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Apr 20

Every Line Crossed

Lando Norris x Fem OC

Summary: F1's first female driver and the reigning champion hate each other from the get go...but if you squint, there's something much deeper there.

Warnings: angst, harassment, gender discrimination, soft smut.

Word count: 11, 035

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By the time the season hit its halfway point, half the paddock had started treating Lando and Chiara like some kind of ongoing reality show.

It had started in Melbourne, ugly from the first second, and somehow only got worse from there. Or better, depending who you asked.

Most people found it entertaining. Carlos found it hilarious. Alex thought it was a disaster waiting to happen. Charles, unfortunately for everyone involved, was personally invested in Chiara's wellbeing and had made it very clear he was one bad comment away from strangling Lando with his own driver's gloves.

Chiara drove for Williams, and she drove like she had something to prove every single time she got in the car. Maybe because she did. She was Charles' best friend, had come into F1 under more scrutiny than nearly any rookie in years, and had spent the first half of the season dealing with every lazy headline possible. Pretty girl. Social media darling. Female driver experiment. Williams publicity move.

She hated all of it. And she hated Lando Norris most of all.

Mostly because from the second they met, he'd looked her up and down in the paddock like he'd already decided exactly what kind of person she was...and she'd done the same.

It was on the Thursday of race week in Bahrain. Media day. Too hot, too bright, too many microphones shoved into faces before anyone had even had a proper coffee.

Chiara had been mid answer, talking about adapting to the tyre degradation and learning race management, when Lando walked past the edge of the interview pen with Oscar and muttered, not exactly quietly, "Bit serious for someone who drives a tractor."

Oscar had looked like he wanted to disappear.

Chiara had turned her head, still smiling for the cameras.

"Sorry," she'd said, voice sweet. "Did you say something, or were you just desperate for attention again, Norizz?"

A couple of journalists immediately perked up.

Lando stopped walking. Turned. Gave her a flat little smile. "Just wondering if Williams let you do your own talking points or if Charles writes them for you."

Chiara's smile didn't move. "At least I can form a talking point without sounding like a Twitch stream comment section."

That had been the first shot.

After that, it just became their thing.

Every race weekend, every media day, every random group moment in the paddock, they somehow found each other and started.

At first it was almost easy. Surface level. Simple insults. The kind that got laughs from nearby drivers and awkward looks from PR team.

Then it got meaner.

By Miami, it had actual bite.

They were doing one of those stupid press conferences, all five of them squeezed onto a couch for content nobody really wanted to film. Lando sat on one end. Chiara sat on the other. Charles had taken the unfortunate middle spot and looked like a man trying to survive.

The interviewer had asked who was the biggest complainer on the grid.

Chiara answered instantly. "Lando."

Lando snorted. "That's rich coming from someone who acts like the FIA is personally ruining her life every Sunday."

She crossed one leg over the other and looked at him. "Maybe because I prefer actual racing over whatever it is McLaren hands you every weekend."

George let out the tiniest cough, clearly trying not to react.

Lando tilted his head. "Sorry, remind me again, how many wins do you have?"

"How many championships would you have without the fastest car?"

Charles closed his eyes for one long second.

The interviewer, loving every second of it, leaned in. "So no love lost there?"

Chiara didn't even blink. "I respect drivers who earn their way."

Lando laughed. "And I respect drivers who don't spend every race weekend acting like the sport owes them a thank you card for showing up."

She gave him a look that could've cut glass. "Better than acting like daddy's bank account and a papaya rocket make you some kind of racing god. What was it, two points you won by?"

The whole set went dead quiet for half a second.

Lando's jaw ticked. He leaned back, all fake smile. "That's funny. You want to talk about why you're here? Because from where I'm sitting, Williams needed a headline, and you happened to photograph well."

Even Charles turned fully at that.

Chiara stared at Lando for a long second. Her face went still in a way that was somehow worse than if she'd snapped right away.

Then she smiled...not nicely.

"Aw. There he is," she said. "I was wondering how long it would take before the entitled nepo baby said something unbelievably stupid...again."

Lando's expression hardened.

Charles looked at the producer and said, "You're not airing any of this."

They absolutely aired part of it.

By Monaco, the whole thing had picked up enough heat that even other teams were making jokes about it. Drivers would notice Lando and Chiara in the same hospitality space and immediately start hovering like vultures.

It never mattered where they were...paddock. Airport transfers, hospitality lounges. The drivers parade was usually the worst, because nobody could leave.

In Barcelona, they'd ended up across from each other on the parade truck, sunlight baking down on all of them while the fans screamed from the grandstands below.

Lando had sunglasses on and one arm slung over the rail, looking irritatingly relaxed. Chiara was next to Pierre, frowning at something on her phone.

Lando looked over. "What's the matter? Williams strategy team already text you to apologize in advance?"

She didn't look up. "No, actually. Just reading another article about your miraculous talent. Inspiring stuff. They almost made it sound like the car wasn't doing half the work."

Pierre laughed into his hand.

Lando looked offended. "You know, for someone in a lower midfield team, you spend a weird amount of time obsessed with me."

That got her attention. She lowered her phone slowly. "Obsessed?"

"Definitely a little obsessed."

Chiara smiled like she was seconds away from murder. "Trust me, Lando, nothing about you keeps me up at night."

Carlos, standing nearby, muttered, "jesus christ."

Lando shrugged. "Could've fooled me. You bring me up in interviews more than my own engineer."

"That's because journalists love asking about you," she shot back. "They know you'll say something dumb eventually."

He grinned, which only made it worse. "And yet you keep listening."

"Only because ignoring you hasn't worked."

"Oh, so you've tried?"

She stared at him.

Pierre turned away, fully laughing now.

It was never simple with them. That was the problem.

Even when it was nasty, there was always something underneath it that neither of them wanted to look at too closely. Some weird awareness. Some extra spark. The fact they noticed each other too fast, too easily, every single time.

Lando told himself it was because she was impossible not to notice.

Because she was loud. Arrogant. Always ready with a comeback. Always complaining about politics in the sport, unfair expectations, lazy criticism, double standards. Always acting like she had to carry the weight of proving everyone wrong.

Which, in Lando's more honest moments, he knew she probably did. Still, he found her infuriating.

She got under his skin in a way almost nobody did. Said things nobody else would say to his face. Looked at him like she wasn't even a little impressed by the wins, the attention, the title, the whole thing.

Especially the title.

That part really got to him.

Because yes, he had won the 2025 championship in the best car on the grid. He knew what people said. Knew what they implied. That the car had done it for him. That any decent driver could've taken that McLaren to a title. That he'd finally gotten one because the machinery had dragged him over the line.

Chiara never softened it...not once.

At Silverstone, after a press conference where Lando had given some practiced answer about performance windows and team consistency, she'd caught him in the paddock later while he was walking back from engineering.

"Nice drafted speech," she'd said.

He looked at her. "Thanks."

"Felt a bit dishonest though."

He stopped walking.

She did too.

Around them, people moved carefully.

Lando gave her a hard look. "You ever get tired?"

"Of what?"

"Talking like you know everything."

Chiara folded her arms. "I know enough."

"Do you?"

