summary: in which lando norris needs a little help making his bachelor pad look a little less like a... bachelor bad. luckily, cherry, ivory & oak's best designer is a fan of a project. whatever might happen in between is besides the point.
fc: kylie cantrall
cherry's iphone - one voicemail - transcript
Cherry: Hi Mum, just calling on my way to work.
Cherry: And before you say anything, no I wasn't meant to be working today, Maya called in sick again
Cherry: She's hungover, which I don't think is a valid reason to call out sick but you know Maya, she does what she likes.
Cherry: I swear I'm the only professional in this building
Cherry: Good thing to come out of it though, I'm doing her consultation instead
Cherry: Maya just sent me over the brief, he's a new client, fancy flat
Cherry: He's probably another rich prick who wants to furnish his entire place in white marble and the most horrific plastic chairs i've ever seen
Cherry: Anyways, i'll call tonight!
Cherry: Love you!
ivoryandoak pop by our store today to sample some of our new in SS26 paints and fabrics
The boutique is quiet, pinpricks of sunlight dappling across the soft carpeted flooring. Sample books line the shelves of the reception, spilling out onto the front desk.
Cherry taps her nails against the hard oak desk, the surface bronzed with age. Her face is lit up by the sharp light one the desktop in front of her - the consultation schedule for the day staring her in the face.
The clock on the screen silently ticks over to 13:01PM. Cherry sighs, spinning in her chair.
Her 1pm. Maya's 1pm really - is a no show.
Lando Norris.
She doesn't recognise the name, and she doesn't really came about him either.
The door swings open.
A man walks in. Cherry's eyes flick up to him out of instinct. The whole day has been a snooze fest. No emails, no clients. Any bit of movement catches her eye.
Cherry studies him a little. Tall, hoodie and cap. Sunglasses. Indoors. She sneers at the sight, but schools her face and smiles brightly.
"Hi Sir, what can I help you with today?"
There's a pause.
"I'm...uh, here for a consultation."
Cherry's brows furrow together. This is Lando Norris. He's cute, Cherry mused, in a scruffy, sleep deprived either. She blinks.
"You must be Lando."
Lando studies her face for any flicker of recognition or reaction, but he gets nothing, just a sweet smile.
"You're with me. Follow."
He follows her into the back.
twitter / x — @ ln4updates posted!
lando spotted entering a design studio in london!!
1.1K reposts • 8K likes
consultation transcript
Cherry: "Okay Lando, let's start with the basics. Tell me what you're hoping for. What's the goal for the space?"
Lando: "Uh... my mum kind of said my place looks like a prison cell. So the goal is, not that. I guess?"
[Cherry laughs softly]
Cherry: "Mum's are usually right about that sort of thing. Don't worry, we can make it feel like a home. What do you currently have in there?"
Lando: "My PC... and a beanbag."
[A pause.]
Cherry: "Okay, well that's a start."
Lando: "It's comfortable."
Cherry: "If that's important to you, we'll accommodate that for sure. So, what's your lifestyle like, work schedule, hobbies?2
Lando: "Well I travel a lot, gaming, streaming."
Cherry: "Do you travel for work."
Lando: "Yeah, kind of."
Cherry: "I bet that's nice. Alright, I'll need to do a site visit if that's okay with you. Then we can get a proper feel for the flat and I'll put together a full design proposal."
Oh, You Love Me like a Fawn (a Cum Shot to the Face of God)
Chapter Twenty-Three//Archive Locked
He's tried. He swears that he's tried. But it's so hard to fight all the time—and he gets tired too. Perfection was never on the cards. And he doesn't understand why he has to be when that's why Jesus died.
OR
Lando is a mess, his thought process is not there at all, arson ensues
There was only one rule in Oscar and Lando’s friendship: you, Oscar’s sister, were completely off-limits. Unfortunately for everyone involved, Lando Norris had never been very good at following rules.
pairing. fratboy! Lando Norris x Piastri! fem! reader.
warnings. non-f1 au; university au. romance, humor, friendship, 15k words, implied smut; brief talk of sex. brother’s best friend, slow burn -ish. sorority/fraternity culture; partying, alcohol & cigarettes use, profanity. title from/insp. by dirty little secret by the all-american rejects.
LANDO DIDN’T KNOCK.
He never did. He was the kind of person who moved through the frat house like every door belonged to him, like every room was already waiting for him to burst in with some half‑finished sentence. So when the door to Oscar’s room swung open hard enough to rattle the frame, it wasn’t surprising. It was just Lando being Lando.
“Mate, have you seen my lapt—”
The words stopped. They didn’t fade or trail off. They just… died.
Oscar was sitting at his desk, one hand still resting on his keyboard, clearly in the middle of talking to someone. And you were on his bed, legs crossed, a soft blanket bunched under your hands like you’d been sitting there for a while. The room felt different with you in it—quieter, warmer, almost like Lando had stepped into the wrong place entirely.
His gaze flicked between you and Oscar, and suddenly the laptop didn’t matter at all.
“Sorry to interrupt,” he said, even though he didn’t sound sorry. His eyes landed on you for a heartbeat too long before he forced them back to Oscar. “Have you seen my laptop?”
Oscar sighed, the kind of tired exhale he saved only for Lando. “Mate, I’m not your mother. Try your backpack. The one you always wear.”
But Lando barely heard him. His mind was still stuck on the sight of you sitting there, comfortable, familiar, like you belonged in the room in a way he never had.
Oscar paused, then gestured toward you with a small, almost reluctant motion. “Also, this is Y/n. My sister.”
The name hit him harder than it should have.
Y/n. Oscar’s sister. The girl he’d heard about in passing, the one from old photos stuck to Oscar’s wall, the one Oscar mentioned only when he had to. Lando had never paid much attention—she was just a name, a story, a blurry memory from years ago.
But you didn’t look anything like that now.
You looked older. Sharper. Beautiful in a way that made his stomach tighten and his thoughts scatter. It didn’t match the image he had in his head, not even a little. And for a moment, he felt stupid for ever assuming you’d still be that kid he barely remembered.
You were way too pretty to be Oscar’s sister.
Not that he’d ever say that out loud. Oscar would probably kill him on the spot, and honestly, Lando wasn’t sure he’d blame him.
Then he forced a small laugh, the kind that sounded thin and awkward, like his brain was still trying to catch up with what his eyes had already seen. It didn’t help much, but it was the only thing he could manage.
“Right,” he said. “Yeah. I—obviously.”
Oscar didn’t move. He just watched him, steady and quiet, the way he always did when he was trying to figure out what Lando wasn’t saying. It was the kind of look that made Lando feel exposed, like Oscar could see every thought flickering across his face before he even had time to hide it.
You didn’t say anything at first. You just looked at him with this calm, curious expression, like you were trying to place him too—trying to match the real person to whatever stories you’d heard.
Lando cleared his throat, hoping it would make him sound normal. “Nice to meet you.”
You smiled, warm and easy. “Nice to meet you too. I’ve heard about you a lot.”
Jesus Christ.
Heat crept up the back of his neck before he could stop it. He didn’t even want to imagine what Oscar had told you—best friend, frat boy, chaos magnet, the guy who lost his wallet three times last semester. None of those descriptions felt flattering. None of them felt like things he wanted you to know.
“I hope only the good things,” Lando said, too fast, and the moment the words left his mouth he wished he could pull them back. They sounded desperate. They sounded like he cared too much.
He shifted his weight, trying to find something steady to hold onto, something normal to say that didn’t make him sound like an idiot. “You study here?”
You nodded. “Yeah. Psychology.”
“Psychology,” Lando repeated, slow and almost dazed, like he needed the extra second to let it sink in. “Right.”
Of course you did. It fit you in a way that made too much sense—thoughtful, observant, the kind of person who noticed things he didn’t want noticed. And he definitely didn’t want to unpack what that meant while Oscar was still staring at him like he was waiting for Lando to slip.
You stood up from the bed, smoothing your hands over your jeans like you were settling yourself before moving. “Anyway, I have to go. I need to help Carmen with a dinner.”
The words were normal, casual, nothing dramatic—but they still made something in Lando’s chest dip. And before he could stop himself, something slipped out of him, quiet and too honest.
“Already leaving?”
He heard it the second it left his mouth. Too eager. Too obvious.
And he felt Oscar’s stare hit him like a warning. Sharp. Immediate. The kind of look that said don’t even start without needing a single word.
You didn’t seem bothered. If anything, you looked amused. Calm. Like you’d already figured out the rhythm of the room and were choosing not to make it awkward.
“We’ll see each other at the mixer party anyway, if you’re going,” you said, your voice light, almost teasing.
Before Lando could open his mouth and say something else stupid—something that would make Oscar’s stare turn into actual murder—Oscar cut in fast, answering for both of them.
“Yeah. Yeah, we’ll be there. Lando would never skip free alcohol.”
Of course he wouldn’t. And if you were going to be there? God. That made the idea even better, even worse, even more dangerous.
You nodded once, like that settled everything. Then you brushed past him on your way to the door, close enough that he caught the faint scent of your perfume, close enough that his breath stalled for half a second.
And then you were gone, leaving the room feeling strangely quiet, strangely warm, and leaving Lando standing there like he’d just walked into a problem he wasn’t ready for.
Then Lando let out a breath he didn’t even realize he’d been holding. It slipped out of him in a slow rush, like his whole brain had just reset itself and was trying to start again from the beginning. He turned back toward Oscar, almost dazed, almost like he needed confirmation that what he’d just seen was real.
“Damn,” he said, the word coming out before he could think. “That’s your sister?”
Oscar didn’t even bother looking up from his desk. His voice was flat, already tired. “Don’t.”
But Lando wasn’t listening. He couldn’t. His mind was still stuck on you—the way you’d smiled, the way you’d brushed past him, the way everything about you felt nothing like the blurry childhood photos Oscar had shown him years ago.
“She’s hot,” Lando said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.
That finally made Oscar look at him. He turned slowly, giving Lando a stare so flat and unimpressed it could have knocked someone else out cold.
“Mate.”
“What?” Lando lifted his hands a little, palms open, like he was being perfectly reasonable. “I’m just saying it’s objectively—”
“Stop talking.”
Oscar’s voice cut through the room like a door slamming shut. But Lando only grinned, wide and shameless, and dropped onto the edge of Oscar’s bed like he owned the place. He bounced once, settling in comfortably, still smiling like he’d discovered something unbelievable.
“No, seriously,” he said. “You’ve been hiding that? That’s criminal.”
Oscar sighed, dragging a hand over his face, the kind of gesture he used when he was already exhausted and Lando hadn’t even started yet. “She’s off limits for you.”
Lando snorted, amused. “Off limits?”
“Yes,” Oscar said, simple and firm, like it wasn’t up for debate, like it was the most obvious rule in the world.
“C’mon, mate. Would she be off limits for—I don’t know—Max?!” Lando tried, leaning forward like he was presenting a serious argument, even though his eyes were still bright with leftover shock.
Oscar let out a short, dry laugh. “Max is even worse than you.”
Lando’s face twisted. “That’s not comforting, mate.”
“It’s not meant to be,” Oscar said, finally turning fully in his chair to face him. His expression was calm, but there was a warning underneath it, something steady and protective. “Listen. I know your frat antics—”
“Oscar!” Lando cut in instantly, sitting up straighter like he’d been personally attacked. “You make it sound like I’m some kind of manwhore!”
Oscar lifted one eyebrow, slow and deliberate, then glanced toward the door you’d just walked out of. His mouth twitched, like he was fighting a smile he didn’t want Lando to see.
Lando gasped dramatically, hand pressed to his chest. “Oi. Count your days, Piastri.”
Oscar didn’t bother responding. He just gave him that flat, unimpressed look again—the one that said he’d heard every version of Lando’s nonsense and was immune to all of it.
Lando pushed himself up from the bed, still grinning, still buzzing with the kind of excitement that made his steps feel lighter. He walked toward the door like he had somewhere important to be, even though he didn’t.
Except he did. He was already thinking about the mixer party. Already imagining the lights, the music, the crowd—and you somewhere in the middle of it, smiling at him again.
God, he was so excited for that mixer party.
────────────
Lando and his group stood at the entrance, leaning against the stair railing like they were just casually hanging out, even though every single one of them knew that wasn’t true. They looked like they were waiting for something. Or someone. And Lando was doing a terrible job pretending otherwise.
