Request from @sassytrailnymph - Could I request where lando is having protective sex with his girlfriend, and in the middle of having sex, he convinces his girlfriend to remove the condom and spills in her for the first time
Themes/warnings: Smut (protected then not - seriously though wrap it and keep it wrapped unless you're really trying then...good luck ig?)
Word count: 1.1k
Lando is big on protection when it comes to sex. But it's y/n who insisted on condoms and he thought it would just be till she was comfortable, but somehow 2 months into daily sex, usually more than once a day. Lando's putting more money into condoms than anything else right now.
He can't help but want to remove that barrier.
He wants to feel her, he wants nothing between them and while it's never mattered to him before. For some reason the thought of filling her with his cum and watch it leak out of her.
That thought unlocks some sort of feral animal in him that's been dormant.
He can't help it.
And now he's rolling yet another condom down his length, lust-filled eyes gliding over to y/n where she's lying, swollen lips, hickeys across her chest. He's already got her in a heat.
Admittedly teasing her the whole dinner and whispering filth in her ear at every opportunity got her exactly as riled up as he was aiming for.
"Ready for me baby?" Lando asks already knowing the answer, he can see her dripping in a wet patch on the sheets.
He loves when she gets too needy to form words that are anything less than begging. Her whimper and positioning herself from kneeling on her knees to dropping back onto her back with her legs spread, a true offering of herself open to him.
"Oh baby." Lando chuckles moving over her, not wasting time with anymore foreplay. He slides into her with only the tightness of him not having been inside her in the past 12 hours enveloping him as a form of making it harder to fuck her.
Their moans fill the air and Lando pulls her towards himself, his thrusts getting deeper and harder. Y/n moans and whines at him, his name reverbing off the walls before he whispers more filth into her ear. Promises of wrecking her, making her scream, leaving a permanent mark in her.
He builds himself up just as much as she does.
"Baby, I want to feel you. Properly." Lando states making her look at him, eyes already teary from the stimulation. "Fuck. Baby, I need to feel you. Let me take it off. It'll feel so good. So so good."
Y/n whines bucking her hips into his, one hand moving from gripping the sheets to his bicep and for a moment he thinks that's her stopping him from daring to take it off.
"Please. I wanna feel you." Y/n whimpers, nails cutting into his skin. Her actions betraying her words.
"You'll love this, baby." Lando promises, leaning down, kissing her neck as he slips out of her.
"Lando." Y/n huffs from the loss as he reaches down almost grimacing from the speed he pulls the condom off and tosses it aside without thought. He'll pick it up later.
He takes a couple heavy breaths, excitement of this moment making the air prickle with electricity that makes her breath hitch before he slides back into her, and while he's aware that it's more about what he feels that what she feels. But y/n shudders at the feeling.
Y/n can feel more of him, the veins, every ridge of his dick no longer smoothed by latex brushing through her walls making her moan, bearing down to try and feel more of him.
"Fuck. You feel incredible, baby. How have I waited this long?" Lando grunts not feeling like any word describes how y/n feels wrapped around him. "You were made for me. This pussy was made for me."
Y/n twitches around him, her orgasm nearing more.
"You going to let me fill you up, baby? Going to let me make you mine once and for all? No going back after this." Lando states since he's pretty sure hitting it raw is an addiction.
It's like heroin, one hit and he's already hooked on the feeling. He'll chase this high for the rest of his life and he'll keep getting his hits every time she lets him feel her pussy around him.
Y/n's orgasm hits with no more warning than that first twitch, she yanks him down onto her legs wrapping around him like she can't get enough of him. Lando spills into her without any control.
He actually gets dizzy feeling like he's never came so hard or so much in his life.
"Lando?" Y/n whispers making Lando blink a time. "Are you with me?"
"I think I might've died in your pussy and gone to heaven." Lando croaks then frowning. "Did I pass out?"
"Yeah...a bit." Y/n laughs then gently pushing back his sweaty head, her own face glittering with her. "I'll take it as a compliment...Are you ok?"
"I'm fine. I think I might just put blood into you from how hard I came."
"That's ok." Y/n giggles before kissing him. "We can stay like this a bit longer."
"Baby, we can stay like this forever. I'll quit F1 for good if you let me live with you pussy like this around me."
"I think we might wither away and die if I do that. We have to eat...and I'll have to pee at some point-and so will you. Cumming inside is one thing, if you piss in me I'll chop your dick off." Y/n warns playfully, though he thinks that she'd fully follow through on it. Her giggling with his dick still inside her short circuits his head though and he has to hide his face in her neck, shuddering as pleasure ripples through him.
"Fuck, baby. Don't do that unless you really want to kill me." Lando groans rutting into her despite being soft at this point and feeling her leaking out around him. "I'm going to clean you up. I promise. Just give me a bit more time."
"Take as long as you need. I'm enjoying this."
"Good. Because I'm burning any condoms in the vicinity. Never fucking you any other way but raw from here forward." Lando declares earning a smile as y/n sucks in a breath and holds him close. "I think your pussy has just changed my life in a way I didn't know what possible."
"You're welcome. If I knew it'd be so easy I never would've have you wear a condom in the first place."
She would've but he's too spent to argue and now he's taken off the condom, he is just grateful they both enjoyed the experience. Though he might need to make sure he's ok. Passing out after sex might not be the best sign of something.
Lando Norris told his family he had a girlfriend. The only problem? He didn’t. With his brother’s wedding coming up, he asked you, his neighbor, to pretend for the week—but fake dating got complicated the moment it started feeling real.
pairing. Lando Norris x fem! reader.
warnings. romance, humor, fake dating, forced proximity, implied smut, 11,9k words. profanity, light jealousy, the norris family <3, alcohol use, pet names (babe, darling), title from/based on private by the neighbourhood.
LANDO NORRIS HAD A REPUTATION FOR TWO THINGS: making reckless decisions and coming up with truly terrible ideas. Well—three things, if you were being generous. His driving talent was undeniable, but if you asked anyone who actually spent time with him, they’d say the first two showed up far more often than the third.
He also had another unfortunate skill, one that tended to appear exactly when it shouldn’t: he panicked, and then he lied. Instinctively. Effortlessly. Like his brain hit a big red button labeled make it worse.
And this time, he’d really done it.
Because Lando had told his entire family that he had a girlfriend.
The only issue?
He absolutely did not.
With Oliver’s wedding only four days away, the lie had grown teeth. The whole Norris family would be there—parents, siblings, cousins, and probably a handful of distant relatives who still pinched his cheeks and called him “Lando-bear.”
Every single one of them would be bringing a plus one.
Everyone except Lando.
It had been a running joke in the Norris family for as long as he could remember. His parents loved bragging about their children’s accomplishments, his siblings took every opportunity to tease him about his chaotic (and scandalous) dating life, and somehow every family gathering—birthdays, holidays, even Sunday lunches—ended with the same question: why Lando never seemed to have a serious girlfriend.
Usually he brushed it off with a laugh, a shrug, some half‑hearted joke about being too busy or too picky. It never bothered him enough to do anything about it.
But this time, when the question came up again—“So, Lando, are you bringing anyone to the wedding?”—something in his brain simply… snapped. Short‑circuited. Went offline.
And before he could stop himself, he heard his own voice answering.
Yes.
Yes, he was bringing someone.
Not just anyone, either. He’d doubled down, told them he had a normal, stable girlfriend. Someone grounded. Someone real. Someone who absolutely did not exist.
Now there were less than four days until Oliver’s wedding.
And Lando Norris still didn’t have a girlfriend.
Lando sat at the table in his apartment, staring at the wall like it might suddenly offer him a miracle. His brain was running laps, trying to find a way out of the mess he’d created, but every possible solution felt dumber than the one before it.
There had to be something.
Some kind of brilliant, last‑minute, save‑your-own-ass idea.
Except… nothing he came up with even came close.
For a brief, unhinged moment, he wondered if he could convince Oscar to throw on a wig and pretend to be his date.
Yeah. No. Absolutely not. Oscar’s girlfriend would murder him before they even reached the venue.
He let out a long, miserable groan and dragged both hands down his face.
Okay. New idea.
Maybe he could just tell his family that his girlfriend—his very real, very fictional girlfriend—had suddenly fallen ill and couldn’t make it. That sounded believable enough… in theory.
But in practice? His mum would immediately start asking for her address so she could send homemade soup. His sisters would demand details. His dad would suggest rescheduling the introduction for the next family gathering.
Which meant he’d still be trapped in the same problem, just with more lies stacked on top of the original one.
And the truth was painfully simple: girlfriends were not something you could conjure out of thin air, no matter how desperately you needed one. Not even when you were the Lando Norris.
He slumped back in his chair, staring at the ceiling now, wishing the universe would hand him a solution.
Or a person.
Preferably both.
But then—
Yes.
God, yes.
The idea hit him so hard he actually sat up straighter, eyes going wide, lighting up like someone had plugged him directly into a power outlet. It was brilliant. Completely ridiculous. Potentially life‑saving. And, most importantly… actually possible.
Because as he sat there, staring at the blank stretch of wall in front of him, he finally remembered who lived on the other side of it.
You.
You, with your soft smile and your quiet kindness. You, who he wasn’t close to—not really. You weren’t friends, you weren’t even acquaintances. You were neighbors in the most literal sense. Sometimes you shared an elevator. Sometimes you exchanged a polite “hi.” Sometimes you held the door for him when his hands were full.
Nothing dramatic. Nothing meaningful. Nothing that suggested you were about to become the answer to the stupidest problem he’d ever created.
And yet… in the middle of his panic, you suddenly seemed like the perfect solution.
Of course, that led him straight into the next problem—one he faced every time he stumbled onto an actually good idea: how the hell was he supposed to ask you? What if you laughed? What if you slammed the door in his face? What if you said no and he had to return to his table, sit back down, and accept that he was still girlfriend‑less with a wedding in four days?
He groaned, dropping his head into his hands.
What were his other options? Post an Instagram story asking for volunteers? Hold open auditions in his living room? Pray someone magically appeared on his doorstep?
No. Obviously not.
You were the only choice he had.
And now he just had to hope you didn’t think he was completely insane.
Lando paced his apartment for a grand total of three and a half minutes before reaching a very scientific conclusion: pacing solved absolutely nothing. All it did was make him more aware of how sweaty his palms were and how loudly his heart was trying to escape his chest.
So the next step became painfully, horrifyingly clear. He had to go ask you. In person. At your door. With his whole panicked, malfunctioning self on display.
He grabbed his keys like they might give him courage and muttered under his breath, “This is fine. Totally fine. Nothing terrifying happening here.” It sounded unconvincing even to him.
By the time he reached your door, whatever flimsy confidence he’d managed to build had dissolved completely, leaving him standing there like a man about to face a firing squad. He knocked once. Then twice. Then, because he was Lando and panic was his brand, he knocked three more times in a frantic burst.
“Too much. Too much,” he whispered, squeezing his eyes shut and praying the universe would show him mercy.
The door opened.
And there you were—looking perfectly normal, perfectly calm, perfectly unaware that your evening was about to take a dramatic turn.
“Hey,” you said, head tilted, curiosity softening your expression.
“Hi,” Lando managed, rubbing the back of his neck like he was trying to keep his head attached. He looked like a lost puppy who’d wandered too far from home. Mostly because he was one.
“You need something?” you asked, giving him a quick once-over. “You don’t look great. You’re really pale. Come in, sit down.” You stepped aside, warm and worried and gentle in a way that made his stomach twist.
Lando swallowed hard and perched on the very edge of your couch, like sitting normally might somehow make this whole thing worse. His knee bounced, his fingers twisted together, and he looked one deep breath away from passing out. “Right… so… um…”
You raised an eyebrow, watching him fidget like a kid who’d been caught doing something he absolutely shouldn’t have been doing.
“I know this is gonna sound completely insane,” Lando said, voice wobbling in a way you had never heard from him. “I… I need a—big. Huge. Gigantic favor, Y/n.”
Your confusion only grew. This was Lando Norris—confident, charming, annoyingly magnetic Lando—now sitting on your couch like a drenched stray dog someone had forgotten to bring inside. He couldn’t seem to look at you for more than half a second, and his hands were practically tying themselves into knots.
“Lando?” you said softly, nudging his knee with yours. “Just talk. You’re scaring me a little.”
Lando’s hands wouldn’t stay still. They fidgeted in his lap, fingers tapping against each other like he was trying to summon courage through sheer friction. “Okay… so… this is gonna sound completely ridiculous, but just—just hear me out,” he said, his voice pitching upward in panic.
“My… my brother—Oliver—he’s getting married in, uh… four days. Four days, Y/n. And… um… well… I kinda… told my family I had a girlfriend.”
You stared at him, confusion knitting your brows. “And…? What does that have to do with me?”
“Well—I don’t have one!” Lando blurted, the words bursting out like they’d been trapped in his chest.
You blinked. Hard. Because… what? Lando Norris didn’t have a girlfriend? Lando Norris, who always seemed to have someone on his arm, someone texting him, someone laughing at his jokes?
“You don’t have a girlfriend?” you repeated, eyebrows shooting up. “You always have someone around.”
“Ha. Ha. Not helpful,” he muttered, dragging a hand over the back of his neck. His eyes darted everywhere—your bookshelf, the floor, the ceiling—anywhere except your face, like looking at you might make this whole thing even more humiliating.
His knee bounced. His throat bobbed. And for the first time since you’d met him, Lando Norris looked genuinely, painfully out of his depth.
Lando threw his hands up, breath coming too fast, like his brain had officially abandoned ship. “I lied! They’re always making fun of me for being the only sibling without a ‘stable love life’!” His gestures got bigger, more frantic. “So I lied! I told them I finally have a normal girlfriend! I told them she’s the right—”
You cut in before he could spiral any further. The amount of information he’d just dumped on you was… a lot. Especially coming from someone you’d only ever exchanged elevator small talk with. “Lando… breathe. You’re kind of having a panic attack.”
He froze mid‑wave, arms suspended awkwardly in the air. His chest rose and fell too quickly, eyes wide and unfocused, like a startled animal trying to decide whether to bolt or faint.
And something in you softened.
Before you could overthink it, the words slipped out. “I can do it. I can pretend to be your girlfriend—if that’s what you need.”
Lando blinked at you, stunned into silence. For a moment he just stared, like he wasn’t sure he’d heard you correctly.
Then his whole face lit up, relief crashing over him so visibly it was almost endearing. “Really?!” he burst out, voice cracking with disbelief and something dangerously close to joy, like you’d just handed him the winning ticket to his own rescue.
“Yes,” you said, a small smirk tugging at your mouth. “You don’t deserve to be humiliated by your entire family. Not this week, at least.”
“Ha-ha, hilarious,” he muttered, but the grateful smile pulling at his lips gave him away. “But seriously… thank you. Jesus, Y/n, you’re actually saving my life here. What do I owe you?”
You lifted a brow, pretending to think. “Hmm… maybe start by not panicking every two seconds?”
He nodded so fast it was almost comical. “Right. Yeah. I can do that. I’ll try.”
And then—naturally—he let out a loud, shaky exhale, his fingers immediately twisting together again, looking like a man who was absolutely not succeeding at the whole “not panicking” thing.
It made you smile, just a little, because for all his charm and confidence, Lando Norris was clearly a disaster in need of rescuing.
────────────
You and Lando sat at your dining table, both of you silently questioning every decision that had led to this exact moment. Well… you were. Lando looked like he was still trying to remember how to breathe. You had just agreed to pretend to be the girlfriend of a man known across Formula 1 for his charm, his speed, and—most famously—his impressive track record of short-lived romances.
“So,” you said, aiming for calm even though your pulse was doing laps, “if I’m going to fake-date my neighbor—who I barely know—I think we need some rules.”
“Rules?” Lando repeated, brows lifting, confusion flickering across his face. For once, he didn’t look cocky or confident. He looked… unsure. Almost nervous.
“Yes. Rules,” you said, holding up three fingers. “Only three. I promise they’re not complicated.”
He leaned in, elbows on the table, eyes wide with a mix of curiosity and mild panic—like a student bracing for a pop quiz he definitely hadn’t studied for. “Okay. Tell me,” he said quickly, already trying to memorize them before you’d even opened your mouth.
His eagerness made you smile despite yourself.
“Rule number one: no disgusting pet names. Like… honey, light of my life, or whatever. I hate those. Babe, darling, and love are fine,” you said, keeping your voice as steady as you could.
Lando nodded immediately. “Yeah, no, same. Anything too cheesy makes my skin crawl.”
“Rule number two: no hooking up. No sex.” You said it firmly, maybe a little too quickly. It was mostly for your own safety—your heart’s safety. You’d heard the stories. You’d seen the headlines. And you had absolutely no intention of becoming another one of Lando Norris’s charming little footnotes. (Not that you weren’t already halfway there.)
Lando blinked at you, eyes widening in a mix of shock and exaggerated offense. “I would never.”
You gave him a look that said please, I know exactly who you are.
He cleared his throat.
You continued, “and the most important, absolutely non-negotiable rule: no falling in love.”
“Right,” Lando said, nodding like it was the easiest thing in the world. “Simple.”
But the way his knee bounced under the table, the way his eyes flicked to your mouth for half a second, the way your stomach twisted at the thought of just hearing him say love—you both knew it wasn’t going to be simple at all.
Not even close.
Lando looked far too pleased with himself for someone who had been on the verge of a full emotional collapse less than twenty‑four hours ago.
“Do we even have a solid backstory?” you asked, giving him a look that said you already doubted the answer.
“Oh, we do,” he said, leaning back in his chair with the smug confidence of a man who absolutely should not have any.
You narrowed your eyes, waiting.
He lifted his hands in surrender, grinning. “Okay, fine, I just came up with it. But don’t worry—it’s a good one.”
You crossed your arms, unimpressed. “Alright, genius. Let’s hear it.”
“We met in the elevator,” he announced instantly. “Which is technically not a lie.”
You stared at him. “Seriously? That’s the best you’ve got? They’ll never buy that.”
Lando looked genuinely offended, like you’d just criticized a work of art he’d spent years perfecting.
“Hey, it’s realistic,” he insisted, chin lifting. “People meet in elevators all the time.”
“Yes,” you said slowly, giving him a look that could only be described as are you hearing yourself right now? “And then they say hello, maybe smile awkwardly, and go to their own apartments. They don’t magically start dating.”
Lando waved a hand like you were being dramatic. “Details.”
You leaned back in your chair, trying to piece together something that didn’t sound like it had been written by a twelve‑year‑old. “Okay, so maybe I dropped something and didn’t notice when I left the elevator. You picked it up and returned it to me later—”
“We got stuck together in the elevator!” Lando declared, pointing at you with the enthusiasm of a man who believed he had just cracked the Da Vinci code.
You stared at him. Blinked once. Twice.
“Lando.”
“What?!” He threw his hands up like you’d personally offended him. “You’d be surprised how often elevators get stuck in this building!”
“It happened, like, twice,” you said, crossing your arms. “And I live next door, remember? I think I’d know.”
