maldives were gorgeous, of course. The water was so turquoise it looked fake, the sand was blindingly white, and the palm trees swayed like they were performing for a commercial. Everything around you was warm and soft and perfect, the kind of place people saved up for years to visit. It should have been paradise. It should have been peaceful. It should have been romantic.
But then there was the idiot standing next to you.
Lando looked around with his hands shoved deep in his pockets, somehow managing to look annoyed despite being surrounded by literal postcard scenery. His expression said he’d rather be anywhere else. You hoped he was regretting this as much as you were. Preferably more.
A pair of resort employees approached with bright, excited smiles—the kind of smiles people only have when they have no idea what kind of disaster they’re dealing with.
“Welcome, Mr. and Mrs. Norris! Congratulations on your honeymoon.”
Your eye twitched so hard you were surprised it didn’t fall out. If one more person called you that, you might actually swim back to the mainland.
“Thanks,” Lando said smoothly, flashing them one of his signature smiles like he hadn’t spent the last 48 hours insisting he wasn’t going anywhere with you.
You shot him a look sharp enough to cut glass.
What happened to I’m not going anywhere with her?
He caught your glare and shrugged, all innocent and useless.
Traitor.
Not wanting to be rude to the only people here who hadn’t personally ruined your life, you forced a polite smile. Before you could correct them—or scream—one of the employees picked up your suitcase with cheerful efficiency.
“Come with us,” she said brightly. “We’ll show you your villa.”
The walk to the villa was painfully, almost comically silent. Not a single word passed between you. You stared straight ahead like you were being marched to your doom. Lando did the same, jaw tight, hands shoved in his pockets, looking like he was being forced to attend his own funeral. The two resort employees leading the way kept glancing back at you both, probably wondering what kind of honeymooning couple walked like they were on their way to court.
Eventually, one of them cleared her throat, clearly trying to break the tension before it swallowed all four of you whole.
“I’m sorry about your friends.”
You blinked, pulled out of your internal spiral. Right. Max and Pietra. The actual newlyweds. The ones currently dying in a hotel room.
“Yeah,” you said. “It sucks.”
“They were very upset when they called,” she continued gently. “But they seemed happy that you two could still enjoy the honeymoon.”
You nearly tripped over your own feet.
Happy.
That was certainly one way to describe it. Delusional was another. Criminally optimistic was a third.
Beside you, Lando made a noise—something between a laugh and a strangled groan. Honestly, it could’ve been either. Or both.
“And how long are you two married?”
You froze.
Well.
Eh.
You didn’t exactly have a script for this. You didn’t know whether to lie, tell the truth, or throw yourself into the ocean and let the fish sort it out.
Before you could decide, Lando spoke.
“Two months.”
You whipped your head toward him so fast you almost gave yourself whiplash.
What.
The.
Fuck.
Lando didn’t even look at you. He just kept walking beside you like he hadn’t casually invented an entire fake marriage timeline out of thin air. No hesitation. No shame. No warning. Just two months tossed into the universe like it was a normal, reasonable answer.
The employee beamed at the both of you, completely fooled.
“How lovely! Newlyweds.”
“Yeah,” Lando replied smoothly, slipping into the role like he’d been practicing in the mirror. “Still getting used to it.”
You stared at him, your brain short‑circuiting.
Still getting used to it.
Still. Getting. Used. To. It.
Was he insane? Was he actually insane? Because that was the only explanation for the confidence with which he delivered that line. You caught the tiny smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth—the smallest hint of amusement, like he knew exactly what he was doing and was enjoying every second of your suffering.
The bastard was enjoying this.
“Oh, absolutely,” you said through gritted teeth, forcing a smile so stiff it could’ve cracked. “Every day is a surprise.”
Lando finally glanced at you, and for a split second, you saw it—the spark of amusement in his eyes, the quiet little I’m having fun and you can’t stop me glint.
You hated it.
You hated him.
The villa was ridiculous.
Not just nice—insultingly nice. The kind of nice that made you question every choice you’d ever made in your life. The terrace stretched out over the water like it was showing off. There was a glass slide straight into the ocean, an infinity pool that blended into the horizon, an outdoor shower, two separate bathrooms (mercifully), and enough space to host three families, a wedding, and maybe a small cult.
It was paradise.
And you hated that you were seeing it with him.
The second the employees left, you spun toward Lando.
“What the hell was that?”
Lando dropped his bag onto the floor like he owned the place. “What was what?”
“‘Two months’?” you repeated, voice rising. “Where did you even get two months from?”
He shrugged, completely unbothered. “Sounded believable.”
“Believable?”
“What was I supposed to say?” he shot back. “‘Actually, we’ve known each other for years and can’t stand one another, but our friends got food poisoning and sent us on their honeymoon instead’?”
You opened your mouth.
Closed it. and opened it again.
“…Well, maybe not like that.”
“Exactly,” he said, like he’d just won a debate on national television.
“That doesn’t mean you get to invent an entire marriage!”
“Oh, come on,” he said, already wandering deeper into the villa like a man on vacation. “It’s harmless.”
“Harmless?”
“Yes.”
“You made me your wife.”
Lando paused mid‑step and turned, looking genuinely confused.
“You already were my wife.”
The room went still. You stared at him. He stared back.
Three long, painful seconds passed.
Then something flickered across his face—realization, horror, embarrassment, all at once.
“Oh.”
Your eye twitched. “Oh?”
“Okay,” he winced, “that sounded worse out loud.”
“You think?”
“I mean she called you Mrs. Norris first. She made you my wife,” Lando tried to defend himself.
Before you could continue tearing him apart, a knock interrupted you.
Both of you froze.
The door opened immediately—because apparently privacy was optional here—and one of the resort employees peeked in with an apologetic smile.
“Oh! Sorry, one more thing.”
You instinctively stepped away from Lando like he was radioactive. He noticed. Of course he did. The employee didn’t.
“Your first romantic dinner is at eight tonight.”
Silence.
“What?” you said.
“Romantic dinner,” she repeated cheerfully. “On the beach. Just the two of you.”
You slowly turned your head toward Lando.
He turned toward you. Then both of you turned back to her.
“We don’t need—”
“Wonderful!” she cut in. “See you at eight!”
The moment she left, you pushed open the bedroom door.
And immediately stopped. Of course.
Of course there was one bed. Not just any bed—one large, perfectly made, aggressively romantic bed positioned directly in front of the ocean like it was trying to prove a point. Rose‑petal energy without the actual petals. The kind of bed that practically whispered consummate something.
You just stared at it, frozen in place.
Lando leaned against the doorframe, peered inside, and let out the most dramatic sigh you’d ever heard.
“Oh my god,” he groaned, rolling his eyes. “There’s really only one bed in this big‑ass villa?”
“Well obviously,” you snapped. “It’s a honeymoon villa, dumbass.”
“Right,” he muttered, like the universe had personally wronged him.
Silence settled between you—thick, awkward, the kind that made everything feel ten times worse. You could practically hear the ocean outside judging both of you.
Then Lando nodded toward the bed with the seriousness of someone offering a noble sacrifice.
“I’ll happily take the floor,” he announced.
You blinked.
Once. Twice.
“Wow,” you said. “Generous of you.”
Then you turned fully toward him, crossing your arms. “I’m going to be kind and let you take the couch in the living room. You’re absolutely not sleeping in the same room as me.”
“Right,” he said slowly, glancing toward the living room. “The couch.”
He nodded like he was processing a complicated mathematical equation.
“I should’ve thought about that earlier.”
────────────
The restaurant was somehow even more ridiculous than the villa—which felt almost impossible, but here you were, living proof that the universe had a sense of humor and it wasn’t a kind one.
A table for two sat directly on the sand, candles flickering in the warm evening breeze while waves rolled onto the shore like they’d been hired for ambience. Fairy lights hung from the palm trees overhead, glowing softly against the darkening sky. Music drifted through the air, gentle and warm, the kind that made everything feel softer than it actually was.
And you…
You looked beautiful. A yellow summer dress, light and easy, catching the breeze just enough to move with you. Your hair had settled into soft waves, brushing your shoulders every time you turned your head. You definitely hadn’t taken extra time to get ready because of your “husband.” Absolutely not. That would be ridiculous.
It looked like a scene from a romance movie.
Unfortunately, you were starring in it with Lando Norris.
The hostess smiled as she pulled out your chair, glowing with the kind of joy only people who believe in love have.
“Welcome, Mr. and Mrs. Norris. We hope you have a magical first dinner as newlyweds.”
You forced a polite smile, the kind that felt like it might crack if you held it too long.
“Thank you.”
Lando matched your expression perfectly, like he’d been trained for this exact moment.
“Very kind of you.”
The hostess practically melted on the spot.
“Oh, you two are adorable.”
The second she walked away, both of your smiles dropped so fast they might’ve left dents in the sand.
“She called us adorable,” you muttered.
“She also called us married,” Lando replied, sounding personally offended.
You stared at him.
He stared at you.
And for a moment, the two of you sat there in the middle of paradise, united only by mutual suffering.
You reached for the bread basket.
At the exact same moment Lando did.
Your hands collided in the middle of the table, a sharp little smack that made you both freeze. You pulled yours back instantly, like touching him might give you a rash.
“Watch it,” you muttered.
“You watch it,” he shot back, just as fast.
Before either of you could escalate, a waiter appeared beside the table carrying what looked like a tropical explosion in a glass—flowers, fruit, colors that didn’t exist in nature.
“For the honeymoon couple!” he announced proudly.
He set it down between you.
One glass.
Two straws.
A crime.
You and Lando stared at it like it had personally insulted you.
“No,” you both said at the same time.
“Oh, it’s complimentary!” the waiter beamed, completely missing the mutual horror, and vanished before you could protest.
Silence settled over the table again, warm and heavy like the night air.
“Well?” Lando said.
“Well what?”
“I’m thirsty.”
“So am I.”
Another long stretch of stubborn quiet passed—thirty seconds that felt like a challenge neither of you wanted to lose.
Finally, you both leaned forward at the same time.
And immediately bumped foreheads.
“Ow!”
You rubbed the spot, wincing, while Lando leaned back with a glare sharp enough to cut through the candlelight.
“Could you be any more dramatic?”
“You literally ran into me.”
“You ran into me.”
“You’re impossible.”
“And you’re annoying.”
The argument fizzled out only because you both leaned in and took a sip of the drink at the same time—careful this time, no forehead injuries—and neither of you dared admit it tasted incredible. Sweet, cold, perfect. A tiny piece of heaven in the middle of your personal hell.
The appetizers arrived a few minutes later, carried by a waiter who looked like he’d been waiting his whole life to serve a honeymoon couple. Every time he or anyone else walked by, you and Lando transformed instantly into the world’s most convincing romantic pair. It was almost impressive how fast the switch flipped.
“So, darling,” Lando said with a smile so bright it could’ve powered the fairy lights above you, “would you like the lobster?”
“No, sweetheart,” you replied just as sweetly, matching his tone like you’d rehearsed it. “You know I don’t eat seafood.”
The waiter’s face lit up.
“How lovely.”
The moment he walked away, your smile dropped. You kicked Lando under the table.
“Ow!” he hissed, jerking his leg back.
“Don’t call me sweetheart.”
“Don’t call me darling.”
“You started it.”
“You kicked me.”
“Good.”
Another waiter approached, moving carefully across the sand as if he were carrying something sacred. He placed two plates in front of you with a soft smile.
Steak and fries. Finally.
Separate plates.
Thank God.
You sat up a little straighter, almost relieved enough to forget who you were sitting with.
“Is everything all right?” she asked, her smile warm and hopeful, like she genuinely wanted your night to be perfect.
You returned it, stretching your own smile so wide your cheeks started to ache. “Everything’s perfect.”
Beside you, Lando nodded with the enthusiasm of a man who had fully committed to the bit. “Best honeymoon ever.”
The waiter beamed, delighted. “We’re so happy to hear that. Enjoy your evening!”
She walked away, leaving the two of you alone again—candles flickering, waves rolling in, the whole scene soft and romantic in a way that felt almost cruel.
The second the waiter disappeared, your foot shot out under the table and connected with Lando’s shin again. Maybe you were provoking him. Maybe you weren’t. Maybe the universe was simply guiding your leg. Either way, you weren’t about to admit anything.
He jerked back, glaring at you like you’d personally ruined his life.
“Can you fucking stop?”
“Stop lying.”
“You’re the one smiling.”
“I’m being polite.”
“You look psychotic.”
“Because of you.”
Lando stabbed another fry with his fork, then looked up at you with a confidence he absolutely did not deserve.
“You know,” he said, leaning back slightly, “for someone who supposedly hates me, you’ve been looking at me all evening.”
You scoffed, loud and sharp.
“Could say the same about you.”
And that was the first time since arriving that he actually went quiet.
Because you had noticed.
The little glances he kept sneaking across the table.
The way his eyes lingered a second too long before he looked away.
The absent-minded way he wet his lips whenever he was thinking.
The way he kept shifting in his seat like he was trying not to stare at you too openly.
None of it meant anything.
Obviously.
You weren’t delusional.
Still, something flickered across his face—something quick, something he tried to hide—before he straightened again.
“You’re imagining things,” he said.
“Am I?”
He held your gaze for a beat too long.
“Trust me,” he said, voice low and annoyingly confident. “If I was staring, you’d know.”
Your heart did something incredibly inconvenient—a tiny jump, a tiny skip, the kind of reaction you immediately wanted to throw into the ocean. You grabbed your glass instead, lifting it like it could physically reset your brain.
“God, you’re insufferable.”
“And yet,” he replied, reaching across the table to steal one of your fries like he had every right to, “you haven’t left.”
You narrowed your eyes. “That was my fry.”
He took a slow, deliberate bite. “Tastes better when it’s yours.”
You kicked him under the table. Hard.
He hissed, jerking his leg back. “Jesus—are you trying to break my leg?”
“Debatable,” you said, taking a calm sip of your drink like you hadn’t just committed violence.
Lando rubbed his shin under the table, glaring at you like you’d personally ruined his evening. “You’re a violent wife.”
Your mouth twitched before you could stop it. “You’re an annoying husband.”
A beat passed—warm, tense, too quiet.
Then he leaned back slightly, smirk tugging at his mouth, eyes glinting in the candlelight.
“You realize if you break my leg, you’d have to take care of me, sweetheart?”
You didn’t even blink.
“I’m gonna throw up.”
His smirk widened, slow and smug, like he’d been waiting for that exact reaction.
And the worst part?
Your heart did that inconvenient little jump again.
────────────
The morning started peacefully. Too peacefully. The kind of peaceful that made you suspicious, like the universe was holding its breath before dropping something heavy on your head.
You and Lando sat at the breakfast table like two people who had agreed to a temporary ceasefire. No shin‑kicking. No dramatic sighs. No sarcastic comments sharp enough to cut through the tropical air. Just quiet eating, the soft clink of cutlery, and the occasional scroll through your phones.
Almost normal.
Almost comfortable.
Then Lando opened his mouth.
“We’re going golfing,” he said casually, not even looking up, biting into a pastry like he was reading the weather report.
“No.”
That one word snapped his attention up instantly. He blinked at you, confused, like he’d never heard the word before.
“What do you mean, no?”
“I mean I hate golf.”
“That’s not a valid reason.”
“It’s a very valid reason.”
He sighed dramatically, like you had personally ruined his entire morning, his week, and possibly his life.
“I can’t play alone.”
“You absolutely can.”
“I can’t.”
You narrowed your eyes. He was lying. Badly. A man who drove cars at terrifying speeds for a living could absolutely survive a solo round of golf.
“You race cars for a living.”
“And?”
“You can function independently.”
He ignored that completely, like you hadn’t spoken at all.
“We’re going. It’s already booked.”
“I didn’t agree to this.”
“You’re my wife,” he said flatly.
You froze.
Slowly lifted your head from your plate.
Stared at him like he’d just confessed to murder.
“I’d rather swim back than be your wife.”
“From the Maldives?”
“Especially from the Maldives.”
He opened his mouth, probably to say something smug, but you cut him off with a raised hand.
“And I’d make it.”
He snorted. “You’d get eaten by a shark.”
“Better than golfing with you.”
Twenty minutes later, you were standing in the golf club lobby anyway. You still weren’t sure how it happened. One moment you were saying no, the next you were being dragged into a shuttle like a hostage. Against your will, obviously. Completely against your will.
