Top Posts Tagged with #ln4 texts

hey lovely i love your works so much especially the angsty one shots they're jusy chef's kiss 💞💞😭 i was wondering if you could make a series of angsty lando texts? not ex reader maybe they just took a break but it's really bad because he did something petty to get her attention. and so then afterwards he manages to convince her to meet up........ im blanking now but i trust you with the ending

even though i shouldn't after what you pulled on delayed gratification. lol.

- 💞

Let’s call it | LN⁴

.✦ ݁˖ summary ──── In which two weeks apart and a public scandal it’s enough to bring them back together. Sort of.

.✦ ݁˖ pairing ──── Lando Norris x she/her reader

.✦ ݁˖ rating ──── explicit

.✦ ݁˖ warnings ──── 18+, mature/sexual content, fake texts, angst, tension, descriptive language, swearing, push-and-pull behavior, arguments and heated conversations, implied emotional manipulation, unclear relationship status, longing, ‘right person, wrong time’ vibes, soft intimacy, internalized conflict, emotional dependency, toxic relationship dynamics, power dynamics, graphic descriptions of sexual acts, light marking, oral and manual stimulation, huge hands Norris™, unprotected sex, fingering, teasing, overstimulation, intense orgasms, messy bodily fluids, elements of aftercare.

.✦ ݁˖ word count ──── 7.3k

.✦ ݁˖ date ──── Apr. 16, 2026

.✦ ݁˖ a/n ──── This one haunted every corner of my brain for at least a month straight and it was a BITCH to edit. I have nothing left to say except lower your screen brightness if you’re reading it in public. Kachow ✌🏼

It was like I was a tree attracted to axes.

Steve Maraboli

LANDO IS ALREADY there when she rolls in, the purr of her engine cutting through the silent parking lot. The headlights sweep across the concrete walls in a smooth arc, landing on him by the time the car stops. She thinks it’s borderline idiotic how quickly her heart reacts at the sight of him, but she hasn’t seen the man in weeks, and the fact that he’s on time for her makes it all a bit harder than it already is. Mainly because Lando was rarely on time, and that used to annoy her a lot.

Whatever this might be, she understands right away that it’s far from casual, because it’s not one of their usual attempts to apologize and move on. It’s serious than it’s ever been, since it’s the first time they actually kept the distance, even though it didn’t last as much they’ve agreed on.

Seeing that Lando chose to listen before a single word is spoken, makes her chest tighten with a cautious kind of hope. Because of that, maybe, beneath all the damage and missteps, they still know how to meet each other halfway when it actually matters. Which is good news and danger zone in one.

He’s dressed accordingly, too: dark trousers, clean sneakers, and a coat pulled close against the cold, with its collar turned up to shield his neck from the bite of the night air. He leans against the edge of the curb, hands shoved into his pockets, breath fogging a little when he exhales. Once he notices her, Lando straightens and nods, then pushes off from where he’s standing, circling the front of the car instead of cutting close.

Opening the passenger door to slide in, he lets a quiet ‘hey’ slipping through his lips.

“Hey,” she copies his tone. “All good?”

Lando nods again. “Yeah, let’s go.”

A few minutes later, Monaco slides past in blurred reflections and the occasional flash of the darkened sea. Inside the car, the heater is turned on minimum, yet the space between them stays as cold as the winter air. Her hands move smoothly on the wheel, precise without being tense, even when another car noses in too close, or a horn snaps too loudly behind them. She has industrial quantities of patience when she drives, which forces Lando to bite his tongue at the thought because it’s true, and because she’d never let him live it down: she is, in fact, a better street driver than he is.

Where Lando gets restless when someone cuts him off, she stays composed, and when adrenaline needles under his skin, she remains calm. She’s everything he isn’t behind the wheel in places like this, yet somehow that doesn’t bruise his ego. It makes him smile, instead. There’s something very particular about the way she owns it, confident enough to be loud and proud without ever needing to prove herself, and he realizes he’s always trusted her most when her hands are right there, steering them both forward.

Both literally and metaphorically.

“You look good,” he says, searching to break the heavy silence.

The girl doesn’t look at him, but still has to point out his failed attempt, “I’m in sweats three times my size.”

The conversation dies where it stands and, luckily, Lando gets the hint. He presses his lips in a thin line, turning his head toward the window on his side with a sigh. If he had the slightest idea where the night was heading at before he got in the car, now he has no clue. She’s colder than he expected and suddenly, the memory of what he’d done hits him with embarrassing clarity: trying to win by playing games won’t work when the other person chooses not to play. Simple as that.