Her chin lifted. "Yeah. I know you won a title in a car half the grid could've won in. And I know everyone acts like that makes you untouchable now."

"Right. And I know you've built your whole personality around making sure everyone believes you belong here."

Her expression changed, only slightly. But he saw it. And because he saw it, because he knew that one had landed, he should've stopped.

Instead he went further.

"Maybe if you spent less time playing the victim and more time driving, people would stop asking why Williams picked you."

The silence after that was ugly.

Chiara stared at him, face unreadable. Then she stepped closer.

"They ask because I'm a woman," she said flatly. "They ask because it bothers people like you that I'm here at all. And the worst part is you know that."

Lando opened his mouth, but she kept going.

"You think I don't hear it? That I don't hear what people say? Quota driver. PR move. Pretty face in a race suit. As if I haven't spent my whole life fighting twice as hard for half the respect." Her laugh was short and bitter. "So yeah, Norris. I probably do sound angry. Wonder why."

He should've said something then. Anything decent. Something less cruel than what was already in his head.

Instead he crossed his arms. "You done?"

Her eyes flashed anger. "No," she said. "Not really. Because you know what's actually embarrassing? A grown man with every advantage in the world acting like everyone else had it easier."

Then she walked away.

He stood there long after she was gone, angry for reasons he didn't fully understand. Angry because she'd made it personal. Angry because he'd made it worse. Angry because she was right about some of it.

And that was the part he hated most.

By Hungary, the whole thing was practically part of the routine.

They bickered at media day over track limits. Argued during the drivers parade over stewarding.

Sniped at each other in the cooldown room after qualifying when Chiara, against all expectations, dragged the Williams into Q3 and finished ahead of both McLarens.

Lando had looked at the timing screen, then at her. "Must be nice. Your yearly miracle came early."

Chiara pulled off her balaclava and smirked. "Must be rough. Fastest car and still couldn't manage it."

He stepped closer. "You enjoy this way too much."

"Only because you make it so easy."

Charles walked in at exactly that moment, saw both of them standing there like they were five seconds from starting a fistfight, and sighed.

"I am begging you both," he said, "to act like adults for one weekend."

Chiara looked at Lando. "Tell him to start."

Lando looked at Charles. "Tell your best friend to shut up."

Charles stared at the ceiling. Somewhere behind them, Alex actually turned around and left.

Nobody really knew when the bickering stopped being just bickering. Maybe it hadn't yet. Maybe that was the problem.

Because by then, nearly half a season in, the insults didn't feel random anymore. They felt practiced. Like both of them had started paying attention in a way that went beyond simple dislike.

Lando knew exactly which comment would get under Chiara's skin fastest. Chiara knew exactly what kind of jab would make his whole face shut down.

And still they kept circling each other. Still they kept looking. Still every room felt a little tighter when both of them were in it. Still every conversation had too much edge, too much heat.

They were enemies. Properly. No doubt about that. Harsh words. Mean digs. Long stares. Zero patience.

And yet there was something there, unfinished and impossible to ignore, building under every argument like a storm neither of them was ready to break.

At the halfway point of the season, if you asked Chiara what she thought of Lando, she'd say he was entitled, spoiled, overrated, and way too pleased with himself for a man who'd had a championship handed to him on a silver platter.

If you asked Lando what he thought of Chiara, he'd say she was arrogant, exhausting, a PR stunt, impossible, and so determined to prove she belonged that she'd turned being angry into a full time personality trait.

And if you asked either of them why, despite all that, they never seemed able to stay away from each other for more than a few hours at a time...neither of them would have an answer they were ready to admit.

✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿

The shift didn't happen at once. If anything, it was so gradual neither of them really clocked it until it was already there.

After the summer break, everything just...felt different.

It started in Monaco, of all places. Random, unplanned. A few of them had fallen into a routine...morning gym sessions, coffee after, sometimes paddle in the afternoons when nobody had media or simulator work. It wasn't even organized. Some of the drivers just showed up.

Lando showed up. Chiara showed up.

At first, it was the same as before. A look across the room. A muttered comment. Something sarcastic under their breath that the other would absolutely hear.

But the edge wasn't as sharp.

Like one morning, Chiara was midway through a set, hair tied up messily, headphones in, when Lando walked past and paused near her bench.

"You're gonna hurt your back like that," he said, casual.

She didn't even look at him. "Thanks, coach."

He lingered anyway. "I'm serious."

She reracked the weight and sat up, pulling one earbud out. "And I'm serious. I didn't ask."

He shrugged. "Just saying."

She looked at him then. "...You offering to fix it?"

He hesitated for half a second. Then, "Yeah. If you want."

She held his gaze a second longer, like she was waiting for the usual smug comment to follow...it didn't.

"...Fine," she said eventually, sliding off the bench. "But if I drop it, I'm blaming you."

"Fair."

That was kind of how it went after that. Small things. Not nice, exactly. But not cruel either.

At Carlos's place a few nights later, it got even weirder. There were too many people there...music playing, drinks everywhere, the balcony doors open to the warm night air. Someone had dragged out a speaker, someone else was arguing about football, and Lando somehow ended up next to Chiara on the couch.

It wasn't on purpose. It just...happened.

She was mid story about something stupid from earlier in the season, animated in a way she usually wasn't around him, and he caught himself actually listening.

Not waiting to interrupt, not planning a comeback.

"...and then the engineer goes 'we think it's fine,' and I'm like, what do you mean you think-"

Lando snorted. "Yeah, that tracks."

She looked at him. "You agree with me?"

"Don't make a big deal out of it."

She narrowed her eyes slightly. "You're weird lately."

"So are you."

They both kind of paused at that.

Then Carlos shouted something from across the room and it broke whatever that moment was.

Still, it lingered.

By the time they got to Zandvoort, the tension between them had changed shape. It was still there...still charged, still heavy, but it wasn't all anger anymore.

It felt like something waiting.

The bar had been small. Tucked away. Just dim lighting, low music, a bunch of drivers and a couple team people squeezed into a space that felt too tight for all of them.

It wasn't planned either. They'd just run into each other...of course they had.

A few drinks in, everything got looser. Conversations overlapped. People moved around, switching seats, leaning into each other to hear over the music.

Chiara had been standing near the bar, elbow resting against it, drink in hand, when Lando slid into the space next to her.

"Didn't think you drank much," he said.

She looked at him. "Didn't think you noticed."

"I notice everything."

She rolled her eyes a little. "That's a terrifying personality trait."

"Works out for me."

She took a sip of her drink, looking at him over the rim of the glass. "You're less annoying lately."

He let out a laugh. "Wow. High praise from her highness."

"Don't get used to it."

"Wasn't planning on it."

There was a pause. Then, softer, almost like she hadn't meant to say it out loud, "You've been driving well lately papaya boy."

That caught him off guard. "...urm, thanks."

She shrugged, looking away like it didn't matter. "Just stating facts."

He leaned against the bar. "You too."

She huffed a quiet laugh. "Don't sound so shocked."

"I'm not shocked."

"You are."

"I'm not."

She turned her head slightly, raising a brow at him. "You literally used to say I only got here because I photograph well."