Lando was at the counter, talking to the staff like he owned the place, arranging equipment and carts as if this was his idea of a perfect morning. He looked relaxed, confident, annoyingly at his element.
You slipped away toward a small souvenir shop tucked beside the path.
Just for a moment. Just to breathe.
Inside, everything was glossy, overpriced, and aggressively tropical. Shelves full of shell necklaces, handmade bracelets, tiny carved wooden animals, and bright fabrics that probably cost more than your entire suitcase. The kind of things tourists bought when they were sun‑drunk and sentimental.
Then you saw it. A necklace.
A simple one—a thin cord with a small carved turtle pendant hanging from the center. It wasn’t flashy. It wasn’t dramatic. It was just… cute.
You picked it up, letting the pendant rest in your palm. It made you smile before you could stop yourself.
You flipped the tag over and your smile died instantly.
You frowned. Hard.
“You like it?”
Lando’s voice came from behind you.
You jumped slightly, turning to see him leaning in the doorway, holding two golf clubs in one hand and the cart keys dangling from the other. He looked annoyingly casual, like he hadn’t just snuck up on you.
“It’s cute,” you said, “but the price is not cute.”
“How much?”
You held it up for him to see.
He squinted, leaned in a little, then let out a laugh—loud, surprised, real.
“Jesus Christ. That’s the price of the whole honeymoon.”
You huffed. “Exactly.”
You placed the necklace back carefully, almost gently, like it had personally betrayed you but you didn’t want to hurt its feelings. Way too expensive for something that would end up tangled in a drawer anyway.
“Be right back,” you said, already backing away from him. “Bathroom.”
“Don’t get lost,” he muttered without looking up.
“Try not to choke on your ego,” you shot back, turning before he could respond.
The bathroom was exactly what you expected from a place like this—unnecessarily fancy, spotless, and scented with something soft and expensive you’d never be able to justify buying in real life. You lingered longer than you needed to, letting the quiet settle over you. It wasn’t the bathroom you needed. It was the break from him.
When you stepped back out, the sun was brighter, the air warmer, and Lando was still near the shop.
Except… something was off.
He wasn’t doing anything dramatic. He wasn’t pacing or fidgeting or causing chaos. He was just standing there, a little too still, a little too focused on nothing. And the second he saw you, his eyes flicked up fast, scanning you like he was checking for something.
“What?” you asked, narrowing your eyes as you walked toward him.
“Nothing,” he said too quickly.
That was worse. Lando never said nothing quickly. If anything, he usually dragged it out just to annoy you.
You frowned. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
“I’m not.”
“You are.”
“I’m just waiting.”
“For what?”
He shrugged, already turning away, heading toward the golf carts like the conversation bored him. “Nothing.”
You watched him for a moment, trying to figure out what that tiny shift in his expression had been. Something flickering behind his eyes. Something he clearly didn’t want you to notice.
But you decided you didn’t care enough to dig into whatever weird Lando thing this was.
Probably just him being annoying.
You followed him anyway, even though you told yourself you weren’t following him at all—you were just walking in the same direction.
Coincidentally.
Obviously.
The golf course looked like it had been designed specifically to humiliate you. Endless stretches of perfect green, artificial lakes sparkling in the sun, and way too much open space for you to miss shots in front of strangers. It was beautiful in a smug, taunting way.
Lando, unfortunately, looked right at home.
“Okay,” he said, handing you a club like he was already regretting every life choice that led him here. “Just don’t hit anyone.”
“I’m going to hit you.”
“You’re not strong enough.”
That alone made you swing harder than necessary.
The ball went approximately nowhere. It hopped. Maybe. Barely.
Silence.
Then Lando clapped once.
Slowly.
“Fantastic.”
“It moved,” you said defensively.
“Barely.”
“It moved.”
He shook his head, stepping up beside you with the confidence of someone who had been waiting all morning to show off.
“Okay, watch and learn.”
You crossed your arms. “Impress me.”
He didn’t even bother hiding the smirk. It stretched across his face, warm and smug, like he’d been born for this moment.
“One day you’re going to have to admit I’m good at something.”
“Not likely.”
He swung.
Perfect form. Perfect sound. Perfect shot.
The ball sailed clean across the course, cutting through the air like it had been personally trained by God.
Of course it did.
You hated that. You hated how easy he made it look. You hated the way his shoulders relaxed after the swing, the way he exhaled like he’d just done something casual instead of showing off in front of you.
“Show-off,” you muttered.
Lando didn’t even look at you. “Jealousy doesn’t suit you.”
“It’s not jealousy. It’s disappointment.”
“In me?”
“In the universe for letting you be this confident.”
He finally turned, leaning on his club like he had all the time in the world, like he wasn’t actively ruining your morning.
“You know, for someone who keeps insulting me, you’re very invested in my performance.”
You scoffed. “Don’t flatter yourself.”
“I’m not,” he said easily. “Just observing.”
“Stop observing. It’s creepy.”
“You started it.”
“I did not start it.”
“You literally tried to hit me ten minutes ago.”
“That was character development.”
He laughed under his breath, shaking his head.
“You’re impossible.”
“And you’re insufferable.”
“A perfect match, then.”
You shot him a sharp look.
“Don’t get delusional. This is a forced golf situation, not a personality assessment.”
He stepped closer—not much, just enough to make the air feel warmer—lowering his voice like he was letting you in on something you didn’t want.
“Careful,” he said. “Keep talking like that and people might start thinking you enjoy my company.”
You rolled your eyes. “In what world?”
He tilted his head, smirk tugging at his mouth.
“The one where you’ve been watching my swing for the last ten minutes.”
“That’s because I’m hoping you fall into one of those lakes.”
“Sure,” he said, smirking wider. “Keep telling yourself that.”
You opened your mouth to fire back—
But he cut in, casual, careless, like he wasn’t dropping a verbal grenade at your feet:
“Relax. I promise I’m not trying to get you into bed over a golf lesson.”
You froze.
Then stared at him.
“…What is wrong with you?”
Lando blinked, like he genuinely didn’t understand the problem.
“What? I was being nice.”
“That was not nice.”
“It was honest.”
“That makes it worse.”
“Gimme the keys. I’ll drive,” you said, holding out your hand like you were doing him a favor he didn’t deserve.
“Absolutely not.”
“You race cars for a living,” you reminded him, already leaning toward the ignition with far too much confidence for someone who had never driven a golf cart before. “And you’re scared of a golf cart?”
“I’m not scared of it. I’m scared of you driving it.”
“You should be,” you said with a small, satisfied smile as you climbed into the driver’s seat. “Get your ass in there or walk.”
Lando let out the kind of long, dramatic sigh that suggested he was reconsidering every decision that had led him to this moment. “Do you even have a driving licence?”
“I do.”
You absolutely did. Unfortunately for him.
He hesitated for a beat too long before climbing in beside you, gripping the side of the seat like it might suddenly eject him into the bushes. The second you pressed the pedal, the cart lurched forward—not dangerously, not wildly, just enough to make him tense like you’d launched a rocket instead of a glorified toy car.
“You’re overreacting,” you said, steering them down the path with what you considered perfect control. The breeze was warm, the sun was bright, and the cart hummed along peacefully. “You’re sitting in a golf cart, not a missile.”
“I’m observing risk factors,” he muttered, eyes fixed ahead like he was preparing for impact.
“That’s exactly what someone driving like you would say.”
“Relax.”
“I am relaxed.”
He was absolutely not relaxed. His shoulders were tight, his jaw clenched, and he kept shifting like the seat was made of spikes. You took a slightly sharper turn—not reckless, not even fast, just sharper—and the cart tilted a little to the side.
Lando jolted.
His hand shot out without thinking, grabbing your thigh to steady himself.
Both of you froze.
The warmth of his hand lingered for a second, heavy and unexpected, before he snatched it back like it had betrayed him. His face was tight, his voice too quick.
“…That was balance,” he said, staring straight ahead. “I was balancing.”
You looked down at his hand, then back at him, unimpressed and far too aware of the moment. “Put that away.”
“I didn’t mean to—it slipped.”
“Sure it did.”
“It did.”
You didn’t argue. You didn’t tease him. You didn’t even look at him again. You just kept driving, eyes on the path, pretending the moment hadn’t happened. And you definitely didn’t mind that it had.
Not that you would ever admit anything.
────────────
The boat rocked gently over the turquoise water, sunlight bouncing off the surface so brightly it almost hurt to look at. It should have been peaceful, the kind of morning people wrote postcards about. But unfortunately, part of the honeymoon package included couples snorkeling—something that would have been lovely if your “husband” wasn’t Lando Norris.
You sat beside him with your legs tucked under you, still mid‑argument from the pier, still annoyed, still refusing to let him win even a single point.
“No, I’m telling you,” you said, pointing at him like you were presenting evidence in court, “you cheated yesterday.”
“I did not cheat,” he replied flatly, not even blinking. “You just don’t understand basic physics.”
“I understand physics perfectly fine, actually.”
“Clearly not.”
“You literally aimed your ball into a bush and called it strategy.”
“It was strategy.”
Before you could continue, another couple sitting nearby—around your age, relaxed, sun‑kissed, clearly enjoying their vacation—turned toward you with amused smiles. They had that look people get when they stumble into entertainment they didn’t pay for.
“Are you two always like this?” the woman asked, still smiling.
Lando didn’t hesitate. Not even a breath.
“Yes.”
You cut in immediately, shaking your head. “No.”
That earned you a side glance from him, sharp and quick, like he couldn’t believe you’d contradict him in public.
The couple laughed, clearly delighted.
“You’re on your honeymoon, right?” the man asked.
Silence.
A very suspicious silence.
Lando nodded slowly, dragging the word out like it physically pained him. “Unfortunately.”
You kicked his foot under the seat, not gently.
The man looked between you both, still smiling, clearly enjoying the chaos you and Lando brought with you like it was part of the entertainment package. The boat rocked gently beneath you, warm wind brushing your face, but the question he asked cut straight through the easy atmosphere.
“So… why did you get married then?”
It hit a little too directly. A little too cleanly. You didn’t even think before answering.
“Because he’s rich.”
Lando’s head snapped toward you so fast you genuinely thought he might fall off the boat. His eyes were wide, offended, and a little betrayed.
“What?”
The couple laughed, assuming it was a joke—because of course they did. No one sane would say that seriously on a honeymoon boat.
You waved your hand quickly, trying to soften it. “I’m joking.”
“Mostly,” Lando muttered under his breath.
You elbowed him, but the couple didn’t seem to notice. They were still smiling, still entertained, still convinced they were witnessing some adorable newlywed banter instead of two people barely holding their fake marriage together.
“Fair enough,” the man said with a shrug, still amused. Then he leaned forward Lando slightly, curiosity bright in his eyes. “So what do you do, then?”
Your eye twitched at the word husband. It felt too heavy, too sharp, too wrong in your ears.
Lando answered before you could even inhale.
“I drive.”
The man blinked. “Like… cars?”
“Yeah.”
There was a beat—a tiny pause where the man’s face went blank, like his brain was flipping through a mental Rolodex. Then his eyes lit up all at once.
“Oh! Formula 1?”
Lando nodded once, calm on the outside, but you saw the tiny shift in his shoulders. The man’s expression changed instantly, excitement blooming across his face like someone had just handed him front‑row tickets to something huge.
“No way—Lando Norris? My brother is a huge fan! He never shuts up about you.”
Lando froze for the briefest second. It was small, barely there, but you noticed. Of course you noticed. You always noticed the little things he tried to hide.
“Oh,” the man continued, grinning even wider now, “I didn’t know you were married, mate.”
The silence that followed could’ve sunk the boat. It stretched between you and Lando like a rope pulled too tight. You both turned to look at each other at the exact same time, eyes locking in a silent, panicked conversation neither of you wanted to have out loud.
Then, without missing a beat, Lando smiled.
“It was a small wedding, y’know. Kept it private. I like keeping some things to myself.”
The lie rolled off his tongue so smoothly it was almost concerning. He didn’t even blink. He didn’t hesitate. He just… said it.
The man nodded approvingly, buying every word, then turned to you with a warm smile.
“Well, you’re lucky. Having a world champion at home.”
Pardon?
Absolutely not.
You smiled sweetly, matching his tone with practiced ease. “He’s the lucky one.”
Lando glanced at you, something flickering in his eyes—surprise, amusement, maybe a hint of something softer—but you didn’t give him time to process it.
“He’d be hopeless without me,” you added, completely unfazed.
“Oh, absolutely,” Lando replied, his grin returning, though it was a little tighter this time. “I’d forget where I left my trophies.”
The couple laughed, delighted, convinced they were witnessing a charming, playful honeymoon moment.
They had no idea you were both lying through your teeth.
Five minutes later, another problem appeared—one that had nothing to do with fake marriages or curious strangers. The snorkeling mask refused to cooperate. You adjusted the strap once, then again, then a third time, each attempt somehow making it sit even more crooked against your face. The elastic kept slipping, the plastic pressed awkwardly against your cheek, and the whole thing felt like it had been designed specifically to test your patience.
“For God’s sake,” you muttered under your breath, tugging at the strap like it had personally wronged you.
Lando looked over from where he was already wearing his own gear, mask perfectly fitted, snorkel in place, looking like someone who had never struggled with anything in his life. “What are you doing?”
“Trying to make this stupid thing fit,” you snapped, still wrestling with it.
He watched you for a few seconds—long enough to be annoying, long enough to make you feel judged—before letting out an exaggerated sigh that carried across the entire boat. “C’mere.”
“I can do it myself.”
“Clearly.”
You shot him a glare sharp enough to cut through the ocean breeze. “I said I can do it myself.”
“Just come here,” he said, already holding out his hand like he’d made the decision for you. “I want to look like a decent husband while I’m apparently married. The last thing I need is gossip pages saying I abandoned my wife before she even got in the water.”
“How embarrassing,” you muttered, rolling your eyes so hard it almost hurt.
He ignored the comment completely. Instead, he reached out, gently catching your wrist with warm fingers, pulling you the last step closer before you could protest again. The movement was soft, almost careful, and your argument died somewhere in your throat before you could shape it into words.
He reached behind your head with the confidence of someone who absolutely believed he knew what he was doing. His fingers brushed your hair as he tried to fix the loose strap, and within two seconds you felt a sharp tug at your scalp.
“Ow! Stop pulling my hair!”
“I’m not pulling your hair,” Lando said immediately, like the accusation offended him on a personal level.
“You are pulling my hair!”
“Then stop moving!”
“I’m not moving!”
“You’re literally flinching.”
“Because you’re yanking it!”
A couple of snorkelers nearby glanced over, clearly wondering if they needed to intervene. You forced a bright, strained smile, teeth clenched so tightly it almost hurt.
“Everything’s fine,” you said, voice pitched a little too high. “Totally fine.”
Lando didn’t even look up. He was still tangled in the straps, still muttering under his breath like you were the problem and not his complete lack of technique.
“It is not fine,” he grumbled. “You have the coordination of a broken GPS.”
You stared at him, offended on a spiritual level. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me.”
He tugged again.
“Ow—Lando!”
“Relax, I’m fixing it.”
“You’re making it worse.”
“I’m literally not.”
“Yes, you are.”
He paused, leaning back just enough to look at the mask like it was a failed engineering project he’d been assigned against his will. His brows pulled together, his mouth flattening into a line that told you he was already blaming you for whatever he saw.
“…Okay, I see the problem.”
“You are the problem.”
He ignored that completely, like he’d trained himself not to hear your insults anymore. Instead, he shifted closer again, this time slower, more careful, his fingers brushing your hair aside so he could get to the strap properly. The boat rocked gently beneath you, and for a moment the world felt strangely quiet—just the warm air, the soft slap of water against the hull, and his hands working behind your head.
“Stop moving,” he said again, but his voice was quieter now, less irritated and more focused, like he was trying not to mess it up this time.
You went still.
Not because he told you to.
Definitely not.
It was just easier than arguing while he was this close, while his fingers were sorting through your hair with surprising gentleness, while the sun warmed the back of your neck and made everything feel a little too noticeable.
After a few seconds of concentrated effort—the kind where he muttered something under his breath that you pretended not to hear—he tightened the strap properly and stepped back, letting his hands fall away.
“There,” he said, sounding far too proud of himself.
You tested the mask with a small tug.