“And it happened to me both times!” Lando shot back, jabbing a finger at his own chest as if that somehow strengthened his argument. “Suspicious, right?!”
You couldn’t help it—you laughed.
Because you remembered. Oh, you remembered exactly how that last incident went. The entire building had known within minutes that Lando Norris was trapped in the elevator. Neighbors had gathered in the hallway. The building manager had been sweating bullets. And Lando—poor, panicking Lando—had been shouting through the metal doors that he was “perfectly calm,” while sounding anything but.
Honestly? The story was ridiculous.
But believable.
Painfully, hilariously believable.
“Right. So… we were stuck, and then what? Fell in love while panicking?” you asked, skeptical.
“We talked,” Lando said with a grin, leaning back casually. “Found out we’re neighbors, started seeing each other more, and realized we’re both charming, funny, and attractive people.”
“Funny?”
“Absolutely.”
You grabbed the nearest napkin from the table and tossed it at him.
Lando laughed, easily dodging it. “See? Perfect. The chemistry is already there.”
“Oh my God,” you groaned, dragging a hand down your face. “Your poor family.”
“My family will love you,” he said confidently. “You’re kind, you’re funny, and you already tolerate me—which is honestly the hardest part.”
You rolled your eyes, but the corner of your mouth twitched upward anyway. Just a little.
────────────
Warm air wrapped around you the moment you and Lando stepped out of the airport in Sicily, the kind of soft heat that made your shoulders drop and your lungs loosen. It felt like the whole island exhaled around you. Thank God it was Sicily—you’d spent the entire flight quietly panicking that he might’ve dragged you to rainy England instead. At least here, if everything went horribly wrong, you’d have sunshine.
“My brother’s gonna pick us up,” Lando said, tugging his suitcase behind him as he wove through the crowd with the confidence of someone who’d done this a thousand times.
You hurried after him, trying to match his long, impatient strides. Your heart was already beating too fast, and not just from the travel. “Wait—what are your parents’ names? You haven’t even told me!”
Lando barely slowed down. “My mum’s Cisca, my dad’s Adam. My brother is Oliver, and his fiancée is Sav. My sisters are Flo and also Cisca.”
You blinked, your brain scrambling to keep up. The names felt like someone had thrown a handful of puzzle pieces at you and expected you to assemble them mid‑run.
“That’s… a lot of names,” you said, breath catching a little. You were suddenly very aware that you were about to meet all these people—people who believed you were dating their son. People who probably asked a lot of questions.
Lando shrugged like this was all perfectly reasonable, even though your pulse had started doing gymnastics. “It’s not that bad.”
“It is when I’ve met exactly zero of them,” you shot back. “And in, what, ten minutes? I’m supposed to convincingly pretend I’m dating you in front of your entire family.”
“Relax,” he said, dragging his suitcase along like he wasn’t dragging you straight into chaos. “My family is nice. A bit chaotic, but mostly nice.”
“Chaotic?” you repeated, the word landing in your stomach like a stone.
“They’ll probably ask a lot of questions,” he added casually, like he was telling you the weather forecast.
Your heart dropped.
Questions.
Of course they’d ask questions.
You’d known Lando for—what—three days? Four? And that was being generous. Sure, he’d lived next door for years, but elevator small talk and awkward hallway smiles did not prepare you to play his girlfriend in front of people who had known him his entire life.
“Not helping, Lando,” you muttered, shaking your head as you tried to keep up with him through the crowd.
Then another thought hit you so hard you actually stopped walking.
“What if they ask how long we’ve been dating?!”
Lando turned around and stepped closer, the warm Sicilian breeze ruffling his curls as if even the weather was more relaxed than you were.
“Five months, babe.”
Your eyes narrowed so fast he actually flinched.
Too soon. Way too soon for that word.
“Don’t call me that,” you warned. “Yet.”
He lifted both hands in surrender, though the tiny twitch at the corner of his mouth betrayed him. He was enjoying this way too much for someone who had begged you for help less than four days ago.
“We’ve been dating for five months,” he said, slipping back into that calm, annoyingly confident tone. “Long enough for it to seem serious, but short enough to explain why they’ve never met you.”
You let that settle in your mind. Five months. Not too long, not too short. Enough time to know each other, but not enough time for family introductions. It actually… made sense.
“…Okay,” you admitted slowly. “That’s not terrible.”
But then something clicked. The way he said it. The ease. The certainty. The fact that he hadn’t even hesitated.
You looked at him again, suspicion creeping in. “Wait—you already thought about this?”
Lando’s smirk widened, soft but undeniably smug, like he’d been waiting for you to catch up.
“Of course I did.”
And for a moment—just a moment—you saw the truth behind the grin:
he’d been thinking about this way before you ever agreed.
The car behind you honked—sharp, impatient—and you jolted like someone had poked you with a live wire.
“That must be Oliver,” Lando said, already turning toward the parking area with that casual confidence you absolutely did not feel.
You followed his gaze and spotted a dark car rolling up to the curb, sunlight bouncing off the windshield. The driver leaned out just enough for you to see him squinting through the Sicilian glare.
“Lando!” he called out.
“Yep. That’s him,” Lando confirmed, far too calm for someone about to introduce his fake girlfriend to his real brother.
Your stomach tightened.
This was it.
The first test.
The first family member.
The first person who could look at you and immediately think, Nope. She’s not his type.
“Just greet him,” Lando murmured quietly, noticing how stiff you’d gone. His voice dropped, softer than usual. “You don’t have to say much.”
Oliver climbed out of the car with an easy, warm smile—the kind of smile that made you understand instantly why people liked him. He had that same Norris charm, just steadier, more grounded. Older brother energy radiated off him.
“Finally,” Oliver said, pulling Lando into a quick hug. “You’re late.”
“Blame the airport!” Lando shot back, grinning like he hadn’t been panicking for days.
Then Oliver’s gaze shifted to you.
And suddenly you were hyper-aware of everything—your hair, your clothes, your posture, the way your hands were awkwardly gripping your suitcase handle.
“You must be Y/n,” he said warmly.
“Yeah, that’s me,” you replied, smiling even though your heart was thudding against your ribs.
“I’m Oliver,” he said, offering his hand.
“I’m Y/n… but you already know that,” you added with a small laugh. The words came out a little too confident, and you immediately prayed it sounded playful instead of arrogant.
Oliver chuckled, clearly unfazed. “Nice to officially meet you, Y/n.”
And just like that, some of the tension in your chest loosened. He didn’t look suspicious. He didn’t look confused. He didn’t look like he was about to interrogate you.
He just looked… kind.
Which, honestly, was almost worse—because kindness made it harder to lie.
Oliver drove with the kind of calm confidence that made you wish you felt even half as steady. Warm Sicilian sunlight spilled through the windows, turning the dashboard gold. Outside, the world looked soft and bright and easy.
Inside the car, Lando was talking like he’d been plugged into a power source.
He and Oliver were deep in race talk—corner speeds, tire degradation, strategy calls—Lando gesturing wildly, Oliver chiming in with that older‑brother mix of teasing and genuine interest. It was like watching two people speak a language you’d only ever heard in passing.
“You saw that last corner from Russell, right?” Oliver asked, glancing at Lando with a grin. “Absolutely insane overtaking maneuver.”
“Yes!” Lando lit up instantly. “But the tires, the line he took—it was borderline genius. I mean, I would’ve done it slightly differently, obviously.”
You sat in the back, hands folded tightly in your lap, nodding along like you understood even a fraction of what they were saying. You caught words—Monza, grip, strategy—but they floated past you like puzzle pieces from the wrong box.
Then Oliver’s eyes flicked to you in the rearview mirror.
“What about you, Y/n? What did you think of the race?”
Your brain blanked.
Completely.
Utterly.
“It… uh…” You tried to sound thoughtful, like you were recalling something meaningful. “I thought it was… exciting?”
Lando snorted under his breath. “She’s very diplomatic.”
Oliver laughed, warm and easy. “Fair enough. Hard to argue with that.”
You sank back into your seat, cheeks warm, trying not to overthink the fact that you were already improvising. Already lying. Already pretending to be someone who fit into this world.
And Lando—of course—kept glancing back at you with these tiny, amused smiles. Like he could see every thought running through your head. Like he knew exactly how flustered you were and found it… cute.
You weren’t sure if that made things better or worse.
The car wound through the narrow Sicilian roads, sunlight flickering across your lap, and with every turn your nerves pulled tighter—like someone was slowly winding a string inside your chest. This was only the warm‑up. The easy part. The real performance waited at the end of the driveway, where an entire family believed you were in love with their son.
Oliver parked smoothly and stepped out, probably to gather the rest of the Norris clan. The moment the door shut behind him, the car felt too quiet, too warm, too full of everything you were suddenly terrified of messing up.
“Relax,” Lando said, glancing over at you with a half‑smile. “You look like you’re about to meet the mafia.”
“I kind of am,” you muttered, rubbing your palms against your thighs. “Did I say something bad? About the race? I feel like I said something bad.”
Lando laughed softly, leaning back in his seat like he had all the time in the world. His grin was easy, warm, annoyingly reassuring. “Calm down. You were fine.”
You followed his gaze out the windshield—and your stomach dropped.
The whole family was already gathered at the end of the driveway. Talking. Laughing. Waiting. A cluster of people who knew each other inside out… and were about to meet the stranger pretending to be part of their world.
Your breath caught.
Lando noticed. Of course he did.
He reached over, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face with a touch so light it barely registered—except it did. It settled something in you. Or maybe it unsettled everything. Hard to tell.
“You’ve got this,” he said, voice low, teasing, but steady in a way that made your pulse slow just a little.
You took a deep breath, trying to believe him. Trying to believe yourself.
Then the car door opened, warm air rushing in, and there was no more time to think.
It was showtime.
Lando’s arm slid around your waist like it had always belonged there—easy, natural, practiced in a way that made your breath catch for half a second. It wasn’t tight, just enough pressure to say mine without actually saying it. Enough to make you look like a couple. Enough to make your heart do something stupid.
“My dearest family! Your best son is back! Even with a girlfriend!” Lando announced, laughing like this was all a big joke he’d been waiting to deliver.
“Move, Lando, I want to see your lovely girl,” his mum, Cisca, said, gently shoving him aside with the confidence of a woman who’d been doing it his whole life.
You couldn’t help the small laugh that escaped you. Lando pretended to be offended, hand over his heart, but then shot you a mischievous smirk—like he was enjoying this way too much.
Cisca stepped closer, warm and bright, the kind of person who made you feel welcome before you even spoke. “Y/n, I’m Cisca, and this is my husband, Adam. My daughters, Flo and Cisca, my soon‑to‑be daughter‑in‑law, Sav, and my sons, Oliver and… well, you know, Lando.”
She reintroduced everyone as if Lando hadn’t rattled off their names in the car, but you smiled anyway, greeting each of them—twice, just to be safe. Your cheeks were warm, but no one looked suspicious. If anything, they looked excited. Curious. Happy to meet you.
“Lando told me a lot about you,” you said, smiling—and immediately realized how that could sound. “Only the best things, of course.” You let out a nervous laugh, hoping it landed somewhere between charming and believable.
“See?” Lando said, his smirk widening into something almost proud. “Perfect son—and now boyfriend.”
You rolled your eyes, but there was a tiny spark of warmth in your chest at how confidently he said it. Like he’d imagined this moment before. Like he’d rehearsed it. Like he’d been waiting for you to step into this role long before you agreed.
And that thought… well, that was dangerous.
Lando’s arm stayed around your waist as Sav led you down the hallway, her voice bright and cheerful, completely unaware that your heart was doing somersaults. You and Lando exchanged a quick look—yours full of are you kidding me?, his full of that infuriating, smug confidence he wore like a second skin.
“C’mon, lovebirds, I’ll show you your room,” Sav said, swinging open a door with a flourish.
You stepped inside, taking in the soft lighting, the open window, the warm Sicilian breeze drifting through the curtains. It was a beautiful room—cozy, airy, romantic in a way that made your stomach twist.
And then your eyes landed on the bed.
One bed.
A big one, sure. But still one.
Sav didn’t seem to notice your internal meltdown. “Dinner’s at six! Don’t be late,” she chirped before disappearing down the hall.
The door clicked shut.
You turned slowly toward Lando, raising an eyebrow so high it practically left your face. “There’s only one bed.”
He didn’t even blink. Didn’t even pretend to be surprised. He just leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, looking like he’d been waiting for this exact moment.
“We are a couple, remember?” he said, voice low and annoyingly smooth.
You let out a long, dramatic sigh. “Right. Almost forgot.”
But the truth was, your pulse had picked up. Just a little. Because the room suddenly felt smaller. Warmer. And Lando—smirking, relaxed, completely unfazed—looked far too comfortable standing there like he belonged in this space with you.
You still stood there, arms crossed, staring at the bed like it had personally wronged you. It sat in the middle of the room—big, soft, innocent—and yet somehow the most stressful piece of furniture you’d ever encountered.
Meanwhile, Lando looked like he’d just walked into a hotel suite he’d booked himself. He pushed off the doorway, wandered in, and dropped his bag by a chair with the ease of someone who had absolutely no shame.
“You’re overreacting,” he said, tone maddeningly casual.
You turned your head slowly, like a horror movie character realizing the killer was behind them. “Overreacting? Lando, there is one bed.”
He glanced at it, then back at you, completely unfazed. “Yeah. I can see that.”
You narrowed your eyes. “And where exactly do you plan on sleeping?”
He shrugged, all innocence. “In the bed?”
The pillow was in your hand before you even thought about it. You launched it at him. He caught it mid‑air, laughing like this was the best entertainment he’d had all week.
“Relax, I’m kidding—kind of.”
“‘Kind of’ is not reassuring,” you snapped, brushing past him to your suitcase because you needed to move before you strangled him.
Lando watched you for a beat, then let out a dramatic sigh worthy of an Oscar. “Fine. We’ll figure something out. I’m a gentleman.”
You paused, turned, and raised one eyebrow. “You?”
He clutched his chest like you’d stabbed him. “Wow. That hurt.”
“Good.”
────────────
You stepped out of the bathroom for what felt like the third time, maybe the tenth, maybe the hundredth—time had stopped meaning anything somewhere between outfit number four and the moment you realized Lando was absolutely no help at all.
He was sprawled across the bed like a cat in a sunbeam, scrolling through his phone, not a single worry in sight. Meanwhile, you were one bad outfit away from a full emotional collapse.
“What about this?” you asked, voice tight with the kind of stress only family dinners and fake‑dating could create.
Lando looked up.
And for a moment—just a heartbeat—he didn’t move. His eyes dragged over you slowly, like his brain had forgotten how to function. You shifted under his stare, suddenly hyper-aware of every inch of fabric on your body.
“What?” you asked, trying to sound annoyed instead of flustered.
He blinked, like he’d been caught doing something he shouldn’t. “Hot.”
Your eyes narrowed instantly. “Lando.”
He sat up a little too fast, rubbing the back of his neck, that small, almost shy smile tugging at his lips. It softened him in a way you weren’t prepared for. “I mean—you look nice. Really nice. That’s all.”
The words hung in the air, warm and a little dangerous. And even though you rolled your eyes, you felt your stomach flip, just once, like it was testing the waters.
Lando definitely noticed how stiff you were, how your fingers kept twisting together like you were trying to wring the nerves out of them. He sat up a little, the teasing fading from his face, replaced by something softer.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, voice low in a way that made it hard to pretend you were fine.
“Just… stressed,” you said with a shrug, trying to make it sound small even though it felt huge in your chest.
“Hey,” Lando said, pushing himself off the bed so quickly it almost startled you. “Stop stressing, Y/n. They already love you.”
You let out a breath, shaking your head. “They don’t even know me.”
“They don’t need to,” he said, stepping closer like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “You’re kind, you’re funny, you didn’t run away the second you met my family—honestly, that’s already impressive.”
A tiny laugh escaped you, but your shoulders stayed tight, your pulse still too fast. And of course he noticed. He always noticed.
“Come here,” he said suddenly.
You frowned. “What?”
“Come here,” he repeated, gentler this time, like he wasn’t asking—just quietly waiting.
You hesitated, then stepped closer.
He reached out, fingers brushing lightly against your hair as he tucked a strand behind your ear. Then he smoothed it down, slow and careful, like he’d done it a hundred times before. His touch was warm, steady, nothing like the loud, chaotic version of him everyone else saw.
“There,” he murmured, eyes lingering on you for a beat too long. “Perfect.”
Your breath caught before you could stop it, a tiny hitch you hoped he didn’t hear.
“You’re surprisingly good at this,” you said, a small smile tugging at your lips before you could hide it.
“At fake dating?” he asked, eyebrow lifting in that way that always made him look like he was two seconds from trouble.
“At not being a completely insufferable asshole,” you shot back—though the laugh that slipped out ruined any attempt at sounding annoyed.
Lando let out a soft huff, shaking his head. “Wow. I’m really raising the bar here, aren’t I?”
“Bare minimum,” you teased.
“Rude.”
“But accurate.”
He stepped closer, just enough that you felt the warmth of him, his voice dropping into something lower, softer—something that felt like it was meant only for you.
“And yet,” he murmured, a hint of a smirk curling at his mouth, “you still agreed to be my girlfriend.”
You rolled your eyes, but you didn’t move away. If anything, your feet stayed rooted, your pulse doing that stupid fluttery thing again. “Fake girlfriend.”
“Right,” he said, nodding slowly, eyes lingering on yours. “Keep telling yourself that.”
For a second, neither of you moved. The air felt thick, warm, charged with something you weren’t ready to name. His hand was still close to yours. Too close. Close enough that if either of you breathed wrong, your fingers might brush.
Then reality snapped back into place.
You cleared your throat, stepping back just enough to break the moment. “Come on. Your family’s waiting.”
Lando grinned, falling into step beside you like nothing had happened—except his eyes were brighter, and his smile was a little too pleased.
“Let’s go, babe.”
You shot him a look.
“…We said that one was allowed,” he added quickly, hands raised in mock innocence.
You didn’t reply—just shook your head and walked out of the room with him, your hand still resting lightly on his arm. It felt steady there, even though nothing inside you felt steady at all.
The closer you got to the dining area, the louder everything became. Laughter spilling over laughter. Voices overlapping. Cutlery clinking. Chairs scraping. A whole family in full motion.
Chaos.
Warm, loud, overwhelming chaos.
You slowed down without meaning to.
Lando noticed instantly.
“Hey,” he murmured, leaning closer so only you could hear him. “Breathe, remember?”
“I am breathing,” you whispered back.
“Barely.”
You shot him a look—half glare, half panic—but before you could argue, you stepped into the dining room.
And immediately—
Every head turned.
“Oh, there they are!” someone called—Flo, you were pretty sure.
“What took you so long?” Sav added, wearing a smirk that said she absolutely thought she knew the answer.
You rolled your eyes, but a small smile tugged at your lips. “It takes him forever to get ready,” you said, jerking your thumb toward Lando.
The table erupted with laughter.