He ends up resting his chin in his palm, elbow braced against the door, pretending he is interested in the succession of images that passes them. Soon, his fingers tap a few times before he starts fidgeting, absently brushing the edge of the console, or tracing the seam of the leather in order to anchor himself in the texture of the car instead of the rejection.

He clears his throat on the verge of exasperation, looking back at her. “So, how are you?”

“Small talk? You wanna do that?”

“I’m trying, alright,” says Lando with a hint of frustration finally cracking through.

“What? To be civil?” she signals, turning onto a quieter street.

He frowns. “To be with you.”

Her grip tightens on the steering wheel, knuckles paling before she forces them to relax. “We’re way past that, don’t you think?”

“I don’t,” thunders Lando. “I’m here, with you. And I assume you’re here with me because, at least on some extent, we still want the same thing.”

She lets his words get cozy in the space between them, turning the affirmation over on each possible and impossible side in the private chambers of her mind. Of course, Lando is not completely wrong. She came for the same exact reason: she wants the version of them that feels like home instead of a sudden crash. Or at least some version that doesn’t feel like a civil war. But wanting that home and wanting him has always come with a cost she can’t quite approximate.

Most of the times, Lando doesn’t even have to try. He’s just existing and then, out of nowhere, she finds herself bending her own rules and rewriting them in order to accommodate him. Perhaps he’s not even aware of how strong his gravitational pull is, but whether he means it or not, he still takes advantage of it. In that case, how can one balance love against self-preservation? How can she separate genuine effort from the familiar rhythm of him saying exactly what she needs to hear?

Naturally, their scale can’t and won’t simply settle. It keeps tipping toward him, then away, until she doesn’t know which side is instinct and which is self-sabotage.

Impatient, Lando shifts in his seat, knee bouncing before he stills it with his hand. He hates how confined it feels, how close she is and how unreachable at the same time. Driving would’ve helped him right now, giving him a sense of control. She knew that and decided to strip him down of it.

Smart girl, he thinks, biting on the inside of his cheek.

She notices his quiet inability to settle and, deep down, she wishes she could reach out and reassure him that eventually, things will clear up. Maybe not right now, but sometime in the near future, when the fog lifts and they won’t be as blinded by resentment as they are now.

Her eyes sparkle the moment she glances at him briefly, then back at the road. “Did she see the photos?”

One of Lando’s eyebrows arches. “What?”

“Your ex,” she clarifies, “Did she see you getting papped in it?”

“Yeah,” he replies after a quick pause, fingers flexing against his thigh.

Lando can’t help but glance at her profile and watch how her jaw sets a bit harder. He’s not really sure if it’s jealousy since she already told him last night that she’s mostly furious. At him or at the situation, at him and at the situation, at him only — just some options he’s considered. However, he also can’t ignore the way her lips press together as she nods once, like she’s already made a scenario about it in her head. One that he knows it’s going to be hard to fight with.

“So, she reached out,” the girl concludes right away, understanding that it’s the only way Lando would know in the first place.

“Yeah,” he repeats.

“What did she say? Bet she had a good laugh.”

He scoffs, leaning back against the headrest, his eyes tracing the line of her neck, where a stray strand of hair has escaped her ponytail. He can definitely sense the undercurrent here and the subtle way she’s testing the waters without diving in, but he won’t give her the chance to steer the conversation in that direction.

Shaking his head, Lando turns his gaze out the window to the blurring coastline. “Dunno, I deleted the text before looking at it.”

Her tone is horrifyingly clinical next time she asks, “Why?”

“What do you mean? Because it doesn’t matter, that’s why.”

The girl studies him for a fraction longer than she wants to, then focuses back at the road. Her foot eases off the accelerator as they ascend higher, the path narrowing.

“But it does, since you wore it to get a reaction. Now you’ve got my attention, hers, and to top it nicely, the internet is having a field day with it as well,” she explains, sarcasm creeping in. “At our expense, may I add. Which is always so, so fun.”

“It doesn’t matter to me,” he corrects it at last. “You know I don’t give two fucks about what anyone says. You matter and that’s about it.”

She squints at the rearview mirror, then continues driving, keeping another sarcastic comment she’s prepared for herself. The road curves gently upward, climbing toward the hills that overlook the Mediterranean.

“But it’s a bit weird, isn’t it? How people can instantly pick on your breadcrumbs,” the girl continues contemplatively, after biting her tongue for too long.

His expression softens even though there’s still a spark of frustration in his eyes. “It’s none of our business. I think it’s clear where I stand, and you’re smart enough to see it.”

