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☆ kitchen negotiations: lando norris (ln1)

exwife!reader series

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☆ warnings: references to prev parts so its better if u read, pregnancy, girl dad!lando, exes to lovers, lando trying but struggling, coparenting, nausea, cravings, conflict, lando being kinda whiny and subby, handjob, mentions of oral ⋆ inspo: (x)(x)(x)(x)

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there are no more explosive arguments.

you agreed on a plan via text in the morning, a clinical exchange of words that felt more like negotiating terms with a business partner rather than arranging a night with the father of your child.

it was the only way to do it without your daughter sensing the disastrous fallout from forty eight hours ago.

lando: ill bring her back at 6 lando: if i stay and do bedtime she wont ask why im still there before bed. she sleeps and we talk properly

you: ok. dont be late.

he wasn't late.

he was exactly on time, standing on the doormat at four sharp. holding her little overnight bag in one hand and her favourite stuffed animal in the other.

because he doesn't live at the house anymore, his presence during the evening routine isn’t always a given. usually he drops her off, maybe stays for a bedtime story, and then leaves before the domestic reality of the house stings him too hard.

but tonight is different. even your daughter can feel the shift. the tension.

she takes full advantage of it.

dragging her feet through dinner. begging lando to watch her do handstands in the living room. demanding he sits in the bathroom while she splashes bathwater all over both of you.

the awkwardness between the two of you is thick. almost clumsy.

you move around each other like strangers. like this is all somehow new, rather than familiar. trying to avoid a collision in what feels like a crowded space.

you both reach for the towel at the same time to dry her hair. your fingers brush, just a brief instance of warmth.

you both instantly pull back. total detachment.

"sorry." lando mutters, his eyes dropping to the floor tiles.

"it's fine. you do it." you reply, stepping back until your back hits the cold porcelain of the sink.

he doesn't try to use the proximity to flirt. he doesn't drop a cheeky grin or try to catch your eye in the mirror. he looks exhausted. his broad shoulders slightly hunched under his hoodie, consciously holding back his usual restless behaviour.

he knows he’s on trial.

you stand in the doorway and watch him swallow his frustration when she refuses to put her pj top on. you watch his jaw clench as he keeps his voice low and steady while gently talking to her. trying to prove that he can handle once again the less shiny parts of being a father without running away to a debrief meeting.

proving to you maybe, but also to himself.

by eight, upstairs finally goes dark. lando steps out of her bedroom, shutting the door with a slow deliberate click. holding the handle down until the latch slides into place without a sound. desperate to have some uninterrupted quiet. some time with you.

he walks downstairs.

you hear his footsteps. he brings the quietness with him. heavy. almost suffocating. he steps into the kitchen, pulling his hoodie off and remaining in his t shirt.

he's too warm. nervous and anxious.

you’re already sitting at the kitchen table. the dim counter lights are on. your laptop is also on, displaying his race calendar for next year. an intimidating block of black text, right next to a printout of your daughter's school calendar. there's also your diary, filled with personal appointments. work commitments. everything.

he sits in the chair opposite you.

he doesn't look at the papers first, he just looks at your face. his eyes dark, heavy. entirely stripped of the cocky attitude he wears in front of the cameras. in front of anyone, really.

"okay." he says, his voice flat and raspy. "let's look at it."

you point a finger at the laptop screen. but before your finger can trace the calendar, lando clears his throat.

he shifts in his seat, his shoulders tensing up as he tries to sit up straight. he looks down at his clasped hands like he’s rehearsing a speech.

"wait," he murmurs, his voice carrying a stiff sort of hesitation. "before we start… did you think about it? properly? what do you… what do you really want, like in an ideal world?"

you freeze, your finger hovering an inch above the trackpad. you turn your head slowly, staring at him.

in an ideal world.

you let out a short, humorless chuckle. the sound is sharp and ugly in the quiet kitchen. an ideal world. hilarious.

a phrase that doesn't even sit on his tongue. lando norris doesn’t talk about ideal worlds. he talks about cars, golf and sex. he doesn't have the vocabulary for conflict resolution, unless it involves a team radio debrief. you can practically imagine his google search history floating in the space between you. him spending last night in his empty flat reading through some communication guide his therapist would have sent him before a difficult race meeting.

and then, with panic resorting to googling communication skills.

