I've got options for projects and idk what to work on so I'm being my indecisive ass to the people on what yall would want to see first:
Option 1: OYLMLAF (Lando has entered his pyromaniac phase)
Option 2: au in which drivers who win the WDC are given pacts with demons as a gift. Lando wakes up with a hangover and the demon of Wrath in his room who decided he could use the vacation. Plus, how hard can babysitting a human be? (Very difficult when said human is horny and accident prone)
Option 3: Vampire au where Oscar wakes up in Zak's castle as a vampire with no memories of his past and assumes Zak is his sire. He later is charged with protecting Lando who is an immortal human (Vampire/human hybrid) since his blood is highly addictive and Oscar can daywalk. They spend 120 years pining after each other and unraveling the truth of Oscar's past while hoping to one day earn their freedom.
what do you want to see first is the real question
The Maldives was supposed to be a dream honeymoon for Max and Pietra. Unfortunately, thanks to a seafood disaster and one non-refundable booking, it turned into a “nightmare” for you and Lando Norris.
pairing. Lando Norris x fem! reader.
warnings. romance, humor, slow burn, fake dating -ish, enemies to lovers, forced proximity, 14k words. food poisoning; mention of throwing up. profanity, pet names. inspired by book the unhoneymooners by christina lauren.
soundtrack. non-refundable!, an official playlist.
THE WEDDING WAS PERFECT.
Too perfect—the kind of perfect that practically dares the universe to ruin it out of spite. And honestly, you should’ve known something was coming the moment the string quartet hit that suspiciously angelic high note.
At first, it was subtle. A couple of guests slipped off the dance floor, one by one, like they’d suddenly remembered they left the oven on at home. Someone else excused themselves with the kind of tight smile people wear when they’re trying not to vomit in public. Another guest went pale enough to blend into the tablecloth before disappearing entirely. Nobody panicked. It was a wedding. People drink too much. People overheat. People make questionable choices.
You didn’t think twice about it.
Because why would you? Everything was beautiful. Magical. Soft and glowing and full of love.
Well—except for one glaring exception.
Lando Norris.
Max’s best friend. His best man. The human equivalent of a migraine wrapped in a tux.
He was somehow still laughing, still talking, still managing to irritate you from across the room without even opening his mouth. It was a talent, really. You thought he was smug, insufferable, and entirely too pleased with himself for someone who hadn’t contributed anything meaningful to society except chaos and a few podiums.
As for what he thought about you?
You didn’t care. Truly. Deeply. Profoundly.
(And if you repeated that enough times, maybe one day it would even feel true.)
The only downside to Pietra marrying Max was the unfortunate, unavoidable reality that Lando Norris was now a permanent fixture in your life. A recurring character. A long-term problem. A headache with a lifetime warranty.
The thought alone made your skin crawl in a way that felt almost personal.
The weirdest part wasn’t the disappearing guests or the suspiciously pale groomsman who nearly face‑planted into the cake. No, the weirdest part came when you realized you hadn’t seen Pietra in… a while.
At first, you brushed it off. She was a newlywed. Newlyweds vanish. It’s practically a wedding tradition. Maybe she was touching up her makeup. Maybe she was having a moment with Max. Maybe she was hiding from Lando, which would be completely understandable and honestly relatable.
But something felt off.
Pietra wasn’t the type to disappear without a word, especially not from her own reception—the event she’d planned down to the color of the napkin rings. And the longer you went without seeing her, the more that uneasy little knot twisted in your stomach. It wasn’t panic yet, but it was definitely panic‑adjacent.
So, for your own peace of mind, you pulled out your phone and called her.
The line rang. Once. Twice. Three times.
Then it connected.
“P? Where are you? Are you okay?”
There was a pause—the kind that immediately tells you the answer is no.
When she finally spoke, her voice was thin and shaky, nothing like the glowing, ecstatic bride you’d been celebrating with an hour ago.
“Can you come to our room?”
That was it.
No explanation. No reassurance. No “don’t freak out.”
Just those six words.
The call ended a second later, leaving you staring at your phone like it had personally offended you.
And suddenly, that uneasy feeling in your stomach sharpened into something much closer to full‑blown panic—the kind that makes your heart thump too hard and your brain start listing every possible worst‑case scenario in alphabetical order.
Because if Pietra sounded like that on her wedding night, something was very, very wrong.
You hurried through the hotel hallway, moving as fast as your heels would let you—which, unfortunately, was not very fast at all. Your phone was still in your hand, screen glowing with the last call, and you were so focused on Pietra’s shaky voice replaying in your head that you didn’t even look up when you turned the corner.
Which is exactly why you slammed straight into someone.
“Ow!”
You stumbled back, clutching your phone like it might soften the impact. And then you looked up.
Of course.
Of course it was Lando Norris.
Because why wouldn’t the universe add insult to injury.
He steadied himself, then gave you a once‑over that somehow managed to be both annoyed and judgmental, like you’d personally offended him by existing in his path.
“Watch it,” he said.
“You watch it,” you shot back, because you refused to let him have the last word. Not tonight. Not ever.
You pointed a finger at him, ready to continue the argument you two had apparently been having since the day you met—but then you both reached for the same door handle.
Pietra and Max’s room.
You froze.
He froze.
“What the fuck are you—”
Before either of you could finish, a voice croaked from inside the room. Weak. Miserable. Dramatic in a way only one person could manage.
“Stop flirting and come in! Both of you!”
Max.
Or, more accurately, whatever was left of Max.
Lando grimaced so hard it looked painful. “If he says that again, I’m going to be sick.”
He shot you a look—the kind that said this is your fault somehow—before pushing the door open.
Honestly?
You felt the same way.
Instead of dignifying him with a response, you rolled your eyes so hard it was practically a workout and followed him inside.
Whatever was happening inside the room looked like something straight out of a low‑budget horror movie—the kind where you already know half the cast won’t make it to the sequel.
The wedding? Completely forgotten. Pietra’s dress was crumpled in a sad little heap on the floor, like it had given up on life. Max’s tux jacket was draped over a chair in a way that suggested he’d either thrown it or collapsed out of it. Hard to tell.
Pietra was curled up on the bed, pale and miserable, clutching a pillow like it was the only thing anchoring her to this world. Max sat hunched over at the table with his head in his hands, breathing like someone who had seen things. Terrible things. Things he would never emotionally recover from.
“For newlyweds, you two look horrible,” Lando observed, because apparently he felt the need to narrate the obvious.
As if the scene didn’t already scream we are dying.
“You have no idea,” Pietra groaned, her voice barely above a whisper.
“Never eating seafood again,” Max muttered into his palms.
You frowned, stepping further into the room. “What happened?”
“The seafood happened,” Pietra said weakly, like the words themselves were painful.
Max lifted his head just enough to confirm it. “It was bad. Everyone’s sick.”
“Everyone?” you repeated, because surely this couldn’t be as dramatic as it sounded.
“My parents are sick. Pietra’s cousins are sick. Half the wedding is sick.” He swallowed hard, face twisting. “I think I’m gonna thr—”
“Okay, mate, we get it,” Lando cut in quickly, hands up like he was warding off a demon.
Neither of you needed the visual.
A heavy silence settled over the room—the kind that comes right before someone admits something truly stupid.
And then Lando, because he physically could not help himself, added,
“I told you seafood was a terrible idea.”
Max slowly lifted his head, eyes dead, soul gone. “Not helping.”
“Just saying.”
Of course he was.
Suddenly, a thought hit you—sharp and obvious, like the kind of realization you really should’ve had ten minutes earlier.
You turned to Lando, narrowing your eyes.
“If everyone ate the seafood… why aren’t you sick?”
He looked at you like you’d just accused him of kicking puppies for fun. His whole face twisted, offended on a spiritual level.
“I hate seafood,” he said, dripping with disgust. Like it was common knowledge. Like it was printed on his passport. Like you were personally stupid for not knowing his dietary preferences.
Before you could roll your eyes hard enough to sprain something, he pointed right back at you.
“Could ask you the same. Why aren’t you sick?”
“I’m on a diet,” you said with a shrug, as if that explained everything.
His eyebrows shot up, and he looked far too pleased with himself as he looked toward Max.
“See? This is what happens when you order seafood even though half your guests don’t even eat it.”
“You two don’t mean half the guests,” Pietra muttered from the bed, rolling her eyes so weakly it was almost impressive she managed it at all.
“Well—but that’s not why you’re here,” Max started.
The tone in his voice shifted. Instantly. Like someone had dimmed the lights and added ominous background music.
This wasn’t a joke anymore.
Even Lando went quiet—which was honestly the most alarming symptom in the room.
“We can’t go on our honeymoon,” Max said weakly. “We literally can’t even stand, let alone fly to the Maldives.”
Pietra raised a shaky hand from the bed, like she was giving sworn testimony. “Also… it’s non‑refundable.”
As if that somehow made the situation more tragic.
Which, unfortunately, it did.
“And?” you asked slowly, because you already didn’t like where this was going. “What does that have to do with us?”
Max glanced at Pietra.
Then at you.
Then at Lando.
Then back at you.
“Since you’re the only ones who are able to go…”
No.
No, no, no.
Absolutely not.
Your stomach dropped so fast it felt like missing a step on the stairs.
Did they just—
Did they seriously just—
“Absolutely not,” Lando cut in immediately, shaking his head so hard his curls bounced.
For once, you agreed with him.
Violently.
Because there was no universe—none—where you and Lando Norris should be sent on a romantic, luxury honeymoon together.
Which, of course, meant that was exactly what was about to happen.
No.
No, absolutely not.
Your stomach dropped so fast you felt it in your toes. They weren’t actually suggesting this. They couldn’t be. This had to be a fever dream caused by secondhand seafood fumes.
For once, you were perfectly aligned with him. A rare, terrifying moment of unity.
But Max wasn’t done.
“It’s a private villa,” he said, voice wobbling. “Some newlywed activities—”
You stared at him like he’d just confessed to a crime. “Did you hit your head while eating the seafood too?”
Because that was the only explanation. Truly. The man had lost brain function. You were going to wake up any second now. Maybe you’d fall off a chair and snap back into the correct timeline. Or maybe you should hit your head and skip straight to the part where none of this was happening.
“It’ll go to waste if you don’t go,” Pietra added, sounding both tragic and dramatic, which was impressive considering she looked like she might faint at any moment.
Lando let out a sharp, disbelieving laugh. “Then let it go to waste. Problem solved.”
“Good thing we’re not asking you,” Max said, ignoring him completely. “We’re telling you.”
Silence fell over the room.
Not the normal kind.
The bad kind.
The kind that meant decisions had already been made without your consent.
“I already called the resort,” Max continued, like he was ripping off a Band‑Aid. “We told them we’re sick and can’t go. But our—also freshly married—friends will go instead of us.”
You blinked.
Once.
Twice.
No.
No.
Absolutely no.
What the actual fuck.
This had to be illegal. Or a prank. Or a shared hallucination brought on by the cursed seafood poisoning half the hotel.
Max was clearly too exhausted to keep talking. Pietra, unfortunately, was not. She pushed herself up just enough to finish his sentence, her voice thin but determined.
“We just changed the names,” she said, like that explained anything at all.
You stared at her, waiting for the part where she clarified. She didn’t.
“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”
Pietra smiled—weakly, proudly, and completely out of touch with reality. She looked like she might faint at any second, yet somehow she still had the nerve to look pleased with herself.
“From now on, you’re Mr. and Mrs. Norris!”
