#ln 4

☆ lia's birthday calendar

day 8: titfucking x lando (ln4)

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☆ warnings: lando is obsessed w your tits, hints of soft dom!lando, a lot of praise, nipple play, oral fixation, cum on tits, fingering & clit stimulation ⋆ inspo: (18+) (x) (x)

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the bedroom is dim with the low glow of whatever movie lando put on.

you’re curled against him, legs tangled and his arm under your head. it feels peaceful. warm, like one of those nights where he’s soft from the inside out. race season is over and the adrenaline has burned out of his system. now he’s just here, with you. quiet. clingy.

lando holds you close. he gives you those small instinctual touches, his fingertips dragging slow patterns on your arm, your waist and the edge of your ribs.

you don’t even notice when his hand ends up under your shirt. it's so subtle, so gentle at first. just warmth against your stomach, sliding up to your ribs as if he’s adjusting his position.

but then he pauses. and you know that pause.

lando isn't paying attention to the movie.

“you good?” you whisper, thinking maybe he’s uncomfortable.

but he just hums, eyes on the screen. “mhm. comfy.”

comfy is not what he is. not with the way his thumb brushes under the curve of your tits, subtle yet way too deliberate.

you try to keep watching the movie. you really do. but his big veiny hands are so warm, and he’s stroking you so softly. every minute he gets a little bolder, like he’s waiting to see how long you’ll pretend that nothing is happening.

his pinky lightly traces the underside of your tits, all slow. then again. and again. each time a little firmer. your breath catches.

“cold?” he asks, still not looking down, voice suspiciously innocent.

“no,” you whisper.

“hmm.” he slides his hand fully up your shirt now, palm covering your tits. “thought you shivered.”

little fucker.

he squeezes your tits. gentle and testing, and you can feel him smile when your hips twitch.

“lando…” you warn.

“what?” he murmurs, thumb brushing your hardened nipple lazily. lando is pretending that he’s just getting comfy.

“just watch the movie, baby.” he mumbles again.

he’s rolling your nipple between his fingers now, so slowly playing with it in circles. you press your thighs together and feel him smirk against your hair.

“thought i told you to watch?"

“you’re, fuck. you’re doing stuff,” you breathe.

he finally looks at you, eyes soft. “oh, am i? i didn’t notice.”

fucking liar.

his big hands cupsyour tits properly now, squeezing and groping. his thumb is dragging over your nipples in lazy flicks that make heat pool low in your stomach. he’s obsessed, he fucking loves your tits. he’s been craving this all day.

his cock is hard against your thigh, and he’s not even trying to hide it.

still, he pretends. lando's eyes go back on the movie. his hands however, are absolutely not paying attention to the movie.

he keeps touching you like it’s muscle memory. his thumbs teasing back and forth, fingers curling around your tits to rub warm circles. he breathes a little heavier, his jaw suddenly tight.

lando is seconds away from losing it, just from shamelessly playing with your tits.

“can’t help it. they’re fucking perfect.”

you blush.

lando shifts you gently, guiding you to lie on your back without breaking eye contact. his gorgeous eyes look so soft, so wanting. he climbs over you, his thighs straddling you and he continues to squeeze your tits gently. his thumbs keep brushing your nipples back and forth until your breathing gets ragged.

“good girl, arms up.” he murmurs softly.

you obey instantly, lifting your arms above your head. the praise hits you hard, it always does. lando loves praising you and your body, and your cunt loves his praise. he looks at you, really looks at you, now that your tits are bare. he leans down and kisses the soft curve of your tits. his lips so slow and lingering.

“softest thing in the whole world, i fucking adore these tits.” he mumbles, lips brushing against your skin.

you arch into him, pushing your tits further into his mouth. his tongue flicks your nipple. it's light teasing, and your whole body jerks. he groans at your cute little reaction.

“fuck… you’re so sensitive tonight.”

ironic. his cock is already leaking through his sweatpants, twitching just from touching your tits.

then he wraps his lips around your nipple, causing soft moans to spill out of you. his tongue circles slowly and obscenely, tracing patterns that make your spine tingle.

he groans against your soft skin. “god, baby… you make the prettiest sounds.”

he sucks harder, and his hand is on the other breast, squeezing it in sync with his mouth. he’s not moving fast. he’s settling in, taking his time to taste you.

then, he gets pushed to his horny limit and pulls out his cock from his stained sweatpants. the slut wasn't even wearing any fucking boxers. his cock drags against your stomach as he shifts lower, precum smearing all warm and slick across your skin. he notices.