He’d watched everyone walk past—girls from other sororities laughing loudly, freshmen frat members carrying boxes of cheap beer, even what he was pretty sure was Charles’s sausage dog trotting across the lawn with a tiny bandana around its neck. But not you. Not yet. And every time the door opened, his chest tightened just a little, only to relax again when it wasn’t you.
You were coming. You had to be. He told himself that like it was a fact, like it was a promise he’d been given.
George groaned, rolling his neck back dramatically. “What are we even doing here? We look like a damn security.”
“Patience, George,” Lando said, eyes still glued to the entrance. “Patience.”
“I hope this weird behaviour of yours has nothing to do with Oscar’s sister,” Charles said, voice flat and unimpressed.
That finally made Lando look over. “What? No!”
“You’ve been staring at the entrance for ten minutes.”
“I have not.”
“You have,” Max added, sounding bored. “It’s actually getting a bit sad.”
Lando scoffed, waving a hand. “I’m greeting guests.”
George blinked at him. “Since when do you greet guests?”
“…Since today.”
The three of them exchanged a look—the kind of look that said he’s lying, he’s lying so badly, and he thinks he’s getting away with it.
“You like Oscar’s sister?” Alex asked, strolling over like he’d just arrived and wanted to catch up on the gossip.
Lando snapped his head toward him so fast it almost hurt. “Jesus Christ—shut up! Oscar could hear you.”
He twisted around immediately, scanning the area like Oscar might appear out of thin air with a lecture ready. When he didn’t see him, Lando exhaled, trying to look casual again.
“And no, I don’t,” he said firmly. “I met her once. For five minutes.”
There was a beat of silence.
Max raised an eyebrow. “That’s not a denial.”
“It is a denial.”
“It’s a bad one,” George said.
Lando ignored all of them, turning back toward the entrance like it was the only thing keeping him sane. “She’s just—she’s Oscar’s sister. That’s it.”
“Sure,” Charles said, sounding completely unconvinced.
“You’re unbelievable,” Alex said, laughing as he looked at Lando like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing and hearing.
“What?” Lando asked, even though he already knew exactly what.
“You’ve known the girl for five minutes.”
“Exactly,” Lando said, nodding like that helped his case. “Five minutes. That’s hardly enough time to—”
He didn’t finish, because a group of girls appeared at the edge of the lawn, heading toward the open front door. Their voices were bright, their laughter carrying easily over the music. And just like that, every conversation around him died. You walked in with a few of your sorority sisters. Lando recognized Lily because of Alex, Carmen because of George… the rest were a blur. You were all laughing at something one of them had said, heads tilted together, moving with that easy confidence sorority girls always seemed to have.
George looked at Lando.
Lando looked at you.
As you got closer, your eyes landed on the group. You smiled, lifting your hand in a small wave that felt far too gentle for how hard it hit him.
“Oh, hi!” you said. Then your gaze shifted, landing directly on him. “Hi, Lando.”
Lando’s brain short‑circuited. It was like someone unplugged him for a second.
“…Hi.”
You glanced at the others, still smiling. “Hey, guys.”
“Hi,” George replied, amusement tugging at his mouth.
“Have fun tonight,” Charles said, sounding almost polite.
“You too.”
And then you were gone, slipping into the house with your friends like nothing unusual had happened, like you hadn’t just turned Lando’s entire night upside down with two words.
Lando’s eyes followed you until the crowd swallowed you completely.
“So…” Max began, slow and knowing.
“She said hi to you first,” George said, grinning like he’d been waiting to point it out.
Lando tried to fight the smile pulling at his mouth, but it was useless. It kept growing, warm and stupid and impossible to hide.
“She knows my name,” he said quietly, almost to himself.
Charles stared at him for a long second, expression flat. “You sound like a fifteen‑year‑old with his first crush.”
Lando frowned. “I do not.”
“You absolutely do,” Alex said, laughing.
“Mate,” Max added, shaking his head. “She met you yesterday. I’d be concerned if she didn’t know your name.”
Before Lando could defend himself—
“What are you idiots doing?”
Oscar.
He stepped out onto the porch carrying two boxes of drinks, stopping when he saw all five of them still planted by the entrance like badly trained guard dogs. His eyebrows shot up, confusion written all over his face.
“I’ve been inside setting everything up for the last fifteen minutes, and you’re all just… standing here?”
Silence fell over the group like a blanket.
George recovered first. “It was Lando’s idea.”
Lando’s head whipped around so fast it almost hurt. “Mate!”
Oscar looked between them, clearly unconvinced. His eyes lingered on Lando a little longer, like he already knew the answer and was waiting for someone to admit it.
“Why?”
“He said he was greeting guests,” Max replied with a shrug, betraying Lando without hesitation.
Oscar turned fully toward Lando.
“You?”
“I was,” Lando said, trying to sound casual. His heart was still beating a little too fast from seeing you walk in earlier. He hoped it didn’t show.
Oscar glanced toward the front door, where people were still streaming inside. “You greeted exactly one person.”
Lando opened his mouth. Then closed it.
“…I greeted the others in my head.”
George snorted so loudly it echoed.
Oscar let out a laugh, shaking his head like he couldn’t believe he was dealing with this. “And let me guess…” He looked directly at Lando, eyes sharp. “Was that one person Y/n?”
Lando shot the four traitors beside him a warning look, silently begging them to shut up.
Alex didn’t. “You’ve got a good guess, Oscar.”
Oscar sighed, long and heavy, like he’d expected nothing less from Lando. He nudged one of the boxes toward him with his foot.
“Since you’re so committed to welcoming people, you can welcome these drinks to the kitchen.”
George burst out laughing, doubling over. “Karma.”
Lando bent down to grab the box, muttering something under his breath—something about betrayal, loyalty, and how he needed new friends. The box was heavier than he expected, or maybe he was just distracted. His mind kept replaying the moment you’d said Hi, Lando like it was nothing, like it didn’t send his brain into a full shutdown.
Oscar wasn’t finished, he turned to the others. “And there’s plenty of work for you four as well.”
He pointed at Max, Charles, George, and Alex one by one.
Max frowned. “We didn’t do anything.”
“Exactly,” Oscar replied. “That’s the problem.”
He gestured toward the house. “Go make yourselves useful.”
Charles groaned dramatically, dragging his feet. “Jesus Christ. You’re like everyone’s mother.”
Oscar didn’t miss a beat. “And yet somehow none of you can function without me.”
Lando followed them inside, carrying the box, still thinking about you—the way you’d smiled, the way you’d said his name, the way his chest had tightened like he was fifteen again and hopelessly stupid.
A while later, the house was packed. Music echoed through every room, the kind that made the floor feel alive under people’s feet. Bodies squeezed past each other in the hallways, voices overlapping, laughter spilling out of the kitchen. Someone had already started chanting around the beer pong table, and the whole place had that loud, messy energy frat houses always had on nights like this.
Lando had barely finished setting out the last case of drinks before George appeared beside him, throwing an arm around his shoulders like he’d been waiting for the perfect moment.
“Beer pong?”
“I’m busy,” Lando said, even though he wasn’t doing anything except thinking about you.
George looked around the room, scanning for any sign of actual responsibility. “With what?”
Lando opened his mouth, then shut it again. “…Fair.”
By the time they reached the beer pong table, a crowd had already formed. People were shouting, cheering, arguing about rules that didn’t matter. The air smelled like cheap beer and perfume.
“Alright!” Alex called from the other side. “We need two more teams!”
“I’ve got Charles,” Max said, pushing him forward before he could complain.
“Need one more!”
Lando scanned the room without really meaning to. His eyes moved over faces, over groups, over the crowd—
And then he saw you.
You had just walked over with Carmen and Lily, cups in hand, laughing at something Carmen said. The sound of your laugh cut through the noise in a way that made Lando’s chest tighten. George noticed you too and immediately waved you over like he’d been waiting for this exact moment.
“Where’s Osc?” Lando asked Alex, suddenly aware of how exposed he felt.
Alex shrugged. Lando and Oscar were usually unbeatable at beer pong together, but Oscar was nowhere in sight. That should’ve made Lando nervous. It didn’t. Not compared to the way his stomach flipped when you got closer.
“There she is,” George said with a grin. “Y/n! You play?”
You glanced at the table, then shrugged, easy and confident. “Sure.”
Alex clapped his hands, eyes flicking between the remaining spots. Then he looked at Lando—and Lando knew instantly that Alex understood everything. The problem. The tension. The rule.
“Perfect,” Alex said. “Lando and Y/n!”
“Done,” George said quickly, sealing it before anyone could argue. “Teams are set.”
Before Lando could protest, you were already stepping into place beside him, your shoulder brushing his arm lightly as you moved. And even if he’d wanted to complain, he knew he wouldn’t have. Not even a little.
Standing next to you felt like stepping into warm water—sudden, soft, overwhelming in a way he didn’t know how to handle. He could smell your perfume. He could hear your laugh. He could feel his heartbeat in his throat.
He was supposed to be focused on the game but all he could think was that he was in trouble.
The table was already surrounded when you and Lando took your places, bodies pressed close, voices loud, the whole room buzzing with that chaotic mixer energy. Max and Charles stood on the other side, both looking way too confident for two people who were absolutely about to lose. They had that smug, relaxed posture that made Lando want to knock a cup over just to wipe the look off their faces.
“Try not to embarrass yourself,” Max said, folding his arms.
Lando scoffed, rolling his shoulders back. “You say that every time and I win every time.”
Charles smirked, slow and lazy. “Sure you do.”
You leaned closer to Lando, just slightly, enough that he felt the warmth of you at his side. You lowered your voice like you were sharing a secret. “Are they always this annoying?”
Lando glanced at you, grin tugging at his mouth before he could stop it. “Worse. This is them being polite.”
You laughed—soft, easy, right next to him—and the sound went straight to his head. It was ridiculous how fast it happened, how quickly his brain decided that this was the best sound he’d ever heard. He felt stupid for it, but he couldn’t help it. Something about you made everything inside him tilt.
“Alright,” George called from the side. “Focus up!”
The first ball was thrown. Max missed immediately.
You let out a quiet, amused breath. “Nice start.”
Lando nudged you lightly with his elbow, the touch small but enough to make his pulse jump. “They’re rattled already.”
You shook your head, smiling at him. “You’re very confident.”
“I’ve got you,” he said—without thinking, without planning, without any kind of filter.
The words slipped out too naturally, too warm, too easy. He felt the weight of them the second they left his mouth, felt the way they hung in the air between you like something he shouldn’t have said.
But you didn’t look bothered. You didn’t tease him or pull away. You just looked at him for a moment, eyes soft, then smiled like it made perfect sense.
“Good,” you said. “Because I’m not great at this.”
“Perfect,” Lando grinned, relief washing through him. “I carry.”
And God, he hoped he actually could—because standing next to you like this made it very hard to focus on anything at all.
The game got loud fast. The kind of loud where people were shouting over each other, cups were clattering on the table, and every throw came with some dramatic reaction. Charles was already getting into it, leaning forward with that competitive spark in his eyes, while Max pretended he didn’t care even though everyone knew he absolutely did.
Every time you scored, the crowd cheered a little louder than necessary, like they were rooting for you specifically. And every time you missed, Lando leaned in without even thinking about it.
“It’s fine,” he said softly. “We’re just warming up.”
You laughed once after another miss, shaking your head. “I think I’m the problem.”
“Don’t start,” he said immediately, voice warm and sure. “You’re not the problem. Trust me, I’ve seen the problem—it’s them.”
He tilted his head toward Max and Charles.
Max narrowed his eyes. “I heard that.”
“Good,” Lando shot back, grinning.
You laughed again, that soft, easy sound that kept tugging at something inside him. And somewhere between the noise and the lights and the crowd pressing in around the table, Lando realized he wasn’t even thinking about the game anymore.
He was just… watching you.
The way you smiled when you concentrated, lips pressed together like you were trying not to laugh, way you leaned forward slightly before each throw, hair falling over your shoulder and the way you bumped his shoulder without noticing whenever you got excited, warm and close and completely unaware of what it did to him.
“Oi,” George shouted from the side. “Stop flirting and throw the ball!”
Lando blinked, snapped out of whatever daze he’d fallen into.
“What?”
You laughed harder this time, covering your mouth for a second. “I think he has a point.”
“I’m not—” Lando started, then stopped, because Max was smirking at him like he knew exactly what was happening, and Charles was already shaking his head like he’d seen this coming from a mile away.