He winced a little. "Yeah...I did say that."

"Multiple times."

"Alright, I get it."

She watched him for a second longer, like she was trying to figure something out.

"...You don't actually believe that anymore, do you?"

Lando met her eyes. "No."

Something in her expression shifted.

"Good," she said quietly.

The conversation after that felt different. They still poked at each other, still threw in the occasional sarcastic comment, but it didn't land the same way. It didn't feel like they were trying to win anymore.

At some point, the others drifted away. Carlos disappeared with someone, Pierre got dragged into a conversation near the door, and suddenly it was just the two of them at the bar.

Closer than they'd been before.

Chiara leaned her head back slightly, exhaling. "This is weird."

"What is?"

"This," she gestured vaguely between them. "Us not trying to kill each other."

He smirked. "Give it time."

She nudged his arm lightly. "Shut up."

He looked at her, something unreadable in his expression. "You wanna get out of here?" he said, quieter now.

She stilled. "Why?"

He shrugged, but his gaze didn't leave her. "Too loud. Too many people."

That wasn't the real reason...she knew it. He knew she knew.

"...And?" she pushed.

"And I want to talk to you without an audience."

Chiara looked at him for a long second, like she was weighing it up, like she knew exactly what she was stepping into if she said yes.

"...Fine," she said finally, setting her glass down. "But if this turns into another argument, I'm leaving."

He smiled, small and almost relieved. "Deal."

The walk back to her hotel was quiet. Not awkward, just...tense. The kind of quiet where everything felt like it meant more than it should.

Inside her room, it was the same.

She kicked off her shoes, tossed her bag onto the chair, and turned to him. "You said you wanted to talk."

"I did."

He didn't move closer yet. Just leaned against the back of the couch, watching her.

"You first," he said.

She frowned slightly. "Why me?"

"Because you always go first."

She huffed out a quiet laugh. "That's not true."

"It is."

She crossed her arms, thinking for a second. "...Well I decided...I don't hate you anymore," she said finally.

He blinked.

"Wow," he said dryly. "This is really hitting me emotionally."

"I'm being serious."

"So am I. I feel very moved right now."

She rolled her eyes, but there was a hint of a smile there. "I mean it," she said, quieter. "I don't hate you."

Lando pushed off the couch slightly, stepping a little closer. "...I know," he said.

She looked at him. "Do you?" she asked.

"Yeah."

Another pause.

"Do you still think I don't belong here?" she added, almost like she didn't want to ask but couldn't help it.

"No," he said again. No hesitation.

Her shoulders dropped just a fraction. "Okay."

Silence stretched between them, but it didn't feel empty. It felt like something building.

"I was harsh," he said after a second. "Back then."

"You were a dick."

"Yeah. That too."

She let out a breath, looking down for a second. "I wasn't exactly nice either."

"You were brutal."

"You deserved it."

"Probably."

They both smiled a little at that.

Then it faded again. Because now they were standing too close. Now there was nothing distracting them.

Just them.

Chiara looked up at him. "So what is this then?"

Lando didn't answer right away. And then, everything blurred after that.

Just tension snapping. Too much built up over months. Too many looks, too many arguments, too many almosts.

It tipped...and they fell into it. Bruised lips, pulled hair and whispered moans as they took out their tension and frustrations on each other.

When Chiara woke up, the room was quiet...too quiet. For a second, she didn't move. Still half asleep, warm, comfortable, wrapped up in that hazy feeling where nothing fully makes sense yet.

Then she reached out...cold.

Her eyes opened immediately. The other side of the bed was empty. Sheets already gone cold, like he'd been gone for a while.

She sat up too fast, heart kicking hard in her chest. "Lando?" she called, voice rough.

Nothing.

She pushed the covers back, standing up, grabbing the first thing she could find...her shirt from the night before...and pulling it on as she moved through the room.

Bathroom. Empty. Living area. Empty. No note. No message. Nothing.

Her phone sat on the table where she'd left it. No notifications. No texts. Nothing from him.

Her stomach dropped.

"...Are you serious?" she muttered, running a hand through her hair, pacing once across the room.

This didn't make sense.

Last night hadn't been nothing. It hadn't been some random hookup with no context. They'd talked. Actually talked. Said things they hadn't said before.

It meant something. Didn't it?

Her chest tightened.

Because now, standing there alone in a too quiet hotel room, it felt like she'd imagined half of it.

Like she'd read it wrong. Like she'd been stupid enough to think it was more.

"Of course," she said under her breath. "Of course he fucking leaves."

She turned back toward the bed, staring at the empty space. Anger came first defensively. Then something worse slipped in underneath it...doubt.

Her jaw tightened.

No. She wasn't doing this. She wasn't going to sit here spiraling over him walking out without a word.

If he thought he could just...she grabbed her phone, unlocking it, pulling up his contact.

She pause. Because as angry as she was, there was something else sitting heavy in her chest.

She didn't just want to yell at him. She wanted answers. Wanted to know what last night actually was. What it meant. What they were doing.

Her grip tightened around the phone.

"Yeah," she muttered to herself. "We're having that conversation."

Because there was no way she was letting this turn into another half finished thing between them. Not after everything, not after they night and whispered words they shared.

And definitely not after he walked out like it didn't matter...like she didn't matter.

✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿

Chiara moved through her race day routine on autopilot. Shower, hair, light makeup...everything controlled, like if she kept it tight enough on the outside, nothing would spill over.

But it was there.

She checked her phone again before leaving the hotel. Still nothing, no message. No "sorry, had to leave."

No anything.

Her jaw tightened as she grabbed her bag.

"Fine," she muttered under her breath. "We'll do this the hard way."

The paddock was already loud when she got there. Race day always had that energy...people moving fast, cameras everywhere. Normally, she could slip into it. Let it take over. Focus on the race, the prep, the routine.

Today, it felt off.

Because every time she turned a corner, every time she walked into a new space, she was looking for him...and not finding him.

She caught glimpses...McLaren colors in the distance, his engineer walking by, Oscar talking to media, but not him.

Charles found her first.

He took one look at her and frowned. "Chi, you okay?"

"Yeah," she said too quickly.

He didn't buy it. Of course he didn't. He never did. "You look like you slept two hours."

"I slept enough."

"Chiara-"

"I'm fine, Charles."

He looked at her, clearly not convinced, but he let it go. "For now," he said, quieter. "Focus on the race."

She nodded. That part, at least, she could do...or she thought she could.

Zandvoort was tight. Narrow corners, little room for error, crowds packed in close enough that you could feel the sounds even through the helmet.

Chiara usually liked it. Today, everything felt a split second off. Her mind kept drifting, back to him...back to that stupid empty hotel room. Back to the fact that she hadn't seen him yet, hadn't gotten a chance to ask, to demand an explanation, to understand what the hell had happened.

She told herself to focus.

Lap by lap. Corner by corner. Just drive.

Lando, on the other hand, had one job...collect as many points as possible. He needed points. Badly. The championship fight was tightening, margins getting smaller, and Zandvoort mattered more than he wanted to admit out loud.

He'd been locked in all morning. No distractions. No wandering thoughts...no thinking about last night. He hadn't even let himself go near the Williams side of the paddock. Hadn't looked for her. Hadn't checked his phone more than necessary.

