Angst / Suggestive
Pairings: Lando x Reader
Warnings: Swearing, emotional themes, suggestive scenes, cheating themes
WC: 1.8k
Divider Credit: @bernardsbendystraws
You always knew there was something different about Lando Norris. The way his eyes wrinkled when he laughed. The way he always seemed like a ray of sunlight, warm and magnetic. You weren't immune to it. No one was.
So when your two year long situationship with Lando turned serious - Instagram official and all that - you thought maybe thins time, it would stick.
You were wrong.
It started with the phone. It always starts with the phone.
"Who's this girl commenting hearts on your post?" you'd asked casually, fingers tracing lazy patterns on his bare chest as you lay tangled together in hotel sheets after a night of celebration in Singapore.
"Just a fan," he mumbled, eyes half-closed, hand warm on your thigh.
But fans don't usually send disappearing messages. Fans don't usually show up at the paddock in skin-tight dresses. looking at you like they've already won.
And they sure as hell don't get fifteen minutes of your man's time in the back of his McLaren hospitality suite when your out doing media on his behalf.
You were not stupid. Of course you saw the signs.
You just didn't want to believe them.
TWO WEEKS LATER...
He showed up at your doorstep at 1AM. Like he always did - when he knew you were angry, or lonely, or too soft-hearted to turn him away.
"Please," he whispered, voice cracked. "Can we talk? Please?"
You crossed your arms, leaning on the doorframe. "About what? The fifteen minutes you spent with her, or the fifteen fucking hours you ignored my texts after?"
He flinched.
You let him in, and he walked through your apartment like he still lived there, like he still had the right to drop his hoodie on your couch, or open your fridge like nothing had changed.
"Y/N, it didn't mean anything," he said, jaw tight. She was just... she was a mistake."
"No, Lando," you snapped "I was the mistake."
You regretted the words as soon as you said them. But they were out there now - like glass, shattered between you.
He stepped closer. "Don't say that."
"Why not? It's true, isn't it?" You voice cracked. "I gave you everything. I stuck around through the rumours, the girls, the media. I fucking defended you when you were being reckless, when the whole grid thought you were just another party boy,"
"I never asked you to defend me."
Ouch
You laughed bitterly. "No. You just expected me to be there every time you decided to remember I exist."
He ran a hand through his curls, frustrated. "You don't get it."
"I do get it," you said, stepping back. "You wanted the idea of me. You liked the way I looked on your arm. You liked the way I made you feel safe. But I was never the girl you actually chose."
"Y/N..." he started, but you held up your hand.
“No, you don’t get to do that. You don’t get to miss me now that I’m walking away.”
He looked at you then - really looked at you. Like maybe he was finally seeing you for the first time in weeks. Your tank top clung to your body, hair messy from tossing in bed, eyes glistening but fierce.
You were done.
He moved closer, voice soft. “What if I told you I do choose you? Right now?”
You stared at him.
“I don’t care,” you whispered.
And for the first time in his life, Lando Norris didn’t have anything to say.
A MONTH LATER...
The media has a shitting field day.
“Y/N Seen Partying in Ibiza with Mysterious Stranger.”
“Lando Norris ‘Heartbroken’ Over Breakup: Spotted Alone at Monaco Café.”
The irony made you laugh.
He had fifteen minutes with a girl he barely knew and now he was stuck with fifteen headlines about how you had moved on.
You hadn't really. But no one really needed to know that.
You were finally going to live without him. And it felt... powerful.
Race Weekend - Silverstone
You shouldn't have gone.
But your best friend worked in PR, and she begged. “Just one night in the paddock suite,” she said. “You don’t even have to look at him.”
But of course, the universe had other plans. (For fucks sake)
You saw him the second you stepped in - black cap, McLaren polo, that goddamn smirk.
He looked like sin wrapped in carbon fibre and regret.
And you looked like revenge in leather.
You didn’t say anything when you passed him. Just gave him a polite smile, all lips and no teeth, like you were saying, look what you lost.
But he didn’t let you walk far.
“Y/N,” his voice chased after you like heat.
You rolled your eyes and turned slowly.
He looked like he hadn’t slept in days. Like every sleepless night you cried over him was coming back to haunt him now.
“You look…”
“Don’t,” you said smoothly. “I know I look good.”
He blinked. “You always did.”
You crossed your arms, tilting your head. “So what do you want, Lando? Closure? Another fifteen minutes of my time?”
“I want you.”
He said it like it cost him something.
You stepped closer, close enough to smell the citrus-and-octane cologne that used to cling to your bedsheets. “Too bad. You used up your fifteen minutes.”
He reached for your hand - but you pulled back.
His eyes dropped, jaw tight. “I messed up.”
“You did.”
“I didn’t know what I had until...”
“Until it posted a bikini pic on Instagram?” you interrupted.
He didn’t laugh. Good.
“I never should have done it,” he whispered. “I never should have looked at anyone else.”
You stared at him for a long moment.
