#lnfour

Which would be fine, more than fine, if not for the fact that in nearly every media appearance, podcast or fan Q&A, he insisted on telling the world that clingy people were “a massive red flag”.

You didn’t really mind, you knew the truth and it was adorable.

But lately? The rest of the world was starting to catch on thanks, in large part, to his fellow drivers who had zero intention of letting it slide.

It all started innocently enough.

You were lying on the couch one lazy afternoon, legs tucked up, scrolling through your phone while Lando lay half on top of you. His hand rested on your hip under your oversized hoodie, his hoodie, technically and his thumb was brushing lazy circles on your skin.

He wasn’t even looking at the TV. His face was buried in your chest, hair tickling your collarbone.

“Babe” you murmured, “did you see what Carlos said?”

“Mmm?”

You tilted your phone toward him. “He told a fan in the paddock that you skipped a golf session with him because I made you pancakes.”

Lando didn’t lift his head. “They were good pancakes.”

“And then he said, ‘Lando’s the most clingy guy I know. If she calls him, he drops everything’”

That got a reaction, he lifted his head with a scowl. “Betrayal.”

You laughed. “Carlos had enough.”

“He’s just mad because I beat him in padel last week and didn’t let him borrow my towel.”

“Sure” you said, grinning. “Definitely nothing to do with you skipping practice for pancakes.”

He groaned and collapsed back onto your chest. “It was a romantic brunch, okay?”

You buried your fingers in his curls, laughing softly. “You're not denying it anymore?”

He hummed. “Maybe I’m evolving.”

You didn't expect just how far that evolution would go.

The next week, someone sent you a link to a fan-edited compilation on TikTok titled: “Lando being the clingiest boyfriend despite claiming it’s a red flag 💀💞”

You clicked.

It opened with a clip of Lando saying in an interview, “Clinginess? Yeah, I’m not into that. I like my space.”

The edit then immediately cut to Max f, during a stream, casually saying:

“Lando has his girlfriend on speed dial. I’ve seen him pause a sim race to answer her FaceTime just because she asked if she should wear white socks or black.”

Then George, mid-podcast:

“Oh, he’s absolutely whipped but like, in a wholesome way.”

Carlos again:

“If she’s in town, he’s not coming out. Period.”

And finally, the cherry on top: a moment from a post-race cooldown room where Lando had proudly shown Charles a photo of you in a new outfit before even glancing at the leaderboard.

You had to pause the video halfway through from how hard you were laughing.

When you showed it to Lando that night, he groaned again, dragging a pillow over his face. “Why does everyone on the grid have proofs?”

“Because you’re the worst liar alive” you said, grinning. “They’re just doing the Lord’s work.”

“It’s defamation.”

“It’s accurate.”

He peeked out from under the pillow, narrowed eyes. “You’re supposed to be on my side.”

“I am, I’m just also team clingy.”

The teasing reached a new level when you joined him in Monaco during an off-week.

You kept it low-key as you always did. Lando’s public life was loud enough. At home, he craved quiet: legos, long walks, movies with your legs tangled over his and late mornings where he refused to leave the bed unless he could carry you with him.

Literally.

Like some human koala.

You were on the balcony with your laptop one morning, answering emails for work, when Lando shuffled out in his shorts and sweatshirt, yawning.

You expected a hello.

What you got was him settling on your lap like a sleepy cat, curling his arms around your waist and pressing his face into your shoulder.

You froze. “Lando, I’m working.”

“Mmhmm” he mumbled.

“I have a meeting in three minutes.”

“I’ll be quiet.”

“You’re on my lap.”

He just held you tighter. “Don’t care.”

Sure enough, two minutes later, your Zoom meeting started and Lando stayed right where he was occasionally squeezing your thigh, nibbling your collarbone and mouthing I’m bored at you with cartoonish exaggeration.

You shoved him off the second you logged out.

“I should file an HR complaint” you said.

He just grinned. “Your HR is in love with me.”

“Barely.”

He kissed your cheek. “You like when I cling.”

“…Maybe.”

“I’m your favorite red flag.”

You rolled your eyes, but you didn’t push him away when he curled right back into you.

The drivers didn’t let up.

At Silverstone, during a grid walk with Sky Sports, the interviewer asked Carlos how Lando was handling the home race pressure.

Carlos smirked. “I think he’s relaxed, he brought his girlfriend. She’s his emotional support animal.”

The camera cut to Lando down the row, giving Carlos a death glare. “I’m going to key your car.”

At the next driver press conference, Charles was asked what kind of boyfriend he thought Lando would be.

“Oh, very romantic” Charles replied smoothly. “You know, texting all day, probably leaving notes, that kind of thing.”

Lando scoffed. “I’m not like that.”

Oscar, seated next to him, didn’t even look up from his phone. “You wrote her name on your tire wall last week.”

“That was private” Lando said, ears turning red.

“Then maybe don’t post it on your Instagram story.”

At this point, it became a running joke across the grid.

Alex Albon tweeted:

"Clinginess is a red flag" - Lando Norris (as he calls his girlfriend for the 6th time mid-lunch)

Even the McLaren admin got involved. One day on their Instagram story, they posted a photo of Lando hugging you at the back of the paddock, captioned:

“Definitely not clingy 🙃”

You screenshotted every single one.

Lando rolled his eyes at all of it, but secretly? he loved it.

You caught him once late at night, scrolling through the tag on TikTok.

#LandoNorrisGirlfriend #RedFlagLando

He had a tiny smile on his face, the kind that softened all his edges.

When you padded into the room behind him, he tried to click away fast.

“Oh no” you said. “Don’t stop on my account.”

He turned, caught, sheepish. “They made another edit.”

You sat beside him. “Let’s see it.”

The video showed him running off the podium to hug you. Waving from the car toward where you were waiting behind the barriers. Grinning ear to ear when a reporter mentioned you.

Set to the caption: “Tell me you’re in love without telling me you are in love.”

He didn’t say anything at first, he just leaned his head against your shoulder.

“I don’t mind that they know” he said quietly.

You looked down. “Yeah?”

He nodded. “I mean, I act like I don’t like it, but I do.”

You smiled. “Because it’s real.”

“Because it’s you.”

And then he rolled into your lap again and sighed like the world was too much.

“You’re gonna crush me” you said, laughing.

“Then I’ll die happy.”

You didn’t know how bad it had gotten until a fan walked up to you at a race and said, “You’re Lando’s girlfriend, right?”

You nodded, smiling.

“I just want you to know every time he talks about you, he gets this soft face. Like—" she mimed the exact gooey smile Lando gave when he looked at you from across the paddock— “ that. ”

You laughed. “Yeah, that’s about right.”

“Does he let you breathe?”

“Barely” you said fondly.

The fan just laughed. “We call him the Cling King now.”

That night, you climbed into bed beside him, tangled the sheets around your legs and said, “You’ve got a new nickname.”

Lando blinked, brushing his curls back. “Oh god. What is it now?”

“Cling King.”

He paused.

Then smirked.

“…that’s kinda fire.”

You laughed into the pillow. “Of course you like it.”

“You’re the queen then.”

“I’m not clingy.”

“No” he agreed, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you close. “But you’re mine.”

You turned and kissed his shoulder. “Yours.”

“And I’m yours.”

“Even if everyone knows now?”

He grinned, smug and sleepy. “Especially because everyone knows.”

By the next media day, Lando had stopped pretending.

When asked about his ideal weekend, he said without hesitation: “A win, a good dinner, and falling asleep on my girlfriend.”

When a reporter teased, “That’s not very alpha” he just shrugged. “Love makes you soft.”

When Oscar dared him during a livestream to go a whole day without touching you, he lasted four hours before you found him sulking in the living room, arms crossed, mumbling, “I hate this.”

And when Charles held up a whiteboard in a "Driver Superlatives" video that said Most Whipped: Lando, he just smiled and wrote True under it.

There was no hiding it anymore.

And honestly?

He didn’t want to.

•*´¨`*•.¸¸.•*´¨`*•.¸¸.•*´¨`*•.¸¸.•*´¨`*•.¸¸.•

English is not my first language and I don't want it to be. Any mistakes are made out of pure hatred and disrespect for this language. The English have taken enough from this world, I will not let them have my tongue as well.

🥂 date ──── Jan. 17, 2026

🥂 a/n ──── It took me two (2) weeks to finish this one-shot. Reaching towards the end of it, I entered my ovulation phase and *gestures at the utter filth* here we are. Enjoy ^^

SHE IS IRRITATED to no end before she even reaches the building. Her heels are dangling in her hand as she walks barefoot over the cool pavement, a hurricane of thoughts clouding her mind.

She wears a gold dress that hugs her curves, chosen with much intent not even an hour ago. She was feeling good in it, but now it’s just uncomfortable. Cursing under her breath every two steps, her phone buzzes in her purse relentlessly. Maybe it’s one of her friends, asking where she disappeared to, why she’d left so abruptly, why she’d gone pale after typing on her phone for solid minutes. But she’s too furious to check it, just in case it’s him.

The girl rounds the corner with her keys already between her fingers like a weapon. Midnight in Monaco is never really dark and, especially on a Saturday, the streets are alive in a way that almost makes her ill.

“Lando?”

Initially, her brain refuses to acknowledge the picture in front of her. It supplies alternatives instead: some drunk tourist, or some guy who couldn’t find his way back to his hotel. Then the hallway light stabilizes, and she has no choice but accept her reality: he’s slumped on the marble floor, back braced against her door, knees bent with one arm draped loosely over them. The other is wrapped around a champagne bottle he’s hugging at his chest. His hair is a hot mess of soft curls, flattened on the side where he rests his head and sticking up in the other. His white shirt is unbuttoned halfway, sleeves rolled up in the same way he does when he’s restless, like he can’t even sit in his own skin.

He doesn’t look drunk. Maybe a bit worn thin, which softens the storm in her for a few moments before fury settles back in.

“What the fuck are you doing?” she snaps, her voice sharp enough to make him lift his head instantly.

“Shh,” Lando’s eyes widen, “I ran into an old lady when I got here, and she said she’d call the police if I made any noise.”

The girl rolls her eyes, stepping closer. “Yeah, well. You shouldn’t be here at all, let’s start with that,” she says, unlocking the door with more force than necessary, the click echoing loudly, adding to Lando’s fake distress. “I had to leave my friends because of you,” she continues, “I was out. Having a good night, and then you do this. What even is this?”

Lando’s jaw works for a fraction, getting up to follow her inside, just like he did countless of times before. “Yeah,” he copies her tone, “I had a good few weeks myself.”

“Figured,” she shoots back, the word landing drenched in sarcasm in his ears.

“Then why didn’t you say anything?”

Her heart drops from her chest, but she’s able to catch it before falling to his feet. “You barely had time for me when we were together, Lando.”

His expression falters. “That’s unfair.”

“Is it?” she challenges. “I spent our last months trying to reach you, but every conversation felt like a debrief. You were always somewhere else. So,” she takes a breath, throwing her heels on the floor, “Excuse me for getting fed up of begging for scraps of you. Which, if I remember correctly, you assured me won’t ever happen. Liar.”

“You told me you understood,” Lando reminds her, feeling betrayed by the way she attacks him now. “And then you were gone. Liar.”

Her lips press together as she shrugs. “Worked out well, didn’t it?” she asks, pointing at the champagne in his arms.

All of a sudden, the post-breakup Sundays blur together in her mind. The early mornings and late afternoons spent in front of her TV, watching every start, every mistake and miracle with her breath held through corners she knew by memory, thanks to him. Because she also remembers cuddling Lando on the couch, studying track maps and data traces with his laptop balanced between them; understanding his world made her feel like she could love him better. And for a little while, it worked out.

She was happy for an indulgent second, but his wins left her hollow for the rest of the day, because she couldn’t share her excitement with the only person that mattered. Losses left her aching and, after each one, her mind took the freedom to wonder. What if there were one different conversation, one more patient night, one less plea? Realistically, she’d never had a say in any of it, not when his world was moving at that speed. So, she conditioned herself to understand. His work had never been just a job; it was the very thing that kept him fired up for years. It pumped life in him every race weekend, everybody could see that. But loving Lando then had meant watching. Always from a distance, even when she was cuddling him on the couch.

“It did,” he agrees, “But not because you left.”

She scoffs. “Come on, Norris. Give me some credit here,” her voice almost cracks from the weight of her stubbornness to sound strong. And stay strong, despite the fact that she feels her limbs loosen with each passing tick of the clock spent in his presence.

She feels it in the way she can feel the weather change. It’s subtle, but noticeable. His absence couldn’t erase him. Instead, it preserved the power he has over her. A scary conclusion that she has to live with now.

“I thought if I slowed down,” begins Lando, unsure, “I wouldn’t get back up.”

As always, she understands.

However, “You still can’t show up like this. What are you doing?” she circles back to her initial inquiry.

“You were my day one...” he trails off, realizing how pathetic it sounds by the time he finishes, “I just wanted to end it the same way, that’s all” he adds, lifting the bottle slightly. “Drink with me?”

Her gaze flicks to it despite herself. Then it moves on to his broad frame and finally, his eyes, where she sees him as she always did: honest, not only with the people around him, but also with himself. Whatever conclusions he’s accepted, must look different than hers.

“Just one glass,” Lando insists. “Please.”

Stepping aside, the simple movement feels much havier than it should. If anything, it feels like a concession made too late. Or too early, she’s not sure which yet. But whatever the case might be, Lando doesn’t stop to question it. He passes her without touching, and when she finally closes the door, the lock slides right back with a definitive click that leaves an echo in her ears and settles like a mountain on her chest. She was all alone in here for months. Letting him cross the treshold now feels like bending a rule. And it’s not even in her favor.

Inside, Lando feels content to stand still and observe, his body remembering her place better than his mind does. There’s nothing wrong with it, because nothing feels out of place. On the contrary. Everything seems to have remained the same: the couch still faces the TV, there are plants and stack of books living everywhere, and he’s noticing some of his old racing magazines lost between shelves as well. The air carries her scent in each corner, hitting him with the realization that time didn’t freeze for her either. She kept existing, just out of his orbit.

He takes a few more steps to set the champagne bottle on the narrow island that separates the kitchen from the living room, its significance gradually becoming too small. When he turns, he sees her moving toward the cabinets right away, silent like a cat. She takes down two glasses without acknowledging him, but it’s not her hostility that makes Lando feel uneasy. Her reluctance has him wondering how much she has changed, after all.

Having him in her apartment again isnt’t uncomfortable. She’s just managing herself, the same way a person who’s learned what happens if they don’t does. Cautious, she notices how easy the remembering is for him as well. He reaches out to switch on the lamp, its warm light painting across the room, exposing more details. It feels intimate, somehow, the familiarity with which he moves in her space, reminding her of how much of it he occupies just by being.

A minute later, as Lando opens the bottle, the cork releases with a tamed pop, the action painfully anticlimactic. It’s nothing like his podium signature, but it doesn’t need to be. This is not a celebration. It’s rather a funeral of an old life that binds them both, and at the other end of the bottle, the only thing that’ll keep them linked is their memories.

He pours her drink first, mostly out of habit than courtesy. When he hands it to her, their fingers brush for a moment too long, but none of them flinches at the gentle contact. They don’t linger, either. Then he pours his own, glancing at her between movements. In the meantime, her glass is already tilted back, and she empties it in a few gulps. By the time he brings his glass to his lips, she slams it down hard, with a sound that translates to finality.

“Congratulations,” she tells him again. “Now, you know where the door is,” moving past him feels like she rehearsed the moment hundreds of times and, briefly, she believes she can succeed walking away from him twice.

Lando considers letting her go, but not for more than a blink of an eye. His hand closes quickly around her elbow, stopping her in place. Sparks fly at the intentional contact, tension snapping as she lifts her head slowly, with a look that can kill. He finds all the warnings there, announcing that they’ve finally reached the point of no return.

“Out of my way, Lando.”

“Don’t leave again,” he almost begs, his pride locked away behind her front door.

“I’m not,” she assures him, displaying half a smile. “You are.”

The words are punching the lights out of him and yet, she doesn’t seem to care as she pulls free without waiting for his response. She heads toward her bedroom, bare feet as silent as ever against the cold floor. Looking back isn’t an option, since she has to force Lando to take the hint, but he doesn’t. He follows her instead, the sound of his footsteps growing louder in her ears, giving her goosebumps.

“The hell I am,” he argues.

The girl spins on him in the doorway of her room. “Don’t push it,” she vocalizes the warning this time, “I’m not doing this again.”

“Doing what, exactly?” his voice is tamed to the point of refusal, managing to control himself enough not to shout.

“Ruining myselft for you.”

His jaw tightens. “You keep hiding behind that like it explains everything.”

She nods. “It does.”

“It avoids it,” Lando fires back. “You said you chose yourself. Which, okay, fair. But you won’t tell me what that means. What exactly you’re choosing over me.”

She can’t help but let out a disbelieving laugh. Her eyes are still trained on him, close enough that she can see the tension in his jaw and the pulse jumping at his throat.

To Lando, her amusement looks more like resignation. Though he recognizes it, it’s too late to take it back, his entitlement already firmly rooted in the space between them. In practice, she no longer owes him. Still, he needs something solid from her to hold on to. Or to finally let go. He can’t simply surrender love on half-answers and metaphors. Now that all the noise faded, he had time to sit in it. Had time to replay conversations and to turn her words over until they stopped making sense. And the more he did it, the more pieces refused to align. He kept telling himself that’s why he wanted to see her; he doesn’t want her forgiveness or a miraculous reconciliation. For the first time in months, he just wants to rest.

“For starters, peace,” she replies. “I’m choosing waking up without checking the time difference first,” she continues, “I’m choosing making plans that don’t revolve around race weekends or cancellations or maybes.”

“But choosing that on a random day when you decided you’ve had enough doesn’t seem fair to me. There are two of us in this relationship, and no real talking about it.”

“Does this count as talking?” she asks, trying to create some distance before letting herself be intimidated by his closeness. “Showing up uninvited and cornering me in my own apartment?”

Lando follows her like gravity though, unable to stay still. “You didn’t give me other options, did you?”

“I replied to your texts.”

It’s his turn to puff out a humorless laugh, frowning in her direction. “And that’s all I deserve?”