And for the first time since you’d arrived, the tension in your chest loosened. Maybe it was adrenaline. Maybe it was the noise. Maybe it was the way this whole thing was starting to feel… weirdly doable.
“Oh?” Lando turned to you, smirking, clearly not expecting you to fire back so quickly. “That’s interesting, considering you changed your outfit, what—four times, love?”
You rolled your eyes again, but there was no heat behind it. Just a spark of something lighter.
“Dinner’s getting cold! Sit, sit,” Cisca urged, waving you both toward the table with the kind of warmth that made it impossible not to smile.
You slid into your seat, Lando taking the chair beside you like he’d been doing it for years. His knee brushed yours under the table—light, accidental, but steady enough to make your pulse jump. You didn’t move it away. Maybe you couldn’t.
Adam reached for the wine bottle. “Wine?”
“Yes, please,” you said a little too fast, and Lando’s quiet laugh beside you didn’t help.
Glasses filled, plates passed around, and for a few minutes everything felt almost… normal. You smiled, nodded, laughed when everyone else did. You were doing it. You were blending in. You were surviving.
Then Sav leaned forward, eyes bright with curiosity. “So. Tell us everything. How did you two meet?”
There it was. The question. The one you’d been dreading since the airport.
You glanced at Lando for half a second—barely long enough for anyone else to notice, but he caught it instantly.
“We got stuck together in the elevator,” he said smoothly, like he’d been waiting for this moment.
You exhaled quietly, picking up the thread. “For two hours,” you added with a small laugh. “Very, very long two hours of my life.”
“Speak for yourself, darlin’,” Lando cut in, not missing a beat. “Best two hours of mine.”
The table erupted with laughter—Flo snorting, Sav shaking her head, Cisca smiling like this was the cutest thing she’d ever heard.
And you… you felt your face warm, but not from embarrassment. More from the way Lando said it—light, teasing, but with a softness underneath that wasn’t entirely fake.
Cisca leaned in, eyes bright with curiosity. “So what happened after? You got out and just… what? Went on a date?”
You froze for half a second.
Lando didn’t.
“I asked for her number,” he said smoothly, like it was the most natural thing in the world.
Your head snapped toward him.
Oh.
That was new.
And dangerously believable.
“And I said no,” you added quickly, because your brain clearly decided honesty‑but‑not‑really was safer than silence.
Lando looked at you, eyebrows lifting. “You did not.”
“I absolutely did.”
“You hesitated,” he corrected, pointing at you with his fork. “And then gave it to me anyway.”
You rolled your eyes, a small laugh slipping out. “I didn’t trust you.”
Adam chuckled, shaking his head. “Smart girl.”
The table laughed, the moment loosening—until Lando spoke again, his voice dipping just slightly, the teasing softening around the edges.
“But,” he said, glancing at you, “she eventually said yes.”
Your eyes met his.
Just for a second.
Just long enough for something warm to settle low in your chest, something you weren’t prepared for.
“…Eventually,” you echoed, quieter than you meant to.
And the strange part?
It didn’t feel like a story anymore.
Not a script.
Not a lie you were both juggling.
It felt like something that could’ve happened.
Something that almost did.
Lando looked away first, but not before you caught the small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth—soft, knowing, like he’d just read your mind and liked what he found.
You talked for another three hours, and somehow—it was suspiciously easy.
No interrogation. No awkward pauses. No slip‑ups. No one trying to poke holes in your very real, very not‑real relationship. If anything, they just… welcomed you. Laughed with you. Pulled you into conversations like you’d always been there.
And that almost made it worse—because it felt natural. Too natural. Like you weren’t pretending at all.
Eventually, plates were empty, wine glasses half‑full, and the warm Sicilian night hummed softly through the open windows.
“I think we’re gonna head to our room,” Lando said casually, stretching an arm around your shoulders like it belonged there. Like it had always belonged there. “Y’know, get some rest.”
Damn.
He was good at this. Too good. The kind of good that made your stomach flip, because he didn’t even have to think about it—his voice warm, his touch easy, his smile soft enough to sell the whole thing without trying.
And the worst part?
For a split second, you didn’t feel like you were acting either.
As you stood, his hand slid down your arm, fingers brushing yours in a way that felt almost accidental—except it wasn’t. Not with the way he glanced at you, just briefly, like he was checking if you were still okay… or maybe checking something else entirely.
You stepped into the room and the door clicked shut behind you, sealing off the noise from downstairs like someone had dropped a blanket over the world.
Silence settled—thick, warm, a little too intimate.
Your eyes drifted immediately to the bed.
One bed.
Again.
You turned slowly toward Lando.
He was already staring at it too, hands in his pockets, jaw shifting like he was trying not to laugh.
“…Right,” you said.
“Yeah,” he replied.
A beat.
Another beat.
The kind of beat where you could practically hear both of your brains screaming.
“You’re not seriously telling me this is becoming a pattern,” you muttered, crossing your arms.
You didn’t even bother hiding the disbelief in your voice.
“We are dating, babe.”
“Fake dating, babe.”
“Still counts for logistics.”
“There are two chairs,” you said, pointing at them like you’d just discovered a legal loophole.
Lando didn’t even look. “You want one of us to sleep on a chair?”
You opened your mouth.
Closed it again.
“…No.”
“Exactly.”
You dragged a hand down your face. “This is insane.”
Lando flopped back onto the edge of the bed, bouncing slightly, looking far too relaxed for someone who had just detonated your entire nervous system for the day. “It’s not that bad.”
“It’s literally one bed.”
“And?” he asked, glancing up at you with that maddeningly calm expression.
You stared at him.
He stared right back.
Then, slowly—dangerously—that familiar smirk crept in. “We behaved perfectly fine tonight, didn’t we?”
You narrowed your eyes. “Don’t start.”
“I’m just saying,” he continued, voice infuriatingly casual, “if we can survive interrogation over dinner, we can survive sleeping in the same bed.”
“That is not the same thing.”
“It kind of is.”
You stared at the bed like it might magically split in half if you glared hard enough.
“Fine,” you sighed. “But if you’re snoring, I’m kicking you out.”
“I don’t snore,” Lando said instantly—way too instantly.
You turned your head slowly.
He blinked.
“…I don’t,” he repeated, much quieter now.
You raised an eyebrow. “That was way too fast for someone telling the truth.”
He scoffed, kicking off his shoes like he lived here. “I’m an athlete. I’m basically engineered for optimal sleep conditions.”
“Sure,” you nodded, deadpan. “And I’m the Queen of England.”
Lando grinned, grabbing his suitcase. “Well, Your Majesty, feel free to take the left side of the bed.”
“There are sides now?”
“There are always sides.”
You hesitated for half a second, then crossed the room and sat on the edge of the mattress. It dipped under your weight, soft and warm, and you watched him move around the room—unpacking, stretching, tossing his hoodie onto a chair—like he’d done this a thousand times.
Like he belonged here.
Which was the annoying part.
He made everything feel… normal. Easy. Like sharing a room, sharing a bed, sharing this whole ridiculous lie wasn’t a big deal at all.
You let out a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding.
“Don’t get too comfortable,” you muttered.
Lando glanced over his shoulder, smirk already forming. “Too late.”
────────────
The washed dishes weren’t even dry yet when the Norris family was already on their feet again, buzzing with the kind of chaotic energy only they could produce. Someone— definitely Sav—clapped her hands together like she was kicking off a national broadcast.
“Okay! We’re playing How Well Do You Know Your Partner!”
Instant groans. Instant cheers. A chorus of excitement and dread rolled across the terrace.
You slowly turned your head toward Lando.
“…We are fucked,” you mouthed.
Lando didn’t even blink.
He gave you a calm, reassuring nod that was so painfully unconvincing it almost made you laugh.
“We’ll be fine,” he mouthed back.
You narrowed your eyes at him.
Liar.
Because even as he said it, his mouth twitched—just a tiny, traitorous twitch—like he was already regretting every life choice that had led him to this exact moment.
Around you, chairs scraped against the floor as everyone moved back toward the table. Pens appeared, paper was handed out, and suddenly it looked way too official for something that was supposed to be “just a game.”
Flo was practically vibrating with excitement, bouncing in her seat like she’d been waiting all night for this exact moment.
“First question!” she announced, pausing dramatically like a game‑show host.
Everyone leaned in.
You braced yourself.
“What is your partner’s biggest pet peeve?”
Of course.
Of course that was the first question.
Lando immediately bent over his card, writing like this was the easiest thing he’d done all day. No hesitation, no thinking, no panic—just pure, irritating confidence. He even tapped his pen against the table afterward, relaxed, smug, like he already knew he’d get it right.
You stared down at your blank paper.
Biggest pet peeve.
You barely knew your own biggest pet peeve, let alone his. Your mind went completely empty, like someone had unplugged your brain and walked away with the cable.
You risked a sideways glance.
Lando was done.
Done.
Already leaning back in his chair, looking like he was waiting for the rest of the class to catch up.
Show‑off.
You sighed quietly and wrote the first thing that made sense: people driving too slowly.
It wasn’t a wild guess. More like a logical conclusion. He drove fast cars for a living, lived fast, talked fast—slow drivers probably felt like a personal attack on his soul.
Hopefully.
You set your pen down, trying to look confident.
You absolutely did not feel confident.
And beside you, Lando’s knee brushed yours under the table—light, steady, like he was silently saying we’ve got this.
Flo practically vibrated with excitement. “Ready?”
Everyone flipped their papers.
Lando’s answer: cheesy nicknames.
You blinked.
Right.
That one barely counted—he only knew because you’d ranted about it earlier. Still, Sav burst into laughter.
“You hate nicknames, Y/n?”
“Hate,” you said instantly, no hesitation at all.
“Especially ‘light of my life,’ right, Y/n?” Lando added, laughing like he wasn’t actively trying to get himself murdered.
You shot him a look sharp enough to cut glass.
“Don’t push it.”
He only grinned wider, the menace.
Then his eyes dropped to your board.
He read it.
And his whole expression shifted—slowly, deliberately—into a smug, satisfied smirk that told you he was about to be insufferable.
“Oh,” he said, dragging the word out like he was unwrapping a present.
You narrowed your eyes. “What?”
He leaned in just a little, enough to make it feel like he was invading your personal space on purpose. “Not bad.”
You glanced down at your own paper.
people who drive too slowly.
Lando let out a quiet huff of laughter, shaking his head like he was both impressed and personally offended.
“That’s actually kind of good,” he admitted, still smirking. “Like… annoyingly accurate.”
You shrugged, trying to look casual even though your stomach did a tiny, traitorous flip. “At least I didn’t embarrass us.”
He nudged your knee under the table—light, warm, intentional.
“You could never embarrass us, darling.”
That nickname sent shivers down your spine.
And the worst part?
The part you refused to acknowledge?
For a moment, you almost believed him.
Flo clapped her hands again, absolutely delighted with the chaos she was creating. She looked like someone who’d been waiting her whole life to host this exact moment.
“Okay! Next question!”
She paused dramatically, eyes sparkling.
“What is your partner’s most annoying habit?”
You felt Lando shift beside you immediately—pen already in hand, posture straightening like he was preparing for a qualifying lap. He didn’t even hesitate. He just started writing, confident and focused, like he had a whole list ready to go.
Meanwhile, you stared at that damn paper again.
Most annoying habit.
Where were you even supposed to begin?
He had so many.
You risked a glance at him.
He looked calm. Too calm. The kind of calm that made you want to throw your pen at him. Of course he was confident. Of course he thought he knew exactly what you’d write. He lived for this.
You exhaled slowly and wrote the first thing that felt right: leaving cabinets open.
It was oddly specific, but it fit him. He had that chaotic energy, the kind that probably left a trail of half‑open cupboards behind him like breadcrumbs.
“Ready!” Sav announced.
Everyone flipped their papers.
There was a half‑second of silence.
Then—
Cisca gasped, pointing at your answer like she’d just discovered buried treasure. “Yes! Y/n! Thank you—finally! That has driven me mad ever since he was a kid!”
The table erupted into laughter.
Lando whipped around to his mum, offended. “Traitor!”
“I’m sorry,” she said through her laughter. “It’s true!”
You couldn’t help it—you laughed too. And as the noise settled, you felt Lando nudge your knee under the table, a tiny, wordless I can’t believe you just exposed me like that.
You didn’t look at him.
But you smiled.
You looked at Lando’s board.
overthinking and stressing over everything.
You blinked.
Oh.
For a moment, the laughter around the table dimmed, like someone had quietly turned the volume down. The terrace was still full of noise and warmth and clinking glasses, but it all felt a little distant—like you’d stepped half a beat out of sync with the room.
Because that answer…
That wasn’t a joke.
That wasn’t a throwaway guess.
That was painfully, uncomfortably accurate.
Your eyes lifted to him.
He wasn’t smirking this time. No teasing, no smugness, no dramatic flourish. Just Lando watching you with this quiet, steady kind of awareness that made your chest tighten. Like he’d seen it. Not just tonight, but before. Like he’d been paying attention in ways you hadn’t realized.
You let out a small breath, something caught between a laugh and disbelief. “Okay… that’s a bit too accurate.”
Lando shrugged lightly, but there was something softer in his expression now—something that didn’t belong to the game or the performance or the lie you were both maintaining. “You make it kind of obvious.”
The words weren’t mocking. They weren’t even teasing. They were gentle, almost careful, like he was trying not to push too hard.
And for a second, you felt it again—that strange, unsettling shift.
The one where the line between fake and real blurred just enough to make your heart stumble.
A few hours later, the noise from inside had finally faded, replaced by the soft hum of the evening—warm air brushing against your skin, distant laughter drifting from somewhere down the hill, the faint rhythm of waves rolling in and out like the night was breathing with you.
You leaned against the balcony railing, letting your shoulders drop for the first time all day. It had been… a lot. Fun, chaotic, terrifying, weirdly comforting—a mess of emotions you hadn’t sorted yet and weren’t sure you wanted to.
“Enjoying your victory?” a familiar voice drawled behind you.
You didn’t even turn. “We did not win.”
“Debatable,” Lando said, stepping out onto the balcony like he belonged there, like he’d been waiting for this quiet moment.
You glanced at him over your shoulder. “We survived. Barely.”
He came to stand beside you, leaning his elbows on the railing, close enough that you could feel the warmth radiating off him. “You were good.”
You let out a soft snort. “I guessed half of it.”
“And still got it right,” he pointed out, like that settled the matter.
You shook your head, staring out at the dark horizon. The sky was a deep blue, the kind that made everything feel softer, slower. “That’s not the point.”
You looked at him now, really looked, the balcony light catching the edges of his face in that soft, golden way that made everything feel a little too intimate.
“You, on the other hand… what was that?”
Lando blinked, all faux‑innocence. “What was what?”
“That whole ‘overthinking and stressing over everything’ thing?” you said, narrowing your eyes at him. “Bit personal, don’t you think?”
He didn’t flinch. Didn’t joke. Didn’t deflect.
Instead, he gave a small shrug, gaze drifting out toward the dark horizon for a moment, like he was choosing his words carefully.
“It’s true.”
You crossed your arms, partly defensive, partly trying to keep your heartbeat from doing something stupid. “You don’t even know me.”
He turned his head then, slow and deliberate, meeting your eyes with a steadiness that made your breath catch.
“I know enough.”
It wasn’t flirtatious.
It wasn’t teasing.
It was quiet, honest, and it hit you harder than you expected.
You looked away quickly, pretending to focus on the waves you couldn’t actually see. “You got lucky.”
“Twice?” he said, the teasing finally slipping back into his voice.
You rolled your eyes, grateful for the shift. “Don’t get cocky.”
He smiled to himself, that small, private kind of smile that told you he was enjoying this far more than he should.
After a moment, he nudged your arm lightly with his elbow. “You were good too, by the way. The cabinet thing? My mum’s never going to let that go now.”
You laughed under your breath, the sound easing some of the tension in your chest. “I take pride in that.”
“You should,” he said, turning back toward the view. “You’ve officially turned my family against me.”
“Part of the job,” you replied, but your voice softened without your permission.
And for a moment, the two of you just stood there—side by side, warm air brushing past, the night settling around you—feeling something that didn’t quite fit the definition of fake anymore.
There was a brief pause—one of those rare, quiet moments where everything felt suspended in warm night air. Comfortable. Too comfortable. The kind of comfort that made you forget, for a second, that none of this was real.
Then, almost at the same time, your eyes drifted downward toward the garden.
And froze.
His entire family was there—clustered in little groups, pretending to chat, pretending to admire the flowers, pretending to do anything other than stare directly up at the balcony. Sav was leaning against a tree like she was undercover. Adam had his hands on his hips. Flo was perched on a lounge chair, chin in her hands. Cisca was the only one trying to look subtle, which somehow made it worse.
They were all waiting.
Watching.
Expectant.
“Oh my God,” you muttered under your breath, heat rushing to your face.
Lando followed your gaze, and the moment he saw them, his shoulders dropped in exhausted disbelief.
“…They’re insane,” he said quietly, like he was afraid they’d hear him.
“They’re waiting,” you whispered, because there was no denying it. They were practically vibrating with anticipation.
“I can see that,” he murmured, jaw tightening like he was trying not to laugh or scream.
A beat passed.
Then another.
The kind of beat where your heart started doing something stupid in your chest.
Lando shifted closer—just a small movement, but enough that his shoulder brushed yours, warm and steady. When he spoke, his voice dropped low, soft enough that only you could hear it over the hum of the night.
“Can I kiss you, please?”
Your breath caught before you could stop it.
You turned your head just enough to meet his eyes, and for the first time all night there was no smirk waiting for you, no teasing spark, no playful challenge. Just something softer. Something careful. Something that made your chest feel too tight.
“You’re asking?” you whispered, your voice barely carrying over the warm night air.
“Figured I should,” he murmured back, his tone low and steady. “Consent and all that.”
Despite everything—your nerves, the audience below, the fact that this was supposed to be fake—a small smile tugged at your lips. You couldn’t help it.
“You’re unbelievable.”
“Yeah,” he said quietly, almost like he didn’t want to break the moment. “But can I?”
You hesitated for half a second. Not because you didn’t want to. Not because you were scared of the kiss itself. But because suddenly, terrifyingly, it didn’t feel like part of the act anymore. It felt like something else entirely—something real, something fragile, something you weren’t sure you were ready to name.
Still, you nodded.
“Yeah.”
He didn’t rush. He didn’t joke. He didn’t turn it into a performance for the garden below. He just leaned in slowly, giving you every chance to pull away. His hand brushed your arm, light and warm, like he was checking—are you sure, are you sure, are you sure?
You didn’t move.
And then—
His lips met yours.
Soft. Careful. Warm.
It was meant to be quick, just enough to convince the family watching from below. Just enough to sell the story.
But neither of you pulled away right away.
Not even close.
For a moment, the world narrowed to the quiet press of his mouth against yours, the faint scent of his cologne, the warmth of his hand still resting against your arm. Everything else—the balcony, the night, the family waiting below—faded into a blur.
And all you could think was:
This wasn’t supposed to feel like this.
