Request from @sassytrailnymph - Could I request where lando is having protective sex with his girlfriend, and in the middle of having sex, he convinces his girlfriend to remove the condom and spills in her for the first time
Themes/warnings: Smut (protected then not - seriously though wrap it and keep it wrapped unless you're really trying then...good luck ig?)
Word count: 1.1k
Lando is big on protection when it comes to sex. But it's y/n who insisted on condoms and he thought it would just be till she was comfortable, but somehow 2 months into daily sex, usually more than once a day. Lando's putting more money into condoms than anything else right now.
He can't help but want to remove that barrier.
He wants to feel her, he wants nothing between them and while it's never mattered to him before. For some reason the thought of filling her with his cum and watch it leak out of her.
That thought unlocks some sort of feral animal in him that's been dormant.
He can't help it.
And now he's rolling yet another condom down his length, lust-filled eyes gliding over to y/n where she's lying, swollen lips, hickeys across her chest. He's already got her in a heat.
Admittedly teasing her the whole dinner and whispering filth in her ear at every opportunity got her exactly as riled up as he was aiming for.
"Ready for me baby?" Lando asks already knowing the answer, he can see her dripping in a wet patch on the sheets.
He loves when she gets too needy to form words that are anything less than begging. Her whimper and positioning herself from kneeling on her knees to dropping back onto her back with her legs spread, a true offering of herself open to him.
"Oh baby." Lando chuckles moving over her, not wasting time with anymore foreplay. He slides into her with only the tightness of him not having been inside her in the past 12 hours enveloping him as a form of making it harder to fuck her.
Their moans fill the air and Lando pulls her towards himself, his thrusts getting deeper and harder. Y/n moans and whines at him, his name reverbing off the walls before he whispers more filth into her ear. Promises of wrecking her, making her scream, leaving a permanent mark in her.
He builds himself up just as much as she does.
"Baby, I want to feel you. Properly." Lando states making her look at him, eyes already teary from the stimulation. "Fuck. Baby, I need to feel you. Let me take it off. It'll feel so good. So so good."
Y/n whines bucking her hips into his, one hand moving from gripping the sheets to his bicep and for a moment he thinks that's her stopping him from daring to take it off.
"Please. I wanna feel you." Y/n whimpers, nails cutting into his skin. Her actions betraying her words.
"You'll love this, baby." Lando promises, leaning down, kissing her neck as he slips out of her.
"Lando." Y/n huffs from the loss as he reaches down almost grimacing from the speed he pulls the condom off and tosses it aside without thought. He'll pick it up later.
He takes a couple heavy breaths, excitement of this moment making the air prickle with electricity that makes her breath hitch before he slides back into her, and while he's aware that it's more about what he feels that what she feels. But y/n shudders at the feeling.
Y/n can feel more of him, the veins, every ridge of his dick no longer smoothed by latex brushing through her walls making her moan, bearing down to try and feel more of him.
"Fuck. You feel incredible, baby. How have I waited this long?" Lando grunts not feeling like any word describes how y/n feels wrapped around him. "You were made for me. This pussy was made for me."
Y/n twitches around him, her orgasm nearing more.
"You going to let me fill you up, baby? Going to let me make you mine once and for all? No going back after this." Lando states since he's pretty sure hitting it raw is an addiction.
It's like heroin, one hit and he's already hooked on the feeling. He'll chase this high for the rest of his life and he'll keep getting his hits every time she lets him feel her pussy around him.
Y/n's orgasm hits with no more warning than that first twitch, she yanks him down onto her legs wrapping around him like she can't get enough of him. Lando spills into her without any control.
He actually gets dizzy feeling like he's never came so hard or so much in his life.
"Lando?" Y/n whispers making Lando blink a time. "Are you with me?"
"I think I might've died in your pussy and gone to heaven." Lando croaks then frowning. "Did I pass out?"
"Yeah...a bit." Y/n laughs then gently pushing back his sweaty head, her own face glittering with her. "I'll take it as a compliment...Are you ok?"
"I'm fine. I think I might just put blood into you from how hard I came."
"That's ok." Y/n giggles before kissing him. "We can stay like this a bit longer."
"Baby, we can stay like this forever. I'll quit F1 for good if you let me live with you pussy like this around me."
"I think we might wither away and die if I do that. We have to eat...and I'll have to pee at some point-and so will you. Cumming inside is one thing, if you piss in me I'll chop your dick off." Y/n warns playfully, though he thinks that she'd fully follow through on it. Her giggling with his dick still inside her short circuits his head though and he has to hide his face in her neck, shuddering as pleasure ripples through him.
"Fuck, baby. Don't do that unless you really want to kill me." Lando groans rutting into her despite being soft at this point and feeling her leaking out around him. "I'm going to clean you up. I promise. Just give me a bit more time."
"Take as long as you need. I'm enjoying this."
"Good. Because I'm burning any condoms in the vicinity. Never fucking you any other way but raw from here forward." Lando declares earning a smile as y/n sucks in a breath and holds him close. "I think your pussy has just changed my life in a way I didn't know what possible."
"You're welcome. If I knew it'd be so easy I never would've have you wear a condom in the first place."
She would've but he's too spent to argue and now he's taken off the condom, he is just grateful they both enjoyed the experience. Though he might need to make sure he's ok. Passing out after sex might not be the best sign of something.
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lando just wanted to sleep. instead, he gets front-row seats to his best friend’s very active night, and escapes straight into yours. he finds out that, apparently, 2am is the perfect time to ruin your life. or fix it.
genre: rom-com, strangers to lovers, late-night chaos, emotional vulnerability, mutual comfort, bad decisions, unexpected connection.
warnings: one sleep-deprived driver, one girl having a really bad night, bad decisions made after 2am, suggestive content, slight breast play (minors dni), terrible timing, mutual pining, emotional vulnerability, A LOT OF SWEARING, sprite zero (not sponsored).
word count: 5.4k
a/n: this pulled me out of a massive creative block and then immediately turned into chaos… but the fun kind. i had zero control over this, but i loved every second of it (no regrets). hope you enjoy!
For twenty whole minutes, Lando Norris had been trying desperately to fall asleep.
He had tried everything.
He’d turned on the TV, some stupid late-night show he wasn’t even paying attention to. He’d put on rain ASMR, because apparently that was supposed to be “relaxing.” He’d forced himself to read half a page of a book, half a page being his absolute limit before boredom kicked in, and he’d even made that stupid tea his mum swore by for “difficult nights.” Nothing worked.
At that exact moment, he had a pillow wrapped around his head and his face buried into the mattress because… seriously. This was impossible.
Another moan slipped right through the paper-thin wall, loud, sharp, and Lando let out a muffled, fake sob into his pillow.
For fuck’s sake.
Look, okay, he wasn’t against a good night of passion. Not at all. Sex was great. He enjoyed it. Fully supported it, even. When Max had mentioned he was going out and had plans for the night, Lando had given him two enthusiastic thumbs up, fully on board.
He liked her. She was nice. She made his best friend happy. He wanted that. Genuinely. Wished them both the absolute best in every possible way.
And, wow, Max had to be really good at what he was doing to get that kind of reaction, good for her, but there were limits. No one had mentioned they’d be doing it right there, under his ceiling, otherwise, he would’ve gone to find somewhere else to spend the night, or convinced Max to take it literally anywhere else.
Lando did not need to be part of—
“Do you like it like that?” followed by another moan.
Okay. That’s it. That’s it.
Ew. Ew. Ew.
EW.
He jumped out of bed without even bothering to check when the pillow hit the floor with a soft thump. He grabbed the white t-shirt draped over the back of the armchair, the grey hoodie, pulled everything on like it was some kind of protective gear, and walked out of the bedroom.
He was halfway to the front door when his brain finally caught up with him, and he abruptly turned around.
He went back, shut his bedroom door, and locked it.
He had no idea what people with their brains completely fried by horniness were capable of, and he absolutely refused to let his beloved bedroom turn into a den of that… absolute filth.
No. Not in there.
Finally, after hearing what he was pretty sure was a slap so well-delivered that he physically flinched, he walked out.
Goodbye.
He didn’t stop to think the moment his feet carried him into the hallway. He didn’t want to think about it, didn’t want to process what had just happened because, honestly, it would leave him feeling utterly traumatized. Jesus. What a bunch of ill-mannered people…
Lando just kept walking, fleeing, wide awake at two in the morning when he was supposed to be asleep. Right, perfect time to distract himself with something truly worthwhile. Options, then, because he definitely wasn’t about to stand there looking pathetic in the hallway.
Hmm. He could hit the gym, sure, go to the laundry room, or the sauna, or the hot tub… God knows he could use some relaxation, but, hm, no. That sounded far too much like being productive, which was the last thing he wanted to be right now. Honestly, Lando just wanted to sit somewhere quiet and reflect on his poor life choices. Somewhere with a bit of fresh air. Silence. That would be nice.
He kept walking, each step taking him closer to the outdoor pool. Each step further away from Max, from his girlfriend, more silence, more silence. The doors swung open and the first thing he felt was the wind hitting his face. He even paused for a second, taking a deep breath, before heading toward the steps, his flip-flops echoing against the stone as he took them two at a time.
It was on the last step that he was forced to stop because—
“No, I’m not accepting your half-assed excuses right now. Can you please just leave me alone?”
Wait, what? Who… who… what?!
“I’m serious. Just go away. I don’t want to hear it. Don’t try to say it wasn’t like that, because it was. I don’t want to see you.”
The voice was coming from the patio and, well, now he could see a little more clearly.
You were sprawled out on a lounge chair, a can of Sprite Zero in one hand while the other rested loosely by your side. A pair of sunglasses covered your eyes (at two in the morning?) and a book lay on your stomach. The band t-shirt you were wearing looked well-worn and didn’t match your pajama shorts at all, but Lando suspected it was very comfortable.
His lips twitched in a suppressed laugh and he crossed his arms.
“Wow. That hurts. I thought we could work through our issues together. I can leave, if you want,” he said, fully committing to the bit.
You sat up immediately, back straight as the book nearly slipped but was caught by your quick hands.
“Fuck. No, no—not you. Oh my God, that’s so embarrassing,” you said, finally relaxing as you pushed your sunglasses up onto your head to look at him with wide eyes. “I thought… I thought it was Ellie.”
“No. I’m Lando. Hi,” he said, raising a hand in a small wave. “Just coming to use the lounge chairs in the pool area as well, if you don’t mind.”
You let out a long sigh and gestured to the chair beside you before lying back down. Lando let out a quiet breath of laughter and finally gave in, walking over and dropping onto the chair. He stretched out, hands resting on his stomach, eyes settling on the pool like he had nowhere else to be.