And you were still smiling at him like nothing was weird at all. Like this was normal. Like standing next to him felt easy.
“…We’re winning anyway,” Lando finished finally, grabbing the ball and throwing it.
It bounced once. Hit the rim. Dropped in. The crowd erupted, shouting and clapping like he’d just won the entire tournament.
Lando turned to you immediately, grin wide and bright. “Told you,” he said, chest warm with pride he didn’t bother hiding.
You bumped his arm again, closer this time. “Okay, that was actually impressive.”
His grin softened for half a second, something gentler slipping through before he could stop it.
“Yeah?” he said quietly.
“Yeah.”
And for some reason, hearing you say that felt better than winning. Better than the cheers. Better than the game. It felt like something he shouldn’t want this much. The crowd was still cheering when another voice cut through the noise, sharp enough to slice straight through the excitement.
“Oi—what is this?”
Lando turned just in time to see Oscar pushing through the edge of the crowd, eyebrows raised, drink in hand, looking far too offended for someone holding a red cup. He had that expression he always wore when he thought the universe was personally inconveniencing him.
“You’re playing without me? Seriously?”
George burst out laughing immediately. “Mate, you disappeared.”
“I was doing actual work,” Oscar shot back, waving his cup vaguely toward the house like that explained everything. Then his eyes landed on the table, on the cups, on the teams. “And I come back to this?”
He looked between you and Lando.
Then Max and Charles and the cups again.
“You replaced me already?”
Lando snorted, trying to look casual even though his heart was still beating too fast from standing next to you. “We didn’t replace you.”
Oscar stepped closer, fake hurt written all over his face. “Wow. Unbelievable. I leave for ten minutes and my best friend betrays me for—”
He pointed directly at you, you blinked, surprised. “Me?”
“Yes,” Oscar said seriously, like this was a crime scene and he was the detective, yet the corner of his lips curved into smile. “You.”
The whole group laughed, the sound rolling through the crowd.
Lando shook his head immediately. “She’s not the problem.”
Oscar narrowed his eyes at him, suspicious. “That’s not reassuring.”
You smiled slightly, looking between the two of them like you were watching a very familiar argument. “We’re kind of winning without you, though.”
Oscar froze.
“…Excuse me?”
Max leaned over the table, voice loud enough for everyone to hear. “She’s actually carrying.”
Oscar stared at you for a long moment, like he was trying to decide whether to be offended or impressed. Then he sighed dramatically, shoulders dropping, a laugh slipping out despite himself.
“Right. So that’s how it is.”
And Lando, standing beside you, felt that warm, stupid pride again—the kind that had nothing to do with beer pong and everything to do with you smiling next to him.
────────────
The next day, Lando was doing what he did best—nothing. Or at least pretending it was something useful. He was slumped on the sofa while Oscar had somehow already recruited half the house into cleaning, organising, and fixing whatever chaos the night before had left behind.
Lando, meanwhile, had successfully convinced himself that “supervising” counted as help. He occasionally leaned forward, picked up a piece of trash, then immediately dropped it into a different pile like that changed anything.
Oscar walked past him once. Then twice.
The third time, he stopped. There was something in his hand.
“Y/n forgot her wallet here yesterday,” Oscar said, tossing it straight at Lando’s chest. “Be useful and give it back to her.”
Lando caught it on reflex, then froze, staring down at the small wallet resting in his hands.
“…Right.”
His eyes flicked up to Oscar, slow and careful, like he was afraid of what this meant. “Is she in the psychology building or—”
“I think so, yes,” Oscar cut in immediately. “She has class right now.”
There was a pause—a long one—where Oscar seemed to weigh something in his head. Then he added, already turning away, “Yes, Lando. You can go.”
Lando frowned at his back, confused. At first you were off‑limits. Untouchable. A rule carved into stone. Now Oscar was literally handing him reasons to see you. Opportunities. Invitations.
Not that Lando was complaining. At all.
He pushed himself up from the sofa, rolling the wallet between his fingers, feeling the soft leather warm against his palm. “Yeah, alright,” he muttered. “Very responsible of you.”
Oscar didn’t even look back. “Just don’t make it weird.”
Lando scoffed loudly. “I don’t make things weird.”
From the kitchen, George’s voice echoed: “You absolutely do.”
Lando ignored him completely, slipping his phone into his pocket and heading for the door with your wallet in his hand, heart beating a little faster than he wanted to admit.
He wasn’t going to make it weird. He was just… returning a wallet. Totally normal. Totally fine, not a big deal. Except it felt like one.
It didn’t take long to get there. Which, unfortunately, Lando noticed.
He was never in the psychology building. There was no reason for him to be. He studied marketing—a completely different world, on the opposite side of campus, filled with loud group projects and people who thought they were future CEOs. Psychology, meanwhile, was quiet, serious, full of students who actually read their textbooks.
And yet here he was.
Lando pushed the door open carefully, almost like he expected an alarm to go off. The building was quiet—painfully quiet—the kind of silence that made him feel like the walls were judging him for even stepping inside. He hesitated for half a second, then started down the first corridor he saw, walking with no real plan, just following instinct and the vague hope he wouldn’t run into anyone who asked questions.
It didn’t take long, of course it didn’t. Because there you were.
Sitting at a small table in the vestibule, bag beside you, legs crossed, looking like you were waiting for absolutely nothing in particular. You looked relaxed, comfortable, like this was your space and you belonged in it completely.
Your head lifted as he approached.
But Lando spoke first, words tumbling out before he could think. “What, aren’t you supposed to be in class?”
“I’m skipping,” you said with a small laugh, like it was the most normal thing in the world. Then your eyes flicked to him, curious. “And why are you here? Did Oscar send you to check if I’m actually studying?”
“No. No,” Lando said immediately, shaking his head a little too fast. “I thought I’d expand my horizons.”
There was a beat—a quiet, awkward beat—before he added, “And return your wallet.”
He lifted it slightly in his hand, like proof, then gave it to you.
You smiled faintly. “Right. My very important wallet.”
“Extremely important,” he said, trying to sound serious. “Couldn’t risk it living without supervision.”
That made you laugh—properly this time, warm and bright and close enough that he felt it in his chest.
And there it was again. That familiar, annoying pull he kept pretending wasn’t real.
You leaned back slightly in your chair, eyes still on him. “So you just wandered into the psychology building for fun? You could’ve just given it to me after school.”
“Not really,” he said, trying to sound casual. “I heard they have better coffee here.”
You laughed, shaking your head. “Absolutely not.”
Lando huffed out a breath, pretending to be offended. “Okay, that one was a lie.”
“Yeah,” you said, still smiling. “A terrible one.”
A pause settled between you—not uncomfortable, not heavy, just open. Quiet in a way that made everything inside Lando feel too loud. His thoughts started tripping over each other, pushing at him, nudging him.
Say something. Don’t just stand here like an idiot.
He cleared his throat, grasping at the first thing that came to mind. “Wanna get a cig?”
Immediate regret.
Brilliant, Norris. Really smooth. Why would you say it like that? What is wrong with you?
His brain caught up a second too late, panic flickering across his face. He quickly added, “I mean—only if you want. You don’t have to.”
You looked at him properly this time, eyes steady, expression unreadable. It lasted a beat too long for his comfort, long enough for him to feel his pulse in his throat.
Then you tilted your head slightly, like you were deciding something.
“Sure.”
Lando blinked.
“Oh,” he said before he could stop himself.
You raised an eyebrow. “Is that a problem?”
“No,” he said quickly, almost tripping over the word. “No. Just—didn’t expect that.”
A small smile tugged at your lips, soft and knowing. “Neither did I,” you said.
You probably meant you didn’t expect him to smoke.
Right? Right. But the way you said it made something warm flicker in his chest anyway.
And then you stood up.
Lando followed you out of the building, still slightly thrown off. Not because you’d said yes—he could handle yes. He could handle you agreeing to things. What unsettled him was the way you’d said it. Like it was nothing. Like it was easy. Like there hadn’t even been a decision to make. It made something warm and stupid settle under his ribs.
Outside, the air felt sharper, cooler, quieter. The kind of quiet that made every small sound feel louder. You stopped near the side of the building, by the emergency exit, choosing a spot that was tucked away from the main path. It felt instinctive, like you both wanted somewhere hidden, somewhere that didn’t belong to anyone else. It made the whole thing feel even more absurd—Lando Norris, standing around behind a psychology building like he belonged there.
He pulled his cigarettes and lighter out of his pocket, trying to look casual even though his pulse had picked up again.
You glanced at them. “Didn’t know you smoke.”
“Sometimes,” he said, shrugging like it wasn’t a real question. He didn’t want to sound defensive. He didn’t want to sound like he was trying too hard. But your eyes stayed on him, steady and curious, and he felt that familiar heat crawl up the back of his neck.
You looked at him properly. That look again—the one that made him feel like you were seeing more than he meant to show.
He huffed a small laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “Not like… constantly.”
A beat passed—quiet, open, a little too intimate for a campus sidewalk.
Then he tilted his head toward you, trying to sound casual, trying not to think too hard.
“Wanna try?”
You looked at him.
“…Yes.”
It came a little too quickly, like the answer had been sitting on your tongue already. Lando blinked, thrown off by how easy you made it sound.
“Yeah?”
You nodded once. “Yeah.”
“…Okay.”
He looked almost caught off guard, like he’d expected you to laugh or say no or tease him. Instead, you were just standing there, waiting, calm and sure.
“Alright.”
He finally pulled a cigarette from the pack, rolling it between his fingers before lighting it. The flame flickered briefly, catching the edge of the paper, and he inhaled once to get it going.
“You sure?” he asked, softer this time.
“Yes.”
Lando held your gaze for another second, searching for any sign of hesitation. When he didn’t find one, he nodded, “okay.”
He took a quick drag, then offered it to you, holding it between two fingers like he was handing over something fragile. You hesitated only for a moment before taking it from him.
Lando watched closely, already bracing himself. You inhaled and immediately regretted it.
Your face scrunched up, eyes squeezing shut as you coughed, waving the smoke away like it was attacking you. Lando couldn’t help it—he laughed, the sound slipping out before he could stop it.
“Yeah,” he said with a grin. “That’s usually how the first one goes.”
“That’s disgusting,” you managed between coughs.
“It kind of is.”
You handed it back, still making a face like you’d just swallowed something terrible.
“So why do you do it?” you asked, voice still rough.
Lando shrugged, taking it from you. “Dunno. Habit, I guess. Mostly at parties… or when I’m stressed.”
He took another drag, then glanced sideways at you, eyes warm with something he didn’t want to name.
“Don’t tell Oscar, though.”
You laughed, softer now.
“Why?”
“Because he’ll kill me.”
You raised an eyebrow. “You think he’ll care that I tried a cigarette?”
“I think he’ll care that I was the idiot who handed it to you.”
You smiled, shaking your head, a small amused breath slipping out.
“…Fair.”
A comfortable silence settled between you, the kind that didn’t need filling. Lando finished the cigarette, crushing it beneath his shoe before looking out across campus. The air felt still, almost too calm for how loud his thoughts had become.
“You know, Lando…”
He turned his head toward you, brows lifting slightly. “Hmm?”
“I kind of expected you to be an asshole.”
He blinked, caught off guard. “…That’s brutal.”
You laughed softly. “No, listen.”
“I feel like I should be offended already.”
“I mean it in the nicest way possible.”
“There isn’t a nice way to call someone an asshole.”
You rolled your eyes, smiling like you couldn’t help it. “I’d only ever heard stories about you. Oscar always talked about his loud, annoying frat friend who somehow never took anything seriously.”
“Sounds accurate,” Lando said, shrugging.
“So I just assumed you’d be… cocky. Full of yourself.”
He nodded slowly, accepting it. “Fair enough.”
“But…”
You looked at him for a moment, something thoughtful in your expression. “You’re actually kind of fun.”
A grin tugged at the corner of his mouth, warm and a little shy. “Kind of?”
“Don’t get used to the compliment.”
“I’ll take it.”
You laughed quietly, the sound soft in the cool air. “I just didn’t expect us to get along this well.”
Neither had he. Not even close. He felt it in the way his chest tightened, in the way he kept looking at you without meaning to, in the way this moment felt strangely important.
You adjusted the strap of your bag, like the thought had only just settled fully. “We should hang out more.”