“Well, I think it’s just the fact that I know you too well, Lando,” she affirms, accelerating before slowing again. “Besides, it doesn’t take a genius to see how incredibly stupid you were, either. And if you wanna do that, don’t involve me.”

Without a second thought, “You make me that way,” says Lando.

She veers onto a forgotten access path next, the gravel crunching under the tires as the car jostles over uneven terrain. The engine cuts off immediately after she parks. Below, the dark waters churn against jagged rocks, white foam flashing intermittently under the moon’s pale gaze, while far in the distance, the principality’s lights twinkle like a constellation brought too close to earth.

Impatient with anger, she unbuckles her seatbelt then pivots to face him fully. “Can you own your mistakes for once? Why is it always someone else’s fault? Why do you have to deflect responsibility like it’s a reflex?”

Lando’s body jerks back against the door, her questions landing like an invisible blast wave. “That’s not…” he stammers, hand rising in a placating gesture that falters midway. “I do own it,” he continues, the same anger transferring to him. “You just don’t believe me when I do.”

The girl scoffs theatrically. “Because it always comes with a justification. You don’t want the middle ground, Lan. You just want to be right all the time. And you’re not.”

The restrained frustration simmers in the set of his jaw and the way his hand grips the door handle like he’s plotting an escape. It would be so much easier to leave right now than trying to make sense of any of this. But the thought doesn’t really hold. He already knows what waits on the other side of that choice: an empty apartment he’s already sick of, silent mornings and meaningless nights out.

Although his fingers don’t turn the handle, lingering there between impulse and hope, their grip is still strong.

“No, you just expect me to get it right immediately. What I don’t understand is how the fuck am I supposed to do that if you won’t even talk to me. These couple of weeks without you…” at last, the same hand drops to his lap, body easing back into the seat with a subtle retreat. “It got to a point where I had to distract myself just so I wouldn’t… lose it.”

He doesn’t say the word cry, but the way Lando’s voice thins towards the last sentence says enough for her to mirror his stance instinctively, gaze drifting to the dashboard.

The fragile silence after brings with it a kind of emotional exhaustion that settles over them both. A bone-deep weariness that tames the nerves, making a bit more room for acceptance. Honesty. Or resignation, they still can’t figure out which is which yet.

When she speaks again, it sounds like hope dipped in disappointment. “You need to stop with the childish behavior.”

“You need to stop pushing me away when things get tough,” he counters.

The need in question is not even a need. A break concluding with a breakup would spare them the cycles and the exhaustion of always finding each other, over and over again. They don’t need to go through any of it at this stage. Maybe the best version of their story is the one where they finish the chapter here and close the book before it gives them paper cuts. And yet neither of them moves toward that abrupt ending. There is no reaching for THE ENDs or periods, only commas, where no final decision rests on the tip of a sentence.

That’s why, despite the heaviness, their mutual refusal becomes its own kind of answer.

“You’re the most stubborn person I’ve ever met.”

Lando shrugs. “And you’re not exactly flexible either.”

“I don’t like how you always leave your shoes scattered by the door,” she continues, completely off-topic. “It trips me up in the morning.”

Staring out the windshield, Lando shoots back, “I don’t like how you fold the fucking towels.”

A faint curve touches the corners of her mouth, then she adds, “I hate that you check your phone during meals.”

Lando shifts again, his shoulder brushing the door. Their voices are flat, like they’re cataloging facts rather than flaws. And for some reason, it works this time.

“I don’t like how you hoard those travel mugs, filling the cabinets until there’s no room for anything else. And I don’t appreciate you stealing the blankets at night.”

The confessions flow gently back and forth; a simple stream of unvarnished truths spilling into the space they share, each one landing without accusation.

The girl turns her head a little, but her eyes remain fixated out at the olive trees bending in the breeze. “Don’t bring my mugs into this. I started collecting them after you made me coffee for the first time. I love how you make coffee,” she says honestly, certain that if she closes her eyes, she can taste the bitterness of it on her tongue.

His eyes drift to the curve of her cheek in the shadows. “I love that you get so excited about it.”

“Mhm,” the girl hums, “It’s mostly because I like watching your hands… doing stuff,” she says, mentally slapping herself at the admission.

Displaying a shy yet knowing smile, Lando extends his hand into the space between the seats with his palm up, waiting. She catches the movement in the corner of her eye and, even though she still avoids looking at him, her own hand moves to settle on top of his. His long fingers curl around hers, enveloping them in a warm grip.