“So… this Ellie upset you,” he said, not looking at you.
You took a sip of your Sprite and clicked your tongue, letting out an audible huff. Your free hand came up to rub your eye before you nodded, even if he wasn’t looking.
“She’s a bitch,” you said.
Lando raised his eyebrows, clearly caught off guard by your aggressiveness.
“Wow,” he let out, almost involuntarily.
“Yeah,” you agreed. “I hate using that kind of word to talk about people, but… wow.”
Finally turning to look at you, Lando stayed quiet, giving you space to keep talking.
“Six months ago I broke up with my boyfriend. Five months ago I moved here, because Ellie asked me to live with her, since my life was a mess,” you said, and he listened closely. As you spoke, you turned to face him, meeting his eyes. “I just found out, about twenty minutes ago, that she’s been seeing him for a year.”
The pieces came together in Lando’s head and he seemed to freeze mid-thought. If he was doing the math right, when you broke up with your boyfriend, he had already been seeing your best friend, the same one who had invited you to move in to make you feel better. That was…
“Fuck, that’s shit,” he said.
You nodded.
“That’s shit. That’s why I’m here. I don’t want to see her stupid face ever again, especially not right now.”
He let out a slow breath, shaking his head.
“That’s… actually insane.”
A pause.
“Like, properly insane.”
You hummed in agreement and almost laughed, but brought the can to your lips. That’s when you realized it was empty, clicking your tongue as you looked at it like it had personally offended you. You set it down on the small table between the lounge chairs and turned back to Lando.
“Anyway. That’s my story,” you concluded. “Now… why are you here at the pool of misery and self-pity?”
A laugh slipped out of him as he rubbed the back of his neck, a little embarrassed. Of course you noticed, because you raised both eyebrows, which only made him laugh a bit more.
“Embarrassing reason?” you asked.
He tilted his head in a vague “kind of” and you leaned in slightly, clearly curious.
“So… my roommate, who also happens to be my childhood best friend, is currently absolutely going at it with his girlfriend. Like… full force.”
Your hand flew to your mouth immediately, and Lando nodded, already accepting the judgment.
The grimace on his face made you smile wide, throwing your head back in an easy, loud laugh. Lando liked the sound. He laughed too.
“At least someone’s happy,” you said, your voice still carrying that laughter as you looked back at him, head tilted to the side.
“At the expense of my sleep, yeah. That’s true,” Lando said, shaking his head. “But I’d prefer their happiness to be… quieter.”
You raised an eyebrow slightly.
“So you’re trying to silence other people’s love.”
“I’m trying to sleep,” he shot back. “Do you know how hard it is to actually have a week off?"
You shrugged.
“Some people do the fucking, others get fucked. The ones getting fucked run,” you said, reaching under the lounge chair for something. “But the ones getting fucked also eat. And I think you need some chips.”
He frowned and leaned over to see what you were doing.
“I need what, now?” he asked, suspicious.
“Give me a second.”
You finally sat up, holding a fresh can of Sprite Zero and an absurdly large bag of chips.
“You brought food and drinks?”
“My best friend slept with my boyfriend while he was still my boyfriend, then asked me to move in with her and—”
“Okay, I get it, I get it. Jesus. That’s some heavy ammunition…” he said, already reaching for the soda and the chips. “This is completely off my diet.”
“Shut up and eat,” you said, grabbing a can for yourself.
He smiled.
For a few minutes, silence settled between you again. It wasn’t bad. You turned toward him, hand outstretched. Lando understood without a word, passing you the bag, and you took a handful. The space filled with the crunch of chips and the soft tss of his can opening.
“It’s a bad night for us,” you said, a little more thoughtful now.
Lando popped another chip into his mouth and glanced toward the building, exhaling.
“For Max and his girlfriend, though…” he added, a hint of a grin.
You smiled faintly.
“A great night?”
“From what I heard…”
“And who’s worse?” you asked, biting into another chip.
Lando ran his tongue over his teeth, clearing away the salt as he considered the question. With a small, decisive tilt of his head, he answered:
“They’re impressively in sync in every possible way. A perfect match.”
You stared at him for a second.
“So what did you hear?” you asked. “Go on. I need some joy.”
He made a face immediately.
“Why would you ask me that?”
“Because my life is falling apart,” you said, very matter-of-fact. “I deserve entertainment.”
He hesitated for a second, then sighed.
“Fine. But I’m warning you, this is bad.”
You leaned in a little, invested.
“Go.”
“You’re weird. Alright, fine, ugh, this is disgusting. Before I left, I heard… I heard a… fuck.” He covered his face with his hands, letting out an embarrassed laugh before dropping them again. “A slap.”
You frowned.
“A slap?”
He nodded.
“A very loud one. And…” He swallowed. “She sounded… very happy about it.”
You froze for half a second.
Then burst out laughing.
“Oh my God.”
“I know.”
“That’s incredible.”
“That’s not incredible,” he protested. “I had to hear that.”
You were still laughing.
“Worth it.”
Lando shook his head, a quiet laugh still lingering.
“You’re a bit concerning, you know that?”
You hummed, unfazed.
“I’ve been told worse.”
Lando bit down on his lower lip, trying to hide the smile that kept threatening to break through. He was smiling too much. Repeatedly. He blinked, sniffed, and took a sip of his drink before setting the half-full can down on the small table.
A small pause settled between you, softer.
Just there.
The water in the pool shifted gently, reflecting faint lights across the ceiling above you. Somewhere in the distance, a door closed.
You lay back down, adjusting yourself on the lounge chair again without worrying about the time. Without worrying about anything. It felt good to pretend, for a few hours, that the world was just that space between the pool and the apartments behind it. Lando lay down too, closing his eyes.
“I think we should play something,” you said, your voice a little quiet.
Neither of you moved.
“Play? Like what?” Lando didn’t even open his eyes.
“I don’t know…” Your nails tapped against the arm of the lounge chair as you thought. “We should ask each other questions.”
“Like an interview?”
“Like a game. But no boring questions allowed.”
He finally cracked one eye open, glancing at you from where he was.
“That feels very subjective.”
Your hand lifted, pointing at him accusingly.
“If you ask me my favorite color, I’m taking the chips back.”
He immediately hugged the bag of chips to his chest, almost on instinct, shaking his head with a mock-serious frown.
“You’re not touching my chips.”
A quiet laugh slipped out of you before you settled back again.
“I’ll start.” you announced. “Hmm… what’s something people assume about you that’s wrong?”
He blinked, a little startled.
“Ahn... We’re starting like this? I thought the questions were supposed to get deeper over time. This is… pretty deep.”
“Don’t chicken out. Come on, answer,” you encouraged, giving him two thumbs up.
Shaking his head, he paused to think about your question.
God, there were so many answers. When had people ever assumed something about him that was actually correct? That should be the real question. He scratched the side of his head, biting the inside of his cheek…
Finally, he placed both hands behind his head and took a breath, like he was about to deliver something very personal.
“I’m an athlete. You didn’t ask that, but it matters for the answer. I’m a Formula 1 driver,” he said, glancing at you with a slightly nervous laugh.
You nodded, because, well, that wasn’t new information. You’d been living in the same building for months, and Monaco was known for its celebrities. He continued.
“And it’s a very ruthless, competitive environment. Most drivers tend to have that coldness, that whole ‘destroy the other guy’ mentality. People say that’s what a champion looks like. I think that’s bullshit.” You could feel the conviction behind his words, the quiet intensity. “People tend to think that because I don’t hide what I feel, whether in what I say or how I act, it makes me weak. Like I’m an easy target.”
A heavy silence followed. You swallowed before asking:
“And how do you prove them wrong?”
His tongue ran over his lower lip. He was still looking across the patio, but when he turned back to you, there was a quiet flicker of pride and satisfaction in his eyes.
“Well… I won the world championship last year.”
You looked at him for a second longer.
Blink.
Your neck was flushed now, your face too.
“Fuck. That was the sexiest thing I’ve ever heard.”
For a second, Lando just stared at you.
Then he let out a short, disbelieving laugh, looking away as he dragged a hand over his face.
“Jesus,” he muttered under his breath.
You were still looking at him like that.
He noticed.
Of course he did.
“Your turn to ask,” you said, your voice trying to return to normal as you sat up on the lounge chair, crossing your legs.
Lando followed your movement, lifting his chin slightly and nodding because, fuck, what else was he supposed to do?
“Yeah, yeah. Okay. My turn.”
You wiped your hands on your shorts and rested your elbows on your knees. Lando tilted his head slightly, studying you for a second longer than before.
There was something there now. Different.
A little dangerous.
A little interesting.
He huffed out a quiet laugh, shaking his head as he leaned back on the lounge chair again.
“Do you just casually call people hot or should I take that seriously?” he asked, glancing at you from the corner of his eye.
You didn’t even hesitate.
“Depends,” you said, shrugging one shoulder.
“On what?”
“On whether I actually think the person’s hot or not. My opinion is always honest.”
“Right,” he muttered. “So I should be worried.”
“Maybe,” you said lightly.
Lando shifted, propping himself up on his elbow as he looked at you properly now, eyes narrowing slightly.
“Okay,” he said, pointing at you. “New game.”
“That’s concerning.”
“Don’t interrupt. I’m fixing this.”
You raised an eyebrow and frowned.
“Fixing what?”
He ignored your question and got up from the lounge chair. You followed him with your eyes, blinking, not quite understanding what he was doing until he stepped closer to your chair and motioned with his hand for you to make room. Oh…
You shifted back a little, and he lowered himself down carefully, making sure not to tip the chair over and send both of you crashing. Finally, he crossed his legs, now sitting so close they were practically brushing against yours, facing you.
“Fire questions,” he announced, looking straight into your eyes. “Whoever doesn’t have the guts to answer has to jump in the pool.”
You blinked.
“Hey, that’s… intense.”
Lando shrugged.
“I didn’t think I was talking to a coward.”
You opened your mouth in disbelief, his eyes glinting with amusement, and you looked away, turning your head to the side as you shook it. What the hell.
“So it’s a challenge, then, idiot,” you said. “Go on, hit me with your super dangerous question.”
“Alright,” he said. “Don’t overthink it.”
You narrowed your eyes.
“I’m already regretting this.”
“Good,” he said. “Ready?”
“No.”
He let out a laugh that went straight to your chest. That closeness was a problem…
“Have you ever stayed when you should’ve left?”
“What a shit question.”
“Yes or no.”
You rolled your eyes.
“Yes. My turn.” You narrowed your eyes, thinking. “Have you ever hurt someone without meaning to?”
Lando nodded.