“fuck, look. haven’t even touched myself, just your tits.”

god, he sounds so turned on. he strokes himself once slowly and then gently pushes your tits together with his hands. it doesn't even feel filthy, he's being so tender. the sight is surely filthy, though.

“hold them for me, baby.” he whispers.

you do, pushing your tits together for him. he groans in awe.

“good girl, don’t move.”

he slides forward and sinks his cock between them. lando's cock is pressing into the soft valley of your tits, and his head leans back with eyes shut. he whines softly.

“fuck, baby. they're so warm and soft."

he starts thrusting slowly, fucking the soft space you’ve made for him.

his cock is sliding between your tits, his cockhead peeking through near your collarbone with every stroke. the friction melts him instantly. his breath is shaking and his hips are already stuttering. you look so pretty like this, helping him cum and feel good with your pretty tits. you watch lando fall apart, his eyes half lidded and mouth parted. his face is flushed too, just lost in you and your tits.

“look at you. you look so good, lan.” you whisper.

he whimpers. actually fucking whimpers as he keeps fucking your tits. precum keeps leaking from his cock, making your tits even softer and they feel so fucking good for him. you feel his cock throbbing between your tits. his hands squeeze your tits around his cock, adding more pressure to hug his cock so fucking perfectly. he thrusts deeper and faster, breath breaking into little gasps.

“fuck, baby. i'm cumming-”

you feel it. lando's hips are jerking as he spills his cum between your tits, warm and thick across your chest. he mumbles your name, his head falling to your shoulder like the pleasure just knocked him out. he rides out his high, still grinding softly between your cum covered tits.

then, he gets up. he looks wrecked. “god, you’re perfect.”

but he’s not done.

he kisses your collarbone and your throat. his lips trace the underside of your jaw, moving lower again with purpose. his hand slips between your thighs.

“move your legs for me, c'mon baby.”

you spread them without hesitation. lando looks blissful, so fucked out and still so horny.

“you let me get off on your tits, now i’m gonna return the favour.” he murmurs.

his hands reach down to your cunt as he pulls down your underwear. he's playing with your clit. slow, gentle circles that makes your cunt clench around nothing. his fingers work you with the same appreciation he gave your tits, slow and intentional. he slides two thick fingers inside your cunt, curling deep until you’re trembling and whimpering. his thumb never leaves your clit, your hips move in circles to chase more friction.

“is that good?” he whispers, genuinely wanting to give his girl whatever feels best for her.

“lando, god-”

“i know, baby. i know.”

he kisses your tits again while he his fingers keep fucking into you. his tongue is flicking on your nipple, gathering some of his own cum. but he doesn't stop. his fingers keep touching that sweet spot inside you, and all the stimulation hits too hard.

“that's it baby, just let go.”

his thumb presses harder onto your clit, circling and claiming.

you fall apart under him, thighs trembling as you cum with his thick fingers inside you. your back is arching hard, and lando is still teasing your tits with his mouth. he groans when he feels your cunt clench around his fingers, squeezing so nicely.

“there you go, fuck. that’s it, that’s my girl.”

you’re whimpering and overstimulated, grabbing at his wrist and tanned forearms. he finally slows, kissing your chest again until your breathing becomes softer again. lando pulls you into his own chest, arms wrapping tight around you as he settles back against the pillows. he's playing with your hair.

“you okay?” he whispers.

you nod, nuzzling closer to him.

"you look even prettier with my cum on your tits, did you know that?" lando smirks.

"you think my face would look prettier too?"

──── ☆☆☆

© liafics

Pairing : Lando Norris x Reader

Words : 2.5k

The 4+1 times people overheard Lando and his Girlfriend’s weird conversations.

1. The Pit Crew Misadventure

Lando Norris was fresh off a practice lap, helmet still tucked under his arm, when Y/N bounded into the McLaren garage like a caffeinated squirrel. She’d swiped a wrench from a toolbox—because of course she had—and was twirling it like a baton. “So, if we’re doing it in the cockpit,” she said, voice low but not low enough, “I say we go full throttle. Maximum chaos, no holding back. I want sparks flying.”