After taking a breath in, she whirls back toward him. “I bent my life around yours. I had to understand your calendars and packed schedules, your pressure and sacrifices, which often included me but rarely your friends, strangely enough. I saw your job as something noble, worth protecting. And you?”

He stiffens. “What, you think I didn’t respect yours?”

Next time she speaks, it erupts like a volcano. “You thought it was an useless ambition of mine, and I could simply just step away from it whenever you needed me to. Because according to you, I never needed my job anyway. You made enough for both of us, right?”

“You know it’s not like that.”

“Right,” she agrees, offended, “I joke around with Zak and Andrea, I have lunch with your teammate and his girlfriend, I high five your mechanics left and right, and I attend every event, public or not. Now, name one person I work with,” the girl demands.

This time, silence.

“Exactly,” she points out. “Trying would’ve meant choosing, Lando. And you didn’t choose me, unless it was easy. So I had to choose myself.”

“But I did,” counters Lando. “I chose you despite the distance. Despite my calendars and packed schedules,” he steps closer, repeating her words with frustration radidating off him, “And despite your irrational needs, like knowing where I was all the time. Who I was with, or what I was doing when I wasn’t with you.”

It doesn’t show on her face right away, but something in her posture pulls inward. It takes her a few silent seconds to process what he means, and when her mind stalls on the irrational, on the implication that her needs were excessive or inconveniencing him, it’s like she sees Lando with a new pair of eyes.

“You think all this happened because I was jealous?”

Her question remains unanswered, suspended in the air while Lando doesn’t rush to defend himself any further. In his hesitation, she can tell that he has tested every version of the blame, including this scenario, because it’s easier to frame loss as excess than as limitation. For him, it was way easier to believe she asked for too much than to accept that he simply didn’t have enough to give.

Just like that, the clouds clear their sky as abruptly as they appeared.

She turns away, unable to hold his gaze anymore, and walks towards the bed, feeling like she’s dragging an anchor behind her. The weight presses down on her ankles, slowing her with a truth she can no longer fight. The mattress dips as she finally sits, hands resting on each side of her body while her brain desperately searches for a way out.

Her eyes stay glued to the floor when her lips part again, “Come here,” she says; it’s an order born from another one of her irrational needs to end this without shouting or pointing fingers at each other.

When Lando sits next to her, his proximity no longer feels like an intrusion. There is no negetive charge left as his shoulder briefly touches hers. Somehow, they both seem to recognize that this is the far edge of a fire that’s about to burn out, and lingering on blame now would only be a well-crafted way of postponing the inevitable.

“We…” she begins, unaware of how small her voice sounds between the four walls of her bedroom. “We don’t work that well together, do we?” her question is followed by a forced chuckle.

Lando turns his head to look at her. “We do,” he assures her immediately, like the thought has been sitting on his tongue for a while now, waiting. “In there, at least,” he adds, tilting his head to point at her bed with a crooked smile.

With that, he managed to open the memory box and now, the thought of it plagues their minds. They used to fit with no effort, like puzzle pieces falling into place. One look was enough, and the tension never needed translation. They pushed and provoked and teased each other, desire tangling with laughter and laughter with urgency that led to pure… art, in the end.

Her chuckle attempt stays on, morphing into a smile. “Doesn’t count,” she shakes her head. “That part was never the problem.”

“Nope, it was the solution,” he says, leaning back slightly, hands braced on the mattress.

Her body twists toward him slowly, repeating his words in her mind. Inside the maze of it, another thought blooms uninvited: it might be the last time she ever sees him laying on her bed like this, close enough to count the moles on his cheeks and the mechanical breaths between them.

It’s not a nice feeling. No matter how good or bad, when something ends, the nostalgia hits like a freight train.

The fabric of his shirt pulls across his shoulders, outlining shapes she knows by heart, like the slope she always traced with her fingers while half-asleep. The sleeves ride up to reveal his forearms, faint veins popping beneath his skin. His face looks softer in the poor lighting, beautiful in ways she does not have the time nor the right to think of anymore.

The tension in his jaw is still visible as he looks back at her, searching, waiting, fixed on her with an intensity that seems to mirror her own thoughts.

“We’re not getting back together,” she stays firm in her decision, but her voice betrays the uncertainty she’s battling anyway, fracturing on the last word to give her away.

It’d be hard for Lando to miss it, his eyes still trained on her, catching her gaze drifting to his mouth for a suspended second. Then she looks back at him, just as fast, forcing him to straighten his back, putting his body in a proper posture as if that will keep him from crossing the ultimate line. Mostly because he knows she means it.

“I know,” he nods, cautious, while his hand moves to cover hers on the mattress.

The prudent touch gives him chills at the realization that she’s not planning to push him away; his thumb starts massaging her palm, until her hand closes around it. Caring enough to give her time to stop him at any moment, if that’s what she really wants to, he’s slowly pulling her closer. And when he can’t read any sign of retreat on her face, Lando draws her in completely, until her weight leans into his chest just like it used to.

She can feel his heartbeat before she hears it, quickening beneath her ear at the same time his arm glues her to him. Her own starts moving on instinct, sliding up the front of his shirt, palm flattening over his sternum before it lifts, hooking around his neck. There, her fingers find the curls at the back of his head, threading lightly, making him exhale a sigh that gently grazes her temple.

A single beat of truce, that’s all they get before she cuts through it, disbelief coating the tone in her voice. “You can’t be serious right now,” she buries her face further into his chest in order to muffle her amusement.

Lando bites down on his lip, a soundless laugh trapped behind it. He fails right away, mouth twisting upward, his eyes brightening unapologetically, like he’s been caught red-handed doing something he knows he shouldn’t.

“Sorry,” he groans. “I can’t quite… control it,” the explanation comes at the same time Lando tries to reposition himself, “And you don’t exactly make it easy. Especially not in this dress.”

She knows she should back up and return to the boundaries she established with so much passion earlier in the night. But defiance sticks to her like a second skin, and the thrill of power after feeling powerless for so long makes it easier for her, indeed. Easier to control the narrative. To tease. To reclaim herself in ways she didn’t think would get the chance to ever again.

With a determined look plastered on her face, she shifts her hips, pressing her body more firmly into his, her bare thigh sliding against the bulge in his jeans. The intentional drag plucks a silent whine from him, his breath deepening with it, hot gusts crashing against the curve of her neck, where her hair has fallen aside.

Understanding her cruel intentions, Lando’s free hand grabs hers by the wrist immediately, ripping it away from where it’s fisted in his curls.

“Stop it,” he whispers, voice caught in an agonizing spot between warning and wish for her to never stop invading his personal space.

The movement brings their faces inches apart, with noses brushing and lips so close that she can taste his exhale. Old habits die hard, and the attraction is inevitable at this angle. Her scent, his lips, the desire hidden behind their gazes — it’s not a matter of if but when will their agitated sea stop sending its waves on the shore before it dries up completely.

She closes her eyes while he meets her halfway, their mouths crashing together in a kiss that’s all pent-up longing. Lando’s grip on her turns greedy, hand sliding down her waist, squeezing her hard enough to make her gasp into his mouth. The noise gets out involuntarily, making her bite back, refusing to give him another ounce of satisfaction like that. But he hears it anyway. He feels the tremor in her body, and takes it away with a smile on his face, smile that she feels curving into their kiss.

Through force of habit, Lando brakes late and ends up trailing his lips down to bury his face in the soft hollow of her neck. He gets hungrier there, placing open-mouthed kisses that quickly turn to sucks, and a painful urge to leave his mark. The girl arches into him in spite of herself, fingers finding their path on his heated chest, right under his unbuttoned shirt.

“You stop it,” she shoots back, knowing too well that Lando lacks self-control when he’s like this, among other things.

Soon enough, the room fills with sounds of their breathing and the bed creaking as he invites her to invade his space until she’s on his lap, his hard cock now fully straining against her, demanding attention she both resents and craves. The ghost of his lips lingers on hers like a bruise she doesn’t know where it came from, trembling hands working the remaining buttons of his shirt, popping them open one by one, revealing the sculpted lines of his chest and the defined ridges of his abs.

“We are not getting back together,” she repeats, the little sense she has left screaming at her, begging to rebuild the walls back up.

Lando nods again, vehemently agreeing, eyes glued to hers, but the way his hips press up to find her is the proof of how little her words deter him.

Sighing, she spreads the shirt wide, her palms gliding over warm skin, tracing the flex of muscles beneath. It’s unfair how beautiful he is like this, comfortable underneath her, vulnerable in ways she rarely saw him, and still hers.

“But if you insist,” she begins again, gaze wandering lower to the happy trail disappearing into his waistband, “Let’s fucking celebrate.”

Her hand stops at his face, cupping his chin with a grip that’s both command and tenderness. The pad of her thumb caresses his jaw before pushing him back gently, causing his head to slightly dip backwards as she slides off his lap. The loss of her weight leaves him aching and, curious to see what she means by that, Lando props himself on his elbows, shirt hanging open while watching her with hooded eyes vanishing from the room; the sway of her hips in that short dress feels like a punch in the guts, a reminder of what he’s desperate to have back. Even for a short tick in time.

She returns moments later with the champagne he brought clutched in her hand. Without a word, she tips it to her lips to gulp down one more generous swallow, then thrusts it toward his mouth.

“Drink,” she orders softly, her free hand steadying his head.

Lando obeys, parting his lips to let the liquid flow in, spilling a little down his chin as he swallows. With a new glint in her eyes that masks her inner turmoil as best as possible, the girl yanks it back before he can finish, reminding the man in front of her that, ultimately, this is not a reconciliation, but indulgence. A way to drown their what-ifs without fully committing.

Satisfied, she sets the bottle aside, climbing back on top of him. The bed dips under their weight, her dress riding up her thighs as she settles over his hips. Muscle memory is a powerful tool, she figures. The friction of her core along his hardness sends a tiny shock through her, but she tries to ignore it, focusing instead on the bottle again. Intentionally tilting it, she pours a stream of champagne across his torso, the sparkly liquid cascading over his pecs, tracing rivulets down the valleys of his abs, then pooling in the dips before soaking into the fabric of his jeans. It glistens on his skin, golden under the small bedroom light, and she can’t help but observe, mesmerized, as his chest starts rising faster.

Leaning down, she starts at his chest, her lips pressing to the wet streaks. He tastes like the nights they used to lose themselves in each other, when time stopped after yet another argument. Her mouth trails lower, over the firm plane of his stomach, nipping at the edges of his muscles that continue to tense under her. At the same time, she works his belt buckle with one hand, her fingers brushing the straining zipper beneath. A drunk desire battles her resolve; she wants to strip him bare, to feel him thrust inside her until there’s no more wrong and no more right, but she’s aware that it’s not about that anymore.

“Fucking hell…” Lando breathes loudly just as her lips ghost over his lower belly, right above the waistband.

The raw sound coming from his throat undoes her poise, making her lift her head to look at him, a calculated gesture designed to give Lando all the space he clearly doesn’t need. Dazzled by her eyes, his hands shoot to her hips, fingers digging into the soft flesh there. In a simple movement, he flips the narrative, pinning her beneath him on the bed. The switch is seamless, his body completely covering hers and, as a result, drops of champagne trail from his torso onto her, soaking spots across her dress and exposed chest.

A certain thirst flares in his eyes at the image. He can easily find the wet patches on her, head lowering to suck through the darkened fabric to taste the alcohol mingled with her warmth. His tongue teases her nipple, hardening it to a peak beneath the damp barrier, and her back lifts slightly, a whimper escaping despite her best efforts to stay composed.

Common sense, logic and judgement are long gone, passion, lust and sensuality becoming living entities in the space they animate.

Instinctively, she threads her fingers back into his hair, not to pull him away but to feel him closer. She puts all her trust in that grip, knowing that he’ll never push beyond what her body silently begs for.

With an impossible smirk flowering on his face, Lando lifts his head to search for her face. “Can I take it from here?” despite his confidence, his voice has a subtle tremor behind it.

She can’t say no. Not with his hand sliding up her thigh, squeezing her lightly, reminding her of his holy touch.

He spreads her legs wider with his body, knees pressing into the mattress to hold her open. In a way, he was always capable to see through her defenses. Lando is trained to look for weak spots, and he knows hers very well. Like the sensitive bundle of nerves just inside her and the way she clenches around him when he curls his fingers there.

Emboldened, he grabs the bottle she put aside, shaking it lightly to build the pressure before aiming the neck between her legs. A burst of foam erupts, spraying across her skin, the cold fizz contrasting the warmth radiating from her core. He rubs the mouth of the bottle along her thigh, the slick glass teasing higher until it brushes the edge of her champagne-soaked panties. In response, her hands blindly search for something to anchor herself into, fisting the sheets as the bottle’s edge circles her entrance.

“Lando,” his name dissolves into a moan, thighs quivering as she opens even more for him; the dress rides higher, bunching completely at her waist.

He watches in awe, his free hand steady and assuring on her. “Gonna drench you in it,” he almost purrs, but mostly to himself just as he drags the mouth, pressing it against her clit through the lace and rolling it slowly. “But rub yourself on it first,” adds Lando, “Let me see how much you want it after all that bullshit.”

Biting her lip in order to stop herself from cursing, the girl reaches down to grab the bottle and, looking at him, she starts sliding it up and down her slit with the smallest amount of pressure. Lando’s breath stops somewhere in his hroat as he watches her work it over herself, the glass slipping easily through the wetness that seeped past her panties, sipping shallowly at her covered hole before gliding back to her clit.

“Like that?” she taunts, already out of breath.

He shakes his head, transfixed as he leans in, hot breath crashing on her skin. “Close enough,” says Lando, taking the bottle back gently, only to rub its neck along her inner lips, parting them with the rim, teasing penetration without entering.

She moans, grabbing his wrist to stop him. “God, you’re such a fucking asshole.”

His fingers, still wrapped around the bottle, trace the wet fabric, waking her clit beneath the material. “And you’re so wet,” he muses, feeling her hips push against his touch.

Rather aggressively, Lando hooks his fingers under her panties, watching the chill of wet fabric being peeled away. Continuing to drag them along her thighs until they pool around her ankles, he finds the time to shoot short glances at her face, that’s now twisted in pleasure.

Soon, she’s completely exposed to him, her pussy glistening with need and champagne. Not enough, according to Lando, who takes the liberty of dripping some more, the liquid sliding down between her folds, ending up ruining the bed. After that, he adjusts his position, sinking lower until his shoulders wedge her legs apart even further. Their erotic play has left everything slick and sticky and, being mere inches from her, Lando finally gets to take in the full extent of the mess. It’s a beautiful sight, one that makes his mouth flood with saliva even though his throat tightens in dry anticipation, his pulse hammering at the thought of tasting her again after being deprived of this privilege for so long.

Head first, he drags his tongue flat from her dripping hole up to her clit in one lick, savoring the tangy burst of alcohol mixed with her salty sweetness. She jolts, breath coming out in little spasms at his unexpected gentleness. It makes Lando smile, mainly because he knows her body like any other circuit on the calendar. The flavor is intoxicating, a heady cocktail of her essence and the bubbly excess, and it only spurs him on, his cock throbbing painfully as he feasts.

At the other end, she’s completely lost, thoughts of their fight becoming nothing more than white-hot static. Lando’s tongue circles her clit with expert precision, flicking the hardened nub before sucking it between his lips, the suction eliciting more high-pitched moans from deep in her chest. He knows how to alternate the pace: teasing in slow swirls that make her hips lift off the bed, then faster laps that have her legs trembling around his upper torso. His nose bumps against her mound, inhaling her scent as he delves lower again, fucking deeper with his tongue, lips sealing around her folds to slurp every drop. The sounds they both make are bouncing on the edge of absurd, wet smacks and sucking echoing in the quiet bedroom.

He needs her to surrender. Wants to wring every ounce of pleasure from her until she’s nothing but a begging mess, just to remind himself that, in her stubbornness, she still belongs to him. The same need pushes him to take it further, adding his fingers into the mix, two sliding knuckle-deep into her soaked heat, curling upward to stroke that sweet spot he’s teased so many times before. He pumps them in time with his tongue’s assault, the dual sensation shoving her toward the edge.

From where she’s fisting the sheets, her hands fly to his hair, tugging desperately, knowing that he has an annoying habit of teasing her, only to then abandon her, leaving confusion and frustration behind. “Suck on it harder,” she gasps, fingers running through his curls, giving Lando the best motivation, “Yeah, like that. Oh, shit.”

He doesn’t let up, humming approval against her sensitive skin, feeling her walls flutter around his fingers. Sensing she’s close, Lando reaches blindly for the champagne bottle to position its mouth right at her entrance, just below where his fingers plunge in and out, and redoubles his effort on her clit with tongue flicking fast and light, then pressing to grind against it. Her moans turn to whines, and then she breaks. A blinding orgasm crashes over her in waves, pussy clenching hard around his fingers as she squirts a gush of release straight into the bottle, the liquid mixing with the remaining champagne in a warm, milky swirl. She trashes beneath him, legs locking around his shoulders, heels digging into his back while incoherent cries spill from her lips.

Only when her tremors subside does Lando pull back, his chin absolutely drenched in her release, a glossy sheen dripping down his jaw. He ate well, but now he’s thirsty. Locking eyes with her, he rises slowly and lifts the bottle to his mouth, taking a long swig, the blended flavors sliding down his throat.

He licks his lips, an obvious smirk blooming in the corner of his mouth. “Yup, still tastes like victory.”

Throwing the empty bottle on the floor, Lando grips the hem of his shirt and peels it off, revealing in full the planes of his chest and abs. His skin sparkles with a light layer of sweat, his eyes wandering hungrily over every square inch of her.

“You like that dress?” asks Lando, checking her out.

“I love this dress,” she replies, not sure where he wants to take the conversation.

“Get rid of it then,” he orders softly, “Because I’ll rip it off you if I touch it.”

Rolling her eyes, her lips part, but her hands hook immediately under the fabric of her dress, the material clinging to her dampened skin. She yanks it upward, peeling it over her head and tossing it aside, leaving her completely naked on the rumpled sheets, breasts heaving, and her whole body flushed. The cool air kisses her exposed nipples, but the heat coming from between her legs is by far more intense, her walls still throbbing from his mouth, slick, and aching for what’s next.