“Yes,” he answered. “Are you good at letting people go?”
You paused, looking at him. You took a breath and shook your head.
“…No.”
Lando didn’t look away. Not this time. Something in your answer seemed to settle between you, quieter than before, but heavier.
He nodded once.
“Yeah,” he said, softer now. “Figured.”
You frowned slightly.
“Oh, you figured?”
A small smile crept onto the corner of his lips — of course that would be your reaction.
“You hate it when someone reads you that easily, don’t you?”
You scoffed softly, shifting your weight on the lounge chair as your fingers brushed absentmindedly against the fabric.
“Is that part of the game or…?”
“Just curious,” he said, watching you a little too closely.
You shook your head, lips pressing together for a second before you looked back at him.
“Then I don’t have to answer. My turn.”
He let out a laugh, his head falling back as his hand came up to drag over his face before he pointed at you.
“Hey, that’s very unfair of you.”
You tilted your head, completely unbothered, one eyebrow lifting slightly.
“You made the rules.”
“I did not make that rule,” he shot back, leaning forward a little.
“You made the game.”
“That’s not the same thing.”
“It is.”
“It’s not.”
A small smile tugged at your lips as you leaned in just a fraction, mirroring him.
“You’re stalling.”
He exhaled through his nose, eyes dropping for a second before flicking back up to yours, a hint of a smile still there.
“I’m thinking.”
“Sure you are.”
A beat.
Then he leaned in slightly more, elbows resting on his knees, gaze steady.
“Fine,” he said. “Ask.”
You didn’t like the way he said it at all — direct, intense, looking straight at you. Instinctively, your gaze dropped to your hands, trying to keep him from noticing the faint flush that had crept onto your cheeks.
“Are you… are you…” you cleared your throat. “Are you used to people liking you?”
Lando tilted his head, trying to catch your gaze. When he realized you weren’t going to look at him, he let out a soft chuckle and nudged your leg with his knee, drawing your attention.
“Tricky question.”
“Wasn’t it supposed to be yes or no?”
He nodded.
“In this kind of… interaction we’re having, yeah. But in general, I think I tend to grow on people. Win them over.”
To look at him now, you had to lean back slightly.
“That answer was long.”
“Yeah…” he agreed with a half-smile.
For a moment, he didn’t ask anything.
His attention was entirely on you — on every little slip: the slight tremor in your fingers as you toyed with a loose thread on your shorts, the way your breathing felt just a little too measured to be natural, the small twitch in your arm when he moved — just to adjust himself, but you seemed to think otherwise.
“Are you nervous?” he asked quietly.
You shook your head too quickly.
“No…”
He lifted his hand just enough for the back of his index finger to brush against your bare thigh.
You shivered.
He noticed.
“Are you sure?”
Your hand came up immediately, catching his wrist and holding it there — firm enough to stop him from moving any further.
“Fuck off, Lando…”
The shift was so subtle you didn’t even realize it was happening, not until your grip loosened, and his hand turned in yours, fingers threading gently through your own.
Your breath caught halfway.
“I think you are,” he murmured, the pad of his thumb brushing softly over the back of your hand.
You rolled your eyes again, shaking your head, even as your fingers tightened instinctively around his.
You weren’t going to answer that.
He leaned in closer, slow this time, lowering his face toward yours until he was right there.
Too close.
“Because you think I’m hot,” he said.
You let out a quiet breath, your fingers still caught in his, but your gaze dropped for a second before you forced it back up.
“I didn’t say that.”
A small smile tugged at his lips, like he knew exactly what he was doing.
“You said you think I’m sexy.”
You shook your head, a little sharper this time, shifting slightly even though you didn’t actually pull away.
“I said what you said, the way you said it, was sexy. Get back to the game, Lando.”
He huffed a soft laugh, his thumb still brushing absentmindedly against your hand before he straightened just a little.
“Okay. My turn.” He tilted his head, watching you closely. “Do you think I’m hot?”
“Oh my God!” You let out, immediately looking away, your free hand coming up to your face like that might somehow hide you.
“Yes or no. This again?” he pressed, leaning in just enough to stay in your space.
You covered your mouth, shaking your head, cheeks puffing slightly as you let out a slow breath.
“I’ve known you for, like, an hour and a half…”
He let out a soft breath through his nose, shaking his head slightly like you were missing the point, his thumb brushing once against your hand before pressing lightly against your wrist.
“Irrelevant. I thought you were hot within ten minutes.”
Oh, fuck. Oh, fuck. Oh, fuck. Shit. Could he even say things like that? Did he really have the right to turn your brain into complete mush and steal every word right out of your mouth?
You closed your eyes when he leaned in like that, lifting your hand to keep him exactly where he was.
“I think I can get the answer out of you,” he said, raising his free hand to catch the one you’d put up like it was any kind of barrier.
“No…” you protested, completely lacking any real strength.
You could feel him getting closer, his warm breath brushing against your neck. It was too much — way too much. God…
Lando leaned in a little more, his nose finally brushing against your skin. Your hand tightened around his instinctively, gripping him harder. He dragged his nose slowly along your neck until he reached the spot just behind your ear.
“You smell really, really good,” he murmured.
You shivered.
The torture continued. The bastard didn’t seem even slightly interested in stopping… not at all. Where his nose had been, Lando placed a soft kiss, tracing the same path with his lips until he reached your shoulder, still covered by your shirt.
“You’re so quiet…” he said, his mouth hovering over your shoulder.
You swallowed hard and bit down on your lower lip. When he let go of your hand, it felt like being dropped into the cold… You thought about complaining, thought about being pathetic enough to beg him to lace his fingers with yours again — but in the next second, his hand slipped under the hem of your shirt, warm against the feverish skin of your waist, firm enough to pull a breath from you.
“Asshole…” you murmured.
He let out a muffled laugh and brought his head closer to yours, his nose resting against your cheek.
“What was that?” he asked in a whisper.
His thumb slid slowly over the skin of your stomach, the touch soft as it moved up, reaching the underside of your chest — bare, not covered by any bra. He let out a low, rough breath.
“Fuck…” he exhaled, quieter now. “You’re not wearing anything.”
“Lando, please… please…” you begged, your body nearly collapsing over his.
He straightened just enough to hover above you, his forehead resting against yours. Your hand moved instinctively to the collar of his shirt, gripping it in pure desperation. You leaned in, searching for him, but Lando pulled back just enough to draw a soft, frustrated sound from you.
“You still haven’t answered the question…” he teased.
Your jaw tightened, your grip on his shirt tightening with it.
“You’re hot, Lando. So hot. An arrogant asshole…” you said, lifting your face again to meet his.
Lando bit down on his lower lip, a laugh slipping through, and didn’t resist. If anything, his hands moved to your body, guiding you out of your position until you were sitting in his lap.
Your lips met at the exact same time.
There was no hesitation, no one reaching for the other first — it was a collision.
Warm. Immediate. Right.
His hand slid higher along your back, fingers pressing into you as he pulled you closer, deepening the kiss just enough to make your breath hitch.
Your lips parted instinctively, the kiss shifting — slower, heavier, no longer careful. His mouth moved against yours with a quiet certainty, like he’d been waiting for this exact moment and finally got it.
You reached for his free hand and guided it under your shirt, lifting it until it found the place he had neglected. Lando let out a breathy laugh against your lips and let his fingers adjust, learning the heat of your skin, the weight in his hands — and just as you were about to ask for more, he tightened his grip enough to make your back arch, a soft sound slipping out of you against his mouth.
That only made him kiss you harder.
It was an obscene kiss. He couldn’t even bring himself to think that someone might be watching. Didn’t want to think about anything. It was just your mouth on his, his hands on you, the pressure…
And then—
he stopped.
Not completely.
Just enough.
His lips still brushing yours, his breath uneven against your mouth, his hand still resting warm against your skin.
You didn’t pull away. Neither did he. But the urgency shifted, slowed. Your foreheads almost touched, your noses brushing as you both tried to catch your breath.
For a second, neither of you said anything.
The world rushed back in, just a little — the quiet of the pool, the night air against your skin, the sound of your breathing too loud between you. His thumb moved, slow this time, tracing a distracted line against your side.
“…fuck,” he exhaled softly, more to himself than to you.
You let out a shaky breath, one hand still gripping his shirt like you needed something solid to hold onto. You didn’t trust your own body to move just yet. Your forehead rested against his, your eyes still closed.
“Yeah… fuck.”
He pulled you closer, arms tightening around you like he needed the contact just as much to steady himself.
“You’re coming with me,” he said.
You raised an eyebrow, pulling back just enough to look at him.
“To where?”
“My apartment.” He said it simply, like it was obvious. “You don’t want to be anywhere near Ellie right now and…” He hesitated for half a second, a hint of a smile tugging at his lips. “Well. We have something to finish.”
Your eyes narrowed slightly, but there was no real resistance in it.
“Oh, do we?” you asked, voice quieter now, but edged with that same teasing tone.
His thumb brushed once against your side again, absentminded.
“Yeah,” he said, just as soft. “We do.”
“Okay.”
“Okay.”
A quiet, shared laugh slipped out between you, soft and a little disbelieving, as you both pulled away slowly — like neither of you was in any real hurry to break the contact completely.
You stood first. He followed. You both started walking, side by side. Close, but not touching.
The pool lights flickered softly behind you, the water settling back into stillness like nothing had happened.
Neither of you looked back.
The apartment was quiet when you got there, except for the sound of the shower running and oil sizzling in the kitchen. Lando hung his key on the holder and stretched his neck slightly, trying to see what was going on before raising a finger for you to wait.
“Oh, you’re here! We thought you were asleep,” Max said from the sink.
He was wearing a robe — and apparently nothing underneath. Lando was just about to tell him to put something on and try to sneak you discreetly to his room, but you, curious and stubborn, leaned in between them — and Max saw you.
His eyebrows shot up immediately.
“Uh? Hello,” he said, waving the spatula.
Lando froze.
Of course this would happen.
“Max—” he started, already moving slightly in front of you like that might somehow undo the situation. “What are you doing?”
Max blinked once, then glanced between the two of you, clearly piecing things together a little too quickly.
“I live here,” he said slowly, like that was the most obvious answer in the world. Then his eyes flicked back to you. “You… don’t.”
You let out a small, awkward laugh, shifting your weight.
“Hi.”
That was the exact moment the shower turned off.
Lando’s eyes went wide. This was about to get very weird, very fast.
“Greeeaaat. Okay! You’ve met. Lovely. Bye, Max. Ha ha.” Lando said, hands already on your shoulders. He turned you toward his bedroom door, and with a laugh, you let him guide you along.
