Summary: Lando never meant to fall in love with you this completely, but once you became his, the thought of losing you became the one thing he could never survive.
summary: Four strict rules were written to protect your heart and keep your friendship intact. Neither of you realized that signing a contract with Lando Norris was only the beginning of breaking every single one.
warning: 18+, angst, pining, heavy sexual tension, extreme overthinking, swearing, FWB contract setup, praise, eventual smut.
word count: 2.7k
authors note: hey guys! here is chapter two where the tension finally snaps and they establish the rules for their FWB arrangement before heading into the bedroom! hope you enjoy <3
let me know what you think in the comments!
chapter 1
The glow of your phone illuminated the dark ceiling of your bedroom for what felt like the hundredth time.
Lando: Come over? Flat’s quiet.
You stared at the four short words, your chest tightening around a familiar, nervous knot.
Three days had passed since the club. Three agonizing days since he had pinned you against that mirrored pillar in the VIP section, his hands bruising your waist, his hips grinding into yours while his mouth hovered millimeters from your skin. You had spent the last seventy-two hours convincing yourself that it was just a fluke—a drunk, chaotic mistake fueled by club bass and a few too many gin and tonics.
He was Lando Norris. He lived in a world of high-speed glamour, surrounded by models, influencers, and an endless queue of stunning women everywhere he went. He had thousands of opportunities to hook up with whoever he wanted. He didn't need you for that.
He just wants to hang out, you told yourself firmly, sitting up and kicking off your blankets. He's bored. He wants a chill, normal evening with his best friend to reset before the summer break ends. Don't go over there making it weird.
Arming yourself with that fragile, protective wall of denial, you threw on a casual outfit, grabbed your keys, and made the short trip to his flat.
When you unlocked his front door, you expected to find him lying on the couch in a baggy hoodie, controller in hand, throwing a casual "Hey, love" over his shoulder. You expected cool, easy, platonic normalcy.
You didn't expect the heavy, suffocating stillness that greeted you the moment you stepped into his bedroom.
Lando was leaning back against the edge of his bed, looking so utterly, devastatingly hot that your breath caught clean in your throat, instantly shattering every single lie you had told yourself on the drive over.
He was wearing a dark, short-sleeved camp-collar shirt, completely unbuttoned at his collarbone to expose a broad swath of warm skin and the subtle cord necklace resting flat against his throat. His messy, dark brown curls tumbles down over his forehead, still slightly damp and full of texture. He had his hands folded loosely together in front of him, a stack of colorful woven bracelets wrapped around his wrist, trailing down to those long, broad fingers you knew far too well.
He looked up as you walked in. A faint, lopsided smirk tugged at the corner of his lips, a subtle dimple indenting his cheek, but his pale blue-green eyes were heavy-lidded, dark, and utterly locked onto you with a quiet, unshielded focus.
The air in the room instantly turned into lead.
Every single one of your senses flared to maximum alert. You became painfully, hyper-aware of every detail of his physical presence:
The soft, golden ambient light of the room traced the sharp angle of his jawline, catching the light dusting of scruff along his chin. His lips were slightly parted, full and warm, looking ridiculously kissable under the dim lamps.
Those dark, unruly curls were completely unstyled, tumbling over his brow in a way that practically begged for your fingers to be buried in them.
The dark shirt hugged the broad sweep of his shoulders, the fabric clinging to his biceps before draping open over his chest. Even sitting relaxed, you could see the lean, corded muscle of his forearms, dark veins tracing down toward his wrists.
God, he is so bloody handsome, your brain spiraled frantically, your pulse thudding wildly in your ears. Why is he looking at me like that? Why does he look like a sin sitting there?
"Hey," Lando murmured. His voice wasn't his usual loud, energetic banter; it was a low, quiet, gravelly hum that vibrated straight down your spine and settled low in your stomach.
"Hey," you managed to whisper, standing frozen near the foot of his bed, holding your bag like a shield.