At the same time, Lando shoves his jeans and boxers down his hips, kicking them off impatiently, his cock springing free, the head already weeping pre-cum in glistening beads. It’s been straining against the denim since the second he laid eyes on her tonight, the image of her dressed like a daydream fueling his need. He wraps his hand around the base immediately, fingers squeezing the hot length as he pumps once, twice, three times, a low whimper escaping from his chest at the friction. His thumb presses firmly into the slit at the tip, coaxing out another thick pearl that spills over his knuckle, slicking his strokes. He’s aware he could finish right there, fucking his fist with rough jerks while staring at her naked body that awaits, with legs spread, folds puffy and wet, inviting him to lose himself in her. But the thought only makes him harder, his balls tightening with the edge of release.

Then he notices her hand drifting lower, fingers inching toward the slick mess she made, seeking to ease the insistent pulse there. Surging forward to wedge himself back between her legs, Lando covers her body in a heated press of skin on skin. His hands roam everywhere, palms sliding up her sides to cup her full breasts, thumbs circling her nipples before pinching them only to hear her whimper again, fingers tracing the dip of her waist, the flare of her hips, gripping her ass to pull her closer. He’s everywhere at once, mapping her lines for the last time, because for all he knows, this could be it.

Their mouths crash together in a kiss that can only be described by desperation and fireworks. She gives herself to him like never before, tongues tangling in a frantic chase, hers darting out to catch his, sucking it deep into her mouth. Lando groans into her, plunging his tongue past her lips, licking the roof of her mouth and the insides of her cheeks. She can taste herself on him as their breaths blend heavy, panting into each other’s mouths with no space between them; he inhales her exhales, she draws in his. Boom! Bang! Woosh! Fireworks.

Tongues slide and twist, saliva trailing from the corners of their lips, Lando breaking the kiss only to nip at her jaw and throat before diving back in, somehow hungrier, her nails raking down his back while his cock notches against her thigh, smearing pre-cum on her skin.

“Lando, please,” she whines, “Need it so bad.”

He pulls back, eyes clouded with lust. “Need what, baby?” he asks softly, reaching for his erection. “Me?”

Her eyes drops between their bodies, then back up to his flushed face. “Yeah,” she nods, smiling in disbelief. “All of you.”

Replicating her smile, Lando brushes his nose across her cheek, positioning himself at her opening. “That’s my good girl,” he praises, rubbing the head of his cock against her champagne-slicked pussy lips, but not entering. “Fuckin’ gorgeous,” his hands grip her hips, tilting her just so, feeling his cock pulsing hot and heavy.

She can feel the anticipation, the delicious pressure, and the way he tries to hold back to stretch out the blissful torture. But she’s just as impatient and, straining upwards, she tries to take him in.

“Lando,” she sobs, “Just fuck me.”

“Oh, I’m going to fuck you, alright,” he promises, finally pressing in.

She welcomes him with irritation, but that doesn’t stop her from moaning as the head of his cock pushes through the wettnes. It doesn’t stop Lando either, his grunt covering her skin in a new layer of goosebumps.

He pauses, letting her adjust to his thickness, then leans down to kiss her again. Much, much softer than earlier. He comes back to it after, burying himself inside, his muscles tensing with pleasure. Her legs circle his waist in order to jerk him impossibly closer, wanting every sticky inch of him. In return, Lando molds to her, their bodies fitting together, yin-yang style, proving her once again that he was right: they do work well, and nothing will ever come close to this.

At her impatience, he begins to move, pulling out almost all the way before pushing back in, rocking his hips in searching for the perfect rhythm.

“This is where we belong, d’you understand?” says Lando through his teeth, fighting the urge to moan, his hips slamming into hers. “You belong under me, getting fucked to smithereens,” he quickens the pace, his thrusts hitting deeper. Each impact sends a jolt of pleasure through her, making her arch her back and dig her nails into his shoulders. “And I belong inside you, making you roll those pretty eyes at me.”

“You don’t put down roots, and I can’t keep chasing you,” she reminds him as he hits her G-spot all over again, a sweet onslaught that transports her to realms she’s never seen before. “I need a home.”

“Let me be home,” he insists, pressing his forehead into her.

Moments later, Lando lifts his head from her neck, a dark mark blossoming under her skin. Hers lolls back, letting herself enjoy the way his mouth traces a path of fire back down her lips. The new kiss is ravenous, tasting of desire, the intoxicating memory of what they used to be, and the tragic reality of what they will never get to know. The sticky wetness combined with their accelerating friction makes their skin drag and slap together, a rhytmic melody filling the air, punctuated by their ragged breaths and the creak of the bed.

She can already feel the first tremors of soreness, a delightful ache that promises that good kind of pain in the morning. But the thought is fleeting, obliterated by the need that runs through her veins. She needs him with an urgency that time and distance haven’t dulled. She wats to hear him lose control, hear his moans he only lets out when she pushes him to his limits. She wants to remind herself that she can make Lando just as desperate as he makes her. Even if it’s way past their expiration date, even if it’s not healthy, even if it’s nothing but a reckless dance on the edge of a black hole.

She needs him.

And Lando knows it.

He feels it in the way she clutches him and the way her hips lift to meet every single one of his thrusts. He knows this hunger, because it mirrors his own. Her body is screaming for him, pulling him deeper, demanding every inch of his being. Letting her have it it’s the easiest thing for him, because in return, he knows he’ll get to brand himself into her memory.

“Bloody fucking hell,” rasps Lando, his eyes, wild with dilated pupils, locked onto hers, “You feel so good,” he grabs her hips harder, lifting them to angle his cock for maximum depth.

“Lan, fuck,” she cries, clinging to his back, “Just… oh, shit. Can you go faster?”

At the end of the day, that’s his job.

Lando grins, a feral flash of white teeth. “You want more, yeah?” he slows the rhythm for a torturous moment, grinding his hips, rotating his cock against her sweet spot, making her insides squeeze and quiver.

“Mhm, don’t wanna think,” the girl pants, her eyes closing shut as pleasure lances through her. “Need you. Everywhere.”

His jaw works, a muscle jumping in his cheek. “You got it, love,” he says, starting to piston into her, hard and fast, his body a blur of motion.

Next time she opens her eyes, she can feel him hitting her cervix with every deep stroke, a bruising penetration that makes her lips part to moan louder. Without any warnings, her pussy releases around him, wet and hot, sucking his cock back in with every withdrawal.

Lando has to bury his face in her neck in order to stop himself from cumming. “Holy shit. That’s it, baby,” he whispers hoarsely, his words elevated by the wet plunges of his hips. “Driving me fucking crazy for you.”

“We’re not getting back together,” she reminds him, boneless beneath him, but still clinging to his body like it’s the only thing that can support hers.

“Yes,” Lando breathes short and uneven, “We are,” he counters, feeling her arms wrap around his neck, urging him on.

“No,” the girl argues, a sob caught in he throat as the pleasure builds anew.

“Yes,” he insists. “Fuck, you make me so hard.”

By now, her inner thighs are slick with their combined fluids, her pussy swollen around his relentless cock. With each passing second, he’s pushing past her limits, past anything she thought she could endure for him.

“You make me so mad,” she shoots back, curling her fingers around his biceps. “So mad, I’m getting close.”

Frowning at her words, Lando turns to meet her frantic gaze. He sees the love reflected in her eyes and feels her body convulsing around him. His own climax is building, a roaring inferno in his loins. He wants to drag her with him, he does. He wants to take her everywhere he goes. He wants to make her see that they can work outside of her bed. They can.

Tears fill his eyes, but Lando blinks them away. “Again?” he asks, stopping briefly to see her nodding. “With me,” he breaths wettly against her cheek, “Come with me then.”

He slams into her with a final, brutal series of thrusts, feeling the intense thightness of her inner channel around him as she spirals into another shattering orgasm. A thousand fireworks ignite behind her eyelids, each spark a jolt of pure ecstasy lancing through her nerves. It’s like a chorus of champagne bottles popping simultaneously, their effeverscence replaced by pleasure that erupts from deep within her core. Then a cosmic shift, a new Big Bang, as her body pulls Lando further into the cataclysm.

He can’t hold back his moans anymore, a guttural sound torn from his chest filling her ears, shattering contractions of her pussy sucking at his length. With that, he lets go, his cock throbbing thick, pulsing so hard as if it will never stop emptying its heavy load. Her vision blurs, tears springing to her eyes, not just from the overwhelming, painful pleasure, but from the sudden, crushing weight of reality that slams into her with the force of a physical blow. The utter completeness of feeling him so connected to her, is a stark reminder of everything they were and everything they are not now.

As silence creeps in, Lando collapses onto her, satisfied and spent, his chest heaving against her breasts. He’s still hard inside her, and her fingers still dig into his sweat-slicked back, clenching tighter, even though her mind screams at her to push him away. To send him on a long walk that won’t ever intersect with hers again. But she’s not as strong as she thought she was. Especially not when he buries his face in her hair, exhaling a shaky breath like he, too, is on the verge of crying.

“Lando?”

A beat of silence. A sigh.

“Yeah?”

“Are you okay?” she asks cautiously.

“No,” he admits, “I can’t believe I fucked this up.”

She chews on her lip before echoing his earlier words, “There are two of us in this relationship.”

“Doesn’t matter. I was bitching about replying to your texts, for fuck’s sake,” says Lando, letting his body slide gently toward the empty space next to her. His softening cock slides free from her warmth, making them both catch their breath.

She turns to face him, the change of position natural yet guarded, her arm instinctively curling across her chest to shield her breasts. Lando’s gaze locks onto her, unblinking, tracing the flush that lingers on her collarbone and the hickey he sucked on her neck. He can’t help but reach out to tuck a loose curl behind her ear, the touch ghosting there for a while until his palm cups her cheek, thumb softly grazing the corner of her mouth. It’s tenderness and it’s regret and it’s so stupid he let himself get to this point.

With a long exhale, Lando draws his hand away, foldind both of them beneath his head like a makeshift pillow. His body stretches out beside hers, muscles humming from exertion. He doesn’t look away, though, eyes keeping hers captive.

“Either way,” she begins, her hand bridging the small gap between them, palm pressing flat agaist his chest, “It’s terrifying how much I still want you. I wasn’t aware of that, until tonight.”

He covers her hand with his, holding it there. A little spark returns to his eyes, and he dares to hope there is salvation for them, after all.

Propping himself up on one elbow, Lando asks, “So this means we are getting back together,” his voice is gravelly, faintly tinted with the remnants of moans.

The girl huffs a laugh, shoving at his chest, but pulling him back again. “I don’t know, I don’t know.”

She shifts closer, molding her body against his side, her head finding the curve of his shoulder while she drapes an arm across his torso. The contact is effortless, her bare leg hooking over his thigh, skin sliding against skin. Lando’s fingers splay across the small of her back, thumb stroking the dip of her spine in soothing arcs as he presses a kiss to the top of her head.

“That’s a yes in my book,” he smiles, feeling her body fully relaxing in his arms.

The sheets rustle softly as they shift in order to get more comfortable, an unexpected sense of relief settling over them like a blanket. It was a challenging year, but in the end, this is all that matters. Now that he has everything he’s ever wanted, it’s as if the fog has lifted. He can see that some rewards come only in fragments, and that sometimes the sweetest satisfaction is knowing exactly how much one can endure before it gets better.

Because it does get better. Always.

“If we split again, Lando,” her voice is small, but she sounds determined, at least in her ears, “No matter how much I love your hair, I am personally giving you a buzzcut, followed by dyeing it pink.”

“Deal,” he agrees without hesitation, smiling from ear to ear.

𝟯 𝗠𝗢𝗡𝗧𝗛𝗦 𝗟𝗔𝗧𝗘𝗥

📍 Miami, USA

Formula 1 News | 28.6k reads | 4.6k shares | 1.7k comments

𝗣𝗥𝗘𝗧𝗧𝗬 𝗜𝗡 𝗣𝗜𝗡𝗞: 𝗟𝗮𝗻𝗱𝗼 𝗡𝗼𝗿𝗿𝗶𝘀 𝗦𝗵𝗼𝗰𝗸𝘀 𝗣𝗮𝗱𝗱𝗼𝗰𝗸 𝗪𝗶𝘁𝗵 𝗕𝘂𝘇𝘇𝗰𝘂𝘁 𝗠𝗮𝗸𝗲𝗼𝘃𝗲𝗿

Norris is used to attracting attention on track. This race weekend, the reigning champion managed it before turning a single lap.

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It was Friday - free practice day, and you noticed that Lando had woken up this morning feeling optimistic about the weekend - a feeling you'd wanted to see him feel since Australia.

A little bit of a back story? You were a Sky content creator, and had been dating Lando for a little over 6 months now, so still pretty new, although it really felt like he was your end game. You knew he was. Your relationship was still private, not yet out in the open though there had been speculation, but you'd both tried to keep it as secret as possible, enjoying your own bubble. Lando's win in Australia was the perfect way to start the season, but it all fell short when the next races up until now were less than fruit full. So to see Lando full of hope today, you were secretly thanking the gods above. He had been harsh on himself up until now. Too harsh.

Call it wanting to rile him up with more adrenaline, whatever it was, this is how you wound up in the position you found yourselves in right now -

Lando had just come out the shower, a towel hanging low on his hips as you sat up in bed and silently watched him do his hair care routine. His dark eyes found yours in the mirror. 'Like something you see?' he asked, sly smirk on his face.

You felt your cheeks heat up immediately, clearing your throat as you rolled your eyes. He turned to face you now, dropping his towel in a swift motion, all his glory out for you to see. His cock sprang free, slapping against his stomach as it bounced a few, throbbing as he took himself in his hands and pumped himself while walking towards you.

'You know all you have to do is ask baby, I'm all yours, yeah?' he said teasingly, grabbing he back of your head, harsh but not harsh enough to hurt you, to make you look up at his face instead of his dick that was now level with your eyes.

'Fuck off' you teased back, unable to hide your smile as you finally brought your hands up to wrap around him. He was pulsing, the thick vein at the side protruding deliciously s you stood up and pushed Lando to sit on the edge of the bed. 'Need to taste you, please' you begged, though you knew he was putty in your hands now.

All Lando could do was groan at the sight in front of him - you, naked, on your knees, tongue darting out to lick the sticky pre-cum off his tip. He jerked forward at that, his hands instinctively coming up to hold your hair out of your face as you finally took him in and sucked.

'Oh fuck me,' he panted, 'that mouth of yours' he mumbled breathlessly as your worked your way on him, bobbing your head up and down repeatedly while his hold on your hair tightened wit each passing second.

You squeezed your thighs together at the mere thought of what you were doing, half not believing you were sucking THE Lando Norris' dick, even though you'd done so about a thousand times by now.

'That's it baby, fuck, you're so good at this' he cooed, taking control of fucking himself in and out of your mouth as your moves started faltering, his hips jerking forward with each thrust, making you gag, tears at the corners of your eyes, and obscene noises filling up the otherwise quiet room.

You tugged and pulled at his balls, sucking as hard as you when you felt him get sloppier by the second, impending orgasm threatening to overcome him any minute now. When you pulled back for air, a string of your spit still had you connected to Lando, and he couldn't help but lean down to you for a dirty, messy kiss, both your tongues battling each others', before he pulled back and was quick to shove his dick back in your mouth.

'Shit I'm so close baby, where do you want it?' he asked, though he knew the answer, you were always ready to taste him, and so when you didn't reply, it wasn't even a few seconds until his whole body was shuddering, hips bucking forward as he spilled his seed down your throat, while you pulled back for air again as he sprayed your face white with his cum, both your chests heaving with the rush.

You sat there breathless, while Lando looked down at you, another sight for sore eyes with just how messed up you were, with his mess on you body, cum dropping down from your face onto your boobs and down your stomach.

He gently let his fingers spread his cum around your face, eventually bringing them to your mouth for you to take in, suckling softly and groaning at the taste of him once more.

He had a look on his face, one you knew all to well, one that only ended with trouble.

'I know that look Lan, what are you thinking?' you pressed, nervous for his answer because you knew whatever he'd say would make you clench your thighs together.

He smiled then, a full blown Lando Norris smile with all his teeth showing, your favourite smile, barely for a second though, because his gaze was quick to turn dark again as he traced his thumb across your bottom lip.

'Thinkin' about how I'm gonna win the race on Sunday..then fuck you with no condom on...need you feel you raw baby' he said, voice hoarse but so casual as it rolled off his tongue with such ease.

You stared up at him, mouth agape as your brain short circuited the second the words left his lips. 'What?' you whispered in shock.

He smiled again - 'You heard me. Need to feel you raw' he said, grabbing a few tissues off the bedside table and wiping your face, helping you up and back onto the bed.

Your mind was spiralling. This is a whole new ball game in your relationship and your body felt alive with butterflies squirming their way in your stomach, anticipation building up and the weekend hadn't even started.

No words left your mouth as Lando pushed you to lie back before straddling you, fiddling with a condom wrapper before rolling it onto his girth which was already hard again, and ramming int you, dirty words of his plan being whispered into your ear.

2 days later, and your man actually fucking won the Monaco Grand Prix.

Let's take it back a few - your relationship had basically been soft launched by the media wen you were caught with Lando's family all weekend. You wished it'd have come out on your own terms, but f1 media played no games, so the multiple views of you on tv had your name, 'Y/N, Lando Norris' Girlfriend' as your tag.

You watched on as Lando climbed out of his car, tens of people pushing their way past you in hopes of getting close to the driver as he hugged his mum and dad, and when his eyes locked with yours, he reached out for your hand, his thumb ever so gently rubbed circles while his god damn beautiful face sent you a wink and a kiss, sending you into a frenzy of tingles. Your heart clenched for a second as the look he'd just given you was reserved only for you, and now the whole world would see it.

Fast forward the podium , the team photo, the prince's ball, and partying at the club - you both stumbled back into his apartment, very tipsy, but not drunk enough because you both wanted to remember the whole evening and celebrations.

You tiptoed through the hallway as quietly as possible, not wanted to wake Adam and Cisca, though Lando was proving that to be impossible with the way his body was glued to yours, lips tracing every inch of your skin as he tickled your neck with stubble, all while leaving a trail of your clothes behind, though it was mostly his - yours was literally just your dress since you hadn't worn any underwear.