The words hung in the air like a bomb that hadn’t decided whether to explode or not. Too cheerful. Too final. Too insane to process.
For a moment, nobody reacted. The room went still, like even the walls were trying to understand what she’d just said.
Then everything reacted at once.
“I hope you’re fucking kidding,” Lando said, voice flat and sharp.
“No,” Pietra replied immediately, not even blinking.
“I’m not going anywhere with her,” he snapped, pointing at you like you were the problem.
“I’m not going anywhere with him,” you shot back at the exact same time, because if he was pointing, you were pointing too.
Silence fell again—heavy, miserable, the kind that made you want to walk straight into the ocean.
Max didn’t even lift his head. He just groaned into the table like he’d accepted his fate and yours.
Pietra sighed, sounding far too calm for someone who had just detonated your life. “Well,” she said, “good thing it’s already done.”
And just like that, your nightmare didn’t just have a name.
It had a reservation.
A villa.
A flight to the Maldives.
And a husband you didn’t even like.
When the realization finally settled between you and your apparently new husband, all you could do was let out a long, exhausted groan—the kind that came from deep in your soul, the kind that said I did not sign up for this. It was the only reaction your brain could manage. Your thoughts were basically just static and disbelief.
Lando, on the other hand, had plenty of energy left to complain.
“Mate, I love you,” he said, turning toward Max with the dramatic flair of someone delivering a eulogy, “but right now I hate you so much.”
Max didn’t even lift his head. He didn’t argue. He didn’t defend himself. He just sat there, hunched over the table like a man who had accepted every bad decision that led him to this moment.
Pietra gave a weak little wave from the bed, like she was blessing a doomed union. “You’ll thank us later,” she mumbled, which was bold for someone who looked like she might pass out mid‑sentence.
Lando exhaled sharply, then looked between you, Max, and Pietra with the expression of a man who had lost all hope in humanity. “Enjoy your free honeymoon,” he said flatly. A beat. “Lovebirds.”
You and Lando turned to each other at the exact same time.
“No.”
It came out perfectly synchronized—same tone, same disgust, same absolute refusal. If you weren’t so horrified, you might’ve been impressed.
And for the first time all night, even Max looked slightly amused. His mouth twitched, just barely, like he wanted to smile but didn’t have the physical strength to commit to it.
Which was great.
Fantastic.
Wonderful.
At least someone was enjoying the beginning of your shared nightmare.
────────────
The moment you stepped off the boat, you regretted not eating the seafood too. Honestly, at least then you’d be back at the hotel, curled up on a bathroom floor, dramatically begging for death like everyone else. Instead, you were here—in paradise—with the one person who could make even the Maldives feel like a punishment. You were at that stage of life where you would genuinely prefer food poisoning over spending any time alone with Lando Norris. And that said a lot.
The Maldives were gorgeous, of course. The water was so turquoise it looked fake, the sand was blindingly white, and the palm trees swayed like they were performing for a commercial. Everything around you was warm and soft and perfect, the kind of place people saved up for years to visit. It should have been paradise. It should have been peaceful. It should have been romantic.
But then there was the idiot standing next to you.
Lando looked around with his hands shoved deep in his pockets, somehow managing to look annoyed despite being surrounded by literal postcard scenery. His expression said he’d rather be anywhere else. You hoped he was regretting this as much as you were. Preferably more.
A pair of resort employees approached with bright, excited smiles—the kind of smiles people only have when they have no idea what kind of disaster they’re dealing with.
“Welcome, Mr. and Mrs. Norris! Congratulations on your honeymoon.”
Your eye twitched so hard you were surprised it didn’t fall out. If one more person called you that, you might actually swim back to the mainland.
“Thanks,” Lando said smoothly, flashing them one of his signature smiles like he hadn’t spent the last 48 hours insisting he wasn’t going anywhere with you.
You shot him a look sharp enough to cut glass.
What happened to I’m not going anywhere with her?
He caught your glare and shrugged, all innocent and useless.
Traitor.
Not wanting to be rude to the only people here who hadn’t personally ruined your life, you forced a polite smile. Before you could correct them—or scream—one of the employees picked up your suitcase with cheerful efficiency.
“Come with us,” she said brightly. “We’ll show you your villa.”
The walk to the villa was painfully, almost comically silent. Not a single word passed between you. You stared straight ahead like you were being marched to your doom. Lando did the same, jaw tight, hands shoved in his pockets, looking like he was being forced to attend his own funeral. The two resort employees leading the way kept glancing back at you both, probably wondering what kind of honeymooning couple walked like they were on their way to court.
Eventually, one of them cleared her throat, clearly trying to break the tension before it swallowed all four of you whole.
“I’m sorry about your friends.”
You blinked, pulled out of your internal spiral. Right. Max and Pietra. The actual newlyweds. The ones currently dying in a hotel room.
“Yeah,” you said. “It sucks.”
“They were very upset when they called,” she continued gently. “But they seemed happy that you two could still enjoy the honeymoon.”
You nearly tripped over your own feet.
Happy.
That was certainly one way to describe it. Delusional was another. Criminally optimistic was a third.
Beside you, Lando made a noise—something between a laugh and a strangled groan. Honestly, it could’ve been either. Or both.
“And how long are you two married?”
You froze.
Well.
Eh.
You didn’t exactly have a script for this. You didn’t know whether to lie, tell the truth, or throw yourself into the ocean and let the fish sort it out.
Before you could decide, Lando spoke.
“Two months.”
You whipped your head toward him so fast you almost gave yourself whiplash.
What.
The.
Fuck.
Lando didn’t even look at you. He just kept walking beside you like he hadn’t casually invented an entire fake marriage timeline out of thin air. No hesitation. No shame. No warning. Just two months tossed into the universe like it was a normal, reasonable answer.
The employee beamed at the both of you, completely fooled.
“How lovely! Newlyweds.”
“Yeah,” Lando replied smoothly, slipping into the role like he’d been practicing in the mirror. “Still getting used to it.”
You stared at him, your brain short‑circuiting.
Still getting used to it.
Still. Getting. Used. To. It.
Was he insane? Was he actually insane? Because that was the only explanation for the confidence with which he delivered that line. You caught the tiny smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth—the smallest hint of amusement, like he knew exactly what he was doing and was enjoying every second of your suffering.
The bastard was enjoying this.
“Oh, absolutely,” you said through gritted teeth, forcing a smile so stiff it could’ve cracked. “Every day is a surprise.”
Lando finally glanced at you, and for a split second, you saw it—the spark of amusement in his eyes, the quiet little I’m having fun and you can’t stop me glint.
You hated it.
You hated him.
The villa was ridiculous.
Not just nice—insultingly nice. The kind of nice that made you question every choice you’d ever made in your life. The terrace stretched out over the water like it was showing off. There was a glass slide straight into the ocean, an infinity pool that blended into the horizon, an outdoor shower, two separate bathrooms (mercifully), and enough space to host three families, a wedding, and maybe a small cult.
It was paradise.
And you hated that you were seeing it with him.
The second the employees left, you spun toward Lando.
“What the hell was that?”
Lando dropped his bag onto the floor like he owned the place. “What was what?”
“‘Two months’?” you repeated, voice rising. “Where did you even get two months from?”
He shrugged, completely unbothered. “Sounded believable.”
“Believable?”
“What was I supposed to say?” he shot back. “‘Actually, we’ve known each other for years and can’t stand one another, but our friends got food poisoning and sent us on their honeymoon instead’?”
You opened your mouth.
Closed it. and opened it again.
“…Well, maybe not like that.”
“Exactly,” he said, like he’d just won a debate on national television.
“That doesn’t mean you get to invent an entire marriage!”
“Oh, come on,” he said, already wandering deeper into the villa like a man on vacation. “It’s harmless.”
“Harmless?”
“Yes.”
“You made me your wife.”
Lando paused mid‑step and turned, looking genuinely confused.
“You already were my wife.”
The room went still. You stared at him. He stared back.
Three long, painful seconds passed.
Then something flickered across his face—realization, horror, embarrassment, all at once.
“Oh.”
Your eye twitched. “Oh?”
“Okay,” he winced, “that sounded worse out loud.”
“You think?”
“I mean she called you Mrs. Norris first. She made you my wife,” Lando tried to defend himself.
Before you could continue tearing him apart, a knock interrupted you.
Both of you froze.
The door opened immediately—because apparently privacy was optional here—and one of the resort employees peeked in with an apologetic smile.
“Oh! Sorry, one more thing.”
You instinctively stepped away from Lando like he was radioactive. He noticed. Of course he did. The employee didn’t.
“Your first romantic dinner is at eight tonight.”
Silence.
“What?” you said.
“Romantic dinner,” she repeated cheerfully. “On the beach. Just the two of you.”
You slowly turned your head toward Lando.
He turned toward you. Then both of you turned back to her.
“We don’t need—”
“Wonderful!” she cut in. “See you at eight!”
The moment she left, you pushed open the bedroom door.
And immediately stopped. Of course.
Of course there was one bed. Not just any bed—one large, perfectly made, aggressively romantic bed positioned directly in front of the ocean like it was trying to prove a point. Rose‑petal energy without the actual petals. The kind of bed that practically whispered consummate something.
You just stared at it, frozen in place.
Lando leaned against the doorframe, peered inside, and let out the most dramatic sigh you’d ever heard.
“Oh my god,” he groaned, rolling his eyes. “There’s really only one bed in this big‑ass villa?”
“Well obviously,” you snapped. “It’s a honeymoon villa, dumbass.”
“Right,” he muttered, like the universe had personally wronged him.
Silence settled between you—thick, awkward, the kind that made everything feel ten times worse. You could practically hear the ocean outside judging both of you.
Then Lando nodded toward the bed with the seriousness of someone offering a noble sacrifice.
“I’ll happily take the floor,” he announced.
You blinked.
Once. Twice.
“Wow,” you said. “Generous of you.”
Then you turned fully toward him, crossing your arms. “I’m going to be kind and let you take the couch in the living room. You’re absolutely not sleeping in the same room as me.”
“Right,” he said slowly, glancing toward the living room. “The couch.”
He nodded like he was processing a complicated mathematical equation.
“I should’ve thought about that earlier.”
────────────
The restaurant was somehow even more ridiculous than the villa—which felt almost impossible, but here you were, living proof that the universe had a sense of humor and it wasn’t a kind one.
A table for two sat directly on the sand, candles flickering in the warm evening breeze while waves rolled onto the shore like they’d been hired for ambience. Fairy lights hung from the palm trees overhead, glowing softly against the darkening sky. Music drifted through the air, gentle and warm, the kind that made everything feel softer than it actually was.
And you…
You looked beautiful. A yellow summer dress, light and easy, catching the breeze just enough to move with you. Your hair had settled into soft waves, brushing your shoulders every time you turned your head. You definitely hadn’t taken extra time to get ready because of your “husband.” Absolutely not. That would be ridiculous.
It looked like a scene from a romance movie.
Unfortunately, you were starring in it with Lando Norris.
The hostess smiled as she pulled out your chair, glowing with the kind of joy only people who believe in love have.
“Welcome, Mr. and Mrs. Norris. We hope you have a magical first dinner as newlyweds.”
You forced a polite smile, the kind that felt like it might crack if you held it too long.
“Thank you.”
Lando matched your expression perfectly, like he’d been trained for this exact moment.
“Very kind of you.”
The hostess practically melted on the spot.
“Oh, you two are adorable.”
The second she walked away, both of your smiles dropped so fast they might’ve left dents in the sand.
“She called us adorable,” you muttered.