“I love how you challenge me. You push me to be better,” says Lando, his thumb begining to ghost-brush the back of her hand. “I want to be that,” he admits. “For you.”

His statement manages to silently alter the storm inside her, and the scale that wobbles between two sides, eventually tilts a little more in one direction this time around. It doesn’t stabilize right away, but that’s because it’s too early. She’s not so naive to believe that a single confession, no matter how sincere, could repair everything they destroyed together. But it’s moving, and that motion matters. The burning desire to become a better person, even if the initial impulse is someone else, has always meant more than people realize.

For her, it means that Lando has look inward long enough to notice his own flaws. At the same time, it means that he acknowledged that change is necessary and, for now, she is satisfied with that; the reason may start with her, but it won’t remain limited there. In time, it’ll spread to the rest of him, from how he manages anger to how he treats himself when no one is watching. That is why, in her mind, there is no truly negative outcome in a promise like this, even though at first glance it seems absurd. Ultimately, if he becomes better, the world around him will follow, regardless of whether they survive it or not.

After what feels like an eternity, she finally turns to look at him. “Lando…”

“I mean it,” he talks so low that she can barely hear him. “As long as we both try.”

“What does trying again even look like?” she asks, fear mixing with the uncertainty behind her words.

“Right now,” replies Lando thoughtfully, “It looks like dinner. I’m starving.”

“PUT THAT AWAY,” Lando’s voice is raspy with sleep once the repetitive tapping on the screen is slowly pulling him back. “Five more minutes, yeah?” he doesn’t fully opens his eyes, just tilts his head enough to press his face further into her shoulder.

The morning rays filter through the half-drawn curtains in his living room, bringing light to the quiet mess they’ve done last night while watching a ‘quick movie’ before she was supposed to leave: two nearly empty water bottles on the coffee table next to some barely touched snacks, coats resting on the back of a chair, and a blanket half-slipped onto the floor where it couldn’t quite contain them.

She didn’t drink, so she remembers driving him home and agreeing they both deserved a couple of hours to switch off. Now, they’re tangled together, unplanned yet still intentional, Lando’s arm draped heavy across her waist, with one leg hooked loosely over hers ever since he found her in his sleep and decided not to let go. It aches a little, the way she doesn’t want to disturb him nor the heat they make in the space they share, which means she ends up closing the link to the article her friend sent her earlier, then puts the phone away.

“We have to get up, though,” she huffs a quiet breath that almost turns into a laugh when she tries but fails to push him off.

Lando groans in protest, burying his hand underneath her lower back, tightening the embrace there. “No, we really don’t.”

“Landooo,” she insists, “Yes, we do. Come on, get up,” her free hand hovers for a moment before settling against his arm, absentmindedly tracing along the sleeve of his shirt, right where the tanned skin of his bicep meets the soft material.

Time itself freezes and stays like that, suspended somewhere between sleep and waking, between what they were yesterday and whatever they’re supposed to be today. She’s convinced that the human touch is healing, because the weight of him on her and his light breathing tickling her neck is able to neutralize every bad thought she’s ever had. Suddenly, everything is worth fighting for, no mistake is big enough to walk away, and there is nowhere they can go from here but up. High enough that no bad thing will ever happen to them again.

Finally cracking his eyes open, Lando shifts to glance up at her. His hair is a mess of soft curls that frames his sleepy face, and despite the calmness in her body, she can’t help the way her pulse jumps in her veins.

“Five,” he repeats, as if he’s meeting her halfway with some sort of compromise.

The girl looks back at him, at the way he’s wrapped around her like letting go isn’t an option he’s considered yet. She wants to argue, but since this might be it, she allows herself to pretend for a little while.

“When are you leaving?” she whispers a few minutes later, cautious, in case he fell back asleep.

Lando inhales deeply, feeling like he’s waking up in stages. “Next week,” he mumbles, pausing for a breath before adding, “Gotta go back to MTC first. Thursday, I think.” He tilts his head to look at her properly, blinking away the last of his sleep. “Why?”

She can’t answer right away, even though it sits at the edge of her tongue. If they’re going to fix anything, they need time. Real, physical, actual time together. Not texting sessions, late nights, or stollen hours between his meetings. In order for something to work, they need to be purposeful about it. Yet he’s already halfway gone again.

“No reason,” she finally replies, one of her hands getting lost into his curls, tucking it away from his eyes.

He studies her for a second. It comes out light and it’s hard for Lando to believe she can sound so careless about it, especially when she touches him the way she does. He knows there’s more she’s not saying, but he can’t push yet. Instead, he moves closer, resting his forehead on her shoulder.