Because he knew if he did, it would throw him off. And he couldn't afford that. Not today...

It happened fast...too fast.

Mid-race, everyone bunched tighter than usual through one of the tighter sections. Dirty air, small gaps, constant adjustments.

Chiara was pushing...maybe too hard. Maybe trying to prove something. Maybe just not thinking clearly.

She turned in slightly too aggressively, correcting mid-corner, the rear stepping out just enough to throw her line off, and Lando was right there.

"Careful-" Will started, but it was already happening.

Chiara's car twitched and Lando had no choice but to react.

He swerved wider than he wanted to, tires dipping just enough to lose grip for half a second.

Half a second was all it took...two cars slipped past him on the exit.

"Are you kidding me?" Lando snapped over the radio.

Will engineer tried to calm him down. "Keep your head, we can recover-"

But Lando was already looking ahead...and seeing her.

The back of the Williams, just a few car lengths in front. His grip tightened on the wheel.

Chiara felt it immediately. The mistake, the correction. The ripple effect behind her.

Her heart dropped. "Shit," she muttered, checking her mirrors.

She didn't need confirmation...she knew.

"Sorry team," she said over the radio, even though it didn't fix anything.

Her engineer responded, but she barely heard it. Because she knew exactly who she'd affected.

And of all the drivers on the grid, it had to be him.

The rest of the race blurred.

Lando fought back where he could, but the damage was done. Positions lost, rhythm broken, strategy compromised.

By the time the checkered flag came out, it wasn't a disaster.

But it wasn't what he needed...not even close.

And the frustration that had been simmering all morning, boiled over.

Chiara didn't even wait to cool down properly.

Helmet off, balaclava half pulled, she moved through the paddock with one goal...find him and apologize. Fix whatever the hell this was before it got worse...because it already felt like it was slipping.

She spotted him near the McLaren area, just stepping away from his engineer, still in his race suit, jaw tight.

"Lando-" she called, moving toward him.

He turned. And the look on his face, stopped her cold.

There was no hesitation. He walked straight toward her. "What the hell was that?" he snapped.

She opened her mouth immediately. "I know...I'm sorry, I didn't-"

"You didn't what? Look? You have eyes, no?"

People were already starting to notice.

"I misjudged the corner," she said, trying to keep her voice steady. "It wasn't intentional-"

"Yeah, no shit it wasn't intentional," he cut in. "You think I believe you're trying to take me out?"

Her chest tightened. "Lando I'm really sor-"

"You cost me positions," he went on, stepping closer. "Do you understand that? Do you have any idea how important this race was for me?"

"I said I'm sorry," she snapped back, a little heat creeping in despite herself. "It was a genuine mistake-"

"You make a lot of those, don't you?"

That one landed.

She looked at him. "What's that supposed to mean?"

He let out a bitter laugh. "Come on, Chiara. Don't act surprised."

She felt it shift. This wasn't about the race anymore. "I'm trying to apologize," she said, quieter now. "And I wanted to talk to you about-"

"Oh, you want to talk?" he cut in again. "Now you want to talk?"

Her stomach dropped. "...What is that supposed to mean?"

He shook his head, running a hand through his hair like he was trying to keep it together and failing.

"You really think last night changes anything?"

Her chest tightened. "That's not what I said," she replied.

"Then what did you think it was?" he shot back. "Because from where I'm standing, it was exactly what it looked like."

Something cold slid into her chest. "Which is?"

He laughed again, harsher this time. "Two people who can't stand each other getting tipsy and making a bad decision."

Her throat went dry. "That's not-"

"It was easy," he cut her off, the words coming out before he could stop them. "That's all it was. Easy, good sex."

She froze, actually froze. "Don't," she said, barely above a whisper.

But he was already too far gone.

"You want to talk about feelings?" he went on. "There are no feelings, Chiara. There's just you overthinking something that didn't mean anything."

Her eyes stung. "Lando, stop."

But he didn't. "You think one night suddenly makes this...what? Something real?" He shook his head. "It doesn't. It was a mistake. That's it."

"Alright, that's enough," Charles' voice cut in sharply as he stepped forward.

Carlos was right behind him. "Mate, seriously-"

But Lando barely registered them. Because he saw her face...and still didn't stop.

"You wanted honesty, right?" he said, pushing it further. "That's the truth. It didn't mean anything. You were just easy."

The words hung there.

Chiara didn't move, didn't say anything. She just stood there, eyes wet, trying...failing...to hold it together.

Because it wasn't just what he said. It was how he said it. Like it didn't matter. Like she didn't matter.

Like all of it...months of tension, last night, everything, they were just nothing.

Her vision blurred. She blinked quickly, trying to keep it together in front of everyone, but it was already too late.

The tears were there and she knew he saw them.

That's what finally snapped him out of it.

His chest rose sharply, like he'd just realized what he'd actually said. "...Chiara-"

But she stepped back. Like she couldn't stand that close to him anymore.

"Got it," she said, voice small, controlled in a way that hurt more than if she'd shouted.

He shook his head slightly. "Fuck, I didn't-"

"It's fine," she cut in, even though it clearly wasn't.

Charles looked between them, jaw tight. Carlos muttered something under his breath.

But Chiara didn't look at any of them. She just looked at Lando.

For one second longer...and he'd never seen her look like that before. Not angry. Just...hurt.

Then she turned and walked away. Lando stood there, completely still.

His chest felt tight.

Carlos shook his head beside him. "You went way too far. Disrespectful, mate..."

Charles didn't even say anything. He just followed after Chiara.

And Lando, he stayed where he was. Running every word back in his head.

Every line...every second. And realizing, way too late...that he'd completely fucked it.

✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿

Lando tried the easy stuff first.

It did not work.

The first text went unanswered. Then the second. Then the fifth. Then the long one he'd rewritten three times and still hated before sending.

Nothing.

Chiara didn't block him, which somehow made it worse. The messages delivered. Sat there. Stayed unread sometimes, read other times, but never answered.

At first he told himself she just needed space.

Then race weekends passed.

Monza. Singapore. Suzuka.

And by the time the calendar kept rolling and she still looked through him like he was part of the wall, Lando had to accept something he really didn't want to accept.

He had not just upset her. He had hurt her in a way that stayed.

That day in Zandvoort didn't fade like their other arguments did. It didn't get swallowed up by headlines and results and next weekends. It clung to everything. Every look she refused to give him. Every time she turned away mid conversation with someone else the second he came near. Every time he caught Charles' expression go flat when their paths crossed.

Carlos, meanwhile, had been annoyingly direct about it.

"You were vile," he'd told him one night after dinner, not even looking up from his phone. "Like genuinely horrific."

"Thanks," Lando had muttered.

"I'm serious. You can't charm your way out of this one."

"I know."

Carlos finally looked at him then. "Do you?"

Lando had stared at the table a second too long. Because yeah. He did.

That was the whole problem.

He knew exactly what he'd done. He knew exactly where it had come from too, which somehow made it uglier. It hadn't just been anger about the race. It had been panic. Fear. The fact that he'd left her hotel room that morning because waking up beside her had felt too real too fast. Because for one stupid, terrifying second, lying there in the quiet with her half asleep beside him, he'd felt something settle in his chest that he did not know how to handle.