────────────
The pre-wedding party was… a lot. The kind of “a lot” that filled every corner of the villa with noise and warmth and movement. Music spilled across the garden in waves, loud and bright, mixing with the clinking of glasses and bursts of laughter that rose and fell like the night had its own heartbeat. Fairy lights stretched overhead, soft and golden, blurring slightly at the edges—or maybe that was just the alcohol. Hard to tell anymore.
Still, even with all the warmth and noise and celebration, something felt a little off.
Everyone here seemed to have their place. Their people. Their easy conversations and inside jokes and familiar rhythms. Sav floated from group to group with the kind of glow only a bride‑to‑be could pull off. Flo was dancing with someone’s aunt. Cisca was deep in conversation with a cluster of relatives you couldn’t keep straight. Everywhere you looked, there was a sense of belonging—woven into the air, into the laughter, into the way people leaned into each other without thinking.
And you… well. You were here. Present, technically. But not quite part of the current.
You took another sip of your drink, leaning against the bar, letting the cool glass steady you. Fourth drink? Fifth? You’d lost track somewhere between the speeches and the second round of music. It didn’t matter. The night was warm, the lights were soft, and the alcohol made everything feel a little easier to float through.
Across the garden, Lando was surrounded by his cousins, animatedly talking about F1, hands moving as he laughed at something one of them said. He looked completely at ease—comfortable in a way that made sense. This was his world. His people. His history.
He looked at home.
And you—
You just stood there, watching him for a moment longer than you meant to, feeling that small, quiet ache of being close to something without quite belonging to it.
You were still leaning against the bar, letting the music and chatter blur into a soft background hum, when someone stepped into your space from the side—close enough that you felt the shift of air before you heard the voice.
“Hey.”
You turned slightly.
One of Lando’s cousins stood there with an easy smile. Will—probably. Or Ben. Honestly, after your fourth drink, all the cousins had started blending into one tall, friendly blur of Norrises.
He offered his hand like you were meeting at a business conference instead of a pre-wedding party. “Will.”
“Y/n,” you replied, shaking it briefly.
He didn’t let go right away.
“Oh, trust me, I know,” he said with a small smirk, finally releasing your hand but not stepping back. “You’re kind of the main topic of conversation.”
Your brows lifted, a mix of amusement and mild alarm. “That’s concerning, considering this is Sav and Oliver’s wedding.”
He laughed softly, shoulders relaxing. “Fair point.”
Only then did he give you a little more space—though not much. Just enough to make it clear he wasn’t going anywhere.
“Relax,” he added, tone light. “It’s all good things.”
You gave him a look that said you weren’t convinced. “That’s not very reassuring.”
He grinned, hands sliding into his pockets. “Okay, I’ll rephrase. They like you.”
“That’s better,” you said, though you weren’t sure if the warmth in your chest was the alcohol or the words.
Either way, it was nice to hear.
Will’s smile lingered a little longer than it should have, the kind of smile that tried to look casual but didn’t quite land that way.
“You know,” he said, leaning one elbow against the bar so he was angled toward you, “I’m still trying to figure out how someone like you ended up with him.”
You let out a small laugh, swirling what was left of your drink. The ice clinked softly against the glass. “Wow. Straight to insulting him. Nice.”
“I’m not insulting him,” he said quickly, hands lifting in a harmless gesture. “Just… surprised.”
“Because?” you asked, raising an eyebrow, though your tone stayed light.
He shrugged, eyes flicking over you in a way that felt a little too assessing. “He’s Lando. And you seem… normal.”
That actually made you snort. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“It is,” he said, and this time his gaze lingered a beat too long. “I just mean—you could do better.”
The words hung in the air, heavy and awkward, settling between you like something you didn’t want to touch. You opened your mouth—ready to defend Lando, or correct him, or shut the whole thing down before it got any weirder—
“Hey, babe. Is everything okay?”
Lando’s voice cut cleanly through the moment.
Before you could even turn, his hand slid around your waist, warm and steady, pulling you gently but unmistakably toward him. The movement was instinctive, protective, and just a little too sure of itself.
You blinked up at him, caught off guard by how close he suddenly was.
But he didn’t look at you first.
His eyes were locked on Will—calm, unreadable, but with an edge underneath that you hadn’t heard in his voice all night. Or ever.
Will straightened immediately, hands dropping from the bar like he’d been caught doing something he shouldn’t. “Yeah, just talking.”
Lando hummed once—a low, controlled sound that wasn’t quite agreement. It wasn’t loud, but it carried weight. Like he had a sharper response sitting on the tip of his tongue and was choosing, very deliberately, not to use it. His jaw tightened for a second before he smoothed it over, the kind of restraint that said more than any raised voice could.
Then he finally looked down at you.
“You okay?”
There was something in his tone—lighter than the look in his eyes, softer than the tension in his shoulders. It was a question meant for you, not for the audience around you. A check‑in, not a performance.
You nodded slowly. “Yeah.”
A small beat passed.
His hand was still at your waist, warm and steady, fingers resting just firmly enough to make it clear he wasn’t letting go until you told him to. And without thinking, your own hand had settled against him too, holding on like it was the most natural thing in the world.
“Good,” he said simply.
Then his gaze slid back to Will.
“Not sorry, Will,” Lando said, voice calm, almost casual—but with a quiet edge underneath. “I need to talk to my girlfriend.”
The emphasis was subtle, but unmistakable. A line drawn. A boundary set.
Will blinked once, caught between surprise and a laugh he didn’t quite commit to. “Yeah, alright.”
He lifted his hands in a small gesture of surrender. “Didn’t mean anything by it, man.”
“Cool,” Lando replied, smooth and final.
No warmth. No invitation to keep talking. Just a clean end to the conversation.
Then, without another word, he guided you away from the bar. His hand stayed firm at your waist, steering you through the garden, past the clusters of people, past the fairy lights and music and noise. You didn’t resist. You didn’t even think about resisting. You just let him lead you, the warmth of his touch grounding you in a way the alcohol never could.
He didn’t loosen his grip once.
Only when you were finally inside the villa—away from the crowd, away from Will, away from the eyes and the noise—did he slow down. His steps eased, his hand softened, and the air between you shifted into something quieter, heavier, waiting.
The moment the bedroom door clicked shut behind you, the noise of the party vanished like someone had cut the power. No music, no laughter, no clinking glasses—just silence. Thick, heavy, the kind that settled over your skin and made the room feel smaller than it was.
Lando finally let go of your waist, but only so he could turn toward you fully. His movements were sharp, controlled, like he’d been holding something in since the moment he saw you at the bar.
“What was that?” he asked immediately.
You blinked, thrown by the sudden shift. “What was what?”
“That guy,” he said, jaw tightening just enough for you to notice. “The way he was talking to you.”
You scoffed, trying to brush it off, trying to keep the moment light. “It’s literally your cousin. He was just talking.”
“He is the biggest idiot of all of them,” Lando shot back, voice low, “and he was not just talking.”
“Oh my God,” you laughed once, shaking your head, trying to defuse the tension. “Are you serious right now?”
“Yes,” he said instantly.
And that—more than anything—made you stop.
He wasn’t teasing.
He wasn’t playing the part.
He wasn’t performing for anyone.
He was actually annoyed.
“You’re overreacting,” you said, quieter now, because suddenly the space between you felt charged in a way you didn’t know how to handle.
“I’m not,” he replied, and there was no hesitation, no doubt.
A beat passed—quiet, heavy, stretching just long enough to make your pulse stumble.
Then Lando stepped closer again, closing the space you’d tried to keep between you. His voice dropped, low and rough around the edges. “I didn’t like it.”
Your breath caught, sharp and involuntary.
“You don’t get to say that,” you whispered, even though the words didn’t come out nearly as steady as you wanted them to.
“Why not?”
“Because it’s fake,” you reminded him, but your voice wavered, softening at the end like even you didn’t fully believe it anymore.
The word fake landed between you like something sharp. Something that should have pushed him back.
It didn’t.
Lando looked at you for a long second—long enough that you felt it everywhere. Like he wanted to argue, like he had a dozen things he wanted to throw back at you, but none of them made it out fast enough.
“Right, fake.” Lando laughed, but it was dripping with sarcasm and bitterness. “You looked like you didn’t want me there,” he said finally, quieter now, but somehow more honest.
The words hit harder than they should have. Harder than you were prepared for.
“I did,” you shot back, heat rising in your chest. “I just didn’t need you to—”
“To what?” he cut in, stepping closer again. “To act like I care?”
Silence.
Thick. Electric. Unavoidable.
Your chest tightened, breath catching somewhere high in your throat.
“Lando…” you warned softly, but it didn’t come out like a warning. It came out like something fragile. Something unsure.
And he was already too close again—close enough that you could feel the warmth of him, close enough that stepping back didn’t even cross your mind.
This time, you didn’t move at all.
“I care,” he said, and the words were so quiet, so steady, so painfully real that they seemed to settle right under your skin.
That changed everything.
Your breath stuttered, catching somewhere high in your chest. For a moment neither of you moved, like the air between you had turned solid.
Then—
Something in you snapped.
You grabbed the front of his shirt, fingers curling tight in the fabric, and pushed him backward. He didn’t resist. He barely even blinked. He just let you guide him until the backs of his legs hit the bed and he fell onto it with a soft thud, eyes wide, breath unsteady.
You climbed over him before he could say a word.
And kissed him.
Not careful this time. Not soft. Not measured.
This kiss was messy, urgent, horny, full of everything you’d been holding back. No hesitation. No pretending. No audience to perform for. Just heat and frustration and something that had been building for far too long.
Lando’s hands were on you instantly—gripping, grounding, pulling you closer like he needed you right there, right then. His breath was warm against your mouth as he managed a half‑laugh, half‑groan.
“…So that’s how we’re resolving things now?”
“Mhm,” you mumbled against his lips, refusing to pull away.
He did, just barely, just enough to look up at you with that infuriating, familiar smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.
“What happened to rule number two, darling?” he teased, voice low, eyes bright with something that made your pulse jump.
You didn’t even think.
“Fuck rule number two.”
His smile widened—slow, wicked, knowing.
And then he pulled you back down.
────────────
The wedding had been beautiful.
Perfect, actually—the kind of perfect that made your chest ache a little if you thought about it for too long. Everything glowed. The flowers, the lights, the people. Sav looked like she’d stepped out of a dream, and everyone cried at least once. Even you, even though you barely knew half the people in the crowd. Oliver was nervous in a sweet way, stumbling over his vows, and Lando… well. Lando was the prettiest best man anyone had ever seen, all soft smiles and quiet pride, looking like he belonged in every photo taken that day.
But you hadn’t really been thinking about the wedding.
Not the ceremony.
Not the speeches.
Not the dancing.
You’d been thinking about last night.
About the way he’d looked at you.
About the way he’d said I care.
About the way you’d grabbed him, kissed him, lost yourself in something that wasn’t supposed to be real.
Which was exactly why you’d spent the entire day avoiding him.
You kept yourself busy—helping Sav, talking to Flo, pretending to be deeply invested in the seating chart, slipping away whenever you felt his eyes on you. It wasn’t subtle. It wasn’t graceful. But it was the only thing you could manage, because every time you caught even a glimpse of him, your stomach twisted in a way that had nothing to do with nerves and everything to do with the memory of his hands on you, his voice in your ear, his breath against your mouth.
You weren’t ready to face him.
Not yet.
Not when everything inside you still felt unsteady.
So you smiled, you mingled, you clapped during the speeches, you danced when someone pulled you in—but underneath all of it, there was this constant hum in your chest.
A reminder. A question.
And no matter how hard you tried to ignore it, you could feel him somewhere in the crowd, watching you like he was waiting for you to stop running.
After the ceremony, everyone drifted inside, swept up in dancing and champagne and the kind of joy that filled every corner of the villa. Music echoed off the walls, laughter spilled across the room, and the whole place felt warm and alive in a way that should have pulled you in.
But instead, you found yourself outside, sitting at the edge of the pool with your legs tucked close, staring at the water like it might offer some kind of clarity.
It didn’t.
Obviously.
The surface just rippled gently, reflecting the lights strung above you, turning everything into soft, shifting colors. It was peaceful, almost too peaceful compared to the noise inside. And maybe that was why you stayed out here—because the quiet made it easier to breathe, even if it also made it harder to ignore the thoughts you’d been trying to outrun all day.
You heard footsteps before you saw him.
Of course you did. You always knew when he was close, even when you didn’t want to.
“Here,” Lando’s voice said gently.
You didn’t turn around.
“I brought you water,” he added after a second, like he wasn’t sure if you’d accept it.
A small sigh slipped out of you before you could stop it.
“Thanks,” you said, finally glancing over your shoulder.
He was standing there like he hadn’t been the reason you hadn’t slept properly, eaten properly, or thought about anything else properly since last night. Casual. Too casual. Like he hadn’t been in your head every hour of the day.
He sat down beside you—not too close, not touching, but close enough that you could feel the warmth of him. He placed the bottle next to you instead of handing it over, giving you space you weren’t sure you wanted.
Silence stretched between you.
Comfortable for him.
Unbearable for you.
“You’ve been avoiding me,” he said finally, his voice quiet but certain.
You let out a small, humorless laugh. “Have I?”
“Yeah,” he nodded, eyes still on the water. “You have.”
And there it was—the thing you’d been trying so hard not to face.
You kept your eyes on the pool, tracing the slow, gentle movement of light across the surface. The water shimmered in soft blues and golds, shifting every time the breeze touched it. It was easier to look at that than at him. Easier to pretend you were calm. Easier to pretend you weren’t unraveling a little.
“…I’m not avoiding you,” you said finally, though the words felt thin, like they didn’t quite hold their own weight.
Lando let out a quiet breath—one of those soft, almost-sighs that told you he didn’t believe you but wasn’t ready to push too hard. Not yet. He sat there with his hands loosely clasped, shoulders relaxed, but there was something in the way he watched the water that gave him away. He was waiting. He was listening.
“Okay,” he said softly. “Then what are you doing?”
The question landed heavier than it should have, settling somewhere deep in your chest. You swallowed, eyes still fixed on the ripples in front of you.
“Thinking.”
“Dangerous,” he muttered under his breath.
Despite everything—despite the tension, despite the nerves, despite the way your heart had been doing somersaults since last night—your lips twitched. Just a little. Just enough to betray you.
Another pause stretched between you. Not the comfortable kind from earlier. This one felt more honest, more fragile, like the air between you had thinned and you were both trying not to break it.
You hugged your knees closer, pulling them tight to your chest. “I just… didn’t expect it to feel like this.”
That made him turn his head toward you. Slowly. Carefully. Like he wasn’t sure what you were about to say but knew it mattered.
“Like what?”
You hesitated, because there were too many answers. Too many feelings you didn’t have names for yet. Too many moments from last night still echoing in your head.
“Complicated,” you said at last, the word slipping out on a breath.
A beat passed.
Then he nodded, slow and thoughtful, like that made sense to him too. Like he’d been carrying the same word around all day.
“Yeah,” he admitted quietly. “Same.”
It was full of everything neither of you were saying out loud—heavy, warm, impossible to ignore. The kind of silence that pressed against your ribs and made your pulse feel too loud in your own ears.
You picked at the hem of your sleeve, eyes still on the water. “We were supposed to be fake dating,” you said quietly, almost like saying it again might rewind everything, might pull you both back to the safe version of this. The version with rules. The version where your heart wasn’t involved.
Lando let out a short laugh—soft, breathless, almost disbelieving. “We were really bad at that.”
The corner of your mouth lifted before you could stop it. A small smile, but a real one.
“…Yeah,” you admitted.
Another pause settled between you, heavier this time, like the night itself was leaning in to listen.
Lando shifted beside you, just enough that you felt the movement through the air. “Do you regret it?” he asked again, but this time his voice was quieter, stripped of all the bravado he usually carried so easily.
You frowned a little, turning your head toward him. “What?”
He hesitated—actually hesitated—and that alone made something tighten low in your stomach. Lando never hesitated. Not with you. Not with anyone.
“You know,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck, eyes flicking away for a second. “Last night. Us. Sleeping together.”
Oh.
Right.
Your fingers went still against your sleeve. The world seemed to narrow to the space between you, to the way he was looking at you now—no smirk, no teasing, no easy confidence. Just Lando. Waiting. The real version of him, the one he didn’t show to many people.
You looked at him properly then, really looked, and your breath came out slower than you expected.
“I don’t think I do,” you said quietly.
A beat passed, soft and fragile.
Then, even softer—almost like you were testing the truth of it as you spoke—
“I don’t think I regret it at all.”
The words hung there between you, warm and terrifying and honest.
Lando looked at you for a second longer than usual, like he was trying to read the truth behind your words, trying to see if you meant it the same way he did. Something in his expression softened—barely, but enough.
“Same,” he said quietly.
A beat passed, stretching out between you like a held breath.
You let out a nervous exhale, trying to steady whatever was spinning too fast inside your chest. “Let’s not break rule number three, Lando,” you said, aiming for lightness, but your voice didn’t quite make it there.
His mouth twitched, but it didn’t turn into a smile. Not really. “You’re making it very hard,” he admitted.
That made you glance at him again, your pulse skipping. “Hard how?” you asked, careful, cautious, like you already knew the answer but needed to hear it anyway.
Lando exhaled slowly, eyes dropping to the water before lifting back to you. “Pretending this is just… nothing,” he said. “Pretending it was just a mistake we can laugh off in the morning.”
Silence settled over you—thick, heavy, honest. The villa noise felt distant now, like it belonged to another world entirely.
You swallowed. “We agreed on no falling in love.”
He let out a small, humorless laugh. “Yeah.”
Another pause. Longer this time.
Then he shook his head slightly, like he was frustrated with himself, like he’d been fighting something he’d already lost. “That rule’s kind of pointless now,” he said softly.
Your breath caught.
“Lando—”
But he didn’t let you finish.
He turned toward you fully, closer than before, close enough that you could feel the warmth of him even with the space still between you. His voice was quieter now, but steady in a way that made your heart stutter.
“I think I’m already there,” he said.
Everything in you stopped.
The pool light rippled across his face, catching in his eyes, making them look impossibly open, impossibly vulnerable. He wasn’t hiding behind jokes or smirks or bravado. He wasn’t performing. He wasn’t pretending.
He was just telling you the truth.
And then, like it was the simplest thing in the world—even though you could hear the fear tucked beneath it—
“I love you,” he added.
The words hung in the air between you like they had weight.
I love you.
No jokes followed.
No smirk.
No quick escape route disguised as humor.
Just silence.
Your heartbeat felt too loud in your ears, like your body was trying to catch up to what he’d just said. You searched his face, hoping—maybe—that you’d find some hint of exaggeration, some playful twist you could latch onto and turn this into something lighter. Something easier to handle.
But there wasn’t anything like that.
Lando didn’t look away.
He just waited.
And for once, he didn’t look like he was performing anything at all. He looked real. Open. A little scared. A lot sincere.
Your throat tightened.