Lando looked at you, certain he’d misheard. The opportunity had fallen straight into his lap and he hadn’t even done anything. He’d offered you a cigarette. That was it. And somehow it had turned into this—you standing here, smiling at him, wanting more.
He felt his heartbeat trip over itself.
“Yep,” he said, a small breath of disbelief slipping out. “We definitely should.”
────────────
It started with Alex and George.
It always did. They had a way of turning absolutely nothing into a full conversation, and today was no different. Alex leaned against the kitchen counter like he was pitching a business idea, hands moving as he spoke, eyes bright with the kind of confidence he definitely didn’t earn.
“I’m telling you, it’s not even a proper hike,” he said. “It’s like… a walk with vibes.”
George nodded seriously, as if this was a scientific classification. “There’s a viewpoint.”
“That’s a hike,” Lando said immediately, not even thinking about it. He didn’t care about hikes. He didn’t care about viewpoints. But arguing with George was muscle memory at this point.
George threw his hands up. “It’s not Everest, mate.”
Lando scoffed. “Still counts.”
Alex glanced between them, then added casually, almost too casually, “Y/n’s going too.”
That landed differently. It dropped into the room like a pebble into water—small, but enough to ripple straight through Lando’s chest.
He looked up. “Is she?”
“Yes, mate,” George said, like it was obvious. “Of course she is.”
Lando narrowed his eyes slightly, trying to sound normal even though his heartbeat had picked up. “And Oscar?”
“No,” Alex said. Then, after a pause, “And speaking of him… where is he? He’s been disappearing a lot lately.”
George leaned in a little, lowering his voice like he was sharing classified information. “Rumour has it he’s got some romance going on.”
That made Lando laugh immediately—loud, sharp, disbelieving. The idea didn’t even fit in his head.
Oscar? Romance? That didn’t even sound real.
“Oscar?” Lando repeated, shaking his head. “No chance.”
George shrugged. “Just saying what I heard.”
“You’re such a gossip, Russell,” Lando said, still amused.
George lifted his hands defensively. “I’m just passing information.”
Lando smirked, but his attention had already drifted, pulled somewhere else entirely. The conversation kept going around him, but he wasn’t really listening anymore.
Because if you were going…
Then suddenly a “walk with vibes” didn’t sound so bad after all.
It sounded… interesting. Maybe even fun. Maybe even something he wanted to be part of. He hated how obvious that felt—but he didn’t fight it.
About twenty minutes later, everyone was standing outside the frat house, gathered in that messy, chaotic way groups always formed before doing something none of them had properly planned. George had brought snacks—way too many, like he thought they were crossing a desert. Alex had brought a speaker, already testing the volume like he was preparing for a festival. Carmen had brought enough water for what looked like a three‑day camping trip. Lily was already questioning every life choice that had led her here.
And Lando…was wondering why George was trying to fit six people into one car.
“We’ll all fit,” George insisted, unlocking his hatchback with the confidence of someone who had never once considered physics.
Lando stared at him. “In that?”
George frowned, offended. “What’s wrong with my car?”
“There are six of us.”
“So?”
“So we’re people, George. Not sardines.”
George started counting on his fingers, like that would magically solve the problem. “Driver, passenger, three in the back…”
“And the sixth person?”
George shrugged. “Someone sits on someone’s lap.”
Lando looked at him in disbelief, already imagining the disaster. “You wish.”
He pulled his own car keys out of his pocket and jingled them, letting the sound speak for itself. “I’m taking my car.”
Alex looked over, eyebrows raised. “The McLaren?”
“Yes.”
“To a hiking trail?”
“It’ll get me there.”
Alex snorted, shaking his head. “If you don’t scrape the front bumper off on the first dirt road.”
Lando pointed a finger at him, offended on behalf of his car. “I’m a good driver.”
You looked at Lando’s car, then at George’s.
Then back at Lando.
“…Can I go with you?” you asked casually, like it was the simplest question in the world.
Lando blinked, caught off guard. “Me?”
You nodded. “Yeah. I don’t really want to be stuck with couples.”
Behind you, George made a loud offended noise, clutching his chest like he’d been personally attacked. “Oi—”
Alex laughed. “That’s fair, actually.”
Lando tried very hard not to look like that request had done anything to his brain. It had—obviously—but he wasn’t about to let it show. Not in front of everyone. Not when he could already feel George’s eyes on him, waiting to tease him.
“Yeah,” he said quickly. “Yeah, course. Get in.”
George squinted at the two of you, suspicious. “Wow. Okay.”
Lando and you both opened the doors at the same time, moving in sync without meaning to. Something about it made his chest feel warm in a way he didn’t want to examine too closely.
“Wanna race?” Lando called over, leaning against the roof of his car with a grin.
George immediately raised an eyebrow. “That’s really unfair, actually. Because you’ve got a sports car and I’ve got literally a hatchback.”
“Blah, blah, blah,” Lando said, sliding into the driver’s seat like he was slipping into a familiar rhythm.
He shut the door, started the engine, and leaned slightly out the window, eyes bright with mischief.
“Skill issue.”
George pointed at him, already annoyed. “I hate you.”
“You love me,” Lando called back.
“Unfortunately,” George muttered, getting into his own car.
You settled into the passenger seat, adjusting your seatbelt while Lando checked the mirrors with a level of focus he absolutely didn’t have five minutes ago. For a second, the car was quiet—not awkward, just still, like both of you were waiting for something to happen.
Then you glanced over at him.
“Do you even know where we’re going?”
Lando paused mid‑movement, hand hovering near the gear shift. He looked at you, eyes wide like you’d just asked him to solve a physics equation.
“…No.”
You laughed immediately, the sound filling the small space between you.
“Maybe let George go first so he can lead.”
Lando looked at you like you’d personally insulted his entire bloodline.
“Absolutely not.”
“You just admitted you don’t know where we’re going.”
“I’ll figure it out.”
“How?”
“…Instinct.”
You laughed again, softer this time, shaking your head.
“That sounds incredibly unreliable.”
“It has worked before,” he said, trying to sound confident.
“Has it?”
Lando didn’t answer. He didn’t even try. Instead, he straightened his shoulders, pretended he knew exactly what he was doing, and confidently pulled out of the driveway like instinct was a real navigational tool and not just whatever impulse happened to hit him first.
Three wrong turns and one U‑turn later…
Lando sighed dramatically, gripping the wheel like it had personally betrayed him.
“Don’t say it.”
“I wasn’t going to.”
“You were.”
“I was absolutely going to.”
He flicked on his indicator just as George’s hatchback rolled past them, George wearing the most smug grin imaginable. He gave Lando a sarcastic thumbs‑up through the window, the kind that said I told you so without needing words.
Lando rolled his eyes and fell in behind him.
“Happy?”
“Very.”
The car fell quiet again. Not awkward. Just peaceful in that soft, open way that made the drive feel slower, calmer. The engine hummed beneath them as the campus disappeared behind the trees, replaced by long stretches of road and patches of sunlight flickering through the branches.
You rested your elbow against the window, watching the scenery pass by like you were letting your thoughts drift with it. Lando glanced at you once. Then back at the road. Then at you again, unable to help himself.
Say something. Don’t just sit here like an idiot.
“So…” he began, voice a little too casual.
You looked over.
“This is a very frat‑boy car to take hiking.”
Lando laughed, the sound slipping out before he could stop it. “I’ve been judged.”
“A little.”
“It was a birthday present.”
You turned your head slightly. “Seriously?”
“Yeah. From my dad.”
You nodded slowly, like you were picturing it. “That beats my birthday present.”
“Oh?”
“I got a smoothie maker.”
Lando looked at you, eyebrows raised. “A smoothie maker?”
“Mhm.”
He grinned, warmth settling under his ribs. “So…”
You looked at him again, eyes soft.
“You should make me a smoothie sometime.”
You let out a laugh, shaking your head. “Is that your incredibly smooth way of inviting yourself over?”
Lando pretended to think about it, tapping the wheel lightly. “…Maybe.”
“Well,” you said, smiling at the road ahead, “if we survive the hike, I’ll make you a smoothie.”
By the time you reached the trail, the sun was high enough to warm the air, making the walk feel softer, calmer, more pleasant than Lando had expected. George was convinced he knew every path. He didn’t. Twice, he confidently led everyone the wrong way before Carmen quietly corrected him, her voice patient in a way that made George look like a scolded child. Alex had the speaker clipped to his backpack, music playing softly as Lily kept stealing snacks out of George’s bag with no shame at all.
It was… nice. Surprisingly nice.
Lando slowed his pace without really noticing, falling into step beside you like his body had made the decision before his mind caught up. The group drifted ahead, loud and chaotic, but the space next to you felt quieter. Easier.
“You’re suspiciously quiet,” you nudged him gently.
Lando looked at you, confused. “Huh?”
“I thought you’d be complaining the whole time.”
“The walking. The bugs. Nature.”
Lando looked genuinely offended, eyebrows pulling together. “I happen to like nature.”
You raised an eyebrow, amused. “I didn’t expect—”
The ground shifted slightly under your foot.
It wasn’t dramatic. Just enough.
Your step slipped on a loose patch of dirt, your body tipping forward before you could catch yourself.
“—oh.”
Lando reacted instantly.
His hand shot out, catching your arm and steadying you before you could properly stumble. The movement pulled you closer for a second—too close, too sudden—your shoulder brushing his, your breath mixing with his.
Your eyes met his.
His grip tightened slightly without thinking, like his body was afraid you’d fall again even though you were already steady.
“…You good?” he asked, voice lower than before.
You nodded, a little slower than usual. “Yeah.”
But neither of you moved away immediately. The air felt different for a second. Heavier. Quieter. Like the world had paused just long enough for both of you to notice something you hadn’t said out loud yet.
Lando blinked once, like he was remembering how to breathe properly. His hand was still on your arm. Your face was still close. His chest felt warm in a way he didn’t want to examine too closely.
Then—
“Lovebirds, stop falling in love,” George called from ahead, “some of us are actually trying to reach the viewpoint before sunset.”
The moment snapped. Lando immediately let go like he’d been burned, stepping back half a step too fast.
“Idiot,” he muttered under his breath, watching George walk off with that smug, clueless confidence.
You let out a small laugh, brushing your hand lightly against your arm as if resetting yourself, grounding yourself back in the group.
────────────
The freshmen party was way louder than Lando expected. Which, honestly, said a lot. He’d been to enough chaotic nights to know what loud meant, but this was something else—a swarm of faces he didn’t recognize, music blasting like someone had turned the speakers up out of spite, and people shouting over each other even though no one was saying anything important. The curly‑haired guy was Kimi, the tall one was Ollie, and everyone else? He had absolutely no clue. But hey—free drinks and seeing you? That was enough of a reason to show up.
Except his reason was currently inside, laughing with a group of freshmen guys he barely recognized. And for some reason, Lando found himself sitting outside on the patio instead, beer in hand, pretending he wasn’t watching you through the glass doors every few seconds. He wasn’t bothered. Obviously. He was just… observing. That was normal. That was fine. That was definitely not jealousy in disguise.
“You’re quiet today. It’s unsettling.”
Lando immediately looked away from the doors, snapping his gaze toward the voice. Oscar dropped into the chair beside him, completely unaware—or pretending not to be, which was worse. Oscar had that face on, the one that said he already knew exactly what Lando was doing and was waiting patiently for him to embarrass himself.
“Hm,” Lando said, taking a sip of his drink like he was the picture of calm. “Haven’t slept much.”
He shook his head slightly, as if that explained everything—the staring, the silence, the way he kept shifting in his seat like he was trying to look casual and failing miserably.
Oscar glanced at him. “You?”
Lando frowned. “What about me?”
“You’re usually the loudest person at these things,” Oscar said, shrugging like it was a simple observation and not a direct attack on Lando’s entire personality.
Lando looked back toward the party for a second before forcing himself to look away again, jaw tightening. “Mate, I told you. I haven’t slept,” he said, a little more irritated than necessary. “Max and George were screaming at that stupid FIFA game all night—or at each other. Honestly, I don’t even know.”
Oscar raised an eyebrow, slow and skeptical.
“Right.”
And Lando hated how much meaning Oscar could pack into one word. It was almost impressive. Almost.
Lando narrowed his eyes. “What?”
Oscar looked at him for a long moment, the kind of look that made Lando feel like he was being scanned for weaknesses. “What’s going on with you lately, man?”
Lando’s brain stalled. Completely. What was he supposed to say? Hey mate, I’m lowkey in love with your off‑limits sister. Yeah. No. Absolutely not. That was the one sentence he could never say out loud. Not even as a joke.