“She also called us married,” Lando replied, sounding personally offended.
You stared at him.
He stared at you.
And for a moment, the two of you sat there in the middle of paradise, united only by mutual suffering.
You reached for the bread basket.
At the exact same moment Lando did.
Your hands collided in the middle of the table, a sharp little smack that made you both freeze. You pulled yours back instantly, like touching him might give you a rash.
“Watch it,” you muttered.
“You watch it,” he shot back, just as fast.
Before either of you could escalate, a waiter appeared beside the table carrying what looked like a tropical explosion in a glass—flowers, fruit, colors that didn’t exist in nature.
“For the honeymoon couple!” he announced proudly.
He set it down between you.
One glass.
Two straws.
A crime.
You and Lando stared at it like it had personally insulted you.
“No,” you both said at the same time.
“Oh, it’s complimentary!” the waiter beamed, completely missing the mutual horror, and vanished before you could protest.
Silence settled over the table again, warm and heavy like the night air.
“Well?” Lando said.
“Well what?”
“I’m thirsty.”
“So am I.”
Another long stretch of stubborn quiet passed—thirty seconds that felt like a challenge neither of you wanted to lose.
Finally, you both leaned forward at the same time.
And immediately bumped foreheads.
“Ow!”
You rubbed the spot, wincing, while Lando leaned back with a glare sharp enough to cut through the candlelight.
“Could you be any more dramatic?”
“You literally ran into me.”
“You ran into me.”
“You’re impossible.”
“And you’re annoying.”
The argument fizzled out only because you both leaned in and took a sip of the drink at the same time—careful this time, no forehead injuries—and neither of you dared admit it tasted incredible. Sweet, cold, perfect. A tiny piece of heaven in the middle of your personal hell.
The appetizers arrived a few minutes later, carried by a waiter who looked like he’d been waiting his whole life to serve a honeymoon couple. Every time he or anyone else walked by, you and Lando transformed instantly into the world’s most convincing romantic pair. It was almost impressive how fast the switch flipped.
“So, darling,” Lando said with a smile so bright it could’ve powered the fairy lights above you, “would you like the lobster?”
“No, sweetheart,” you replied just as sweetly, matching his tone like you’d rehearsed it. “You know I don’t eat seafood.”
The waiter’s face lit up.
“How lovely.”
The moment he walked away, your smile dropped. You kicked Lando under the table.
“Ow!” he hissed, jerking his leg back.
“Don’t call me sweetheart.”
“Don’t call me darling.”
“You started it.”
“You kicked me.”
“Good.”
Another waiter approached, moving carefully across the sand as if he were carrying something sacred. He placed two plates in front of you with a soft smile.
Steak and fries. Finally.
Separate plates.
Thank God.
You sat up a little straighter, almost relieved enough to forget who you were sitting with.
“Is everything all right?” she asked, her smile warm and hopeful, like she genuinely wanted your night to be perfect.
You returned it, stretching your own smile so wide your cheeks started to ache. “Everything’s perfect.”
Beside you, Lando nodded with the enthusiasm of a man who had fully committed to the bit. “Best honeymoon ever.”
The waiter beamed, delighted. “We’re so happy to hear that. Enjoy your evening!”
She walked away, leaving the two of you alone again—candles flickering, waves rolling in, the whole scene soft and romantic in a way that felt almost cruel.
The second the waiter disappeared, your foot shot out under the table and connected with Lando’s shin again. Maybe you were provoking him. Maybe you weren’t. Maybe the universe was simply guiding your leg. Either way, you weren’t about to admit anything.
He jerked back, glaring at you like you’d personally ruined his life.
“Can you fucking stop?”
“Stop lying.”
“You’re the one smiling.”
“I’m being polite.”
“You look psychotic.”
“Because of you.”
Lando stabbed another fry with his fork, then looked up at you with a confidence he absolutely did not deserve.
“You know,” he said, leaning back slightly, “for someone who supposedly hates me, you’ve been looking at me all evening.”
You scoffed, loud and sharp.
“Could say the same about you.”
And that was the first time since arriving that he actually went quiet.
Because you had noticed.
The little glances he kept sneaking across the table.
The way his eyes lingered a second too long before he looked away.
The absent-minded way he wet his lips whenever he was thinking.
The way he kept shifting in his seat like he was trying not to stare at you too openly.
None of it meant anything.
Obviously.
You weren’t delusional.
Still, something flickered across his face—something quick, something he tried to hide—before he straightened again.
“You’re imagining things,” he said.
“Am I?”
He held your gaze for a beat too long.
“Trust me,” he said, voice low and annoyingly confident. “If I was staring, you’d know.”
Your heart did something incredibly inconvenient—a tiny jump, a tiny skip, the kind of reaction you immediately wanted to throw into the ocean. You grabbed your glass instead, lifting it like it could physically reset your brain.
“God, you’re insufferable.”
“And yet,” he replied, reaching across the table to steal one of your fries like he had every right to, “you haven’t left.”
You narrowed your eyes. “That was my fry.”
He took a slow, deliberate bite. “Tastes better when it’s yours.”
You kicked him under the table. Hard.
He hissed, jerking his leg back. “Jesus—are you trying to break my leg?”
“Debatable,” you said, taking a calm sip of your drink like you hadn’t just committed violence.
Lando rubbed his shin under the table, glaring at you like you’d personally ruined his evening. “You’re a violent wife.”
Your mouth twitched before you could stop it. “You’re an annoying husband.”
A beat passed—warm, tense, too quiet.
Then he leaned back slightly, smirk tugging at his mouth, eyes glinting in the candlelight.
“You realize if you break my leg, you’d have to take care of me, sweetheart?”
You didn’t even blink.
“I’m gonna throw up.”
His smirk widened, slow and smug, like he’d been waiting for that exact reaction.
And the worst part?
Your heart did that inconvenient little jump again.
────────────
The morning started peacefully. Too peacefully. The kind of peaceful that made you suspicious, like the universe was holding its breath before dropping something heavy on your head.
You and Lando sat at the breakfast table like two people who had agreed to a temporary ceasefire. No shin‑kicking. No dramatic sighs. No sarcastic comments sharp enough to cut through the tropical air. Just quiet eating, the soft clink of cutlery, and the occasional scroll through your phones.
Almost normal.
Almost comfortable.
Then Lando opened his mouth.
“We’re going golfing,” he said casually, not even looking up, biting into a pastry like he was reading the weather report.
“No.”
That one word snapped his attention up instantly. He blinked at you, confused, like he’d never heard the word before.
“What do you mean, no?”
“I mean I hate golf.”
“That’s not a valid reason.”
“It’s a very valid reason.”
He sighed dramatically, like you had personally ruined his entire morning, his week, and possibly his life.
“I can’t play alone.”
“You absolutely can.”
“I can’t.”
You narrowed your eyes. He was lying. Badly. A man who drove cars at terrifying speeds for a living could absolutely survive a solo round of golf.
“You race cars for a living.”
“And?”
“You can function independently.”
He ignored that completely, like you hadn’t spoken at all.
“We’re going. It’s already booked.”
“I didn’t agree to this.”
“You’re my wife,” he said flatly.
You froze.
Slowly lifted your head from your plate.
Stared at him like he’d just confessed to murder.
“I’d rather swim back than be your wife.”
“From the Maldives?”
“Especially from the Maldives.”
He opened his mouth, probably to say something smug, but you cut him off with a raised hand.
“And I’d make it.”
He snorted. “You’d get eaten by a shark.”
“Better than golfing with you.”
Twenty minutes later, you were standing in the golf club lobby anyway. You still weren’t sure how it happened. One moment you were saying no, the next you were being dragged into a shuttle like a hostage. Against your will, obviously. Completely against your will.
Lando was at the counter, talking to the staff like he owned the place, arranging equipment and carts as if this was his idea of a perfect morning. He looked relaxed, confident, annoyingly at his element.
You slipped away toward a small souvenir shop tucked beside the path.
Just for a moment. Just to breathe.
Inside, everything was glossy, overpriced, and aggressively tropical. Shelves full of shell necklaces, handmade bracelets, tiny carved wooden animals, and bright fabrics that probably cost more than your entire suitcase. The kind of things tourists bought when they were sun‑drunk and sentimental.
Then you saw it. A necklace.
A simple one—a thin cord with a small carved turtle pendant hanging from the center. It wasn’t flashy. It wasn’t dramatic. It was just… cute.
You picked it up, letting the pendant rest in your palm. It made you smile before you could stop yourself.
You flipped the tag over and your smile died instantly.
You frowned. Hard.
“You like it?”
Lando’s voice came from behind you.
You jumped slightly, turning to see him leaning in the doorway, holding two golf clubs in one hand and the cart keys dangling from the other. He looked annoyingly casual, like he hadn’t just snuck up on you.
“It’s cute,” you said, “but the price is not cute.”
“How much?”
You held it up for him to see.
He squinted, leaned in a little, then let out a laugh—loud, surprised, real.
“Jesus Christ. That’s the price of the whole honeymoon.”
You huffed. “Exactly.”
You placed the necklace back carefully, almost gently, like it had personally betrayed you but you didn’t want to hurt its feelings. Way too expensive for something that would end up tangled in a drawer anyway.
“Be right back,” you said, already backing away from him. “Bathroom.”
“Don’t get lost,” he muttered without looking up.
“Try not to choke on your ego,” you shot back, turning before he could respond.
The bathroom was exactly what you expected from a place like this—unnecessarily fancy, spotless, and scented with something soft and expensive you’d never be able to justify buying in real life. You lingered longer than you needed to, letting the quiet settle over you. It wasn’t the bathroom you needed. It was the break from him.
When you stepped back out, the sun was brighter, the air warmer, and Lando was still near the shop.
Except… something was off.
He wasn’t doing anything dramatic. He wasn’t pacing or fidgeting or causing chaos. He was just standing there, a little too still, a little too focused on nothing. And the second he saw you, his eyes flicked up fast, scanning you like he was checking for something.
“What?” you asked, narrowing your eyes as you walked toward him.
“Nothing,” he said too quickly.
That was worse. Lando never said nothing quickly. If anything, he usually dragged it out just to annoy you.
You frowned. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
“I’m not.”
“You are.”
“I’m just waiting.”
“For what?”
He shrugged, already turning away, heading toward the golf carts like the conversation bored him. “Nothing.”
You watched him for a moment, trying to figure out what that tiny shift in his expression had been. Something flickering behind his eyes. Something he clearly didn’t want you to notice.
But you decided you didn’t care enough to dig into whatever weird Lando thing this was.
Probably just him being annoying.
You followed him anyway, even though you told yourself you weren’t following him at all—you were just walking in the same direction.
Coincidentally.
Obviously.
The golf course looked like it had been designed specifically to humiliate you. Endless stretches of perfect green, artificial lakes sparkling in the sun, and way too much open space for you to miss shots in front of strangers. It was beautiful in a smug, taunting way.
Lando, unfortunately, looked right at home.
“Okay,” he said, handing you a club like he was already regretting every life choice that led him here. “Just don’t hit anyone.”
“I’m going to hit you.”
“You’re not strong enough.”
That alone made you swing harder than necessary.
The ball went approximately nowhere. It hopped. Maybe. Barely.
Silence.
Then Lando clapped once.
Slowly.
“Fantastic.”
“It moved,” you said defensively.
“Barely.”
“It moved.”
He shook his head, stepping up beside you with the confidence of someone who had been waiting all morning to show off.
“Okay, watch and learn.”
You crossed your arms. “Impress me.”