As soon as you reached his room, he slammed the door shut, pushed up up against it, and attacked your lips with his own. It was messy, hungry, tongues and teeth clashing as your hands gripped harshly at his hair. He swallowed your moans when his hands roamed down to your glistening cunt, fingers sliding through your folds, pinching at your swollen clit.

'Hmm, Lando, please. I need you.' yu mumbled when his lips moved down to your neck, biting down at your sweet spot as he plunged two fingers through your hole with no warning. You gasped as your back arched off the door, biting down on your bottom lip.

Whatever he was doing felt good, but not good enough, even when he added a third finger and repeatedly hit against your G-spot. You needed more, you needed his dick.

You found your voice again, between he whimpering and panting, grabbing rough at his hair again to make him look up at you.

'You said you-'

'I know what I said.' Lando cut you off. 'But I'm gonna make you cum at least twice before I so much as get near fucking you love' he said, voice raspy, then brining his mouth down to your peaked nipples.

You knew once he had his mind to something there was no going back, so you decided to let him use you how he pleased. His tongue rounded your left nipple, hot against you skin before he b it down harshly, eliciting a gasp from you as his fingered continued their torture on your cunt.

Lando soon added another finger, the stretch sore but welcomed as you felt yourself nearing you high, biting down on his shoulder, and all it took was one pinch of your clit before you were shuddering in his arms, body limb and cum gushing out of you uncontrollably, as he worked you through it, mumbling to himself something about how hot you were when you squirted like this.

He kissed you again, picking you up with his hands under your ass as you kissed him back, slow and deep, the opposite of the desperation there was a few minutes ago.

He placed you on the bed and you were quick to get on your knees, working on ripping his boxers off quickly to see him spring free, aching hard. You wrapped your hand around and started pumping when Lando quickly pushed you off him.

'Someone's eager' he said, sending you a wink before pushing you to lay flat. 'But I need to taste you first' he said, spreading your legs open with his sticky fingers, groaning at the state of you.

You still had cum messing your pussy, he was quick to lean down an lick a hot strip through your folds, tongue lapping at you harshly while you grabbed onto his hair, tugging at it as lewd moans left your mouth.

'Fuck baby, please, god yes, feels so good Lan' you managed to say between breaths, a heat already building up in your stomach as he started thrusting his tongue in and out of your hole. 'Gonna cum' you warned, not caring how quick were took to reach the high, goosebumps raising on your entire body as he ate you out like a starved man.

Lando nipped at your clit then, the sensation coursing through our body, sending your orgasm down with a thrill as you shook uncontrollably underneath him, his tongue not slowing one bit as he groaned at the sweet taste of you.

You looked down to see his mouth and chin dripping with spit and cum as he smiled sheepishly, leaning up to kiss you for the millionth time today.

'Please. I need you' you finally begged between nips and licks at his lips, not knowing how much longer you could wait without exploding with desperation for his cock.

Finally, he sat up on his knees, eyes shamelessly checking out your body.

'No condom yeah? he asked slowly, gaging your reaction as he spat down onto himself and pumped a few times.

You nodded your head, sure no words would leave your mouth.

'Gonna let me cum inside you?' he asked, testing the waters once more.

You nodded again.

'Words, baby. Need to hear you say it?' he pressed, his thumb softly rubbing circles on your inner thigh.

'Please, fuck me. God I need you an your cum Lando' you said breathlessly, anticipation really budling up.

That was all Lando needed to hear. He hovered over you again, balancing on his elbow as one hand cupped your face, while the other slid his dick through the folds a few times, gathering your slick, until he lined his dick up at your entrance.

His eyes were glued to yours as he slid inside of you when one, quick thrust, bottoming out immediately.

You both gasped at the same time, your back arching off the bed as your breaths mingled, foreheads against one another.

He felt so much bigger without the condom, the lack of barrier letting you feel his heat in such a tantalizing way as he stretched you out dumb.

Lando's breath faltered when he felt how tightly your walls clenched around him, cunt throbbing around his girth with a warmth he'd never expected to have felt. 'Y/N,' he paned, cold breath on your skin. 'So fuckin' tight.'

'Need a second' you said as he nodded in agreement, your body always needing a minute to adjust to his size, so he kissed you filthy again, tongue lapping against tongue until you started squirming underneath him, craving more friction.

'Gonna let me fuck you?' he asked, slowly sliding out and then ramming back into you with force again.

You let out another gasp followed by a pornographic moan when he repeated that action, his hands quickly coming up to cover your mouth.

'Have to be quiet unless you want everyone to hear me fuck you' he said, voice raspy, burying his head in the crook of your neck as you wrapped your legs around his waist as tightly as you could. At this point you didn't care if anyone heard you - all you could concentrate on was the feeling of him thrusting in and out of you.

You dragged your nails up and down his back, scratching at his skin, a sheet of sweat starting to cover both your bodies.

This new, raw connection between you both was a series of different motions. Lando's pace was quick, relentless, then all of a sudden he'd slow down to deep, sensual thrusts, before picking up pace again.

He was whispering dirty nothings into your ear as you continued moaning and gasping his name as his every word and movement.

'Fuck, hearing you say my name like that, drives me fucking insane'

'Could stay buried inside of you raw like this forever'

'Look at you, you love when I fuck you like this yeah?'

'Tight little cunt is all mine, my slut yeah??'

'Or better - such a whore after your boyfriend wins a race'

It was no surprise that your orgasm ripped through your body with no warning, crashing through you as your mind blanked out and you saw stars, dirty grunts filling up the room together with skin against skin slaps as Lando didn't slow his movements one bit.

Lando for one, knew he was a goner the second he felt your juices spewl all of his cock, and when he looked down to see the mess, he let out his own series of filthy moans.

'Baby fuck, look at the fucking mess you've made. Can cum just from looking at it' he groaned as you wrapped your legs tighter around him.

'Lan too much, I can't' you cooed, the stretch really starting in sting now.

He slowed his movements, but didn't stop, voice edgy as he spoke. 'You really want me to stop before you've let me cum in you? Huh? Before I've fucked a baby into you?'

Your chest heaved, choking on your spit as you took in his words, and suddenly your whole body was pumped with adrenaline. You didn't answer him verbally - no. Instead you mustered all the energy you could to push Lando off you to lay back, so you could straddle his hips, taking him dripping dick in your hands and lining him up with your cunt as you sank down on him in one hard thrust.

'Look at you, all eager for my cum' he teased, hands finding your hips and helping you set a vast, sloppy pace, while his eyes stuck to your bruised boobs, bouncing up and down as you rode him.

'Feel's so fucking good Lan' you whimpered, feeling his cock hit your G-spot over and over again, one hand on your own stomach as you felt his bulge everyone he thrust up into you.

With no warning, you came again, quivering above Lando as his movements were becoming sloppier, your moans getting so loud that he hand to bring a hand to cover your mouth again, before he pulled out and pushed you back again.

He stood at the end of the bed, pulling your body to the edge and spreading your legs further apart, before leaning down to spit directly on your cunt, and finally rammed into you, with intent this time, clearly chasing his own high, with his dirty words returning.

'Feel that baby? That's my cock, getting ready to cum inside you'

'Ready to fill you up yeah?'

'Not gonna stop until your dripping with me'

'Gonna lick my cum that's gonna drip out of your cunt'

Once again, his words threw you off. You could swear you've never cum so hard before, your body going like jelly, all you could hear was Lando's muffled voice, until a feeling unlike any other hit you at once.

His body was jerking forward into yours, cock twitching uncontrollably between your walls as he trembled above you, cum shooting out his tip and through your body, filling you up complete while pornographic grunts and moans left his mouth, swear words flying out like there was no tomorrow as he released all that he was holding in.

Lando's mind went blank as his muscles tensed, hands gripping your hips tighter while his own hips bucked forward, the raw moment causing him to make eye contact with you as he was sent over the edge, filling you up so perfectly while the things leaving his mouth were anything but.

Finally, he let his weight fall on top of you, both of you so out of breaths, bodies shivering at the cool air hitting your sweat-clad bodies, his face buried in your neck while your arms wrapped around him and pulled him close.

'Fuck' he panted, as his hips involuntarily spasmed forward again, cock with twitching against your walls as you slowly but surely felt him softening inside you.

'Lan...' you breathed, turning your head a bit to make him look up at you.

You both took in each others states - both fucked out, foreheads glistening with sweat and cheeks a deep red colour, breaths hot against one another.

'I know baby' he said, lips against yours, softest of kisses while your hands ran through his damp hair.

'You okay? Sorry if that was too much..' he said softly, bringing a hand up to your own face, thumb tracing your lips.

You couldn't help but chuckle at the stark contrast of what was happening a few minutes ago compared to now.

'I'm more than fucking okay. God, can we do this all the time? You really know how to fuck a girl' you said, almost whispering the last part.

He smiled. 'Just have a whore as my partner' he whispered back, before shutting his eyes when you gasped and smacked his shoulder playfully.

'I'm joking, I'm joking. I have the most amazing woman, who takes me so fucking well, is all' he said, leaning down to kiss you, hard.

Eventually after a dew minutes of slow, deep kissing, Lando pulled out, the both of you groaning at the loss of contact when he slipped his dick out.

He helped your wobbly body onto your feet, and you didn't miss how his eyes were glued to your pussy. You looked down at yourself, breath hitching when you saw how a mix of your fluids when slowing sleeking its way out your cunt and down your thighs, and in turn this made you look at Lando's dick, glistening.

'I-fuck.' you started but Lando was quick to cut you off with an 'Uh huh' while he lowered himself to the ground.

He let his fingers spread the cum on your thighs around, before every so gently leaning forward and licking a strip up your folds, making you hiss at his hot tongue on your most sensitive parts, scooping up as much of the sticky juice as he could, before he was standing tall again leaning down let it drip from his mouth into yours before he was kissing you sloppy again, making a mess of your face.

You moaned into his mouth - mind going at a thousand miles an hour - normally b y now you'd want to clean, freshly showered or at least wiped down, especially with just how nasty the pair of you had been tonight - but at the same time - the smell of sex in the room, the sensation of Lando literally dripping out of you - you wanted to stay like this for as long as possible.

Lando must have felt the same because he didn't guide you to the bathroom, instead brining you to lie down next to him, cuddling you as close as possible as he turned the bedside lamp off. And his last words of the night already had your core tingling in want for him.

'Rest up baby, gonna take you raw in the morning again.' he whispered, before leaving a kiss on your cheek and pulling you closer when he heard your gasp and felt a shiver run up your body.

Max’s house was packed and smelled like too many bad things at once: cheap perfume, spilled alcohol, weed and sweat from too many bodies crammed into not enough space. The bass from the speaker system was way too loud for a residential building and it rattled the walls, making the picture frames buzz slightly and your chest vibrate with every beat.

It was your birthday.

Apparently.

You knew this because someone had put a glittery pink sash over your shoulders that read “Birthday Girl” in a loopy font, and because you’d gotten a “SURPRISE!” screamed at you when you walked in earlier tonight.

That was pretty much it.

Pietra, your best friend from uni, had organized the whole thing. She’d said you needed to do something fun this year. “No way you gonna rot at home on your birthday”

She was thrilled, dressed in glitter and already two drinks in when you arrived. You didn’t even have time to take your shoes off before you were handed a plastic cup of something neon and bitter.

She was your best friend, yes, but little did she know this was the opposite of fun for you.

Now, hours later, you stood somewhere between the living room and the kitchen, nursing your third drink, which was mostly melted ice at this point, while your cheeks ached from trying to keep a smile on your face, to look like you’re having the time of your life.

Thing was: it was your party, but no one really noticed you.

Not in the this is your night! way people were supposed to. You’d recognized maybe three faces other than Pietra and Max (her boyfriend whose house this actually was).

Everyone else? Strangers. Friends of friends. People with perfect dresses and curated laughs who barely looked at you unless you were standing in their way of the fridge or the bathroom.

There was no cake. No gifts. No moment of people singing off-key while you blew out the candles and made a wish. Just shots poured in the kitchen and someone dry-humping to a remix of Doja Cat in the hallway.

And you were trying.

You were trying so hard to have fun, to match the mood, to not be the person sitting in the corner scrolling Instagram and pretending they weren’t completely out of place at their own birthday.

Trying. That was the word of the night.

Trying not to look out of place.

Trying not to resent how much fun everyone else was having when you just wanted to go home, put on pajamas, and blow out a single candle on a brownie while watching something dumb on Netflix.

And still… a small part of you didn’t want to leave. Not yet. You didn’t want to be the buzzkill birthday girl. You wanted to get it. You wanted to have the kind of fun Pietra always had. You wanted to look back and say, yeah, that night was wild.

You wanted to be the main character for once.

So you laughed when people laughed. You accepted drinks you didn’t want. You danced a little when Pietra tugged your wrist and spun you around like it was prom and not a house full of drunk strangers.

You even let someone you vaguely remembered from uni light a joint in front of you and pass it over. You took a drag like you weren’t completely awkward about it, held it too long, coughed until your eyes watered, and then pretended it was fine.

Eventually, you ended up perched on a kitchen counter, legs swinging slightly, trying to sip your warm drink and not look like you were counting the minutes. You could still hear the music pounding from the other room, some remix of a song that had been everywhere on TikTok.

Just five minutes of quiet, you told yourself. Five minutes to pull yourself together, reapply the smile, and dive back into the party like you belonged there.

“Didn’t expect to find the birthday girl hiding back here.”

You looked up, startled. Lando Norris stood in the doorway, backlit by the flickering lights of the living room. He looked almost cinematic in that moment: black jeans, worn but expensive-looking, a plain grey t-shirt that clung to him in all the right places, and curls falling messily over his forehead. His hoodie was slung carelessly over one shoulder, and he was twirling a bottle cap between his fingers like it had offended him.

Lando Norris. Max’s best mate. F1 star. British celebrity. A small crush you refused to admit out loud.

You straightened up. “Not hiding,” you said, a little too quickly. “Just… taking a break.”

He smirked, stepping fully into the room and letting the door swing shut behind him.

“Uh-huh,” he said, crossing to the fridge. “Funny, ‘cause this is the second time I’ve seen you disappear in the last hour.”

He noticed?

You rolled your eyes but smiled faintly. “You’ve been keeping tabs on me?”

He opened the fridge, crouched slightly to look inside, and shrugged. “Not really. Just hard to miss the girl in a pink sash who looks like she’d rather be anywhere else.”

You didn’t answer immediately. He wasn’t wrong.

Lando grabbed a can of something, cracked it open, and leaned back against the counter opposite you. He didn’t say anything else at first, just watched you over the rim of his drink, eyes scanning your expression like he was trying to read past the surface.

“You’re not really having fun,” he said finally. Not a question. A statement.

You gave him a flat look and forced a chuckle. “I didn’t realize my party came with a therapist.”

He grinned. “I charge extra for birthdays.”

You sighed, fingers running along the rim of your cup. “I just… I don’t know. I don’t know most of the people here. And there’s no cake, by the way, if you were wondering. Feels like the party is for everyone else but me, just a lot of tequila and people making out in corners.”

Lando tilted his head, still watching you. “So why stay?”

The question was so simple yet so complicated to answer.

You hesitated. “Because everyone else is having fun. Because Pietra planned it. Because I’m supposed to be that girl tonight. The fun birthday girl.”

He shifted slightly, that easy confidence never faltering, but his eyes had softened a little. “Maybe you don’t have to be anything.”

You blinked. It sounded easy when he said it, but it felt like a revelation.

Lando took another sip of his drink and stepped closer, shrinking the distance between you two. You noticed the subtle scent of his cologne, clean and understated, with something a little sharp beneath it, like cedar or salt.

Actually, you didn’t even know, you knew nothing about men fragrances after all. But he smelled good and it was invading your surroundings with every movement he made.

His words still echoed too loudly in your mind.

Maybe you don’t have to be anything.

And you wanted that to be true. God, how you wanted it. But reality was heavier than that.

“It’s not nice to leave your own party,” you said after a beat, voice softer now, maybe even a little apologetic. “Especially when someone threw it for you.”

Lando gave a short, quiet laugh, like he wasn’t mocking you, just amused by how earnestly you said it. He took another sip from his drink and leaned against the counter beside you, shoulder brushing yours briefly before he shifted again, just enough to give you space but still stay close.

“Yeah, I mean… sure,” he said slowly, like he was working it out in real time. “But is it nice that no one’s really even looked at you since the party started? I mean, you’re wearing a Birthday Girl sash and I had to find you in the kitchen because no one else noticed you’d left.”

You opened your mouth, ready to object, but nothing came out. Because he wasn’t wrong. Not even a little.

“And Pietra,” he added with a slight smirk, “much as I’m sure she loves you, is probably upstairs shagging Max right now. So let’s not act like she’d actually notice or care if you ducked out early.”

You scoffed. “Wow. Harsh.”

He grinned and shrugged like he couldn’t be blamed for saying what you were already thinking.

“I’m just saying,” he added, his tone was softer now, less teasing. “Don’t bend yourself backwards to stay in a room that doesn’t make space for you. Even if someone decorated it with cheap balloons and blasted Pitbull remixes.”

You looked at him and the corners of your lips slightly tugged upward, slow and almost involuntary.

A smile. The first real one of the night.

You hadn’t expected it. Hadn’t expected him to say something like that. Something that didn’t feel like a throwaway line or a cliché.

He caught your expression immediately, and a lopsided grin curved across his lips.

“There it is,” he said, victorious. “A smile. I knew it was in there somewhere.”

You shook your head, the smile still lingering despite your best efforts to downplay it. But you could feel it, how the mood between you had shifted again. Lighter now. You didn’t know what it was exactly, only that you didn’t want to ruin it by getting too self-aware.

So you did what you always did when things started to feel too close. You changed the subject.

“And what about you?” you asked, stepping back just enough to lean against the edge of the counter, your arms loosely crossing over your chest. “What are you doing at my birthday party? Don’t you have some F1 trendy event to attend?”

Lando smirked, taking a sip from his drink before responding. “Max invited me.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Max invited you… to my party?”

“I wasn’t gonna come at first,” he added, quieter now. “Long week. Jet lag. The usual. But I’m glad I did.”

There it was again, that tone. Soft, a little amused, but sincere. Like he wasn’t trying to flatter you, just telling you what he saw. And you hated how it made your chest flutter in response.