Oscar noticed the silence—of course he did—and leaned back slightly. “And I’m saying this as your best friend,” he added, voice calm but annoyingly perceptive. “What’s going on with you?”
Lando shrugged, aiming for casual and landing somewhere closer to defensive. “Could say the same about you. You’ve been disappearing a lot lately.”
Yes, he was deflecting. Yes, it was obvious. No, he didn’t care.
“What do you mean?” Oscar asked, genuinely confused.
“You blew off the hike.”
Oscar shrugged like it was nothing. “I’ve met a girl.”
Lando laughed—loud, sharp, immediate. Of course. Of course Oscar had met a girl. Meanwhile, Lando had also met a girl, except his situation was significantly more complicated and significantly more illegal in the Oscar‑Piastri‑rulebook sense.
“No way,” Lando said, still laughing. The idea was ridiculous. The guy who spent most of his time studying, playing video games, or pretending he didn’t care about anything suddenly had a girl? It felt like someone had rewritten the laws of physics.
Lando shook his head, still grinning. “Oscar Piastri? A girl?”
Oscar rolled his eyes so hard it looked painful. “Shut up.”
“No, seriously. You?”
“Yes, me.”
Lando leaned back in his chair, grin stretching wider, enjoying this far too much. “Mate, this is a historic moment.”
And for a second, the patio felt lighter—two idiots sitting outside a party, both hiding things, both pretending they weren’t.
After a few more minutes of Oscar getting interrogated about this mysterious girl, Lando decided he needed a drink before George inevitably found them and made the situation ten times worse. He stood up, stretching his back like he’d been sitting for hours.
“Come on,” Lando said, nodding toward the house. “I need to see this historic moment properly.”
Oscar frowned. “What?”
“You getting a girl. I need a celebration shot.”
“I hate you.”
“You love me.”
Oscar sighed, long and dramatic, but he still followed him inside.
The kitchen was packed—bodies everywhere, someone already lining up shots on the counter, music shaking the walls, people shouting over each other like they weren’t standing half a meter apart. It was the kind of chaos Lando usually thrived in, but tonight it felt louder than usual, like his thoughts were trying to compete with the noise.
“Lando!”
Charles appeared out of nowhere, already holding two cups like he’d been waiting for them.
“That’s never a good sign,” Oscar muttered.
“Shot?” Charles asked, eyes bright with trouble.
Lando looked at Oscar. Then at Charles. Then shrugged.
“Obviously.”
One shot turned into two.
Two turned into three.
And at some point, Oscar was pulled away by Charles, who apparently needed details about this girl immediately—because of course he did.
Lando stayed behind, laughing at the conversation from a distance, leaning against the counter with his drink. The room felt warm, crowded, familiar. He should’ve been relaxed. He should’ve been enjoying himself.
But his eyes wandered and found you.
You were near the entrance, slipping your jacket on, saying goodbye to your friends with that soft smile you always had when you were tired. Leaving. Already. And for some reason, that made him put his drink down without thinking.
Before he could overthink it—before he could talk himself out of it—he was already walking toward you.
“You’re leaving?”
You turned around, slightly surprised to see him there. “Yeah. I’m tired.”
Lando nodded, glancing toward the door like it was the most natural thing in the world. “I’ll walk you.”
You blinked, caught off guard. “You don’t have to.”
“I know.”
A small smile appeared on your face, warm and curious. “Then why?”
Lando shrugged, trying to make it seem casual, trying not to sound like his heart had just sped up for no reason. “Because I’m going that way.”
You raised an eyebrow. You both knew Lando’s house was in the complete opposite direction. The lie was embarrassingly obvious.
You giggled, soft and amused. “Okay.”
And just like that, he followed you out the door—pretending it was casual, pretending it was nothing, pretending he wasn’t already in way deeper than he meant to be.
The walk back was pretty quiet. Not awkward. Just… calm. The kind of calm that only existed on campus at night, when the paths were almost empty and the buildings looked softer under the streetlights. Every now and then, a group of students passed by, laughing loudly on their way home, but mostly it was just the two of you, moving through the quiet like you belonged there.
Lando shoved his hands into his jacket pockets, shoulders relaxed in a way he didn’t even notice. “So,” he said, glancing at you, “tell me about this mysterious girl.”
You laughed, the sound warm in the cool air. “You’re asking the wrong person.”
“You’re his sister.”
“Exactly.”
Lando looked at you expectantly, waiting for something—anything—that might give him a clue. You just shrugged.
“I mean,” you said, “we don’t really talk about those things.”
“You don’t?”
You shook your head, eyes forward. “He’s not exactly the person I’d tell that I’ve been hanging out with his best friend.”
Lando let out a laugh, sharp and immediate. “Please never tell him that.”
You looked over at him, amused. “Why?”
“Because I quite enjoy being alive.”
You laughed, nudging his shoulder lightly. “Fair.”
You kept walking, your steps falling into rhythm with his. “I wasn’t planning to anyway. It’d turn into a whole lecture.”
Lando smiled, already picturing it. “Oh?”
You straightened your posture, crossed your arms, and slipped into a scarily accurate Oscar impression. “‘He’s not the one for you. He’s irresponsible. He’s loud. He’s an idiot.’”
Lando burst out laughing, head tipping back. “That was scarily accurate.”
“I know.”
“…Do you think he’d call me an idiot before or after he called me irresponsible?”
You pretended to consider it, tapping your chin. “Definitely before.”
“Ouch.”
“Then he’d let out that disappointed sigh he does.”
By the time your sorority house came into view, the conversation had drifted into a comfortable silence again. Not the awkward kind. The kind that felt natural, like both of you understood that words weren’t necessary every second. The night was calm, the streetlights soft, and the quiet between you felt strangely steady—like neither of you wanted to break it too quickly.
You slowed down as you reached the front steps, turning toward him with a small smile. “Well,” you said, nodding at the building, “this is me.”
Lando looked up at the house, then back at you. “So it is.”
Neither of you moved. The moment stretched, warm and unhurried, like saying goodbye felt too early, too abrupt. You shifted your keys in your hand, then smiled again, softer this time.
“You know…”
“Hm?”
“I think I still owe you something.”
Lando frowned slightly, confused. “You owe me?”
“The smoothie.”
His eyebrows lifted, the memory hitting him a second late. “The smoothie maker.”
You just smiled, pulling your keys out of your pocket and stepping closer to the door. “So…”
You gestured toward the entrance. “Do you want one?”
Lando blinked, caught off guard. “A smoothie?”
“Mhm.”
He glanced at his watch, as if that would help him make a rational decision. “At nearly midnight?”
You shrugged, leaning against the doorframe. “You’re acting like you have somewhere better to be.”
And that was the problem. He didn’t. Not even close.
He was exactly where he wanted to be—standing in front of your house, listening to you tease him, feeling that quiet warmth settle under his ribs again.
Lando smiled slightly, unable to hide it. “I’d be stupid if I said no.”
“So that’s a yes?”
He nodded. “Yes. That’s a yes.”
You laughed quietly and finally unlocked the door. He followed you inside, a smile still tugging at his lips, the air of the house warm and unfamiliar in a way that made his heartbeat pick up.
Turns out, offering a random cigarette outside the psychology building had somehow led him here. Standing inside your sorority house. About to drink a midnight smoothie with his best friend’s sister.
Life was weird. But honestly? He wasn’t complaining.
The kitchen was quieter than Lando expected. Almost strangely so. After the noise of the party—the music, the shouting, the constant movement—standing in your kitchen at midnight felt like stepping into a completely different world. The lights were soft, the air still, and the quiet made everything feel a little more personal.
“Nobody’s here?” Lando asked, looking around like he half‑expected someone to jump out from behind the counter. “Why is it so quiet?”
For some reason, it felt like he was breaking into someone’s house, even though you were the one who unlocked the door.
You shrugged, opening the fridge. “Probably everyone’s still at the party. Or outside. Or asleep.”
Lando nodded and leaned back against the counter, watching you pull out ingredients with a kind of focus he didn’t usually have. “You actually know what you’re doing?”
You looked over your shoulder. “Excuse me?”
“I’m just asking.”
You ignored him completely, holding up the strawberries. “You like strawberries?”
You looked at him, almost checking. “Love ’em.”
“Good.”
You tossed them into the blender. The process was simple, easy, familiar—but somehow Lando found himself enjoying it more than he should have. Maybe it was because it wasn’t a party. Maybe it was because it wasn’t surrounded by people. Maybe it was just because it was you, moving around the kitchen like you belonged there and he was lucky enough to be invited into the quiet.
A few minutes later, you handed him the smoothie.
“Thanks, ma’am,” he said, giving you that crooked smile he always tried to pretend wasn’t intentional.
He took a sip—and his expression changed immediately.
“The best smoothie I’ve ever had.”
You laughed. “Really?”
“Seriously.”
You leaned against the counter, watching him with a small smile. Then you noticed it—a tiny bit of smoothie at the corner of his mouth.
“You’re so messy, Norris,” you said, laughing softly. “Can’t even drink a smoothie properly.”
Lando looked at you, amused. “I’m messy?”
“Yes.”
“Interesting accusation.”
You stepped closer before he could say anything else, reaching up and gently wiping the corner of his mouth with your thumb. It was a small gesture, simple and quick, but it changed the room instantly.
Neither of you laughed.
The quiet deepened, settling around you like the air itself had paused. Lando’s smile faded into something softer as he looked at you. You were closer than before—close enough that he could see the tiny details he hadn’t noticed earlier, the way your expression softened when you focused, the way your breath caught just slightly.
For once, he didn’t have a joke ready.
And neither did you.
His eyes flickered down for a moment, then back to yours, steady and warm.
“Y/n..” he said, barely above a whisper.
You didn’t move away. And that was enough.
Lando leaned in slowly, giving you every chance to step back, every chance to change your mind. You didn’t. So he closed the small space between you, and the kiss that followed was soft—gentle, careful, the kind of moment that didn’t rush or push or try to be anything bigger than it was.
It didn’t take long for one kiss to turn into several.
Which was, objectively, a terrible sign.
Because apparently neither of you had the common sense to stop after the first one. A very impressive lack of self-control from two people who had spent the entire time pretending they were just casually hanging out.
The quiet kitchen suddenly felt much smaller.
Lando knew this was probably a bad idea.
Actually, no. Not probably. Definitely.
A very, very bad idea.
You were Oscar’s sister. His best friend’s sister. The one person he had been very clearly told was off limits.
And yet somehow, here he was.
Standing in your kitchen at midnight, completely ignoring the one rule he was supposed to follow.
Brilliant decision-making, Norris.
Truly award-winning but the problem was that you didn’t seem any more interested in stopping than he was.
And that made it significantly harder to remember why he was supposed to.
“We shouldn’t,” Lando whispered against your lips, already eager to kiss you again.
The words sounded responsible. The problem was that neither of you were actually acting responsible. Maybe it was the alcohol still in his system. Maybe it was the fact that he’d spent weeks convincing himself he wasn’t interested when clearly he was.
Or maybe he was just terrible at following rules. A very realistic possibility.
“We shouldn’t,” you repeated quietly.
But you didn’t move away and Lando noticed. Of course he noticed.
He noticed everything about you lately, which was becoming a problem he definitely did not want to admit out loud.
“Just this once,” he murmured, like that was somehow a convincing argument.
It wasn’t. Both of you knew it wasn’t.
You gave him a look that clearly said you didn’t believe him.
“Mhm. Sure.”
The “just this once” excuse was already falling apart.
Because even before either of you said it out loud, you both knew the same thing:
This was definitely not going to happen only once.
────────────
The next morning, Lando left your house early.
Very early.
At least by Lando Norris standards.
Seven in the morning, to be exact—a time he usually only encountered by accident or under duress. It wasn’t exactly the gentlemanly thing to do, slipping out before you woke up, but the moment he’d opened his eyes and realized he was lying beside you—beside the one girl he’d spent weeks reminding himself was completely off limits (a phrase he was now beginning to hate with his whole soul)—his brain had gone straight into panic mode.
Leaving suddenly had seemed like the safer option.
No awkward conversation. No trying to explain whatever last night had been. No wondering whether you regretted it.
He’d convinced himself he was doing you a favor.
Whether that was true was… questionable at best.