'ask her what she wants in an ideal world to understand her perspective.'

it's so unlike his usual stubborn, defensive language. it almost makes your chest ache with how hard the idiot is trying.

but you're too exhausted.

"an ideal world." you repeat, your voice dropping into a bitter, dry murmur. "hilarious, lando. as if we can just build a fucking miracle out of thin air and have everything we want. as if life is that easy. as if you make life that easy."

"i'm just asking-"

"i want this baby, lan." you cut him off, your voice finally cracking as the truth spills. "in an ideal world, i want this child. i want us to be a family. be fucking normal. but an ideal world doesn't exist, and the reality we actually live in feels completely impossible right now."

he doesn't answer. just continues listening to you.

"baku, singapore, austin, mexico, brazil. you are on the other side of the world for months . i am here by myself, with a child who needs to be dropped at the school in the morning and a newborn who will be waking up every two hours. it feels physically impossible. i cannot do it alone again. i'm terrified."

lando’s posture stiffens.

he's trying. he really is. but you're not really reciprocating any of that. the defensive heat rises into his cheeks. his boyish ego flares up because your terror feels like an attack on your entire relationship history, not just the bad moments. a declaration that his presence is useless.

that he is useless.

"i built this house, you know." he says, his voice dropping into that low, stubborn register he uses when he's backed into a corner. "i pay the mortgage, the school fees, the medical bills, everything. even yours, not just hers. i still pay for it all. i’m trying to provide everything i can so we can make it work. don't sit there and act like i provide nothing to this family."

"money isn't a presence, lando," you hit back, your voice cracking as the old, buried resentment from your marriage begins to leak out. "you think because you send a transaction from fucking tokyo, it means i don't feel lonely? i spent years sitting on that sofa, wanting you here. watching the clock while you choose a sim session or a sponsor dinner over coming home to your wife. i want this family, but i am not doing that again with two of them. it will break me. it already broke us once."

lando snaps, his hands coming out of his pockets and forming into fists on the kitchen table.

"you haven't even listened to what i wanna say, i am trying to give you a solution so you don't have to! look at the summer. three weeks of total shutdown. no factory, no driving. she doesn't have school then. you all fly out. and the european rounds, you fly in friday, you leave sunday. we'll get the jet so you don't have to deal with all that airport hassle with a pram and another child. i'll fly back between midweek sessions. i'll take the red eyes and tiredness. i don't care. i want to be here for it."

it all sounds too good to be true.

"you can't just change your calendar, lando. zak won't care about a fucking pram when he's asking why you're not there yet."

lando leans towards you. his eyes are locked onto yours, desperate and furious.

fuck. his eyes look so pretty under the low light.

"i can make them care. i was still so young when she was born... i was terrified of them. i thought if i missed a marketing day or asked to delay a test, they’d go and find some other karting kid to take my seat. i was a coward. trying to make sure we're secure. safe. but somehow we still didn't fucking survive."

you glance back at him. no words, just teary eyes blinking back at him.

he continues.

"but i’m a champion now. what are the gonna do, fire me? i have the leverage. i can put it in my contract if i need to."

the words hang in the air between you. heavy and bitter. somehow raw.

it's a brutal admission of how the sport works. how his job works. but it stings like hell. it stings because it means the currency to save your marriage was always there. he just didn't have enough courage to make use of it back then. you had to live through the lonely, invisible years of his career climb. handling the burden of the domestic isolation.

this pregnancy might finally gets the version of him that knows how to dictate things on his own terms. his family's terms. but your eyes burn as you look at the black squares on the calendar.

you just can't accept his fantasy.

"leverage doesn't change the time zones. we can't always be there. you'll still be in australia while i'm holding a baby, wishing you were here. leverage doesn't fix the fact that you can't be here on a normal weekend for half of the calendar unless we travel to you. imagine how tired we will all be with all the travelling."

lando lets out a ragged, frustrated sound from the back of his throat. he stands up suddenly, shoving his chair back so hard the legs screech violently against the floor tiles.

the thin control he's held all evening just completely snaps. he paces a short line across the kitchen floor. his hands tremble slightly as he shoves them back into his pockets.