“I—” you started, but the word broke apart before you could finish it. You let out a shaky breath, trying to steady yourself, trying to make sense of the way everything inside you felt like it was shifting at once.
This was supposed to be fake.
This was supposed to be simple.
This was supposed to be safe.
You swallowed hard.
“I didn’t plan for this,” you admitted quietly, the truth slipping out before you could stop it.
A small, almost sad smile flickered across his face. “Neither did I.”
Something in your chest loosened at that—just a little, just enough to breathe again. You looked back at the water, watching the lights ripple across the surface, but it didn’t help. It didn’t make anything clearer.
Because the truth wasn’t complicated.
It was just terrifying.
“…I think I do too,” you said finally, the words soft but steady.
Lando went completely still.
You turned your head toward him again, your voice gentler now, more certain even if your hands weren’t. “I think I’ve been trying not to say it all day,” you added. A breath. “Probably longer than that.”
The silence that followed wasn’t heavy anymore.
It felt different.
Settled.
Like something had finally clicked into place.
Lando exhaled slowly, almost like he hadn’t realized he’d been holding his breath until that moment. “Yeah?” he asked quietly.
You gave a small, nervous nod. “Yeah.”
A beat passed.
Then he let out a soft laugh under his breath, shaking his head like he couldn’t believe either of you. “We are so bad at rules.”
That pulled a laugh out of you too—quiet, shaky, but real. You wiped at your face quickly, as if that would fix anything, as if that would make you feel less exposed.
babsie radio ! heyy….. how are you….long time no see….sorry if this is bad, i tried to overcome my writers block somehow… also I (re)discovered bella kay’s iloveitiloveitiloveit and sombr’s canal street so im in mood for some angst….
summary- After lando wins the WDC everything is perfect however when his mum suggests your new morning symptoms sound a lot like pregnancy, you can't help but to feel like you are gonna ruin everything 🤍
The Norris family home in Glastonbury is everything you imagined it would be—warm, chaotic, and filled with the kind of love that only comes from a family who genuinely enjoys being around each other. You've been here for three days now, and while you've loved every moment of getting to see Lando in his element, surrounded by his parents, siblings, and the familiar comfort of home, something feels... off.
It started yesterday morning. A wave of nausea that hit you so suddenly you had to excuse yourself from breakfast. You'd blamed it on the rich food, the change in routine, maybe even the excitement of the holidays. But now, as you lie in Lando's childhood bedroom with the winter sun streaming through the curtains, that same queasy feeling is back, stronger than before.
"You alright?" Lando's voice breaks through your thoughts. He's propped up on one elbow beside you, his hair adorably messy from sleep, those green eyes studying your face with concern.
"Yeah, just... feeling a bit rough," you admit, pressing a hand to your stomach.
His brow furrows immediately. "Still? Babe, that's two days now."
"I know, I know. It's probably just a bug or something."
But even as you say it, you can see he's not convinced. Lando's always been attentive—it's one of the things you love most about him—but since winning the World Championship six weeks ago, he's been even more present, more focused on you, as if now that he's achieved his biggest dream, he can finally breathe and pay attention to everything else that matters.
"Come here," he murmurs, pulling you closer. You curl into his warmth, breathing in the familiar scent of his cologne mixed with sleep. "We don't have to go down for breakfast if you're not feeling up to it."
"Your mum will worry."
"My mum will understand." He presses a kiss to your forehead. "You're more important than her full English."
You manage a weak laugh, but it's cut short by another wave of nausea. This time, it's urgent. You scramble out of bed and barely make it to the ensuite bathroom before you're sick.
Lando is right behind you, gathering your hair back with gentle hands, rubbing soothing circles on your back. "It's okay, I've got you," he murmurs. "Just let it out."
When you're finally done, trembling and embarrassed, he helps you to your feet and hands you a glass of water. His face is etched with worry.
"That's it, we're staying in bed today," he declares, his tone leaving no room for argument.
"Lando, I'm fine—"
"You're not fine. You just threw up for the second morning in a row." He cups your face in his hands, thumbs stroking your cheeks. "Please, just let me take care of you."
How can you argue with that? You nod, and he leads you back to bed, tucking you in like you're something precious. He disappears for a few minutes and returns with plain toast, ginger tea, and a concerned Cisca trailing behind him.
"Oh, sweetheart," his mum says, sitting on the edge of the bed. "Lando said you're not feeling well?"
"Just a stomach bug, I think," you say, mustering a smile. "I'm sorry to be such a bother."
"Don't be silly. You rest up, and if you're not better by tomorrow, we'll get you to a doctor, yeah?"
You nod gratefully, and she leaves you and Lando alone. He climbs back into bed beside you, pulling his laptop onto his lap.
"What are you doing?" you ask.
"Working from here today. I'm not leaving you."
"Lando, you don't have to—"
"I want to." He leans over and kisses your temple. "Now eat your toast and stop arguing with me."
You do feel better after the toast and tea, well enough that by afternoon you're restless. Lando suggests a movie marathon, and you spend the rest of the day curled up together, his fingers playing with your hair, occasionally checking in to make sure you're okay.
By evening, you're feeling almost normal again, and you insist on joining the family for dinner. The Norris dining table is exactly as chaotic as you expected—everyone talking over each other, laughter bouncing off the walls, stories being shared and embellished. You love it, but tonight the noise feels overwhelming, making your head pound.
You must wince, because suddenly Lando's hand is on your thigh under the table, squeezing gently. "You okay?" he mouths.
You nod, but he's not convinced. When Oliver launches into a particularly loud story about his latest karting adventure, complete with sound effects, Lando actually shushes him.
"Mate, can you keep it down a bit?" he says, his voice firm.
The table goes quiet. Oliver looks confused. "What? Why?"
"Because Y/N's not feeling well, and you're being too loud."
"Lando, it's fine—" you start, but he cuts you off with a look.
"It's not fine. You've been sick all day."
Flo grins from across the table. "Aww, look at Lando being all protective. That's adorable."
"Proper whipped, mate," Oliver adds with a laugh.
"I'm being serious," Lando says, and there's an edge to his voice that makes everyone pause. "She's not well, and you lot are being too loud. Just... tone it down, yeah?"
There's a moment of surprised silence before Adam clears his throat. "He's right. Let's keep it a bit quieter."
You squeeze Lando's hand under the table, both grateful and slightly embarrassed by his protectiveness. He just squeezes back, his thumb rubbing gentle circles on your skin.
Cisca has been watching this exchange with interest, her eyes moving between you and Lando with a mother's intuition. Later, as you're helping clear the plates despite Lando's protests, she sidles up next to you at the sink.
"Can I ask you something, love?" she says quietly, her voice low enough that no one else can hear.
"Of course."
She hesitates, then leans in closer. "Are you sure you're not pregnant?"
The plate you're holding nearly slips from your hands. "What? No! No, of course not. We're super careful."
Cisca gives you a knowing look, one eyebrow raised. "I had three children, sweetheart. I know what morning sickness looks like."
"It's just a bug," you insist, but your voice sounds uncertain even to your own ears. "Really."
She pats your arm gently. "Alright, love. But if you need anything—anything at all—I'm here. No judgment, just support."
You nod, not trusting yourself to speak, and she moves away to help Adam with something. But her words have planted a seed of panic in your chest that grows with each passing second.
No. No, you can't be pregnant. You're careful. You're always careful. You're on birth control, and Lando uses protection most of the time, and...
But birth control isn't 100% effective, a small voice in your head whispers. And there was that one time last month when you'd both been too caught up in the moment, too desperate for each other after he'd won the championship...
Your hand instinctively moves to your stomach. When was your last period? You try to think back, but the past few months have been such a whirlwind of races and celebrations and travel that you honestly can't remember. You've never been super regular anyway, especially when you're stressed or traveling a lot.
Oh God. Oh God, what if you are pregnant?
The thought sends you spiraling. Lando just won the World Championship. He's at the absolute peak of his career, finally achieving everything he's worked for since he was a kid. The last thing he needs is a baby to derail everything.
You've been together for two years, and yes, your relationship is strong—stronger than anything you've ever known. You love him more than you thought it was possible to love another person, and you know he feels the same way. But a baby? Now? When he's got years of racing ahead of him, when you're both still so young?
The panic claws at your throat, making it hard to breathe.
"Babe?" Lando's voice cuts through your spiral. He's standing in the doorway, looking at you with concern. "You've been staring at that plate for like two minutes. You okay?"
"Fine!" you say too brightly, too quickly. "Just tired."
He doesn't look convinced, but he doesn't push. "Come on, let's get you to bed."
That night, you lie awake long after Lando has fallen asleep beside you, his arm draped protectively over your waist. Your mind won't stop racing, running through every possibility, every scenario. You can't be pregnant. You just can't be.
But what if you are?
The next few days pass in a blur of anxiety. You feel better physically—the nausea seems to have passed—but mentally, you're a mess. You can't stop thinking about Cisca's question, can't stop doing the math in your head, can't stop noticing every little change in your body that might be a sign.
And worse, you can't stop pulling away from Lando.
You don't mean to. You love him so much it hurts, and the last thing you want is to create distance between you. But every time he touches you, every time he looks at you with those soft, loving eyes, the panic rises in your chest. What if you are pregnant? What if this changes everything? What if he resents you for it?
Lando notices, of course he does. He knows you too well not to.
On the fourth day, after you've dodged his attempts at affection for the third time, he's had enough. You're getting ready for bed when he closes the bedroom door with a quiet click and leans against it, arms crossed.
"Okay, what's going on?" he asks, his voice gentle but firm.
"What do you mean?"
"Don't do that. Don't pretend like everything's fine when it's clearly not." He moves closer, and you instinctively step back. The hurt that flashes across his face makes your heart clench. "See? That. You've been pulling away from me for days now. Did I do something wrong?"
"No! God, no, Lando, you haven't done anything wrong."
"Then what is it? Talk to me, please." He reaches for your hand, and this time you let him take it. "You're scaring me a bit here."
The concern in his voice, the love in his eyes—it breaks something open inside you. Suddenly you're crying, tears streaming down your face as two years of love and four days of panic come crashing down all at once.
"Hey, hey, hey," Lando murmurs, immediately pulling you into his arms. "It's okay, I've got you. Whatever it is, we'll figure it out together."
"I might be pregnant," you sob into his chest.
You feel him go still, his arms tightening around you. For a moment, there's only silence broken by your crying. Then he gently pulls back, tilting your face up to look at him.
"Okay," he says slowly. "Okay. And... you think you might be because...?"
"Your mum asked me if I was pregnant the other night, and I said no, but then I started thinking about it, and I can't remember when my last period was, and we weren't careful that one time after you won the championship, and what if I am, Lando? What if I'm pregnant?" The words tumble out in a rush. "You just won the WDC, you're at the peak of your career, and I know we've talked about kids someday but not now, not when everything is finally going right for you, and I'm so scared that this will ruin everything—"
"Stop," he says firmly, cupping your face in his hands. "Stop, just... breathe for a second, okay?"
You try to take a breath, but it comes out shaky.
"First of all," he continues, his thumbs wiping away your tears, "why would I be mad? Why would you think I'd be anything other than supportive?"
"Because it's terrible timing—"
"There's never a perfect time for anything," he interrupts. "And yeah, maybe it's not what we planned, but so what? We'll figure it out. We always do."
"But your career—"
"My career will be fine. Plenty of drivers have kids. It's not like I'm the one who'd be pregnant." He gives you a small smile. "And even if it did affect my career, so what? You're more important than any championship."
Fresh tears spill down your cheeks. "Don't say that."
"Why not? It's true." He pulls you close again, one hand cradling the back of your head. "I love you. I love you so much, and nothing—nothing—is going to change that. Not a baby, not bad timing, nothing."
You cling to him, letting his words wash over you, letting yourself believe them.
"Have you taken a test?" he asks after a moment.
You shake your head against his chest. "No. I've been too scared."
"Do you have one?"
"Yeah. I bought one yesterday when your mum took me to the shops. It's in the bathroom."
He pulls back and looks at you seriously. "Do you want to take it now? Together?"
The thought terrifies you, but having Lando there makes it slightly less scary. You nod.
"Okay. Come on then."
He takes your hand and leads you to the ensuite. You retrieve the test from where you've hidden it in your toiletry bag, and he reads the instructions while you try to calm your racing heart.
"Alright, so you pee on it, we wait three minutes, and then we'll know," he summarizes. "Easy."
"Easy," you repeat weakly.
He kisses your forehead. "I'll be right here. Take your time."
You do what you need to do, then set the test on the counter face-down. Lando immediately positions himself in front of you, standing between your legs as you sit on the edge of the sink, his hands on your thighs.
"Three minutes," he says, glancing at his phone timer. "We've got this."
"I'm scared," you whisper.
"I know. Me too, a bit." He leans in and kisses you softly. "But also... I'm kind of excited?"
You let out a surprised laugh. "Excited?"
"Yeah." His smile is soft, genuine. "I mean, obviously this isn't how we planned it, and yeah, the timing is mad. But... it's you and me. A little person who's half you and half me? That's kind of incredible when you think about it."
"Lando..."
"I'm serious." His hands move to your waist, thumbs rubbing gentle circles. "I love you so much. I'm so in love with you that sometimes I can't believe you're real, that you chose me. And the thought of having a mini version of us? Of you? That's... that's actually my dream."
"You've never said that before."
"Because I didn't want to pressure you. I know we're young, and I know my career is crazy, and I wanted to wait until you were ready. But if this is happening now?" He shrugs, his smile growing. "Then it's happening now, and we'll make it work. I promise you, we'll make it work."
You're crying again, but this time it's different. This time it's because you're overwhelmed by how much you love this man, by how lucky you are to have found someone who looks at an unplanned pregnancy not as a disaster but as a dream.
"I love you," you say, pulling him closer. "I love you so much."
"I love you too." He kisses you again, deeper this time. "No matter what that test says, nothing changes between us. We're solid. We're forever. Yeah?"
"Yeah."
His phone timer goes off, making you both jump. You look at the test, still face-down on the counter, and your heart starts racing again.
"Do you want to look, or should I?" Lando asks.
"I can't. You do it."
"You sure?"
You nod, not trusting your voice.
He squeezes your thighs once more, then reaches for the test. You watch his face as he flips it over, watch as his eyes scan the result window, watch as his expression changes.
And then he's smiling. Not just smiling—beaming. The biggest, brightest smile you've ever seen on his face, the kind of smile that crinkles his eyes and shows all his teeth.
"It's positive," he says, his voice full of wonder. "Babe, it's positive. We're having a baby."
The tears come immediately, and you're not even sure if they're happy or scared or both. "I'm sorry," you sob. "I'm so sorry, I know this isn't what you wanted—"
"Stop, you muppet!" He sets the test down and cups your face, forcing you to look at him. "Stop apologizing. This is exactly what I want. You are exactly what I want. This baby is exactly what I want. Stop saying sorry for giving me everything I've ever dreamed of."
"But your career—"
"Will be fine. Better than fine, because now I'll have you and our baby to race for." He kisses your forehead, your nose, your lips. "We're having a baby. We're having a baby!"
His excitement is contagious, and despite your fears, you find yourself smiling through your tears. "We're having a baby."
"We're having a baby," he repeats, and then he's kissing you properly, deeply, his hands cradling your face like you're the most precious thing in the world.
When you finally break apart, he rests his forehead against yours. "When do you want to tell people?"
"Not yet," you say immediately. "I want to go to a doctor first, make sure everything's okay. And I want it to just be ours for a little while. Is that okay?"
"Of course it's okay. Whatever you want." He grins. "Though I'm not sure how long I can keep this to myself. I'm pretty rubbish at secrets."
You laugh, and it feels good. "Try your best."
"For you? Anything."
You spend the rest of the night curled up in bed together, Lando's hand resting protectively on your still-flat stomach, talking about the future in hushed, excited whispers. He's already planning how to rearrange his schedule, already thinking about how to make sure he's there for every appointment, every milestone. His enthusiasm is overwhelming and perfect and exactly what you need.
The next morning at breakfast, you notice Cisca watching you with knowing eyes, a small smile playing at her lips. She doesn't say anything, but when she catches your eye, she winks.
Lando is different too, though he's trying to hide it. He's always been attentive, but now he's almost comically protective. When Oliver accidentally bumps into you in the kitchen, Lando actually steps between you, his hand going to your stomach in a gesture that's pure instinct.
"Mate, watch it," he says, his voice sharper than necessary.
Oliver holds up his hands. "Sorry! Didn't mean to."
"It's fine, Lando," you say, touching his arm. "I'm fine."
But he keeps himself positioned slightly in front of you for the rest of the morning, and you catch Flo and Cisca exchanging amused glances.
At lunch, when you reach for the coffee pot, Lando smoothly intercepts it. "Actually, babe, maybe you should stick to decaf? You know, with your stomach still being sensitive and all."
You bite back a smile. "Right. Good idea."
He makes you a cup of herbal tea instead, and you don't miss the way his mum is watching the interaction with barely concealed delight.
That evening, you're all watching a movie in the living room. You're curled up on the sofa with Lando, his arm around you, your head on his chest. It's a action film, one of Adam's choices, and it's quite loud. But you're comfortable and warm and happy, content to just be close to Lando.
Halfway through, you shift to get more comfortable, and Lando immediately pauses the movie.
"You okay? Do you need anything? Are you uncomfortable?" he asks, his hand going to your face.
"I'm fine, just adjusting," you assure him.
"Are you sure? We can go upstairs if you want to lie down properly."
"Lando, I'm fine. Really."
"Mate, what is going on with you?" Oliver asks, laughing. "You're being so weird."
"I'm not being weird. I'm being considerate."
"You're being something," Flo teases. "Seriously, you've been like this all day. It's like Y/N's made of glass or something."
Lando's jaw tightens. "I'm just making sure she's comfortable. Is that a crime?"
"It's sweet," Cisca interjects, her eyes twinkling. "Let him be, you two."
Adam chuckles. "He's in love. Let the boy dote on his girlfriend."
You squeeze Lando's hand, and he squeezes back, bringing it to his lips for a kiss. The movie resumes, but you're barely paying attention now. Instead, you're thinking about the future, about the tiny life growing inside you, about how your life is about to change in ways you can't even imagine.
It's terrifying. But with Lando's arm around you, with his hand occasionally drifting to rest on your stomach in a gesture that's becoming familiar, with the way he keeps pressing kisses to your hair like he can't help himself—it's also exciting.
Later that night, as you're getting ready for bed, Lando comes up behind you at the bathroom sink and wraps his arms around your waist, his chin resting on your shoulder.
"Hi," he murmurs, meeting your eyes in the mirror.
"Hi yourself."
"I've been thinking."
"Dangerous," you tease.
He pinches your side gently. "Rude. No, I've been thinking about names."
"Lando, I'm probably like five weeks pregnant. We have time."
"I know, but I can't help it. I'm excited." He turns you around so you're facing him, then boosts you up onto the counter, stepping between your legs. "I can't stop thinking about it. About you, about the baby, about our future."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah." His hands rest on your thighs, his thumbs tracing patterns on your skin. "I know I probably seem like I'm going overboard with the protectiveness—"
"Just a bit," you say with a smile.