Lando took another step closer. Not invading your space, just folding into it like he’d always belonged there. He leaned his hip against the counter beside you, close enough that your arms were almost brushing.

“Why?” you asked, voice soft, barely louder than the low thud of bass from the other room. “Having fun?”

He tilted his head, like he was weighing whether or not to give you the full answer. Then, with a slow smile, he said, “Yeah, I mean I found the birthday girl hiding in the kitchen and she turned out to be a lot more interesting than the party itself.”

You gave a soft laugh and rolled your eyes. “Shut up.”

The tension between you shifted again. Not awkward, not flirty. Something in between. Like you’d both stumbled into a version of the night neither of you had been expecting.

Lando looked down at your drink-less hand, still resting by your side. Without a word, he brushed his fingers lightly against yours. Not a grab, not a move. Just a gentle touch, enough to tease and initiate a small physical contact.

You didn’t pull away. You couldn’t, really. Not with the way he was looking at you now.

“Let’s get out of here,” he said, voice low and casual, like he was simply suggesting a change of playlist, not a small act of rebellion.

You chucked. “What?”

He gestured vaguely over his shoulder toward the living room, where the music had picked up again. “This party sucks. And you hate it.”

“I don’t hate it.”

“You’re hiding in the kitchen.”

You gave him a pointed look, though your mouth was twitching with the start of a reluctant smile. “That doesn’t mean I hate it.”

“Come on.” His tone was coaxing now, almost boyish in its charm. “Let’s leave and go literally everywhere else.”

You laughed under your breath. “Together? That wouldn’t look suspicious at all.”

He grinned. “I don’t care.”

That gave you pause. The way he said it. Like the idea of caring what people thought had never once stopped him from doing what he felt like doing. And yet, he didn’t feel dangerous or wild.

You held his gaze for a beat longer, your mind racing.

“Where are we even going?” you asked, your voice barely above the bass vibrating through the floor.

Lando's grin mellowed into something playful, still him, but threaded with intention. “A birthday girl deserves cake, doesn’t she?”

You blinked at him, probably blushing.

“There’s no cake here,” he added, as if that fact alone was an injustice that demanded rectifying. “It’s actually criminal. A party with no cake? I think we can do better than that.”

“You want to go find a cake?” The words came out half-disbelieving, half-intrigued. Like you were trying not to get swept up the craziness of his offer.

You should’ve said no. Should’ve kept your feet firmly planted, shrugged it off with some breezy excuse. Go back into the party and try to let the music drown out whatever strange electricity had crept in between you and this boy with curly hair and a grin that could pull tides.

But the thought of slipping out into the night with him, of escaping this mess of music and expectation and putting on a face that didn’t feel like yours, it felt like breathing after holding it in for hours.

“Come on,” he said. “Get your jacket.”

You looked at him for a heartbeat, your breath caught somewhere in your chest. Then you broke eye contact with a small shake of your head, more in disbelief at yourself than at him, and turned toward the chair where you’d tossed your jacket earlier. Your fingers trembling just slightly as you grabbed it.

Thirty seconds later you were following him out of Max’s place.

You walked side by side, close but not quite touching, his hand brushing yours once, casually, like it was nothing.

“So,” you said, trying to break the silence and the tension curling in your chest while waiting for the elevator “Is this your thing? Rescue sad girls from their own birthdays?”

Lando turned to you with that signature grin, the one that had probably melted a thousand hearts, and tilted his head. “Only the really cute and really tragic ones.”

You rolled your eyes but bit your lip to hide your smile. “Wow. So you’re pitying me”

“Mh, no not at all.” He shrugged, leaning against the wall with an ease that came so naturally to him. “You just looked like you weren’t having the night you deserved.”

Lando was charming, yes. But he was also nice. Kind in a quiet, consistent way that felt dangerous. Because it made it hard to guard yourself. Hard to keep the walls up when he wasn’t trying to break them down.

He was also making you feel seen. For the first time. And that made you analyze everything.

You fought back a grin.

Don’t overthink this. It’s just cake. It’s just a walk. Just a boy you barely know, or maybe never really did.

What were you even doing? Literally everything could go wrong.

But you decided, right then, not to let your thoughts ruin the moment. It was your birthday, damn it. He was right. You deserved to laugh. You deserved to feel something good.

So you let yourself smile as you followed him through the nearly empty lot, your heels clicking against the pavement, until you spotted the sleek black Lamborghini parked beneath a streetlamp.

Of course. Of course he drove a Lamborghini.

Lando unlocked it with a casual tap of his key fob, the lights blinking once.

He walked over to the passenger side, the soft click of the unlocking doors breaking the quiet of the night. Without saying a word, he opened it for you with a mock-serious flourish, then extended an arm, palm up like he was guiding you into a royal carriage.

“Miss,” he said, tone grave but lips twitching, clearly amused with himself.

You laughed, caught somewhere between impressed and amused. “Wow. Thank you!”

You were still smiling to yourself when he closed the door and rounded the front of the car, slipping into the driver’s seat with the same cool ease he carried everywhere. He caught the look on your face as he started the engine and raised an eyebrow.

“What?” he asked, grinning as the dashboard lit up.

“Nothing,” you said too quickly, brushing a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

God, he was charming. Too thoughtful. Too casually nice for his own good. And definitely for yours. The way he moved, the way he paid attention to you in little ways like holding the door, that subtle touch to your back. It felt all so natural. But it was doing things to your brain. Making your thoughts feel louder than the low hum of the engine.

He pulled out his phone and opened Google Maps, fingers tapping against the screen as he scrolled.

“Alright,” he muttered, half to himself, eyes scanning the map. “There has to be a Tesco or Sainsbury’s open somewhere. Come on.”

You leaned over slightly, peering at his screen before his thumb paused over a pin on the map. “There we go. Twenty-four-hour Tesco, eight minutes away.”

Lando pulled onto the main road, one hand casually resting on the wheel, the other still holding his phone in his lap.

You glanced sideways at him, trying not to stare. He looked calm. Confident. Absolutely stunning. The kind of person who made it feel like anything could happen and it might actually turn out okay.

“I still can’t believe we’re doing this,” you said quietly.

The eight-minute ride felt like two seconds, too quick to fully sink in, until suddenly he was pulling into a dimly lit Tesco parking lot.

“Here we are,” he announced like it was the grandest destination in the world, his grin widening as he cut the engine.

You caught your reflection in the windshield for a moment: hair slightly tousled, cheeks flushed, eyes bright in a way they hadn’t been all night.

Two hours into your birthday, and finally, maybe, you were starting to have some fun.

Inside the store, the harsh fluorescent lights were a stark contrast to darkness of the night, but the familiar aisles and quiet hum of refrigeration units were oddly comforting.

You followed Lando down the baking aisle, your footsteps echoing softly with his.

He stopped in front of the fridge and started scanning the options. “Alright, what kind of cake does the birthday girl want? Something classic? Chocolate?”

You glanced at the neatly arranged cakes, their frosted perfection almost surreal in the stark lighting. “I don’t know... chocolate sounds good,” you said finally, shrugging like it was the safest choice.

Lando nodded approvingly, a slow grin spreading across his face. “Chocolate it is. Can’t go wrong with it”

He reached out and picked up a modest chocolate cake, the kind that promised comfort more than extravagance, and held it up like a prize. You caught the soft gleam of satisfaction in his eyes, as if this little mission had become more important than either of you expected.

“Now,” he added, turning to the next aisle with that same confident ease, “we need candles. Can’t have a birthday without candles.”

He handed you a small pack with a careful tenderness, his fingers brushing yours just enough to make your pulse hitch.

Lando carried the cake and candles to the self-checkout with a kind of casual confidence that somehow made even a 2 a.m. Tesco run feel cinematic. You trailed behind him, arms crossed loosely over your chest, watching as he scanned the items with one hand, the other tucked easily into the pocket of his hoodie.

Once you stepped back out into the night, the cool air kissed your cheeks, and the world felt quieter somehow, like the city itself had turned the volume down.

“Mind holding onto that while I drive?” Lando handed you the Tesco bag and unlocked the car with a click.

You nodded, accepting the Tesco bag from him as he opened the passenger side door for you again. A quiet “thank you” passed your lips, but the smile tugging at them gave more away than you meant to. There was something disarmingly endearing about Lando’s late-night chivalry—like it wasn’t just instinct for him, but intentional. It made your chest flutter in a way that felt far too dangerous at 2 a.m.

As he rounded the car and slid back into the driver’s seat, you held the bag in your lap, the candles rattling softly against the plastic container of cake. You glanced over at him, curious and a little breathless from how this strange, impulsive detour had somehow become the best part of your birthday.

“So,” you said, side-eyeing him as he shifted the car into gear. “Are we heading back to Max’s or…?”

He shook his head, lips quirking into a small smile. “Nope. Got somewhere better in mind.”

You gave him a sideways look, eyes narrowing slightly with playful suspicion. “Where are we going, Norris?”

He glanced at you briefly before turning his eyes back to the road, the city lights reflecting on the window and in the curve of his grin. “You’ll see. Just trust me.”

You did. More than you probably should have.

The next ten minutes passed in the blink of an eye. London looked somewhat different this late and you sat in comfortable silence, the only sounds the occasional click of the indicator and the quiet thrum of the engine.

Every so often, your gaze drifted to him, to the way his fingers moved on the steering wheel, relaxed and sure. It was ridiculous how effortless he looked, how being near him pulled at something you weren’t sure you were ready to name yet.

Finally, he pulled into a narrow side street and eased into a small parking area tucked between a few low buildings.

The second you stepped out of the car, you understood.

The view opened up in front of you like something out of a movie.

You were high up on South Bank, overlooking the Thames. Tower Bridge was lit up in the distance, glowing like a crown across the water. The London Eye turned slowly, faintly glowing behind the trees, and the spire of Big Ben stood tall and golden in the skyline. The city stretched out like a blanket of stars, each light shimmering in its own rhythm.

You blinked, breath catching in your throat. “Wow…”

Lando stepped up beside you, hands in his hoodie pockets. “Yeah.”

“Are you trying to impress me, Norris?”

“Is it working?”

You rolled your eyes, chuckling before drifting you eyes to the view again.

“I did a photoshoot here once, couple years ago,” he said, voice quieter now, almost thoughtful. “Middle of the day. Full crew, chaos everywhere. But I remember looking out and thinking… this place deserved silence. Stillness.”

You glanced back at the view. “It’s beautiful.”

His gaze softened, and for a moment, you both just stood there in the hush between city sounds, the only thing moving the occasional breeze that played with the hem of your jacket and the ends of your hair.

Then Lando exhaled, breaking the spell with a small grin. “Alright. Let’s get that cake now”

You laughed, the sound light and genuine, as if it had been sitting at the base of your throat all night, just waiting for the right moment to escape.

“Yey! Cake time,” you rejoiced, spinning on your heel and making your way back to the car.

Lando followed at a leisurely pace, hands still tucked in his hoodie pockets, a small smile playing on his lips as he watched you.

You reached back into the car, careful not to jostle the bag too much, and pulled out the chocolate cake with the kind of reverence it deserved. It wasn’t fancy a little smushed from the ride, but it suddenly felt like the most important cake you’d ever held as you gently placed it on the hood of car.

Lando helped you peeling back the lid with slow, careful fingers, like it was something breakable. Or maybe it was just that the moment felt that fragile.

From his pocket, he pulled out the pack of pastel-colored candles you’d grabbed from Tesco, opening it and tapping a few into his hand.

“Okay so,” he said with a crooked smirk, tilting his head as he examined the cake’s surface. “We’ve got space for, what… five candles?”

You laughed softly, already shaking your head.

“That’s how old you’re turning, right?” he teased with a playful tone.

“Oh my God,” you gasped, trying to hide your grin. “You’re actually so rude.”

You rolled your eyes, but your smile wouldn’t go away.

You couldn’t remember the last time you’d felt like this, like something was blooming in the center of your chest and you didn’t want to stop it. It was ridiculous, really, how a supermarket cake and five mismatched candles could feel so important. So personal.

Lando stepped in closer, the warmth of his body brushing your side as he leaned over to help you press the tiny candles into the soft frosting. Your arms moved together in this quiet rhythm, his fingers brushing yours here and there as you worked, and neither of you rushed. The silence between you had settled into something comfortable, like you were both reluctant to break it.

Once the last candles were in, Lando reached into his hoodie pocket and pulled out a black lighter. His brows pulled together as he lit each one, shielding the little flames from the night breeze with his hand, his thumb instinctively curling inward as if protecting something precious.

“There,” he said softly once the final flame flickered to life, standing upright again.

You stared down at the cake, then up at him. “I can’t believe you actually did this.”

His expression softened, mouth curling into something gentler. “Why not?”

You shrugged, hugging your arms around yourself against the breeze. “I don’t know. We barely know each other and… this? It’s… really nice.”

He didn’t answer right away. Just looked at you with that same unreadable expression.

Then, in a voice barely louder than the wind, he said, “Happy birthday, sweetheart.”

Your breath hitched.

And before you could say anything else, he did it. He started to sing. Just a few notes at first, tentative, like he wasn’t sure whether to commit.

“Happy birthday to you…”

“Oh no,” You let out a stunned laugh, instantly covering your face with your hands.

He grinned, eyes crinkling as he kept going, singing the whole song just a little off-beat for comedic effect.

“Alright, alright,” he said, holding up his hands in surrender. “Now, time to make a wish.”

You rolled your eyes with a grin, but when you turned your gaze down toward the flickering flames, something shifted inside you.

The warmth of the engine beneath your fingertips, the city glittering in the background like spilled stardust, the boy beside you who somehow felt both brand new and strangely familiar, all of it felt like a moment suspended in time.

What would you even wish for?

You didn’t really want anything extravagant.

But you closed your eyes anyway.

And in the quiet between your heartbeats, you wished. Not aloud, not even fully formed but something close to “more of this”. More moments where you could feel good with being reckless, where you could breathe deeply and laugh until your stomach hurt. Moments where things felt easy. Real. Light.

Moments where you could feel seen.

You opened your eyes again, meeting Lando’s blue ones briefly before leaning forward and blowing out the candles with one long breath. The tiny flames snuffed out one by one, tendrils of smoke curling upward into the night air.

He clapped his hands with mock enthusiasm, grinning like a kid who’d just watched fireworks. “Atta girl, nailed it.”

Lando then reached for the plastic cake knife tucked in the side of the container and carefully made the first slice, eyebrows furrowed in exaggerated concentration. “Alright,” he said, biting his bottom lip as he focused like he was performing surgery. “Two big slices!”

You giggled, folding your arms and watching him, your body still buzzing faintly from the moment you’d just shared: from the laughter, the quiet wish, the way his eyes had lingered on yours like they saw something most people missed.

When he finally lifted a generous slice with the flimsy plastic knife, it promptly fell sideways onto the container lid with a soft splat.

“Well,” he said, wiping his hands on his jeans with a grin, “we, uh… may not have plates.”

You laughed again, real, loud and delighted, and then accepted a chunk of the cake he passed to you with his bare hands. “It’s okay, we’re embracing chaos, at this point.”

He tapped his slice against yours like it was a champagne toast. “Cheers.”

And for a few minutes, you sat there like that, side by side, sharing lopsided bites of chocolate cake in the warm glow of the London skyline, Tower Bridge lit in the distance, the sound of the Thames moving just beyond the railings.

There was no small talk, no need to fill the space. Just the occasional shared look, the bump of shoulders, the quiet between you stretching wide and comfortable.

Eventually, you set the last bit of your cake down beside the container and wiped your fingers with a napkin he passed you, still smiling faintly.

“Thank you,” you said softly, turning toward him now, the weight of the moment finally catching up with you. “Really, Lando. No one’s ever done anything like this for me before.”

He blinked, surprised by the shift in your tone. His expression softened instantly, and he tilted his head a little, his voice just as gentle. “Told you. You deserved a good one.”

Your heart thudded, not in that dizzy, anxious way it sometimes did when your thoughts ran ahead of you, but in a steady, weighted rhythm. Like it knew exactly where you were, and exactly who you were with. “Yeah, you’re right...”

You looked down at the cake, half eaten and crooked on the plastic lid, and something in you clicked into place.

Fuck it.

You set it down gently on the hood of the car, not breaking eye contact as you did.

And then you took a step closer.

Lando’s brows lifted slightly, his lips parting like he wanted to say something, but he didn’t. He didn’t ruin the moment. He just stood there, still and waiting, watching you with those wide, curious eyes like you were the most fascinating thing he’d seen all night.

You reached up, fingers brushing lightly against the collar of his hoodie, steadying yourself more than anything. He leaned in just a fraction, barely perceptible, but you felt it.

And then, with one breath, you closed the space.

Your lips met his in a soft, slow kiss that silenced everything else. No sounds of traffic in the distance, no hum of the city lights, no intrusive thoughts clawing their way in. Just the warmth of his mouth and the way his hands, tentative at first, came to rest gently at your hips, grounding you in the moment.

He tasted like chocolate and something unmistakably him, and he kissed you back with such quiet intention, like he’d been waiting to do it all night but didn’t want to rush you.

It wasn’t hurried. It wasn’t the kind of kiss you gave when you didn’t know what it meant.

It was soft. Anchored. Real.

When you finally pulled away, it was only by an inch, your forehead lingering close enough to brush his.

Lando let out the smallest laugh under his breath, like he wasn’t entirely sure that just happened. His eyes flicked to your mouth and then back to your eyes, a flush rising in his cheeks.

“Wasn’t planning on kissing you, I’m sorry,” you admitted, voice soft, almost shy.

His eyes softened. He shook his head almost immediately, the corners of his lips tugging up, not in amusement, but in something gentler. Close to relief.

“Don’t be,” he murmured. “Honestly… I was.”

You blinked, caught off guard, and he gave you a sheepish little smile, his hands gently sliding from your hips to your waist, steadying you. Or maybe steadying himself.

“I was gonna wait, though,” he continued, gaze flickering between your eyes and your mouth. Again.

“Didn’t wanna be that guy, you know? Creeping in on your birthday like some cliché. Thought I’d at least get your number first and maybe go out on a date before I tried anything…”

You laughed again, brighter this time, the sound echoing off the quiet city around you. Something about the way he looked at you: like he was still amazed you were here, that this was happening, it made your heart skip and your skin warm, even in the cool night air.