Lando grinned, wiping sweat off his forehead with the back of his hand. “Yeah, but I’d need to adjust the seat first. Can’t have you slipping around when I hit the apex. Precision’s key.”

Dave, a lanky mechanic with a permanent oil smudge on his cheek, was lugging a tire past them when his ears caught the exchange. Cockpit? Full throttle? Slipping around? Sparks? His brain short-circuited. He pictured Lando and Y/N sneaking into the car after hours, doing unspeakable things on the carbon-fiber seat, probably breaking half a dozen FIA regulations in the process. The tire slipped from his grip, bouncing once before rolling into a stack of toolboxes with a clang.

“You alright, mate?” Lando called, eyebrows raised.

Dave didn’t answer. He bolted for the break room, where he found his buddy Pete sipping a lukewarm coffee. “Mate,” Dave hissed, “Lando’s about to defile the car in ways I can’t unsee. Send help. Or a priest.”

Pete choked on his coffee. “What, like, in the car?”

“Full throttle,” Dave whispered, eyes wide. “Sparks and everything.”

Meanwhile, back in the garage, Y/N tossed the wrench onto a workbench. “So, confetti cannons in the sim rig—yes or no?”

“Yes,” Lando said, “but we’re blaming Oscar if it jams.” They high-fived, oblivious to the existential crisis they’d just triggered.

2. The Supermarket Scandal

It was a rare off-day, and Lando and Y/N were prowling the aisles of a Tesco near Silverstone. Y/N, in a hoodie that swallowed her frame, held up a box of Frosted Flakes like it was a sacred artifact. “Okay, but if we’re doing it with the tiger,” she said, “we’ve got to time it perfectly—right when the sugar hits. That’s the sweet spot.”

Lando, pushing a cart with one wobbly wheel, nodded with the seriousness of a race strategist. “Timing’s everything. Too soon, and it’s just messy. Too late, and we’re sticky for hours. I’m not dealing with that again.”

A middle-aged woman in a sensible cardigan—let’s call her Janet—was browsing the oatmeal section nearby. She froze, her hand hovering over a box of Quaker Oats, as her imagination ran wild. Doing it with the tiger? Sugar hits? Sticky for hours? She envisioned some depraved, cereal-mascot-fueled roleplay, complete with Lando in a Tony the Tiger costume and Y/N wielding a can of whipped cream. Her basket trembled in her grip as she backed away, abandoning her oats to escape the depravity.

Later that night, Janet regaled her book club with the tale. “I don’t know what’s wrong with kids these days,” she said, clutching her tea. “That racer boy and his girlfriend are freaky. I’ll never look at Frosted Flakes the same way.”

In reality, Y/N was already rigging their Roomba with a cereal bowl while Lando filmed, cackling as the vacuum skidded across their flat, flinging flakes everywhere. “This is gold,” he said, dodging a stray piece. “TikTok’s gonna lose it.”

“Next time,” Y/N replied, “we add milk.”

3. The Hotel Lobby Horror

The night before the Monaco Grand Prix, Lando and Y/N were sprawled across a plush couch in the hotel lobby, surrounded by marble floors and overpriced chandeliers. Y/N kicked her sneakers off and propped her feet on Lando’s lap. “If we’re using the feathers,” she said, “I want them everywhere—total coverage, no gaps. It’s gotta be epic.”

Lando smirked, poking her foot. “Fine, but I’m not cleaning up after. Last time, I was picking them out of weird places for days. My socks were shedding for a week.”

Behind the reception desk, a concierge named Philippe—crisp suit, impeccable mustache—nearly dropped his tray of complimentary sparkling waters. Feathers? Total coverage? Weird places? His mind conjured a scene straight out of a risqué rom-com: Lando and Y/N tangled in a pile of plucked pillows, feathers drifting through the air like some avant-garde sex ritual. He coughed, adjusted his tie, and spent the rest of his shift warning coworkers to steer clear of Room 312. “They’re… creative,” he muttered. “Very creative.”

Upstairs, Y/N was sketching a feathered dinosaur costume on a napkin while Lando scrolled through gaming forums. “Think we can get it done before the next stream?” she asked.

“Only if we bribe Carlos with pizza,” Lando said. “He’s got the hot glue gun skills.”