“Did we even finish the movie?” he changes the subject for her sake, the inquiry coming out like a light bulb moment.

“Don’t think so,” she admits, “Last thing I remember is Mia and Sebastian pretending it won’t all fall apart at the jazz club.”

“What jazz club?” asks Lando, managing to steal a small chuckle from her, the sound traveling straight to the deepest parts of his soul.

She sighs in fake disappointment. “Lando…”

“Look, I’ll drive you home, if you want,” he continues gently, “Or we could just have breakfast here and finish what we started.”

It’s the way he says it that makes her lungs scream in agony because of how long she’s holding her breath after that. Feels like the choice he’s offering has nothing to do with the movie at all, but it’s not accompanied by the pressure to agree.

He’s simply making space for her and, for once, she doesn’t overthink it when he asks if she’s staying.

“Yeah,” she nods, letting the air out, “I’m staying.”

LANDO BLINKS AND it’s somehow the night before he has to leave. They didn’t speak after he dropped her off, days ago, and now there’s an open suitcase on the bed with all his clothes, some half-folded, most half-abandoned. He sits right next to it, on the edge of the mattress, pressing the screen of his phone to his forehead as if it can make him think faster. Better. Come up with solutions that stick.

The messages sit there on delivered for a minute, then five. Five turns to ten, ten to twenty.

Being the one left in the in-between can be frustrating, especially waiting for a decision that isn’t completely his to make. He didn’t have high expectations to begin with, but he’s held on to the belief that she’ll have an answer by now. Worst thing is that he knows he can’t blame her for the silence, because he’s aware of how complicated this is. How easily they can slip from something good into something that hurts.

Still, it leaves him with a couple of WHAT IFs.

There is no clear moment that points to where hope disappears, it just feels like it’s slowly dimming, like an engine finally running out of fuel. It’s not like Lando can simply decide to let go, but the space where he’d imagined her starts to feel emptier with every passing minute, until he’s left with the uncomfortable realization that maybe now is not their turn. But even though the biggest part of him agrees that the timing has never quite aligned for them, accepting that now isnt’t their time doesn’t make it hurt any less.

Lando watches a series of bubbles appearing and disappearing in front of his eyes, over and over, toying with his patience. Each time it shows up, his chest grows stiff; each time it vanishes, another wave of frustration washes over him. The lack of control sends him reeling, caught between please! and fuck it!

His jaw sets harder, frustration rising fast enough to turn into anger and, for a weak moment, he’s ready to throw the phone across the room. Until it buzzes in his hand, causing his heart to skip a beat, then drop straight to his stomach.

Their eyes lock immediately once the door is yanked open. His are wild, filled with disbelief and hungry, hers flicker with nerves. Three heartbeats pass in the space that separates them, until Lando’s hands shoot out to close the gap, fingers curling firmly around her waist. It doesn’t matter what else they might have to say in the moment, words are redundant now. He pulls her inside with an ease that speaks to how effortlessly he can handle her small frame against his lean one. Then the same door slams shut behind her, Lando’s mouth crashing into hers, desperate, with no time to test the waters.

It’s a kiss he’s put on hold ever since they woke up together on his couch, last week, messy in the way their lips slide together. Feels as though it’s the last time they’ll get to do it, and they both know it. She tastes like candy, making him groan into her mouth as soon as he remembers the sweet drops she chews whenever she feels anxious. His grasp almost leaves her breathless, combined with the way his mouth moves in sync with hers, thumbs pressing into the soft give of her hips to keep her in place.

Her entire body ignites under his hands, heat spreading like wildfire to the inside of her thighs, making her knees weaken and her skin prickle with goosebumps. She wasn’t ready to discover just how much her body had longed for his touch, and now she’s paying the price by revealing to Lando just how bad she needs him to claim her again. It’s like every nerve ending starts singing, her breasts heaving against his chest with labored breaths, nipples hardening beneath her shirt from the friction alone. She responds with the same urgency, her fingers fisting in his messy curls, tugging him closer until there’s no room left betweent them, not even for a speck of dust.

Saliva slicks their lips, a strand of it breaking when the girl pulls back to gasp for air, only for Lando to dive back in the next second, sucking on her lower lip hard enough to make her moan in protest. However, her legs part instinctively at the way he presses his hips forward, the hard line of his cock already straining against his sweatpants, grinding into her core through her jeans.

It gets overwhelming when he reaches this state, manhandling her like she’s weightless, his arms lifting her slightly off the ground to align their bodies better, her back arching on the door behind as a result. He sighs loudly when she presses back into him, sound that sends pure need between her legs. Like in a chain reaction, a rush of wetness soaks her panties, her clit throbbing in time with the pulse pounding in her ears.