He didn’t even bother hiding the smirk. It stretched across his face, warm and smug, like he’d been born for this moment.
“One day you’re going to have to admit I’m good at something.”
“Not likely.”
He swung.
Perfect form. Perfect sound. Perfect shot.
The ball sailed clean across the course, cutting through the air like it had been personally trained by God.
Of course it did.
You hated that. You hated how easy he made it look. You hated the way his shoulders relaxed after the swing, the way he exhaled like he’d just done something casual instead of showing off in front of you.
“Show-off,” you muttered.
Lando didn’t even look at you. “Jealousy doesn’t suit you.”
“It’s not jealousy. It’s disappointment.”
“In me?”
“In the universe for letting you be this confident.”
He finally turned, leaning on his club like he had all the time in the world, like he wasn’t actively ruining your morning.
“You know, for someone who keeps insulting me, you’re very invested in my performance.”
You scoffed. “Don’t flatter yourself.”
“I’m not,” he said easily. “Just observing.”
“Stop observing. It’s creepy.”
“You started it.”
“I did not start it.”
“You literally tried to hit me ten minutes ago.”
“That was character development.”
He laughed under his breath, shaking his head.
“You’re impossible.”
“And you’re insufferable.”
“A perfect match, then.”
You shot him a sharp look.
“Don’t get delusional. This is a forced golf situation, not a personality assessment.”
He stepped closer—not much, just enough to make the air feel warmer—lowering his voice like he was letting you in on something you didn’t want.
“Careful,” he said. “Keep talking like that and people might start thinking you enjoy my company.”
You rolled your eyes. “In what world?”
He tilted his head, smirk tugging at his mouth.
“The one where you’ve been watching my swing for the last ten minutes.”
“That’s because I’m hoping you fall into one of those lakes.”
“Sure,” he said, smirking wider. “Keep telling yourself that.”
You opened your mouth to fire back—
But he cut in, casual, careless, like he wasn’t dropping a verbal grenade at your feet:
“Relax. I promise I’m not trying to get you into bed over a golf lesson.”
You froze.
Then stared at him.
“…What is wrong with you?”
Lando blinked, like he genuinely didn’t understand the problem.
“What? I was being nice.”
“That was not nice.”
“It was honest.”
“That makes it worse.”
“Gimme the keys. I’ll drive,” you said, holding out your hand like you were doing him a favor he didn’t deserve.
“Absolutely not.”
“You race cars for a living,” you reminded him, already leaning toward the ignition with far too much confidence for someone who had never driven a golf cart before. “And you’re scared of a golf cart?”
“I’m not scared of it. I’m scared of you driving it.”
“You should be,” you said with a small, satisfied smile as you climbed into the driver’s seat. “Get your ass in there or walk.”
Lando let out the kind of long, dramatic sigh that suggested he was reconsidering every decision that had led him to this moment. “Do you even have a driving licence?”
“I do.”
You absolutely did. Unfortunately for him.
He hesitated for a beat too long before climbing in beside you, gripping the side of the seat like it might suddenly eject him into the bushes. The second you pressed the pedal, the cart lurched forward—not dangerously, not wildly, just enough to make him tense like you’d launched a rocket instead of a glorified toy car.
“You’re overreacting,” you said, steering them down the path with what you considered perfect control. The breeze was warm, the sun was bright, and the cart hummed along peacefully. “You’re sitting in a golf cart, not a missile.”
“I’m observing risk factors,” he muttered, eyes fixed ahead like he was preparing for impact.
“That’s exactly what someone driving like you would say.”
“Relax.”
“I am relaxed.”
He was absolutely not relaxed. His shoulders were tight, his jaw clenched, and he kept shifting like the seat was made of spikes. You took a slightly sharper turn—not reckless, not even fast, just sharper—and the cart tilted a little to the side.
Lando jolted.
His hand shot out without thinking, grabbing your thigh to steady himself.
Both of you froze.
The warmth of his hand lingered for a second, heavy and unexpected, before he snatched it back like it had betrayed him. His face was tight, his voice too quick.
“…That was balance,” he said, staring straight ahead. “I was balancing.”
You looked down at his hand, then back at him, unimpressed and far too aware of the moment. “Put that away.”
“I didn’t mean to—it slipped.”
“Sure it did.”
“It did.”
You didn’t argue. You didn’t tease him. You didn’t even look at him again. You just kept driving, eyes on the path, pretending the moment hadn’t happened. And you definitely didn’t mind that it had.
Not that you would ever admit anything.
────────────
The boat rocked gently over the turquoise water, sunlight bouncing off the surface so brightly it almost hurt to look at. It should have been peaceful, the kind of morning people wrote postcards about. But unfortunately, part of the honeymoon package included couples snorkeling—something that would have been lovely if your “husband” wasn’t Lando Norris.
You sat beside him with your legs tucked under you, still mid‑argument from the pier, still annoyed, still refusing to let him win even a single point.
“No, I’m telling you,” you said, pointing at him like you were presenting evidence in court, “you cheated yesterday.”
“I did not cheat,” he replied flatly, not even blinking. “You just don’t understand basic physics.”
“I understand physics perfectly fine, actually.”
“Clearly not.”
“You literally aimed your ball into a bush and called it strategy.”
“It was strategy.”
Before you could continue, another couple sitting nearby—around your age, relaxed, sun‑kissed, clearly enjoying their vacation—turned toward you with amused smiles. They had that look people get when they stumble into entertainment they didn’t pay for.
“Are you two always like this?” the woman asked, still smiling.
Lando didn’t hesitate. Not even a breath.
“Yes.”
You cut in immediately, shaking your head. “No.”
That earned you a side glance from him, sharp and quick, like he couldn’t believe you’d contradict him in public.
The couple laughed, clearly delighted.
“You’re on your honeymoon, right?” the man asked.
Silence.
A very suspicious silence.
Lando nodded slowly, dragging the word out like it physically pained him. “Unfortunately.”
You kicked his foot under the seat, not gently.
The man looked between you both, still smiling, clearly enjoying the chaos you and Lando brought with you like it was part of the entertainment package. The boat rocked gently beneath you, warm wind brushing your face, but the question he asked cut straight through the easy atmosphere.
“So… why did you get married then?”
It hit a little too directly. A little too cleanly. You didn’t even think before answering.
“Because he’s rich.”
Lando’s head snapped toward you so fast you genuinely thought he might fall off the boat. His eyes were wide, offended, and a little betrayed.
“What?”
The couple laughed, assuming it was a joke—because of course they did. No one sane would say that seriously on a honeymoon boat.
You waved your hand quickly, trying to soften it. “I’m joking.”
“Mostly,” Lando muttered under his breath.
You elbowed him, but the couple didn’t seem to notice. They were still smiling, still entertained, still convinced they were witnessing some adorable newlywed banter instead of two people barely holding their fake marriage together.
“Fair enough,” the man said with a shrug, still amused. Then he leaned forward Lando slightly, curiosity bright in his eyes. “So what do you do, then?”
Your eye twitched at the word husband. It felt too heavy, too sharp, too wrong in your ears.
Lando answered before you could even inhale.
“I drive.”
The man blinked. “Like… cars?”
“Yeah.”
There was a beat—a tiny pause where the man’s face went blank, like his brain was flipping through a mental Rolodex. Then his eyes lit up all at once.
“Oh! Formula 1?”
Lando nodded once, calm on the outside, but you saw the tiny shift in his shoulders. The man’s expression changed instantly, excitement blooming across his face like someone had just handed him front‑row tickets to something huge.
“No way—Lando Norris? My brother is a huge fan! He never shuts up about you.”
Lando froze for the briefest second. It was small, barely there, but you noticed. Of course you noticed. You always noticed the little things he tried to hide.
“Oh,” the man continued, grinning even wider now, “I didn’t know you were married, mate.”
The silence that followed could’ve sunk the boat. It stretched between you and Lando like a rope pulled too tight. You both turned to look at each other at the exact same time, eyes locking in a silent, panicked conversation neither of you wanted to have out loud.
Then, without missing a beat, Lando smiled.
“It was a small wedding, y’know. Kept it private. I like keeping some things to myself.”
The lie rolled off his tongue so smoothly it was almost concerning. He didn’t even blink. He didn’t hesitate. He just… said it.
The man nodded approvingly, buying every word, then turned to you with a warm smile.
“Well, you’re lucky. Having a world champion at home.”
Pardon?
Absolutely not.
You smiled sweetly, matching his tone with practiced ease. “He’s the lucky one.”
Lando glanced at you, something flickering in his eyes—surprise, amusement, maybe a hint of something softer—but you didn’t give him time to process it.
“He’d be hopeless without me,” you added, completely unfazed.
“Oh, absolutely,” Lando replied, his grin returning, though it was a little tighter this time. “I’d forget where I left my trophies.”
The couple laughed, delighted, convinced they were witnessing a charming, playful honeymoon moment.
They had no idea you were both lying through your teeth.
Five minutes later, another problem appeared—one that had nothing to do with fake marriages or curious strangers. The snorkeling mask refused to cooperate. You adjusted the strap once, then again, then a third time, each attempt somehow making it sit even more crooked against your face. The elastic kept slipping, the plastic pressed awkwardly against your cheek, and the whole thing felt like it had been designed specifically to test your patience.
“For God’s sake,” you muttered under your breath, tugging at the strap like it had personally wronged you.
Lando looked over from where he was already wearing his own gear, mask perfectly fitted, snorkel in place, looking like someone who had never struggled with anything in his life. “What are you doing?”
“Trying to make this stupid thing fit,” you snapped, still wrestling with it.
He watched you for a few seconds—long enough to be annoying, long enough to make you feel judged—before letting out an exaggerated sigh that carried across the entire boat. “C’mere.”
“I can do it myself.”
“Clearly.”
You shot him a glare sharp enough to cut through the ocean breeze. “I said I can do it myself.”
“Just come here,” he said, already holding out his hand like he’d made the decision for you. “I want to look like a decent husband while I’m apparently married. The last thing I need is gossip pages saying I abandoned my wife before she even got in the water.”
“How embarrassing,” you muttered, rolling your eyes so hard it almost hurt.
He ignored the comment completely. Instead, he reached out, gently catching your wrist with warm fingers, pulling you the last step closer before you could protest again. The movement was soft, almost careful, and your argument died somewhere in your throat before you could shape it into words.
He reached behind your head with the confidence of someone who absolutely believed he knew what he was doing. His fingers brushed your hair as he tried to fix the loose strap, and within two seconds you felt a sharp tug at your scalp.
“Ow! Stop pulling my hair!”
“I’m not pulling your hair,” Lando said immediately, like the accusation offended him on a personal level.
“You are pulling my hair!”
“Then stop moving!”
“I’m not moving!”
“You’re literally flinching.”
“Because you’re yanking it!”
A couple of snorkelers nearby glanced over, clearly wondering if they needed to intervene. You forced a bright, strained smile, teeth clenched so tightly it almost hurt.
“Everything’s fine,” you said, voice pitched a little too high. “Totally fine.”
Lando didn’t even look up. He was still tangled in the straps, still muttering under his breath like you were the problem and not his complete lack of technique.
“It is not fine,” he grumbled. “You have the coordination of a broken GPS.”
You stared at him, offended on a spiritual level. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me.”
He tugged again.
“Ow—Lando!”
“Relax, I’m fixing it.”
“You’re making it worse.”
“I’m literally not.”
“Yes, you are.”