4. The Paddock Panic

The paddock at Spa was buzzing with pre-race energy when Y/N sidled up to Lando near the McLaren hospitality tent. She lowered her voice, but the wind carried it just far enough. “I’m telling you, the harness is key. Strap me in tight, and I’m good for at least twenty minutes.”

Lando chuckled, tossing an energy drink can between his hands. “Twenty? Bold. I’d say fifteen tops before you’re begging to get out. You’re not built for that kind of endurance.”

A journalist from Racing Weekly, lurking behind a potted plant with her notebook out, perked up like a bloodhound. Harness? Strap her in? Endurance? She scribbled furiously, her pen practically smoking. This was it—the scoop of the season. She could already see the headline: “Exclusive: Norris and GF’s BDSM Secrets Revealed!” She pitched it to her editor that night, claiming she’d uncovered the spicy underbelly of F1’s golden boy.

Back at the tent, Y/N adjusted the straps on a go-kart harness, grinning at Lando. “Twenty minutes around the track, and I’ll smoke you,” she said. “Loser buys dinner.”

“You’re on,” Lando replied, “but when you tap out at fifteen, I want extra garlic bread.”

+1. The Truth Comes Out

It all came to a head at a McLaren team dinner after the Italian Grand Prix. The restaurant was cozy, all dim lights and clinking wine glasses, with the team sprawled across a long table. Dave the mechanic was there, still haunted by the cockpit fiasco. Janet, who turned out to be Oscar Piastri’s aunt, had tagged along with a friend. Philippe the concierge, off-duty and visiting a cousin in Monza, sat at the bar. The Racing Weekly journalist hovered near the dessert cart, hoping for more dirt.

Lando and Y/N were at the end of the table, heads bent together as usual. Y/N tapped her fork against her plate. “Lando, if we’re doing the whipped cream thing tonight, we need to prep the tarp. I’m not scrubbing the ceiling again.”

Lando nodded, chewing a breadstick. “Yeah, last time it got everywhere—total disaster. Took me an hour to unstick my shoes.”

The eavesdroppers leaned in, senses tingling. Dave whispered to Pete, “Whipped cream in the cockpit?” Janet clutched her pearls, imagining a dairy-drenched tiger romp. Philippe pictured feathers and cream, while the journalist scribbled, “Kinky Dessert Fetish Confirmed.”

Then Y/N pulled out her phone and shoved it in Lando’s face. “Look, here’s the vid from last time,” she said, loud enough for the table to hear. The screen showed their kitchen, a tarp on the floor, and a towering, wobbly whipped-cream sculpture that collapsed mid-build, splattering them both. Lando’s shriek of “MY HAIR!” echoed through the restaurant as Y/N doubled over laughing on the video.

The table erupted. Oscar snorted into his pasta. “You two are idiots,” he said. Zak Brown shook his head, grinning. “I don’t even want to know.”

Dave dropped his fork. Janet blinked, her scandal evaporating. Philippe coughed into his wine, and the journalist snapped her notebook shut, muttering, “Well, that’s not printable.”

Y/N caught the stares and smirked. “What? It was for a charity bake-off livestream. We raised, like, two grand.”

Lando leaned back, arms behind his head. “Next time, we’re building a spaghetti catapult. Way less sticky.”

The eavesdroppers slunk away, red-faced, as Lando and Y/N clinked glasses, already plotting their next absurd adventure. Their dynamic was weird—borderline unhinged—but it was theirs. Cute, chaotic, and definitely not what anyone thought. Best to just leave them to it.

Could I have a dark mocha, a shot of espresso, with almond and hemp milk, and French toast, hot dog, spaghetti and a mushroom burger, with crispy squid and chicken Parmesan

With lando please thank you!

Sure Darling❤

Lando Norris|

You Don’t Get to Miss Me

Pairing lando fem reader

Warning rough, explicit

dark mocha dating shot of espresso rough sex almond milk vaginal sex hemp milk squirting French toast spanking hot dog size kink paghetti handcuffs mushroom burger pain kink crispy squid “Do you think, you deserve a reward/punishment?” chicken Parmesan “I’m going to fucking ruin you.”

“Some days I wonder if I blow through ..

Every second you're not with me / I lose control…”

Her thoughts are very angsty, not at all like the anime made it seem. Here are screenshots of that LN section:

For fucks sake Julius!