“We’ll talk properly later!” you called out, and Max answered with a quick “Alright!” before going back to whatever he was doing with the spatula.
The last thing you heard was a female voice asking Max who he had been talking to—right before Lando shut his bedroom door.
“He seems nice.”
“He’s not.”
You laughed.
“I don’t mind that he saw, just so you know.”
Lando’s shoulders dropped, tension easing out of him as he stepped closer again. You took a step back on instinct, your back hitting the door with a soft thud.
He smiled.
“Good. You’ll have plenty of time to get properly introduced later.”
You tilted your head slightly, eyes narrowing in amusement.
“Oh? Planning on making this a regular occurrence?”
He pretended to think about it for a second.
“We’ll see,” he said finally, tone light, teasing. Then his gaze dropped — slow, deliberate — before coming back up to yours. “Right now, though…”
A beat.
“I want to see your clothes on the floor.”
You let out a surprised laugh — but it barely had time to settle before his hands were on your hips, pulling you forward into a kiss that knocked the air right out of you.
Summary : if lando asked, she’d do it. that’s the problem. he knows she’d do anything for him, and he keeps asking anyway — until one misunderstanding, one missed sponsor meeting, and one final betrayal cost her everything.
Paring : lando norris x female reader
Warnings : angst, unrequited love, one-sided pining, emotional manipulation, being led on, humiliation, miscommunication, neglect, workplace fallout, getting fired, no happy ending,
If Lando asked for the moon, Y/N would have learned how to fly.
That was the embarrassing truth of her life.
Not that she loved him.
That had become almost ordinary to her, folded into the rhythm of race weekends and late nights and the humiliating little lift in her chest every time he said her name.
No, the embarrassing part was that he knew.
Maybe not every detail of it. Maybe not the nights she lay awake replaying things he hadn’t meant. Maybe not the fact that half her life had started arranging itself around his moods without her permission.
But he knew enough.
Enough to know she would stay.
Enough to know she would fix it.
Enough to know that if he smiled first and asked second, she would say yes before the question had even finished leaving his mouth.
He liked that.
That was the part Y/N hated herself for understanding.
He liked being wanted. Liked being taken care of. Liked the certainty of her, the way she was always there, always soft for him, always ready to make his life easier.
He liked the devotion.
He just didn’t care about the girl attached to it.
“Y/N.”
She looked up too fast.
Lando was leaning against the office doorway, cap in one hand, team quarter zip half undone, still sun-warm from outside. Pretty in the kind of thoughtless way that should have made a person less dangerous and somehow only made him worse.
He smiled the second he saw she was looking.
“There you are.”
Her pulse kicked.
“What do you need?”
His grin widened.
“See? That’s why you’re my favourite.”
Across the room, Mia didn’t even bother hiding her expression.
Y/N looked back down at her laptop. “You say that to get things.”
“Yeah,” Lando said easily, crossing the room. “And it works.”
He dropped into the chair beside her desk and pushed his phone into her hand.
Two schedule blocks. One sponsor appearance. One media stop. Same time.
Y/N closed her eyes for a second. “You said yes to both.”
He leaned back, stretching his legs out. “Probably.”
“Lando.”
“Definitely.”
She started fixing it while he watched her do it, perfectly relaxed now that the problem belonged to someone else.
After a second, he said, quieter, “I knew you’d sort it.”
That voice.
That exact voice.
Warm enough to feel personal. Light enough to deny later.
Y/N kept her eyes on the screen. “You always know I’ll sort it.”
“Because you always do.”
He said it like praise.
It wasn’t.
It was ownership.
She handed the phone back a minute later.
“There. You’ll have to leave the sponsor thing early.”
He looked at it, relieved. “You’re actually unreal.”
Then he looked at her.
Really looked.
And smiled in that lazy, devastating way that made it feel like he had chosen her out of every person in the room.
“Don’t know what I’d do without you.”
Before she could stop herself, she smiled back.
That seemed to satisfy him.
Of course it did.
He reached out, brushed two fingers over her shoulder, and stood.
“Love you.”
Y/N froze.
Mia looked up immediately.
Lando had already made it halfway to the door.
He glanced back when he felt the silence.
“What?”
Y/N’s throat tightened. “What did you just say?”
His mouth curved.
“Relax.” He gave her a look like she was being sensitive on purpose. “You know what I mean.”
And then he left.
Mia waited exactly two seconds.
“He’s evil.”
Y/N let out a thin laugh.
“No,” she said, still staring at the doorway. “That would require effort.”
⁜
He led her on in ways that were hard to explain to people who hadn’t seen it.
Because it was never enough to be undeniable.
That was what made it so effective.
If he had kissed her once and regretted it, she could have hated him.
If he had told her outright that he liked the attention, she could have left.
If he had been careless enough to say I know you love me and I don’t care, at least there would have been honesty in the cruelty.
Instead, he gave her moments.
Little ones.
He would find her in crowded rooms and stand too close.
He would text her past midnight with you awake? and then, after she answered immediately like an idiot, follow it with need a favour x.
He would say things like I only trust you with this and you get me better than anyone here and stay with me for a sec in a tone soft enough to make her forget she was still technically at work.
He never promised.
He never had to.
Hope did all the labor for him.
One night after a sponsor dinner in Abu Dhabi, Y/N was outside by transport trying to reorganize cars when Lando came down the hotel steps with a brunette tucked under his arm.
He saw her and smiled.
“You’re still here.”
It was almost impressive, how he could make that sound intimate when all it really meant was good, the thing I need is where I left it.
“I work here,” Y/N said.
“Right.” He stepped toward her, lowering his voice as if this were something private. “Can you cover for me if anyone asks?”
Her eyes flicked to the brunette waiting by the car.
Then back to him.
“Cover what?”
He gave her that look. The one that said don’t make this difficult while still smiling.
“Just say I left early. Sponsor exhaustion. Whatever sounds official.”
Y/N stared at him.
For one awful second, he looked almost amused.
Then he softened, just a little.
“Please?”
There it was.
The tilt in his voice. The sweetness. The quiet confidence that she’d fold.
Because she always did.
Y/N swallowed. “Fine.”
His smile turned pleased.
“Knew I could count on you.”
Then he turned and walked back to the brunette without another thought, leaving Y/N standing there under the lights with her phone in her hand and her dignity somewhere under his tires.
That night, she lay in bed replaying knew I could count on you until she wanted to scream.
Not because it was kind.
Because it wasn’t.
Because it was certainty.
Because he knew exactly what she was and kept using her for it.
⁜
She asked him out on a Wednesday night.
Later, when everything had already gone wrong, Y/N would keep coming back to that moment and wondering if that had been the last clear warning she ignored.
The office behind hospitality was nearly empty. Most people had gone. The overhead lights were too bright, the air-conditioning too cold, the whole room suspended in that late-night stillness where everything felt more honest than it should.
Lando was sitting across from her desk in a hoodie, elbows on his knees, watching her rebuild the next day’s schedule because he’d changed his mind about three separate things and expected the universe to rearrange itself accordingly.
He looked tired.
Tired Lando was dangerous.
Softer. Slower. More likely to say things that felt true.
“You always take care of me,” he said.
Y/N kept typing because looking at him felt unsafe. “Someone has to.”
He smiled.
“No, but you do.”
She glanced up.
Big mistake.
He was already watching her with that unreadable softness he slipped into sometimes, the one that made her feel chosen and stupid in equal measure.
He tipped his head.
“You like taking care of me.”
It wasn’t a question.
And because she was tired too, because she was so tired of living inside things he could deny, Y/N heard herself say, “What if I do?”
He blinked.
Then smiled a little, like he thought she was being bold in a way that amused him.
“Then I’m very lucky.”
Her heart started racing.
There should have been a fire alarm inside her for moments like this. Some mechanism that said: he is doing it again. He is giving you just enough to keep you standing still.
Instead, there was only that awful bright hope.
She set her laptop aside before she could lose her nerve.
“Do you want to go out with me sometime?”
He frowned slightly.
“Out where?”
Her mouth went dry.
“On a date,” she said, because if she didn’t say it plainly now, she never would.
At that exact second, his phone lit up.
He looked down instantly. Swore under his breath. Grabbed it off the desk.
“Yeah, yeah, one sec...”
He scanned whatever message had come in, half-listening, already leaving her.
Then, distracted, he nodded and said, “Yeah, sure.”
Y/N stared at him.
“Really?”
“Mmhm.”
He was already typing.
She should have heard it then. The vagueness. The inattention. The fact that his yes had not landed on her at all.
She didn’t.
Or maybe she did and hope just drowned it.
“Okay,” she said softly.
“Text me,” he said, still looking at the phone. “Tomorrow’s a mess.”
And somehow she still went home glowing.
That was the pathetic part.
That a half-heard yes from a man who wasn’t even looking at her still felt like being chosen.
⁜
He didn’t show up.
Of course he didn’t.
Y/N sat alone at a restaurant in Monaco for forty-six minutes, checking her phone like each time might produce a different result.
Nothing.
No text.
No call.
No apology.
At minute fifteen, she told herself he was late.
At minute twenty-eight, she told herself something urgent had come up.
At minute thirty-four, she started to understand.
At minute forty-six, she knew.
He had never heard her properly.
Or worse : he had heard enough to answer and cared too little to remember.
The waitress came over with that careful smile people wore when they knew they were witnessing something embarrassing and wanted to pretend they weren’t.
“Would you like another minute?”
Y/N swallowed. “No. Just the bill.”
Her phone buzzed when she was halfway back to the hotel.
It was him.
For one stupid second, her whole body lit up.
Then she opened it.
need you to move tomorrow’s sponsor breakfast
She stopped walking.
That was it.
No sorry.
No where are you?
No I forgot.
Just need.
Y/N typed back before she could talk herself out of it.
you didn’t come
The reply took less than a minute.
to what?
She stared at the screen so long it dimmed.
That hurt more than anything else could have.
Not because he said no.
Because he didn’t even know what he had failed to show up for.
She typed nothing.
Another message came in.
seriously can you move the breakfast?
Then:
please
Then:
you know i wouldn’t ask if i had another option
Y/N laughed out loud on the sidewalk, the sound sharp enough to make a couple passing by glance at her.
There it was again.
The lie they both participated in.
As if she were the last option.
As if he didn’t come to her first because he knew exactly what she’d do.
She replied:
can’t. it’s mandatory.
He didn’t answer after that.
The next morning, he missed the sponsor breakfast anyway.
By afternoon, leadership knew.
By two o’clock, HR knew.
By two-ten, Y/N learned exactly what he had told them.
⁜
The conference room was too cold.