"you're just keeping me at arm's length. you knew i'm a driver before you married me. before you had a kid with me. remember how happy we both were when i got my seat? you wanted this, too. you wanted it all just as much as i did."

you don't answer. his words continue to sting.

"you're letting the fear take over everything. you're punishing me for the last few years because it’s easier than trusting me to actually show up this time. you've got your wall up so fucking high i can't even offer anything without you tearing it down. please, i'm fucking trying and i mean everything i'm saying."

you look down at the table, unable to meet his eyes. the exhaustion of the early pregnancy weeks is also starting to build.

"i'm not punishing you. i'm trying to protect myself from getting hurt again. i'm too tired for this, lan. please just go back to your flat."

lando stops pacing.

he looks at you for a few long seconds. his jaw clenches, his breath slows. he's fighting his ego's urge to throw another defensive line. another justification. another solution. whatever it takes to have you all again.

but he looks at your face. pure tiredness. and he stops.

"goodnight, love you."

lando grabs his car keys off the kitchen counter and walks out.

──── ☆☆☆ 1:30am

you’re still sitting in the exact same spot at the island.

laptop still open, papers still on the table. you're sipping on a warm cup of tea. a personal ritual to soothe yourself. the argument is repeating in your head looping over and over, exposing every raw nerve and unresolved grudge.

a completely ridiculous, desperate craving hits the back of your throat. fuck. vanilla ice cream and peanut butter. that salty sweet necessity, as if it's the only thing that will stop the nausea from taking over completely.

you stand up, legs stiff. you open the pantry. you reach for a cookie and bite into it. but it's not the same. you want ice cream and peanut butter.

you lean your head against the cupboard shelf. a small sob catches in your throat from the sheer frustration of it. god, it's embarassing.

your phone vibrates against the marble counter. the sound feels loud in the dead quiet of the house.

lando: cant sleep. thinking of you x

it’s short. no paragraphs. no pleading.

you stare at the text, your fingers ice cold against the glass screen. you want to tell him you want to make this work. you also want to push him away.

the pride and the fear are both still too heavy. too real.

you: goodnight lando

you set the phone down. your phone doesn't vibrate again..

you assume that’s the end of it. that he’s taken his shoes off. crawled into his bed in his empty flat. about to sleep off the anger.

but lando isn't stupid.

he spent years watching your habits, especially during your first pregnancy. he knows that if you were you're up so late, it's because something is keeping you up. and if you're responding to his texts at this hour, it's because you want him there. right next to you.

but you'd never admit that out loud. especially to him. his stubborn girl.

minutes pass by. 1:40am. 1:50am.

at 1:55am, you hear a low hesitant knock against your front door.

you freeze. heart slamming in your chest, before you stand up and walk towards the window to see who it is.

it's lando.

standing patiently in the damp air. he looks like a mess. a sleepy mess. messy curls, loose shoelaces. in one hand, he's holding a greasy cardboard box. in the other, a crinkling plastic bag.

you open the door, cold air rushing inside.

"lando, it's two in the morning. what are you doing here?"

he looks small. his chest heaving under the cold air, nose slightly red.

"i brought the pizza." he says, his voice raspy and rough.

he lifts the box an inch.

"the one from wednesday. when i messed up. the pizza place still does takeaway at night, so…"

his words scramble into nothing.

he steps past you without waiting for an invitation, setting the pizza box down on the counter in the kitchen. he reaches into the plastic bag, pulling out a large cold tub of vanilla ice cream and a jar of smooth peanut butter.

he sets them down right next to the pizza, his knuckles raw and red from the cold.

"i remembered you used to want this when the sickness got bad or the thoughts got too much. you’d eat the peanut butter right off the spoon. the salt stopped the nausea or some shit."

you blink at him, all silent.

but damn. your eyes light up a bit.

lando notices. he continues.

"i want this, baby. i want you. i really fucking do. and if you want it too, please let me. i… i don't want us to be broken anymore. can i just stay? please. just for a bit."

the anger. the calculated distances. the pride.

it all just thins out into nothing.

it’s just the two of you in a quiet kitchen at two in the morning. exhausted by the weight of your own stubbornness. both of you wanting the same thing but terrified of failing each other again. terrified of failing yourselves again. of failing your children.