He paused, leaning back just enough to look at the mask like it was a failed engineering project he’d been assigned against his will. His brows pulled together, his mouth flattening into a line that told you he was already blaming you for whatever he saw.
“…Okay, I see the problem.”
“You are the problem.”
He ignored that completely, like he’d trained himself not to hear your insults anymore. Instead, he shifted closer again, this time slower, more careful, his fingers brushing your hair aside so he could get to the strap properly. The boat rocked gently beneath you, and for a moment the world felt strangely quiet—just the warm air, the soft slap of water against the hull, and his hands working behind your head.
“Stop moving,” he said again, but his voice was quieter now, less irritated and more focused, like he was trying not to mess it up this time.
You went still.
Not because he told you to.
Definitely not.
It was just easier than arguing while he was this close, while his fingers were sorting through your hair with surprising gentleness, while the sun warmed the back of your neck and made everything feel a little too noticeable.
After a few seconds of concentrated effort—the kind where he muttered something under his breath that you pretended not to hear—he tightened the strap properly and stepped back, letting his hands fall away.
“There,” he said, sounding far too proud of himself.
You tested the mask with a small tug.
It didn’t move. Not even a little.
“…Huh.”
“Yeah,” he said, smugness blooming across his face like he’d just solved world peace. “Miracles do happen.”
You narrowed your eyes at him, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a smile.
“Don’t get used to it.”
He grinned, bright and unbothered, the wind catching his hair as the boat rocked again.
“No promises, wife.”
The boat slowed to a stop, the engine cutting out until all you could hear was the soft slap of waves against the hull. It rocked gently over the open water, turquoise stretching in every direction, sunlight so bright it turned everything into glitter. It should have been peaceful. It should have been romantic. It should have been the kind of moment people remembered forever.
But you were here with Lando.
A guide stepped forward with an easy smile, gesturing toward the water. “Alright everyone, this is one of the best spots. Coral reef just below, lots of fish. Stay in pairs, enjoy yourselves, and don’t wander too far.”
“Stay in pairs,” Lando repeated under his breath, just loud enough for you to hear. “Heard him, wife?”
You shot him a warning look. “Don’t start.”
But he was already smirking, already enjoying himself far too much for someone who’d spent the entire morning annoying you.
Before either of you could argue, the guide clapped his hands. “Okay—snorkeling time!”
You turned to adjust your mask one last time, fingers brushing the strap—
And Lando shoved you. Hard.
There was no time to react. No time to yell properly. Just a sharp gasp and the sudden, shocking drop as the world tilted.
You hit the water with a splash that swallowed the sound instantly. Cold, bright blue wrapped around you, rushing over your head, filling your ears, stealing your breath for a moment. The ocean felt huge, endless, everywhere at once.
You resurfaced seconds later, coughing, hair plastered to your face, mask askew.
“Lando—!”
He was already in the water beside you, laughing so hard he had to wipe his eyes. The sun caught the droplets on his face, turning him into something annoyingly golden and carefree.
“You were taking too long,” he said, still grinning.
“I hate you!” you yelled, already swimming toward him with more force than necessary.
He only laughed harder, kicking away just enough to stay out of reach, the water rippling between you.
You made it exactly two strokes before something brushed your foot again. It was light, barely there, just a soft flick against your skin—but it didn’t matter. Your entire body locked up instantly, every muscle going stiff like you’d been hit with electricity.
“Nope—nope—nope—” you sputtered, kicking upward in pure panic.
“Relax,” Lando called, still laughing, still floating like this was the easiest thing in the world. “It’s just fish.”
“I don’t care what it is!”
Another brush—this time against your ankle, quick and cold.
That was it.
You didn’t think. You didn’t plan. You didn’t even breathe. You just launched yourself forward on instinct, arms flailing, legs kicking, heart pounding so loudly you could hear it in your ears—
—and you basically jumped straight into his arms.
Lando caught you automatically, the impact pushing him backward a little in the water. His hands came up around you without hesitation, steadying you, holding you up as you clung to him like the ocean was trying to drag you under.
For a second, he didn’t move. He just stood there in the water, arms half‑raised, eyes wide, like he wasn’t sure what version of reality he’d just stepped into.
Then he looked down at you.
“…Are you hugging me right now?”
“No.”
“You are literally attached to me.”
“I am stabilising myself.”
“Against my chest?”
“Shut up!”
His laugh came immediately—bright, loud, helpless—the kind that shook his shoulders and made the water ripple around you. He tilted his head back, still laughing, like he couldn’t believe this was happening.
And even though your heart was still racing, even though your legs were still wrapped around him more than you wanted to admit, even though you were absolutely not letting go yet…
You felt something warm slip into your chest.
Something you refused to name.
────────────
By the time the snorkeling trip ended, you had decided—very calmly, very rationally—that you deserved a drink. Preferably several. The kind that came in tall glasses with too much ice and not enough sense. The resort bar overlooked the ocean, the sky turning soft shades of gold and pink as the sun dipped lower. Music drifted through the warm evening air, blending with the sound of waves and the low hum of guests laughing around candlelit tables.
Lando stood a few steps away, somehow already deep in conversation with his new friend from the boat. They were talking with their hands, laughing too loudly, probably bonding over Formula 1 or golf or whatever else inflated his ego. You didn’t care enough to find out. You just wanted something cold, something strong, something that would make the memory of fish touching your legs fade into the background.
You leaned against the counter and ordered the strongest cocktail on the menu. The bartender slid it toward you with a practiced smile, the glass sweating in the warm air. You wrapped your fingers around it, grateful for the chill, ready to take the first blessed sip—
When a voice spoke from beside you.
“Try smiling a little.”
You turned your head slowly, already tired, already annoyed. A man stood there, a few years older, wearing a shirt that tried too hard and a smile that tried even harder. He looked at you like he’d just delivered the most charming line in the world, like he expected you to melt on the spot.
You looked at him. Then at your drink. Then back at him.
“Try minding your own business a little.”
“I’m just being friendly.”
“Then be friendly somewhere else.”
He laughed, the kind of laugh men use when they think you’re playing hard to get instead of trying to end the conversation. His elbow slid onto the bar, his posture loose, confident, practiced.
“That attitude won’t get you very far.”
“I’m already exactly where I want to be,” you said, lifting your drink like a shield.
“You sure?” he asked, leaning in just a little. “You look lonely.”
You opened your mouth—ready to shut him down properly this time—when a warm hand settled lightly on your waist.
Not gripping.
Not pulling.
Just… there.
“Everything okay, baby?”
Lando.
You turned so fast you nearly sloshed your drink over the rim. For what might have been the first time since this entire ridiculous honeymoon began, you felt something close to relief wash through you. His presence cut through the moment like a lifeline you didn’t know you needed.
The stranger blinked, looking between the two of you, confusion flickering across his face.
“And you are…?”
Lando didn’t hesitate. Not even for a breath.
“Her husband.”
He said it smoothly, easily, like it was the most natural thing in the world. His hand stayed on your waist, warm and steady. The stranger’s expression shifted, surprise tightening his mouth before he stepped back a little.
“Oh,” the man said after a moment, blinking like he’d just been handed information he didn’t know what to do with. “Didn’t know she was married.”
Lando offered a small, polite smile—the kind he used in interviews when he was pretending to be patient.
“She is.”
The conversation should have ended there. It should have drifted off into the warm evening air and disappeared like every other awkward bar interaction on vacation.
Instead, the man chuckled and looked right back at you, like he hadn’t learned a single thing.
“You should teach her some basic manners, man.”
The easy smile vanished from Lando’s face so fast it was almost impressive.
“What?”
The stranger shrugged, casual, careless, like he was commenting on the weather. “She’s got quite the attitude.”
“And so what?” Lando shot back, voice sharper now. “She doesn’t owe you a shit.”
The man lifted a brow. “Doesn’t mean she can act like a bi—”
“Hey!” Lando stepped forward so quickly the man actually leaned back. “Don’t talk about my wife like that or I’ll beat the shit out of—”
He was too close now. Way too close. His shoulders were tight, jaw clenched, eyes locked on the guy like he’d forgotten this was supposed to be an act. You didn’t even know if he was pretending anymore.
“Lando,” you said quietly, reaching for his wrist. Your fingers brushed his skin, warm and tense. “Drop it.”
He didn’t look at you right away. He stayed there for a heartbeat longer, breathing hard, anger still simmering under the surface.
Then, slowly, he stepped back.
Not because the man deserved it. But because you asked. The irony wasn’t lost on you—the one time he actually acted like a husband was the moment you needed him to stop.
“You okay?” Lando asked.
You blinked, because the question caught you more off guard than the argument ever had. It wasn’t the words themselves—it was the way he said them, low and tight, like he’d been holding them in since the moment he stepped between you and that guy at the bar.
“I’m fine,” you said quickly. “I had it handled.”
Lando let out a short laugh, but it didn’t reach his eyes. It didn’t even come close. “Yeah. I could tell. You were doing a great job being harassed at the bar.”
Your jaw tightened, heat rising in your chest. “I didn’t need you to save me like that.”
“Right,” he said, nodding once, sharp and clipped. “So next time I should just stand there and let him keep going?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“That’s what it sounded like.”
“I didn’t ask you to play my husband.”
That one landed differently—you felt it the second it left your mouth. Lando went quiet, the kind of quiet that wasn’t defensive or angry, just… wounded. He exhaled through his nose, looking away toward the ocean like he needed a second to reset whatever expression had almost slipped through.
“Yeah,” he said finally. “Fair.”
You took a sip of your drink, more out of habit than thirst, trying to steady yourself, trying to find the right words before the wrong ones kept spilling out.
“I can handle myself,” you added, quieter now, softer, because you meant it but you didn’t want it to sound like a wall.
“I know you can,” he replied immediately.
That made you pause.
He looked back at you then, the sharpness in his expression easing just enough that you could finally see the truth sitting underneath it—not anger, not irritation, but something quieter.
“I just didn’t like the way he was talking to you,” Lando said, voice low, steady, almost too honest.
You scoffed lightly, because that felt safer than acknowledging whatever was happening in your chest.
“Since when do you care?”
That earned you a small, humorless smile—the kind that didn’t reach his eyes, the kind that told you he’d already had this argument with himself long before you opened your mouth.
“I don’t,” he said. “Usually.”
A beat.
“But he was being a dick.”
You rolled your eyes, but it wasn’t as strong as you wanted it to be. It felt flimsy, thin, like you were trying to hold onto a version of the conversation that had already slipped away.
“And you decided that made you responsible for the entire situation?”
“I decided,” he corrected, leaning back slightly, shoulders tense, “that I didn’t want him standing there talking to you like that.”
You studied him for a second—the set of his jaw, the way he kept glancing at the ocean like it might give him an escape route, the way his fingers tapped once against his thigh before he stilled them. He wasn’t posturing. He wasn’t trying to win. He was just… telling you the truth.
“Still didn’t need to act like that,” you said, quieter now.
“Neither did he.”
Another pause—heavier this time, stretched thin between you like a wire ready to snap.
Then Lando tilted his head slightly, eyes narrowing just a fraction as he looked at you.
“You’re really going to stay mad at me for this?”
The question wasn’t defensive.
It was something else entirely—something that made your breath catch, because suddenly it felt like he wasn’t asking about the bar anymore.
He was asking about him. About you. About whatever the hell had been simmering between you long before tonight.
You opened your mouth again, still riding the leftover adrenaline from stopping him.
“I just think you don’t get to—”
“Shut up.”
You stopped. Blinking. “Excuse me?”
“I said shut up.”