It didn’t move. Not even a little.
“…Huh.”
“Yeah,” he said, smugness blooming across his face like he’d just solved world peace. “Miracles do happen.”
You narrowed your eyes at him, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a smile.
“Don’t get used to it.”
He grinned, bright and unbothered, the wind catching his hair as the boat rocked again.
“No promises, wife.”
The boat slowed to a stop, the engine cutting out until all you could hear was the soft slap of waves against the hull. It rocked gently over the open water, turquoise stretching in every direction, sunlight so bright it turned everything into glitter. It should have been peaceful. It should have been romantic. It should have been the kind of moment people remembered forever.
But you were here with Lando.
A guide stepped forward with an easy smile, gesturing toward the water. “Alright everyone, this is one of the best spots. Coral reef just below, lots of fish. Stay in pairs, enjoy yourselves, and don’t wander too far.”
“Stay in pairs,” Lando repeated under his breath, just loud enough for you to hear. “Heard him, wife?”
You shot him a warning look. “Don’t start.”
But he was already smirking, already enjoying himself far too much for someone who’d spent the entire morning annoying you.
Before either of you could argue, the guide clapped his hands. “Okay—snorkeling time!”
You turned to adjust your mask one last time, fingers brushing the strap—
And Lando shoved you. Hard.
There was no time to react. No time to yell properly. Just a sharp gasp and the sudden, shocking drop as the world tilted.
You hit the water with a splash that swallowed the sound instantly. Cold, bright blue wrapped around you, rushing over your head, filling your ears, stealing your breath for a moment. The ocean felt huge, endless, everywhere at once.
You resurfaced seconds later, coughing, hair plastered to your face, mask askew.
“Lando—!”
He was already in the water beside you, laughing so hard he had to wipe his eyes. The sun caught the droplets on his face, turning him into something annoyingly golden and carefree.
“You were taking too long,” he said, still grinning.
“I hate you!” you yelled, already swimming toward him with more force than necessary.
He only laughed harder, kicking away just enough to stay out of reach, the water rippling between you.
You made it exactly two strokes before something brushed your foot again. It was light, barely there, just a soft flick against your skin—but it didn’t matter. Your entire body locked up instantly, every muscle going stiff like you’d been hit with electricity.
“Nope—nope—nope—” you sputtered, kicking upward in pure panic.
“Relax,” Lando called, still laughing, still floating like this was the easiest thing in the world. “It’s just fish.”
“I don’t care what it is!”
Another brush—this time against your ankle, quick and cold.
That was it.
You didn’t think. You didn’t plan. You didn’t even breathe. You just launched yourself forward on instinct, arms flailing, legs kicking, heart pounding so loudly you could hear it in your ears—
—and you basically jumped straight into his arms.
Lando caught you automatically, the impact pushing him backward a little in the water. His hands came up around you without hesitation, steadying you, holding you up as you clung to him like the ocean was trying to drag you under.
For a second, he didn’t move. He just stood there in the water, arms half‑raised, eyes wide, like he wasn’t sure what version of reality he’d just stepped into.
Then he looked down at you.
“…Are you hugging me right now?”
“No.”
“You are literally attached to me.”
“I am stabilising myself.”
“Against my chest?”
“Shut up!”
His laugh came immediately—bright, loud, helpless—the kind that shook his shoulders and made the water ripple around you. He tilted his head back, still laughing, like he couldn’t believe this was happening.
And even though your heart was still racing, even though your legs were still wrapped around him more than you wanted to admit, even though you were absolutely not letting go yet…
You felt something warm slip into your chest.
Something you refused to name.
────────────
By the time the snorkeling trip ended, you had decided—very calmly, very rationally—that you deserved a drink. Preferably several. The kind that came in tall glasses with too much ice and not enough sense. The resort bar overlooked the ocean, the sky turning soft shades of gold and pink as the sun dipped lower. Music drifted through the warm evening air, blending with the sound of waves and the low hum of guests laughing around candlelit tables.
Lando stood a few steps away, somehow already deep in conversation with his new friend from the boat. They were talking with their hands, laughing too loudly, probably bonding over Formula 1 or golf or whatever else inflated his ego. You didn’t care enough to find out. You just wanted something cold, something strong, something that would make the memory of fish touching your legs fade into the background.
You leaned against the counter and ordered the strongest cocktail on the menu. The bartender slid it toward you with a practiced smile, the glass sweating in the warm air. You wrapped your fingers around it, grateful for the chill, ready to take the first blessed sip—
When a voice spoke from beside you.
“Try smiling a little.”
You turned your head slowly, already tired, already annoyed. A man stood there, a few years older, wearing a shirt that tried too hard and a smile that tried even harder. He looked at you like he’d just delivered the most charming line in the world, like he expected you to melt on the spot.
You looked at him. Then at your drink. Then back at him.
“Try minding your own business a little.”
“I’m just being friendly.”
“Then be friendly somewhere else.”
He laughed, the kind of laugh men use when they think you’re playing hard to get instead of trying to end the conversation. His elbow slid onto the bar, his posture loose, confident, practiced.
“That attitude won’t get you very far.”
“I’m already exactly where I want to be,” you said, lifting your drink like a shield.
“You sure?” he asked, leaning in just a little. “You look lonely.”
You opened your mouth—ready to shut him down properly this time—when a warm hand settled lightly on your waist.
Not gripping.
Not pulling.
Just… there.
“Everything okay, baby?”
Lando.
You turned so fast you nearly sloshed your drink over the rim. For what might have been the first time since this entire ridiculous honeymoon began, you felt something close to relief wash through you. His presence cut through the moment like a lifeline you didn’t know you needed.
The stranger blinked, looking between the two of you, confusion flickering across his face.
“And you are…?”
Lando didn’t hesitate. Not even for a breath.
“Her husband.”
He said it smoothly, easily, like it was the most natural thing in the world. His hand stayed on your waist, warm and steady. The stranger’s expression shifted, surprise tightening his mouth before he stepped back a little.
“Oh,” the man said after a moment, blinking like he’d just been handed information he didn’t know what to do with. “Didn’t know she was married.”
Lando offered a small, polite smile—the kind he used in interviews when he was pretending to be patient.
“She is.”
The conversation should have ended there. It should have drifted off into the warm evening air and disappeared like every other awkward bar interaction on vacation.
Instead, the man chuckled and looked right back at you, like he hadn’t learned a single thing.
“You should teach her some basic manners, man.”
The easy smile vanished from Lando’s face so fast it was almost impressive.
“What?”
The stranger shrugged, casual, careless, like he was commenting on the weather. “She’s got quite the attitude.”
“And so what?” Lando shot back, voice sharper now. “She doesn’t owe you a shit.”
The man lifted a brow. “Doesn’t mean she can act like a bi—”
“Hey!” Lando stepped forward so quickly the man actually leaned back. “Don’t talk about my wife like that or I’ll beat the shit out of—”
He was too close now. Way too close. His shoulders were tight, jaw clenched, eyes locked on the guy like he’d forgotten this was supposed to be an act. You didn’t even know if he was pretending anymore.
“Lando,” you said quietly, reaching for his wrist. Your fingers brushed his skin, warm and tense. “Drop it.”
He didn’t look at you right away. He stayed there for a heartbeat longer, breathing hard, anger still simmering under the surface.
Then, slowly, he stepped back.
Not because the man deserved it. But because you asked. The irony wasn’t lost on you—the one time he actually acted like a husband was the moment you needed him to stop.
“You okay?” Lando asked.
You blinked, because the question caught you more off guard than the argument ever had. It wasn’t the words themselves—it was the way he said them, low and tight, like he’d been holding them in since the moment he stepped between you and that guy at the bar.
“I’m fine,” you said quickly. “I had it handled.”
Lando let out a short laugh, but it didn’t reach his eyes. It didn’t even come close. “Yeah. I could tell. You were doing a great job being harassed at the bar.”
Your jaw tightened, heat rising in your chest. “I didn’t need you to save me like that.”
“Right,” he said, nodding once, sharp and clipped. “So next time I should just stand there and let him keep going?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“That’s what it sounded like.”
“I didn’t ask you to play my husband.”
That one landed differently—you felt it the second it left your mouth. Lando went quiet, the kind of quiet that wasn’t defensive or angry, just… wounded. He exhaled through his nose, looking away toward the ocean like he needed a second to reset whatever expression had almost slipped through.
“Yeah,” he said finally. “Fair.”
You took a sip of your drink, more out of habit than thirst, trying to steady yourself, trying to find the right words before the wrong ones kept spilling out.
“I can handle myself,” you added, quieter now, softer, because you meant it but you didn’t want it to sound like a wall.
“I know you can,” he replied immediately.
That made you pause.
He looked back at you then, the sharpness in his expression easing just enough that you could finally see the truth sitting underneath it—not anger, not irritation, but something quieter.
“I just didn’t like the way he was talking to you,” Lando said, voice low, steady, almost too honest.
You scoffed lightly, because that felt safer than acknowledging whatever was happening in your chest.
“Since when do you care?”
That earned you a small, humorless smile—the kind that didn’t reach his eyes, the kind that told you he’d already had this argument with himself long before you opened your mouth.
“I don’t,” he said. “Usually.”
A beat.
“But he was being a dick.”
You rolled your eyes, but it wasn’t as strong as you wanted it to be. It felt flimsy, thin, like you were trying to hold onto a version of the conversation that had already slipped away.
“And you decided that made you responsible for the entire situation?”
“I decided,” he corrected, leaning back slightly, shoulders tense, “that I didn’t want him standing there talking to you like that.”
You studied him for a second—the set of his jaw, the way he kept glancing at the ocean like it might give him an escape route, the way his fingers tapped once against his thigh before he stilled them. He wasn’t posturing. He wasn’t trying to win. He was just… telling you the truth.
“Still didn’t need to act like that,” you said, quieter now.
“Neither did he.”
Another pause—heavier this time, stretched thin between you like a wire ready to snap.
Then Lando tilted his head slightly, eyes narrowing just a fraction as he looked at you.
“You’re really going to stay mad at me for this?”
The question wasn’t defensive.
It was something else entirely—something that made your breath catch, because suddenly it felt like he wasn’t asking about the bar anymore.
He was asking about him. About you. About whatever the hell had been simmering between you long before tonight.
You opened your mouth again, still riding the leftover adrenaline from stopping him.
“I just think you don’t get to—”
“Shut up.”
You stopped. Blinking. “Excuse me?”
“I said shut up.”
“I’m literally in the middle of talking.”
“Yeah,” Lando said, stepping a fraction closer, eyes locked on yours, “I noticed.”
You frowned, heat rising in your chest. “Don’t tell me to—”
He cut you off. Not with words.
He just kissed you.
Quick. Firm. Completely unexpected. It wasn’t gentle, and it wasn’t planned, and it definitely wasn’t something either of you had agreed to in any universe where you were still pretending to hate each other properly. It hit you like a spark—sharp, bright, over before you could even process it.
It lasted maybe two seconds.
Then he pulled back like nothing had happened, like he hadn’t just short‑circuited your entire brain.
You stared at him. He stared back.
Then, very calmly, he said, “I said shut up.”
Your brain lagged, trying to catch up, trying to make sense of the moment, the heat still buzzing on your lips.
“…Norris, what the fuck?”
He didn’t answer right away. His chest rose and fell once, slow, steady, like he was trying to pretend he wasn’t affected at all.
But his eyes told a different story.
A very different one.
Lando didn’t even blink. “What?”
“You just—” you gestured wildly between the two of you, your voice climbing without your permission. “You just kissed me.”
“Yeah.”
“‘Yeah’?” you repeated, staring at him like he’d lost his mind.
He frowned slightly, like you were the one being dramatic. Like you were the unreasonable one here.
“You were overthinking it,” he said, tone maddeningly calm. “Overthinking’s bad for you, baby.”
That made you pause. You hated that it made you pause. You hated the way the word baby slid under your skin like it belonged there.
“…Right,” you said slowly, trying to gather your thoughts. “Doesn’t mean you can just kiss me.”
“Pretty sure I can,” he replied, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.
You narrowed your eyes at him, crossing your arms, trying to rebuild whatever dignity you had left.
“Hm. Don’t think this means anything though.”
“I would never,” Lando said immediately.
Too immediately.
The kind of immediate that wasn’t casual at all. The kind that sounded like he’d rehearsed it. The kind that made something warm twist low in your stomach.
You studied him, searching his face for even a flicker of something he didn’t want you to see.
He held your gaze without flinching, jaw set, eyes steady, like he was daring you to call him out. “…Good,” you said finally, lifting your chin. “Because it doesn’t.”
“Of course not.”
His voice was smooth. Too smooth. Like he was trying to convince himself as much as you. And the worst part? You weren’t convinced either.
────────────
The villa was suspiciously quiet, the kind of quiet that made every thought in your head sound louder. You sat on the edge of the outdoor couch with your legs pulled in, staring out at the dark water. The waves moved in slow, steady lines, catching bits of moonlight and breaking them apart. It should have been calming.
It wasn’t. You were trying not to think. Which, of course, only made you think more.
About Lando. About the kiss. About the way he’d looked afterward—too calm, too steady, like he hadn’t just scrambled your ability to act normal around him. About how everything had been… different since then. Not worse. Not better. Just different in a way neither of you had dared to name.
And about how today was the last day. The last night of this ridiculous honeymoon.
Behind you, the sliding door opened.
You didn’t turn. “Go away,” you mumbled.
“I live here too,” Lando said, dropping onto the couch beside you. He didn’t look at you. He just stared out at the ocean like he’d been doing it long before he walked outside.
Silence stretched between you, warm and heavy.
Then, after a minute—
“Well.”
“Well,” Lando echoed.
You exhaled slowly, eyes still on the water. “At least tomorrow we can go back to normal.”
He finally glanced at you. “Normal?”
“You know,” you said, still refusing to look at him. “You hating me. Me hating you.”
“Right.”
But he didn’t sound convinced.
And the worst part? Neither did you.
The breeze moved through the villa again, soft and warm, brushing over your skin like it knew something you didn’t want to admit. Lando shifted beside you, just enough that you felt the movement, not enough to call it anything.
Normal. You said it like you wanted it. But the word didn’t sit right anymore.
The silence fell again, stretching out between you like a thin thread. But this time, Lando was the one who spoke first.
“This trip wasn’t that bad.”
You let out a quiet laugh, shaking your head. “That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”
“Don’t let it go to your head.”
“Hm.” You looked back at the water, the moonlight breaking across the waves. “At least we survived.”
A beat.
“Now we’ll just go back to avoiding each other like before.”
“Yeah,” Lando said.
Then, after a pause that felt a little too long—
“Yeah,” he repeated, quieter. “That’s the problem.”
You finally turned your head. He wasn’t smiling anymore.
His jaw was tight, his eyes fixed on the horizon like he didn’t trust himself to look at you. The warm breeze moved through the villa, brushing over your skin, but it didn’t soften the moment. It only made it clearer.
For the first time all night, you couldn’t tell if he was joking.
Or if he meant it.
And the way he sat there—shoulders tense, hands still, breath a little uneven—made something in your chest shift in a way you weren’t ready for.
You swallowed, the words catching in your throat.
“…Lando?”
He didn’t look away from the ocean. But his voice was low, honest in a way that made your heart stutter.
“I don’t want to go back to that.”
You looked at him, confused.
“What?”
Lando kept staring out at the water. And for the first time since you’d known him, he looked nervous. Actually nervous. His shoulders were tight, his jaw working like he was trying to choose the right words and failing.
“I didn’t want to come here,” he said quietly.
“I noticed.”
“I thought it’d be the worst week of my life.”
You smiled faintly. “Again, noticed.”
A small laugh escaped him—soft, almost embarrassed.
Then—
“But somewhere between you nearly killing me with a golf cart…”
“You grabbed my thigh.”
“Not helping.”
You let out a quiet huff of laughter despite yourself. “Continue.”
Lando exhaled, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck. “I’m serious.”
“I know.”
A beat passed—warm, heavy, stretching between you like a held breath.
He didn’t look at you when he spoke again.
“It stopped being annoying.”
Your smile faded a little. “…When?”
Lando shrugged, like the answer wasn’t important even though it clearly was. “Dunno.”
Silence settled again. The ocean kept moving, steady and calm, like it didn’t care that something between you had just shifted in a way you couldn’t undo.