He quietly unlocked the front door of the frat house, easing it open like he was sneaking back in after committing a minor crime. One step. Then another. He slipped off his shoes by the entrance, praying the old wooden floor wouldn’t betray him with one of its dramatic creaks.
Silence.
Perfect. Maybe everyone was still asleep. Maybe he was actually going to get away with this.
“Look who decided to return from the dead.”
Lando froze mid‑step. Slowly—painfully—he turned around.
George and Alex were sitting at the kitchen table, each with a mug of coffee, looking far too awake for seven in the morning. They looked like two disappointed parents who had been waiting up all night for their delinquent son to come home.
Lando stared at them. “…What the fuck are you two doing up?”
George looked offended, like the question itself was rude. “We’ve been waiting for you.”
“For me?”
“Yes, you idiot,” Alex said, taking another sip of his coffee with the calm judgment of someone who had been awake for hours. “Do you have any idea how worried we were?”
Lando snorted. “Well, I’m home now.”
He pulled out a chair and dropped into it with a dramatic yawn, rubbing his eyes like he was the one who had been up all night worrying.
“Thanks for the concern, mum.”
George pointed an accusing finger at him. “Don’t change the subject.”
Alex folded his arms, settling into interrogation mode. “Where were you all night?”
Lando didn’t even blink. “Nowhere.”
George stared. “Nowhere?”
“Yeah.”
Lando shrugged, completely deadpan. “Spent the night in a bush.”
A long, suspicious silence fell—the kind that suggested neither of them believed a single word.
Lando nodded once, sealing the lie with unnecessary confidence.
“Classic Thursday.”
George leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table like he was about to conduct a formal interrogation.
“So…”
Lando already recognized that tone. It was the I’m about to ruin your morning tone. “No.”
“We haven’t even asked anything yet.”
“I know what’s coming.”
Alex tilted his head, eyes narrowing with interest.
“Then answer it.”
Lando let out a dramatic sigh, the kind that suggested he was the victim in this situation.
“I was out.”
“For nine hours?” George asked, eyebrows climbing.
“Yes.”
“Doing what?”
“Existing.”
George looked at Alex with the expression of a man watching a toddler lie about stealing cookies.
“He’s lying.”
“Terribly,” Alex agreed, sipping his coffee like this was entertainment.
Lando rubbed a hand over his face.
“You two have far too much free time.”
Alex ignored him completely.
“Did you at least have fun?”
Lando couldn’t stop the smirk that crept onto his face. Against his better judgment, flashes of the previous night flickered through his mind—the smoothie, the first kiss, the—Jesus Christ.
“…Yeah,” he admitted. “I’d say so.”
George’s eyes narrowed immediately, like a detective catching his first clue.
“The last thing I remember,” he said, voice dragging out each word, “was you leaving the party with…”
He pointed at Lando.
“…someone.”
George snapped his fingers like he’d just solved a murder case.
“Y/n.”
Silence. Lando said nothing.
Absolutely nothing.
Which, in this house, was basically a confession.
Alex looked at George.
George looked at Alex.
Their expressions shifted from confusion…
to suspicion…
to full-blown realization.
Alex gasped so dramatically it sounded rehearsed. “No.”
George’s eyes widened. “No way.”
Alex pointed at Lando like he’d discovered fire.
“You spent the night at Y/n’s?”
Lando finally looked up from the table. At this point, denying it felt pointless. He glanced toward the staircase, then lowered his voice like the walls might snitch on him.
“…Keep it down.”
George slapped both hands on the table, triumphant. “I knew it!”
And Lando wished, deeply and sincerely, that he had stayed in that imaginary bush.
George leaned even closer, clearly enjoying himself way too much for seven in the morning.
“So…”
The grin slowly spreading across his face was already enough of a warning.
“…did you two—”
Lando immediately held up a hand.
“Don’t.”
But Alex, unfortunately, had never been known for his ability to read the room. Or, more accurately, he read the room perfectly and decided to ignore it.
“Have sex?”
Lando nearly choked on his own air.
“Jesus Christ!”
“What?” George asked, completely serious. “It’s a valid question.”
“No, it isn’t!”
“It absolutely is,” Alex argued, looking way too invested in a conversation that should not be happening before most people had even had their first coffee.
Lando stared at them both.
Two grown men.
Sitting at the kitchen table.
Acting like they had just discovered the biggest piece of campus gossip in history instead of simply finding out their friend had a sexual life.
“You two are actually insane.”
Neither of them looked even remotely ashamed.
George just raised his eyebrows, clearly waiting for an answer, while Alex sat there patiently like he was conducting an interview.
And eventually, Lando realized there was no escaping this.
Not because they were smart. Not because they had proof. Just because they were annoyingly persistent.
With a tired sigh, he finally gave up. He nodded once, then quietly mouthed the answer.
“Yes.”
The reaction was immediate.
George’s eyes widened, and Alex’s mouth dropped open like Lando had just announced he was secretly an astronaut.
“NO WAY,” George literally shouted.
“Mate,” Alex added, sounding genuinely shocked.
Lando immediately pointed at them.
“Shut up!”
George lowered his voice, but the excitement didn’t disappear.
“You actually did it.”
“Yes, George.”
“With Oscar’s sister.”
“Yes, George.”
“The girl who was literally off limits.”
Lando rubbed his face, already regretting every decision that had led him to this kitchen.
“Yes, George.”
Alex leaned back in his chair, looking at him with a mixture of disbelief and amusement.
“Was it good?”
At this point, Lando wasn’t even surprised by the questions anymore. Apparently, boundaries had left the building along with his common sense last night.
He just looked at them for a second before shrugging.
“The best sex of my entire life.”
And unfortunately, he wasn’t exaggerating.
George and Alex exchanged a look.
A very loud look.
The kind that said they were about to ask approximately fifty more questions Lando absolutely did not want to answer.
Before they could—
“Why are you two yelling at seven in the morning?”
The entire kitchen went silent.
Lando slowly turned around.
Oscar stood at the bottom of the stairs, looking half asleep, his hair messy, and his expression somewhere between confused and suspicious.
Nobody moved. George suddenly became very interested in his coffee. Alex looked at the table like it contained the secrets of the universe. And Lando? He was suddenly very aware that he was in a room with Oscar Piastri, after spending the night with Oscar Piastri’s sister.
“Morning, mate,” Lando said, trying very hard to sound like a normal person.
Oscar narrowed his eyes at Lando like he was trying to solve a crime scene, “where were you all night?”
Perfect. Another worried mum. Exactly what Lando needed first thing in the morning. His brain immediately supplied the worst possible answer, like it hated him on purpose.
Oh, hey, mate. Remember how you told me your sister was completely off limits? Yeah… about that.
Yeah. Probably not the best way to start a Friday.
He opened his mouth. Nothing came out.
For once in his entire life, Lando Norris had absolutely no idea what to say. His brain—usually excellent at producing stupid comments at the worst possible moments—had apparently packed its bags and left the country.
Oscar just stood there, arms crossed, waiting.
And the silence stretched.
And stretched.
And stretched.
Before Lando could panic himself into blurting something catastrophically honest—
“Lando lost his keys.”
George said it so casually it almost sounded like the truth. Lando blinked at him. What?
Alex caught on instantly, nodding like he’d rehearsed this lie for weeks. “Yeah. Poor guy spent the whole night looking for them.”
Lando slowly turned to look at the two of them. Idiots.
But apparently they were his complete idiots.
Oscar frowned, clearly unconvinced. “…His keys?”
George nodded with the confidence of a man who absolutely should not have confidence. “Couldn’t find them anywhere.”
“Tore the whole campus apart,” Alex added, voice solemn like he was delivering tragic news. “Real tragedy.”
Lando decided that saying absolutely nothing was the safest possible choice. Silence couldn’t incriminate him. Probably.
Oscar’s gaze moved between all three of them.
George. Alex.
Then finally back to Lando.
“…Right.”
A beat passed. Oscar pointed toward the kitchen table.
“…The keys are literally there.”
All three of them looked down at the same time.
And there they were. Lando’s keys. Sitting in the middle of the table.
Silence fell so heavy it felt like a blanket. George cleared his throat like he was trying to pretend he hadn’t just lied straight to Oscar’s face. Alex suddenly became deeply fascinated by the ceiling.
Lando looked from the keys back to Oscar and gave him the least convincing smile he had ever produced in his life.
“…Found ’em.”
Oscar stared at him for one long, painful second. “You’re an idiot,” he said flatly, before turning and heading upstairs again.
Lando watched him go, then sighed.
Honestly? Fair.
────────────
The day passed quicker than Lando expected. Which was honestly annoying. Because it gave him way too much time to think.
About you. About last night. About the fact that he had woken up next to you and immediately chosen the most Lando Norris solution possible—panic, leave, and pretend everything was fine.
It wasn’t exactly his finest moment.
In fact, it was probably one of his worst.
All day, he kept debating whether he should text you.
A simple hey. Nothing dramatic. Nothing that screamed I have been thinking about you since I left your house at seven in the morning like a criminal.
Maybe call you?
No. Absolutely not. That was far too intimate for someone currently pretending he had emotional stability.
So instead, he did what he did best.
Absolutely nothing.
By late evening, everyone had gathered in the living room like they always did when nobody had to wake up painfully early the next day. Oscar was sitting on the floor with his laptop open, revising economics notes because apparently even weekends weren’t safe from Oscar being Oscar. Meanwhile, Alex, George, Charles, and Max had turned FIFA into a personal rivalry disguised as a game. Someone was yelling. Someone was blaming the controller. Someone was definitely taking the loss way too personally.
And Lando?
Lando was sitting on the couch, phone in his hand, pretending to scroll. He wasn’t really looking at anything. Not messages. Not Instagram. Not even the screen, honestly.
He was just waiting. For a text. A notification. A sign from the universe.
Anything. Which was pathetic. He knew it was pathetic but apparently knowing something and stopping yourself from doing it were two completely different skills.
He barely noticed Oscar reaching for his phone. Just saw him type something quickly before putting it down again.
Then—
“Mate.”
Lando looked up slightly. “Hm?”
Oscar was looking at him with that calm, neutral expression that always made Lando feel like he was being evaluated.
“Can you pick up Y/n?”
Lando blinked. For a second, his brain completely stopped.
Again? Really?
Normally, Lando would’ve jumped at this opportunity. Oscar barely had to finish the sentence before Lando would already be halfway out the door, shoes untied, keys in hand.
But this time? Something about it annoyed him. Not because he didn’t want to see you.
That was the opposite problem. He just didn’t want to be the easy solution again. The convenient option. The guy Oscar automatically sent whenever he needed something involving you.
“You should be the one picking her up,” Lando said, sitting up slightly. “She’s your sister. You should be the one taking care of her.”
Oscar stared at him. “Okay?”
“Not that you just throw everything at me. Again.”
The second the words left his mouth, Lando regretted them. Because what was he even saying? Oscar wasn’t throwing anything at him. He was literally asking for a favor.
Oscar tilted his head. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah.”
“You don’t sound okay.”
“I’m fine.”
Oscar ignored that completely—as usual.
“I had a beer,” he explained. “I can’t drive.”
Suddenly Lando had no argument. Because of course Oscar had a reasonable explanation. Because Oscar was always reasonable. Which was honestly very inconvenient when Lando was trying to be irrational.
He let out a sigh and ran a hand through his hair. “Fine. Where is she?”
“At Hamilton’s.”
Lando paused. Of course it was Hamilton’s—the only bar near campus everyone had been to at least once. Birthdays, random Fridays, terrible decisions disguised as “just one drink.” It was practically a school landmark at this point.
Oscar raised an eyebrow as Lando stood up and grabbed his keys. “And mate,” he added, making Lando look back, “are you okay?”
“Yes.” Way too fast.
Oscar noticed immediately. “You’ve answered that twice.”
“Because you’ve asked me twice.”
“Just checking.”
Lando rolled his eyes but didn’t argue. Mostly because he didn’t even know what he would say. How was he supposed to explain this?
So he just grabbed his jacket and left.
Five minutes later, he was sitting in his car with the engine still off. He leaned forward, resting his head in his hands, and let out a tired breath. “Get your shit together, Norris,” he muttered, rubbing his eyes.
Because this was ridiculous.
He wasn’t new to dating. Or flirting. Or keeping things casual. He knew how to talk to girls. He knew how to handle himself. But apparently all it took was one girl—one girl who just happened to be Oscar’s sister—and suddenly he was sitting alone in his car giving himself a pep talk before picking her up.