Something warm, dangerous. So he'd done the coward thing...he left.

Then when she came to him after the race wanting answers, wanting honesty, wanting something real, he'd panicked again. Only this time he'd set fire to the whole thing.

And now he got to live with it.

So the easy stuff didn't work...but he tried anyway.

Apology texts. Then flowers.

Not giant dramatic bouquets either. Chiara would've hated that. He learned that from Charles, who only told him because after a month of watching him mope around like a kicked dog, even he was getting tired of it.

"She hates anything too showy," Charles had said with reluctance. "No roses. No stupid notes with hearts. No giant teddy bears or whatever nonsense you probably think is romantic."

Lando had looked at him. "I wasn't going to send a teddy bear."

"You seem capable of worse."

Still, Charles gave him enough.

So the flowers started showing up at her hotel room. Different ones every weekend. Small arrangements. White tulips one week. Wildflowers the next. Little handwritten notes tucked into them, never too much.

I was cruel and you didn't deserve it.

I'm still sorry.

I meant none of what I said.

I know that doesn't fix it.

She never mentioned them, never texted. Never acknowledged a single one.

But she stopped immediately throwing them out too, because one weekend in Singapore Alex accidentally let it slip that he'd seen one of the arrangements still sitting in her drivers room when he went by to grab something.

That tiny bit of information fed Lando for about a week. Then came Qatar, and she ignored him in the paddock so completely he thought maybe he'd imagined it.

Still, he kept going.

He stopped snapping back during interviews. Stopped rising to every comment thrown her way. Stopped acting like making her mad was some weird little sport he secretly enjoyed.

And then Mexico happened.

It was media day, one of those cramped press conferences where three drivers were seated shoulder to shoulder under too many lights while journalists asked the same five questions in slightly different forms. Chiara was at the far end of the front row for a separate session after his, waiting with one leg crossed over the other, already looking bored. Lando noticed her the second he walked in.

He also noticed the journalist. Middle aged, smug, the kind who asked questions like they were making points instead of doing a job.

The question wasn't even subtle.

"Chiara has had a few emotional reactions on track this year," the journalist said, looking between them like he was fishing for agreement. "Do you think that kind of reactivity is maybe harder for women drivers to control in F1?"

The room went weirdly still.

Chiara's face didn't change, but Lando saw it anyway...that tiny tightness around her mouth, the look she got whenever she was bracing for something.

Lando leaned toward the mic before the moderator could move on. "No," he said flatly.

The journalist blinked. "No?"

"No," Lando repeated. "I think that's a ridiculous question, actually."

A few heads turned.

"Drivers are reactive. Full stop. That's the sport. I've done it. Max has done it. Charles has done it. Oscar has done it. Literally every driver on this grid has had emotional moments on track or on the radio, and nobody turns that into some bigger theory about men. So maybe don't do it to her either."

Nobody spoke. Then the moderator moved quickly to the next question, but the damage, or maybe the good, had been done.

Chiara looked at him from across the room. Not forgiving, just surprised.

It was the first time in weeks she'd looked at him for more than half a second.

He held her gaze briefly. Then she looked away.

After that, he started going further.

He sent coffee to the Williams hospitality on Saturdays because he learned from Alex exactly how she took it.

He asked a media manager to quietly shut down a gross line of questioning before one session when he heard some idiot freelance reporter talking about Chiara's appearance getting "high social media engagement." He did it without telling her.

He backed her in interviews anytime her name came up.

"Chiara's aggressive in a good way," he said in Brazil when asked about defending against her. "She races hard. Clean too. People just call women difficult faster than they call men competitive."

That quote went around. She still didn't text him back. But she did stop leaving the second he entered a room. It was slight. Barely there. But Lando noticed everything when it came to her, and he noticed that.

In Las Vegas, they ended up standing near each other at a sponsor event, close enough that her perfume hit him when she turned her head. He didn't say anything. Neither did she. But she didn't walk away either.

That night another set of flowers showed up at her hotel.

This time the note just said: I left because I was scared of how much I wanted to stay.

No excuse. Just the truth.

She stared at that one for a long time but still didn't answer.

But for the first time since Zandvoort, she sat on the edge of her bed holding his note instead of throwing it aside and telling herself she didn't care. Because the worst part of all this wasn't that she still hated what he'd said.

It was that some part of her believed him when he was trying now. That some part of her had believed him even before.

She saw the difference.

Saw him standing up for her when nobody asked him to. Saw him keeping his distance because she clearly wanted it, but still showing up in every quiet way he could. Saw the way he looked at her now with none of the smugness, just regret and something deeper.

It would've been easier if he stayed awful. If he stayed dismissive. If he let her keep hating him.

Instead he kept proving, week after week, that what he'd said in Zandvoort had been the ugliest kind of lie...the kind told by someone terrified of how much they mean the opposite.

By the time Austin came around, she was exhausted from resisting it.

Not forgiving, not there yet. But softer, just enough to be dangerous.

The party after the race wasn't even her idea. She almost didn't go. Charles dragged her there after Ferrari had a decent weekend and Carlos backed him up by saying she'd been in her hotel too much lately and needed one actual night where she wasn't overthinking herself into a coma.

So she went.

The place was packed, loud in that Austin way where everything felt a little too expensive and a little too showy. Music was loud, drinks kept appearing in people's hands, and drivers drifted between groups while team staff and random guests hovered around them.

For the first hour, it was fine.

Chiara stayed close to Charles and Carlos, talked to Alex, laughed once or twice despite herself. She even forgot to be tense for a little while.

Then some guy showed up.

She noticed him earlier than he noticed her. Maybe late twenties, already too drunk, too comfortable in his own skin in a way that immediately made her nervous. One of those men who moved through a room like everything in it had been put there for him.

At first it was just staring. Then he started orbiting. Lingering too close. Smiling too long. Looking her up and down in this slow, ugly way that made her skin crawl.

Charles noticed almost immediately. When the guy first approached, drink in hand, smile already wrong, Charles stepped in before Chiara even had to say anything.

"She's not interested mate," Charles said flatly after the man made some comment about buying her something stronger.

The guy laughed like it was all a joke. "Didn't ask you, dude."

Charles didn't move. "I'm telling you."

The man's smile slipped a little. Carlos appeared at Charles' shoulder a second later, which made the whole thing even clearer.

The guy backed off then, muttering something under his breath and disappearing into the crowd.

Chiara took a deep breath.

"You okay?" Charles asked.

"Yeah," she said, though her shoulders were tight. "He's just gross."

Charles' jaw worked. "Stay near us."

She nodded. And for a while, she did.

But parties shifted. People drifted. Charles got pulled into a conversation with Pierre and Lewis. Carlos vanished toward the bar with Alex and Oscar. For maybe three minutes, Chiara was alone near the side hallway leading toward the quieter lounge area, checking her phone and considering just leaving.

That was when the guy came back.

She smelled the alcohol before she fully saw him.

"Hey," he said, too close already. He held out a fresh drink toward her. "Brought you a proper one."