Then he finally looked at you. Really looked.
“And now I don’t really want it to end. Us.”
Your breath caught—just a tiny, sharp inhale—but you masked it quickly with a scoff, like you could pretend the moment wasn’t sitting between you, warm and terrifying.
“Somewhere between pushing you into the ocean and kissing you to shut you up…” Lando said, his voice quieter now, steadier in a way that made your stomach twist. He wasn’t smiling anymore. He wasn’t hiding behind jokes or smirks or that stupid confidence he wore like armor. He was just looking at you—really looking—and it stripped away every layer of distance you’d been pretending still existed.
“I think I fell in love with you.”
You stared at him.
For a moment, your brain simply refused to cooperate. The words sat there in the air, warm and heavy, like a language you almost understood but couldn’t quite translate. You blinked once. Then again. Your heart thudded in your chest, too loud, too fast, like it was trying to catch up to something your mind hadn’t processed yet.
“…That’s actually really embarrassing for you,” you managed, because your mouth was apparently determined to save you from sincerity at all costs.
Lando didn’t move. Didn’t laugh.
Didn’t roll his eyes or shove your shoulder or call you dramatic. He just stared at you like he couldn’t believe you’d said that. Like you’d knocked the air out of him.
“Are you serious?” he asked, voice flat, almost stunned.
“A little.”
“I just told you I love you.”
“I know.”
“And that’s your response?”
You exhaled softly, something nervous and warm and terrifying settling in your chest all at once. You felt it rise up, felt it push against your ribs, felt it spill into your throat before you could stop it. And then your mouth betrayed you—not with sarcasm this time, but with a smile.
A real one. A soft one.
The kind you didn’t give to people you hated.
“Good thing I love you too.”
The words left you before you could second‑guess them, before you could hide them behind a joke, before you could pretend you didn’t mean them. They hung there between you, gentle and impossible to take back.
Lando’s breath caught—just barely, just enough for you to notice. His eyes softened, the tension in his shoulders loosening like he’d been holding something in for days.
Lando didn’t move for a second.
Just stared.
Like he was waiting for a punchline that didn’t come. Like he was bracing for you to laugh or shove him or turn everything into a joke the way you always did when things got too close.
Then, quietly—
“…What?”
You let out a breath, half‑laughing, half in disbelief at yourself, because you couldn’t believe you were actually saying this out loud. “I said I love you, idiot.”
His expression shifted immediately. The shock didn’t disappear, but it softened into something raw, something unguarded, something he clearly wasn’t used to showing anyone. His eyes searched your face like he was trying to make sure he’d heard you right.
“You can’t just say that like it’s—”
“What? A prank?” you cut in, shaking your head. “No. Unfortunately for both of us, it’s real.”
Silence again.
The ocean kept moving. The wind didn’t care. The whole world stayed exactly the same while your heart tried to beat its way out of your chest. You looked down at your hands, then back at him, because avoiding his eyes wasn’t helping.
“You were pissing me off the entire trip,” you admitted, your voice softer than you meant it to be.
That got a faint, incredulous laugh out of him—the kind that slipped out before he could stop it. “Cheers.”
“It’s true,” you said quickly, pointing at him like it helped your argument. “You were annoying. Arrogant. You shoved me into the ocean. You called me a violent wife.”
“I was right about that one.”
“Shut up.”
But your voice wasn’t sharp anymore. It wavered slightly, like the truth underneath it was pushing its way through.
“And I really did hate you at the beginning,” you added, quieter now. “Like, properly.”
Lando’s gaze didn’t leave you. Not for a second.
“But?”
You hesitated.
That part was the hardest one. The part that felt like stepping off a ledge and hoping he’d catch you.
“But…” you exhaled, looking away toward the water like it might make this easier. “I think it started changing when you defended me at the bar.”
He went still.
Your fingers tightened slightly in your lap, the memory hitting you harder now that you were saying it out loud.
“That guy was being an asshole,” you continued, your voice softer, steadier. “And I was handling it, or trying to. And you just… stepped in.”
A small pause.
“And I remember thinking you were so angry,” you said, almost like you were discovering it again. “Like actually angry. Not joking, not teasing. Just… protective.”
You glanced at him again.
“That confused me more than anything you did on this entire trip.”
A faint breath left Lando, like he didn’t know what to do with that. His shoulders dropped a little, the tension easing in a way that made him look younger, more open, more real.
Then he finally spoke.
“I just hated the idea of somebody talking to you like that.”
His voice was quieter than before. Not defensive. Not playful. Just honest in a way that made your chest tighten.
A beat passed.
He gave a small shrug, like he was trying to pretend it didn’t matter as much as it did.
“I don’t know,” he added. “It pissed me off.”
The silence that followed wasn’t uncomfortable anymore. It didn’t feel sharp or heavy or awkward. It was just… full. Like something had finally settled into place between you, something neither of you could pretend wasn’t there anymore. The air felt warmer. The night felt closer. And for the first time, you didn’t feel like you were waiting for the moment to break.
You swallowed slightly, still looking at him, still trying to understand the way your chest felt too tight and too light at the same time. “…Thank you,” you said quietly.
Lando gave you a small, almost confused glance, like he wasn’t sure he’d heard you right. “For what?”
You let out a soft breath, half a laugh, half something else. “For… all of it, I guess.”
That earned you a look from him you weren’t used to—soft, steady, not trying to twist into a joke. He didn’t hide behind anything this time. He just looked at you like he was letting himself be seen.
Then he shifted slightly, reaching into his pocket. “I have something for you.”
You blinked, watching as he pulled out a small silver chain. A turtle necklace. The same one you’d stared at in the shop. The same one you’d pretended you didn’t want.
Your breath caught. “…You bought it?” you asked, taking it carefully from his hand.
“Yeah.”
“Why?”
“You said it was cute.”
“But it was so expensive!”
“And?” he said simply, like the answer should’ve been obvious. “Do I look like I care?”
Your fingers closed gently around the necklace, holding it like it might slip away if you weren’t careful. The charm felt warm against your skin, like it had been waiting in his pocket for this exact moment.
“…You didn’t have to,” you said again, quieter now, the words almost slipping out on their own.
“I know.”
A beat passed.
“But I wanted to.”
That was it. No joke. No smirk. No dramatic line to cover the truth. Just him. Just honesty. Just the kind of softness you never expected from him and didn’t know how to handle.
You looked at him for a second longer than you meant to—long enough to feel something shift in your chest, long enough to feel your breath catch again.
Then you moved before your brain could talk you out of it.
You grabbed the front of his shirt and pulled him in.
The kiss was softer this time. Not rushed. Not defensive. Not a reaction to anything. Just real. Just warm. Just the two of you finally letting something happen that had been building all week. His hand came up to your jaw, gentle in a way that made your heart stutter, and for a moment the whole villa felt still.
When you pulled back, you were both slightly breathless, and for once neither of you pretended it meant nothing. You stayed close, your forehead almost touching his, your breath mixing with his in the warm night air.
“Thank you,” you whispered, the words brushing against his lips.
Lando let out a quiet breath of a laugh, soft and disbelieving. “Yeah,” he said, voice low. Then, after a beat—one that felt like it stretched forever—he added, “I love you.”
Your heart stuttered. For a second, you just stared at him, like you were making sure you hadn’t imagined it, like you needed to see the truth in his eyes before you let yourself believe it.
Then your mouth softened into a small smile, warm and helpless. “…You’re so annoying,” you murmured.
He frowned slightly. “That’s not an answer.”
You exhaled, still smiling, still feeling that strange, steady warmth spreading through your chest. “I know.”
A pause.
Then, quieter—completely sure this time: “I love you too.”
And this time, neither of you joked your way out of it. Neither of you looked away. Neither of you pretended it didn’t matter. It mattered. And you both knew it.
babsie radio ! had so many problems while editing this I hit the damn 1000-block limit way too soon!!! I literally wanted to write one more last scene where they come back and P and Max are so confused because they don’t hate each other anymore 😩 I’m so annoyed! I might write a short oneshot of that if you guys want. I hope you enjoy this! This story is so dear to me <3 first fic of summer 2026! 💗
“Y/N, are you sure it was him at the party 5 years ago?” the police officer, who happened to be your father, asked. “I’m sure. He was blonde, had an ugly face… the drugs… they’re the same he used on Becca Bell. They HAVE to be connected somehow” Y/N fiercely explained. “It could have been anyone else, blonde and ugly as you say” your father’s boss, Mr. Smith said. “I have proof. I just need this case to be opened again” Y/N said.
“And you need to be in Little Kilton as well” your father said.
“I’ll be fine.”
“No, I’m coming with you.”
“Daaaaad”
“Those bastards won’t dare to lay a finger on you if you’re CI’s Cooper daughter.” Well, he was right at that. But Y/N knew how to fight, she did that when investigating her friend’s death. Now, all she was seeking was revenge and justice.
—
Y/N was a simple girl. Straight As in schools and college, majored in English literature and arts. Not much to do with that degree, sadly. She began writing stories about mystery and murder, but found out investigating mysteries and murders was more exciting. She kept a record for herself about all her adventures and secrets she deconspired. Now it was time for a new adventure, one that could help her revenge her friend and close a case in favour of the victims.
—
The move to Little Kilton came rapidly after the case was reopened for further investigation. The news spread faster than Y/N could imagine. The first few days passed in a haze, accommodating in the new house where they would be living for God knows how long. Y/N didn’t have time to walk through town and maybe find some other clues about the Max case that could lead her to finding the truth in her own case. And nor didn’t she have time today because her father insisted she would go to the police station with him and meet the cops “in case something happened.”
“This is Inspector Hawkins, that is…” Y/N’s father went on introducing everyone to his daughter. “And this is Da Silva, he’ll accompany you through town.”
“Yeah, right” Y/N snorted.
“I’m serious. New town, new people. You need someone to protect you.” Y/N’s father explained.
“I don’t need a bodyguard. I’m very well on my own.” Y/N replied, uninterested in the proposition.
“And I’ll use this opportunity to tell you that you can go explore the town…”
“Thanks, Dad”
“With Da Silva”
“No thanks, Dad”
“It’s for your own good. Trust me” her father said before the officer in question appeared by her side.
“So where does this lovely lady want to go first?” Dan asked.
“Take me where it all started” Y/N smirked smugly. “Alright. Get in the car.”
“Just for your info, I don’t need a bodyguard” Y/N stated again, when in the car. “I know. You said that already” Dan shrugged. “I’ll keep saying it until you leave me alone for good.”
“That’s not gonna happen, Cooper”
“Already with the nicknames, Da Silva?” Y/N asked and Dan smirked.
“We’re here. Where it all started” he stopped the car in the central square. “And where exactly?” Y/N asked.
“Just follow me”
Y/N walked with Dan and felt every pair of eyes on you.
“So why did you move to Little Kilton?”
“To see the stars, Da Silva”
“I’m just trying to make conversation”
“You’re failing miserably”
They both walked and stopped in front of a mural painting, representing two teenagers. Andie and Sal, Y/N thought. “So this is where it all started”
“You’re pretty smart for a police officer”
“I’m gonna pretend you didn’t insult me”
“Which I didn’t do” Y/N said, and studied attentively the painting.
———
“Who’s with Dan over there?” Connor asked. “Never seen that girl before. Is she his girlfriend?” Cara asked and turned to Nat. “Don’t know. He didn’t tell me anything about that” Dan’s sister shrugged. “And why is she looking at the mural?” Cara asked. “Stop asking and enjoy your milkshake, Cara” Ravi cut her short. But Pip was on Cara’s side. Who was that girl and why haven’t they seen her before? Was she the new witness in Max’s case? That’s why she was looking at the mural?
“Earth to Pip”
“Sorry, Ravi”
“I knew the time the case would open, the old Pip would be back” Ravi sighed. “What? The old Pip?”
“You know, the one who becomes obsessed with solving cases” Ravi said.
“And hurts the people around her for that” Cara chimed in.
“Okay, no more old Pip. I promise” Pip lied, but she was dying to know who that girl was.
“Hey Pip. Where are you going?” Jamie asked.
—
“So how did Andie die?” Y/N asked. “How am I supposed to know that?”
“You’re a police officer”
“And?”
“She was killed by her sister, Becca.” Both Y/N and Dan turned their heads to find Pip staring at them. “They had a fight over the fact that Andie was selling drugs to Max.”
“I guess that’s enough, Pip” Dan warned.
“If the case is reopened, tourists might as well know this town’s story” Pip said innocently.
“I’m not a tourist” Y/N said.
“Because I haven’t seen you before” Pip said.
“I’m the new English teacher at the school” Y/N lied. Well, she could be one.
“But there’s a professor already”
“I know. I’m only an intern.”
“Pip, enough with the questions” Dan warmed. “Alright. I’ll see you around” Pip smiled and left.
“She didn’t buy your lie”
“And how do you know that, Da Silva?”
“She’s smart. She solved the mystery with Andie and Sal”
“Whatever. I’m not here to make friends”
“Am I not your friend, Cooper?”
“Nope. Now drop me home before someone kidnaps me” Y/N snorted.
summary: You ask your best friend, Logan to pretend to be your boyfriend to get Garrett's attention, completely unaware that Logan is in love with you.
word count: 4k+
cw: depictions of OCD, heated make out session
This was initially supposed to be a longer fic but I thought it would work better in parts. Part two coming is real soon!
John Logan has been in love with you ever since he can remember. The moment his lips touched yours in that game of truth or dare, his heart has belonged to you. But somehow, he feels like he knew even before the kiss. From the moment the moving truck pulled into his cul de sac-from the moment you smiled and waved like you were old friends.
And when you walked into his third grade class on the first day of school, he had no idea that his life was going to change forever. The bright colors of the classroom and the other kids speaking loudly didn't seem so overwhelming when you sat across from him, wearing that pretty smile that he ingrained in his brain a few days before.
You introduced yourself with a handshake, telling him your name even though he could see it written very clearly on your name tag in the top right hand corner of your desk. And when he caught sight of your pencil bag-the very same one that was in his own backpack, he knew that you were going to be the best of friends.
And even after all these years, you don't seem to feel the same way. You don't even seem to be aware of the fact that he's in love with you which makes it hurt even more. All of the longing looks go unnoticed because you're too busy looking at Garrett Graham.
Logan thinks he's been a good sport considering, but he can't help but feel really jealous when he sees you and Garrett laughing together. But he doesn't have it in himself to do anything about it because the sad part is that the two of you would actually be really good together.
He's wrapping up practice when he gets a text from you. We need to talk. He really doesn't like the way that sounds, but he knows it won't be nearly as bad as he thinks it will be. So he adjusts his bag on his shoulder and heads to the dining hall where he knows you'll be waiting for him.
You sit at your usual table trying your best to keep your breathing even but you're just so fucking nervous. You have no idea why, thought, because this is Johnny you're about to talk to. He's your best friend and the only person you'd ever ask to do you this kind of favor. But as confident as you are, you still have visions in your mind of him telling you that he has no interest, or worse, being offended that you'd even ask that of him.
The dining hall is crowded but you're able to tune it all out, so in your head that you barely even notice John sit down across from you. He can immediately tell that something is off and you know it. You're so close that you can practically communicate telepathically.
"Hey," he greets as he sets his hockey bag by his feet and runs a hand through his hair that's still wet from his shower. He raced here from practice when he got your text and now he's wondering what you couldn't tell him in a text.
"Hi." Even though it's just one word, he can tell that you're stressed-overwhelmed. He knew he should have talked you into taking a lighter load this semester. You just put way too much pressure on yourself and he hates seeing you like this.
"Your text sounded urgent. What's up?" He honestly has no idea what you need to tell him and his mind is reeling with all of the possibilities-every single one of them the worst possible outcome.
"We need to talk." It sounds so much worse in person somehow. You're even more serious now and it's scaring him.
"You're breaking up with me, aren't you?" From the way your eyebrows furrow, his joke clearly didn't land and he's wondering what's gotten you so wound up. You're usually much more carefree so he just wants to know what's going on.
"Oh my god, no. Not at all!" You honestly can't believe he'd even think that. You've been friends for so long and you intend to be as much until the day you die. You honestly don't know what you'd do without him.
"Relax, I'm kidding," he lets out a laugh but you're not so amused. "What the hell is going on with you?"
"I just…I have a favor to ask."