That was the part that annoyed him the most. Not that it was you. Definitely not that.
It was the fact that, for the first time in a long time, Lando Norris had absolutely no idea what he was doing.
The drive to Hamilton’s was short. Too short, honestly. Lando spent the whole time trying to convince himself to act normal. Just normal. He was picking up a friend. A friend he definitely hadn’t slept with. Completely normal behavior.
By the time he pulled up outside the bar, he had almost convinced himself he was fine. Almost. Because the second he saw you standing outside, that confidence evaporated. You were leaning against the brick wall, jacket pulled tight, scrolling through your phone while Carmen and Lily laughed about something behind you. And just like that, Lando felt ridiculous again.
He rolled down the window. “Waiting for a ride, ma’am?”
You looked up, confused. “Lando?” Your eyes flicked from him to the car. “What are you doing here?”
“Picking you up.”
That didn’t help. If anything, it made you more confused. “Why?”
Lando opened his mouth, then shut it again. Explaining that Oscar sent him sounded suspicious even though it wasn’t. “I’ll explain,” he said, unlocking the doors. “Just get in, please.”
You stared at him for a moment, then shook your head with a small smile and opened the passenger door. Behind you, Carmen and Lily exchanged a look—a very obvious look—the kind Lando definitely noticed but chose to ignore because he already had enough going on.
He turned toward them. “You two alright? Need a ride as well?”
“Nope,” Carmen said immediately.
Lily grinned. “Night’s still young!”
“Right,” Lando muttered, pretending that made sense. Apparently everyone else could enjoy a normal night out while he was overthinking a simple car ride with a girl he wasn’t supposed to like.
For a while, neither of you said anything. The radio hummed quietly, filling the silence just enough that it didn’t feel tense. Streetlights slid across the windshield as Lando kept his eyes on the road, hands gripping the wheel a little tighter than necessary.
You were the one who finally spoke. “So…”
Lando glanced over, then back at the road. “So?”
“The escape wasn’t very nice of you.”
He let out a quiet breath. Right. Of course you’d bring that up. He’d spent the whole day convincing himself you probably hadn’t even noticed. Clearly, that theory was dead.
He scratched the back of his neck. “…Sorry.”
It came out easier than he expected.
A beat passed before he added, “I panicked.”
No filter. Just honesty. Embarrassing honesty. He gave a small laugh at himself. “I woke up and saw you next to me, and then all the possible consequences flashed before me.”
“Consequences?” you asked, genuinely confused.
“You know, Osca—”
“Oh my God, shut up.”
You groaned dramatically, rolling your eyes.
Lando blinked. “What?”
“Stop talking about my brother. He wouldn’t hurt a fly, you know that.”
You were right. Lando knew you were right.
And somehow that made everything feel worse, because the whole thing sounded ridiculous when you said it out loud. Oscar wasn’t some terrifying older brother waiting to ruin his life. He wasn’t going to ban Lando from campus or show up at his door with a lecture. He was just Oscar—his best friend—the person who would probably be more annoyed that Lando had hidden it than the fact that it happened at all.
“I know, but—”
You cut him off before he could finish. “I like you, Lando.”
It came out louder than you meant, like the words had been sitting in your chest all day and finally slipped out. You lifted your hands a little, like you were stating the most obvious thing in the world, then immediately turned your head toward the window as if you needed a second to recover from your own honesty.
Lando blinked. “What?”
“I said I like you.”
Simple. Direct. Very you.
“But you’re so scared of Oscar finding out,” you added, finally looking back at him. “Why? We’re adults. You shouldn’t care this much. My brother won’t ground you.”
The image of Oscar trying to ground him flashed through Lando’s mind, and he let out a laugh he didn’t mean to. It loosened something in his chest. “Right.”
You looked at him, amused but also a little soft around the edges. He shook his head, smiling despite himself, “you make it sound ridiculous.”
“Because it is ridiculous.”
And honestly? You had a point. For someone who usually acted like he feared nothing, Lando had spent way too much time worrying about something that wasn’t nearly as big as he’d made it in his head.
The car went quiet again, but this time it wasn’t heavy. It felt lighter, like something finally clicked into place—something both of you had been tiptoeing around without saying.
At the next red light, Lando glanced over at you. Really looked at you. And for once, he didn’t overthink it. “I like you too, Y/n.”
The words felt different once they were out. Not scary. Not complicated. Just… relieving. Like he’d finally stopped running from something that had been waiting for him the whole time.
The rest of the drive passed surprisingly easily.
Neither of you felt the need to fill every silence anymore. Whatever awkwardness had lingered since that morning had disappeared somewhere between your confession and Lando finally admitting he liked you too.
By the time he pulled up outside your sorority house, neither of you seemed particularly eager for the drive to end.
Lando shifted the car into park.
“Well…”
“Well,” you echoed with a small smile. “Thanks for the ride.”
You reached for the door handle and climbed out, pulling your jacket tighter around yourself.
Lando watched you take only a few steps before his brain finally caught up with his heart.
“Y/n, wait.”
You turned around just as he hurried out of the car, the door barely shut behind him.
He stopped in front of you, suddenly forgetting every clever thing he’d ever said in his life.
“I mean it.”
His voice was quieter now.
“I love you.”
The words slipped out before he had the chance to overthink them.
For a second, neither of you spoke. Then a smile spread across your face.
“I know.”
Lando blinked.
“…What?”
“I know.”
He stared at you for another second before narrowing his eyes. To be honest, he expected a bit more than Star Wars.
“What are you? Han Solo?”
You couldn’t help laughing, “yep.”
Lando let out the most dramatic sigh imaginable, dropping his head for a moment, “that was so rude.”
“Sorry,” you said, although the grin on your face made it very clear you weren’t sorry in the slightest.
Still laughing, you stepped closer.
This time, Lando didn’t hesitate. He closed the small distance between you, meeting you halfway as your lips found his.
The kiss was slow and unhurried, nothing like the nervous, impulsive one in your kitchen. It lingered just long enough to make Lando forget where he was before you finally pulled away.
You were both smiling. Complete idiots.
Neither of you seemed particularly bothered by that.
And suddenly—
“Ehm, ehm.”
Both of you froze. Lando’s entire body went completely still.
No. Absolutely not.
Slowly, almost painfully, he turned around.
Oscar.
Standing a few feet away with his arms crossed, looking far too calm for someone who had just walked in on his best friend kissing his sister.
“Jesus fucking Christ, mate!”
Lando’s soul practically left his body while Oscar only raised an eyebrow.
“Bit dramatic.”
“Bit dramatic?” Lando repeated, staring at him in disbelief. “You just appeared out of nowhere!”
“I walked here.”
“That’s worse.”
You stepped back slightly, looking between the two of them.
“Oscar!”
He looked at you. “What?”
“What are you doing here and why are you creeping here?”
Oscar immediately looked offended, “I literally just went to check if you arrived okay.”
He gestured between the two of you, completely unfazed.
“And I see you did.”
The silence that followed was painful. Lando let out a sigh, running a hand through his hair. At this point, there was no point pretending anymore.
“So…” he started cautiously. “Are you gonna kill me now or later?”
For a second, Oscar genuinely looked confused.
“Kill you?”
“Yeah,” Lando said, pointing between them. “The whole off limits thing…”
Oscar immediately cut him off with a small laugh.
“And you actually thought I didn’t know you’d do the exact opposite of what I told you?”
Lando blinked. Right. Of course. This was Oscar. His best friend. The person who probably knew him better than anyone else. If Oscar told him not to do something, he should’ve known that Lando’s first instinct would be to do exactly that.
“So…” Lando hesitated. “You’re not going to kill me?”
“No.”
There was a pause. Lando looked almost disappointed.
“That’s honestly a bit disappointing.”
Oscar frowned. “What?”
“Because it means all this stress was for nothing.”
You immediately laughed, and even Oscar couldn’t hold back a smile. A second later, all three of you were laughing. Because after weeks of Lando acting like he was about to face some kind of family trial, the reality was much simpler.
babsie radio ! …and if you want to know more about Oscar’s love story that I mentioned a few times here, you should go read You’ll Love Me Anyway by my lovely and talented @piestri 🫶🏻 We decided to do this little collab, so these two fics take place in the same universe! I hope you enjoy this one 🩷 And I hope you enjoy it more than I did while editing it because I spent a solid hour connecting things, deleting paragraphs, and fighting with that stupid 1000 block limit. I DESPISE it 😭 Also, I know I promised Charlie’s voicemails as soon as possible, but I really wanted to finish this first because it’s been sitting in my drafts for almost a month. So please forgive my lies and be patient with me!! 😭🩷
author’s note: i am lowkey obsessed with this au but also its lowkey annoying ME because i want to work on other things and keep thinking of details to add to this to make it even longer.. what a shame xx
series masterlist
word count: 3.5k
the first week oscar hung around in the town, the issues seemed like they could be pure coincidence rather than the demigod’s meddling.
two brothers who had never disagreed about anything suddenly became hostile over the inheritance their father split between the two of them, one insisting that the other got a better piece of land with the stream coursing through it.
a union gets postponed when one of the lovers starts convincing herself that her partner is regretting the choice of her as his own.
every inconvenience leads someone in the town to lando’s presence, tense posture and terse words leading the way, like mentioning their thoughts would make them true. despite all of this, the demigod listened to every complaint and fear with grace and patience that earned him the trust of the patrons of glårefjell in the first place.
he was never one to dismiss the concerns brought forward, instead nodding along and offering bits of information that unravels the false narratives the people worked themselves into.
the brothers ended up leaving with arms wrapped around the other’s shoulder, laughing about how obtuse they had been.
the lovers wept into each others’ arms when lando took apart the growing tension like he was plucking the thorns from a rose, holding each other tight like they always did.
but every time lando had the chance to fix these issues, dozens more seemed to fester and build in their place.
he repaired every broken piece of trust, but not before another fracture was felt in the town.
he knows oscar is behind this, wandering through the streets with an ease that makes his skin crawl. this was his town, and another demigod in a place where there has only been one seems to unsettle the very earth they tread over.
it was only a matter of time before the tensions boiled over.
————————
oscar makes his way through glårefjell like he belonged there. he smiles at vendors as he scans over the produce, reunites a child with his missing wooden horse, and even helps an elderly woman get home past crowds of market goers.
he was charming in a way that nobody expected, certainly not from a man that seemed to have shown up out of nowhere days ago.
he never lied outright to the townsfolk, instead choosing his words and flow of conversation with a precision that shook lando to his core as he watched the chaos unfold.
————————
“don’t you think it’s quite strange that your wife never mentions where she goes off to every so often?” oscar muses, taking a look at a slightly bruised apple from a stall as the man behind the counter blinks in surprise. “i just think it’s odd for you to not know.”
the man frowns as he takes the apple from oscar’s hand, replacing it with a pristine one instead. “i suppose i never thought to ask her,” he murmurs, looking down at the bruised fruit like it was a personal insult.
oscar laughs quietly. “i think you might want to ask her, no?”
—
a girl is picking wildflowers in hopes of giving them to the man she has a crush on, the blush on her face getting a shade darker when she sees oscar watching her.
“who’s the lucky person who gets these?” he asks, leaning against the fence nearest to her.
she gives a small laugh, tucking her hair behind her ear. “his name is noah, the shepherd’s son,” she admits shyly. “i believe he might ask me to the lake this eve. we’ve been getting.. closer, after all.”
oscar raises a brow, looking to the side with a sigh. “i wouldn’t get your hopes up, my dear. he seemed quite enthralled with the maiden over there earlier when i was in the baker’s shop,” he points out another girl to her, the look on his face close to pity. he knew the lie stung as soon as it left his mouth, hope withering away and giving rise to jealousy and bitter disappointment.
“oh, i..” the girl trails off, worrying her bottom lip as she looks down at the small bundle of willowherb in her palm. “i suppose i can’t know for sure. i thought they were acquaintances.."
“i’m sure they are,” oscar coos. “I only thought i would mention it.” he pushes off the fence and walks off without another word.
—
he sidles up beside one of the town’s highest ranked guards, sighing to himself already. “i admire your ability to lead men in this town, sir. lando must trust you with a lot of things, no?”
the man looked over with a cut of his eyes, a hint of disdain on his face as he regards oscar. “i suppose you could say that.”