"I'm good," she said immediately, stepping back.

His smile stayed. "Come on, don't be rude. That's not very ladylike."

"I said no."

He moved closer anyway, pushing the glass toward her hand. "Just take it. I bought it for you."

"No."

The word came sharper this time, and her heart started racing. The hallway was dimmer than the main room, music muffled here, people passing at the far end but nobody close enough to really see what was happening.

His face changed...just a little.

"Don't be like that," he said, reaching for her wrist with the hand not holding the drink.

Chiara jerked back, but he caught part of her arm anyway, fingers tightening enough to make something cold shoot through her chest.

"Let go," she snapped.

"Relax," he said, leaning in closer, breath hot and sour with liquor. "I'm being nice."

"Let. Go."

He laughed under his breath, like her fear was funny, and tried pressing the drink at her again. "Drink this baby, it'll calm your spicy attitude down."

Her heart was pounding now. She twisted, trying to pull free, but his grip only shifted higher up her arm.

Then another hand hit his shoulder hard enough to spin him.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?"

Lando.

His voice cut straight through everything, dangerous in a way Chiara had never heard before.

The guy turned, annoyed more than alarmed at first. "Mind your business."

Lando stepped between them fully, putting himself right in front of Chiara without hesitation. "She told you no."

The man looked around him toward her. "We're getting to know each other."

"No," Chiara said. "We weren't."

Lando's jaw set harder at the sound of that. He looked back at the guy, and whatever was in his face must've finally registered because the man's confidence fell a bit.

"You need to leave," Lando said.

The guy scoffed. "Or what?"

Lando took one step closer. "Or I forget I'm in public," he said quietly.

The man squared up for half a second, clearly deciding whether he wanted to keep going.

Then he looked past Lando and seemed to finally clock that people had started noticing now. Some security at the far end. Carlos turning the corner with a look that promised violence.

The guy muttered a curse and backed off, shoving the untouched drink onto a side table before disappearing into the crowd.

Only then did Lando turn.

Chiara was still standing there, back against the wall, breathing too fast. Her face had gone pale in that way fear sometimes did after the adrenaline hit. One hand was wrapped around her own forearm where the man had grabbed her.

Lando's whole posture changed immediately.

"Hey," he said, gentle. "Hey, look at me."

She did, barely.

His chest tightened at the sight of her. "Are you okay?"

She gave the smallest shake of her head. That was somehow worse than if she'd cried.

Carlos arrived first, already furious. "Where is he?"

"Gone," Lando said without looking away from her.

Charles was right behind him a second later, face draining the second he saw Chiara.

"What happened?"

"He grabbed her hard," Lando said. "Tried to make her take a drink."

Charles swore in French and immediately moved toward her, but Chiara just shook her head again, overwhelmed, eyes too wide, like everything around her had gotten too loud.

Lando noticed before anyone else did. Or maybe he was just watching her that closely.

"We should get her out of here," he said.

Charles looked ready to tear the place apart, but he nodded. "Yeah."

Chiara swallowed hard and finally spoke. "I just want to leave."

"I'll drive you," Lando said instantly.

Charles looked at him, so did she.

For one weird suspended second, nobody moved.

Then Charles, very carefully, asked, "You okay with that Chi?"

Chiara looked at Lando again.

At the worry all over his face. At how close he'd stepped without crowding her. At how his hands stayed at his sides like he was making damn sure she knew he wouldn't touch her unless she asked.

Something in her chest gave a little. Done pretending she wanted to be alone tonight.

She nodded once.

The ride out was quiet. Austin at night blurred past the windows in streaks of neon and traffic lights, but Chiara barely saw any of it. She sat curled slightly into herself in the passenger seat, heels kicked off, hands twisted in her lap.

Lando didn't push. Didn't ask too many questions.

He just drove, one hand on the wheel, the other clenched and unclenched against his thigh like he was still trying not to go back and break someone's face.

After a few minutes he said, "He won't come near you again."

She believed him.

They were halfway to her hotel when he looked over and saw she'd gone quieter still, not calmer exactly, just shaken in a way that hadn't worn off.

"We're almost there," he said.

She stared out the window for another second. Then, without looking at him, she said, "Can you please take me to yours."

His hands tightened on the wheel for just a second. "What?"

She turned her head then, and in the dim light from outside he could see it clearly, how rattled she still was, how hard she was trying to hold herself together.

"I don't want to be alone," she admitted.

That hit him right in the chest. Not because it meant everything was suddenly okay, but because she was asking him.

After all of it, she was asking him.

"Okay."

He took the next turn toward his hotel instead. And neither of them said another word.

✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿

"You good?" he asked, as he parked his car.

She nodded, but it was small.

"Come on," he said, guiding her inside.

Chiara stepped inside his room and paused, like she didn't quite know what to do with herself now that the adrenaline had nowhere to go.

Lando hovered near the door for a second, watching her.

This was the part he hadn't planned for.

Actually...none of this was planned.

But this especially, because now she was here.

In his space. And everything he'd been holding in for weeks, months, really, was sitting right there in his chest, pushing up, louder than ever.

"Do you want water or something?" he asked.

She shook her head. "No, I'm okay."

She walked a little further in, dropping her bag near the couch, then sat down slowly like her body was finally catching up to everything.

Lando stayed standing for a second longer.

Then he moved. Not too close. Just enough that he was there, leaning against the edge of the table across from her.

And for a few seconds, it was just...awkward.

Chiara looked up at him like she was about to say something.

He didn't let her.

"Don't," he said.

"What?"

"Don't start," he added, running a hand through his hair, already pacing once across the room. "Because if you start, I'm gonna lose it again or say something wrong or, just, let me go first."

She stayed quiet, watching him.

He exhaled, dragging a hand down his face.

"This season has been...a lot," he started. "Not just the racing. Everything."

He looked at her briefly, then looked away again like it was easier to say this if he wasn't fully looking at her.

"You getting in my head wasn't part of the plan," he said.

That made her eyebrows pull together slightly.

"You did," he added. "From the start."

"By arguing with you every five minutes?"

"Yeah," he said, and there was the faintest hint of a smile there. "Exactly that."

He paced again, slower this time.

"Every fight, every stupid comment, every time you rolled your eyes at me or called me out in front of everyone..." he shook his head lightly. "It didn't push me away. It did the opposite."

Chiara's chest tightened.

"I kept telling myself it was just because you were annoying," he went on. "Or because you didn't buy into any of the bullshit around me. Or because you didn't treat me like I was...something else."

He looked at her then. "But it wasn't just that."

She didn't say anything.

"Sleeping with you..." he paused, jaw tightening slightly like he was choosing his words carefully. "That didn't create something new. It just made it impossible to ignore what was already there."

Her breath caught just a little.

Lando stepped closer, slower now. "I notice everything about you," he said, quieter.

Her heart started picking up again, but not from fear this time.

"Like how your freckles show up more when you're out on the grid too long with no hat," he continued, gaze steady on her. "Right here." He gestured lightly across his own cheek. "You always forget sunscreen on race days."

She looked at him, surprised.

"And the way you bite your bottom lip when you're thinking," he added. "You don't even realize you do it, but it's always right before you say something you know is gonna piss someone off."