"Shoot," he replies as he takes a sip from your water bottle that's sitting on the table which causes you to assume that he forgot his own. Again.
"I was wondering if you'd be my boyfriend." This catches Logan off guard, causing him to choke on the drink. You can feel other students turning to look at the two of you but you pay them no mind.
"Your what?" The sad thing is that this is all he's ever wanted but he knows that there's got to be some catch that he's unaware of. There's no way that you'd actually want him to be your boyfriend for real, right?
"Well, fake boyfriend." That doesn't make the situation better-it actually makes it worse.
"I'm not following."
"I'm getting nowhere with Garrett and I think I need to make him jealous. We both know he's the kind of guy to want what he can't have." He should have known that this would happen sooner or later considering that you've been in love with the guy since sophomore year.
"Why me? Why not Dean or Tucker?"
"You're my best friend, that's why. No one would believe that Dean would be anyone's boyfriend and I already asked Tucker and he said no. Besides, I think you and I would be more convincing. Best friends becoming a couple is totally believable."
Oh, he knows. It's not like he's fantasized about this exact thing every day since the third grade. And when he finally gets what he wants, it's all fake. God, just his luck, right?
"Not that I don't want to help, but, what do I get out of this?" He was on board the second you asked, but he feels like he should at least get something in return.
"Way ahead of you." You reach into your bag and pull something out, sliding it across the table. When it comes into his view, he realizes that it's the video game he's been wanting for months.
"Oh, I didn't mean-"
"Relax," you let out a laugh. "I somehow found it at the thrift store. Fifteen bucks believe it or not. I also tested it and it works great." That does make Logan feel better but not much. He wasn't expecting something physical, more like a favor. He's got a lot of laundry piling up but he thinks he prefers this.
"Why are you giving this to me now? Shouldn't you wait until we succeed?" One of the things that drew him to you was how nice you were. And even years later, you're still the same. Still as sweet as ever.
"Nah," you wave it off. "I was gonna give it to you no matter what. I know this plan sounds stupid and I appreciate you going along with it."
"Yeah, anything for you." His hand reaches across the table and rests on top of yours. "Literally anything." Johnny has been the one person who's always been there for you and this is no different. And when his warm brown eyes look into yours, the sunlight from the window behind you shining into them, you know he means it.
You don't know what to think when you see the outfit Sabrina has picked out for you to wear to the party. The top is completely sheer and a black lacy bra is paired with it. Next to it is the pair of jeans that you both agree makes your ass look great. It's not unlike something you'd usually wear to this sort of thing but it almost feels like you're trying too hard. Tonight, you and Johnny are going as a couple and you're nervous that everyone will see right through your plan.
You're too in your head as you get dressed, the fabric of the shirt you put on feeling too tight. Your makeup doesn't look right and the way your hair is styled isn't what you were imagining. You're trying to be more confident, but you're having a hard time getting into character. This whole thing just feels so weird to you. Johnny has never been a romantic option to you so do you really think you can pretend to feel that way about him? You guess you'll just have to see.
The bathroom sink is littered with various makeup products as you and Sabrina get ready together. The bathroom lighting is making you feel hot and you also just don't like how you look in here. It's too harsh on your features and when you lean forward to get a better look in the mirror, you can see every blemish, every pore and it makes you feel even more insecure.
You turn to Sabrina and instantly feel envious. Her makeup looks flawless and the way her long brown hair cascades down her back makes you suddenly aware of how short yours is. You turn back to the mirror and pick up a piece of hair, staring at how it now passes your collar bone. You were feeling so confident when you got it cut but now you're not so sure.
"Quit stressing," Sabrina says, and you're worried that she can somehow hear your thoughts. You're too in your head again and the room feels like it's spinning, which is odd because you haven't even had anything to drink yet. You rest your hands on the sink as your heart pounds in your chest. Your head is swirling, making you feel dizzy and you know exactly what this is.
"Hey," Sabrina rests a hand on your back. "Breathe with me." You slowly turn to her and watch as she takes a deep breath, mimicking her. You hold it for a few seconds before you both let it out. You worry when it doesn't help and that makes you worry even more.
"What do you need, babe? I can call Logan and we can just stay in tonight." You really appreciate the offer but the only way you'll feel better is to face your fear head on.
"No," you shake your head. "I'm doing this."
"What's going on in your head right now?" She can tell something is going on but she can't quite make out what. You normally love parties so it can't be that.
"Do you really think everyone will believe us?" There it is. Aside from Johnny, she's the only other person who knows the truth. She doesn't understand why you can't just ask Garrett out, but she admires how much effort you're putting into the whole thing.
"Of course they will," she encourages with a roll of her eyes. She always somehow knows exactly what you need to hear and when you turn to see her soft smile, you feel so much better. "Now come on. You look too hot to stay in tonight and Garrett is totally going to fall in love with you."
You look at your reflection one more time, not wanting to prolong the inevitable any longer. You really hope your makeup will look better at the party and hurry back into your room, grabbing your purse and jacket, taking a deep breath before opening the door. Sabrina follows you, closing the door and locking it behind her.
The party has already started when you pull onto the street and once you finally find a spot to park, you fix your jacket before getting out of the car. There are so many vehicles on the street which means you and Johnny have a lot of people to convince. You stand up straight as you walk through the freshly mowed front lawn where there are some party goers making conversation as they sip from cans, bottles, or plastic cups, doing your best to fake some confidence.
A couple is on the porch sharing a joint, greeting you as you pass by and open the front door. The entire main level is packed and you're on the hunt for Logan, already feeling overwhelmed. You usually love parties, but not tonight. You're too paranoid that everyone will see right through you and that this whole thing will have been for nothing.
An early 2000's hit is blasting through the speakers as you close the front door. You spend more time at this house than your dorm but it always feels like a maze when it's filled like this. It's so cramped, everyone packed like sardines, but still somehow making room to dance. No matter where you turn, there's someone blocking your way which makes it feel like the walls are closing in on you.
"I don't see him, babe," Sabrina tells you when she can't spot the hockey player either. "Why is everyone on campus here right now?"
There's more people than normal which is makes it even harder to look for Johnny so you pull your phone out and pull up his location, following his little dot on the map. You feel Sabrina grab onto your hand so she doesn't lose you as she follows.
You're so focused on your screen and pushing your way through the throng of people that you barely even notice that you've bumped into someone. You look up from the rock hard chest to find that the someone you've run into is Garrett. He's wearing the white sweater you remember getting him for his birthday and a pair of jeans with some black boots.
"Sunny." Your nickname falls from his lips as a grin spreads across his face. You can't help but smile at that and think that it should be illegal to look as good as he does right now.You watch him subtly check you out and and feel heat pool in your stomach at the way he takes his time with it. "You look really good tonight."
"You don't look too bad yourself, Graham," you nod at him. "Have you seen Johnny?"
You look worried and the way your eyebrows furrow in concern makes Garrett want to do whatever he can to stop it. He's become so protective of you since the two of you became friends and he'll do whatever he can to make you happy, especially if that thing makes Logan happy too.
"Yeah, he's in the kitchen. Follow me." He takes your hand and his just feels right in yours-the way it envelops it, making sure that he doesn't lose you in the crowd. He's such a gentleman like that.
You turn back to Sabrina whose eyes widen as her eyes lock on Garrett's hands wrapped around yours. It's such a simple gesture but it's a step in the right direction. He's never done this kind of thing before and she can see just how happy you are about the contact.
"Look at who I found," Garrett calls out to the group gathered around the kitchen island. You drop his hand and make a beeline for Johnny. You can feel everyone's eyes on the two of you as you wrap your arms around his neck.
"Hey, honey," he greets as you both lean in for a kiss. It's a little peck but it definitely doesn't go unnoticed by your friends. You smile at each other as the others share looks of confusion. This is everything Logan has ever wanted and it's fucking killing him that it's not real. But he's fully willing to sacrificing his own happiness for yours.
And when he looks down at your outfit, it's like you're trying to torture him. Seeing your bra is doing things to him and if you were anyone else, he'd pull you into the nearest empty room and have his way with you. But you're not just anyone. You're his sunshine, his best friend. Therefore, you're automatically off limits.
"I think we must have missed a couple chapters," Dean speaks up when you and Logan turn back towards the group.
"Yeah, when did this happen?" Tucker asks as he gestures towards you and Logan. When you turn in his direction, he's got an arm around Sabrina and you can help but smile as she leans her head on his shoulder. It was about time she found someone who treats her right.
"It's new," you reply as Logan pulls you closer, his hand resting against your hip, moving up and down in a comforting manner.
"Well, hell yeah," Dean replies. "It was only a matter of time. We should take some celebratory shots." Before you can register what's happening, you watch Garrett gather some shot glasses from the cabinet next to you and you have to force yourself to not look when you see his sweater rides up. Dean grabs a bottle of tequila and pours it before you each grab a glass.
"To the happy couple," he raises his glass and you all mimic him.
"To the happy couple," everyone but you and Johnny repeat and then you all down your shots. You both share a knowing look and you already feel guilty dragging everyone-especially him-into it. You wish you had never come up with this stupid plan in the first place.
"Who's the happy couple?" A familiar voice asks and you turn to see Jules, your cheeks burning as you make eye contact with them. You can fool your school friends with this scheme all day long, but Jules is a different story. You've grown up with them and they're able to see through your bullshit just like Johnny can.
"Me and Johnny," you smile at them, hoping that they can read the look in your eyes telling them to go along with it for now.
"Then let's make it official on Fifth Line." The words are a challenge but you're not backing down. You can't now that you've committed and you know that they know that.
"Let's do it," you nod and pull Logan in for a kiss as Jules holds up their phone to snap a photo. You can feel everyone's eyes on you and you're really trying to sell it as Logan melts into you. He seems like he's enjoying himself but you could use some work. You're just so in your head about the whole thing that you can't relax.
Jules taps away on their phone before disappearing back into the crowd as you lean into Johnny, watching Garrett out of the corner of your eye and he's smiling, clearly happy for you and Logan. There's not a single hint of jealousy which was to be expected and now you're wondering how long this is going to have to last.
Once the party comes to end, you find yourself in Johnny's room, which isn't unusual, but this is different. You're supposed to be a couple now and you definitely think you need to work on being convincing. He's at his desk working on some homework while you text Sabrina who's in Tucker's room across the hall.
I can't believe you're texting me when you could be getting some action.
You furrow your eyebrows at the message, wondering where the hell that came from. You believe that you need to kiss him again in order to act like you've done it plenty of times, but the whole thing just feels so weird.
Action? Are you forgetting who's room I'm in?
You try not to laugh as you picture it. Johnny isn't exactly the person you want to sleep with. Well, it's not like you haven't thought about it, but he's been deemed off limits for you. Sometimes you think about what it would be like but you'd never go there. Johnny is a friend and that's he ever can be.
You're single. He's single. What's the worst that can happen?
You really can't believe that this is happening. She knows exactly how you feel about Logan so you don't understand why she's making this suggestion. You like Garrett and that's all.
I like Garrett, remember?
You set your phone down and let out a deep breath before standing to your feet. You make your way over to Johnny's chair, pushing it back and placing yourself in his lap so you're straddling the chair. His eyes widen but you can tell he's into it by the way his hands rest on your waist.
"Uh, whatcha doin'?" He's trying to play it cool and really hopes that you can't hear his heart pounding in his chest. You've been this close before but never in this position. This is uncharted territory and he just knows that he's going to be thinking about this for a very long time.
You're telling yourself that this is for the sake of the plan but you know that it's mostly just to get it out of your system. If you make out with him then you can stop wondering about it and focus on winning Garrett, the real task at hand.
"We need to practice. That kiss was awkward and if we want people to believe us, we need to really sell it."
You watch him gulp, your gaze moving to his lips. He's all for it but he knows the second that you kiss again, it's game over. He's just going to want more and he knows he can't have it.
"The problem is that you're too stiff." You want to be offended but you know he's right. You were just too in your head but you're hoping that the practice helps with that.
"Well, if we practice enough, I won't be."
"Okay, put your hands on my shoulders." You do as he says as his hands move lower, grabbing hold of your ass as he pushes you further up your lap so that you're right on his crotch. If you can feel how hard he is, you don't say anything. You just lean in and gently press your lips against his.
Here, where it's just the two of you, you feel comfortable, leaning into him. Your hands slide into his hair as his own slide up your shirt. It's unlike the kiss you shared in the kitchen. This one feels much more real, much more heated.
Even though you've only kissed the one other time in the seventh grade, this just feels so natural. Your lips fit together perfectly and he somehow knows exactly what you want which can't be said for the other guys you've kissed. They were all so selfish, taking for themselves. But not Logan. He's taking the lead, but he's still doing what he thinks you want, making sure that you're okay with every move.
You feel his tongue swipe between your lips and you let him in, letting out a moan when his tongue makes contact with yours. This doesn't even compare to other make outs you've had and you're finding yourself wanting more and more.
You don't even know when your shirt comes off, but it's in the floor by the chair as Logan kisses down your neck, sucking on the sensitive spot right below your ear. Your hands give his hair a tug and from that moment, you both know that there's no going back.
"Johnny." His name comes out all hot and breathy as you grind against him. You're both so caught up in each other that you don't even hear the door open.
"Hey, Logan, I was wondering if I could borrow-" Your eyes fly open and you make eye contact with Garrett who immediately turns away as both you and Logan make an attempt to cover you up with the blanket that's draped across the back of the chair.
"Jesus, don't you know how to lock the door?"
"Maybe try knocking next time." You ask, taking the pillow out from behind Logan and chucking it at Garrett.
The door slams and you and Logan are left alone again. The moment has passed and you both decide to just go to bed. He hands you one of his t-shirts and neither of you can seem to stop thinking about what would have happened if Garrett hadn't interrupted.
Your backs are against each other as you climb into bed and make an attempt to fall asleep even though you're both very much wide awake. This wasn't part of the plan and now you're worried because you're starting to wonder what your best friend would be like in bed and not the guy down the hall who you were doing this whole thing for.
Your phone pings on the bedside table and you reach for it, you see that you and Johnny have been tagged in a photo. It's the one that Jules took earlier and it's been posted on the Fifth Line account. You don't know if they actually believed you, but as you stare at the photo all you can do is wonder what the fuck you've just done.
If you'd like to be added to this taglist, feel free to fill out the form pinned on my blog! (For 20+ only! Teens/ageless blogs will be blocked!) Please do not ask in the comments of this post or any of my others as it is hard to keep up and it's likely I won't see it!
SUMMARY: After Lando’s latest PR mess, you were sent to scold him again. The talk turned into flirting, and you ended up agreeing to a “demonstration” in his driver’s room in exchange for him behaving the rest of the season.
PAIRING: lando norris x reader
WARNINGS: explicit sexual content (MDNI!!), oral sex ( f receiving) divider: @uzmacchiato
Your phone started buzzing and you already knew what it was. Only two months on McLaren’s PR team and Lando Norris was already turning your life into chaos. You buried your face in the pillow for a few more minutes, refusing to let him ruin your morning right away. Eventually curiosity won and you opened the video.
It started innocently Lando in a club, but then the camera caught the t-shirt in full: “eat púšsy it’s vegan”. A surprised laugh escaped you before you could stop it. You quickly pressed your lips together. No. This is not funny.
The comments under McLaren’s posts were flooding in, most of them riding the vegan joke. People were being incredibly creative, but you knew the team was not amused.
Two days later, they sent you in to scold him. Again. By now it was routine, they kept choosing you because you two had become something like friends, you were close in age, and they thought he’d actually listen to you. They repeated the talking points one more time and sent you in.
Lando was already there, sitting in the small meeting room, phone in hand. He looked like a kid who knew he was in trouble but was still a little proud of himself. When you walked in, he put the phone down.
“Hi, Lando,” you said, sitting down across from him.
“Hey,” he replied, giving you a small smile.
You kept your voice steady and professional, exactly as they’d instructed.
“Lando, we cannot allow you to be seen wearing a t-shirt with such a message. It’s inappropriate, it damages the team’s public image, and it puts our sponsors in a very uncomfortable position. We have a responsibility to maintain professionalism, especially when you’re easily recognizable...”
You actually managed to stay serious through most of it. Lando was biting the inside of his cheek, trying not to smile. But the longer you spoke, the more ridiculous the whole situation felt.
“So from now on, we need you to think more carefully about what you wear when you might be filmed and...”