That was all Y/N could think at first, sitting across from the woman from HR and two senior staff members while they arranged papers in front of themselves and wore expressions that already had the decision built into them.
This wasn’t a follow-up.
This was a dismissal with good posture.
“There have been concerns,” the HR woman began, “about judgment and professionalism where Driver Norris is concerned.”
Y/N frowned. “What?”
The senior PR lead folded his hands. “Yesterday evening and this morning created a situation that we can’t ignore.”
Her stomach dropped.
“The sponsor breakfast?”
“In part.”
The HR woman looked down at her notes.
“We were informed that there may have been confusion caused by you regarding his evening plans, and that this may have contributed to him failing to attend his mandatory breakfast commitment.”
Y/N went still.
Not metaphorically. Not dramatically.
Literally still.
She stopped breathing for a second.
Then said, carefully, “I’m sorry. Confusion caused by me?”
The PR lead glanced away.
No one answered immediately.
That was answer enough.
Y/N’s voice came out thinner than she wanted. “What exactly did he say?”
The HR woman’s expression stayed neutral.
“That he believed there had been a misunderstanding created by you around a personal outing, and that his schedule may not have been communicated to him clearly enough afterward.”
The room went white at the edges.
There it was.
Not just that he’d missed the breakfast.
Not just that he’d forgotten her.
He had let them pin it on her.
Maybe because it was easier. Maybe because he’d been annoyed. Maybe because he hadn’t even thought through what it would do.
That almost made it worse.
Y/N laughed once.
The sound came out awful.
The HR woman softened slightly. “I understand this is upsetting.”
“No,” Y/N said, before she could stop herself. “You don’t.”
All three of them looked at her.
And because some final piece of her had already cracked open, the truth slipped out.
“He didn’t even know it was a date.”
Silence.
Immediate and complete.
Y/N shut her eyes.
Too late.
When she opened them again, the HR woman had gone very still.
“I see.”
No, Y/N thought.
No, you really don’t.
The PR lead cleared his throat. “This only confirms the blurred boundaries we’ve been concerned about.”
Blurred boundaries.
What a clean phrase for something that had ruined her so thoroughly.
By the time they said terminate your contract effective immediately, she was no longer really hearing them.
Badge revoked.
Apartment linked to role.
Access removed.
Pack your desk.
She nodded because her body knew how to perform compliance even while the rest of her was in freefall.
At one point, the HR woman said gently, “Why would you put yourself in this position for him?”
Y/N looked at her.
There were a hundred true answers.
Because he asked.
Because he knew.
Because he kept asking.
Because I loved him and he liked that more than he liked me.
Instead she just said, “I made a mistake.”
It was the smallest lie she had told about him.
⁜
She went to find him immediately.
Not because she thought he would fix it.
Not because she thought he would even be sorry in the right way.
Because she needed him to hear it from her.
Needed him to know that this one, at least, had landed somewhere real.
He was near hospitality, half-dressed for the next obligation, phone in hand, talking to someone from media while two sponsor reps hovered nearby.
He looked up when she said his name.
“Oh...hey.”
Hey.
Y/N almost smiled at that. The ordinariness of it. The complete mismatch between his tone and the fact that her life had just been taken apart because of him.
“I need to talk to you.”
He glanced at the people around him. “Can this wait? I’m about to...”
“No.”
That got his attention, briefly.
He stepped half away from the group, enough to suggest privacy without actually giving it.
“What happened?”
Y/N stared at him.
Then said it plainly.
“I got fired.”
His brows drew together.
“For what?”
She actually laughed.
There it was again. The confusion. The pure, undisturbed confusion of a man who had moved through his day never once imagining that another person’s world might have collapsed under the weight of his convenience.
“For you,” she said.
That made him frown. “What?”
“I got fired because you missed the sponsor breakfast. Because HR thinks I mishandled your schedule. Because apparently you told them I confused you about your evening plans.”
His expression changed.
Not enough.
Just enough to say he understood this might become inconvenient.
“Y/N, I didn’t...”
His phone buzzed.
He looked down.
Actually looked down.
At his phone.
While she was standing there trying not to come apart.
Something inside her went very quiet.
“Sorry,” he muttered. “One sec.”
He typed a reply.
One sec.
That was the line her mind would come back to later. The thing that would hurt in all the empty places long after the rest of it blurred.
Not the firing itself.
Not the date.
Not even the blame.
One sec.
As if devastation could hold.
As if she still existed in his life as something that would wait until he was finished with the important stuff.
Y/N let him finish.
Then, when he looked up again and said, “What were you saying?” with the faint impatience of someone trying to catch up to a conversation he’d half-missed, she just looked at him.
Really looked.
At the charm.
At the carelessness.
At the almost-boyish confusion that had gotten him forgiven by too many people for too long.
At the man who knew she would bleed for him and still found ways to ask for more.
“I said,” she told him quietly, “I got fired.”
He stared.
Then glanced over her shoulder because someone from media had just called his name.
He was already leaving again.
Even now.
Even here.
Y/N felt the last of her hope die so cleanly she almost mistook it for relief.
“That’s insane,” he said absently. “I’ll talk to someone.”
“No, you won’t.”
He frowned, distracted. “Why are you doing this now?”
That almost made her laugh.
Doing this now.
As if heartbreak had scheduling etiquette.
“Because you blamed me.”
“I didn’t blame you.”
“You let them.”
“That’s not...”
“Lando,” the media guy called again, closer now. “Now.”
He turned his head, annoyed.
Then looked back at Y/N.
And in that pause, that tiny split second where he clearly wanted this conversation to be over because he had somewhere else to be, she finally saw him as he was.
Not torn.
Not secretly in love.
Not scared of what she meant.
Just inconvenienced.
By her feelings. By her firing. By the timing of a mess he hadn’t meant to make and didn’t especially want to clean up.
He had always known she’d risk it all for him.
He’d just never thought that might become his problem.
Y/N stepped back.
He said her name, but only because she was moving away.
She smiled then.
Small. Sharp. Done.
“You should go,” she said. “You’ve got media.”
Something flickered across his face.
Guilt, maybe. Or annoyance. Or just the discomfort of being seen too clearly for the first time.
“Y/N...”
But she was already walking.
And the awful, perfect thing was that he let her.
Of course he did.
Because he always thought there would be time later.
Lando insisted that was “part of the charm,” but you were convinced he only said that because he’d never had to sit in economy with a crying toddler kicking the back of his seat.
Tonight, though, misery wasn’t the problem.
Boredom was.
Your flight had been delayed. Twice. The departure board flickered with the new time — 2 hours from now — and the groan that left Lando’s mouth was dramatic enough to make the elderly couple across from you laugh.
“I can’t do this,” he muttered, dropping into the plastic chair beside you. “I’m going to die here. This is how I go.”
“You’ll survive,” you said, nudging him with your shoulder.
“No. I won’t. Tell Oscar I loved him.”
You rolled your eyes. “Come here, drama queen.”
He didn’t hesitate. He never did with you.
He shifted sideways, stretching out across the row of seats, and then — without warning — he tugged you down with him. You squeaked as he pulled you into his chest, curling around you like a koala clinging to a tree.
“Lan— people can see,” you whispered, though your arms were already sliding around him.
“Good,” he mumbled into your neck. “Let them be jealous.”
You laughed softly, brushing your fingers through his curls. He melted instantly, his whole body relaxing against yours like he’d been waiting all day for this exact moment.
Within minutes, his breathing slowed.
Within ten, he was fully asleep.
And that’s when you noticed the phones.
A few fans across the terminal had spotted him — or rather, spotted the sight of Lando Norris wrapped around someone like a sleepy octopus, face buried in their neck, hoodie half‑slipped off one shoulder.
One girl mouthed sorry when she realised you’d seen her.
You smiled and shook your head. It was harmless.
Lando shifted, tightening his arms around your waist, pulling you even closer. His nose brushed your collarbone, and he let out a soft, content little sigh that made your heart do something embarrassing.
You kissed the top of his head.
He stirred. “Mm… don’t stop.”
“You’re supposed to be sleeping.”
“I am,” he said, eyes still closed. “But I can feel when you stop cuddling me.”
You snorted. “You’re ridiculous.”
“And you love me.”
You didn’t answer — you didn’t need to. The way you held him said enough.
A few minutes later, the intercom crackled to life, announcing yet another delay. Groans echoed through the terminal.
Lando didn’t even lift his head.
“Guess we’re stuck here,” he murmured, voice thick with sleep.
“Seems like it.”
He nuzzled into your neck again. “Good. More time with you.”
Your chest tightened in the best way.
“Lan?”
“Mm?”
“You know people are taking pictures, right?”
He finally cracked one eye open. “Of me cuddling my girlfriend?”
“Yes.”
“Good,” he said simply, closing his eyes again. “Let them.”
You smiled, brushing your thumb over his cheek.
And as the airport buzzed around you — announcements, rolling suitcases, distant chatter — Lando slept peacefully in your arms, completely unbothered, completely yours.
𝓹ut your records on ౨ৎ "i ate and trained like lando norris for 24 hours" — or the one where the internet gets a glimpse into the off-season life of lando norris: part time f1 driver, full-time twitch streamer, supercar fanatic and your lovely dork of a boyfriend. ｡ ｡
wc⠀4.3k───lando norris x fem! reader ⠀ ➷ ⠀ est. relationship fluff a few tiny suggestive implications :3 reader is a fashion designer but that's not very relevant lol. radio so, this is possibly the last fic i'll release this year! if you guys have any requests, my asks are always open. till then~ masterlist
Exhaustion sits deep in your bones, brain and ears both stuffed with cotton—one of those being metaphorical. Still, you have your limbs intact and sanity too, more or less, so you count the launch of a new collection that you got to work on for the Vivienne Westwood an overall success.
The hardest part is dragging yourself through the security procedures of an airport that resembles a hornet's nest close to midnight. But the point is that you're finally back in the French riviera, only half an hour away from freedom of flinging yourself in bed.
Your phone buzzes with a text notification. There is a smile on your face before you even open it.
[23:37] lan🐸: did you land yettt?
[23:37] you: yessir! the shuttle just took off
[23:38] you: what about the guys? are they here?
[23:38] lan🐸: mhm. standing by gate 15
[23:39] lan🐸: don't take too long, c u soon 💗
[23:40] you: go 2 sleep babe. i'll be there when u wake up 😏
[23:40] lan🐸: how romantic of u (and no, i want all the tea NOW. get here soon x)
You lug your carry-on off the bus when it finally halts on the other end of Terminal 2. Nice Côte d'Azur is a sprawling mess of overlapping broadcasts on the PA system and muffled buzz of conversation, but nowhere near as overwhelming as Heathrow on any given day of the year.