“I’m literally in the middle of talking.”
“Yeah,” Lando said, stepping a fraction closer, eyes locked on yours, “I noticed.”
You frowned, heat rising in your chest. “Don’t tell me to—”
He cut you off. Not with words.
He just kissed you.
Quick. Firm. Completely unexpected. It wasn’t gentle, and it wasn’t planned, and it definitely wasn’t something either of you had agreed to in any universe where you were still pretending to hate each other properly. It hit you like a spark—sharp, bright, over before you could even process it.
It lasted maybe two seconds.
Then he pulled back like nothing had happened, like he hadn’t just short‑circuited your entire brain.
You stared at him. He stared back.
Then, very calmly, he said, “I said shut up.”
Your brain lagged, trying to catch up, trying to make sense of the moment, the heat still buzzing on your lips.
“…Norris, what the fuck?”
He didn’t answer right away. His chest rose and fell once, slow, steady, like he was trying to pretend he wasn’t affected at all.
But his eyes told a different story.
A very different one.
Lando didn’t even blink. “What?”
“You just—” you gestured wildly between the two of you, your voice climbing without your permission. “You just kissed me.”
“Yeah.”
“‘Yeah’?” you repeated, staring at him like he’d lost his mind.
He frowned slightly, like you were the one being dramatic. Like you were the unreasonable one here.
“You were overthinking it,” he said, tone maddeningly calm. “Overthinking’s bad for you, baby.”
That made you pause. You hated that it made you pause. You hated the way the word baby slid under your skin like it belonged there.
“…Right,” you said slowly, trying to gather your thoughts. “Doesn’t mean you can just kiss me.”
“Pretty sure I can,” he replied, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.
You narrowed your eyes at him, crossing your arms, trying to rebuild whatever dignity you had left.
“Hm. Don’t think this means anything though.”
“I would never,” Lando said immediately.
Too immediately.
The kind of immediate that wasn’t casual at all. The kind that sounded like he’d rehearsed it. The kind that made something warm twist low in your stomach.
You studied him, searching his face for even a flicker of something he didn’t want you to see.
He held your gaze without flinching, jaw set, eyes steady, like he was daring you to call him out. “…Good,” you said finally, lifting your chin. “Because it doesn’t.”
“Of course not.”
His voice was smooth. Too smooth. Like he was trying to convince himself as much as you. And the worst part? You weren’t convinced either.
────────────
The villa was suspiciously quiet, the kind of quiet that made every thought in your head sound louder. You sat on the edge of the outdoor couch with your legs pulled in, staring out at the dark water. The waves moved in slow, steady lines, catching bits of moonlight and breaking them apart. It should have been calming.
It wasn’t. You were trying not to think. Which, of course, only made you think more.
About Lando. About the kiss. About the way he’d looked afterward—too calm, too steady, like he hadn’t just scrambled your ability to act normal around him. About how everything had been… different since then. Not worse. Not better. Just different in a way neither of you had dared to name.
And about how today was the last day. The last night of this ridiculous honeymoon.
Behind you, the sliding door opened.
You didn’t turn. “Go away,” you mumbled.
“I live here too,” Lando said, dropping onto the couch beside you. He didn’t look at you. He just stared out at the ocean like he’d been doing it long before he walked outside.
Silence stretched between you, warm and heavy.
Then, after a minute—
“Well.”
“Well,” Lando echoed.
You exhaled slowly, eyes still on the water. “At least tomorrow we can go back to normal.”
He finally glanced at you. “Normal?”
“You know,” you said, still refusing to look at him. “You hating me. Me hating you.”
“Right.”
But he didn’t sound convinced.
And the worst part? Neither did you.
The breeze moved through the villa again, soft and warm, brushing over your skin like it knew something you didn’t want to admit. Lando shifted beside you, just enough that you felt the movement, not enough to call it anything.
Normal. You said it like you wanted it. But the word didn’t sit right anymore.
The silence fell again, stretching out between you like a thin thread. But this time, Lando was the one who spoke first.
“This trip wasn’t that bad.”
You let out a quiet laugh, shaking your head. “That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”
“Don’t let it go to your head.”
“Hm.” You looked back at the water, the moonlight breaking across the waves. “At least we survived.”
A beat.
“Now we’ll just go back to avoiding each other like before.”
“Yeah,” Lando said.
Then, after a pause that felt a little too long—
“Yeah,” he repeated, quieter. “That’s the problem.”
You finally turned your head. He wasn’t smiling anymore.
His jaw was tight, his eyes fixed on the horizon like he didn’t trust himself to look at you. The warm breeze moved through the villa, brushing over your skin, but it didn’t soften the moment. It only made it clearer.
For the first time all night, you couldn’t tell if he was joking.
Or if he meant it.
And the way he sat there—shoulders tense, hands still, breath a little uneven—made something in your chest shift in a way you weren’t ready for.
You swallowed, the words catching in your throat.
“…Lando?”
He didn’t look away from the ocean. But his voice was low, honest in a way that made your heart stutter.
“I don’t want to go back to that.”
You looked at him, confused.
“What?”
Lando kept staring out at the water. And for the first time since you’d known him, he looked nervous. Actually nervous. His shoulders were tight, his jaw working like he was trying to choose the right words and failing.
“I didn’t want to come here,” he said quietly.
“I noticed.”
“I thought it’d be the worst week of my life.”
You smiled faintly. “Again, noticed.”
A small laugh escaped him—soft, almost embarrassed.
Then—
“But somewhere between you nearly killing me with a golf cart…”
“You grabbed my thigh.”
“Not helping.”
You let out a quiet huff of laughter despite yourself. “Continue.”
Lando exhaled, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck. “I’m serious.”
“I know.”
A beat passed—warm, heavy, stretching between you like a held breath.
He didn’t look at you when he spoke again.
“It stopped being annoying.”
Your smile faded a little. “…When?”
Lando shrugged, like the answer wasn’t important even though it clearly was. “Dunno.”
Silence settled again. The ocean kept moving, steady and calm, like it didn’t care that something between you had just shifted in a way you couldn’t undo.
Then he finally looked at you. Really looked.
“And now I don’t really want it to end. Us.”
Your breath caught—just a tiny, sharp inhale—but you masked it quickly with a scoff, like you could pretend the moment wasn’t sitting between you, warm and terrifying.
“Somewhere between pushing you into the ocean and kissing you to shut you up…” Lando said, his voice quieter now, steadier in a way that made your stomach twist. He wasn’t smiling anymore. He wasn’t hiding behind jokes or smirks or that stupid confidence he wore like armor. He was just looking at you—really looking—and it stripped away every layer of distance you’d been pretending still existed.
“I think I fell in love with you.”
You stared at him.
For a moment, your brain simply refused to cooperate. The words sat there in the air, warm and heavy, like a language you almost understood but couldn’t quite translate. You blinked once. Then again. Your heart thudded in your chest, too loud, too fast, like it was trying to catch up to something your mind hadn’t processed yet.
“…That’s actually really embarrassing for you,” you managed, because your mouth was apparently determined to save you from sincerity at all costs.
Lando didn’t move. Didn’t laugh.
Didn’t roll his eyes or shove your shoulder or call you dramatic. He just stared at you like he couldn’t believe you’d said that. Like you’d knocked the air out of him.
“Are you serious?” he asked, voice flat, almost stunned.
“A little.”
“I just told you I love you.”
“I know.”
“And that’s your response?”
You exhaled softly, something nervous and warm and terrifying settling in your chest all at once. You felt it rise up, felt it push against your ribs, felt it spill into your throat before you could stop it. And then your mouth betrayed you—not with sarcasm this time, but with a smile.
A real one. A soft one.
The kind you didn’t give to people you hated.
“Good thing I love you too.”
The words left you before you could second‑guess them, before you could hide them behind a joke, before you could pretend you didn’t mean them. They hung there between you, gentle and impossible to take back.
Lando’s breath caught—just barely, just enough for you to notice. His eyes softened, the tension in his shoulders loosening like he’d been holding something in for days.
Lando didn’t move for a second.
Just stared.
Like he was waiting for a punchline that didn’t come. Like he was bracing for you to laugh or shove him or turn everything into a joke the way you always did when things got too close.
Then, quietly—
“…What?”
You let out a breath, half‑laughing, half in disbelief at yourself, because you couldn’t believe you were actually saying this out loud. “I said I love you, idiot.”
His expression shifted immediately. The shock didn’t disappear, but it softened into something raw, something unguarded, something he clearly wasn’t used to showing anyone. His eyes searched your face like he was trying to make sure he’d heard you right.
“You can’t just say that like it’s—”
“What? A prank?” you cut in, shaking your head. “No. Unfortunately for both of us, it’s real.”
Silence again.
The ocean kept moving. The wind didn’t care. The whole world stayed exactly the same while your heart tried to beat its way out of your chest. You looked down at your hands, then back at him, because avoiding his eyes wasn’t helping.
“You were pissing me off the entire trip,” you admitted, your voice softer than you meant it to be.
That got a faint, incredulous laugh out of him—the kind that slipped out before he could stop it. “Cheers.”
“It’s true,” you said quickly, pointing at him like it helped your argument. “You were annoying. Arrogant. You shoved me into the ocean. You called me a violent wife.”
“I was right about that one.”
“Shut up.”
But your voice wasn’t sharp anymore. It wavered slightly, like the truth underneath it was pushing its way through.
“And I really did hate you at the beginning,” you added, quieter now. “Like, properly.”
Lando’s gaze didn’t leave you. Not for a second.
“But?”
You hesitated.
That part was the hardest one. The part that felt like stepping off a ledge and hoping he’d catch you.
“But…” you exhaled, looking away toward the water like it might make this easier. “I think it started changing when you defended me at the bar.”
He went still.
Your fingers tightened slightly in your lap, the memory hitting you harder now that you were saying it out loud.
“That guy was being an asshole,” you continued, your voice softer, steadier. “And I was handling it, or trying to. And you just… stepped in.”
A small pause.
“And I remember thinking you were so angry,” you said, almost like you were discovering it again. “Like actually angry. Not joking, not teasing. Just… protective.”
You glanced at him again.
“That confused me more than anything you did on this entire trip.”
A faint breath left Lando, like he didn’t know what to do with that. His shoulders dropped a little, the tension easing in a way that made him look younger, more open, more real.
Then he finally spoke.
“I just hated the idea of somebody talking to you like that.”
His voice was quieter than before. Not defensive. Not playful. Just honest in a way that made your chest tighten.
A beat passed.
He gave a small shrug, like he was trying to pretend it didn’t matter as much as it did.
“I don’t know,” he added. “It pissed me off.”
The silence that followed wasn’t uncomfortable anymore. It didn’t feel sharp or heavy or awkward. It was just… full. Like something had finally settled into place between you, something neither of you could pretend wasn’t there anymore. The air felt warmer. The night felt closer. And for the first time, you didn’t feel like you were waiting for the moment to break.
You swallowed slightly, still looking at him, still trying to understand the way your chest felt too tight and too light at the same time. “…Thank you,” you said quietly.
Lando gave you a small, almost confused glance, like he wasn’t sure he’d heard you right. “For what?”
You let out a soft breath, half a laugh, half something else. “For… all of it, I guess.”
That earned you a look from him you weren’t used to—soft, steady, not trying to twist into a joke. He didn’t hide behind anything this time. He just looked at you like he was letting himself be seen.
Then he shifted slightly, reaching into his pocket. “I have something for you.”
You blinked, watching as he pulled out a small silver chain. A turtle necklace. The same one you’d stared at in the shop. The same one you’d pretended you didn’t want.