"okay. come in." you whisper, your voice still croaky as you pull the door closed and lock it behind him.

you sit at the table. you open the pizza box, the sudden warmth of garlic and dough cutting through the cold air of the room. lando doesn't take the seat opposite you this time. he reaches out and pushes the papers into a disorganised mess at the far end of the table. completely clearing the marble between you.

he drags his chair right next to yours. his thigh press hard against yours, invading your space until you can feel the heat radiating off of him.

he doesn't take a slice of pizza. he just rests his elbow on the table, his chin in his palm. he's quietly watching you as you open the peanut butter jar and the ice cream.

you take a spoonful.

"is it helping?" he murmurs. his voice low, thickened with sleep.

"yeah." you mutter, swallowing down the massive lump in your throat as you mix a spoonful of it directly into the cold ice cream. "don't look at me. i look disgusting."

lando lets out a tiny, breathless sound. halfway between a laugh and a sigh. his eyes crinkle at the corners and he bites his lip.

"you don't." he whispers.

the silence settled between you shifts, losing its sharp and defensive edge. it becomes heavy, familiar. that domestic kind of quiet you used to share before it all got too difficult.

it feels kind. gentle.

without asking for permission, lando drops his head forward. he buries his face directly into the crook of your neck. he feels warm, his shoulders crowding you against the back of the chair. his damp curls are all soft against your bare skin. his arms slide slowly around your waist, his large hands settling firmly over your hips.

"i hate my flat." he whispers against your skin, his voice muffled by your pjs. "it feels like a hotel. no noise. there's nothing. i stay out driving till ten because i don't want to go back there. i don't want to be there alone. i want to be with you again."

you stiffen slightly.

the old, defensive instinct to remind him of his own choices flares up in your chest. but his grip tightens, his fingers anchoring firmly into your soft flesh. holding you. wanting you.

"let me do it, please." he mutters against your throat. he continues.

"the calendar. the flights. i can call tomorrow morning and tell them i need to discuss all this before the new season. we'll figure it all out the weeks, i swear to god, we will. i will. just… don't do any of this alone. let me be there with you. please."

and then, his hand shifts.

his broad palm slides down. flat and grounding against your lower stomach. he presses firmly, his fingers spreading wide. holding you right where your shared love is hidden.

you take in a deep breath, letting out a small sound into the quiet kitchen. your own hand moves down instinctively, your fingers locking tightly over his large knuckles. keeping his palm pressed against your body.

the concentrated comfort of his weight against your back is so unforced. that deliberate gentleness of him sitting here in the dark. just to make sure you can eat the food easily and comfortably. it does something strange to your chest. the heavy anxiety that had been bruising your ribs all night shifts. it melts down into a tight ache at your core.

it's that sudden heat. thick and demanding. sparked by the simple vulnerability of him showing up. being with you. caring for you.

you set the spoon down on the table with a small click.

lando notices the shift instantly. his breath catches slightly against your neck, his fingers tightening against your stomach. but he doesn't look at you, yet.

"hey." he murmurs awkwardly.

his voice a low, almost a question against your skin.

"hey there." you whisper back with a little giggle.

he shifts, his chair scraping softly as he turns his body toward yours. his knees bracket your thighs. his eyes wide and completely blown out in the dim yellow light of the counter.

he looks so raw. lips slightly parted, entirely at the mercy of whatever you decide to do next.

you reach out, your fingers slipping under the collar of his hoodie. your palms slide over his thick, warm neck. then along his bare collarbones. you lean forward until your forehead rests against his.

your breathing gets tangled together in the small space between you.

"you're such a idiot, i swear. driving back here at two in the morning because you knew i couldn't sleep." you murmur softly, your thumb tracing the hard line of his jaw.

he has some stubble. it's cute. a reminder of the time passing. a reminder of the man he grew up to be, right beside you.

"i couldn't sleep either. felt like i was going insane." he whispers, his hands coming up to grip your waist. his thumbs dig into your hips through the cotton of your pjs.