"—but I can't help it. You're carrying our baby. That's... that's everything to me. You're everything to me."
You cup his face in your hands, running your thumbs over his cheekbones. "You're everything to me too. Both of you."
He leans in and kisses you, soft and sweet and full of promise. When he pulls back, his eyes are shining.
"We're going to be parents," he whispers, like he's still trying to wrap his head around it.
"We're going to be parents," you confirm.
"I'm going to be a dad."
"You're going to be the best dad."
"You think so?"
"I know so." You pull him closer, wrapping your arms around his neck. "You're going to be amazing. Patient and fun and loving and protective—maybe a little too protective—"
"Hey!"
"—but amazing. Our baby is so lucky to have you."
He buries his face in your neck, and you feel him take a shaky breath. "I'm the lucky one. I get you and a baby. I get everything."
You hold him close, running your fingers through his hair, and think about how scared you were just a few days ago. How you thought this would be the end of everything, when really, it's just the beginning.
"I love you," you whisper.
"I love you too. Both of you."
And in that moment, with Lando's arms around you and his hand resting protectively on your stomach, you know that everything is going to be okay. More than okay. It's going to be perfect.
Because you have him, and he has you, and together, you can handle anything.
Even a surprise baby and a family who's definitely going to figure out your secret long before you're ready to tell them.
But that's a problem for tomorrow. Tonight, you're just going to enjoy this—the quiet joy of a secret shared between two people who love each other more than anything, the excitement of a future that's suddenly become so much brighter, the peace of knowing that no matter what comes next, you'll face it together.
zandvoort 2022: a few weeks before you return to university, lando invites you to attend the netherlands grand prix to support him. scared of having your relationship revealed to the public, he reassures you that he’ll keep you safe.
warnings: SMUT minors DNI, p in v, protected sex | word count: 4.3k | notes: remember to like, comment and reblog if you enjoy! <3
Saying goodbye felt tough, especially since neither of you knew when the next time you would see each other in person would be. Lando would be off racing, becoming a victim to the gruelling race calendar whilst you’d be visiting your parents in your home country and posting uninteresting vlogs until mid September when exams begin again.
Well, that was the plan until Lando called you one day whilst you were lounging about at your parents’ house in Bulgaria.
“Come to the Netherlands,” he spoke immediately as soon as his face took up your entire screen. You almost laughed.
“What?”
“You heard me. Come on, I miss you, you miss me. It’s just a weekend.”
“Lan, you know I’d drop everything to come see you–”
“So come see me,” he cut you off, his eyes pleading when he looked at you through the screen.
“The public, Lan? I’m not ready for that,” you told him honestly, “you know how I feel.”
“I’m not asking for a hard launch, I’m asking you to come and watch me race. We wouldn’t arrive together, and to the outside you’d look like any other guest. I’ll get you a pass, you can stay in McLaren hospitality or the garage–wherever you’d feel more comfortable–and you’ll stay in my hotel room with me.”
As he spoke his plan into existence (one that he clearly put a lot of thought into) you found yourself mulling it over for a few moments.
“Okay. Fine. You’ll book my flight?” You teased when you saw relief flood his features.
“Already booked, love,” he replied, and you almost frowned in confusion.
“How did you–“
“I know you, baby. Don’t question it.”
—
So here you are, walking over to where Lando’s standing with his hands in his pockets and hood up–two men beside him–in the airport. It’s Thursday evening and he’d come to pick you up after media day, his entire face visibly brightening at the sight of you.
“There she is,” he grins when you almost bulldoze him over when you throw your arms and legs around him. “Hey, love.”
“Missed you,” you mumble into his shoulder before you lift your head so your faces are level. You smile at the sight of his giddy face, a warmth spreading throughout your body before you connect your lips in a searing kiss. The sensation of your mouths finally moving together floods you with a feeling you can’t put into words other than fuck did you miss him.
“Missed you more,” he hums against your lips before he kisses your cheek as you slide down. Then, you turn to the two men hovering nearby acting like they weren’t just watching your exchange in bewilderment. “Right, baby, this is Jon my trainer,” he begins gesturing to one of the men with a beard, and you politely shake his hand in greeting, “and this is Rich, my bodyguard.”
“We’ve heard a lot about you,” Jon speaks after you greet Rich, and a shy smile makes its way onto your lips.
“Yeah?”
“Oh yeah. All good things, don’t worry,” Rich reassures you as you nod. Then, Lando wraps an arm around your waist before dragging your suitcase along with him as you all start walking.
“Listen, I should probably tell you this,” Lando begins and your spine stiffens at the sound of his words. Your head snaps to him so quickly you almost get whiplash and you can see him sporting a nervous smile. “My dad will be there. So, it would probably be good to introduce you two. You know…”
You swear your heart gets trapped in your throat.
“Meeting your dad?”
“Well yeah,” he replies, eyes locked on yours as you walk through the airport with Jon and Rich in front of the two of you. “I know it’s soon, but…”
“No, it’s okay,” you interrupt him, letting out a quiet exhale and letting your lips turn up into a small smile. “I’d love to meet your dad. Just caught me off guard is all.”
He smiles in relief then, pressing his lips to your temple before tucking you into his side.
—
When you arrive at his hotel, staying hidden is your biggest priority. Some fans like to camp outside, and you wouldn’t be surprised if they decided to do so here.
Unfortunately, your fears are proven to be true. Lando notices, swallowing hard when he looks at the anticipating crowd who’ve reverted their attention to the car that’s just appeared.
“Fuck,” Lando curses, his expression turning panicked as he turns to look at you.
“Is there a back entrance?” You ask, sinking back in your seat to nervously tap your nail on your bottom lip. Your mind is threatening to spiral right now at the chance of your relationship being exposed so early, and your stomach is already in knots. How the fuck do you get out of this?
“Okay, we’ll go down to the garage and we can get out through there,” Jon decides before starting the car again and driving around to where the underground parking lot is. You release a breath you didn’t know you were holding, feeling Lando squeeze your hand before you look up at him.
“See? No stress,” he grins, and you can’t help but let out a soft chuckle before shaking your head and leaning into him.
You waste no time in going straight up to his room after you leave the car and enter the elevator, his arm around your waist the entire way like he’s afraid you’ll disappear or something. When he unlocks the room, he pushes the door open and lets you walk in first.
“Sorry, I forgot to clean up,” he mutters, swiftly brushing past you in a poor attempt at cleaning up his mess of clothes deserted around the carpeted floors. You just laugh, shaking your head.
“Don’t worry, no surprise there,” you joke, his expression falling flat when he stands up straight and looks at you. You continue giggling at his reaction, walking towards him before pressing your mouth to his. At the first contact, he caves almost immediately as his body melts towards yours and he drops whatever he was holding in order to bring you into his embrace. A soft moan slips past your lips when he deepens the kiss, his tongue penetrating into your mouth to reclaim his territory.
“Come here,” he whispers, lips moving against the skin of your cheek when his hands find your hips and he pulls you towards him to take a seat at the edge of the bed. You fall onto his lap, legs on either side of his thighs when you feel his hot breath down the skin of your neck–followed by the sensation of him leaving wet, open-mouthed kisses wherever he can reach. “Missed this. Missed you.”
“Me too,” you reply earnestly as your body practically melts into his and lets him do whatever he wants to you.
His hands slide around your waist to pull you impossibly closer to him before you feel him start to suck on the skin of your neck.
“Lan, not there–” you try, unwilling to have hickeys decorating your neck when meeting his father as you gently nudge his head lower. He hums against your skin, choosing to continue sucking at the top of your breast–a spot where your bra and tanktop don’t conceal. Lando’s hands move down to the bottom of your tanktop, pulling it up and over your head before continuing their journey down to the waistband of your joggers. He tugs them off quickly and you step out of them, his mouth finding its way back to yours again whilst walking you backwards towards the bed until the back of your knees collide with the mattress and you fall with a quiet grunt. Only then does he pull away, a smirk adorning his features when he yanks his shirt up by the collar and removes it from his body–throwing it away somewhere in the room.
You can’t help the way your eyes scale down his torso, taking in his muscular figure. After all, sending nude pictures to each other only did so much. This time, it’s real and right in front of you. Your hands automatically reach out to feel his body, sliding over his abs with a reverence like he’s been sculpted by the gods themselves and requires worshipping. Your tongue darts out, sliding across your bottom lip when his warm palms explore your torso until he reaches the clasp of your bra. His fingers move with practiced ease and within seconds your breasts are bare in front of him.
“Look at you,” Lando breathes out, letting his eyes move over your almost completely naked body before he moves his hands down to your hips. “Lift for me, please.”
Your hips rise without much thought, his hands tugging your panties off before he throws them over his shoulder and lowers his face to between your legs. You feel yourself only grow wetter when you feel his hot breath hover over where you need him the most as your legs automatically spread, though it’s followed by a trail of kisses from below your bellybutton up to your mouth. Slow, sensual like he has no where to rush for.
“I wish you knew how crazy I am for you, love. God, I’m a goner,” he lets out like it’s painful before you feel his firm hands on your waist and he picks you up. You let out a quiet gasp at the sudden movement before he’s sitting down on the edge of the bed and positions you on his lap. “We’re gonna try something new today, okay?”
“Mhm,” you barely manage out when your hands bury themselves in his hair and his mouth collides with yours in a clash of teeth, tongues and spit.
“Good girl,” Lando smirks against your lips before he lifts you a little. “Take these off for me.”
You waste no time in pulling down the waistband of his joggers, followed by his Calvin Kleins, and leaving them halfway down his thighs. His cock sits up to attention, flushed and leaky in a way that almost has you drooling when you glance down at the space between you two. His lips rest against your forehead before he digs into his pocket and pulls out a condom wrapper.
“You whore,” you mumble when you meet his gaze again and he lets out a genuine laugh.
“Only for you, my love,” he replies sweetly before bringing the wrapper to his mouth and tearing it open with his teeth. “You wanna roll it on for me?”
You don’t reply, just take the condom from his offering fingers and turn your attention down to his dick. Your hands move delicately as you roll on the rubber over his entire length, his eyes locked on your face the entire time when you hear his breathing stutter for a split second.
“Okay, come on,” he speaks softly, hands finding your hips again as he picks you up and positions you over his length. Your eyes move up to his, feeling his cockhead tease your entrance and slide over your dripping cunt. “You ready?”
“Please, Lan,” you breathe out, digging your nails into his bare shoulders when you see him smile before he kisses you–just as he slides you down his dick. You almost scream, but he swallows the moan as the kiss deepens and he sucks your tongue into his mouth. When he’s fully sheathed inside of you, you can feel his tip buried deep inside your cervix–your walls contracting and relaxing sporadically to adjust to his size.
He stops kissing you then, his mouth trailing over to your cheek where he places a gentle kiss before moving down to your jaw, neck and collarbone. He sucks on the skin, marking you in places he knows nobody will see, when the lack of movement makes you whimper. You roll your hips experimentally, Lando letting out a moan against your neck before bringing his eyes back to you. He doesn’t say anything, just firmly grips onto your hips and starts sliding you up and down his length–the stretch making your eyes roll back into your skull at the way the head of his cock kisses your insides.
“I know, love, I know,” Lando breathes out, though you can hear the slight tremble in his voice when your walls start sucking onto him.
You keep riding him, rocking your hips in a steady back and forth movement whilst he grips onto you hard enough to leave handprints–aiding you with your need for him.
“Feels… so good, Lan,” you pant, kissing the side of his neck when he moans.
“Can feel you squeezing me–fuck. So tight, so warm f’me,” he breathes out, dropping his head back to expose his neck to you when he slides one of his hands between your bodies. His fingers find your cunt immediately, drawing precise circles over the bundle of nerves that has you moaning his name into his neck.
“Lando, I’m close–”
“Let go, baby,” he says, feeling the way your walls have already started tightening and relaxing.
Your whole body shudders as your orgasm tears through you, tears springing in your eyes as you hold onto him for dear life whilst he continues thrusting up into you through your aftershocks. His name falls from your lips over and over again to the point where the neighbours can probably hear you, before he seals his mouth over yours with a harsh kiss.
A few moments later and a guttural groan falls from the back of his throat, his fluids spilling out of him and filling the condom when his head falls back in pure pleasure. The skin of his neck is flushed, trailing up to his cheeks with a soft pink that makes your stomach tighten once again–his pupils blown you can barely see the ring of green around them. His eyes are shiny, his lips parted as he looks up at you and all you can think of is how fucking pretty he looks–all wrecked just for you.
Your hands rest against the side of his face and jaw, making him look up at you before you kiss him. His body relaxes against yours, your mouths moulding together in a lazy kiss.
A few moments after, Lando lifts you off of him and gently places you on the bed beside him, a quiet whimper falling from your lips at the loss of contact. He stands then, pressing a kiss to your forehead before discarding the condom and bringing a towel from the bathroom to clean you up. His movements are gentle like you’re something fragile, his eyes focused on his movements whilst you look at him with a lovesick smile on your face.
“You wanna take a shower?” He asks you, standing upright and looking down at you. When he finds you smiling, he can’t help but smile back. “What?”
“Nothing. Yes, I’ll shower. Can you order food?”
“Of course. What do you want?”
—
After you both shower, you pull on one of Lando’s black shirts and a pair of his boxers before sliding into bed beside him. His arm wraps around your shoulders, pulling you into his side before he fumbles for the remote.
“What do you wanna watch?” He asks softly as you sit up and reach for the tray of food in front of you both.
“Anything. I’m not picky,” you reply before collecting some pasta on a fork and offering it to his mouth. He takes a glance at what you’re feeding him before he opens his mouth and takes it. “Good?”
“Yeah, I like that.”
“Okay, you can have it.”
“No but if you want it you can have it.”
“No, I don’t mind. I wanted the salad anyway,” you reply with a shrug when he narrows his eyes at you.
“Said no one ever,” he jokes, sitting up to join you before you crawl into his lap. His arms wrap around you, keeping you against him before he reaches over you for the pasta he wanted.
You don’t even put a show on, instead talking and looking at each other whilst you eat and try not to laugh because that’s something you do all the time.
“I’m kinda nervous to meet your dad,” you confess whilst looking down at the pizza slice on your plate.
“What? Why?” Lando asks softly, his brows furrowed as he looks at you.
“Because I want him to like me?” You chuckle, finally bringing your eyes up to meet his. He sighs, shaking his head.
“He will like you.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“Because I like you. And that’s enough for me, and for him,” he replies as soon as the question falls from your lips. A blush coats your cheeks involuntarily when you take a bite from your pizza slice just as his lips meet your forehead. “Don’t be nervous. I mean it, there’s nothing to be nervous for. He’s gonna love you.”
–
You get ready together the following morning, clinging onto each other like you’re trying to make up for the weeks you spent apart in just a few days. When you see the state your chest and hips are in, you can’t help but let out a gasp and shove at Lando’s chest.
“What the fuck?” You ask whilst the fucker continues giggling tugging at the waistband of your panties to properly look at the handprints etched into your skin. “Lando!”
“I’m sorry, I got carried away,” he laughs, twisting you to face him as he looks across your bare chest at where deep, purple marks are littered across.
“You’re not sorry,” you shake your head, nudging him away by his shoulder. He laughs when you walk past him, heading to your suitcase in search of clothes.
“I am!” He tries, following after you but you don’t reply to him–too focused on putting together an outfit and fighting back the growing nerves in your stomach. Not only are you meeting his dad soon, but you’ll also have to hide your relationship from the public by completely ignoring him when in the paddock. You have no idea how it’s going to work out, and you don’t really want to think about it too much either.
After you get changed into a pair of jeans and a blouse, you head into the bathroom where you start doing your make up. Halfway through, Lando appears fully dressed and ready to go when he wraps his arms around your waist from behind.
“You’re nervous,” he points out, words muffled against your shoulder.
“I’m meeting your dad. I’m allowed to be nervous,” you repute, but you just watch his brows raise in the mirror like he doesn't quite believe you. “Fine, I’m also terrified someone might find out we’re together. Happy?”
“Why are you so scared? So what if people find out?”
“Because then our relationship isn’t just ours anymore, Lando,” you respond, putting your mascara wand down to lock eyes with his reflection. “It’s shared with your fans, with the media, with everyone.”
“So you want to stay secret forever?” He almost frowns when he stands upright again, though his eyes don’t leave yours.
“No. I’m saying that I think we should keep it private until we’re ready. I want our relationship to grow with just ourselves with nobody else’s input other than ours.”
Lando turns you around to face him then, letting out a quiet sigh before he cups your cheek–his hand warm and firm and acting as an anchor in the storm welling in your mind.
“I agree with you,” he says softly. “I didn’t think of it that way but now that you’ve said it, you’re right. I don’t want anybody in our business, and I’m serious about us, Yn. That means I don't want anyone ruining that.”
“Thank you,” you sigh out, letting your eyes fall shut as you melt into his touch.
“I’ll keep you safe. I promise,” he speaks warmly before he presses his mouth to your forehead, his kiss lingering for a few moments. When he pulls away, he looks down at you with a fond smile.
A few moments later, a knock sounds from the door.
“That’s my dad. You ready?” Lando asks, turning to look at where you’ve frozen in front of the mirror before trying to play it off.
“Yeah, let’s go,” you nod, finishing off your make up before following him to the hotel room door. You try to ignore the way your fingers are twitching at your sides as you twist your rings in search of some relief from the developing stress in your body.
“Hi, dad,” Lando greets as soon as he opens the door, bringing his dad in for a hug whilst you step aside–watching the exchange.
“Hey, son. You alright?” He asks with a kind smile, firmly patting Lando’s back before they pull apart though he keeps his hands on his son’s shoulders for a few more moments. “Feeling good?”
“Of course,” Lando grins before taking a step back, and then his dad turns to you. “Dad, this is my girlfriend, Yn. Yn, this is my dad,” Lando introduces you both before an even brighter smile overtakes his father’s features.
“So great to finally meet you. Please, call me Adam,” he says before pulling you in for a friendly hug, and suddenly all of your nerves disappear. You chuckle softly, returning the hug before pulling away. “I’ve heard a lot of things about you.”
“All good things I hope,” you joke as Lando shuts the door and Adam lets out a laugh.
“Of course. I don’t think Lando could ever say anything bad about you from what I’ve heard,” Adam returns and you let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding.
“Alright, should we go?” Lando asks then, turning to look at you when you nod.
“Lando told me you’re an engineering student. How’s that going?” Adam begins the conversation when the three of you leave the hotel room, and from there you don’t really stop talking. He’s clearly very interested in getting to know the woman his son is dating, though you don’t mind it. It makes sense, with who Lando is it’s easy for him to find someone who isn’t in it for the right reasons. Fortunately, Adam can very clearly tell that you’re not someone like that, and the feelings that you have towards Lando are obviously very real–even if the two of you haven’t confessed yet.