Your breath caught. “…You bought it?” you asked, taking it carefully from his hand.
“Yeah.”
“Why?”
“You said it was cute.”
“But it was so expensive!”
“And?” he said simply, like the answer should’ve been obvious. “Do I look like I care?”
Your fingers closed gently around the necklace, holding it like it might slip away if you weren’t careful. The charm felt warm against your skin, like it had been waiting in his pocket for this exact moment.
“…You didn’t have to,” you said again, quieter now, the words almost slipping out on their own.
“I know.”
A beat passed.
“But I wanted to.”
That was it. No joke. No smirk. No dramatic line to cover the truth. Just him. Just honesty. Just the kind of softness you never expected from him and didn’t know how to handle.
You looked at him for a second longer than you meant to—long enough to feel something shift in your chest, long enough to feel your breath catch again.
Then you moved before your brain could talk you out of it.
You grabbed the front of his shirt and pulled him in.
The kiss was softer this time. Not rushed. Not defensive. Not a reaction to anything. Just real. Just warm. Just the two of you finally letting something happen that had been building all week. His hand came up to your jaw, gentle in a way that made your heart stutter, and for a moment the whole villa felt still.
When you pulled back, you were both slightly breathless, and for once neither of you pretended it meant nothing. You stayed close, your forehead almost touching his, your breath mixing with his in the warm night air.
“Thank you,” you whispered, the words brushing against his lips.
Lando let out a quiet breath of a laugh, soft and disbelieving. “Yeah,” he said, voice low. Then, after a beat—one that felt like it stretched forever—he added, “I love you.”
Your heart stuttered. For a second, you just stared at him, like you were making sure you hadn’t imagined it, like you needed to see the truth in his eyes before you let yourself believe it.
Then your mouth softened into a small smile, warm and helpless. “…You’re so annoying,” you murmured.
He frowned slightly. “That’s not an answer.”
You exhaled, still smiling, still feeling that strange, steady warmth spreading through your chest. “I know.”
A pause.
Then, quieter—completely sure this time: “I love you too.”
And this time, neither of you joked your way out of it. Neither of you looked away. Neither of you pretended it didn’t matter. It mattered. And you both knew it.
babsie radio ! had so many problems while editing this I hit the damn 1000-block limit way too soon!!! I literally wanted to write one more last scene where they come back and P and Max are so confused because they don’t hate each other anymore 😩 I’m so annoyed! I might write a short oneshot of that if you guys want. I hope you enjoy this! This story is so dear to me <3 first fic of summer 2026! 💗
author's note: fun fact- this was an idea i’ve had for a while (and wrote a rough timeline of events for a different ship altogether years ago), and i finally decided to actually write it out! i’m not sure what the upload schedule will look like moving forward, but i’m anticipating this to be around ten or so chapters when complete. ao3 link here!
series masterlist
word count: 1.9k
glårefjell did not look like oscar expected it to.
the bustling town seemed alive even from the outskirts where he stood atop a hill, the wooden fencing serving as a facade of safety from the elements. his boots are damp with the morning dew from the greenery he crushed under his sole, running a hand through his hair before slipping it into his pocket.
the dagger he found inside the woolen interior sent a thrill down his spine, the weight of it making him grin to himself with a glint in his deep brown eyes. his presence here seemed nothing short of trouble brewing for the village below, children laughing as they chase after their livestock.
the town felt soft, like each design choice had been carefully cultivated with a helping hand from the gods above. it had structure, the roads mapped out with intent and each thatched roof in pristine condition. almost every house had some form of greenery, whether it be flowers blooming in garden boxes or ivy working its way up the sides of the walls.
townsfolk moved about like they had no worries or qualms, like they trusted their ruler with everything. oscar couldn’t help the corner of his mouth from twitching south with something akin to disdain. he would be lying to himself if he said this quaint town would be of much benefit to his own needs, but his father’s jurisdiction was final.
“this is pathetic,” he murmurs to himself, picking a wildflower that brushed up against his boot. “all this peace.. it’d be a shame if something disturbed it.”
a breeze curls around him and whisks the flower from his fingers, like njord himself forbade a demigod of loki to hold onto anything fragile. the scent of freshly chopped wood and something baked made its way to his nose, the warmth of the scent making his eyes slip shut.
it didn’t feel right. it smelled.. manufactured.
his eyes narrow as he scans over the roofs and stalls along the far side of town, raising a brow.
of course a child of freyja would never use fear to keep their subjects in line. it seems like the demigod here chose to wrap the town in a blanket of false protection, rooting their devotion and desire to serve him into a beautiful cocoon from harm.
“let’s see how long this can last,” he muses, brushing his hand along the tips of ferns and shrubs as he walks a few paces closer to the town.
————————
lando didn’t need anyone to tell him there was a stranger in town, because he could feel the wrongness of it before he stepped foot into the commotion of the square.
the feeling is as if someone is scratching and pulling at the nape of his neck, like the gods themselves were attempting to hold him back from the encounter. it felt as if this person was tugging relentlessly on one thread that he had just sewed perfectly, testing his capabilities.
he stood beside one of glårefjell’s most outspoken mothers as she droned on and on about her daughter’s wedding in a fortnight, nodding where he thought best to show he was listening.
his hand is held tightly between her own and he brushes a palm over her forearm, passing a silent blessing over to her with a gentle caress. the mother beams in response, thanking him over and over for soothing her troubled mind and granting her this reprieve from the stress the wedding preparations have been causing.
lando couldn’t help the soft smile on his face, relief flooding through him as well at the ease that he could now leave the conversation.
he is a good ruler, by everyone’s standards.
he is flawless with his ability to calm tensions before they ever have a chance to boil over, never hesitating to fix whatever is resisting the harmony that he prided himself in maintaining.
though as soon as the mother turns away, his countenance drops. there’s a sharp focus there instead of his usual soft smile, his eyes scanning over the rooftops to the hills beyond the town.
lando’s eyes narrow when he finds the outsider grinning down at him, waving his fingers. “you aren’t subtle,” he murmurs, turning his back on the lurking figure.
he knew he’d cross paths with him sooner rather than later.
————————
their paths ended up crossing around midday, just as oscar planned.
his first introduction to the son of freyja wouldn’t be one that he wanted the other demigod to forget.
his path through glårefjell was one that came naturally to him, brushing through crowds with a deliberate harshness, slipping in comments he knew would make a mortal stop in their tracks to consider. there were significantly more quizzical faces or frowns once he finally saw lando standing in the town square, grinning at the distaste on his face he could see from even this far away.
he wasn’t doing anything lando could punish, nothing with concrete proof even able to be seen.
a mental fracture could last much longer than a physical action in oscar’s mind, and he capitalized on it with every individual he passed by on the way to the center of town.
the air around the town lost some of its composure, feeling like the ripples on a still lake when someone skips a stone across the surface.
he comes to a stop a few feet away from the small, shallow fountain lando is leaning against, cocking his head to the side as he allows himself the pleasure of taking in the other’s appearance for the first time.
he’s beautiful, ethereal in a way that any mortal would dream and pray to be. he holds himself with a weight that makes oscar blink, his presence still echoing through the space of the town square.
the blue-green pools of his eyes reflect with the rays of sun from the moving water, warm and inviting.
dangerous, in oscar’s opinion.
“now i understand why everyone adores you,” oscar hums, licking his lips with an ease that seems to irritate the other demigod. “i take it you’re the leader here?”
“you should not be here,” lando answers, no warmth in his face as he assesses just who is standing in front of him. “nothing good can come from you.”
oscar bristles at the dismissal in his tone, a smug grin sneaking its way onto his face. “i thought this town was built on foundations of community, no?” he purrs, dragging his gaze up and down lando’s form. “yet i cannot even get a warm introduction from his majesty. i was told this place would welcome anyone who seeks asylum, but i must be mistaken.”
“we do welcome asylum,” lando snaps, the color in his eyes seeming to dance as he meets oscar’s gaze head-on. “however, we do not need those who do not come in good faith. i’m certain you do not.”
oscar can’t help the laugh that escapes him, delighted by lando’s response. “i can’t believe you are so quick to judge someone, your majesty,” he hums, taking a step closer to the other. he rolls his neck with a sigh before meeting lando’s eyes again.
his own essence seeps out from below his feet, and he can see the glint of recognition in lando’s face as he feels more pairs of eyes glance over in fear.
“you’re one of his,” lando mutters, his voice low enough to barely be heard over the commotion of the town. “loki.”
“and you’re freyja’s,” oscar replies, as if the information is quite apparent to anyone with eyes. “yet i still don’t know your name.”
the demigod stiffens, raising a brow. “i assumed you knew what you needed if you have reason to bring yourself here to my town.”
“i could keep calling you your majesty,” oscar starts, smirking. “i should’ve known a child of freyja would have an appreciation for titles. it makes you feel powerful when you persuade the town to follow you, doesn’t it?”
something dark flashes across lando’s face, the demigod barely able to reign it back in. “every individual in this village chooses to be here and thus chooses to follow under my guidance,” he grits out, putting on a faux smile. “if they did not wish to follow me, they could leave. but as i’m sure you’ve noticed, son of loki, not a single person has chosen that path.”
oscar takes another step toward lando, relishing in every bit of tension he sees growing. “do they choose, or do you just make the choice easier to say yes to?”
the comment seems to break what little restraint lando had left, the other closing the rest of the distance between him and oscar in the blink of an eye. he stabs a finger against oscar’s chest, jaw set in a firm line. “how dare you try to come into my village and try to provoke me with your-”
“so it’s working?” oscar purrs, cutting lando’s hissed words off halfway through his sentence. the interruption stops him cold, his finger still pressed against oscar’s chest so hard his skin is white.
there’s a fraction of a second where oscar thinks he’s already won this battle before a saccharine smile slides onto lando’s face, his eyes softening in an instant.
“of course you’re not,” he muses, tilting his head as if the idea of him losing his cool was unheard of. he steps back from oscar like he needs the space to collect himself, lashes fluttering before he extends an open hand. “my name is lando, it’s a pleasure to have you here in glårefjell.”
oscar purses his lips at the attempt to seem unfazed, gripping lando’s hand tight with his own. “oscar,” he murmurs, his brown eyes burning with challenge.
a wave of warmth washes over him as lando’s thumb strokes over his knuckles, like something is pulling him to stay soft and docile while in the town’s streets. his breath hitches as he meets the demigod’s eyes, a gentle smile on his face.
oscar yanks his hand back, raising a brow at the other as his grin sharpens. “careful, your majesty. you almost had me there,” he purrs, flicking his hand absentmindedly to rid himself of lando’s pull.
lando remained silent, studying the trickster’s son in front of him with a weight that would make any mortal squirm and try to hide.
but not oscar.
“i believe you will be disappointed to find that not everything here will bend to your incessant need for disorder,” he sighs, clasping his hands behind his back.
oscar lets out a snort, looking incredulously at the other. “i don’t need everything to bend,” he replies. “i need just enough for you to lose your way.”
lando’s eyes flash with something that oscar can only compare to rage at the obvious threat before glazing back over with an icy calm. he doesn’t give the demigod a chance to retort before he’s bowing mockingly, cutting his eyes up to look at lando’s glowering face.