"i know."

you tug onto his hoodie as a little nudge. he understands. he takes it off. not wearing anything underneath. you slide one hand down his bare chest, your palm flat against him. you can feel the heavy thud of his heart. so fucking fast. he's nervous. hesitant to mess things up again.

but he wants you so bad.

you lean in and press your lips to his. the restraint they’ve both been holding all evening just fades. the kiss is deep. heavy and desperate. tasting his affection. lando's hands leave your waist and slide up your back. his fingers tangle gently into your hair, tilting your head towards him to kiss you harder. his tongue slides against yours. hot and demanding. his whole body shifts closer until he is pressed against you.

there's that sheer relief of having your mouth on his again. a sense of hope. belonginess. the touchy, feverish heat between you builds so fast. it feels heavy and impatient. the need to please you takes over his entire brain.

the need to take care of you.

he breaks the kiss for just one ragged breath. he slides off his chair, dropping onto his knees on the cold kitchen floor.

"let me- fuck. let me make you feel good." he rasps, his eyes blown and desperate. his large hands tremble, sliding down from your waist to the waistband of your pj bottoms.

he sits on his knees between your legs. his face is close to your thighs. close to your core. lando is completely desperate to put his mouth on you. to appreciate you.

he wants you as ruined as he is.

but as soon as he moves into your space, the physical reality of the pregnancy hits you. the thick, heavy scent of the pizza. the heat radiating off his skin. the sudden shift in movement. it all triggers the dull discomfort in your stomach.

"lando, wait. stop, baby." you whisper softly. your hand moves down to rest gently against his cheek. your thumb smoothing over his stubble to make him pause before his lips can touch your skin.

lando freezes instantly.

he stays perfectly still on his knees. his hands pulling away from your clothes as if he’s been shocked. he blinks up at you in the dim yellow light. his chest is flushed red, but his face turned entirely pale.

you can see the sudden raw panic in his eyes. he thinks he’s crossed a line. messed it all up and pushed too hard. went from walking on eggshells to ruining the only peace you've given him these past few days.

"i'm sorry, did i- am i hurting you? making you uncomfortable? i didn't mean to-" he stammers, his voice dropping into a small panicked whisper. his hands tremble on his own thighs.

"no no, you're fine. i promise. i'm just feeling a bit sick, lan. too nauseous. don't really wanna be touched… down there. " you murmur, your voice soft and reassuring as you swallow down the wave of nausea. your fingers slide into his curls to give his head a gentle, comforting squeeze.

the relief that washes over his face is almost pathetic. sweet and reassured. but he doesn't move from the floor yet. he stays right there, kneeling between your open thighs. completely at your mercy.

fuck.

it does something to you. looking down at him like this. seeing the world champion on his knees on your kitchen floor. looking up at you with his curls all messy and eyes all blown. it fucks with your brain in the best way possible. your core is aching, suddenly so demanding. you want him so fucking bad, exactly like this.

ruined.

a tiny chuckle escapes your lips. you give his curls another affectionate tug, guiding him up towards his empty chair.

"sit back up, lan." you mumble softly, your hand sliding from his hair down to his shoulders and chest.

lando follows instantly, moving like a needy puppy under your touch. he climbs back onto his chair, dragging it even closer until his knees bracket your thighs completely. locking you into his space.

your hand moves from his hair to his shoulders. then, his chest.

you let your hand travel even lower, tracking the line of his stomach down to his pretty happy trail. until your fingers reach the elastic band of his sweatpants.

the prominent, thick shape of his cock is already straining hard against the fabric. needy and desperate. already pointing toward his belly button. he’s always so easy for you but tonight, it all feels heavier. needier with the weight of everything that happened between you earlier. needier with the hope that things could work again between you.

lando feels like he's going insane.

you don't pull his trousers down. you just slip your hand directly inside his pants. your fingers instantly finding the smooth, burning heat of his cock.

lando lets out a low, ragged groan from the back of his throat. he tries to cover it up by pretending to clear his throat. you notice that, and squeeze his cock harder. gently smiling and teasing him.

his eyes close instantly. his head drops back. his neck is thick and flushed.

"keep it quiet. be good." you whisper against his lips, your breath hot and deliberate.