“Cisca’s going to be so angry I met you first,” Adam jokes when you three get into the car with Jon and Rich. “You should come over for dinner sometime.”
You look over at Lando then, watching the ends of his lips curve up into a smile when he subtly nods–reaching his warm hand over to yours as your fingers intertwine together.
“Yeah, I’d love that.”
—
When you arrive at the track, Lando turns to you as soon as the car stops.
“Okay, go straight to hospitality, alright? Ignore the cameras and you’ll be fine,” he reassures you, though it feels more like he’s trying to do so for himself than you. You smile at the way his thumb smoothes over your knuckles before you bring your free hand up to his cheek.
“I know,” you say softly, your eyes moving across his face before you lean in to connect your lips in a chaste kiss. “Drive safe.”
“I will for you.”
He kisses you one last time before you get out of the car, Lando watching you until you reach the paddock gates and disappear out of sight.
“I like her,” Adam tells Lando when he turns to look at him. “She’s good for you. Keeps you level headed.”
“Yeah. Yeah, she does,” Lando nods in agreement before pats his shoulder firmly.
“Don’t do anything stupid.”
“Come on, dad. You know I won’t,” Lando shakes his head as they leave the car with Jon and Rich.
“I know you won’t, but I’m just making sure you know that. Bring her home one day to meet your mum and your sisters.”
“I will.”
—
The three days of the weekend each felt like a repeat of each other, but when Lando came in 7th at the end of the race you still made sure to make him feel better about the situation. After all, his time was coming soon–he’d just have to be patient.
Nonetheless, you’re now both in the airport with your suitcases packed and ready to go on your separate flights.
“I hate this part,” Lando frowns, his arms wrapped firmly around your waist to keep you flush against him whilst you bury your face in his chest.
“Me too,” you mumble, tilting your head back to look up at his face. He leans down to connect your lips in a passionate kiss–one that doesn’t fail to make your mind spin.
“Thank you for coming. Your support, I appreciate it a lot more than you think,” he says honestly and you can’t help but smile at his words.
“Of course. I’m always here for you, Lan,” you tell him, his smile widening when he kisses you again.
“When can I see you again?”
You let out a deep sigh, shrugging.
“Honestly, I don’t know. I’ll need to see how uni treats me,” you joke, though he just hums–his hand cradling your face as his thumb swipes over the skin of your cheek. He’s looking down at you like you’re something precious, like he’s trying to memorise your features before you disappear for however long.
“Okay. Call me, yeah?”
“Of course, Lan.”
“You promise?”
You smile despite the sadness welling inside of you.
“I promise,” you respond before he kisses you again until your lungs are screaming for oxygen.
With one final squeeze, you feel him kiss your forehead before you both pull away from each other and leave.
i feel like if li!lando was an og islander, he’d be the type to have to really work to show his girl that he’d serious about them and their relationship.
kind of like melcere (without the toxicity bc ew), but he definitely has a playboy type aura about him that makes his girl second guess being in a couple with him or pursuing the connection.
oh boy, i fear i might've got carried away w this. li!lando you are dear to me.
from the second he steps onto the villa, lando is the hot topic. he's charismatic, effortless, and has that easy-going charm where he can hold intense eye contact without breaking a swear.
when you couple up with him on day one, the chemistry is instant, undeniable, and frankly, a little terrifying. he's attentive, funny, and immediately locks his focus on you.
but he has his red flags. when you watch him from a distance in the kitchen, he's bantering with other girls, dropping winks, and leaning in too close when someone makes a joke.
it's not that he's doing anything wrong, it's just that charm is his default thing. it's a language he speaks fluently, and it makes you feel like you're just the one holding his ticket for now.
the inner doubt starts eating you up. you start pulling back from him. you tell the girls, "he's lovely, but he's a smooth talker. i feel like i'm just his girl of the week."
sensing your sudden coolness, lando's usual tactics stop working. when he tries to pull you for a chat with his usual flirty, lighthearted banter, you don't instantly melt. instead, you call him out.
"you're very sweet, lando. but you're sweet to everyone. i don't want to be just another girl you managed to charm in under a day."
lando would laugh it off, "what do you mean? i only have eyes for you, you know that.
"do i? or do you just know exactly what to say to keep a girl interested?"
and to make matters worse, a new bombshell enters the villa. someone who's exactly lando's type. everyone expects his head to spin. the boys are teasing him, and you're internally preparing yourself to pack your bags and move on, expecting him to take the shiny new girl.
but lando surprises everyone. and instead of pulling the bombshell, he pulls you.
he doesn't do it with a grand, flashy gesture. he sits you down, looking visibly nervous, and fidgets with his water bottle.
"look, i know how i come across. i know i have this reputation, and i haven't exactly made you feel secure. but i don't care about who just walked through those doors. i just want to build this with you, and i'm willing to go at whatever pace you need to trust me. just don't write me off yet."
while he's polite to the bombshell, he draws a very respectful line. he spends his days cooking you breakfast, pulling you for chats that aren't just flirting but actually asking about your life, family, and goals.
you still have your guard up. you've been burned by guys like him before, so every time he takes a step forward, you take a step back.
lando has to constantly prove his intentions. when a challenge involves kissing other islanders, he keeps his kiss with you intense, but handles the others with a quick and respectful peck.
during an evening chat on the terrace, away from the noise, he finally lets the facade drop completely.
"i've never had to fight for someone's trust like this. and honestly? it's the first time in my life a relationship's felt real. i don't want the easy way out anymore. i just want you."
by the time casa rolls around, the entire villa (and the public watching at home) is obsessed with your journey.
when the boys are sent to the other villa, everyone expects lando to be tempted. instead, he spends the entire time sleeping outside, refusing to share a bed with any of the new girls.
he spends his days talking to the boys about how much he misses you (very bryce coded), realizing that the "game" of being a player holds absolutely zero appeal compared to what he has with you.
when he walks back into the main villa, you were half-expecting to see him with someone else. but he's there, standing alone, your photobooth kept in his pocket with the biggest, most relieved smile on his face.
you finally let the wall drop. he worked for it, he proved himself, and you both end up as the strongest, most genuine couple in the finals.
| stefy's note: so hi i'm back ig (sorry for taking such a long time to finally get back into writing but life has been challenging me lately), but here it is sooo yeah be happy. lando deleted these photos and i've been searching for them because this has been in my mind ever since i saw it so i knew it had to get back to it. and since the chiense gp suddenly got cancelled so we're not gonnna talk about it. IT HAD TO BE WRITTEN and not even @luna3316 knew how it was written so this is even better, so enjoy :)
| warnings: swearing (girly is feeling the pressure), alcohol (they drink sake so it's not that deep), angst (a bit), hardships of a formula 1 driver (for lando), smut (a bit, but there is sexual tension so that should mean something), misoginy (by the fans because she is a woman and now a wag of an f1 driver so it's hard times for her), mentions of make out, hateful comments (by the fans), hardships of fame (for lando), hardships of having a famous best friend, hardships of a public relationship (which they face when she posts something about them), flirting (mentions of it, by lando, by reader), minors dni
| word count: 5.4k
It all started with a camera. Or rather the lack of it. Or rather the lack of a fully functional one that wouldn't need need fixing every few days. Or at least that's what you were told. That's what you needed.
Well not you per se but your best friend Lando who's been keen on getting a new camera ever since you two landed in China. It wasn't like he didn't have one already or more in his case. Maybe it was the need to forget about the situation between him and the team. Maybe it was that after winning his first championship he was promised more. More by the team. More to himself. And you knew he wanted more. He needed more.
He wanted to be more than just a champion. More than just a one time champion. More than just a one time success. Nobody wants to be a one time wonder whether they earned it or not. And the championship outcome from months ago showed its controversy, not only how it affected him but also your relationship.
The sleepless nights when the world didn't expect anything in returen. When nobody knew what he was going through. When everything seemed possible. You knew it all too well. You knew like the back of your hand.
The stolen glances in the garage when you thought nobody was watching. The cuddles that seemed to become more than friendly. The hugs that seemed to have been lasting than usual. It didn't change overnight, not as anyone expected.
The nights grew longer. The two hotel rooms usually reserved for the both of you, suddenly became one. The time spent together grew. And it all seemed natural. Normal. Usual.
"I need a new camera." Lando said out loud as he was running his hands through his hair. He wanted to do something. He needed to get out. Get out of the same damn hotel you've been waisting your time these past few days in. It was an expensive hotel so you couldn't really blame him. The kind you've gotten used to these past few years.
"Huh?" Looking up from your book, slightly closing it to make sure he has your attention on him. "Don't you already have one?" You continue on the same confused tone as before, not sure if you understood correctly the first time.
"Not a perfectly working one." He answers on a teasing tone by resting his chin on the top of your head while he runs a head through your ruffed hair, fixing it. "Or at least not one that i like."
Leaning your head back on his chest, focusing on the closeness between the two of you just for a moment longer. Putting the book aside, you remember talking with him about this small, yet known store you've heard about last year.
Taking the phone from his hands without seeing any protest coming from him, you searched for the name of the store. Trying your best to remember its name. Suntan? Sultan? Sundin? You type on the now open tab the names that you knew off the top of your head. Suntan. Nothing came up. Sultan. Nothing. Sundin. Nothing.
Moving slightly on his lap to be able to get a better view of the phone as well as a better position for yourself. Entering Sundan in the Google Chrome tab you're met with just what you thought the store would look like. A small, densely packed speciality camera shop.
Narrow aisles with glass display counters on both sides. The counters are filled with camera lenses, compact cameras, and accessories. Behind the counters it looked like the shelves are stacked with boxes and more lenses. Many items have small price labels attached. The lightning is bright and slightly warm so the customers are able to see the gear.
Not too big so the fans would be able too find him. Not too small for to make it harder for the both of you to find it. Lando's chin now resting on your shoulder as you change the angle of the phone making it easier for him to see. "How about this?"
His eyes almost automatically focus on the image at hand showing the shop before drifting his focus back to you. He was checking the time to get there and the time right now. It was just twenty minutes away by car so it shouldn't even take the two of you longer. Checking the schedule of the store yourself you're met with the surprise that it would be closing in a few hours. "It's not that far away from here and eat after."
"Perfect." Your best friend whispers, almost as if it wasn't intended for your ears, giving a soft kiss on your cheek knowing that you'd have to be getting ready faster than usual to get to the store in time. "Let's try to not take forever to get ready, ok?" His whispery tone from a moment ago being replaced with a soft one. Knowing that the both of you weren't good with timing.
Without having much time to think of a complex outfit you opted for his black racing style jacket covered in embroided patches, logos and text, settling for his merch jacket. The sleeves falling a bit longer on your arms, making it oversized. Paring it with a pair of straight-leg blue jeans, fitted but not tight. Matching with him with the same pair of white sneakers and putting on a white headband to pull your hair back. Saying that you didn't wear this jacket ever since he dropped the merch, it would be a lie. And it smelled like him that was another reason for you to wear it more.
Turning around you meet his eyes as you could see that he managed to clean up well. Setting for a black long-sleeve polo shirt with a collar and a few buttons at the neck paired with loose, baggy blue jeans with a light wash. The jeans having a large printed graphics running vertically down the leg and his new obsession the white low-top sneakers with a thick sole. His hair slightly toused from all the cuddling from moments before.
"Is that my jacket?" He questions you on a teasing tone, already expecting a drift of the subject just as he saw you check the time on your phone, slightly feeling your cheeks heat up. Resorting for a shy smile you tell him, not wanting to waste any more time. "We're gonna be late."
"You're beautiful." Lando blurred out, for a moment longer not realizing what he said out loud. Maybe he was thinking it. Maybe he wasn't. You didn't question it further. You didn't want to. You didn't need to.
───────── ౨ৎ ─────────
The narrow aisles from the grainy Google Street View had done absolutely no justice to the reality of the shop. Now, standing inside the Beijing electronics market, you understood. The air hummed with the low buzz of fluorescent lights and the murmur of Mandarin bargaining. The space forced you and Lando to stand closer than usual, your shoulders almost touching. You could feel the warmth radiating off him, and when he leaned in to point at a lens behind the glass, his breath ghosted hot against your shoulder, making it impossible to focus on anything except the proximity.
"Which one should I get?"
He straightened up, now holding two small compact cameras after what had been an hour-long, meticulous search. A professional photographer on staff had been patiently helping him, though Lando was hardly an amateur himself. He knew his apertures from his ISOs, his primes from his zooms. But here, in this chaos, he was just a kid in a candy store.
You glanced at the cameras in his hands, one a sleek, modern blue, the other a clean, classic white. He had already compared every other model in the shop, pointing at lenses and accessories you couldn't name, asking the patient shopkeeper questions that sounded like a foreign language to you.
"Yeah. And I like these the best." His voice pitched almost childish, as if he was afraid of sounding spoiled. Which he wasn't. Lando was the least pretentious person you knew, despite the life he led. "I don't like this one's colour," he added, holding up the white model. Before you could respond, he pointed it at you and clicked the shutter, capturing you mid-glance, caught off guard. A stupid, fond smile tugged at your lips despite yourself. "But it's the best one."
"Get it," you said simply. "It's nice." You didn't know much about cameras, but you trusted him implicitly. He loved cameras, loved capturing moments, loved the craft of it. And he loved you. Which made it all the better.
You checked your phone. An hour had passed. Soon, you'd need to find a place for dinner. The thought of food made your stomach growl audibly.
"Then I'm getting it." Decision made, he stepped toward the cashier, a new bounce in his step. You weren't passionate about cameras, never claimed to be, but you had to admit that white camera, the one he'd just used to take a photo of you, looked kind of cute. Almost too cute for his own good.
"And make it fast," you called after him, grinning. "I'm already hungry, and I'm not above eating your portion if you take too long."
He glanced back, rolling his eyes, but the smile that broke across his face was pure, unfiltered joy. In a life dictated by hundredths of a second and endless media obligations, moments like this ordinary, messy, human anwere the ones you'd both learned to hold onto. And as he turned back to the counter, camera in hand, you knew that photo he'd just taken would probably end up on his phone wallpaper by the end of the day.
Stepping out of the electronics market, the Beijing evening hit you, a wall of humid air thick with the scent of street food and exhaust. The sun had begun its descent, painting the towering skyscrapers in shades of gold and amber. Lando clutched his new camera like it was a trophy. No need for a plastic bag that the kind cashier offered to him, his other hand already pulling out his phone to show you the restaurant he'd booked.
"Yardbird," he announced, practically bouncing on his heels. "I've been thinking about their skewers for like, three weeks. Made the reservation before we even left the hotel."
You snorted. "Of course you did." Of course he had planned this before even letting you know. There shouldn't be any surprise considering his behaviour for these past few days.
He flagged down a taxi with the confidence of someone who'd done it a hundred times, which he had, during your countless adventures across this sprawling city. A bright red sedan pulled to the curb, its boxy shape a familiar sight on Beijing's streets. White Chinese characters on the door read "的士" - taxi - and a small company sticker adorned the rear panel. It was an older model, the kind built to last, with chrome trim catching the last of the daylight.
Lando opened the rear door for you with an exaggerated bow. "After you."
You slid across the bench seat, the vinyl upholstery warm from the sun. Beige, functional, covered in what might have been protective plastic. It smelled faintly of air freshener and the driver's lunch. He climbed in beside you, and even with the spacious interior designed for three across, his knee pressed against yours as he settled in.
The driver, a middle-aged man with a patient expression, glanced back through the partial protective barrier. Your best friend leaned forward, phone in hand, showing the restaurant's address in Mandarin characters he'd saved earlier. "Qù zhèlǐ, xièxiè."
His pronunciation was terrible. Endearing, but terrible. The driver nodded, unfazed by yet another foreigner butchering his language, and pulled into traffic.
You watched the city blur past the large windows seeing bicycles weaving between lanes, neon signs flickering to life, the occasional luxury car gliding by like it belonged to a different world. The taxi meter on the dashboard clicked steadily, its numbers climbing in red LED. A small payment device sat next to it, wires trailing toward the dispatch radio crackling with static.
Your best friend reached into his bag and pulled out the white camera. "Want to see the photo I took of you?"
"You mean the one where I look like a deer in headlights?"
"Exactly that one." He grinned, turning the screen toward you. The boyish smile that makes your heart melt everytime.
You had to admit, it wasn't bad. He'd caught you mid-thought, your expression soft, the chaotic shelves of the camera shop blurring behind you. There was something intimate about it, something that made your chest feel warm in a way you couldn't explain.
"You're not posting that anywhere," you said almost threatening not wanting the world to see how childlike you may seem.
"Obviously not." He lowered the camera, his voice quieter now. "This one's just for me."
The taxi hit a small bump, jostling you both, and his hand found your knee briefly to steady himself before pulling away. The gesture was automatic, familiar, somehow the kind of casual touch that has been growing over these past few years between the two of you. Only deepening these past few days.
Through the divider, you could hear the driver humming along to a radio station playing Mandopop, completely oblivious to the fact that one of the most recognizable faces in Formula 1 was sitting in his backseat. That was part of why you both loved China, loved Beijing, the anonymity it offered. Here, he was just another tall foreign kid with messy curls and a terrible accent, not the McLaren driver whose every move got dissected online. Not the McLaren driver that had been dealing with hate for these past few months.
"Ten more minutes, probably," he said, checking his phone. "Traffic's not bad for once."
"Good. I'm this close to eating my own arm." You held up your fingers, a centimeter apart.
He laughed, bright and genuine, and the sound filled the small space. "Don't worry, I ordered way too much food. We're talking skewers, fried chicken, that corn situation you liked last time-"
"You remembered the corn?"
"Of course I remembered the corn." He said it like it was obvious, like remembering your favorite side dish was the most natural thing in the world.
Outside, the city continued its relentless pulse. The taxi meter ticked. The driver hummed. And in the backseat, you sat pressed together in comfortable silence, watching Beijing paint itself in night colors, headed toward the best part od your day. The food.
───────── ౨ৎ ─────────
The hostess at Yardbird was a vision of warmth, a woman in her twenties with a sleek black bob, crimson lipstick, and the kind of genuine smile that made you feel like you'd just walked into someone's home rather than one of Beijing's most coveted restaurants. She greeted you both in Mandarin before seamlessly switching to English when she caught Lando's hesitant expression.
"Ah, you must be the Norris reservation," she said, her accent lilting and melodic. "Table for two, by the window, yes? Follow me."
She led you through the intimate space, exposed brick, warm wood, the open kitchen a theatrical display of flames and sizzling skewers. The air smelled of charcoal, soy, and something sweetly caramelized that made your stomach audibly growl. Lando heard it and snorted.
The table was perfect. Tucked into a corner, large windows offering a view of the bustling street below, the amber glow of hanging pendant lights casting everything in soft warmth. The hostess as her name badge read "Mei" pulled out your chair with a flourish.
"You are celebrating something special tonight?" she asked, glancing between you both with knowing eyes.
Lando opened his mouth, probably to explain about the camera or the race weekend or any number of innocent things, but something caught in his throat. He couldn't bring himself to say it. Seemingly not even wanting to. You watched him hesitate, saw the flicker of something unreadable cross his face.