It's also rather easy to spot a small group of people waving with their hands over their head. With a newfound spring in your step and a grin, you reach them in record time. “Fancy seeing you lot on our side of the world.”
“A very humbling experience,” Morgan jokes, shaking your hand. “Nice to see you in higher resolution.”
“Blame that on the shitty wi-fi,” you snark, making him chuckle while you pull Ethan into a side hug. “Good to see you again. The flight was okay, yeah?”
“Peachy. Ginge was clapping after touchdown,” he replies, earning an eye roll from the streamer.
“I do not take chances with the universe, mate! Bad karma and all that. Still got to fly myself home in a couple days.”
“Well, I for one am exhausted,” you start, sparing a sheepish look at the taxi driver who is not being discreet with tapping his foot on the floor. “Let's take this party to the car. You guys need a hand with that?”
Matt, one of the cameramen for Quadrant, refuses with a smile as he begins hauling a giant kit of filming equipment. “Yours look full already. Where were you for the past… decade, it seems?"
You roll your eyes as the unit starts moving towards the exit, stale aircon air melting into the cloudless night. “Try bringing a million sketches to Fashion Week in case your boss finds every last finished piece hideous. I think a few years got shaved off my life with all the stress.”
“That's hustle culture for ya,” Morgan quips.
Only when the heavy bags are stuffed in the boot and you've found yourself in the passenger seat with full control over the aux does the conversation resume.
“So, what's there to do in Monaco actually?” Ethan asks, rubbing his hands.
“Depends on what you want to do. Monte Carlo is always glorious at night, and close to the hotel you'll be at. If either of you think you have a shot at gambling against loaded professionals,” the rest goes unsaid.
“I think we'll pass,” Morgan says, incredulous. “Is that all there is to it, then, a bunch of show offs by the Mediterranean?”
You shake your head immediately. “See, that's just the shiny surface. Everything here is freakishly polished and does get a bit boring over a long time but, look around, the buildings are a work of art. You can visit the museums or the few palaces we've got laying about. Or sunbath by the ports if that's more your thing,” you tease.
Matt jumps in like an overexcited puppy, “Does Lando have a yatch?”
That makes you chuckle. “Not as far as I'm aware, no. Sorry to disappoint,” you add at his miffed look but he's back to smiling again. “Tell you what, I can send you the location of our favorite junk food place. Head down there for dinner if you fancy a good burger. Tell her my name and she'll know the exact way I like it.”
“Look at that! A proper mob boss in the making,” Morgan whistles.
“Ah shit, you've blown my cover. I need to kill you now, I'm afraid.”
You part ways at the boulevard of the hotel that has been set up for them with the promise of meeting nice and early the next day. Fontvieille is another ten minutes away, but that's enough time for you to feel the drowsiness creep in. You keep yourself awake chasing the bright lights from the yacht basin nearby.
The housing society you're part of is lulled into silence by the night and each thud of your suitcase or clicking of trainers against the carpeted floor resounds ten times louder. Stifling a yawn, you punch in the code for the front door lock of the flat, spilling into the dim hallway.
There is a faint whirring noise that can only be Lando's sim rig running in the studio. You're no better than a zombie trudging through the apartment, shedding your bags, jumper, shoes and socks, before peeking in through the half-opened door.
Your boyfriend is perched on the simulator as you expected, hands on the steering and laser focused on the screen. He looks comfortable drowning in an oversized hoodie despite his pinched brows. The sunny weather of Baku City Circuit washes him in a bright light that cannot be easy on the eyes considering the otherwise pitch black room.
“Hey, you.”
Apparently the sound in his headphones is not cranked up to maximum, so Lando whips his head towards the doorway immediately, almost beaming. He fiddles with a few buttons till the ‘game paused’ window pops up. “Hello to you, too, baby. Come here.”
You're happy to oblige, melting into him as he pulls you on his lap, fingers tangling in his curls. “I smell like airport.”
Lando rolls his eyes, “Good thing I have nose blindness or whatever for that exact thing.”
You open your mouth to reply only to be shushed by a kiss. And you are but a weak woman to his charms, giving in with a content sigh.
He pulls back just barely, big warm hands running up and down your sides, working away your fatigue. “Did you have dinner already? And none of the instant noodle bullshit.”
“No, I'm starving,” you grumble. "They had carrot sandwich, but it smelled gross so I tossed it.”
Lando shakes his head. “How does it keep happening to you every time? I think you can apply for a Guinness world record for bad luck at this point.”
Toying with the strings of his hoodie, you peck his cheek, “Don't underestimate me, I will do it.”
As you cradle his face carefully, Lando looks down at you with an amused smile. Even after a good few years of being in a relationship, you still have moments when you just want to sit down and ruminate in the surrealism of it all. Instead, you squish his cheeks, forcing him into a pufferfish pout.
“Are you having cuteness aggression?” He asks, slurring. “Is that what this is?”
Giggling, you drop your head onto his shoulder. “Calling yourself cute must be the first line in A Narcissist's Rulebook one-oh-one. Now can we order something, please?”
Lando huffs dramatically. “I went out with Carlos for lunch. Got some leftover pasta if you want something quick?” The mere thought has your stomach rumbling and he smirks as your face warms. “Go freshen up while I heat up the food.”
“Care to join me, good sir?” You wriggle your eyebrows and it must look ridiculous because he chokes.
“You drive a hard bargain, darling, but I need to feed you first. Then we can go to bed and you can tell me all about that shitty Head of Design.”
The smile that takes over your expression is sickeningly dopey, fueled by the fuzzy warmth in your stomach. You lean in once again to kiss him slowly, and with all the gratitude that surges through you, “You’re the absolute best.”
The morning arrives in a headrush of anticipation that writhes beneath skin. Still unused to the differing timezones, your body probably thinks it's pulling an all-nighter, refusing to let you enjoy the warmth of a familiar body enveloping yours or the ridiculously soft blankets you have piled up on the bed. So, you decide to be productive.
That is precisely how Lando finds you sometime after seven in the morning—perched on the kitchen island, going to town on whatever fruit you have in the fridge, throwing them in the blender with your eyes glued to the laptop screen showing Donna and Sam arguing over an ABBA classic.
“Oh my god!” You startle, knife thankfully cluttering to the counter when Lando wraps his arms around you. You glare at him, “Do you have any self preservation instincts? I could have taken your eye out!”
“Would've could've should've,” he hums, smiling against your shoulder. “Your hair is still very wet.”
You try to shimmy yourself out of his octopus-like grip to no avail. “I know. It's too early for the hairdryer, though. Blueberry?”
He accepts the fruit you press to his lips and wanders off after squeezing you against his chest one last time. You try to focus on the movie again, thinking he has gone back to bed, only for him to walk into the kitchen with a towel.
You smile at him when he gestures for you to turn around and bring your knees to your chest. The towel is fresh off the dryer, soothing, as he dries your hair more gently than you have the patience for.
“Am I missing something or what?” You ask as he twists the ends of your hair into the cloth, wringing the water out. “You're being suspiciously sweet.”
Lando scoffs. “A simple ‘thank you’ would have been enough but I just can't win.” He tilts your head down to kiss the crown of it and you simply preen at the affection.
He looks like he wants to say something more but before he gets the chance, a cacophony of chirping canaries you'd jokingly set as your doorbell and stuck with echoes through the flat. Lando rolls his shoulders, “I think they're filming already. Are you okay with hanging out here?”
You grab one of his hands and squeeze his wrist, “I'm good. I'll try to stay out of the way.”
You give it a few minutes after Lando gets the door to wander towards the hallway. The guys are all standing around, setting up microphones and marveling at the sheer amount of trinkets you have in that awning alone.
It's a little shy of overbearing, the number of helmets, cars, mannequins and even art pieces—gifted by fans or commissioned personally—that take up most wall space. A huge MCL36 on one side, some of your own rendered designs on another, along with framed pictures of family and friends sprinkled into the mix. It’s a mosaic of everything you hold dear.
“Uhm... this is me,” Lando says, rubbing his hands. He looks every bit as awkward as you feel, this being the first time you've ever explicitly filmed your flat on this scale. You join him at his side, waving at the camera.
“Well, the dinner recommendation was phenomenal. Are we having some breakfast now?” Morgan asks.
You smile, “You are living like Mr. Norris over here. I'll let the master do his thing.”
“Come on, then,” he takes it in stride, leading the hoard into the kitchen. The sheet of his meal plan for the day is on the counter as he pulls open the fridge, “That is your breakfast, mate.”
Just out of frame, you have to consciously hold back laughter at the boys’ obvious disgust looking at the oatmeal. “That looks like someone ate breakfast and then threw up.”
“I just don't get why we're eating it cold,” Morgan laments, having yet to taste it.
“It's either that or mush. Trust me, I was the first victim to this lifestyle,” you sigh wistfully, emptying out the blender to make an açai bowl. “Do you want fruits on top of it?”
“Can't we have that instead? Whatever that is,” Ethan points to your food with his spoon.
“Afraid not. Do you see me doing that? Best you get is a couple berries over this,” Lando chimes in, eyebrows raised, making Ethan give up and accept the diced fruit you happily dole out.
From then on, the conversation pivots to fast food and workout routines. You remain in the periphery, not directly in the footage but enough to chime in when necessary.
“I was thinking we should start with a run, but maybe that's too much for you guys,” Lando explains, face impassive but he's clearly trying to take the piss out of them.
“Get in. I do five kilometers a week, actually. What’s your time?” Morgan fires back.
Lando says, “What, like one K a day?” at the same time as you blurting, “Since when is this a dick measuring competition?”
“Woah, there, alright!” Ethan cuts in, but he’s grinning. “Let's keep it PG thirteen, ma'am. YouTube is anal about monetization.”
You throw your hands up in mock exasperation, “What happened to this being a free country?”
By the time you finish up with the food and the team moves to set up in the gym room, you find your adrenaline crashing again. So you try to navigate your boyfriend in the chaos after changing into workout clothes.
“Lan? I'm going for a run.”
His eyes snap to his wristwatch, “Alright? But you should really sleep in today or finish the movie. You'll be dead after, baby.”
“That's the plan,” you slip past the weights, accepting a sideways hug. “If I nap now I'll fuck up my sleep schedule even more. Might as well stock up on groceries while I'm there.”
“Okay, have fun. By the way, where did we keep the workout bands again?”
You deadpan, “You're the one who drags those into the bedroom, love.” Lando smiles wryly, sauntering off to find them you assume, while Morgan and Ethan exchange a look equal parts confused and sly. You click your tongue, “Get your heads out the gutter, lads.”