He didn't move to grab a controller. He didn't offer you a drink. He just sat there, his pale eyes slowly scanning your face, taking in your flushed cheeks and the nervous way your fingers were gripping your bag. The faint smirk on his lips deepened just a fraction, possessive and patient, as if he knew the exact chaotic storm raging inside your head.
The tension from three nights ago hadn't disappeared at all. It had been sitting in his apartment, quietly coiling tight, waiting for you to walk through the door.
You were standing three feet away from a man who could have anyone in the world, yet the way he was staring at you made it feel like you were the only person existing in his entire universe—and it terrified you to your absolute core.
The silence stretched between you, so thick and heavy you could practically hear the steady, frantic thudding of your own heart against your ribs.
Lando didn't break eye contact. He unclasped his hands slowly, his bracelets clinking softly in the quiet room, and patted the mattress beside him. "Sit down. You look like you're about to run out the door."
"I'm fine standing," you said, your voice tighter than you intended.
A quiet, frustrated sigh slipped past his lips. In one fluid motion, Lando pushed himself off the edge of the bed. He didn't rush, but the sheer physical presence of him moving toward you made your breath hitch. He closed the three feet between you in two long strides, stopping so close you could smell the faint, clean scent of his shower gel mixed with the warm heat radiating off his skin.
He reached out, his long, broad fingers wrapping gently around the strap of your bag. He didn't yank it; he just held it, his knuckles brushing against yours, sending a sharp spark of static straight up your arm.
"Drop the bag," Lando murmured, his voice dropping into that rough, low register that went straight to your knees. "You're holding it like armor."
"Lando—"
"Drop it," he repeated softly, his pale blue eyes burning into yours with a fierce, unshielded intensity.
Your fingers loosened, and the leather strap slipped away. Lando caught the bag effortlessly and tossed it onto the armchair behind him without ever breaking eye contact.
Now there was nothing between you.
The air in the room felt electric, dangerously charged. You could see the subtle rise and fall of his chest under his unbuttoned dark shirt, the slight pulse beating at the base of his throat near his cord necklace. You swallowed hard, your mind racing, trying frantically to find an exit ramp before you completely lost your mind.
"We need to talk about three nights ago," you blurted out, the words tumbling past your lips before your brain could filter them.
Lando’s jaw tightened, a subtle muscle twitching beneath his scruff. "What about it?"
"We can't keep doing this," you whispered, looking up into his dark, heavy-lidded eyes. "The way you held me at the club... the way you're looking at me right now. It's messed up, Lando. We're friends. You're my best friend."
Lando let out a low, breathless laugh that sounded entirely devoid of humor. He stepped even closer, his broad frame towering over you until the tips of his shoes were almost touching yours. He raised his hands, resting them flat on the wall right behind your head, trapping you in his space without actually touching you.
"You think I don't fucking know that?" he rasped, his voice thick with a raw, agonizing frustration that caught you completely off guard. "You think I've slept a single hour in the last three days? I've been losing my mind in this flat, staring at the ceiling, thinking about how your waist felt in my hands."
Your heart did a violent, terrifying leap in your chest. He hasn't slept either?
"Lando, if we cross this line..." You shook your head, fighting the overwhelming urge to lean forward and press your forehead against his chest. "If we kiss... if we make this personal... it ruins everything. We lose the friendship. We can't go back after that."
Lando stared down at you, his breathing heavy and ragged, his pale eyes searching your face with a fierce, calculating focus. The hyper-analytical driver in him was working at full speed, weighing the risks, measuring the sheer, unyielding hunger between you against the terror of losing you completely.
"Then we don't kiss," Lando said abruptly.
You blinked, taken aback. "What?"
"No kissing," Lando rasped, the words tumbling out fast, urgent, and heavy. He lowered one hand from the wall, his thumb lightly grazing the sharp line of your jaw, his touch impossibly gentle despite the storm in his eyes. "We don't do romance. We don't do dates, we don't do sweet talking, and we never, ever kiss. You keep your lips to yourself, and I keep mine to myself."
Your throat went completely dry. "Are you serious?"