A small snort escaped you.
You tried to hold it together, but it was too late. Lando broke first, laughing, and then you followed, both of you cracking up.
“Wait ... I broke character,” you said, still laughing as you covered your face for a second. “Why do they keep sending me? They know I find this stuff funny instead of actually scolding you properly. You need someone who’s going to shake some sense into you.”
You tried to pull yourself together. “But seriously, we can’t have this. People online might find it funny, but it’s not good for the sponsors. You can do whatever you want in your free time, but you have to be smarter about who you’re with and what you’re doing when cameras are around. Okay?”
“Okay,” he said, still amused. “I’ll stop. I’ll be good, I promise.”
“That’s what you told me last time too,” you reminded him, half laughing, half serious. “I’m laughing with you, but I’m also serious. You understand?”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said playfully. Then his tone shifted a little. “You know… I saw some old photos on your Instagram. You looked like a real party animal back then.”
Your eyebrows shot up. “What? Are you stalking my Instagram? And I still haven’t deleted those?”
“Oh come on,” he laughed. “I know you’re still a party girl at heart. It’s funny that you’re the one scolding me for having fun.”
“I’m not scolding you for having fun,” you said. “I’m scolding you because you got filmed wearing a t-shirt that says ‘eat pussy it’s vegan’. That’s not a good PR look, even if it’s funny.”
Lando leaned forward, smirking. “Come on… ‘eat pussy it’s vegan’? You have to admit it’s a good one.”
You shook your head, but a smile tugged at your lips. “Yeah, it’s bold. So… you’re actually a munch?”
The question came out more direct than you intended, but you’d always been pretty straightforward with him.
“Yeah,” he said seriously. “I am.”
You felt your ears getting warm. “From what I’ve seen online, girls go crazy over that. So you might lose some points with PR, but you probably gained a lot in your DMs.”
Lando held your gaze. “Do you like it too?”
Your heart skipped. “What?”
“A guy who’s a munch,” he clarified, voice lower.
You swallowed, suddenly a little shy. “What woman doesn’t?”
He smiled slowly. “If you want a demonstration, you can verify whenever you want.”
Was Lando Norris actually flirting with you? Of course he was, he flirted with everyone. Still, you knew what type of guy he was. You weren’t about to fall for it.
“No, thank you,” you said quickly.
“Oh come on,” he pushed gently. “I know deep down you’re a fun person. That’s why they always send you. We have the same humor. You get me, even when you have to deliver all the PR lines.”
“And what exactly do you want from me, Lando?”
“To go out with me. Have some actual fun. I know you’re bored of this PR shit too.”
“Are you insane?” you asked, half laughing, half shocked. “Do you want me to lose my job?”
He clocked you immediately. “You’re not saying no because you’re not interested. You’re saying no because of the job.”
You opened your mouth, then closed it.
Lando leaned in with that dangerous little grin. “How about you come to my driver’s room for a little demonstration of my ‘vegan era’?”
You stared at him, completely caught off guard. A nervous laugh escaped you.
“You’re actually serious right now?”
“Dead serious,” he said, eyes locked on yours.
You shook your head, heart racing. “Lando… this is insane. I can’t just...”
“You can,” he cut in softly. “No one has to know. Thirty minutes. Just us.”
You bit your lip, looking away for a second. Every logical part of your brain was screaming at you to shut this down immediately. This was your job. Your reputation. Your future at McLaren. But there was also this stupid, curious, tired-of-being-responsible part of you that was… tempted.
You let out a long breath and rubbed your temple.
“I’m going to regret this,” you muttered.
Lando’s smirk grew, but he stayed quiet, letting you think. You looked back at him, serious now.
“Fine. But only if you swear and I mean actually swear that you will not cause any PR mess for the rest of the season. No stupid shirts, no viral videos, no drama. Nothing. That’s my only condition. If you break this, I’m done. This never happens again and I stop covering for you.”
Lando didn’t hesitate. He extended his hand toward you, expression more sincere than usual.
“I swear. Best behavior until the end of the season. You have my word.”
You stared at his hand for a few long seconds, still fighting with yourself. Then, slowly, you reached out and shook it.
“Okay,” you said quietly, almost like you couldn’t believe what you were agreeing to. “Thirty minutes. You go first. I’ll come after.”
After you left the room, you told him you’d come by in thirty minutes. First you had to face the rest of the PR team.
“So?” your boss asked as soon as you walked in.
“He won’t cause any more PR issues. He learned his lesson and swore he’ll behave.”
“And we should believe him?” someone else asked.
“I think so. I was harder on him this time. Really tried to scare him a bit,” you said.
Your boss nodded. “Good. I knew sending you was the right call, you’re the only one he actually listens to. If he keeps his word and stays clean, I’ll put you up for a promotion and a raise. You’ve been doing excellent work.”
That was exactly the motivation you needed.
But now you had to figure out how to keep Lando in line for the rest of the season. Easier said than done.
More than thirty minutes passed while you finished talking with the team. You finally slipped away, heart racing. You felt like you were back in high school sneaking out, except this time you were sneaking in. You checked left, right, behind you, then quietly opened the door to his driver’s room and stepped inside.
Lando was waiting.
“You’re late,” he said, amused.
“I was busy lying to my boss about how well you took the scolding,” you muttered. “Listen, Lando, if you actually behave until the end of the season, they’re giving me a promotion. I’ve only been here two months. This is huge for me. So please… be on your best behavior. Let me have this.”
You kept talking, nervous and rambling, until Lando stepped forward. He gently pushed you backward onto the small sofa in his driver’s room, spreading your legs. The moment his palm pressed over your pants, right against your pussy, your words died in your throat.
You were already getting wet. He could feel it.
Lando smirked at your reaction, he’d liked you from the first day.
He worked your jeans down slowly, leaving you in just your panties and team kit top. His eyes raked over you.
“Fuck, you’re so pretty,” he murmured.
“What are you doing?” you breathed.
“A demonstration,” he said, teasing your pussy over the thin fabric with his fingers until your hips jerked against his hand.
He got tired of the teasing, hooked your panties to the side, then pulled them off completely. He spread your legs wide, staring.
“What a pretty pussy,” he whispered, voice rough. “Looks delicious.”
“Is it vegan?” you managed to tease, voice shaky.
“We’ll have to try it and find out.”
He lowered his head. You felt his hot breath on your clit first, then his tongue : slow, warm, and devastating. He licked a long stripe up your folds before focusing on your clit, sucking it between his lips and flicking his tongue.
You slapped a hand over your mouth to keep quiet. The walls were thin.
Lando ate you like you were his last meal. He wasn’t lying. He worked your clit with perfect pressure, sliding two thick fingers inside you, curling them against that spot that made your vision blur. Your thighs shook around his head as the first orgasm crashed over you hard. You came on his tongue, biting your palm to muffle the moan.
He didn’t stop.
Even as you twitched from oversensitivity, he kept licking and fingering you slower, deeper, until a second, even stronger orgasm ripped through you. By the time he finally pulled back, you were trembling and boneless on the sofa.
Lando wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, looking incredibly satisfied. Your pussy was still pulsing. He gave it a light, playful slap that made you jolt, then grabbed the towel he’d wisely placed earlier and some tissues. He cleaned you up slowly and gently, careful because you were so sensitive, then leaned in and kissed your hair.
“So?” you asked breathlessly. “Was it vegan?”
“Hell yeah,” he grinned. “But I’ll need to try it again to be completely sure.”
You laughed weakly. “That was a one-time thing, Norris…But if you actually stay good until the end of the season like you promised, I might let you do it again.”
❤︎ |8,9k| Summary: Y/n upsets Lando and their reunion dosen’t go nearly close to the way Y/n expected. And somehow the outcome excites her.
The first rays of sunlight were filtering through the heavy curtains when Lando stirred. He wasn't sure what had woken him, but he quickly became aware of the warm, soft weight tucked against his side. He blinked his eyes open, a slow, sleepy smile spreading across his face as he looked down at her.
Y/N was still fast asleep, her cheek pressed against his chest, one arm thrown over his stomach. Her breathing was soft and even, a gentle rhythm against his skin. She looked so peaceful, so vulnerable, curled up in his bed, wearing his t-shirt. A fierce wave of possessiveness washed over him. He wanted to wake up like this every morning. He wanted this to be his normal.
He couldn't resist her. He leaned down, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to her cheek. Her skin was warm, smelling faintly of his soap and her own unique scent. He trailed his lips down to the sensitive skin of her neck, placing open-mouthed kisses against her pulse point. He felt her stir, a soft sigh escaping her lips as she slowly surfaced from sleep.
Her eyes fluttered open, hazy and confused for a moment before they focused on his face. A slow, sleepy smile spread across her lips, and then she was twisting in his arms, her hands coming up to cup his face as she pulled him down for a kiss.
It wasn't a gentle, good morning kiss. It was deep, and hungry, and demanding. Her tongue swept into his mouth, tangling with his, and he groaned, his arms tightening around her, pulling her flush against his already hardening body. He had missed this. He had missed her so fucking much.
Her hands started to wander, her fingers tracing a path down his chest, over his stomach, making his muscles clench and twitch. He moaned into her mouth, his hips rocking against hers, a silent plea for more. Her fingers dipped lower, skimming along the waistband of his boxers, and his entire body tensed in anticipation.
And then her stomach let out a loud, undignified grumble.
Y/N froze, her hand stilling just above the elastic of his boxers. She pulled back from the kiss, her cheeks flushing a deep pink. "Oh my god," she muttered, burying her face in his chest.
Lando couldn't help it. He threw his head back and laughed, a deep, genuine rumble of amusement that shook his entire body. "Well, good morning to you too," he chuckled, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.
She groaned, still hiding her face. "Shut up. I'm starving."
"Me too," he agreed, his voice still laced with laughter. He gently took her hand, lacing their fingers together and pulling it away from his crotch. "But I think that can wait. I'll just text my chef to whip something up for us. Then we can go down and eat."
She lifted her head, a grateful look on her face. "Okay," she agreed, a small smile playing on her lips. "That sounds good."
She slid out of bed, grabbing her clothes from yesterday and heading for the bathroom. Lando watched her go, his smile fading slightly as he reached for his phone. He quickly shot off a text to his chef, then set his phone back down, his eyes drifting towards the closed bathroom door.
Inside the bathroom, Y/N quickly used the toilet, her mind still foggy with sleep and the lingering warmth from Lando's embrace. She stood up, pulling on her grey shorts and tank top, and then froze. A cold dread washed over her. She had nothing. No pads, no tampons, nothing. She hadn't planned on staying the night, let alone two nights in a row.
"Lando!" she called out, her voice small and embarrassed. She hated this. She hated feeling so vulnerable, so dependent on him for something so basic, so… female.
The bathroom door opened a crack, and Lando's head poked in, his expression concerned. "What's wrong? Are you okay?"
"I'm fine," she said, her cheeks burning. She couldn't look at him. "I just… I don't have anything. You know. For… my period."
Understanding dawned on his face, but there was no hint of disgust or annoyance, only a quiet concern. "Oh. Right. Okay, no problem," he said easily. "I'll just run to the shop quickly. What do you need? Just tell me what to get."
Y/N's face felt like it was on fire. "I… I can just send you pictures," she mumbled, pulling out her phone. "Of the stuff I usually use."
"Perfect," he said, completely unfazed. "Send them over. I'll be back in ten minutes."
And just like that, he was gone. Y/N quickly sent him the pictures, her stomach churning with a mixture of humiliation and something else, something warm and fuzzy that she refused to acknowledge. Ten minutes later, he was back, knocking softly on the bathroom door.
She opened it just a crack, her arm snaking out to grab the bag from him. "Thanks," she mumbled, her voice barely a whisper.
"No problem," he said, his voice soft.
She closed the door, her heart pounding. She quickly used the products, her movements jerky and awkward. As she did, a strange feeling settled in her stomach. It wasn't just the embarrassment. It was the fact that he had gone out and bought these things for her, without a second thought. It was the fact that he had seen her at her most vulnerable, her most messy, and he hadn't run away. He had taken care of her. And it was doing something to her, something terrifying.
She took a deep breath, steeling herself before opening the bathroom door. She couldn't look at him. She just couldn't. She kept her eyes fixed on the floor as she walked past him, heading for the bedroom.
Lando noticed immediately. He could always tell when something was wrong with her, could read the subtle shifts in her posture, the tension in her shoulders. "Y/N?" he asked, his voice gentle. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing," she said, her voice tight. She was a terrible liar.
"Are you embarrassed?" he asked, his tone knowing.
Her head snapped up, her eyes flashing with anger. "No!"
He just looked at her, his expression patient, and she felt her anger deflate, replaced by a wave of shame. He was right. She was embarrassed. So embarrassed she wanted to crawl into a hole and die.
He sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Y/N, that's silly," he said, his voice soft. "I mean, seriously. I had my fingers deep inside you yesterday while you were bleeding all over the place. I think I can handle buying you some pads and tampons."
Her face burned, but his words, crude as they were, had a strange calming effect. He was right. It was silly. She was being silly.
"Come on," he said, holding out his hand. "Let's go eat."
She took his hand, letting him pull her towards the door. They went downstairs, the smell of freshly brewed coffee and sizzling bacon filling the air. Max was already in the dining room, and he looked up as they entered, a slow, knowing smirk spreading across his face.
"Well, well, well," he drawled, his eyes dancing with amusement. "Hello there."
Lando flushed, a deep, angry red creeping up his neck. He shot Max a glare, gesturing for him to shut up. Max just chuckled, raising his hands in mock surrender before turning his attention back to his phone.
They sat down, a tense silence settling between them as the staff placed plates of food in front of them. Lando cleared his throat, breaking the silence.
"So," he said, trying to sound casual. "I was thinking… I don't have your number. It would be easier, you know? If we could just text each other. Whenever we want to… you know." He trailed off, giving her a suggestive look, trying to make it sound as casual and purely sexual as possible.
Y/N looked at him, her expression unreadable. She knew what he was doing, and a part of her appreciated it. It made it easier to pretend. "Okay," she said, her voice quiet.
Lando's face lit up, a genuine, radiant smile spreading across his lips. He quickly pulled out his phone, handing it to her. She typed in her number, her fingers flying across the screen, before handing it back to him.
"Great," he said, his voice bright. He looked like a kid on Christmas morning.
"I have to go," she said, standing up. "I have… things to do."
"Right," he said, his smile faltering slightly. "Well, let me know when you're free. We could… do dinner? Tonight?"
"I'll think about it," she said, her voice noncommittal. She wouldn't. She knew she wouldn't.
She left without another word, her heart a strange, tangled mess of emotions. She went home, the small, sterile apartment she lived in a stark contrast to Lando's luxurious mansion. She quickly changed out of her borrowed clothes, pulling on her work attire: a black, tight-fitting catsuit that left little to the imagination, a thigh holster, and a sleek, silenced pistol. This was her. This was who she was. Not the girl who blushed and ate chocolate on a couch.
She checked her phone, a new message from her agency blinking on the screen. A new job. She accepted it without a second thought. She needed a distraction. She needed to forget Lando, to forget the way he looked at her, the way he touched her, the way he made her feel. She had caught feelings for him, and that was a liability she couldn't afford. He was being too sweet, too caring, and it was chipping away at the walls she had so carefully built around her heart. She had always been satisfied with their arrangement, with the mind-blowing, no-strings-attached sex. But now? Now she couldn't do it. It hurt too much.
She threw herself into her work with a ferocity that bordered on suicidal. She took on every job that came her way, no matter how dangerous, no matter how dirty. She became a ghost, a whisper in the underworld, a name that was spoken with fear and respect. She was good at what she did, one of the best, and the work paid for her small, expensive apartment in Monaco. It paid for the weapons, the equipment, the occasional rented car or designer dress she needed for a role. But it didn't pay for a car of her own, didn't pay for a life of luxury. It just paid for survival.
Even with the constant danger, the adrenaline, the blood, her mind would drift back to him. She missed his touch, not just the desperate, hungry sex, but the gentle way he held her, the way he rubbed her belly until her cramps disappeared, the way he looked at her like she was the only person in the world. Nothing compared. She thought about sleeping with someone else, about trying to fuck him out of her system, but she couldn't bring herself to do it. The thought of another man's hands on her was enough to make her feel sick.
Meanwhile, Lando was going insane.