Then you leaned in, lips brushing the shell of his ear.
“Don’t worry,” you murmured. “I’m sure she was worth all fifteen minutes.”
And then you walked away.
THAT NIGHT...
The hotel bar was loud, crowded, and exactly what you needed.
Someone handed you a drink. A tall man smiled down at you. “You here with one of the teams?”
You smiled back. “Something like that.”
But before anything could happen, a familiar voice cut in.
“She’s with me.”
You turned sharply.
Lando.
Again.
“Seriously? Are you fucking kidding me?”
He looked between you and the man. “She doesn’t want you.”
You raised a brow. “Actually, I haven’t decided.”
He stepped closer. “I still love you.”
You sighed. “And that’s your problem.”
LATER...
Somehow, you ended up in the elevator with him. Alone. Again.
He hit the button for the top floor.
You leaned against the wall, arms crossed. “You don’t give up, do you?”
“Not when it comes to you.”
The tension was thick, humming between you like static.
He stepped closer. You didn’t move.
“I remember everything,” he whispered. “The way you laugh. The way you kiss. The way you whisper my name when you’re...”
“Don’t,” you warned.
“Why not?”
You met his gaze.
And for a second, everything you built - the walls, the sass, the armour - shook under the weight of what used to be.
He leaned in, his hand resting on your hip.
You didn’t stop him.
But you didn’t kiss him, either.
“Fifteen minutes,” you said. “That’s all it took to ruin everything.”
He nodded slowly, voice rough. “Then give me fifteen days to fix it.”
You stared at him.
And for once… you didn’t say no.
The elevator hummed softly beneath your heels as the floor numbers ticked up.
You could hear him breathing - shallow, tense, hot.
Lando stood inches away, his hand still resting gently on your hip, thumb moving in slow circles. He wasn't touching you like a driver who'd just screwed up. He was touching you like a man who still knew your body... maybe too well.
The lights above cast gold shadows over his face. His lips were parted slightly, eyes locked on yours like he was reading your every thought.
You swallowed.
“I shouldn’t,” you whispered.
“I know,” he breathed.
Neither of you moved.
But your eyes dropped to his lips.
And that was all it took.
He surged forward - like restraint was a thread that had finally snapped. His mouth crashed onto yours, and all that pent-up rage, betrayal, and longing melted into something messier. Hotter. Desperate.
Your back hit the elevator wall with a muted thud, and you didn’t care. Not when his hand was gripping your waist, the other sliding up your neck to cradle your jaw like he needed to memorize how you felt under him.
You kissed him back. Hard.
Fingers tangled in the collar of his McLaren polo, pulling him closer like proximity might solve everything he broke. His tongue teased yours, familiar and sinful, and suddenly you were both breathing like you’d been underwater too long.
He groaned into your mouth when you bit his bottom lip - just enough to remind him, You’re not off the hook.
The elevator dinged.
Penthouse.
The doors slid open.
He broke the kiss, barely. His voice was low, wrecked. “Come upstairs.”
You should’ve said no.
But you didn’t.
The door clicked shut behind you, but neither of you made it far. He had you pressed against it in seconds, kissing you like he’d forgotten what patience was.
Clothes came off like afterthoughts. His hoodie hit the floor. Your top slid up and over your head. His hands roamed like he was trying to relearn every curve - like the space between your thighs was home and he’d been exiled too long.
“God, you feel the same,” he whispered against your skin, lips trailing down your neck. “You smell the same.”
You gasped when his teeth grazed your collarbone. “Still think about me?”
“Every night.”
You dragged your fingers through his hair and tugged. “Good.”
His laugh was low, dark. “Missed this mouth.”
“Then use it.”
His eyes flashed. “Yes, ma’am.”
You didn’t remember moving to the bed, but suddenly his weight was over you, warmth and heat and muscle. His hands slid beneath the waistband of your jeans, thumbs dragging fire down your hips as he pulled them off.
He paused, looking at you like he was about to confess something - but instead, he kissed your inner thigh, slow and reverent. “You were always the best thing I ever had.”
“Then why’d you throw me away?”
He looked up, jaw clenched. “Because I was a fucking idiot.”
You grabbed his chin, pulling him up until his lips hovered just above yours.
"Don't waste this night on guilt, Norris. You wanted fifteen minutes?"
He kissed you again, slower this time. Deep.
“I want all night.”
HOURS LATER...
You lay tangled in sheets and sweat and him, your head on his chest, heart pounding for all the wrong reasons.
He traced circles on your bare back, voice rough. “That wasn’t just sex.”
You sighed, refusing to look at him. “It can’t fix what you did.”
“I know.”
“But I wanted it, too,” you admitted, voice small.
Silence stretched between you like a taut string.
He kissed your forehead. “Let me make it right. Not just tonight. Every day.”
You didn’t answer.
Not yet.
But you didn’t leave, either.
Click here for more!
Join Taglist -> here!
Taglist: @dessashippr