"Dead fucking serious," Lando growled, his dark blue eyes darkening into pure, unadulterated intent. "I want you. I've wanted you for months, and I know for a fact you want me too. We're both going insane trying to pretend we don't. So we fix it. Purely physical. Friends with benefits—nothing more, nothing less."
Friends with benefits.
The words echoed in the quiet room, sounding like both a lifeline and a dangerous, trapdoor arrangement. Your mind spiraled—he was offering you everything you had physically craved for months, wrapped in a neat, clinical package that promised to protect your friendship. He didn't want a relationship. He just wanted to get this electric, agonizing tension out of his system.
It’s just physical for him, your brain reminded you, a faint, bitter ache touching your chest even as your pulse hammered in anticipation. He’s just being pragmatic. But at least this way, I don't have to walk away.
"No kissing," you repeated quietly, looking up into his face, searching for any sign of hesitation. "Strictly FWB. The second it gets weird, we stop."
Lando’s jaw set, a sudden, dark smirk tugging at the corner of his lips as he realized he’d won. The heavy, agonized tension in his shoulders instantly melted into a dark, confident authority.
Lando pulled you toward the kitchen island, his grip on your wrist firm, warm, and entirely unyielding. He pulled out one of the high marble stools, placing his hands on your waist to guide you onto it before grabbing the pad and a black pen, sliding them right between your hands.
He didn't back away. Lando leaned his broad frame over the marble right beside you, resting his weight on his forearms. The dark camp-collar shirt draped open, exposing the warm skin of his collarbone and the cord necklace resting flat against his throat. He was so close that every time he exhaled, the heat of his breath brushed against the bare skin of your neck.
"If we're writing a contract," Lando rasped, his voice dropping into that low, gravelly hum as his pale blue eyes tracked the movement of your fingers around the pen, "let's write it properly. What's next?"
Your hands trembled slightly as you clicked the pen. You stared at the crisp white paper, desperately trying to ignore the way his broad shoulder pressed against yours, the scent of his shower gel intoxicating and completely overwhelming.
The Terms of Engagement
Rule 1: No Kissing
"No mouth-to-mouth," you wrote in neat, deliberate print. "Strictly no romantic kissing."
Lando let out a quiet, breathless huff, his gaze flicking from the paper up to your lips. "Still think that one's harsh, love," he murmured, a lopsided smirk tugging at his mouth, deepening the tiny dimple in his cheek. "But I signed off on it. What else?"
Rule 2: The Instant Termination Clause
You cleared your throat, forcing your voice to sound clinical despite the frantic thudding of your heart.
"If either of us wants out, it ends. Immediately. No questions asked, no guilt trips, and no weird lingering drama."
Lando’s teasing smirk softened, replacing itself with a quiet, surprisingly serious focus. He watched your hand trace the words on the pad.
"Agreed," Lando said softly, his long, broad fingers reaching out to lightly trail over the back of your hand. "If you want to stop next week, tomorrow, or in five minutes, we stop. No hard feelings. We stay friends."
Friends, your brain repeated bitterly. Right. Because that's all this is to him.
Rule 3: The Exclusivity / Serious Dating Rule
"If either of us starts seeing someone else seriously," you continued, writing the words down with sharp pressure, "or if real feelings for someone else come into play, this whole thing dies on the spot."
Lando stayed completely still beside you. His pale eyes scanned the line carefully.
"Fair," he rasped, his voice thick and rough. He shifted closer, his chest almost brushing your shoulder as he looked down at you. "So if I find out you're going on dates with some bloke, I pull the plug. And vice versa."
"Vice versa," you echoed, swallowing down the sudden, painful lump in your throat. You knew he had a long history of casual flings—the shadowy paddock rumors, the Miami and Ibiza stories. The thought of him walking away the second a stunning model caught his eye made your chest ache, but writing it down was the only armor you had left.
Rule 4: Absolute Comfort & Safety
"And the most important one," you said, turning your head to lock eyes with him. "If anyone gets uncomfortable—at any point, during anything—everything stops instantly. Zero hesitation."
Lando didn't even hesitate. His expression hardened into something fierce, protective, and intensely focused.