He missed her with a desperation that was a physical ache in his chest. He was angry, a volatile, dangerous anger that simmered just beneath the surface, waiting for an excuse to explode. He was more ruthless than ever in the mafia world, his punishments becoming more brutal, his interrogations more violent. He snapped at his own men, at Max, at anyone who dared to look at him the wrong way. He was a walking, talking time bomb, and everyone knew it.
He had texted her, multiple times. At first, she answered, her replies short and dismissive. "Busy." "Can't talk." Then, she just stopped replying altogether, leaving him on read, a small, cruel checkmark that taunted him with her silence.
He was losing his mind. He needed to see her, to talk to her, to understand what the hell was going on. He couldn't stand not knowing, not being in control.
One night, fueled by a dangerous combination of whiskey and frustration, he sat down at his secure, encrypted computer. He was a lot of things, but he wasn't just a brute. He was smart, and he had resources. He hacked into the database of the assassin agency she worked for, his fingers flying across the keyboard, bypassing firewalls and security protocols with an ease that was terrifying. He found her file, her profile, her list of completed jobs. And then he saw it. A new job, a high-profile target.
A slow, predatory smile spread across his face. He knew the target. He knew where he would be, and when. He also knew that she would be there.
The night of the dinner, Lando was a vision of controlled chaos. He was dressed in a tailored tuxedo, his hair perfectly styled, his jaw clean-shaven. He looked like the wealthy, respectable businessman he pretended to be, but his eyes were cold, hard, and full of a dangerous, calculating light. He was there for business, a tense negotiation with a rival family, but his attention was elsewhere, his senses heightened, scanning the crowded ballroom for any sign of her.
He saw her just as the shots rang out.
It was chaos. People were screaming, running for cover as the rival family, who had clearly double-crossed them, opened fire. Lando's men were a well-oiled machine, returning fire with deadly precision, but Lando's eyes were fixed on the stage, where the target, a portly man in a ridiculously expensive suit, was slumping in his chair, a single, clean hole in his forehead.
And then he saw her. A flash of black, a ghost in the chaos, disappearing through a side door.
He excused himself from the firefight, his movements calm and deliberate, as if he were just leaving a boring party. He followed her, his long legs eating up the distance as he navigated the maze-like corridors of the hotel. He found her in a dark, deserted alleyway, her back pressed against the cold brick wall, her gun still in her hand.
"You shouldn't be here alone," he said, his voice low and dangerous, echoing in the narrow space.
She spun around, her gun raised, her eyes wide with surprise before they narrowed in recognition. "Lando," she said, her voice tight. "What are you doing here?"
"I could ask you the same thing," he said, stepping closer, invading her personal space. "But I already know the answer."
He didn't give her a chance to respond. He closed the distance between them, pinning her to the wall with his body, his hands gripping her arms. He crashed his lips down on hers, a rough, desperate kiss that was full of weeks of pent-up frustration and longing. He had missed her so fucking much, missed her taste, her touch, the feel of her body against his.
She responded for a moment, her lips parting under his, a soft moan escaping her throat. Then, as if she had been shocked, she pulled away, turning her head to the side.
"Stop," she gasped, her voice strained. "Lando, stop."
He froze, his body still pressed against hers. He was shocked, confused. "What?" he asked, his voice rough. "Why?"
She wouldn't look at him, her gaze fixed on the grimy brick wall beside his head. "I just… I don't want to," she said, her voice flat, devoid of emotion.
He knew that was a lie. He could feel the rapid beat of her heart, the way her body was still trembling from his kiss. "Bullshit," he growled, his grip tightening on her arms. "What's going on, Y/N? Talk to me."
She finally looked at him, her eyes cold and distant. "There's nothing to talk about," she said, her voice hard. "I found someone else. So I don't want to continue our… thing. It's over."
The words hit him like a physical blow, a punch to the gut that stole his breath. His heart shattered into a million pieces, the pain so sharp, so intense, it was all he could do not to double over. He stared at her, his mind reeling, trying to process what she was saying. Was she telling the truth? He couldn't tell. Her face was a mask, her eyes unreadable.
"Are you serious?" he asked, his voice barely a whisper.
"Yes," she said, her voice unwavering. "I'm serious."
He believed her. And it broke him.
He slowly released her, taking a step back, his hands coming up to run through his hair in a gesture of disbelief and defeat. He looked at her one last time, his eyes full of a pain so raw and visceral it made her flinch. Then, without another word, he turned and walked away, disappearing into the night.
Y/N stood there in the dark alleyway, her body trembling, her gun hanging limply at her side. She felt awful. A sick, gnawing guilt twisted in her stomach. She knew she had done the right thing, that it was for the best. But she already missed him. She missed him so much it hurt.
Lando stumbled back to his car, his vision blurred by a haze of unshed tears. He drove home on autopilot, the city lights a meaningless blur of color. He walked into his house, the silence a deafening roar in his ears, and went straight to Max's room, not even bothering to knock.
Max was sitting on his bed, cleaning his gun, but he looked up as Lando entered, his eyes widening in shock at the sight of his friend's face. Lando looked like he had been to hell and back, his expression one of utter devastation.
And then Lando broke.
He sank to his knees, a choked sob tearing from his throat, and buried his face in his hands. His shoulders shook with the force of his sobs, raw, gut-wrenching cries of pain that seemed to come from the very depths of his soul.
Max was in shock. He had never seen Lando cry. Not ever. He had seen him shot, stabbed, beaten within an inch of his life, but he had never seen him cry. He quickly put his gun aside and rushed to his friend's side, pulling him into a tight hug.
"Hey, hey, what is it?" Max asked, his voice gentle. "What happened, Lando? What's wrong?"
Lando just shook his head, his sobs subsiding into quiet, broken whimpers. "Y/N," he choked out, his voice thick with tears. "She… she found someone else."
Max held him, letting him cry, his own heart aching for his friend. He had known this was coming. He had seen it in the way Lando looked at her, in the way he talked about her, in the fact that he hadn't fucked anyone else since he'd met her. Every time Lando said it was "just sex," Max had seen right through the lie. He knew his friend was in way over his head.
After a few minutes, Lando's sobs quieted, and he pulled back, wiping his face with the back of his hand, looking utterly defeated. Max kept a supportive arm around his shoulders.
"Do you love her?" Max asked, his voice soft but direct.
Lando didn't even have to think about it. He just nodded, his head hanging in shame. "Yeah," he whispered, the word barely audible. "Yeah, I do. I love her so fucking much, Max. And it's killing me."
Max sighed, pulling him into another brief, tight hug. "I know, man. I know."
About a week passed, a long, agonizing week for Lando. He was a ghost in his own house, moving through his days with a hollowed-out feeling in his chest. He threw himself into his work, but even the thrill of a successful deal or the satisfaction of eliminating a rival felt empty. He was just going through the motions, a robot programmed to kill and conquer, but the fire inside him had been extinguished.
He was at a club one night, a high-end, exclusive place that was usually buzzing with energy and life. Tonight, it just felt loud and oppressive. He was there for business, a tense meeting with a new supplier that had gone south. It had ended in a bloodbath, the back room of the club now a crime scene, his men efficiently cleaning up the mess. He was standing by the bar, a glass of whiskey in his hand, the bitter taste of failure and violence on his tongue, when he felt it.
A familiar prickling sensation on the back of his neck.
He slowly turned, his eyes scanning the crowded dance floor. And then he saw her.
She was across the room, leaning against a pillar, a drink in her hand. She was wearing a little black dress that hugged her curves in all the right places, her dark hair falling in waves around her shoulders. And she was looking at him.
It wasn't just a look. It was the look. The one he knew so well. The "fuck me" look. Her eyes were dark, smoldering, full of a heat that made his body respond instantly, despite the anger and hurt that was still simmering just beneath the surface.
She held his gaze for a long moment, a slow, deliberate smirk playing on her lips. Then, she pushed off the pillar and started walking, not towards him, but towards the hallway that led to the restrooms.
Lando's heart hammered in his chest. He was angry, he was hurt, he was confused. But he was also a man who had been starving for a week, and she had just offered him a feast. He slammed his glass down on the bar and followed her, his strides long and determined.
He found her standing outside the ladies' room, leaning against the wall as if she had been waiting for him. She didn't say a word. She just grabbed his hand, pulled him into the men's room, and locked the door behind them.
The moment the door clicked shut, she was on him. She didn't say hi, she didn't ask how he was. She just launched herself at him, her hands fisting in his hair as she pulled his head down and crushed her lips to his.
Lando was so stunned, so overwhelmed by the suddenness of it, that for a second, he just stood there. Then, instinct took over. He groaned, a deep, guttural sound of pure, unadulterated need, and pulled her close. He kissed her back with a desperation that bordered on violence, his tongue sweeping into her mouth, claiming her, tasting her. He had missed her so fucking much.
His hands roamed her body, gripping her hips, pulling them flush against his. He could feel the heat of her through the thin fabric of her dress, and he groaned again, his hands sliding down to cup her ass, squeezing the firm flesh through her dress. He was already hard, aching for her, a week's worth of frustration and longing culminating in this one, explosive moment.
He was lost in her, in the taste of her, the feel of her, the scent of her. But then, a sliver of sanity pierced through the fog of lust. He pulled back, his breathing ragged, his forehead resting against hers.
"What happened to the other guy?" he asked, his voice rough, his eyes searching hers. "The one you found?"
Y/N looked at him, her expression unreadable for a moment. Then, she sighed, a small, weary sound. "There is no other guy," she confessed, her voice quiet. "I lied."
Lando pulled back, his eyes widening in shock and confusion. "You lied?" he repeated, his voice incredulous. "Why? Why the fuck would you lie about that?" Y/N couldn't meet his gaze. She stared at a spot on his chest, her cheeks burning with a shame that was quickly being overshadowed by a confusing knot of emotions. She felt like an idiot. A cruel, stupid idiot. "I don't know," she mumbled, the words barely audible over the thumping bass from the club outside.
The silence in the men's room was thick enough to choke on, broken only by the muffled thump of the bass from the club outside. Lando stared at her, his expression a volatile cocktail of disbelief, fury, and a deep, wounded confusion that made her chest ache. "You lied?" he repeated, his voice dangerously quiet, a stark contrast to the chaos they had just been part of. "You looked me in the eye and told me you found someone else, and you lied? Why the fuck would you do that, Y/N?"
Y/N couldn't hold his gaze. The intensity in his eyes was too much, a piercing spotlight that illuminated the tangled mess of her own motives. She stared at a point on his chest, at the expensive fabric of his black shirt, and felt a wave of heat wash over her cheeks. "I don't know," she mumbled, the words feeling inadequate and pathetic even to her own ears.
"Bullshit," he snapped, his voice rising. "You don't do anything without a reason. So tell me. Was it a power play? Did you get off on watching me fall apart? What was it?"
His anger was a tangible thing, a force that pressed in on her from all sides. It should have sent her running, should have triggered the cold, calculating part of her brain that knew how to de-escalate a situation or end it with extreme prejudice. But it didn't. It just made her feel… small. And cornered.
"No," she said, her voice finally finding some strength as she lifted her chin. "It wasn't like that." She took a shaky breath, the confession feeling like it was being ripped from her throat. "I wanted to make you jealous. I thought… I thought if I made you angry enough, we could have… you know. Hot, rough, make-up sex. Like we always do when we fight."
Lando stared at her, his jaw working. He let out a short, sharp, utterly humorless laugh. "Make-up sex? Y/N, I wasn't angry. I was destroyed. I spent a week thinking about you with some other faceless bastard, and it was killing me. I cried in front of Max. Do you have any idea what that means? I haven't cried since I was twelve years old. And you did that to me… for what? For a better orgasm?"
The raw honesty in his voice, the unvarnished pain, was a physical blow. It was far worse than his anger. "I… I didn't know it would hurt you like that," she whispered, genuinely remorseful. "Lando, we have an agreement. No strings attached. That's the rule. That's the only reason this works."
"Is it?" he challenged, stepping closer again, his presence overwhelming. "Is that the only reason? Because if it is, then my feelings shouldn't matter to you at all. If you really feel nothing for me beyond the physical, then what does it matter if I'm in love with you?"
The words hung in the air between them, so stark and so final that for a moment, Y/N thought she had misheard him. She froze, her mouth falling open slightly, her breath catching in her throat. The world seemed to tilt on its axis, the thumping bass from the club fading into a distant, irrelevant drone. In love with you. The phrase echoed in her mind, each word a hammer blow against the walls she had spent a lifetime building.
"Say something," he pleaded, his voice cracking with desperation. "Anything. Yell at me. Hit me. Just… say something."
But she couldn't. Her vocal cords were paralyzed. All she could do was stare at him, her eyes wide with a terror so profound it felt like a physical entity clawing its way up her spine. This was her worst nightmare come to life. This was the one vulnerability she could never afford, the one chink in her armor that could get her killed. Love was a liability. It was a weakness. And Lando, the one man she had allowed herself to feel anything for, had just handed her a loaded gun and pointed it at her own heart.
The silence stretched, agonizing and heavy. Finally, something inside her snapped. The fear curdled into a hot, defensive anger. It was easier to be angry. Anger was a weapon she knew how to use.
"What do you want me to say?" she shot back, her voice laced with a venom she didn't have to fake. "That I love you back? That I've been secretly pining for you, dreaming of a white picket fence and a happily ever after? Is that what you want to hear?" She took a step forward, getting in his face, her eyes flashing. "Well, I don't. I don't feel anything for you. It's always been about the sex. The mind-blowing, no-strings-attached sex. And now you've gone and ruined it by getting feelings. This is your fault, not mine. So this is over. We're done."
She watched his face, searching for a sign that her words had hurt him, that they had pushed him away. But instead of the pain she expected, she saw a flicker of something else in his eyes. Understanding. And it infuriated her.
"We're not done," he said, his voice calm now, eerily so. "My feelings don't change the physical aspect of this. In fact, they might make it better for you. I'm more motivated than ever to make you feel good."
"You're insane," she scoffed, turning away from him, needing to escape the suffocating intensity of his gaze.
"No, I'm practical," he said, his voice close behind her. He gently turned her back to face him. "Think about it, Y/N. If you really feel nothing for me, then it shouldn't be a problem for you that I have feelings for you. It doesn't affect you. You can still use me for whatever you need, and I'll still be here, ready and willing. The only thing that changes is that I'll be handling the emotional fallout on my own. You don't have to do anything."
His logic was a trap, a beautifully constructed, inescapable trap. He was daring her, challenging her to call his bluff, to admit that she wasn't as cold and detached as she claimed. If she walked away now, she would be proving him right. She would be admitting that his feelings did affect her, that she did care. And that was a concession she refused to make.
"Don't you want to hurt me?" he pressed, his voice a low, seductive murmur. "Here's your chance. Use me. Take what you want from me and leave. If you really don't care, it should be easy."
Her mind was racing, her heart hammering against her ribs. She was trapped between a rock and a hard place of her own making. She could walk away and lose him forever, or she could stay and play his dangerous game, a game she wasn't sure she could win. But the thought of him seeing through her, of him knowing the truth, was more terrifying than any physical danger she had ever faced.
"Fine," she snapped, her voice tight with resentment. "Fine. We'll continue your little arrangement. But don't come crying to me when you get your heart broken."
A slow, triumphant smile spread across Lando's face. It was the smile of a predator who had just cornered his prey. "I won't," he promised. And then he was on her.
His lips crashed down on hers, a punishing, possessive kiss that was all teeth and tongue and desperation. It wasn't gentle; it was a claiming, a branding. He was staking his claim, reminding her who she belonged to, who she had always belonged to. And damn her, she responded with a ferocity that matched his own. She kissed him back with a hunger that bordered on violence, her hands fisting in his hair, pulling him closer, needing to feel him, to taste him, to lose herself in him.
He moaned against her mouth, a low, guttural sound that vibrated through her entire body. His hands roamed her body, gripping her hips, pulling them flush against his already hardening length. He squeezed her ass, his fingers digging into the firm flesh through the thin material of her dress, and she arched into him, a soft moan escaping her lips. She had missed this. God, she had missed this so much.
His hand slid up her thigh, his fingers tracing a path of fire on her skin. The anticipation was agonizing, a delicious torture that had her trembling in his arms. He reached the edge of her panties, his fingers hesitating for a moment before slipping beneath the delicate lace. He pulled the fabric to the side, his fingers exploring her slick, wet folds before sliding two deep inside her.