And before you could say anything else, Lando’s hands found your face, cupping it so gently it made you forget how to breathe for a moment.

He kissed you again.

Not tentative this time. Not questioning or soft. This one was firmer, anchored in certainty, in heat, in the low burn of chemistry that had been slowly curling around you all night. It wasn’t rushed, it was intentional.

His thumbs brushed over your cheeks as his mouth met yours, and you didn’t hesitate. You leaned in, fingers curling into the fabric of his hoodie near his chest, needing something to hold on to because everything else suddenly felt weightless.

Your back pressed gently against the hood of the car as he stepped in closer, his body warm against yours, grounding you with every inch.

You could taste laughter still on his lips, feel the way his breathing shifted when you deepened the kiss just a little, how one of his hands slid from your cheek to the back of your neck, fingers threading into your hair with a quiet exhale that made your knees go soft.

“Lando…” you whispered against his mouth, the syllables shaky and too honest. “You said I deserved a good night.”

He pulled back just enough to see you, just enough to let his eyes search yours. His thumb brushed along your cheekbone.

“I did,”

“I want to have a good night,” you said, barely more than a breath.

His gaze flickered, the meaning not lost on him.

He knew what you were alluding. So he stilled for half a heartbeat, and you could see it: the way he recalibrated, checked himself. Lando might have looked relaxed, but you saw the exact moment he stepped into the moment fully, no longer dancing on the edge of it.

“Are you sure?” he asked, quiet and calm, though you heard the question buried beneath it. “It’s not what this is about…”

Your fingers tightened in his hoodie.

“I know, I know…”

And then everything changed, because you added: “ve never been more sure about anything.”

His hand slid into the back of your hair, warm and careful, as if he were trying not to jostle the moment too hard, like you were glass he wasn’t ready to shatter. But the kiss that followed, that wasn’t careful. That was full and greedy and slow in the way that meant he was trying to take his time, trying not to devour, even as his mouth tilted into yours with heat that didn’t lie.

He let his fingers skim down to your waist, both hands now cradling your hips, and as he stepped you gently backward, the curve of his lips ghosted over yours again.

Your back hit the car and you felt the way his palms splayed wide along the back of your naked and smooth thighs, guiding. His fingers hooked just enough under your knees to give the suggestion. You shifted, letting him lift you with a small grunt of effort onto the hood of his car, knees parting instinctively.

He stepped forward to stand between them with an ease that could have melt down any girl’s heart.

That angle changed everything.

Suddenly his chest was right there, level with yours, and his hands didn’t hesitate, finding your hips again, thumbs stroking along bare skin where your dress had ridden up.

You tilted your head, watching him as his eyes swept down your body slowly, deliberately, like he was giving himself permission to look.

“I want you to know… I didn’t bring you here with any intention.” His voice was rougher now, quieter.

You didn’t even blink.

Your hand slid up to cup the side of his jaw, thumb brushing just beneath his cheekbone, guiding his gaze back to yours so he could see the truth as clearly as you felt it.

“I know,” you whispered. “Lando. I kissed you first, remember?”

Some invisible wall cracked open and he stepped all the way through, no longer trying to calculate or control the moment.

It was different now.

There was no tension in his body, only heat and longing and a kind of sweetness that unspooled with every stroke of his tongue against yours, every soft inhale between kisses that sounded like he was trying to memorize how you tasted.

He pressed a kiss to the center of your neck, just beneath your ear, then again lower, and lower still, trailing a map on your skin as you tipped your head back to give him more room.

And oh, he groaned when you did. A sound of approval that buzzed against your skin as his tongue flicked out to taste the salt of you where your pulse fluttered hard.

His hands were moving too now.

But even then, even with his mouth on your neck and his hands beneath your dress, there was no rush in him. No crude hunger. Just a kind of aching patience, like he wanted everything but wanted to take his time earning it.

And god, he was so good at kissing. Not just skilled, but present with every press of his lips.

“I’d love to touch you,” he whispered, voice rough like gravel scraped thin with emotion. “I want to. So bad. But… I would be totally okay if you didn’t want this to happen here like… out in the open”

He trailed off, clearly giving you the out, even as his thumb brushed your lower lip but never pushing.

You laughed softly, breathless, a little dazed from his mouth, and kissed him again. Quick and teasing this time, pulling back before he could deepen it. “You’re sweet,” you murmured, voice low with heat, brushing your nose against his.

“There’s a whole car behind us, you know,” you whispered. “We don’t have to do this on the hood.”

For a second, Lando just looked at you, blinking once, then breaking into a grin so bright and filthy that it made your chest clench.

“Yeah, you’re right” he said, chuckling a little bit keeping his tone serious “But that still applies, y’know.”

You kissed him again, to reassure him and give him a fingere answer. And he seemed to get it immediately because one of his hands slipped around to the small of your back, the other trailed up, knuckles brushing the underside of your thigh where your dress had bunched.

He squeezed, pulling you flush against him on the hood, and your body responded automatically, grinding against the pressure of his hips with a soft, needy whimper in your throat.

“Back seat,?” he murmured against your skin.

You giggled, light and breathless, and slid your arms around his neck, letting him help you down. “Back seat.”

He caught you effortlessly, hands strong and sure under your thighs as he lowered you off the car hood, your bodies never quite separating. Even when your feet touched the ground, you were still in his arms, still held, his mouth dragging over your temple, your cheek, the corner of your jaw.

He laughed again and then slipped an arm around your waist, guiding you both to the rear door of the car. He opened it with one hand, never letting go of you with the other, and then gestured gallantly with a tilt of his head.

“After you,” he said, grinning.

He followed, door closing behind him with a soft thunk, and as soon as the latch caught, something between you changed again. He leaned in without a word, hand catching the back of your neck, pulling you to him.

The kiss this time was messier, hungrier, full of urgency he hadn’t let himself indulge on the hood. His hands found your waist, tugging you closer as he shifted in the narrow space, and your legs opened to make room, thighs parting around him.

You wanted all of him. Right here in the darkened space of the backseat, where the world narrowed down to breath and skin and that dizzying, perfect electricity that only existed between two people who knew this wasn’t just about sex.

For once.

You could feel him smiling when you arched into him, a cocky, breath-warmed curve of his lips against your cheek.

“God, you’re unreal,” Lando murmured, voice reverent, like the words had broken out before he could stop them.

And the way he said it, cool and teasing but laced with awe, like you were the sexiest thing he’d ever touched, it made your skin shiver.

His hands weren’t rushing, weren’t fumbling. They knew what they wanted. He pushed your dress higher, thumbs hooking the fabric and sliding it up your thighs until it bunched around your waist, then his palm found the curve between your legs.

A deep inhale. Then a low, smug exhale when he felt it.

“Shit,” he whispered, eyes flicking up to yours like he needed to see your face as he traced over the damp cotton of your panties. “Already this wet for me?” His fingers pressed gently, dragging slow lazy circles, his knuckles grazing the edge of the damp spot spreading wider with every pass. “Haven’t even touched you yet.”

The space was tight, his knees bumping between yours, your back shifting against the seat as he leaned in, crowding you completely.

And then, his fingers finally slipped past the waistband, sliding under, and your breath caught hard as he groaned again, deep and low, the sound like it had been torn from his chest.

His thumb pressed to your clit and stayed there, firm and steady, while two fingers slid through the slick heat of you slow and patient, like he wanted to feel every inch.

“Jesus, baby,” he said, “So fucking wet I’m sliding right in.” And he did, curling just enough to make your hips jolt.

His fingers sank deeper with that perfect curl and the gasp that left your mouth was broken, high and helpless, with your head falling back against the seat as your hips instinctively rocked into his hand. You didn’t even mean to do it. But your body just moved, greedy and aching, chasing every pulse of pressure his fingers gave you.

You were soaked all of a sudden. You could hear it every time his fingers pumped in, the slick wet sound filthy and perfect in the closed, humid air of the car. And Lando… he was eating it up, enjoying every second with eyes fixed on your face with the kind of focus that made your chest squeeze tight.

It was absurd. All of it.

Not even an hour ago, you’d been sitting in the corner of your own birthday party, surrounded by people who smiled too wide and asked all the wrong questions, feeling invisible at your own celebration.

And now?

Now your head was thrown back in the steamed-up cocoon of Lando’s car, your thighs spread wide around his narrow hips, your panties pulled to the side as his long, perfect fingers worked inside you like they’d been crafted by a god with nothing better to do than design the exact way you liked to be touched.

So now you were moaning, writhing, clenching around him every time he curled those fingers just right, while the goddamn remnants of the Tesco birthday cake were probably still stuck in your teeth.

And it felt like a dream. A delirious, aching, impossible dream.

A boy with cake crumbs on his shirt and the fastest hands in F1 was making you feel more chosen in fifteen minutes than most people had in years.

And then, it happened so fast. Or maybe not fast enough.

He shifted just slightly, adjusting the angle of his wrist with that effortless finesse, and suddenly his fingers slammed against something deep inside you that made you suddenly feel devastatingly good.

And the noise that tore from your throat wasn’t a moan. It was a sob, a broken, grateful cry that punched out of you like it had been waiting your whole life to escape. Your entire body jerked in response, thighs clamping around his hand even as your hips rolled down to meet the next thrust, desperate and uncontrollable.

“There,” Lando breathed, eyes wide and wild with something bordering awe. “Right there, huh?”

And then he kept going.

He didn’t stop. Didn’t slow. His fingers hit that same spot over and over, unrelenting, like he’d found the part of you that made you sing and had no intention of letting it go. The heel of his palm crushed against your clit with each motion, every thrust coiling tighter, higher, harder inside you until you were shaking, babbling nonsense against his jaw as he kissed you again.

You couldn't think. Couldn’t see.

“Fuck, Lando…”

The pressure detonated. You came around his fingers with a wet, clenching pulse that didn’t seem to end, your body bucking against him as his name tore out of your mouth in strangled, gasping whimpers.

And you should have been spent. Should’ve melted right there in the heat of it, let him cradle you until the buzz faded.

But you didn’t want to stop.

Your hands moved on instinct, fingers scrambling for his belt, tugging open the buckle with clumsy desperation. You pulled at his jeans, dragging the zipper down even as you crashed your mouth to his again, kissing him like you needed air from his lungs. Lando let out a breathless laugh and pulled back just enough to yank his hoodie over his head, tossing it behind him somewhere in the front seats.

“Hey—hey, wait,” he said, voice low but steady, one hand catching yours just as it slipped inside the waistband of his boxers. He held you there, not stopping you, but grounding you. His fingers were still sticky with your arousal, warm against your skin. “Are you sure?”

His eyes searched yours in the dim light, the sincerity in them so naked it made your throat tighten. “We don’t have to do this just ‘cause it’s been a shit birthday or… I don’t know.”

The question wasn’t just words. It was in his touch, in the way he held you like you were breakable, precious. And you’d never felt less fragile than you did in that moment.

You leaned in, your lips brushing his in a slow touch, so tender it made his breath hitch.

“I said I want this,” you whispered, “ And not because it’s my birthday. Or because I was sad and you bought me a cake.”

“I want this,” you repeated, punctuating each word with a kiss: cheek, jaw, the corner of his mouth. “I promise you.”

Then you pulled back just far enough to look at him. His cheeks were flushed, curls damp from the heat between you, his lips parted and kiss-swollen, and his cock straining against his boxers under your palm. But his eyes… his eyes were soft. Waiting. Giving you space.

A slow smile curved your lips as you leaned in and whispered, hot and sweet against his skin:

“Now shut up, and get a condom.”

Lando’s laugh was breathless, shaky, and so fucking turned on. “Yes, ma’am,”

He moved fast, fumbling with the glovebox with one hand while the other never left your body, fingers sliding along your thigh, tracing lazy shapes in your skin like he couldn’t not touch you. He found the little silver packet, tore it open with his teeth like he’d done it a hundred times before he rolled it down his length smoothly.

You couldn’t stop staring. He was flushed down to his chest, muscles shifting under that perfect, lean body as he settled back between your legs. His cock was already leaking before he even touched you, it stood proud and heavy in his hand, and the sight alone made your thighs fall open wider in welcome.

Before you could even catch your breath, his hands were suddenly on you: one strong arm sweeping under your thighs, the other gripping your waist, and with a breathless yelp you were lifted effortlessly off the seat. You squealed, half-laughing, half-shocked, hands scrambling f on his shoulders on instinct as he shifted you into his lap like it was nothing.

“Lando!” you gasped between laughs, still breathless from arousal and now from surprise, your thighs bracketing his hips.

He grinned up at you, that infuriatingly confident smile laced with just the right amount of sweetness, like he lived to make you laugh like that.

“C’mere” he murmured “If we’re really gonna do this, I want the birthday girl to fucking ride me in the backseat.”

He was watching you like he wanted to burn every second of this into memory. His hands slid down, slow and patient, fingers curling under the edges of your ruined panties, still damp and clinging to your thighs.

You lifted your hips and let him ease them down your legs, the fabric dragging sticky and slow over your slick skin. He let the panties fall to the floor, his eyes never leaving yours as he smoothed his hands up your thighs, pushing your dress higher, exposing you completely.

You felt open, bare, seen in a way that should’ve made you feel vulnerable, but it didn’t. Not this time. Not with him.

You could feel him there, hot and hard, pressed against the soaked heat of your cunt. It made your stomach flip, made your heart race, made you need him.

“Ready?” he murmured against your lips.

You nodded, barely able to breathe.

He gripped himself in one hand, the other steady on your hip, and guided you down slowly, the tip of his cock parting your folds with maddening, delicious pressure.

“Oh fuck,” you hissed, your hands flying to his shoulders for balance as you sank onto him, inch by inch.

It was a lot. He was thick, long, stretching you open in a way that made your thighs tremble instantly. You paused halfway down, your walls fluttering around him, trying to adjust, and he didn’t push. He held still, hands rubbing soothing circles into your hips while his lips started pressing tender kisses to your shoulder, your collarbone, your jaw.

“You’re doing so good, baby,” he whispered, that nickname giving you shivers “So fucking good. Take your time. You feel incredible.”

You whimpered, eyes shut, muscles tight with the effort of taking him. But slowly, breath by breath, you began to lower yourself again, feeling every thick, pulsing inch as he slid deeper inside.

“Jesus Christ,” he groaned. “You’re so tight. Can feel you squeezing me.”

You bottomed out with a gasp, your body fully seated in his lap, his cock buried deep inside you.

“Fuck,” you whispered, breath shuddering. “You’re… big.”

Lando’s laugh was low and wrecked “Yeah?” he said, hands smoothing up your sides, thumbs brushing just under your breasts.

You nodded, unable to form words.

“Take a second, then” he murmured, kissing your chest and trailing up to your shoulder again.

You did, staying still as your muscles slowly adjusted, the stretch turning from burn to pleasure. You could feel your heartbeat in your cunt, every throb dragging against the thick press of him inside you. And when you finally rocked your hip, just a little, you both groaned in unison.

His hands slid back to your waist, fingers splaying, guiding your movements as you began to ride him in slow, tentative rolls.

“That’s it,” he whispered. “Just like that, baby. You’re doing so fucking good”

The praise went straight to your core, as potent as the stretch of him inside you. You rocked against him again, a little harder this time, your thighs clenching around his waist. He moaned, his head dropping back for a second before snapping up again, eyes locked on the way you moved.

You needed more. More than slow and soft.

So you shifted your balance, planting your feet on either side of his hips and leaning back until your spine arched and your palms found leverage on his thighs.

And fuck, the new angle…

Your head fell back with a sharp moan, your hips beginning to move in deliberate, grinding circles now, your ass slapping softly against his thighs as you started to ride him with intent. Each thrust dragged him over that sweet, devastating spot inside you, and he felt it. How clenched and tight you were, how you were squeezing him.

“God, look at you…” he mumbled between his teeth “Riding me like it’s what you were made for.”

And then his hands were on your breasts.

He leaned forward, strong arms wrapping around your torso to pull you closer, mouth trailing hot, open kisses down your chest. His lips closed around one nipple, sucking gently before teasing it with his tongue, his hand kneading the other breast as if he couldn’t decide which one he loved more. The sensation made your hips stutter, made your breath break in your throat.

“Fuck, Lando—”

“Yeah” he growled. “Take what you need, baby.”

You reached up blindly, one hand bracing against the car’s ceiling to steady yourself, careful not to bump your head as your pace built.

But even with him inside you, even with his mouth on your breasts and his hands guiding your hips like they were the most sacred thing he’d ever touched, it wasn’t close enough. You needed more. Needed him. Surrounding you, holding you, breathing you in like you were the only air in the car.

So you shifted again, chest heaving as you leaned forward, arms wrapping around his neck, pulling him in until there was nothing between you but sweat-slick skin and the frantic rhythm of your bodies moving together. He went willingly, groaning into your mouth as your lips found his again. This time it was all tongue and teeth.

You moved like that: close, tight, grinding down onto him with deeper, rolling thrusts that had his head falling forward against your shoulder. Every sound you made now was right in his ear. You felt him shudder every time you gasped his name, felt the tremor that ran through his thighs when you moaned, “Lando, fuck… feels so good…” like it was the only truth left in the world.

And then his hand slid between your bodies again.

You felt it, slipping down your belly, finding that swollen bundle of nerves just where you needed it most. His thumb pressed in slow, steady circles against your clit, perfectly in sync with the rhythm of your hips, and your whole body jerked, a shudder ripping through you as your forehead dropped to the crook of his neck.

“Oh god” you whimpered, arms tightening around his shoulders and ails digging into his back. “Fuck, don’t stop—”

“Wasn’t planning to,” he groaned while his teeth were gently scraping along your jaw. “Gonna keep you right here, sweetheart, takin’ my cock so well.”

Every filthy word made your hips move even harder, your walls clench around him. He was everywhere: inside you, around you, with you. His voice in your ear, his hand on your clit, his cock filling you so deep it made your legs tremble.

“You close?” he was now kissing along your collarbone softly. “Can feel you fucking gripping me …”

You nodded, not even trying to hold your moans anymore.

“Good girl,” he breathed while his fingers were circling your clit even faster now. “That’s it, then. Come on, birthday girl. ”

Your orgasm tore through you like a wave breaking clean and wild against rock. Violent and consuming. You cried out arching your back and locking your arms tightly around his shoulders as your cunt clamped down on him with need.