"fuck. yeah, okay. okay." he rasps, his tanned knuckles turning white where he’s gripping onto you.

your palm cups the heavy weight of his cock. letting him feel the cool contrast of your hand against his own warmth. your fingers curl around the thick length. he’s already leaking. the head of his cock slick and and wet as your thumb strokes over his slit, smearing the precum down the rest of his cock.

you start a slow, heavy rhythm. your grip is firm. sliding all the way from the base of his cock back up to squeeze the head.

his most sensitive spot.

lando’s hips instinctively twitch forward. he bucks into your hand, a desperate little search for friction that you deliberately cut off by slowing down. you want him soft. you want him to become a mess. completely fucked and ruined, stripped of any defenses you've both been holding.

"slow down, i've got you. just feel." you murmur, leaning in to press a soft kiss to the pulse point in his neck.

a thin layer of sweat is forming on his skin. the soft scent pulls you deeper into him.

another broken, hitched sound escapes his throat. a needy whine that vibrates right against your lips as you move your mouth up to catch his jaw. that specific, boyish sound he only makes when he’s entirely overwhelmed by you. the sound that no one else ever gets to hear.

the sound of letting go.

"i missed that pretty sound, so fucking much. " you whisper into his ear. your hand tightens around his cock, quickening the pace just enough to make his breath hitch again. "i missed hearing you whine for me, lan."

"oh, fuck. you're- you're doing this on purpose. driving me mad. you're a fucking tease." he stammers, his eyes opening and glazed. he looks so ruined, so gorgeous. his lips wet, his chest heaving. as your hand keeps moving up and down, slow and relentless. teasing his cockhead.

"you deserve it. it feels good, no?"

he instantly nods. so sweet.

your lips catch his into a deep kiss. tasting his tongue. his hands move feverishly. sliding up your back, gripping the fabric of your pjs as if he’s trying to anchor himself.

but his brain is melting.

your hand keeps moving, you grip tightens. your hand is getting soaked with him as you thumb his sweet spot over and over. tracking the heavy pulses of his cock as it strains against his own stomach. so red. so desperate.

he’s right on the edge. you can feel the sudden tension in his thighs. the way he bites on his lips and squeezes his eyes shut. his whole body suddenly feeling too tight.

"keep looking at me, lan." you murmur, pulling back just enough so he has to lock his eyes onto yours. to desperately beg you for more.

"i can't- baby, please, i'm gonna-"

"i know, i know." you whisper.

your grip tightens again, delivering the last devastating strokes.

lando lets out a long, muffled sob into your shoulder. his face is buried itself into you as his body twitches between your knees. the deep, heavy release hits your hand. thick, warm cum spilling over your fingers. smearing against his stomach. his hips hitch twice again when you start to move. his forehead drops heavily against your collarbone. he's softly trying to catch his breath.

the silence comes back. thick but comforting.

lando stands up softly. grabs a kitchen towel and gently takes your hand. he wipes your hand clean. his movements slow, focused. incredibly sweet. he cleans himself up.

you look at him and smile. he smiles back. he sits back down and holds you. his arms wrap you tightly, his breathing gradually slowing down to a soft comforting sigh.

he looks at you. his curls a complete disaster, his eyes still slightly watery but clear. that quiet, vulnerable awe is back in his face. the raw knowledge that despite the divorce, despite the paperwork at the end of the table, he is still wants to be yours.

all yours.

"thank you." he whispers, his voice thick and rough. he reaches up to press a soft, lingering kiss to your forehead.

you lean your head back into his shoulder, letting your eyes close under the dim yellow light.

after some moments of silence, lando speaks softly.

"ice cream or pizza?" his voice low and sleepy.

you let out a tiny, tired breath. your hand traces a lazy circle on his knee.

"pizza."

"yeah? thought the garlic was making you sick." he lets out a quiet little laugh, already reaching across the table to flip the greasy box open.

he pulls a slice out and hands it over to you.

you don't answer him. you just take the slice from his hand. a soft, tired smile pulls at your lips as he grabs a slice for himself.

you want this. you want all of this again.

──── ☆☆☆

thank u for so many beautiful messages and comments abt this series, the next chap will be the last <3

lando has been looking extra breedable lately idk so i hope u like this chapter - tell me ur thoughts!!

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