“until then, your majesty.”
he turns on his heel and walks away, the crowds of townsfolk parting to let him pass as a sense of unease seems to grow with every step he takes.
lando’s eyes remain on oscar every step of the way, letting out a labored sigh as he pinches the bridge of his nose.
this threat is not one he has encountered before.
this isn’t something seeking power or attention.
this is a demigod seeking to corrupt and unmake the careful precision it took to keep this town the way it has always been since lando arrived here years ago.
this is a demigod that despite every feeling lando should have about being here, seems interested in not only the town, but lando himself.
and perhaps worst of all; lando couldn’t help but look forward to the challenge of another demigod grasping for power and chaos in his own domain.
synopsis ⇩
lando, son of freyja, has ruled peacefully over the small village of glårefjell for years. his leadership isn’t questioned, and he leads with grace and dignity that never seems to falter.
oscar, son of loki, has other plans. he is sent with a single goal: to break the perfect facade the other demigod has managed to keep up for so long.
what should have been a simple task for the trickster’s son leads to him discovering that the son of freyja has spent his entire rule suppressing the vengeful side of his mother’s power, and his taunts are making it impossible to hide any longer.
glårefjell stands caught between the two demigods and their own battles finding the balance between peace and chaos, control and prosperity, and a game that neither of them have any intention of backing down from.
hi mic!! as a fellow swiftie could you please write something for either lando or osc based off right where you left me ?? doesn’t need a happy ending i love a bit of angst that hurts my feeling 😅
right where you left me - ln1 au
sorry this took a while but better late than never. hope you like it!
lando x reader, angst, 1,6k
masterlist
﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌
They said you're supposed to know. She has heard the cliche phrase her entire life: “when you know, you know”.
When she met him, she thought she finally got what they meant.
She had been invited to the race by a brand.
She had never watched Formula 1 before, didn't care that much about it. But once she set foot in the paddock, the atmosphere swept her off her feet. The noise. The fierceness. The speed.
They were invited to the afterparty, somehow. Her friend knew everyone and everyone knew her.
When they arrived at the club, she dragged her to say hello to Carlos, congratulate him on winning the race. Carlos smiled at them and thanked them.
By his side, there was a younger man. Curly-haired. Pretty grin. He extended his hand towards her.
“Lando Norris,” he introduced himself. He had been on the podium, she remembered.
She felt for him just as fast as the race cars moved on track.
She was never a stranger to famous people or rich people—most of the time, both. She didn't get starstruck or flustered in front of beautiful people. But those green eyes with tiny specks of gold, looking at her with curiosity and amusement, was the first time she thought to herself “Oh, fuck—I'm in trouble”.
Her friend elbowed her and she realized she hadn't shaken the hand he was extending. She took it trying to fight the blush creeping up.
“Nice to meet you,” she said, trying to ignore the lightning bolts of electricity shooting up her forearm. She knew she had a deer-eye expression and wondered in embarrassment if he was noticing any of this. A little part of her also wondered if maybe he felt it too.
He made no effort to leave their side the rest of the night. Not even when her friend excused herself to go greet an old friend, not even when people came to congratulate him on his podium, or when girls tried to flirt with him. He gave polite smiles and turned his attention back to her.
It was dizzying. It was addicting. Each time he leaned closer, whispered something in her ear to try to keep the conversation going on top of the loud music, arms brushing and knees touching, her stomach did summersaults. She felt as if she was floating in a cloud.
Suddenly, he perked up, an idea clearly dancing in his eyes. He tilted forward, a cheeky grin “Are you hungry?”
She tilted her head, confused, and nodded. It was the right response.
He nodded back, clearly satisfied at her answer. His hand engulfed hers and he started walking, moving them through the crowd.
She let out a carefree laugh, not caring about the people giving them curious looks.
“Lando,” she protested but it didn’t hold much weight as she giggled. “What are you doing?”
“Just trust me,” he shouted back, barely audible above the music.
And so she let him guide her out of the party, into the car, and eventually into a restaurant.
They were clearly overdressed for the place. Despite the dim lighting, the place was simple. Stone walls decorated with landscape photographs and a strong smell of yeast.
Lando collapsed into a chair, table near the window, and gestured at her to do the same. She stood there fidgeting, unsure about what was going on.
“What are we doing here?” she asked.
Lando grabbed the menu, hummed at her absentmindedly as he read.
“Eating,” he replied, as if it was obvious.
She guessed it kind of was. They were at a restaurant, after all, but—
“You can’t be serious. Did we leave your friend’s win celebration for…dinner?”
“Not just dinner,” he replied. He closed the menu, seemingly satisfied with his decision, and stood back up to pull out the chair for her. She sat down, tilting her neck to keep watching him. “This place has the best pizza I've ever had. You can’t miss this, I promise.”
She had met him a few hours ago. It made no sense to keep trusting him. He was practically a stranger, in every sense. But still she did. Her gut or her intuition or something deeper in her believed in him in a way that was inexplicable. Perhaps they had met in a past life. Perhaps it was her crush, messing with her head. Anyhow, at that moment, she thought she was willing to do or give him anything he asked for. She was helpless to fight this feeling.
They ordered and the pizza was in fact amazing. She moaned when she first tasted it and his lips quirked up.
“Told you so,” he said, softly and satisfied. He tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear. She took a sharp intake of breath, dizzy with the proximity, the casual intimacy of it all.
She pursed her lips. “Why me?”
“What do you mean?”
“You could have had most women in that party. So why me?”
He looked at her with gleaming eyes, shrugged. He was smirking.
“You are the only one I want.”
﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌
Four years later, the place looks the same. The tablecloths, the curtains, even the waiters look familiar. Everything except the mood.
The mood is not light and flirty. Nothing like that first date.
Instead it’s heavy. Mourning.
“Sorry, what?” she asked. Because she must have heard wrong.
Lando took another deep breath before speaking again, “I think we should break up.”
She couldn’t comprehend the sentence. She couldn't make peace with the idea.
Coming back to this place should be special. A reminder of where they started. For the past years, it had been their place of celebrations. Birthdays. His first win. His championship. It held every important memory of their relationship—a place of their own.
She couldn’t believe it was gonna hold this one too.
She had been sure, when they entered the familiar location, that the night was going to be memorable. She thought it might end up with a ring.
Of course she was only 23, perhaps too young for it, but people had long engagements all the time, right? And it’s not like they didn’t have the money to make it work. And Lando was older, and they had been dating for years, and they lived together, except when he was traveling for work—
She never imagined what was unfolding in front of her eyes. Her head felt underwater. She knew people were chatting, laughing and moving around her, but everything seemed to happen far away.
She thought she heard a glass breaking and shocked screams but she couldn’t come back to Earth.
She didn’t even think she was breathing.
A hand engulfed her. It took her back to that first night and her heart squeezed in pain inside of her chest.
“Look at me. Breathe,” Lando was instructing her. Breathing in and out for her to copy. To ground her.
She couldn't.
She felt drops in her exposed feet. She was wearing sandals. Why were her feet wet? She looked down at the table and realized the glass she heard break earlier must have been hers. Wine was spilled on the white cloth like blood, like an ironic joke. She heard herself laugh manically. Lando looked at her worried.
“Are you hurt? Did the glass cut you?”
“Those questions have two very different answers,” she muttered, but shook his head, fighting the fog in his brain. “I’m fine.”
“You’re crying.”
She stared at him with glassy eyes. His eyes so familiar.
Four years of seeing pure love in the green orbits. She wondered when it had gone away.
“Why?” she asked.
Such a simple question. Such a heavy implication.
Lando cringed. He looked down at his hands on his lap, breaking eye contact.
“I met someone,” he admitted, voice barely stronger than a whisper.
And there it was.
She had no choice. He didn’t want her anymore.
This was it. End of the story.
She heard him apologize. Heard his explanations. Nothing stuck.
Because it didn't matter. None of it mattered.
In the end, Lando left. But she stayed. Confused. Staring at the empty chair.
If our love died young, I can't bear witness
She knew she was a sad sight. Running mascara, stupefied expression.
She knew people were staring at her with pity.
Or maybe they weren’t, not now, but she knew that was the reaction would be, when everyone found out.
“Oh poor thing, dumped by her rich formula one driver boyfriend. What’s gonna happen to her now?”
She had trusted him. Trusted him to not break her heart. Trusted him to stay. Trusted him to choose her.
She couldn’t get up. Leaving meant it was real. If she closed her eyes, she could still pretend the future held everything she envisioned before: weddings, kids, christmas.
Inside this place, time wasn’t real.
Did you ever hear about the girl who got frozen?
She didn’t dare to move.
How would he find her if she left too?
All she had to do was stay. In case he got it wrong. In case he wanted to come back.
She closed her eyes shut, pressed so tight it hurt. That was the new plan.
He’s constantly playful. Teasing you, making jokes, starting fake arguments just to get a reaction—and he gets way too satisfied when he makes you laugh.
His humour is chaotic, a bit self-deprecating, and very quick. He’ll roast himself before anyone else can even think about it.
Gamer boyfriend energy is strong. He wants you to play with him, gets competitive instantly, and will absolutely talk trash—but it’s never serious. He lowkey loves when you beat him.
He’s not always great with deep emotional words, but he shows love through actions—texting you randomly, sending memes, wanting to be around you, and always checking in.
When he’s comfortable with you, he gets noticeably softer. Less chaotic, more relaxed, and a little clingy in a cute way.
Physical affection is playful at first—nudging you, pulling you into him, messing with your hands—but when he’s tired it turns into full-on cuddling without him even realising.
He can sleep anywhere. And that’s not an exaggeration. Couch? Gone. Car? Asleep instantly. Plane? Already asleep before takeoff.
He also just sleeps a lot. You’ll be watching something together and suddenly he’s knocked out next to you like it’s the most normal thing in the world.
You definitely have photos of him asleep in the weirdest positions—and he pretends to be annoyed but secretly doesn’t care.
Sometimes he falls asleep on you mid-moment—head on your shoulder, arm around you—and you’re just stuck there like “okay, I guess I’m not moving.”
When he’s tired, he gets extra soft and clingy without meaning to. Less jokes, more quiet presence, just wanting to be close.
He gets a bit shy if you compliment him seriously, but you can tell it sticks with him even if he laughs it off.
If you’re at a race, he tries to act normal, but he definitely notices you there—and it gives him a subtle confidence boost.
Late nights with him are always a mix of chaos and calm… until suddenly he just falls asleep mid-conversation and you’re left talking to a dead quiet room.
He sends you random messages throughout the day—memes, updates, “I’m bored,” or sometimes just a soft “miss you” when he’s away.
Even with all the chaos, he’s really steady in his own way. He makes you feel included in his world without making it complicated.
How does it feel to win? Was it everything you expected? Did it hurt at all?
Lando Norris/Oscar Piastri | wc 2.5K | angst
The ugly thing in his throat wants to snarl. Spit at Oscar and his kindness; lash out like the child he is. The entitled brat who can't afford to turn down the kindness but would rather stay tucked behind walls where he's laying in fetal position wondering when he'll have the strength to face the monsters keeping him inside. "Why? Don't you have better things to do?"
He feels Oscar shrug. "Sulk, I guess."
OR
Lando won the championship, but lost himself in the process.
Oh, You Love Me like a Fawn (a Cum Shot to the Face of God)
Chapter Twenty-Two//Archive Locked
Lando looks at his phone, then at his family. His sisters have their noses in their Bibles. His mum is staring at the pastor. His dad is looking at the crowd.
It's the same stuff he's heard ten times over. Nothing new. Virgin Mary and Joesph and baby Jesus. A stable and a manger and shepherds and wise men.
Perfection and purity and holiness and angels.
He's not really listening anyway.
OR
Long awaited church sex