Morgan shrugs, “Not the one who brought it up, ya weirdo.”
By the time you get home, the guys have already returned from cryotherapy. You shuffle into the flat, playfully saluting Matt who has his camera pointed at the other three. He gives you thumbs up in acknowledgement.
“Lunchtime already?” You asked, shuffling past the dining table where Lando is passing out the poke bowls. “You better have heated those, you heathen.”
“It makes zero difference,” he argues, but recollects them to shove them in the microwave anyway.
Morgan is smirking from his seat, arms crossed. “So, the missus rules the household, then?”
You snort, elbowing Lando who squints at you in faux warning, “Something like that. Think of it as compensation for him leaving me on my own for so long.”
“Must be wild though, right? With that much travelling, you're practically doing long-distance for half the year,” Ethan asks, face propped in his palms, oddly sympathetic. “And then getting papped like crazy for the other half. Sounds exhausting.”
Lando hands you the bowls as he sorts the takeout for the filming crew you'd brought, “Careful, they're steaming—Uh, it is, kind of. She comes to as many races as her schedule allows, but at the end of the day, it's my job. And she has her own stuff going on.”
“The timezones are the worst bit,” you add, passing around cutlery. “I always forget to update mine according to the race calendar and feel like shit after.”
“Not the media circus?” Morgan asks, looking genuinely surprised. “I'll be honest, if I got photographed every time I stepped outside, I'd be fuckin’ fuming and embarrassed.”
You catch Lando's eye and he cocks his head as you take your own seat. “I mean, it's not something you get used to easily, that's for sure. Hell, I still get pissed when people just pull their phones out like they're recording some zoo animal. But it’s worth it—he's worth it.”
“Aren’t you a flatterer,” Lando croons joking, eyes impossibly soft around the edges. His hand brushing your knee under the table makes you beam.
“I would say that's cringe but I respect it,” Ethan huffs before popping the lid of the meal. “Now, why the fuck is this so colourful?”
With lunch done, you all chat over a couple rounds of jenga, uno and even pop one of the million bottles of red wine sitting around. Soon after, the crew recedes to Lando's studio while you wander to your own, set on finishing some pattern mockups you'd randomly picked up.
The laughter and panicked screaming muffled by the drywalls makes you oddly content. There are not many athletes who readily open up about their personal lives—that's well within their rights, of course—and give an insight into the behind the scenes struggles which go into the performance they deliver on D-day.
So, the fact that Lando has taken the initiative to open up the world of Formula One to casual viewers, for them to get the slightest idea of what these people do on a daily basis to stand on the top steps, is absolutely one to be proud of.
A knock on the door pulls you away from your thoughts. Lando is at the doorway wearing a Fedora hat of all things, frowning, before he walks closer, both hands cupping your face. “Are you feeling okay?”
You nuzzle into his touch, eyes closing briefly, “Yeah, ‘course. Why the sudden curiosity? And why the hat?”
“It's fashion! I called you three times but you kept staring into nothingness." He pokes a finger into your skin, "That's what happens when you think sleep is overrated, you muppet.”
Ever the picture of maturity, you stick out your tongue. “What were you even saying?”
He brushes his thumb over your cheekbones, “I'm taking them to get some decent snacks before the surprise. Come with?”
“Oh, can we take them to that crêpe place? The one from my birthday?” You pull yourself up, shutting the lights off as you walk out. “The chocolate ones are, like, heavenly.”
You miss the simper on Lando’s face, as obvious as a sunny day, “You read my mind.”
Down in the underground garage, Lando gives a rapid-fire tour of most of his sprawling car collection. You stand off to the side watching them sit inside the AC Cobra and then the restomod Land Rover, wincing when he revs the cold engines to the moon.
“At the risk of damaging the bearing again, baby, please give it a rest,” you whine but the chokehold awe has on the group makes you smirk. Lando just laughs, sharp and bright. He's so obviously in his element, you can't help but reach over and ruffle his hair. Cuteness aggression, was it?
Later when he's getting the Urus ready, Morgan points at the vehicle closest to him, “Is this electric?”
You crane your neck to see why everyone's started guffawing and—oh. The streamer standing in front of the McLaren 765LT Spider. Otherwise known as the other woman in your relationship—but you're convinced that you are the side piece—an absolute custom beauty with an impressive twin-turbo V8 for guts. Lando is shell-shocked and rightfully so.
“What, it's plugged in!” Morgan defends his point half-heartedly.
You walk over with a somber expression, thumbing in your boyfriend's direction, “Never disrespect her in this household. She's his wife.”
“Alright, you're overdoing it now.” A pair of arms wrap around your waist, the raspberries blown against your neck making you squirm uncontrollably as he glances at you, fond. “That's a supercar, mate. They need to be plugged in so the battery doesn’t die. Now, might I suggest getting this show on the road?”
January in Monaco is nothing to write home about when compared to how bustling and full of life spring is in the riviera. But sitting in the passenger side as the car makes its way up a winding hillside road, you think the cloud-coated mountains and the cold breeze playing with your hair have their own irrefutable charm.
Lando has one of his many mood playlists blasting through the speakers but conversation triumphs over the melody in yelled sentences. You make some silly faces whenever the camera pans to you, devolving to laughter afterwards.
The café is tucked beside a viewpoint along the route to Tête de Chien. Usually the parking lot provides a stunning panorama of the entirety of Monaco but, just your luck, there is a dark, heavy set of condensation looming over everything today. Still you find yourself posing for some pictures, indulging Morgan as he claims this is “a once-in-a-lifetime experience”.
Ironically, he gets sidetracked by a stray pomeranian that basically lives with the owners. Morgan capitalizes on Lando being familiar with the puppy—given how often you find yourself there, it's really no surprise—to hold its attention, capturing an entire SD card worth of photos.
Ethan lingers by your side as you sneak some of your own pictures: Lando petting the dog's fur, both looking incredibly pleased, makes for great wallpaper material. “Why don't you two just adopt one?”
You peek over your shoulder with a wistful sigh, “Not the best flame to fan at the moment, buddy.”
“I mean, it would make sense, right? You have yourselves a nice flat, and after witnessing firsthand how you act around each other, this is it for both of you.” He leans back on the bannister, properly curious, “Unless you're into some weird belief of waiting till the wedding to get pets, isn’t that the best next step?”
There is definitely a noticeable blush creeping up to your ears now. You're thankful the camera is too far away to pick up this exchange. “Not with our careers, it's not.” You watch Ethan's mouth form a perfect ‘o’ and carry on, “We've talked about it obviously. But neither of us are in the headspace to manage the added responsibility of a living breathing creature. It just won’t be fair.”
The lady on the counter wanders outside to tell you the order is prepared. The pomeranian bolts out from under Lando's hand, running towards her with its tail wagging.
Ethan offers you a fistbump that you quickly return, joining the others. Right before you enter the sitting area however, Lando reaches for your hand, pulling it up to his lips. His eyes trace yours as if to question what is wrong and you can only answer with a reassuring smile.
Truthfully, you love the life the two of you have built together. The close knit sense of community and belonging to a place—even if it is among the pinnacle of luxury—and also the not-so-great parts that entail dating a man whose every day is a spectacle. And as much as it is you who chooses to love him despite those struggles, you also innately adore the kind of person he is.
How he takes home food regardless of you asking, keeping you with him in his heart and mind wherever he is around the world. How he takes care of the small mundane tasks for you, like drying your hair, being patient with you even when you cannot manage being gentle with yourself.
But most of all, you're irrevocably infatuated with how he never asks you to put yourself on the lower pedestal in favor of his whims. There is little else that trumps the satisfaction of knowing this life, with all its hard moments and the incredible ones, is for both of you to share in equal measure.
To your delight, the crêpes are an instant hit and everybody sings praises of your proficiency in picking out places to eat at. Lando goes a bit overboard with it and Ethan dares him to lick the plate to prove his point. Out of everyone there, you're the least phased when he goes through with it, your hands catching the rim of his bucket hat before it swipes the chocolate on his plate as he ducks down.
Then, it's time to say goodbye.
You hug each one of them individually, exchanging ‘good night's and polite pleasantries like ‘it was fun, let's do this again sometime’. It's at that point where Lando finally reveals the surprise set for them and you'd be lying if you say you don't find their flabbergasted state hilarious. The driver from the other day returns to drop them off at the local Helipad and you keep waving until their taxi disappears behind a sharp corner.
“That was something,” you muse, once you're situated inside the car again.
“Uh-huh,” Lando glances at you slyly, one arm extended to hold your headrest as he turns the car with the other. You don't even try anymore to hide how obviously you're ogling, chin on your palm and looking as smitten as you feel. “It's not like we have people crashing at ours every other week or something.”
The sun has already started to set, cloudy canvas painted in diluted purple, magenta and gold. “Yeah, but never to film us for a whole day! I will say, it wasn't as bad as I thought. That, or we live like clowns daily so we didn't have to play it up.”
He laughs, hands steady on the steering wheel, drumming against it once you hit traffic in the main town square. “Thanks for being such a good sport about it. I know I asked too much anyway but—yeah, you're just amazing.”
“Oh, am I now?”
With a coy smile, you lean over the centre console to kiss him, putting on a good show for anyone who might be recording. Well, they shouldn't be peeping anyway.
Lando sighs when you sit back down, happy-pilled, repeating your own words from the night before, “The absolute best.”
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Summary: A morning where Lando drives his sleepy passenger princess to the track.
warnings: none
"Lando, we're going to be late," you mumbled, still cocooned in the hotel duvet, one eye barely open.
"We've got time," he said, already dressed in his Papaya team kit, sitting on the edge of the bed. His hand found yours under the covers. "Come on, passenger princess. Your chariot awaits."
You groaned dramatically. "It's too early. Why are practice sessions at ridiculous hours?"
"It's 9 AM, babe."
"Exactly. Ridiculous."
Lando laughed, that bright, genuine laugh that made his eyes crinkle. "Tell you what. I'll stop for coffee on the way, and you can sleep in the car."
"Real coffee or paddock coffee?"
"Real coffee. The fancy kind you like with the oat milk and extra shot."
You peeked both eyes open now. "...okay, fine."
Twenty minutes later, you were settled into the passenger seat of whatever sports car McLaren had given him this weekend. You'd stopped keeping track. Your iced latte was secured in the cup holder, Lando's playlist was on low, and you'd already tucked your feet up on the seat, shoes off.
"Seatbelt," he reminded you gently, waiting.
"You're so bossy in the mornings."
"I'm bossy because I'd like my girlfriend to survive the drive to the track." But he was smiling as he said it, reaching over to buckle you in himself when you took too long, his fingers brushing your waist.