Everything happens so fast, so she barely has time to snake her legs around his waist, locking her ankles at the small of his back without breaking the kiss. Lando stumbles forward a step, then another, his hands sliding down to cup her ass, fingers digging into the flesh there as he kneads it possessively. The shift makes his erection rub directly on her, sparks flying out of a body that’s undulating against his, itching to feel more of it.

Halfway to his room, Lando remembers the suitcase sprawled open on the bed with his clothes scattered everywhere. He breathes her in, a muffled nuh-uh coming from the back of his throat, then veers into the living room instead, lowering her feet to the floor but keeping her close.

“Fuck, wait,” he speaks over her lips, breathless; his hands are already working at her shoes, crouching slightly to tug off one, then the other.

She smiles, kicking them aside, her own hands yanking at the hem of his shirt, pulling it up and over his head in the shortest time, like she’s racing against the clock. His skin is burning, the defined lines of his abs flexing under her soft palms the second she starts tracing them all over, greedily.

“What are we doing?” she exhales heavily, inebriated by the assault of his mouth, the words tumbling out just for the sake of it and not because she’s interested in the answer.

Feeling her nails scraping lightly down his chest, Lando straightens with a small whimper. “You know what we’re doing,” he looks at her long enough to make a point, then immediately drops to his knees before her. “Do you wanna stop?” the question comes out in a low voice as his hands slide up her calves, thumbs pressing into the spot behind her knees.

Fixing her gaze on the way he unzips her jeans, the girl simply shakes her head. Lando’s is more wicked and it stops at the damp spot on her panties, peeling the denim down her legs. She steps out of them trembling at the anticipation, every square inch of her skin hypersensitive to his contact. His mouth follows the path, lips brushing her inner thigh until she brings him higher by threading her fingers through his curls a second time.

He takes his time though, hooking his fingers into her panties and dragging them to expose her slick folds to the cool air. The scent of her arousal hits him like a memory, sending his senses into overdrive next time he inhales sharply, his cock twitching in his sweatpants. It’s like a switch flipped in his brain. There’s no thought or logic behind it anymore, and although he’s aware of how it conditioned him over time, what follows is simply a knee-jerk reaction: his shoulders tense, pulse kicks up in his arteries, then he’s hit low in the stomach with an undeniable surge of want.

Rising, Lando sheds the useless fabric in a rush, his erection springing free with impatience, involuntarily putting on a show for her. It’s only fair she reaches for him without thinking twice, wrapping her hand around his length to stroke firmly from base to head, eliciting a weak whine from his chest.

“Holy shit,” his whine ends in a chuckle, “Your hands are so cold,” says Lando, capturing her wrists gently, guiding her hands to her own shirt instead. “Off, please.”

She can’t help but let a laugh escape through her lips but still complies, stripping it over her head, her bra following as her breasts spill free, begging for attention. “Sorry, I walked here.”

“No, you didn’t,” he insists, not past the disbelief that she’s here yet.

“Yes. I went out for a walk to think, and the next thing I knew, I was here,” the girl explains before they collide again, skin to scorching skin.

His mouth latches onto one nipple, sucking hard while his hand kneads the other. Her head tips back to give him space, a tamed sob announcing the exact moment when pleasure arrows straight to her core, her pussy suddenly aching to be filled. In order to stay strong up against his gentle attack, her hands open wide to cover as much of his broad back as possible, urging him on by squeezing his shoulders.

Lando lowers her slowly, but misses the couch, their bodies sinking together down onto the soft rug on the floor, her back hitting the plush surface with a whoosh of breath. He’s all over her in an instant, caging her with his arms, his cock nudging earnestly at her entrance. Every point where they connect catches on fire, but the burn doesn’t hurt; instead, it envelops them in a protective dome, their own world, as it spreads.

“Look at me?” he’s close to whispering, locking his eyes in an intense, soul-baring way that makes her heart grow ten times in size. “I’m always going to need you like this,” admits Lando, making sure she follows. “Together or not.”

She nods, circling her legs around him, digging her heels into his ass to pull him closer.

“Anything else?” she challenges him.

Lando’s jaw clenches before positioning himself, eyes never leaving hers. “I need you to work with me here.” When one of her eyebrows arches, he adds, “Grind down until your thighs shake, yeah? I’ll do the rest.”