A small laugh escaped her.

He didn't stop.

"You drink matcha like it's the only thing keeping you alive on race weekends," he said. "And you get weirdly specific about it too. Like, if it's not made right, you won't finish it."

She looked down slightly, almost embarrassed. "...It matters."

"I know," he said softly.

He took another step closer.

"You listen to Lana Del Rey before every race," he added. "Same playlist. Same order. You don't let anyone touch your headphones when it's on."

Her eyes snapped back up to his. "How do you even-"

"I pay attention," he cut in.

Silence stretched between them again, but this time it felt different.

"You tap your fingers against your leg when you're nervous," he went on. "Like you're trying to get the energy out somehow. And you always pretend you're not nervous, but you are. You just don't let anyone see it for long."

Her throat tightened.

"And after a bad session," he said, voice softer now, "you disappear for like twenty minutes before you talk to anyone. Not because you're upset. Because you want to figure it out first."

Lando exhaled slowly.

"I know all of that," he said. "Because I've been watching you for months without even realizing why."

Chiara's eyes were glassy now.

"And that morning in Zandvoort..." his voice dropped. "I didn't leave because it didn't mean anything."

She stilled.

"I left because it meant too much," he admitted.

The words hung there.

"I woke up, and you were right there," he said, quieter. "And for a second, it felt...easy. Like I didn't have to fight you or prove anything or win anything. And that scared the hell out of me."

Her chest ached.

"So I did the worst possible thing," he went on, jaw tightening. "I ran. And then when you came to me after the race, actually trying to talk to me-" he let out a breath. "I panicked again."

Her eyes dropped slightly.

"I said things I didn't mean," he said. "Things I knew would hurt you. Because it was easier to push you away than deal with what I was feeling."

He stepped closer again, close enough now that the space between them felt thin.

"I was a coward," he said simply. "And I'm so so sorry, Chiara."

Her eyes closed for a second, a tear slipping free despite her trying to hold it back.

"I respect you," he added quickly. "More than I ever said. More than I showed. You belong here, Chiara. You always have. And I admire you for everything you've had to deal with to get here."

She shook her head slightly, overwhelmed.

"And if I'm finally going to be honest about my feeling, I think I'm falling for you," he said.

That was the one that broke whatever was left of her composure.

"Lando..." her voice cracked.

He didn't move away.

"I'm not scared of it anymore," he added. "I'm just scared of losing you because I already almost did."

Silence.

Chiara stood slowly, closing the small distance that was left. "You really hurt me," she said quietly.

"I know."

"I believed you," she added, voice shaking. "What you said that day, I thought that's what you actually thought of me."

His expression tightened. "It wasn't. It could never be..."

"I know," she said, surprising both of them a little. "Now I do."

Another tear slipped down, but she didn't wipe it away this time.

"You don't get to run again," she said.

"I won't, never."

"You don't get to say things like that and then just...fix it with words."

"I know," he repeated.

She searched his face for a second longer. Then, quieter, "I saw what you've been doing."

His breath caught slightly.

"The press conference. The interviews. The stupid flowers," she added.

He let out the smallest exhale.

"I kept them," she admitted.

That one hit him harder than anything else.

"And I get it," she said. "Why you left. It doesn't make it okay. But I get it."

He nodded once, like that was more than he deserved.

She stepped closer. Close enough now that their breaths mixed.

"You don't get to hurt me like that again," she repeated, quieter.

"I won't," he said.

And this time, it didn't sound like a promise made out of panic. It sounded like something real.

She stared at him for one more second. Then she closed the distance between them.

It was slow at first, like they were both checking it was real, like neither of them wanted to get it wrong again.

Her hand came up to his jaw, and his hand settled at her waist carefully, like he was still asking permission even now.

Then it deepened. Just...full.

Everything they hadn't said sitting right there between them, finally not being pushed away.

When they pulled back slightly, foreheads brushing, both a little breathless, neither of them moved far.

"Don't leave," she whispered.

"I'm not going anywhere," he said.

And this time, he meant it.

🌶️ START

Lando's lips went back to Chiara's. Her hands laid against his chest, feeling the muscle under his shirt. All that existed was this couch, the heat of his body pressing her into the cushions, and the weeks of pent up tension finally snapping again, for the better this time.

She'd missed him. God, she'd missed him. The thought hit her miss kiss, stealing her breath. It wasn't just the protection tonight, it was the way his thumb brushed her cheek now, the way his other hand cradled the back of her head, holding her closely. They'd both been so stupid, pretending they didn't need this. But right now, Chiara needed him. All of him.

Lando's tongue slid against hers. It was a proper french kiss, deep and messy, and she moaned into it, a small sound. His grip on her hair tightened, a possessive pull that made her stomach clench.

"Chiara," he said against her lips. "You're so beautiful. I don't say it enough. Look at you."

She blushed, feeling the heat spread across her cheeks. He kissed her again, swallowing her shy response, his hands beginning to move.

One slipped from her hair, trailing down her side. He found the hem of her little black dress, the one she'd worn to the bar. His fingers slid underneath, touching the bare skin of her thigh. She shook.

"Let me see you, darling," he whispered. "All of you."

He didn't rush. He helped her sit up slightly, his hands guiding her. His own movements were slow. He found the zipper at the back of her dress and pulled it down. The dress loosened. He peeled it from her shoulders, letting it fall down her arms. She helped him, pushing the fabric down until it pooled around her waist on the couch.

Lando's eyes drank in the sight of her. Chiara was wearing a simple black bra, her skin pale against it. "Christ, you're so gorgeous," he said. He leaned in and kissed the edge of her shoulder, his lips soft. Then his hands went to her bra. He unhooked the front clasp. The cups fell away, and her breasts spilled free.

He cupped them gently, his thumbs brushing over her nipples. They hardened instantly under his touch. A sharp gasp left her lips. He watched her face, smiling faintly at her reaction.

"So perfect," he whispered. He bent his head and took one nipple into his mouth. He sucked, gently at first, then with more pressure. The sensation was a direct sensation of pleasure to her core. Her back arched, pushing her breast deeper into his mouth. His tongue circled the peak, wet and hot. She moaned, her hands flying to his curls, tangling in the soft hair.

He switched to the other breast, giving it the same attention. His free hand stroked her side, up and down, a soothing rhythm against the frantic need of her pleasure. When he finally released her nipple, she was panting.

"Your turn," he said, his eyes dark with desire.

She understood. Her hands went to his shirt. She pulled at the buttons, fumbling with them. He helped, undoing them quickly. The shirt opened, revealing his chest. It was lean, defined, and hard. She pushed the shirt off his shoulders. He shrugged it away, letting it fall to the floor.

Her palms flattened against his skin. She felt the heat, the strength. She leaned forward and kissed his collarbone, then his chest, tasting the salt of his skin. He sighed, a contented sound, his hands coming to rest on her hips.

Now his pants. Her fingers went to his belt. She unbuckled it, the leather sliding free. The button of his jeans came next, then the zip. She pulled them down, and he kicked them off along with his shoes. He was left in just his boxers, black and tight, the outline of his bulge unmistakable. It was big, as she remembered, straining against the fabric.