"Just dinner," you said smoothly, saving him. Not wanting to be questioned further. "He's been talking about your skewers for weeks."
Mei's smile widened, clearly not believing the "just dinner" part for a second. "Then you must let me help you order. The menu, it is... how you say? A lot. But I know the best things."
She pulled a small notebook from her apron and began marking recommendations with the enthusiasm of someone who genuinely loved the food she served. Going as far as to say that she loved eating it too. Lando leaned forward, elbows on the table, listening intently as she described the chicken thigh skewers with spring onion, the tsukune meatballs with tare sauce, the wagyu beef with wasabi.
"Get the corn," you interrupted. "He knows I love the corn." You had to get corn. Just for the curiosity at least. The curiosity of a simple dish prepared by a chef.
Mei's eyes sparkled. "The corn is very good. Sweet, smoky, a little spicy. But you" slowly she turned to Lando not wanting to forget about him either, "what do you like? You are adventurous eater, or...?"
Lando rubbed the back of his neck, a tell you knew intimately. "I'm, uh. I'm a bit picky, actually." Picky in a very broad sense of the word. He was picky. Very picky.
"A bit?" You couldn't help yourself. "He once ordered plain pasta at a Michelin-starred restaurant." Not fully plain pasta but tomato pasta. Not that it wasn't the best past you've ever tasted, but it was a sushi bar after all.
"In my defense, I was jet-lagged." He wasn't.
"You were in Monaco. You're always in Monaco." Not as if he hasn't been living there for years. He might as well consider it his second home.
Mei laughed, a genuine, musical sound. "I am also picky eater! My family, they say I am impossible. No mushrooms, no seafood, no-" She made a face, scrunching her nose. "The texture things. You know?"
Lando's entire face lit up with the relief of a kindred spirit. "Yes! The texture things! Everyone thinks I'm being difficult, but it's not about the flavor, it's about-"
"The mouth feel," Mei finished solemnly.
"The mouth feel," Lando repeated, just as solemn.
Mei marked a few more items on the menu, things she promised were "texture-safe," and disappeared toward the kitchen with a final knowing glance that lingered just a moment too long on the space between you.
"She definitely thinks we're on a date," you said once she was gone. Not questioning yourself anymore at this point.
Lando was examining a chopstick wrapper, suddenly very interested in its design. Not daring to meet your eyes. "Yeah. Probably." Hesitant. Shy almost. Not the confident Lando you saw moments ago.
The silence that followed was different from the comfortable ones in the taxi. Charged. Electric. You busied yourself with the napkin in your lap, hyperaware of the small table separating you, of how close his hand was to yours on the worn wood. Daring to touch each other. Daring to feel his hand in yours.
The food arrived in waves just as you imagined, followed by skewers stacked on miniature grills, small plates of pickled vegetables, a clay pot of rice that steamed fragrantly between you. Mei checked in constantly, refilling water, recommending which sauce went with what, sharing stories about the restaurant's history and her favorite dishes. She treated you both like honored guests, but more than that, like a couple she was rooting for.
"You must try the fried chicken," she urged, setting down a basket of golden-brown pieces. "It is our signature. Very crispy, very juicy. Even picky eaters love it." She was passionate about the food she was serving. Even more passionate about serving it to people.
The fried chicken arrived in a basket lined with parchment paper, golden-brown and glistening, scattered with chili and spring onions. Mei had insisted it was the best thing on the menu, and one bite proved her right. It was crispy, juicy, impossibly flavorful. You were halfway through your second piece when you felt Lando's eyes on you.
"What?" you asked, mouth still full.
He was grinning, that particular grin that meant he found something endlessly amusing. "You have sauce. Right there." He pointed to the corner of his own mouth.
You grabbed for your napkin, but before you could find it, his hand was there instead. His thumb brushing gently against the corner of your lips, wiping away a smear of tare sauce. The touch lasted only a second, maybe two, but it sent a jolt through you that had nothing to do with the food.
"Got it," he murmured.
His thumb lingered near your jaw for a heartbeat longer than necessary. You could feel the slight roughness of his skin, could smell the faint cologne he'd put on that morning, could see the way his pupils dilated just slightly in the warm restaurant light.
"Thanks," you managed, your voice coming out smaller than intended.
He didn't move his hand right away. His thumb traced the line of your jaw once, feather-light, before he finally pulled back. But his eyes never left yours, and suddenly the restaurant felt too warm. The space between you too small. Now sliding his index and middle finger against the lower edge of the wood table. Teasing. Hot.
"Sorry," he said, though he didn't look sorry at all. "Should have used a napkin." Should have fucking used a nakpin. Mhm. Sure.
"You should have." He should have used it on you. He could have used it in you. He could have. His fingers continuing the action as you bit your lip facing the food, not him anymore
Neither of you reached for a napkin.
Mei appeared at your elbow like magic, refilling water glasses with a knowing smile that suggested she'd witnessed the entire exchange. "More chicken? More sake? Anything for the lovely couple?"
Lando's eyes flickered to you, questioning. You should correct her. You knew you should correct her. The word "couple" hung in the air between you like a door left slightly ajar, and all you had to do was push it closed. Yet, none of you dared to correct her this time around. None of you seemed to want to.
"We'll take more sake," you heard yourself say.
Mei beamed and disappeared. Lando's expression shifted in surprise, then something warmer, something that made your stomach flip. He needed it as much as you did. But nothing.
"Sake?" he repeated.
"Why not? We're not driving."
"No," he agreed slowly, a smile tugging at his lips. "We're not."
The sake arrived in a small ceramic flask. Lando poured for you first, his hand steady, the gesture intimate in a way that pouring your own drink wouldn't have been. When your fingers brushed accepting the cup, neither of you pulled away quickly.
Throughout the rest of the meal, you caught him looking at your mouth. Not staring. Just glancing, quick flickers of his eyes that he'd immediately redirect to the food or the view or anywhere else. But you noticed. You noticed every single time.
And you looked at his mouth too. At the way he bit his lower lip when something was particularly good. At the way he licked tare sauce from his thumb after a particularly messy skewer. At the way he smiled, always smiled, like being here with you was the best part of his day.
"Try this," he said, holding out a skewer of wagyu beef toward your lips. "It's melting."
You could have taken it from him. Could have used your own hands. Instead, you leaned forward and let him feed you, your eyes locked on his as you bit into the meat. The beef did melt, it was butter-soft, perfectly charred and the sound you made was involuntary. A moan, just as he did minutes before.
"Good, right?" His voice was rougher than before.
"Yeah," you breathed. "Good.
Mei swept by again, collecting empty plates, and you could have sworn she winked at you. "Dessert menu? The mochi is very good. Very sweet. Like young love."
Lando laughed, but it was nervous, breathless. "We should probably get the bill, actually. Long day tomorrow."
"Of course, of course." Mei nodded sagely. "But you come back, yes? Bring each other. Is good to see."
When she walked away, the silence settled between you again. Charged, electric, full of things neither of you knew how to say. Should you tell him about it? Or should you just wait until you're outside to not embarass yourself? Lando reached for his camera, lifted it, and through the lens, his gaze found yours.
He looked hotter? Different. Sexier even. Fuck! When did he get so hot all of a sudden?
"Can I?" he asked softly. He never asked. He did. But this time it was different.
You nodded.
He took the photo slowly, deliberately, the shutter click impossibly loud in the quiet space. Then he lowered the camera and smiled, but it was not his PR smile, not his race win smile, but something smaller, more private. Just for you. Not for the world to see. The smile that you've learned to love.
"You have a little more sauce," he said.
"Where?"
But he was already leaning in, his thumb finding the corner of your mouth again, wiping away a smudge you hadn't even noticed. This time, his hand didn't pull back. This time, it cupped your jaw, gentle and warm, and his thumb traced across your lower lip like he was memorizing the shape of it. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
"There," he whispered. "Got it.
You couldn't breathe. Couldn't think. Could only feel the heat of his hand, the weight of his gaze, the impossible closeness of his mouth just inches from yours. Slowly opening your mouth to try and protest but ended up only thinking of his name.
"Lan-"
"I know." He pulled back slowly, reluctantly, his hand falling away. "I know. Sorry. I just-"
"Don't be sorry."
He looked at you, really looked at you, like he was searching for something in your eyes. Whatever he found made his breath catch.
"Okay," he said. "I won't."
Throughout the meal, Lando kept reaching for the new camera. He photographed everything from the food, the restaurant, the view from the window. But mostly, he photographed you. You. Just you.
"Stop," you said, laughing, as he captured you mid-bite.
"Never. You look-"He stopped, lowering the camera. His eyes met yours across the table, and the air between you seemed to thin. "You look happy. I want to remember this." And hot. And beautiful.
Something fluttered in your chest. You reached for your phone. "My turn."
He posed obediently at first, grinning, holding up a skewer, making peace signs that were aggressively 2015. Oh the nostalgia. But then you caught him off guard, snapped a photo when he was laughing at one of Mei's jokes, his head thrown back, curls falling across his forehead, utterly unguarded and beautiful in the warm light.
"Send me that one," he said softly, not wanting to sound more curious than he already was.
"Maybe." Maybe you will. Maybe you won't.
The meal stretched on, course after course, Mei appearing and disappearing like a benevolent spirit. She brought complimentary sake at one point ("For the lovely couple"), and neither of you corrected her. Not this time. Again. Lando just glanced at you sideways, a small smile playing at his lips, and raised his glass.
"To Beijing," he said.
"To Beijing," you echoed.
The sake was warm and sweet, and it pooled in your stomach alongside something hotter, something that had been building for years across continents and Grand Prix weekends and late-night phone calls when time zones separated you.
By the time you finished. Feeling stuffed, slightly tipsy, reluctant to leave the warm cocoon of the restaurant seeing that the streets outside had grown quiet. Mei walked you to the door, pressing Lando's hand between both of hers.
"You take care of each other," she said. It wasn't a question. It didn't have to be one.
"We will," you heard yourself say.
She smiled, that knowing smile, and waved as you stepped out into the cool Beijing night.
The walk back to the hotel was different from the taxi ride. Slower. Closer. Your shoulders brushed with every step, and neither of you moved away. The city hummed around you as distant traffic, the murmur of late-night conversations spilling from open doors, the occasional whir of an electric bike passing by. Lando's camera bag bumped against his hip, but he wasn't looking at anything except you.
"You know what Mei said to me when you were in the bathroom?" he asked.
"What?"
"She said I was lucky. That not everyone finds someone who looks at them the way you look at me."
Your heart stuttered. "Lando-" She must have seen it too? You weren't crazy.
"I know. I know we're best friends. I know we're not-" He ran a hand through his hair, frustrated. Stressed. To not ruin the moment. "I don't know what we are. But I know that when I took that photo of you in the camera shop, the one I said was just for me? I meant it. I want all of them just for me. I want-"
He stopped walking. You stopped too, standing outside your hotel, the familiar facade rising above you into the night sky. The lobby glowed warm through the glass doors, but neither of you moved toward it.
"I want you," he said quietly. "Not just as my best friend. Not just as the person who travels with me and eats corn and lets me take a million photos. I want... more. I've wanted more for so long, and I didn't know how to say it, and I still don't know if I should, but Mei thought we were together, and it felt—it felt right. It felt like how it should be."
The street was empty. The city held its breath. You could see the pulse beating in his throat, could see the fear and hope and desperate vulnerability in every line of his face. He was afraid to say it. He was afraid to ruin the moment. He was afraid to not ruin the friendship.
You stepped forward. You wanted this. You've been wanting these for years now. Closed the distance. Not wanting to question it. Not after hearing what he said. Leaning in you kissed him.
It was soft at first. Just as you imagined it. His lips were warm and tasted faintly of the sake and the fried chicken and everything that had been this perfect night. Then his hands found your waist, and yours found his neck, almost in an instant. No hesitation. Just need. Need for each other.
When you finally broke apart, breathless, his forehead rested against yours. Closing your eyes finally being able to breathe. Breathe in. Breathe out.
"Okay," he whispered. "That was...okay, that was good." Better than good. Better than fucking good.
You laughed, giddy and trembling. It was happening. It has happened. Finally. "Yeah. It was."
"So we're-this is-" Trying to find his words this time around not as he did moments ago. His eyes searching for yours to be able to form a sentence. He wasn't alone. Not when you were here.
"We're figuring it out," you said. "Together."
He smiled, that brilliant, unguarded smile you'd photographed hours ago, and kissed you again, b it slower this time, like he had all the time in the world. But for now, there was just this. Just Beijing. Just the two of you.
When you finally walked inside, hand in hand, you didn't notice anything except the warmth of his palm against yours and the way he kept glancing at you like he couldn't quite believe you were real. It was happening.
In the elevator, he pulled out his phone.
"What are you doing?" you asked.
"Texting Oscar. Telling him was right." The same Oscar that was his teammate. Oscar Piastri. The Australian that has been teasing him about the two of you ever since you could remember.
Summary: Lando unknowingly tips big on a faceless camgirl's steamy stream, hooked by her voice and body only to realize the next day that she's Carlos's sister, Y/N.
Pairing: lando norris x sainz!reader
Warnings: 18+ only, Explicit sexual content, Rough/degrading sex, Slut shaming & verbal degradation, Public sex, Mild violence (shoving, hard gripping, biting that draws blood, scratching), money-related humiliation
Please skip if any of these themes make you uncomfortable!!!!
The frustration had been eating Lando alive for months, a constant, grinding irritation that made him snap at mechanics, ghost group chats, and drink too much on nights he swore he wouldn’t.
He hated the way she’d hijacked his brain: one random stream, one stupid grand tip, and suddenly every quiet moment was filled with her laugh, her teasing delays, the wet sound of her obeying his commands.
He hated that he’d figured it out on the yacht, hated that he’d kept tipping even after suspicion hit, hated that he’d deleted everything like a coward after her gala threat. Most of all, he hated that none of it stopped him from getting hard at the worst possible times just thinking about her pushing three fingers in because “Bob” told her to.
He was fucking sick of it.
One Friday night in late August, the air thick and humid, Lando stormed into a grimy club, no VIP, no cameras, just pounding bass and cheap drinks. He was two vodkas in, leaning on the bar with murder in his eyes, when he saw her.
Y/N.
Red dress painted on, hips rolling against some random prick who had his hands all over her ass.
She looked like she owned the floor cocky, untouchable, exactly like the camwhore who used to make strangers beg and pay for every inch of skin.
His grip on the glass tightened until his knuckles went white.
She caught his stare mid-grind, smirked like the little tease she was, shoved the guy off, and marched straight over heels clicking like she was coming to collect another tip.
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” she hissed, stopping so close her perfume punched him in the face. “Can’t I have one night without your creepy ass showing up?”
Lando knocked back the rest of his drink, slammed the glass down. “My club before it was yours, camgirl. Go back to shaking your ass for whoever’s buying tonight.”
Her eyes flashed pure venom. “Camgirl? Real classy, Norris. At least I earn my money honestly spreading my legs for strangers online beats pretending to be someone’s mate while paying to watch his best friend’s sister act like a cheap whore.”
He laughed, dark and ugly. “Cheap? You priced yourself pretty high, sweetheart. 400 for the bra, 600 to see the pussy you flash for cash. Don’t act like some victim, you loved dragging it out, making desperate guys like me beg with our wallets.”
She stepped closer, tits nearly brushing his chest, voice dripping acid. “Desperate is right. You dropped a grand just to watch me finger-fuck myself, then kept coming back like the pathetic perv you are. Couldn’t close the tab once you realised it was Carlos’s little sister?"
“Watch your mouth,” he growled, crowding her until her back hit the bar. “You’re the one who quit and crawled back to a new site anyway. Can’t stay away from the attention, can you? Always need strangers drooling over your paid-for pussy.”
“Fuck you,” she spat, shoving him hard. “I quit because of you, you entitled prick. Had to start over, triple-checking every tipper in case it’s your sick ass again. You turned something fun into paranoia."
He grabbed her wrist mid-shove, grip bruising. “You set the goals. Teased until the money rolled in, then spread wide like a good little pay-to-play whore. Don’t blame me for enjoying the show you put on for anyone with a credit card.”
Her free hand slapped his chest again, nails scraping. “Enjoying? You ruined it. I can’t even stream now without hearing your bossy bullshit in my head—‘add another one.’ You think that’s power? You’re just another john who paid to feel big.”
“Then why are you still here running your mouth?” he snarled, face inches from hers. “Go back to your dance partner. Let him grope the merchandise for free.”
“Because you started this,” she hissed, yanking her wrist free but not moving away. “You couldn’t leave well enough alone. Had to tip big, play daddy with commands, then act shocked when it bit you in the ass.”
“Shocked? I’m pissed I ever wasted money on a greedy little cam-slut who can’t get enough attention.”
That snapped it.
She grabbed his shirt, nails digging through fabric, and dragged him through the crowd shoving bodies aside until they hit the single-stall bathroom. Door slammed. Lock clicked.
She shoved him against the sink, mouth on his in a vicious bite teeth sinking into his lip hard enough to split skin. “You’re trash,” she snarled, clawing his belt open.
He spun her roughly, slamming her front against the counter, yanking the red dress up like tissue paper. “And you’re a paid whore who can’t say no to cash.”
Panties ripped clean off tossed in the sink like garbage. He forced three fingers into her dry at first, then slick in seconds pumping brutally, no warm-up.
“Already wet,” he mocked, curling viciously. “Fucking predictable.”
“Shut your mouth and make me come, asshole,” she snapped, pushing back against his hand like she hated it. “Or are you still only good for tipping?”
He added a fourth stretching her mean, thumb grinding her clit without mercy. “Greedy cunt, always wanting more for the show.”
She moaned despite herself, knuckles white on the mirror. “Harder, prick. Earn your free ride.”
He finger-fucked her until she broke, body jerking, a choked curse as she came hard, soaking his hand.
No pause he freed his cock, slammed into her raw and deep, sink rattling with every violent thrust.
“Take it, slut,” he growled, hand fisting her hair, forcing her to watch in the mirror. “This what you charge extra for?”
She met his eyes in the reflection pure hate. “Fuck you come already so I can get you out of my system.”
He pounded harder, skin slapping loud, grip bruising her hips. “Not until you come again, camwhore. Show me why guys pay.”
She did, clenching around him in angry spasms, biting her lip bloody to stay quiet.
He pulled out at the last second, coming in thick stripes across her ass and lower back messy, deliberate.
They panted, glaring.
She shoved him off first, yanking her dress down over the mess. “Pig.”
He tucked himself away, reached for his wallet, pulled out a 500€ note, and shoved it roughly down the front of her dress straight into her bra, fingers groping her tit deliberately.
“Tip for the cheap fuck,” he sneered. “Since spreading for money is your thing.”
Her face twisted in disgust. She ripped the bill out, crumpled it, and spat on it before throwing it at his feet.
“Rot in hell, Bob.”
Door slammed behind her.
He stared at the crumpled money on the filthy floor, lip bleeding, cock twitching again already.