Her whiny voice almost breaks him, and Lando takes it as a cue to thrust in gently but deep, burying himself entirely inside her tight heat. The girl cries out at the initial stretch, her walls adjusting rather fast to his thickness. He stills there to give her time to relax around him, both of them panting at the blissful sensation. Then he moves, pulling back only to slam forward again, closely studying her face in order to figure out how to build the perfect rhythm.

Because she’s so wet, that’s not even an issue. She’s so ready to take him after their weeks apart, that each movement sends lewd sounds echoing in the living room, blending in unison with their heavy breathing. Her hands grow restless, one sliding down to cup the taut muscle of his ass and pressing into the flexing flesh as he drives deeper. The other caresses his back, pulling him closer and closer, until his chest brushes her nipples, the contact sending fresh jolts through her.

“You look so desperate for it already,” he reads her at the same time he pulls back for another thrust, aiming deeper so the head of his cock nudges that spot inside her that makes stars burst behind her eyelids. “If you needed dick that badly, you could have just told me.”

His left hand braces beside her head, but the right slips between them, fingers splaying her folds wider, holding her open in order to watch himself dissapear into her heat. The sight alone makes him throb harder, impossibly thicker, like his body refuses to soften even for a second in her embrace.

“I almost did,” she confesses, “But then you decided to be a stupid idiot,” her vision darkens at the edges like a vignette effect at the feeling of him splitting her open, leaving but returning with more drive every time.

“I know, baby,” says Lando, watching her facial expressions change with each of his thrusts. “I’m so. Fucking. Sorry.”

She can’t process his words right now, not when the most euphoric wave sweeps over her senses: the stretch of him, sweet yet too much at times; the sounds he makes, mostly guttural, followed by jerky grunts whenever she squeezes him just right; the way he looks on top, heavy, rocking into her with gritted teeth and tensed muscles.

Her breasts bounce every time he grinds, swaying in a rhythm that catches Lando’s eye mid-motion. He lets another groan out through his parted lips, transfixed, focusing on how they shift with each snap of his hips, drawing him in like a magnet.

“Fuckin’ look at you, baby,” he breathes, speeding up only to chase the hypnotic jiggle of her chest, his pace turning more insistent. “So fucking hot.”

He’s careful to build the pressure thrust after thrust, one measured push that bottoms out, grinding his pelvis against her clit before retreating, then plunging back in with a wet smack. Her body dances with his on the rug beneath them, the coarse fibers catching on her skin, leaving behind a subtle burn that heightens everything.

“Lando,” she swiftly grabs at his bicep to catch his attention, making the muscles tense and release.

“Yeah, love. What d’you need?

Hardly managing, she replies between moans that rattle in her throat, “Need to come, I’m so close.”

“Mhm, I can feel it,” Lando assures her, “You’re doing so well for me.”

“Lando…” the girl chokes out his name once more, her hips lifting to meet his.

He understands her desperation, adjusting the angle by a fraction of a millimeter and driving the next thrust upwards. Hearing her whines, his free hand immediately joins the fray between her thighs, fingers rubbing in successive strokes, from firm swirls that match his pace to faster flicks that has her clenching harder around him.

She is lost in it by now, mind emptying to white noise and the relentless pleasure of him filling her over and over. Lando feels it too, as if every time he dives back inside her, his cock gets harder with veins pulsing against her inner walls. One particularly deep plunge has her crying out, his tip pressing so far inside that it steals her breath. But he pulls out abruptly, right before she’s ready to let go, both of them panting at the instant stop.

“Fuck, no!” she hisses, legs going limp around him; she watches him resting his cock on the heated skin of her thigh, slick with her arousal and twitching as he looks back at her flushed face with a grin. “You’re such a fucking asshole.”

“Just making sure you cum before I do,” says Lando, sliding two fingers into her without warning, curling them from the first push.

She bucks, her inner walls rippling and squeezing his digits with increasing frevor. It doesn’t take much for her to start convulsing in powerful spasms around his fingers, sucking them in as her release gushes out in rhythmic pulses. He pumps faster for a few more seconds, thumb playing with her swollen clit, the dual assault sending her straight into flow state.

“Oh my god,” she rises to chase his touch in that exact moment, but Lando withdraws his fingers then, replacing them with the blunt head, the thickness difference landing her back on the ground. He teases her hole for a heartbeat, then thrusts back in, timed perfectly with her clench, her greediness pulling at him deep until he’s seated fully again. “You’re so fucking big.”

Lando’s grin widens, a bead of sweat trickling down his neck. “You can take it alright,” he leans in to kiss her jaw, earlobe, anywhere his lips can reach, thrusts turning erratic now. “That’s it. Get your favorite thing,” his voice is strained with lust, long fingers resuming their work on her clit, faster this time around.