"That's not even a rule, love, that's a given," Lando growled softly, reaching out to gently cup the side of your jaw, his broad thumb caressing your cheekbone with a warmth that sent a shiver straight down your spine. "If you give me a look, a word, or a shift in body language that says you're not 100% into it, I'm out. You know I'd never push you."
He looked at you with such genuine, unshielded care that it felt like a physical blow.
Signing the Contract
You stared down at the four rules neatly written on the pad. It looked so organized. So logical. A perfect shield designed to keep your heart from breaking while giving you access to the one man you had been starving for across eight excruciating months.
================================================== ARRANGEMENT TERMS ================================================== 1. Strictly No Kissing. 2. Immediate Termination upon request (No drama). 3. Immediate Termination if either dates seriously. 4. Total Veto Power: Instant stop if uncomfortable. ==================================================
"Satisfied?" Lando asked gently into the quiet room.
He took the pen from your fingers, his calloused skin brushing yours, and scrawled his messy, distinctive signature at the bottom of the page without a second thought. He set the pen down with a quiet click and slid the paper to the side.
"There," Lando whispered, his voice dropping an octave into a dark, heavy register that made your knees turn to water. "Signed and sealed."
His large hands came down on your hips, his broad fingers digging gently into your waist as he guided you off the stool and straight into his space. You looked up, catching the raw, heavy-lidded hunger burning in his pale blue eyes—a look so intense it made you forget how to breathe.
He’s so bloody handsome, your mind spiraled desperately, taking in the corded muscle of his arms, his messy curls, and the steady, heavy rise and fall of his chest. He’s an expert at this. He knows exactly how to make me melt... but I signed the rules. I'm protected.
"You good?" Lando murmured, his thumb rubbing a slow, re-assuring circle against your hipbone as he searched your face one last time.
"I'm good," you whispered.
Lando's jaw clenched, a dark, possessive smirk finally returning to his lips. "Good girl. Now come to my room."
Summary: He was supposed to fake a proposal for a stupid college dare, until the quiet girl he barely noticed became the one person he couldn't stop thinking about.
Warnings: NSFW, 18+, College Setting, Teasing, Mild Sexual Tension, Party Culture, Drinking References, Romantic Manipulation.
"The proposal was a dare."
Your stomach sank.
You knew it.
Of course you knew it.
"But," he continued, "I shouldn't have done it."
You closed your book.
"Why did you?"
"Because I was stupid."
That made you smile despite yourself.
He noticed.
"There."
"What?"
"You smiled."
"I smile."
"Not around me."
You looked away.
"Maybe you make me nervous."
Charles went completely still.
"You get nervous around me?"
You immediately regretted saying it.
"I didn't mean-"
"I like that."
Your eyes widened.
He leaned slightly closer.
Not enough to touch you.
Just enough that you could smell his cologne.
"Charles..."
"Hm?"
"You're distracting me."
His mouth curved into a slow smile.
"Good."
You tried to hide your smile behind your book.
He gently tapped the edge of it.
"Come to the party tonight."
"No."
"You didn't even think about it."
"I thought about it yesterday."
"Fair."
You smiled.
Then he added softly,
"I'll stay with you the whole time."
You looked at him.
"Why?"
Charles' teasing expression disappeared.
"Because I don't want you thinking I was laughing at you."
A pause.
"And because I'd actually like to get to know you."
Your heart fluttered.
"Okay."
"Okay?"
"Okay."
His smile returned.
"That's the first yes you've given me."
You rolled your eyes.
"You proposed to me yesterday."
"And you rejected me."
"You weren't actually proposing."
Charles leaned closer, his voice dropping.
"Maybe I want to do it properly someday."
Your cheeks burned.
He stood before you could answer.
"See you tonight, shy girl."
You watched him walk away.
And for the first time in your life, you found yourself wondering what it would be like to stop being shy around one particular boy.
Especially when that boy seemed determined to make you blush.
And neither of you knew yet that the stupidest dare of Charles' college life was about to become the most serious thing he'd ever done.