The streets of Monaco were relatively quiet this early. Lando drove with one hand on the wheel, the other finding yours across the center console like it always did. His thumb traced absent circles on your palm.
"You know," you said, watching the coastline blur past, "I really should learn to drive."
"Why would you do that?" He glanced over, genuinely confused.
"Because I literally can't get anywhere without you or an Uber. It's kind of embarrassing."
"It's not embarrassing, it's perfect. Means I always know where you are." He squeezed your hand. "Plus, you're terrible with directions. Remember Austria?"
"That was ONE time..."
"You told me to turn left into a literal forest."
"The GPS was broken!"
"The GPS was fine; you were holding the phone upside down." He was properly grinning now, that mischievous look that meant he was enjoying this too much.
You tried to glare at him, but failed. "You're the worst."
"You love me."
"Unfortunately."
He brought your joined hands up to kiss your knuckles, eyes back on the road. "Good thing I love driving you around then, isn't it?"
And it was true. Lando never complained. Not when you needed picking up from brunch with friends, not during the grocery runs where you controlled the music and provided "moral support," not even at 2 AM when you'd called him from a girls' night because you missed him and didn't want to cab it home alone.
"What are you thinking about?" he asked, catching you staring at him.
"Just that you're going to be impossible if you win this weekend. Your ego's already massive."
"When I win this weekend," he corrected with a smirk. "And my ego is perfectly sized, thank you."
You rolled your eyes but couldn't help smiling. "If you win, I'll let you pick the restaurant tonight."
"Oh, so you'll let me pick where I'm taking you and pay? How generous."
"I'm a very generous girlfriend."
"You're a menace." But he was laughing again, pulling into the paddock entrance. "Alright, passenger princess, we've arrived at your destination."
You stretched, already seeing the flashing cameras beyond the gates. "Do I look okay?"
Lando looked over at you properly then. Oversized hoodie (his), messy bun, minimal makeup, coffee in hand. His expression softened. "You look perfect. You always do."
"Smooth talker."
"It's why you keep me around."
"I thought I kept you around for the free transportation."
He put the car in park, leaning across the console to kiss you properly. "Marry me, and you get free transportation for life. Premium service."
Your heart did that familiar fluttering sensation it always does. "Are you proposing to me in a car park right now?"
"Not yet," he grinned against your lips. "But when I do, you won't see it coming."
"Lando..."
"Come on, I've got a briefing in fifteen minutes." He was already out, jogging around to open your door like he always did, offering his hand. "Let's go, princess."
You took it, letting him pull you up and into his side as you walked toward the paddock, his arm around your shoulders, yours around his waist.
Summary: Lando and Yn have been happily together for several years now. So when Yn calls Lando "accidentally" her husband in public, Lando couldn't be any happier.
The restaurant was warm in that quiet, golden way that only happened at night, when the city outside softened into distant lights and muted sounds. Candles flickered on each table, throwing gentle shadows across white linen and polished silverware. Soft music hummed in the background, barely loud enough to notice unless you focused on it.
Yn sat across from Lando, chin resting in her hand, watching him with a fond, amused smile.
He looked… nervous. Not in a bad way. Just that subtle, telltale kind of nervous that meant he cared a lot.
He had dressed nicely. Really nicely. Black button-down, sleeves rolled just enough to show his forearms, hair styled with more effort than usual. He kept straightening the cutlery, then stopping himself, then adjusting his napkin like it might escape.
“You’re staring,” he said, glancing up with a shy grin.
“Am I?” Yn asked innocently. “Maybe I just like the view.”
He laughed, a soft sound, cheeks tinting pink. “You’re dangerous when you flirt like that, my love.”
She tilted her head. “After three years, you’re still not immune?”
“Never,” he replied immediately. “Not even close.”
Their food had just arrived. Perfectly plated, exactly what Yn loved. Lando had remembered, of course. He always did. Her favourite dish prepared the way she liked it, and even a side she’d mentioned offhand months ago.
She noticed.
She always noticed.
“You didn’t have to do all this,” she said quietly, though her eyes were shining.
“I wanted to,” Lando replied, earnest. “Date night. Proper one. No schedules, no noise, no people asking for photos. Just us.”
He reached across the table and brushed his thumb over her knuckles. The gesture was casual, natural, practiced from years of loving each other.
Yn squeezed his hand. “You’re doing amazing.”
His smile softened into something tender. “Anything for you.”
They ate slowly, talking about everything and nothing-memories from their early days together, stupid inside jokes, plans that were half-serious and half-dreams. Lando told a story about a disastrous attempt at cooking pasta when they first moved in together, and Yn laughed so hard she nearly dropped her fork.
“You used sugar instead of salt,” she teased.
“I panicked!” he protested. “The labels looked the same!”
“They did not.”
“They absolutely did.”
She leaned back in her chair, laughing. “You owe me emotional compensation for that meal.”
“I’ve been compensating you ever since,” he said, smirking.
The wine bottle between them slowly emptied as the evening stretched on, the conversation flowing as easily as the drinks. At some point, Yn glanced at the bottle, then at her glass.
“Hey,” she murmured. “We’re out.”
Lando followed her gaze. “Oh. Should we-”
She was already turning, catching the attention of a waiter passing by.
“Excuse me,” Yn said gently, polite and warm. “Could we have another bottle of this wine, please?”
The waiter nodded. “Of course.”
Yn smiled. “Thank you. My husband and I really loved it.”
The words slipped out effortlessly.
Husband.
She didn’t look at Lando. Didn’t hesitate. Didn’t react. She simply turned back to her plate and continued eating like she hadn’t just dropped a verbal grenade in the middle of the table.
For half a second, nothing happened.
Then-
Lando froze.
Completely. Utterly.
His brain short-circuited in real time.
Husband?
He stared at her, eyes wide, mouth slightly open. The word echoed in his head, loud and bright and impossible to ignore.
Husband.
She hadn’t stumbled over it. Hadn’t corrected herself. Hadn’t laughed.
She’d just… said it.
Casually.
Like it was the most natural thing in the world.
He swallowed hard, heart suddenly racing.
Yn, meanwhile, remained infuriatingly calm. She took another bite of her food, hummed softly in appreciation, and reached for her glass like nothing monumental had just occurred.
“Yn,” he said, voice quiet and slightly breathless.
She looked up at him. “Yeah?”
“You-” He laughed nervously, then stopped. “You just called me your husband.”
Her eyebrows lifted in mild surprise. “Did I?”
“Yes,” he said, nodding quickly. “Very clearly. To the waiter.”
“Oh.” She shrugged. “Huh.”
Huh.
That was it.
No apology. No explanation.
Lando’s heart was doing somersaults.
He reached across the table again, this time taking her hand fully, fingers threading through hers. His thumb brushed over her skin in slow, affectionate circles.
“Well,” he said softly, eyes bright. “I like the sound of that.”
She smiled, still pretending to be oblivious. “Yeah?”
“Yeah,” he breathed. “A lot.”
The waiter returned with the new bottle, uncorked it smoothly, and poured. Lando barely noticed. His attention was entirely on Yn.
When they were alone again, he lifted her hand and pressed a kiss to her knuckles. Then another. Then another.
“You know,” he said, voice warm and emotional, “I’ve thought about that. About you calling me that. About being that.”
Yn tilted her head. “You have?”
“Every day,” he admitted. “I mean it. Every single day.”
Her teasing smile softened just a little, but she stayed quiet.
“I can’t stop smiling,” he continued, laughing softly at himself. “My face actually hurts.”
“It does look stuck, love,” she teased.
“Because you just-” He shook his head. “You have no idea what that did to me.”
“Oh, I might,” she said lightly.
He squeezed her hand. “I want you to have my last name someday, darling.”
The words were simple. Honest. Said without pressure, without theatrics.
Just truth.
“Soon,” he added quickly, cheeks flushing. “I mean-when you’re ready. When it feels right. But I promise you… I’m serious about us. About you.”
Yn’s chest tightened.
She had expected laughter. Maybe confusion.
She hadn’t expected this. This open, heartfelt rush of affection.
“You’re really happy about it,” she said softly.
“Are you kidding?” he laughed. “I’m over the moon. I’m floating. I might actually cry.”
She laughed gently. “You’re so cute.”
“I’m in love,” he corrected. “That’s what this is.”
He leaned forward slightly, lowering his voice like he was sharing a secret meant only for her. “Calling me your husband… it felt right. It felt like the future.”
Her lips twitched.
Oh, this was bad.
Or good.
Definitely good.
She let a few more seconds pass, letting him bask in the moment, watching how his eyes shone, how his smile refused to fade. He kept kissing her hand like he couldn’t stop himself.
“Lando, Honey,” she said finally.
“Yeah?” He looked at her immediately.
“There’s something I should tell you.”
His heart skipped. “Okay.”
She took a sip of wine, very calmly. Too calmly.
“It was a prank.”
Silence.
He blinked once.
Then twice.
“A… what?”
“A prank,” she repeated, biting her lip to keep from laughing. “You know. Like the ones we always do.”
The realization hit him all at once.
His mouth fell open.
“You-” He stared at her. “You did that on purpose?”
She burst out laughing. “Oh my god, your face-”
He leaned back in his chair, one hand covering his mouth, half laughing, half stunned. “You absolute menace.”
“You loved it,” she said, grinning.
“I did!” he exclaimed. “That’s the problem, baby!”
She reached across the table again, squeezing his hand. “I knew you’d react like that. You’re so soft, Lan.”
He shook his head, laughing helplessly. “You can’t just drop something like that and expect me to survive.”
“But you did,” she teased. “And you were adorable.”
He sighed dramatically, then smiled at her with that familiar warmth. “Okay. Okay. Prank acknowledged.”
She raised her glass. “Truce?”
He clinked his glass against hers. “Truce, my love.”
They drank, laughter lingering between them, the mood still sweet despite the reveal. Lando leaned forward again, resting his elbows on the table.
“You know,” he said thoughtfully, “even if it was a prank…”
“Yeah?”
“I still meant everything I said.”
Her smile softened completely now.
“I know,” she replied quietly.
He studied her face for a moment, then smiled that gentle, boyish smile she’d fallen in love with three years ago.
“And just so you know,” he added, “one day you’ll say it for real.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”
“Oh,” he nodded. “And I’ll probably react the exact same way.”
She laughed, leaning over the table to kiss him, soft and slow and full of everything they shared.
“Good,” she murmured against his lips. “I’d be disappointed if you didn’t.”
He kissed her again, smiling into it, heart full, future bright, love steady and real.
And for the rest of the night, he couldn’t stop holding her hand.