Only thing she can still pronounce is his name on repeat, like a chant that fuels Lando. She doesn’t have time to come down when a second orgasm crashes over her, causing her body to go completely limp beneath him due to exhaustion. Her pussy clenches around his length, fluttering contractions drawing him deeper into her heat. In response, his cock swells thicker inside as he fucks her harder through it, hips snapping forward with much more force than before. For a quick second, it feels even punishing, the wet slap of skin on skin echoing louder, his balls tightening as he chases his own peak.

With that, Lando can’t keep his mouth shut anymore; the words spill from his lips in a breathy torrent, accompanied by moans that match his pounding:

“Just like that, fuck, you’re so good for me. Squeezing me so fucking tight,” his praises mix with whimpers from both sides, each one punched out on a thrust. “Ah, yeah, just… just like that,” he repeats, the hand on her clit finally abandoning its assault to brace against the floor, right next to her head.

Caging her there gives Lando leverage to grind deeper, his cock battering that sweet spot until her limp form jolts with aftershocks. Her back slides another few inches across the rug, the friction now a delicious sting that keeps her in the present moment. Though weakened, her arms manage to cling to him, hands trailing feebly up his sweat-slicked back.

“That’s good, baby. Can you hold on like that?”

She answers by nodding with a smile, then his pace changes again, thrusts shortening and sharper, the coil in his gut snapping as he cums with a guttural moan that buzzes through his chest. He paints her walls white but keeps moving, pulling out just on one backstroke for a dribble of their mixed release to leak onto the floor, a pearly strand connecting them before he slams back in, fucking it deeper.

He repeats it again and again, then once more, the obscene squelch of it driving him on.

“That’s fucking it,” he pants, shaky voice breaking on another moan, his cock jerking until he’s emptied himself completely. “Mine.”

Finally spent, Lando sighs, wrapping one hand around the base of his softening cock and pulls out slowly only to watch her face when she clenches in protest, reluctant to let him go. The drag is so sweet, her muscles rippling along his thickness, drawing out a shared hiss of overstimulation. As the head pops free with a wet sound that either of them barely register, he smears it along her lips, coating the puffy, glistening folds, the mess slicking her clit and thighs in shiny trails.

Without a word, he rests it then right between her folds, the warmth of her inner skin cradling him as he collapses fully on top of her. She’s boneless beneath him, eyes closing in blissful exhaustion. Lando notices her sudden silence and dips his head to capture her lips in a tender kiss before she can react, his tongue slipping in to taste her, bringing her back to him. The girl catches up quickly, her mouth moving sluggishly against his.

Neither moves for what feels like ages, bodies cooling on the floor of his living room with heartbeats gradually slowing, syncing to a calm lub-dub.

In the quiet that grows around them, Lando shifts first, propping himself up on one elbow to reach for the tissue box on the nearby coffee table. He cleans her gently, wiping away the sticky trails from her thighs and folds with careful strokes, then himself. She watches him through half-lidded eyes, still too spent to do more than sigh softly at his careful touch. She lets him dress her next, following how his hands slide his loose sweatpants up her legs. He tugs them over her hips, pulling at the strings around the waist to make them fit better.

Leaning down, Lando presses one more kiss to her cheek, lingering there with a nuzzle, his freshly shaved face gliding smoothly against her flushed skin.

“Be right back,” he informs her, standing on shaky legs to grab a clean pair of boxers; he heads to the bathroom next, the sound of the toilet flushing the used tissues following soon after, water running briefly as he washes his hands.

Left alone, she breathes out the last pulses of euphoria, her body humming with residual warmth, pussy still tingling from the thorough fucking. With effort, she pushes herself up, knees wobbling from the fact that she pretty much forces herself to bend down and collect their scattered clothes. Bundling them in her arms, the girl pads barefoot toward his bedroom but stops in the doorway, taking in the chaotic space. It’s the clutter she notices at first but, soon enough, her gaze snags on a flash of a familiar playful logo peeking from a cardboard box labeled ‘DONATIONS’ in sharpie.

A small smile curves at her lips, warming her already heated chest amid the post-orgasm glow.

She still smiles when Lando finds her standing there. Without asking for permission, he wraps his arms around her from behind cupping her breasts possessively to pull her back against his bare chest.

“You smiling at my mess, eh?” he teases, one hand lingering on her breast as the other wraps around her waist.

She leans into his embrace like second nature. “I’ll help you clean.”