Your hips didn’t stop tho, or maybe couldn’t stop.

You still moved.

Even as the waves of pleasure tore through you, your body kept rolling, grinding, giving, chasing every last bit of stimulation because you wanted him to feel it too. You wanted to pull him over the edge with you, keep him deep and tight and overwhelmed until he had no choice but to let go.

And he did.

“Shit,” Lando choked, his voice ragged and shaking as he bucked up into you one final time, deep and desperate, fingers digging into your hips like they were the only thing tethering him to reality. His whole body locked beneath you, breath punched out of his lungs as he came, hard, cock twitching inside you as he spilled into the condom with a groan that vibrated against your collarbone.

You clung to him, chest to chest, body slick and trembling and full, your cunt still fluttering in the aftershocks of your own climax, milking every pulse of his release. He moaned again, quieter this time, buried against your skin, the sound soft and wrecked, like he was being undone even as he started to come down.

This time, you didn’t move. Neither of you did. Your bodies were pressed together, molded in sweat-slick intimacy, your heart hammering against his as your fingers slid through the curls at the back of his neck.

It was a long moment before either of you could speak.

“Jesus Christ,” you whispered finally “That was…”

“Incredible,” he finished, pulling back just enough to look at you. His pupils were still blown wide, hair clinging to his damp forehead, lips swollen and kiss-bitten. “You’re incredible.”

You laughed softly, a helpless, breathless sound that shook through you. You blinked down at him, your legs still draped around his waist, your dress hiked up, your panties missing somewhere on the car floor.

“You’re still inside me,”

He smirked, cheeky even while panting, his hands smoothing up your back. “I know,” he said, voice warm “Don’t wanna move. And If you gave me like ten minutes, I’d go again.”

You burst into laughter, collapsing onto his chest, burying your face in his neck. “I don’t think I can.”

The haze softened into something golden, sweet. He held you close, one hand stroking slow circles on your bare thigh while the other stayed curled at your lower back, like he was afraid to let go. You nuzzled closer, kissed the skin just under his jaw, and let your eyes flutter shut for a second.

It was four in the morning.

You could see the faintest pale light beginning to spill over the horizon, brushing the fogged windows with a ghost of dawn. The air in the car had cooled just enough to make your skin goosebump where you weren’t pressed to him. And you were wrecked. Spent. Sticky and sore in all the best ways.

And still… you’d never felt more alive.

You hadn’t expected anything. Hadn’t wanted anything, not really. Not a surprise party let alone a hookup.

And yet, here you were: two orgasms deep, wrapped around Lando Norris in the backseat of his Lamborghini, your dress hiked to your hips, your panties forgotten, your legs sore from straddling him.

It was absurd.

And perfect.

Eventually, Lando sighed, tilting his head to kiss your temple as he gently shifted beneath you. The movement was slow, careful, and when he finally slipped out of you, the sensation made you shiver. He hissed under his breath, half-sensitive, and reached down to peel off the condom. He tied it off, searching the car blindly until he found one of his sweatshirts and used it to gently clean you up between your thighs. You winced as he wiped over your oversensitive cunt, but he was gentle, murmuring soft apologies as he worked.

“We made a fucking mess.”

You giggled, wriggling at the ticklish sensation, and he leaned in to kiss your cheek again.

“Mom, this is the best day ever!” he exclaimed, his small feet practically bouncing with excitement.

His mother, Y/N, smiled down at him, squeezing his hand gently. “I’m glad you’re having fun, Leo. But remember, we have to stick together, okay? This place can get pretty crowded.”

Leo nodded earnestly, his big brown eyes scanning the bustling paddock. At just six years old, he already knew more about Formula 1 than most adults, a passion inherited from his mom. Y/N had grown up watching races with her dad, and now, as a single mother, she shared that same love with her son.

Leo’s favorite driver, without question, was Lando Norris. His room was decorated with McLaren posters, his toy cars all painted papaya orange, and his wardrobe—thanks to Y/N—now included Lando’s newly launched children’s merch line. The hoodie he wore today was his favorite piece, and he hadn’t stopped talking about it since it arrived in the mail.

“Do you think we’ll see him, Mom?” Leo asked, craning his neck to peer around a group of photographers.

Y/N crouched down to his level, brushing a stray curl from his forehead. “Maybe, sweetheart. We have paddock passes, so there’s a chance. But remember, the drivers are super busy, so we have to be patient.”

Leo nodded, though the excitement in his eyes didn’t dim. He clutched the small notepad and marker he’d brought, just in case he got the chance to ask for an autograph.

As they wandered through the paddock, Y/N couldn’t help but feel a wave of nostalgia. It had been years since she’d attended a race in person, but seeing it through Leo’s eyes made it even more magical.

“Mom! Look!” Leo’s voice was a mix of awe and urgency as he tugged on her hand.

Y/N followed his gaze and froze. Just a few feet away, leaning casually against a barrier and chatting with a team member, was Lando Norris himself.

“Go on,” Y/N encouraged softly, her heart swelling at the sight of her son’s hero so close.

Leo hesitated for a moment, his small frame vibrating with nervous energy. Then, with a deep breath, he squared his shoulders and marched forward.

“Hi, Lando!” he said, his voice high-pitched but clear. “You’re my favorite driver!”

Lando turned, his trademark grin lighting up his face as he crouched to Leo’s level. “Hey, buddy! Thanks for saying that. What’s your name?”

“Leo!” he said proudly, puffing out his chest. “And look! I’m wearing your hoodie!”

Lando’s eyes lit up as he took in the light blue hoodie, the logo of his brand displayed prominently on the front. “No way! That looks awesome on you, Leo. You’ve got great taste.”

Leo beamed, clutching the fabric of his hoodie. “My mom got it for me. She says you’re really cool, too!”

Y/N, who had been hanging back to give Leo his moment, felt her cheeks flush as Lando’s gaze shifted to her. He stood, his grin softening into something more genuine.

“Your mom sounds pretty cool herself,” he said, his voice warm.

Y/N stepped forward, laughing nervously. “Well, I’ve been a fan of the sport for a long time, so I guess I’m passing it on.”

“You’re doing a great job,” Lando said, glancing down at Leo, who was now rifling through his notepad. “It’s always nice to meet fans like you two.”

Leo held up the notepad eagerly. “Can you sign this? Please?”

“Of course!” Lando took the marker and scribbled a quick note, adding a little doodle of a race car next to his signature.

As he handed the notepad back, he turned to Y/N again. “Are you two here for the whole weekend?”

“Yes,” Y/N said. “It’s Leo’s first race, so I wanted to make it special.”

“Well, I think you’ve done a pretty good job so far,” Lando said, his tone teasing.

Y/N laughed, feeling a warmth spread through her chest. “Thanks. He’s been counting down the days for months.”

Lando crouched down again, ruffling Leo’s hair. “I hope you have the best time, Leo. And make sure you cheer extra loud for me, okay?”

“I will!” Leo promised, his face glowing with happiness.

As they walked away, Leo clutching his notepad like a treasure, Y/N glanced back over her shoulder. To her surprise, Lando was still watching them, a thoughtful smile on his face.

“Mom,” Leo said, looking up at her. “That was the best moment of my whole life.”

Y/N smiled, her heart full. “Mine too, sweetheart.”

Little did she know, it wasn’t the last time she’d see that thoughtful smile.

The rest of the day passed in a blur of excitement. Leo couldn’t stop talking about meeting Lando, recounting every detail of their conversation to anyone who would listen. Y/N smiled through it all, her heart full as she watched her son’s joy.

But as much as she tried to focus on the moment, she couldn’t quite shake the memory of Lando’s lingering gaze or the warmth in his voice when he spoke to her. It was probably nothing, she told herself. He was just being kind, like he always was with fans.

The next day, Y/N and Leo returned to the paddock, both dressed in their McLaren gear. Leo wore his hoodie again, proudly showing off the autograph Lando had added to the sleeve. The boy was on cloud nine, and Y/N couldn’t imagine how the weekend could get any better.

But then, it did.

As they wandered near the McLaren garage, a team member approached them with a friendly smile.

“Excuse me, are you Leo?”

Leo’s eyes widened as he nodded. “Yes! That’s me!”

The team member chuckled. “Lando mentioned meeting you yesterday. He thought you might like a closer look at the garage. Would you and your mom like to come in?”

Y/N blinked in surprise, her heart skipping a beat. “Are you serious?”

“Absolutely. Follow me.”

Leo practically dragged Y/N by the hand as they followed the team member into the garage. The space was a hive of activity, with engineers working on the cars and team members preparing for the upcoming qualifying session.

Lando was there, of course, leaning casually against the side of his car as he chatted with his race engineer. When he spotted Leo and Y/N, his face lit up with a grin.

“Leo! You made it!”

Leo beamed, running up to him. “This is so cool! Thank you, Lando!”

“Anything for my number one fan,” Lando said, ruffling Leo’s hair. He glanced at Y/N, his smile softening. “Glad you could make it, too.”

“I can’t believe this,” Y/N said, shaking her head. “This is amazing. Thank you so much.”

Lando shrugged, his eyes twinkling. “It’s nothing, really. I just wanted to make sure Leo had a weekend to remember.”

Leo was already engrossed in a conversation with one of the engineers, who was showing him the car’s steering wheel. Y/N took the opportunity to step closer to Lando.

“You didn’t have to do this,” she said, her voice low. “But it means the world to him. To both of us.”

Lando tilted his head, his gaze steady. “I could tell how much this means to you two. And honestly, it’s nice to meet fans who care about more than just the results. You’ve raised a great kid.”

Y/N felt a blush creep up her neck. “Thank you. That means a lot.”

They stood there for a moment, the noise of the garage fading into the background. Lando’s easy smile and the warmth in his eyes made her feel something she hadn’t felt in a long time—hope.

“Mom! Look!” Leo’s excited voice broke the moment as he ran over, holding a small piece of carbon fiber. “They gave me a piece of the car! Isn’t that cool?”

“That’s amazing, sweetheart,” Y/N said, crouching to his level. “You’ll have to find a special place for it at home.”

Leo nodded enthusiastically before turning back to Lando. “You’re the best driver ever!”

Lando laughed, crouching down to Leo’s level. “And you’re the best fan ever. Deal?”

“Deal!”

As they left the garage, Y/N couldn’t help but glance back one last time. Lando caught her eye and gave her a small wave, his smile lingering.

The rest of the weekend was a whirlwind of excitement. Leo cheered his heart out during qualifying and the race, and when Lando crossed the finish line in fourth place, he celebrated as if it were a win.

But the real surprise came after the race. As Y/N and Leo were preparing to leave, a McLaren team member approached them again, this time with an envelope.

“Lando asked me to give this to you,” he said, handing it to Y/N.

Curious, she opened it. Inside was a handwritten note:

Y/N and Leo, Thank you for making this weekend unforgettable. Leo, keep being the amazing fan you are. And Y/N, if you’re ever at another race, I’d love to see you again. Maybe we can grab a coffee sometime? -Lando

Y/N’s breath caught in her throat as she read the note. She glanced at Leo, who was already excitedly telling a passerby about his piece of the car, and then back at the note.

Maybe, just maybe, this weekend wasn’t just a dream come true for Leo.

౨ৎ

*:･ﾟ Notes; thank you for reading, love’s! Hope you all enjoyed it! If there is something wrong or need to be edited, let me know!

-

It was notorious at this point. F1 drivers and having their appendixes removed. 

After a physical exam, CT scans, and blood tests, his doctor broke the news. It wasn’t too late. But an earlier diagnosis would have helped his situation. 

“I’ll make some calls.” His trainer stepped outside, and he was left to his own thoughts. 

He would get an emergency appendectomy in a few hours, and at minimum he would be back racing in two weeks. 

Two weeks.

“Fuck.” 

—

He heard a different voice outside the hallway. Familiar, Australian. The door whined when it was forced open; that was getting on his nerves.

“He should be waking up within the hour.” The door shut, and all he could hear was someone's labored breathing. 

“Lando?” Oscar’s pitiful tone made his stomach twist. 

Careful footsteps came toward him, as if they would hurt him any further. One of those uncomfortable hospital chairs scraped against the tile, he felt a dip in the mattress. 

“They had me finish media duties." Oscar’s voice was now muffled. "The whole time I kept asking where you were, I got here as soon as I could.”

Lando’s eyelids felt superglued together. He was able to crack them open a sliver, just to be hit with blurry vision. He saw a brief picture of a blob of brown face down against the scratchy blanket. Lando’s hand inches away. Succumbing to his tiredness, he closed his eyes. But before sleep hit him completely, he heard Oscar’s light snores. 

—

May 16 - Imola Race Weekend

At five in the morning a nurse came into his room to administer pain medication. Oscar was still asleep.

“Oscar,” his own voice sounded foreign to him. Scratchy, dry, and in desperate need of water. Lando poked his head and pulled a lock of his hair. “You have to go get ready.”

“No...” Quiet and irritated as if his mother was waking him up for school. He turned to look at Lando, meeting his eyes. 

“Go race.” Lando looked away, jealousy clouding his mind. “I’ll be fine right here.”

“Bet. I’ll win.” Oscar gave a cheeky grin.

—

May 18 - Post Imola Grand Prix

Oscar did win, and Lando left a voicemail congratulating him. 

His recovery persisted.

—

May 19

His pain was easing up. After being bedridden for four days, his doctor advised him to start walking around.

His nurse, Jackie, accompanied him. They would walk around the courtyard, and she would regale him with the crazy stories she had amassed over the years. Currently, a new nurse was stationed under her ex-boyfriend, who desperately wanted to rekindle their doomed love.

—

May 21

He was more independent nowadays. Going to the cafeteria and creating suspicious concoctions was his new pastime. He knew most of the nurses' names and would strike up conversation with anyone who wasn’t occupied.

—

May 22

It was late. He should be in bed, but his restless thoughts wouldn’t allow him to sit still. 

As soon as he opened his door, an alarm went off. Nurses dropped what they were doing and scrambled towards the room number being shouted over the intercom. He clung to the wall like a fly. 

In the opposite direction of the chaos, he heard a faint beep. A room a few doors down had a door ajar. Shuffling across the hallway, he peered into the room. 

A woman around his age, maybe a couple years younger, looked at him with exhausted eyes. 

“Uh, everyone seems a bit preoccupied.” He looked around the room. A large suitcase, overflowing with clothes, swallowing the bench by the window. Other than that, it was barren. 

“Oh,” she was quiet. Her eyes lazily scanned over him. “What’cha here for?”

“I’m appendix-less,” he said proudly, puffing out his chest. “I join my coworkers as the third. What about you?” 

She fiddled with her hands. "Epilepsy, but it doesn’t ever get this bad.” She paused, his eyes full of curiosity. She continued, “One moment I was in my apartment, and the next thing I know, I’m being transported into an ambulance with my neighbor shouting at the paramedics.”

He remembered one of his buddies in his karting days had a seizure after a bad accident. He had to give up on his hope of ever continuing.

“Usually Honey would help me, but she realized it was out of her control.” A new addition to the room popped up into view. A brown labrador with suspicious eyes stared back at Lando. “She started barking and scratched at the wall to grab my neighbor's attention.” 

“That sounds like,” He hesitated, not sure how to respond, “A lot.” He rocked back and forth on the balls of his feet.

“Yeah,” her shoulders shrugged, “It’s my life, so I’ve come to terms with it.” That didn’t sound fair to him. 

A nurse’s voice appeared behind him, “Sorry sweetie." She pushed a few buttons and charted something before she looked accusingly at him. “Lando, you should be resting.”

His eyes met the girls’ once again. “I guess I’ll see you soon.” She smiled, now nursing a waterbottle. 

He turned around and started to walk back to his room but soon heard her voice. “Goodnight, Lando.” At that moment he realized he never asked for her name, but the nurse was already closing the door behind him.

He glanced at the room number.

204. 

—

May 23 - Monaco Race Weekend

He woke up at seven in the morning with a plan. 

Call the gift shop in the lobby and order a bouquet.

See the girl again.

Learn her name. 

Okay, scratch that. He did call the gift shop, but it went to voicemail, and he regrettably found out it opens at eight thirty. He tried to see her again at eight, but she was taken for some tests. Number three was even harder, something about patient confidentiality, and he’d have to ask her for her name himself. Oh, and he was being discharged at nine. 

Okay, Lando, you big idiot. New plan.

Leave a note.

He wasn’t sure she knew who Lando Norris was. So he settled on a simple, ‘I want to talk to you again. sorry for the sudden disappairrance, here’s my number. xxx-xxx-xxxx.’ He left it with the nurse he previously saw. She promised him it would make it to her. 

Hopefully he spelled disappearance correctly. 

Get discharged. 

Easy enough, his trainer flew back out to accompany him back to the MTC so they could evaluate his current condition. Regretfully, he left the hospital without seeing her again.

Call a florist for a custom delivery.

Sure, he could have gotten one of the hospital's pre-made bouquets delivered, but he felt extra guilty for his poor planning. Putting his hefty salary to good use, he stumbled through an order using his poor knowledge of flowers. With the helpful florist on the line, they settled on something. His only request was the color papaya, but when the worker gave a confused answer, he settled on orange. 

Wait.

This was the hardest part; Lando was impatient by nature. He didn’t know if she would ever reach out, but all he could do was hope. Looking out the window of the jet, he noticed Woking coming into view. 

—

May 25 - Monaco Grand Prix

Valtteri was subbing in for him. Pato was supposed to after he took his seat in Imola, but he was focusing on the Indy 500. 

Lando was only in the paddock for a couple hours to sign a few caps, film a promo video, and wave to the cameras. The whole time his phone was glued to his hand, silently praying for a response. 

—

June 29 - Post Austrian Grand Prix 

It had been over a month since he had a taste of victory. Champagne mixed with sweat was his signature scent for the evening. 

It had also been a month of radio silence. He didn’t want to think of the real meaning behind it, so instead he put his focus back onto racing. 

Walking into his hotel room felt like all the pressure and expectations had been stripped away. He could finally breathe. His brain switched on autopilot, and he started his post-race routine. Charge his phone—because you wouldn’t believe how many times he would wake up and miss his flight out—and take a scalding hot shower. Oscar calls him crazy for his love of the burning temperature, but when he’s not the winner, it doesn’t matter what Oscar thinks.