“i wonder why he never told you about that meeting he had yesterday afternoon,” oscar hums.
the man blinked, turning his head to fully look at oscar now. “what meeting?”
oscar blinks back, his expression turning apologetic as if he knew he had spilled a secret he wasn't supposed to even know about. “oh, i’m sorry,” he sighs, pressing his lips together. “i assumed you knew.”
by dusk, the man was talking with other men in town, asking about this mysterious meeting their leader had not filled him in on.
oscar hadn’t done almost anything visible in the town, rather continually sowing seeds of distrust and suspicion like it was second nature.
the townsfolk were doing all the hard work in watering them and growing the frustration themselves.
————————
lando could feel the rifts in the town without even looking closer, sighing in exasperation as he quelled another petty argument.
glårefjell belonged to lando as much as he belonged to the people and the town itself, the essence of community always thrumming lightly beneath his skin. the town had always operated like a beautiful symphony since lando assumed his position, every individual serving their part in the closely knit community.
but that harmony was faltering.
small yet vital pieces of the foundations of the town seemed to tear seam by seam until the split was noticed by more people, the cause and effect rippling outward faster than lando could stop it.
blind trust gave way to suspicion, and what used to be freely given affection suddenly seemed to have hesitation laced throughout.
lando found himself working on these tears before the sun came up in the morning until well after dawn, moving through the streets and mediating conflict like he had always done flawlessly. he began to exhaust himself with acts of kindness and gentle reminders into these festering wounds, another cracking open before he had a chance to breathe.
after the first week, his face didn’t hold the same easy glow that he had before oscar came to town.
his eyes felt hollow at times, like piecing together the town that seemed so adamant on falling apart was taking more than he could manage.
townsfolk began to notice.
more importantly, oscar noticed.
————————
“you look tired these days.”
lando didn’t bother to look up at the demigod he knew was standing in front of him, instead letting out a soft hum as he continued to clean up remnants of a small wall that crumbled out of nowhere, piecing the stones back together.
“i mean, i can’t imagine why,” oscar continues, kneeling down beside him as he picks up one of the stones himself, tossing it up into the air carelessly. “i’ve been meaning to find you, you know. i wanted to compliment your work ethic to this insignificant little village.”
the comment was enough to make lando falter in his progress of rebuilding the wall, pausing just long enough that he could practically hear the sarcastic smile in oscar’s tone.
“you really do care about these people, don’t you?” he asks, handing lando the stone from his palm. the rock was warm from the heat of his grip as he passed it over, lando shrugging lightly as he took it and placed it back with precision. “i do care about them.”
“i don’t think they appreciate you,” oscar muses, practically baiting lando into a conversation with him.
lando finally looked up at him, his blue eyes meeting the deep brown of oscar’s. the silence stretched impossibly long before the demigod spoke again. “they do.”
two words were all he gave oscar, the inherent dismissal evident in his tone.
“they certainly ask a lot of you as a ruler, then,” oscar scoffs, raising a brow as lando lets out another soft hum before continuing to stack the stones for the wall.
freyja’s son says nothing as he finishes assembling the wall back together, standing up from the hard earth to wipe his palms on the sides of his thighs. “this is my town. the people inside are my responsibility to care for.”
“who takes care of you, then?” oscar asks, standing up as well as his hand brushes something from his shoulder. “i’ve watched you skip meals multiple times this week already, and you’ve grown quite fond of massaging your temples to relieve the frustration building when you think no one can see.”
lando huffs out a soft laugh, tilting his head to the side as he looks up at oscar. “i wasn’t aware you were watching me so closely.”
oscar’s grin grows, like he believed he was finally making progress in getting something out of the other. “i observe everything. you just happen to be what i find most entertaining currently.”
“you must be disappointed then,” lando muses, smiling sweetly at him before walking past him and towards his mother’s temple. he knows he’s succeeded in throwing oscar off when the other demigod falters, his steps pausing momentarily before following along.
“i beg your pardon?”
“i think you must be terribly disappointed, oscar,” lando continues, watching the other practically stalk him down as he walks further out of the town’s center. “you wanted me angry, you wanted to crumble the very foundations of this town. all of that for what?”
oscar bristles before managing to cover it up, irritation on his face at being forced to follow after the other simply to continue the conversation.
“i still won’t hate you, if that changes anything,” lando sighs, stopping so suddenly that oscar almost runs into his back. “i don’t think you’re evil. i think you’re lonely.”
the bustling energy in the streets around them seemed to have lessened, as if the whole town was now listening in with bated breath. the thought made something stir deep in oscar’s chest, glaring at a set of wind chimes as they twinkled with mirth by a passing breeze. “careful,” oscar mutters, smirking at lando’s audacity to assume anything about him.
“i understand you’re going to exhaust yourself here trying to convince us that you’re just like your father.”
oscar’s grin vanished in an instant. his easygoing demeanor and teasing amusement he wore ever since he arrived in glårefjell was gone, disappearing so quickly one might have thought it was never there to begin with.
it was as if the warmth in the air around them had been dampened, an icy chill settling in its place.
“you don’t know anything about me,” oscar grits out, the brown of his eyes darkening further until they’re almost pure black.
“i know that children aren’t born to be deceitful,” lando continues, voice gentle as if he was trying to soothe a frightened animal. he steps closer to oscar, eyes searching his face. “i know that being abandoned isn’t a choice that any child makes.”
for a fraction of a second, oscar’s carefully curated mask slipped fully off. something ancient yet still raw flashed across his face, his whole body stiffening as he stopped and stared at lando. the emotion behind it was naked with something akin to vulnerability, his breath faltering.
but it was gone as soon as it arrived, several layers of masks and protection seeming to seal themselves shut over oscar. as soon as he protected himself from lando’s onslaught of community and empathy, the world itself seemed to erupt.
flocks of birds exploded up from their perches in the nearby trees, their wings flapping in such a cacophony of noise that lando flinched away from the sound. the ground under their feet was vibrating with a restrained energy that he could only attribute to the rage he knew oscar was feeling.
the townspeople cried out, children sobbing as they ran for comfort and protection with their parents.
the parallels of the situation were not lost on oscar.
neither of them moved, but the air around them seemed static, charged with years of festering emotions. the oscar that had originally shown up in glårefjell, the overly confident trickster with an affinity for causing chaos, was gone. the only thing left behind seemed to be something older than even oscar himself, cold and hostile just like the myths said.
he looked every bit like loki’s son.
terrifying, cold, deceitful..
lando’s eyes flash with concern as he opens his mouth, brows furrowing. “oscar, i wasn’t trying to-”
“don’t,” he interrupted, years of festering anger in his tone. the timbre of his voice seemed to shake through the town again, the wooden beams of stalls groaning with stress as each tremor rocked them.
the emptiness on his face was worse than anything lando could have imagined, his eyes searching for a glimpse of the oscar he was used to hiding under the surface.
but there was nothing.
“you think that because you’ve heard stories of my father and his own wrongdoings that you can make assumptions about me,” oscar hissed, a strange darkness settling in his eyes. “you think that my presence in your town that worships kinsmanship and understanding gives you any right to speak on things you have no comprehension of?”
lando refuses to back away from him, refuses to give the other demigod anything that could be interpreted as weakness even now.
“you have this deluded fantasy in your head that everything that’s broken needs to be fixed,” he spits, the venom in his tone carrying none of the easygoing warmth he had been piling on ever since their first conversation. “that’s exactly what i hate about you.”
the shadows around oscar seemed to bend and twist with every harsh word, stretching into the streets of the town like direct splits from his form. another tremor shook the town as lando stared at him, heartbreak clear in his eyes.
oscar couldn’t fucking stand it.
he let out a hollow laugh, walking a step closer to the other demigod. as soon as his foot landed solid against the ground, another tremor followed.
“oscar, you don’t have to-”
“no, you’re right, my father did abandon me,” oscar sighs, interrupting the other again. “the gods and mortals alike who took me in out of pity always watched me so closely. guarded their belongings whenever i was in a room. do you know how that feels, lando?”
lando’s lips pressed into a thin line as he shook his head, watching oscar with caution as he laughed again to himself.
“every mistake i made was expected. it was proof that my father and his legacy is all they saw. every one of my successes was surprising to them, because no one thought a son of loki would amount to anything besides a petty criminal.”
oscar’s hands shook as he ran his fingers through his hair, his gaze not leaving lando’s for one second.
“and now you’re standing here and looking at me with pity,” he hisses. his chest is breaths away from being pressed against lando’s now, the air around them charged with all the anger coursing through him. “i don’t need your pity, lando. i don’t need your help, or your sympathy, because you don’t know me.”
“i didn’t mean any offense,” lando whispered, trying to soothe the other demigod before anything could worsen.
the stone paths around them seemed to shake as oscar’s eyes flashed, cracks racing toward the heart of the city. wood support beams creaked and people gasped, backing away from the stalls as a basket of fruit toppled off the side. a lantern fell onto the ground and shattered, the flames inside licking at the grass around it. lando instinctively turned to the town, taking a caution step toward the destruction oscar was causing.
“there he is,” he chuckles, a cold grin on his face as he takes a step away, trying to control his anger before he did something he would regret.
the shadows stretching from him flickered to life, shifting into illusions of oscar around the town. every version wore the same cold, dreadful smile as they moved through the streets, people backing up with fear in their eyes.
the illusions seemed to incite chaos whenever they walked close enough to something, ropes of signs snapping out of nowhere and pots of flowers exploding into dust and debris.
nothing was serious enough to cause any harm.
nothing broken beyond repair, nothing harmful to the townsfolk.
it was just enough to force lando into making a decision. just enough to remind him what he cares for more than trying to analyze oscar and his past.
his blue eyes were stormy as he met the pools of brown watching him with a feral edge. the real oscar never once let his eyes leave lando, the determined focus behind them sending a thrill up his spine.
“stop this,” lando whispered, his voice still gentle even as he begged for a reprieve. “this isn’t necessary. they did nothing to you.”
oscar stood perfectly still amongst the chaos around him, smirking down at lando. he said nothing, because the softness in the demigod’s voice despite his best efforts to destroy any sense of camaraderie angered him more than it should have.
he despised lando’s ability to be sane in the face of problems, in the face of danger such as himself.
he despised his ability to think that with enough kindness, understanding, and gentle reassurance that anything could be fixed.
it couldn’t.
he couldn’t be fixed.
the entire town seemed to look to lando whenever anything happened, expecting him, trusting him, to have the answers. his unbearable conviction that everything could be solved was one of the most annoying traits lando could have inherited from his mother, yet it’s the exact trait that made glårefjell so perfect.
oscar had never known what that was like.
he had never had anyone his entire life that trusted him, let alone expected him to know how to fix mistakes. he was the mistake.
the thought alone was enough to make him step back, the illusions melting back into the shadows as if they were following him. he refused to let himself be analyzed so easily by a son of freyja, refused to let those soft blue eyes piece together wounds he had spent a lifetime stamping down until he forgot himself.
lando watched him as he stepped back, his own eyes flashing with something that oscar had only known as confusion and concern his entire life. not a word was said as he watched the shadows melt back underneath the other demigod, his eyes cutting over to the chaos in the town square briefly.
“go on, go fix everything,” oscar mused, his voice not nearly as cold and distant as he would have liked. “just like your mother taught you to.”
he stepped back one final time into the darkness and was gone, leaving behind that cold, blank, dead smile that seemed to linger in everyone’s mind. the shadows seemed to fold in on themselves as he did so until nothing remained behind that he had been standing there at all.
the only sounds that remained seemed to be the sounds of the town itself, broken wood beams still creaking and the small noise of fire licking through the grass left with the eerie silence now surrounding lando.
lando was frozen to the spot, still staring at the patch of grass oscar had seemingly disappeared from. his eyes cut to the side to look at his people, all looking right back at him with fear and concern in their eyes.
for once in his life, he didn’t have an immediate answer for what to do next.
he didn’t have any blessings to offer, no gentle words at the ready for the emotions he saw written all over their faces.
they instinctively seemed to reach for him, to ask him what to do, but the words felt stuck in his throat.
because he always knew what to do.
he was freyja’s son, their beloved ruler and protector, their peace from fear of the gods.
and lando did not have an answer.
he walked into town and stood amongst the wreckage oscar left behind, the last words he hissed at him echoing in his mind as he picked up a fallen sign.
the twist of emotion in his stomach did not settle as he looked across the destruction, realizing this may very well be the first problem that his care and attention alone cannot fix.
and that thought scared him more than he would like to admit.
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.