Y/N gasped, her head falling back against the wall as a wave of pure, unadulterated pleasure washed over her. "Lando," she breathed, her voice barely a whisper.
He started to move, his fingers pumping in and out of her in a slow, deliberate rhythm. He circled her clit with his thumb, the dual sensations sending jolts of electricity through her. She could only see his forearm, the muscles flexing beneath his skin as his hand worked its magic under the hem of her dress. The sight of it, the knowledge of what he was doing to her, was almost as arousing as the act itself.
She bit her lip, trying to stifle the moans that threatened to escape, but it was useless. Lando could feel her response, could feel the way her body was tightening around his fingers, the way her breath hitched in her throat. He leaned in, his lips capturing hers in a searing kiss that was all tongue and teeth and desperation. He nipped at her bottom lip, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin, and she gasped into his mouth.
"Look at me," he commanded, his voice a low growl against her lips.
She forced her eyes open, her gaze meeting his in the dimly lit mirror behind the sinks. The sight was almost enough to undo her completely. Her, flushed and disheveled, her dress pushed up around her hips. Him, fully clothed, his expression dark and possessive, his hand buried between her legs.
"You're such a good girl for me," he whispered, his voice thick with desire. "Taking my fingers so well. So fucking wet for me. Is this all for me, Y/N? Is this pussy dripping because you love having my fingers inside you?"
His words, his dirty talk, sent a jolt of electricity straight to her core. She couldn't speak, could only nod, her eyes locked on his in the mirror as he sped up the pace of his fingers, pumping into her faster, harder, his thumb rubbing her clit in relentless, merciless circles.
"Tell me," he demanded, his voice rough. "Tell me how much you want it."
"I want it," she gasped, her voice breathy and strained. "Lando, please..."
"Please what?" he urged, his fingers curling inside her, hitting that spot deep within her that made her see stars. "Tell me what you want."
"I want to come," she cried, her body arching off the door. "Please, Lando, let me come."
"Then come for me, baby," he growled, his voice a low, dominant rumble that vibrated through her entire body. "Come all over my fingers. Let me feel you."
His words were her undoing. With a cry that was half his name and half a sob, she shattered. The orgasm ripped through her, a tidal wave of intense pleasure that left her breathless and trembling. Her inner walls clenched around his fingers, her body convulsing as wave after wave of ecstasy washed over her. She gripped his wrist, her nails digging into his skin, holding on for dear life as he continued to pump his fingers, drawing out her orgasm, milking every last drop of pleasure from her.
When she was finally spent, a limp, trembling mess in his arms, he slowly withdrew his fingers. He brought them to his lips, his eyes never leaving hers as he tasted her, a low, satisfied hum rumbling in his chest.
"Perfect," he murmured, before kissing her again, a deep, lingering kiss that tasted of her and of him, of the passion that still burned between them, hotter and more dangerous than ever before.
"Let's go home," he said, his voice husky, his forehead resting against hers.
He took her hand, his fingers lacing with hers, and led her out of the bathroom. They navigated the crowded club, a bubble of intense, private energy in a sea of strangers. No one looked twice at the handsome man in the tailored suit and the beautiful woman in the little black dress, their hands clasped tightly, their faces flushed with a secret they shared.
He led her to his car, a sleek, black Aston Martin that was parked in a secluded, VIP spot. He opened the door for her, his hand lingering on the small of her back in a gesture that was both possessive and surprisingly tender, before she slid into the plush leather passenger seat.
The drive to his house was silent, but it wasn't an uncomfortable silence. It was heavy, charged with the unspoken words that hung between them. Lando focused on the road, his profile sharp and handsome in the glow of the dashboard lights, but Y/N could feel the tension radiating from him, a palpable energy that was both exhilarating and terrifying.
She stared out the window, the city lights a blur of color, her mind a chaotic whirlwind of thoughts and emotions. He loves me. The phrase echoed in her mind, a constant, terrifying refrain. It was a vulnerability, a weakness, a liability. It was everything she had ever fought against, everything she had sworn she would never allow herself to feel. And yet, a treacherous part of her, a part she had tried so hard to suppress, felt a thrill of something that was dangerously close to joy.
As they pulled into his driveway, the automatic lights illuminating the sprawling, modern mansion, her stomach churned with a nervousness that was both unfamiliar and unwelcome. This was Lando. This was the man who had been inside her more times than she could count, who had made her scream his name until she was hoarse, who had seen her at her most vulnerable, at her most messy. Why was she so nervous?
He parked the car, cutting the engine, and the sudden silence was deafening. He turned to her, his eyes dark and intense, searching hers. "Are you okay?" he asked, his voice soft.
"Fine," she lied, her voice a little too bright. "Why wouldn't I be?"
He didn't answer, just gave her a knowing look that made her heart skip a beat. He got out of the car and came around to open her door, ever the gentleman. But as she stepped out, he didn't let her go. He crowded her against the car, his body pressing against hers, his hands framing her face.
"Last chance to back out," he murmured, his thumb stroking her cheek. "If you're not sure, Y/N, if you're scared, tell me now. We can pretend this never happened."
She looked up at him, at the raw, unguarded emotion in his eyes, and felt a surge of something she couldn't name. It wasn't fear. It wasn't anger. It was… something else. Something warm and dangerous and terrifyingly close to hope.
"I'm not scared," she said, her voice firm, even as her heart hammered against her ribs. "And I'm not backing out."
A slow, triumphant smile spread across his face. "Good," he said, before capturing her lips in a kiss that was both a promise and a threat.
He took her hand again, leading her into the house. The moment they were inside, he was on her. He kicked the door shut behind them, the sound echoing in the vast, empty space, and then he was dragging her towards the stairs, his movements urgent, demanding.
He didn't give her a chance to look around, to acclimate to the familiar surroundings. He just pulled her up the stairs, down the hallway, and into his bedroom, kicking the door shut behind them.
The room was dark, the only light the soft glow of the moon filtering through the floor-to-ceiling windows. He spun her around, his hands gripping her hips as he pulled her flush against him. He kissed her, a deep, hungry kiss that was full of a week's worth of pent-up frustration and longing. He had missed her. God, he had missed her so fucking much.
He pulled her towards the bed, his movements clumsy with urgency. He sat down on the edge of the mattress, pulling her down with him, guiding her to straddle his lap. She settled against him, her thighs on either side of his, her core pressing against his already hardening length.
And then, the nervousness returned, a cold, clammy feeling that made her stomach churn. She had never been nervous about sex before. Never. But this… this was different. Knowing that he loved her, that this wasn't just about physical release for him, that there was an emotional component to his desire, changed everything. It made her feel exposed, vulnerable in a way she had never felt before.
She tried to push the feeling down, to bury it under a layer of practiced seduction. She bit her lip, looking at him from under her lashes, trying to see him without the admiration she felt for him showing through. He was so handsome. His hair was a mess, his lips were swollen from her kisses, and his eyes… his eyes were burning with an intensity that was almost frightening. It wasn't just lust. It was something more. Something that looked a lot like love.
She felt dizzy, overwhelmed by the force of his gaze. She needed to regain control, to put herself back in the driver's seat. She reached for the hem of his shirt, her fingers fumbling with the buttons for a moment before she managed to undo them. She pushed the shirt open, her hands exploring the hard planes of his chest, the ridges of his stomach.
He groaned, his head falling back as her hands roamed his body. Encouraged, she leaned in, her lips tracing a path down his neck, her teeth nipping at his collarbone. She could feel his heart hammering against his ribs, a rapid, steady beat that matched her own.
She pulled back, her hands moving to the hem of her own dress. She crossed her arms, grabbing the fabric and pulling it over her head in one smooth, fluid motion. She tossed it aside, leaving her in only her black lace bra and panties.
Lando's eyes darkened, his gaze roaming her body, taking in every curve, every inch of exposed skin. He looked like he was starving, and she was the only thing that could satisfy his hunger.
She reached for the button of his pants, her fingers deliberately slow and teasing. She popped the button, then slowly, torturously, pulled down the zipper. He groaned, his hips bucking up in a silent plea for more. She smirked, a flicker of her usual confidence returning. She enjoyed this, enjoyed the power she held over him, the way she could make him lose control with just a touch.
She hooked her fingers in the waistband of his pants, pulling them down, along with his boxers, freeing his erection. He was hard, so hard it looked almost painful, the head an angry, swollen red. A bead of pre-cum glistened at the tip, and she felt a surge of feminine pride, a primal satisfaction that she was the one who did this to him.
She wrapped her hand around him, her fingers barely meeting around his thick girth. He was hot and heavy in her hand, a living, breathing thing that pulsed with life. She started to stroke him, her movements slow and deliberate, her thumb brushing over the sensitive head on each upstroke.
"Y/N," he groaned, his voice a low, guttural growl. "Fuck."
She looked up at him, a smirk playing on her lips. She could feel the tension coiling in his body, see the desperate need in his eyes. She knew he was close, knew that he wouldn't last long, not after a week of abstinence.
But just as she felt him start to twitch, just as she knew he was on the verge of release, he stopped her. His hand covered hers, stilling her movements.
"Stop," he gasped, his breathing ragged. "I want to come inside you."
Y/N's smirk widened. She leaned in, her lips brushing against his ear. “You can get hard again."
He groaned, a sound of pure, unadulterated torture, but he didn't stop her as she resumed her stroking, her movements faster this time, more insistent. She twisted her wrist with each stroke, her spit on his dick making slick, wet sounds in the quiet room. She used the moisture to lubricate her movements, her hand flying up and down his shaft, her grip firm and sure.
"Fuck, Y/N," he gasped, his hips bucking up to meet her strokes. "I'm... I'm gonna..."
With a loud, strangled cry, he came. His body arched off the bed, his back bowing as he spilled himself into her hand, hot and thick and endless. She kept stroking him, milking every last drop of his release, until he was spent, a limp, trembling mess beneath her.
She let go of him, wiping her hand on the tissue he offered her, a small, satisfied smile on her lips. She had done that. She had made him lose control, had made him forget everything but the pleasure she could give him. It was a powerful feeling, a heady rush that went a long way towards soothing the frayed edges of her nerves.
He pulled her down for a kiss, a deep, languid kiss that tasted of satisfaction and something more, something she couldn't quite name. They kissed for a long time, their hands roaming, relearning each other's bodies, the frantic urgency from earlier replaced by a slower, more intimate exploration.
His hands slid up her back, his fingers deftly unhooking her bra. He tossed it aside, his hands cupping her breasts, his thumbs brushing over her hardened nipples. She moaned into his mouth, her body arching into his touch.
He broke the kiss, his lips trailing a path of fire down her neck, behind her ear, a spot that never failed to make her weak in the knees. She moaned, her head falling back, giving him better access as he nipped and sucked at the sensitive skin, leaving a trail of marks in his wake.
He laid her back on the bed, his body hovering over hers. He hooked his fingers in the waistband of her panties, pulling them down her legs and tossing them aside. She was completely naked now, exposed and vulnerable under his intense gaze.
But she wasn't just a passive observer. She reached for him, her hands exploring his body, her fingers tracing the hard lines of his stomach, the dip of his hips. She teased him, her fingers dancing along his inner thighs, her nails scraping lightly against his skin, enjoying the way his body responded to her touch, the way his muscles clenched and twitched.
She felt him harden again, his erection pressing against her thigh. She looked up at him, a silent question in her eyes, and he nodded, his gaze dark and intense.
She kissed him, a slow, deliberate kiss that was a promise of things to come. He reached for the nightstand, fumbling in the drawer for a moment before pulling out a foil packet. He ripped it open with his teeth, his eyes never leaving hers as he rolled the condom down his length.
There was something undeniably hot about it, about the sight of him taking control, of him preparing to take her. It was a primal, possessive gesture that sent a thrill through her.
He positioned himself between her legs, his body covering hers. He guided himself to her entrance, the head of his cock nudging against her wet folds. He didn't enter her right away, just held himself there, teasing her, making her want it, making her need it.
"Please, Lando," she begged, her voice a breathy whisper. "I need you."
With a low groan, he thrust into her, sliding in slowly, inch by delicious inch. He was big, bigger than she remembered, and the initial stretch was a shock, a sharp, sweet pain that made her gasp. He gave her a moment to adjust, to get used to him, his body still, his weight a comforting, grounding presence on top of her.
And then he started to move.
At first, his movements were slow, gentle, a slow, deep rhythm that allowed her to stretch around him, to accommodate his size. But it wasn't long before the gentle rhythm gave way to something more primal, more demanding. He started to pound into her, his movements rough, punishing, his hips slapping against hers with a force that stole her breath.
They both moaned, a chorus of pleasure and pain that filled the quiet room. It was raw, and it was real, and it was everything she had been missing. He was everything she had been missing.
Downstairs, Max let himself into the house, his footsteps silent on the marble floors. He had been out with some of the guys, a rare night off that had done little to lift his spirits. He was worried about Lando. He had never seen his friend like this, so broken, so devastated. He had tried to talk to him, to distract him, but Lando had been lost in his own private hell, a ghost in his own life.
He was heading for the kitchen to grab a beer when he heard it. A faint sound from upstairs, a muffled cry that was quickly followed by a deeper, guttural moan.
Max froze, a slow, knowing smile spreading across his face. He shook his head, a chuckle escaping his lips. "Nasty bastards," he muttered to himself, a fond amusement in his voice.
He was happy, truly happy for his friend. Lando had been miserable, a shadow of his former self. And now, to hear him like this, to know that he was with her, that whatever had happened between them had been resolved… it was a relief. It was good to have the old Lando back.
He grabbed his beer and headed for his own room, deciding to give them some privacy. He could still hear them, the faint, rhythmic thumping of the headboard against the wall, a soundtrack to his friend's happiness. He smiled, taking a long drink of his beer. It was about damn time.
Back in the bedroom, Lando was relentless. He spread her legs wider with his hands, his thrusts becoming deeper, more powerful, hitting that spot deep within her that made her see stars. He was a man possessed, driving into her with a single-minded focus that was both terrifying and exhilarating.
He leaned down, his lips brushing against her ear. "You're so tight around me," he whispered, his voice a low, guttural growl. "So fucking perfect. This pussy was made for me."
His words, his dirty talk, sent a jolt of electricity through her. She could feel the tension building inside her, a coil of pleasure that was about to snap.
"Lando," she gasped, her nails digging into his back. "I'm... I'm close."
"Come for me, baby," he urged, his voice a low, dominant rumble. "Come with me."
With a cry that was half his name and half a sob, she shattered. The orgasm ripped through her, a tidal wave of intense pleasure that left her breathless and trembling. He followed her over the edge a moment later, his body tensing as he came with a loud, guttural groan, his release hot and deep inside her.
He collapsed on top of her, his body heavy and limp, his face buried in the crook of her neck. They were both breathing heavily, their bodies slick with sweat, the room filled with the scent of their sex.
He didn't move, and she didn't want him to. She could feel his heart hammering against his ribs, a rapid, steady beat that was slowly starting to return to normal. She wrapped her arms around him, holding him close, a strange sense of peace settling over her. For the first time in a long time, the constant, churning anxiety in her gut had quieted. The world outside this room, with its dangers and its demands, had faded away, leaving only the sound of their breathing and the steady, reassuring weight of his body on hers. It was a dangerous kind of peace, a treacherous calm that she knew she couldn't afford, but in that moment, she didn't care. She just wanted to stay here, in his arms, forever.
The plot of this story follows the series plot. I have read the books, but I forgot lol. I recently watched season 2, and got this idea.
For short, Y/N moves to Little Kilton after finding out a similarity between a case in Ashcombe and Pip’s case about Max Hastings. Together with Pip, she tries to find the killer of her friend, and unexpectedly falls for a certain police officer.
Hope you’ll like it!!
I do not own the right for the AGGGTM characters. I take credit only for my idea.
The plot of this story follows the series plot. I have read the books, but I forgot lol. I recently watched season 2, and got this idea.
For short, Y/N moves to Little Kilton after finding out a similarity between a case in Ashcombe and Pip’s case about Max Hastings. Together with Pip, she tries to find the killer of her friend, and unexpectedly falls for a certain police officer.
Hope you’ll like it!!
I do not own the right for the AGGGTM characters. I take credit only for my idea.