It was pitch black outside his window by the time he settled back down to check his phone.

‘1 MISSED CALL, 30 MINUTES AGO’

He stared at the screen, confused. The caller wasn’t labeled, meaning whoever had gotten his number must’ve been someone he knew or just a random prank caller. Deep in curiosity, his screen lit up and displayed the same number. He hesitated, answering after the fourth ring.

Unconsciously his breath stopped; he couldn’t get his hopes up. The line was filled with silence for what felt like an eternity.

“I saw you on television.” Her voice rang in his ears. “Lando? Are you there?”

“Yes, yes, I—” this night couldn’t get any better, “I’m here.” 

—

July 1 - Bologna 

Lando was nervous. Oscar had been his hype man after he told him that he finally scored a date. He pulled out all the stops: booking out an entire cafe, buying a papaya bouquet, and dog treats. 

The moment the bell by the door rang, all his anxiety washed away. 

Over lunch he learned all about the past month. She did receive the note and flowers, but due to her mother’s insistent warnings, she hesitated to reach out. But once she saw the familiar boyish grin on the TV, she followed her gut. 

Her father had been a Formula One fan before Lando was even born, but she never followed in his footsteps. So, to his surprise, she was nervous he’d already forgotten about her. 

“It’s been a while since I’ve been allowed to think about what I want. My life has been swallowed by IVs and hospital rooms.” Honey stirred beside the chair, dutifully keeping watch over her owner.

She picked at the cuticles of her baby blue painted nails. He moved to take her right hand and drew circles in the center of her palm. 

“I promise I’ll give you everything you ever want.” 

Just as you began to carefully sit up, you heard a soft rustling sound from the bedroom doorway. Peeking over, you spotted a small figure, a very familiar figure—a little silhouette with tousled hair, just like Lando’s, and sparkling eyes, trying best to tiptoe into the room. It was Thylane, with her tiny hands clutching her favorite blankie. You could see that she was struggling to hold back a giggle as she glanced over at her sleeping father.

Smiling, you brought a finger to your lips, silently shushing her. Thylane’s eyes widened, and she stopped mid-step, freezing in the doorway. You motioned gently for her to come closer to you, and she padded over quietly, looking up at you expectantly.

“Is Papa awake yet?” She whispered, voice barely more than a breath.

The eagerness in her tone made your heart swell, and you could not help but lean down, kissing her lightly on the forehead.

“No, mon amour,” you whispered back, brushing a stray lock of hair from her face. “Papa had a very late night with Uncle Max. He needs his sleep, let’s let him rest a little longer, hm?”

Thylane nodded, her expression brightening at the thought of what you had in mind. “But it’s Papa’s birthday! I want to say happy birthday to him!”

“I know, my love. But how about we go to the kitchen, just you and me, and make a special birthday breakfast for Papa? Then we can surprise him together when he wakes up, and…” you paused, heart fluttering as you thought about the special surprise you had planned, one that you had kept to yourself until today. “And there’s something very exciting we’ll be giving him. Something you’re going to help me with, too.”

Her eyes lit up, and she bounced on her toes, already whispering with excitement. “What is it, Mama?”

“You’ll see, mon petit trésor,” you murmured with a soft smile. “It’s a surprise just as much for you as it is for your Papa. Now, come on.”

You grabbed your silk robe by the vanity chair and put it on. Taking Thylane’s little hand in yours, you casted a quick glance back at Lando. You leaned over, placing a gentle kiss on his forehead, lingering just a moment. The warmth of his skin was comforting, and for a heartbeat, you just admired the peaceful look on his face, hoping he would carry that warmth with him when he awoke to find you both by his side. Then you carefully lifted Thylane into your arms to keep her quiet and avoid the soft creaks of the floorboards as you slipped out of the room together.

You and Thylane moved quietly into the kitchen, both of you filled with anticipation. The kitchen was softly lit by the morning sun, casting a warm glow over the countertops as you gathered everything you needed for Lando’s birthday breakfast, with Thylane already clutching the whisk with her small hands, her tongue poking out in concentration as she tried her best to mix the batter for the pancakes.

“Like this, Mama?” She asked, glancing up at you, her face bright with determination.

“Oui, parfait, mon ange,” you replied, ruffling her hair lightly. “Now, tu peux ajouter les blueberries. Add the blueberries, like this.” You handed her a small bowl of plump blueberries, showing her how to fold them gently into the batter.

She followed your instructions very carefully, not wanting to ruin Lando’s surprise, her little fingers pushing each blueberry into the mix with care, her eyes darting to you every so often to check if she was doing it right.

“Is Papa going to love it?” She whispered.

You leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead. “Of course Papa’s going to love it because you made it for him,” you assured her, watching her face break into a wide grin. “Now, pass me the flour, please—la farine. Careful, don’t spill.”

With both hands, Thylane picked up the small bag of flour and brought it over, the look of focus never leaving her face. She had switched to a more serious demeanor, taking her role as your little sous-chef very seriously.

“Here, Mama!” She said proudly, handing it to you as if it were the most delicate thing in the world.

“Merci, mon trésor,” you replied, taking the flour and measuring out the right amount for the batter. “Okay, now you can stir again, doucement, like this.” You demonstrated, letting her hands follow yours as you guided her through the gentle motions.

When the pancakes were stacked high on a plate, topped with fresh berries and a drizzle of maple syrup, you and Thylane both stood back, admiring your creation.

“Look at what we made together,” you said softly, squeezing Thylane’s shoulder. “Papa will be very happy.”

Thylane clapped her hands excitedly, bouncing on her toes. “Can we give it to him now?”

“Not yet,” you shook your head, a smile forming on your lips. “There’s one more surprise we need to get ready.”

Walking over to the drawer, you retrieved the small acrylic box, some soft cloth, and your carefully wrapped pregnancy test. Thylane’s brows furrowed as she watched you, her head tilting with curiosity.

“What’s that, Mama?” She asked, peering closely at the box as you placed the soft cloth inside.

“This, my love, is a very special surprise for Papa,” you knelt down so that you were eye-level with her, placing the test in the box atop the folded cloth. “Do you remember how you told me you wanted to have a little brother or sister?”

Thylane’s eyes sparkled, and she nodded eagerly. “Yes! Yes! Does this mean…”

“Yes, Tilly. This means you’re going to be a big sister.” You smiled warmly at her.

Her face lit up, her mouth forming a perfect little “O” of excitement. “Really, Mama? I get a baby brother or sister?”

“Yes, mon trésor,” you nodded, laughing softly at her reaction. “We don’t know yet if it’s a brother or sister, but the baby is here, right inside Mama’s tummy, just a little peanut for now.”

Thylane’s eyes went wide with wonder, and she pressed her small hands to your stomach as if she was trying to feel the baby herself.

“A baby peanut!” She giggled, delight shining in her face. “Can we call the baby that for now?”

“Of course,” you chuckled, brushing her hair back. “Until we know more, we can call your little sibling, baby peanut.” She grinned, clearly enamored with the idea, and watched carefully as you tied the ribbon around the box with care.

“Can I help with the ribbon?” She asked, her hand already reaching out eagerly.

“Of course, here.” You said, guiding her hand as she carefully looped the ribbon around, tightening it with a gentle tug and finishing it off in a neat bow.

“Where should we put it, Mama?” She asked, glancing around the room.

You took a quick look at the cozy space, then pointed to a spot on the kitchen counter, just out of Lando’s immediate line of sight.

“Right here,” you decided, setting the box down gently. “That way, Papa won’t see it right away.”

Thylane nodded, grinning widely. “I can’t wait to see Papa’s reaction!”

With breakfast prepared and the surprise box tucked safely out of sight, you and Thylane made your way back to the bedroom, eager to wake up the birthday boy. By now, the sun had fully risen, casting a warm glow across the room as you nudged the door open to your and Lando’s bedroom. You expected to see Lando still sleeping peacefully, but instead, he was already awake, propped up on pillows with his phone in his hand, scrolling with a sleepy smile on his face.

Before you could say anything, Thylane let out a squeal of excitement and sprinted towards the bed, practically launching herself onto him. Lando barely had time to react before she pounced, wrapping her arms around his neck and showering Lando’s face with small kisses.

“Happy birthday, Papa! Happy birthday! Happy birthday!” She chanted, each word punctuated with a giggling kiss to Lando’s cheeks, forehead, and nose. Lando can’t help but laugh, his eyes crinkling with joy as he pulled her close, enveloping her in a warm hug.

“Thank you, Tilly!” He replied, chuckling as he looked up at her. “I don’t think I’ve ever had such a special wake-up call on my birthday before.”

She nodded enthusiastically, her face flushed with pride. “I made you a biiiiig birthday card last night! It’s pink, and has lots of hearts and sparkles on it, and I even drew a race car!”

“Woah, a race car? Just for me? Now that is one special card,” he said, brushing a few stray curls behind her ear as he smiled up at her. “I can’t wait to see it. I bet it’s the best card in the whole world.”

Giggling, Thylane seated herself on top of his stomach, her little hands resting on his chest as she looked down at Lando with pure adoration. You leaned against the doorway, laughing at the sweet sight in front of you before walking over to the bed and settling down beside Lando.

“Good morning,” he murmured, his voice thick with sleep, but laced with affection. “I’m so happy that I get to spend my birthday with my favorite girls.”

You leaned in, brushing your lips softly against his. “Good morning, birthday boy,” you whispered, smiling against his lips before pulling back just slightly. “Happy birthday, my love.”

Lando grinned, puckering his lips again, silently asking for another kiss. Laughing, you leaned down, giving him another soft kiss, feeling his hand come up to gently cup your cheek. In that moment, it was just the three of you, wrapped in warmth and love, as if nothing else in the world existed. As you pulled back, Thylane let out a little giggle, pointing at the two of you with a mischievous grin.

“Ew, Mama and Papa!” She teased, though her face betrayed nothing but happiness.

Lando laughed, reaching over to ruffle her hair. “Hey, I deserve a birthday kiss, don’t I?”

“Papa! Mama and I made you a special breakfast!” She announced, clapping her hands. “We worked really, really hard. I even put the blueberries in all by myself!”

“No way! You mean to tell me you were my chef this morning, too?” Lando ticked her side, making her dissolve into giggles.

Thylane laughed, wiggling under his tickling fingers. “Yes, I’m your chef today! Mama showed me how to make everything.”

“Well, now I definitely have to see what my two favorite girls cooked up,” he said, sitting up slowly.

Lando reached over, wrapping an arm around your waist as he pulled you close, then lifted Thylane into his other arm. She squealed with delight, wrapping her arms around his neck and snuggling her head against Lando’s shoulder. As the three of you made your way to the kitchen, Lando kept his arm secure around your waist, pulling you close as Thylane chattered excitedly about breakfast.

“Mama taught me how to fold in the blueberries so they wouldn’t smush!” She said proudly. “And we made a big stack of pancakes with syrup and blueberries and…oh! And I even helped tie a bow for your present!”

Lando gave you a curious look over Thylane’s shoulder. “A present, huh?” He asked, raising an eyebrow with a grin. “I’m starting to think you two were up to a lot more than just breakfast this morning.”

“Hm, maybe we were,” you replied, smiling playfully as you reached up to brush a strand of his hair back. “But you’ll have to be patient to find out.”

He chuckled, squeezing your waist. “Well, I don’t know how much patience I have today. I mean, it is my birthday.”

Laughing, you reached up to plant a kiss on his cheek. “Good things come to those who wait, birthday boy.”

The three of you entered the kitchen, where the table was set with the special breakfast you and Thylane had made. Lando’s eyes sparkled as he took it all in, and Thylane beamed with pride, practically bouncing in his arms.

“Happy birthday, Papa!” She exclaimed one last time, her voice full of love and excitement, her little arms squeezing him tightly.

With Lando’s arm around you, and Thylane hugging him with all her might, it was clear to you that this birthday morning could not have started off any sweeter.

Breakfast was a cozy, peaceful affair, the three of you wrapped in the simplicity of the morning. You and Lando chatted about plans for his birthday dinner later, throwing around ideas and laughing at each other’s jokes, while Thylane happily watched her favorite show on her iPad, humming along with the familiar theme song of Little Einsteins. It was a gentle scene, just the three of you? Sharing a quiet, joyful space as the morning sun spilled across the table.

Lando seemed perfectly content, caught up in the warmth of the moment. He had almost forgotten about the small gift waiting for him, tucked away in the kitchen—until you stood up, brushing a gentle hand across his shoulder.

“Wait here for a sec,” you said softly, a hint of excitement in your voice. “Tilly, come help me with something for Papa.”

Thylane’s face lit up as she hopped down from her chair, glancing at you with a secretive smile. She knew exactly what was coming next. Taking her hand, you led her back into the kitchen, glancing over your shoulder to see Lando watching you both with a look of fond curiosity. He seemed completely oblivious to what was coming.

You reached into the cozy corner of the counter, pulling out the small, acrylic box you had hidden away with so much care. Inside, carefully wrapped in a soft cloth, was the positive pregnancy test. You knelt down, handing the box to Thylane, who held it carefully with wide, shining eyes.

“Okay, mon ange,” you whispered, giving her a gentle smile. “Give this to Papa, and make sure he opens it.”

She nodded, taking the box in her hands as if it were a treasure. Together, you walked back to the dining area, where Lando was watching you both with growing curiosity.

“What’s this?” He asked, raising an eyebrow with a playful grin.

Thylane held out the box, her excitement barely contained. Lando took the acrylic box, glancing from her to you, a mixture of awe and confusion on his face.

You smiled, wrapping an arm around his shoulder, leaning close. “Go on,” you said, voice soft with anticipation. “Open it.”

“Open it, Papa! Open it!” She echoed, bouncing slightly on her toes, her face brimming with excitement.

Lando carefully untied the delicate ribbon that Thylane had helped you with that morning, his fingers moving slowly as if savoring the moment. The box felt light in his hands, and his expression shifted from curiosity to wonder as he lifted the lid, pulling away the cloth inside. The instant he saw the test, his eyes widened, and Lando looked up at you with a mixture of disbelief and joy.

“Is this…” he stammered, his voice barely more than a whisper, as though he was afraid he might shatter the moment. “Is this real? Is this for real?”

You nodded, unable to contain your own smile as you squeezed his shoulder. “Yes, love. It is real.” You watched his face light up as the reality of it washed over him.

“Happy birthday, my love.” You added softly, feeling your own heart swell with happiness.

Lando did not hesitate. He stood up, pulling you into a tight embrace, arms wrapping around you as he lifted you off of your feet, twirling you in a gentle circle. His laugh was warm and filled with immense happiness so pure that it brought tears to your eyes.

“After all this time,” he murmured, voice thick with emotions as he pressed a kiss to your cheek. “We’re really going to have another baby?” You nodded, laughing through your tears.

“I found out a few weeks ago, when you were in Mexico. I wanted to wait until today to tell you.” You placed a hand on his cheeks, gazing up at him with all the love you had been holding back for weeks. “It took everything in me not to tell you the moment I found out.”

He kissed you softly, his forehead pressing against yours as he whispered. “Thank you for waiting, love. This…this is literally the best birthday gift I’ve ever had.”

“Papa, did you see? It’s real!” She said, beaming and clapping her hand, while bouncing in happiness. “I’m going to have a baby brother or sister! I told Mama I want to call them baby peanut!”

“Baby peanut, huh?” Lando chuckled, bending down to lift Thylane into his arms, bringing her close to the two of you. Kissing her forehead, and looking at you with a grin. “I think that’s a perfect name, for now.”

“Papa, can we tell everyone? All our friends?” Thylane’s face lit up at the thought, and she looked back and forth between you and Lando.

“Soon, Tilly. But for now, let’s keep it our little secret, okay? Just between us.” He leaned down, dropping his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “That way, we can keep baby peanut all to ourselves a little longer.”

“Our little secret!” She nodded seriously, her eyes wide as she held her finger to her lips. “I’m really good at secrets, Papa. I won’t tell anyone!”

You all just stood there, basking in the warmth and happiness of the quiet moment, Lando had never felt a new kind of peace settle over him. This was everything he had ever wanted, everything he had ever dreamed of. A family, life filled with love and laughter, and now, another little one on the way.

Lando let Thylane down, letting her run towards the living room to play with her toys. He reached out, threading his fingers through yours and giving your hand a gentle squeeze, and kissing it softly.

“Thank you,” he whispered, his voice breaking a little bit. “For this, for everything. You’ve given me the greatest gift of all.”

You squeezed his hand back, your own eyes shining with emotion. “I love you,” you murmured. “Happiest birthday, my love.”

As Lando held you closely, he realized that this was a happiness beyond anything he could have ever imagined.

“Baby.” Lando said standing at your doorway like a kid cross over missing dessert.

“Yeah?” You said mindlessly fiddling with the wheels of the small plastic car.

“What is that ugly thing doing on your keys?” He said as he pointed incredulously at the horror that was your keys.

“What— how are my legos ugly?” You asked, you thought it was cute.

“It’s a Ferrari!” He stated like that was the most obvious answer for his pouting.

“Yes… and?” You said

“I know Charles is good looking but not THAT good looking!” He said as he started to walk around the room 

“This has nothing to do with Charles.” You said while taking a seat on the edge of the bed, “I liked Carlos more anyways.”

“Why didn’t you pick my car?” He whines

“It was a blind box I can’t choose the car,” You stated holding up the packaging 

“It’s official I am getting you another.” He said as hey grabbed the keys for his Mclaren “I am not letting my girl walk around with some Ferrari on her.”

Which is how you ended up staring awkwardly at the cashier 4 minutes before closing at the mall while she scanned 17 lego blind boxes.

“That’ll be 84.49, cash or card?” she said with the air of someone who had been spaced out this entire shift

“card please” Lando said with his signature shit eating grin. The one you could kiss for ages and yet still get annoyed by. 

Which finally led to you and Lando cuddled up on the couch, some trashy tv show playing in the background and the sound of ripping plastic and cardboard filling the flat.

“I got another Williams,” he said, in 6 boxes which contained 1 more Ferrari, 1 Alpine, 1 Aston Martin and 3 Williams’

On your 7th box you both squeal at the papaya as it hits your eyes. You see Lando swiftly connecting pieces and then ripping the lego Ferrari off your keys and replacing it with the mini Mclaren.

“Much better” he stated