He stood up briefly, pulling her dress completely off from where it was tangled around her legs. He tossed it aside. Then he came back to the couch, kneeling before her where she sat. He hooked his fingers in the sides of her panties.

"Are you sure, darling?" He looked up at her.

Chiara nodded, biting her lip.

He drew them down, slowly. His breath caught. "Fuck," he breathed out. "I've missed this."

He leaned in and kissed her inner thigh, high up, close to her core. She tingled at the contact. His lips were soft, but the intent was clear. He nuzzled there, his nose brushing her sensitive skin, before straightening up.

"Condom," he reminded himself.

He stood quickly, reaching for his luggage. He pulled out a packet. He rolled it onto himself quickly, groaning at the sensation. She watched, her heart racing. The sight of him rolling the condom down his length, his cock fully exposed now, thick and hard, made her mouth go dry.

He came back to her. He didn't push her down. Instead, he sat on the couch, leaning back against the cushions. He spread his legs, making space for her. "Come here, love," he said, guiding her with his hands on her waist.

She moved, straddling him. Her knees settled on the couch on either side of his hips. She was above him, looking down into his face. His hands stayed on her waist, holding her steady.

"Take me in," he said. "Slowly. You set the pace, you can be in control."

She reached down between them. Her hand found his cock, slick with the condom. She guided the tip to her entrance. She was wet, so wet already. The moment the tip touched her, she felt a jolt of anticipation.

She sank down.

It was a slow descent. The head of his cock pressed inside, stretching her. She gasped, her eyes fluttering shut. He was big, and she felt every inch of him. His hands tightened on her waist, supporting her.

"Easy, darling," he coaxed. "You're doing so well for me."

Chiara sank further. More of him slid into her, filling her up. The sensation was overwhelming...a thick pressure that spread through her entire lower body. She moaned his name loudly as she clenched around him. When she was fully seated, he was buried deep inside her. She paused, adjusting, feeling the incredible sensation of being filled up by him.

Lando's chest was against hers now. Her breasts pressed flat to his skin. The contact was intimate, warm. He shifted his hands. One stayed on her waist, the other slid up to caress her breast. His thumb brushed her nipple again, making it tighten instantly.

"Move for me, Chiara," he whispered against her skin. "Just rock with me."

She started moving. It was sensual, a slow grind. She lifted herself up slightly, just enough to feel him almost slip out, then sank back down. The friction was delicious, a slow burn that built with each thrust.

His hand on her waist began to help. He guided her rhythm, his grip firm but not forceful. He matched her movements, pushing up slightly with his hips as she came down, deepening the connection. The other hand continued to play with her breast, squeezing softly, rolling her nipple.

Her hands were on his chest, feeling his muscles work. Then one hand moved to his hair, tugging at his curls. He groaned at that, his head tilting back.

"Yes, just like that," he encouraged. "Use me, love. Take what you need."

She did. Her movements became more confident, a little faster. The slow grind turned into proper ride. She rose up higher, then plunged back down, taking him deep. Each time she fully sun down, a soft moan left her lips. She was blushing fiercely, she knew it, her face hot with pleasure and embarrassment at her own sounds.

But he loved it. He watched her face, his eyes dark and hungry. "Look at you," he whimpered. "So fucking beautiful. Blushing for me. Moaning for me. My gorgeous Chiara."

The praise washed over her, making her feel cherished, wanted. It fueled her. She rode him harder, her hips finding a steady, driving rhythm. His hand left her breast and went to her other side, holding both her hips now. He helped her move, his strength making each thrust more powerful. She felt him everywhere...inside her, his hands on her, his chest against hers, his breath on her face.

The pleasure coiled tight in her belly. It was a slow, building tension, a heat that spread from her core out to her chest. She was getting close. Her movements became less controlled, more desperate. She was panting, little gasps and moans falling from her lips.

He sensed it. "Come on, darling," he urged. "Let go. I'm right here with you."

He thrust up into her, meeting her downward plunge with a forceful drive of his own. The change in angle, the deeper penetration, sent a shockwave through her. Her orgasm broke over her, sudden and intense.

Her body locked around him, her inner muscles clamping down on his cock in pulses. The pleasure was blinding, hot rush that consumed her. She shook, her hands clawing at his chest, her head falling forward against his shoulder.

He held her through it, his hands firm on her hips, keeping her moving just slightly, riding out the sensation for her. She whimpered, oversensitive, but he didn't stop.

Then his own movements became frantic. He was chasing his own peak. He bucked underneath her, his hips pumping up into her with quick, hard thrusts. His breathing turned into ragged groans.

"Chiara...fuck...you feel too good," he gritted out.

He drove into her one last time, deep and hard, and held there. A rough groan left him, his whole body tensing under her. She felt him shudder inside her, the final pulse of his orgasm.

"My beautiful girl," he whispered.

🌶️ END

Chiara didn't remember falling asleep.

One second she was there...awake, wrapped up in him, the room quiet except for their breathing, everything finally said out loud after weeks of tension and hurt and almosts.

The next, it was morning.

Soft light came through the curtains, stretching across the bed. For a second, she didn't move. Just blinked against it, still half caught in that in between state where nothing feels fully real yet.

Her body felt warm. Comfortable.

And then, it hit her.

Her eyes opened properly this time.

Her heart kicked once, fast and sudden, that same instinctive panic she hadn't been able to shake since Zandvoort creeping in before she could stop it.

She turned her head slightly.

The other side of the bed, warm...not empty.

Lando was still there. One arm loosely wrapped around her waist, his hand resting just above her hip. His face was half buried in the pillow, hair a mess, breathing slow and steady, completely asleep.

Still here. He hadn't left.

Chiara stared at him for a second, like she needed to actually process it.

Like she didn't fully trust it yet. Because the last time...her chest tightened briefly at the memory, but it didn't hit the same.

She shifted slightly, careful, testing it almost. His arm tightened instinctively around her...just a little. Like his body reacted before his mind could. Like even asleep, he wasn't letting her go anywhere.

Chiara let out a quiet breath she didn't realize she'd been holding, her body relaxing back into the mattress. Her hand hovered for a second before resting lightly against his arm, fingers brushing over his skin.

This was real. Not a moment, not a mistake.

Not something he was going to wake up and walk away from before she could even open her eyes.

Her lips curved slightly. A small smile.

For the first time since everything blew up between them, her chest didn't feel tight when she thought about him.

It felt...right.

She looked at him again. At the way he looked completely at ease, like staying hadn't even been a question.

And maybe, now...it was.

Chiara shifted just enough to tuck herself a little closer into him, her head settling more comfortably against the pillow, his arm still around her.

She didn't say anything, she just stayed there.

Letting it settle. Letting it be something good this time.

Full circle and finally...right.

𝐀𝐫𝐲'𝐬 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐝 🍒 pisces ❤︎ empath ❤︎ eldest daughter core ❝𝗵𝗼𝘁 𝗴𝗶𝗿𝗹𝘀 𝗹𝗼𝘃𝗲 𝗳𝗮𝘀𝘁 𝗰𝗮𝗿𝘀 & 𝗳...

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