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What bothers me most is exactly what you said: it kills the community aspect. I write so I can share, someone else reads it at 3AM perhaps, somebody else comments, likes, sends it to their friends, mutuals etc. That’s the ecosystem that keeps us here. Fanfiction has historically been one of the few creative spaces where access isn’t supposed to depend on a wallet. Charging for as much as a 5k-word story feels completely against that culture to me. It’s disgusting.

Honestly, I can’t comprehend it. But maybe people genuinely don’t realize the ethical mess they’re stepping into. Not that it matters much, copyright law doesn’t work on vibes and disclaimers anyway.

Unfortunately, I am nosy as fuck so can you guys send me some of these authors? I wanna see something...

Fanfiction is something we create because we love the source material, we love writing and we’re passionate to the point where we want to have fun with it; give it a personal touch. Playful, sad, angst, fluff, smut, AUs etc. It’s transformative work built on characters, worlds, or real people we don’t own. The whole beauty of a fandom is that people are making things (stories, art, merch etc.) because they want to express themselves within a certain fandom, not because they want to get rich.

If you want to support a writer because you love their work, that’s a different story. Buy Me a Coffee, Ko-fi, Patreon membership for supporting the creator are lovely ways of saying hey I really appreciate the time and effort you put into this. But to purchase specific fanfic? Worse, to ask people for X amount of money because I’ll give you exclusive *insert person name* fic that you cannot read anywhere else??

Mental.

The legal side is also why I would be very uncomfortable with it. Fanfiction involves copyrighted characters/worlds or, in the case of RPF (real person fiction), real people’s identities. Copyright owners hold rights over derivative works and, depending on the jurisdiction, commercial exploitation can make an infringement claim considerably more complicated. There is no such thing as I changed the story so I can sell it or I made this person act different than they act in real life so I can sell it. With RPF specifically, because that’s what I was looking into before starting this blog, just because fandom has normalized writing about public figures doesn’t mean that automatically gives us the right to commercially exploit their likeness. That’s 100% out of the question. You make profit off it, you can get sued, period.

The funniest thing is that I can simply just observe someone and I instantly get specific vibes and answers to questions I didn’t ask yet. It’s something that happens quickly, like I’m getting all the info at once and it’s sometimes very overwhelming ngl. But I’m rarely wrong, I must admit, so I’m not that surprised the cards say the same thing 🤷🏼‍♀️💭

Now, while my freaky agendas are obviously for fun (please don’t take them as gospel lmao), I do write them based on whatever I am picking from the person. If it makes sense in my head, it makes sense for a reason (I’m insane).

Lando is very easy to read. To me, he is. He’s unapologetically putting himself out there and he’s basically walking around with subtitles when he does, the freak. It’s a good thing I speak his language and I can translate.

Also, can I just say... the fact that y’all immediately think oh yeah t needs to see this is one of the highest honors I’ve received. :,)

This is what I’m currently dealing with, and I can tell you that I have two goals for now: 1) work my way through those drafts (which is going to be a slow process, unfortunately, but at least we’re moving forward 🥲), and 2) edit some of my old fics,* because people are still reading stuff I posted back in 2024 and I sometimes cringe when I think about their quality (I am aware of my blog name, thank you very much). But yeah, that’s where my focus is for now 🫠

*I wil most likely reblog the fics that I am editing as I go, and don’t worry, it won’t be anything heavy and I won’t touch any of the plots, so if you see them on your dash you can just ignore me ^^

✶ date ──── Aug. 3, 2026

✶ a/n ──── Alright. Two posts in two days... all I’m saying, don’t get greedy, I just HAVE TO go through my drafts at some point #DoItScared #SendHelp :,)

Thank you for reading!

None of my works are available for reposting on other platforms. Reblogs, likes, and comments are deeply appreciated ♥︎

✶ date ──── Aug. 2, 2026

✶ a/n ──── Hiii, my lovelies 🫶🏻 I’m severely absent lately (not without good reason, I promise), so to cure my guilt, I’m briefly showing leg with this os that pretty much consumed my brain. Anyway, we’ll read each other very soon, because this will have a Part 2, which is currently work in progress. Until then, stay safe and enjoy the filth 💋💋

readerusername

📍 Vertigo Club, Monte Carlo

Liked by calrissi4n, maxfewtrell and others

readerusername I’m always on my #worstbehavior 💦

Comments...

user1 well, keep it going 🤤🤤 readersbff actually offensive how pretty you are ⤷ readerusername 🫶🏻 user2 obsessed 😍 readersfriend1 interesting how I couldn’t find you after this... ⤷ readerusername can’t talk here, email me readersfriend2 save some for the rest of us??? ⤷ readerusername i’m selfish :( theguyinthepic 🔥🔥🔥 ⤷ calrissi4n 🧯🧯🧯

“ＹＯＵ ＳＨＯＵＬＤ ＢＥ more careful. You’re so easy to find.”

His breath comes hot against the skin of her bare shoulders as he speaks, leaving goosebumps in its wake. She sensed him in seconds and now, Lando’s hands squeeze firmly into her waist, inviting her into his personal space from behind. He loves to make his presence felt this way, and she knows that the reason for it is because Lando likes to be a hundred percent sure her attention won’t get derailed by anything else. 

He’s here, he came, he understood. 

A knowing smile curves at her lips. She leans back to rest her head on his chest like she belongs there, and the fact that Lando indulges her antics is enough for her to keep claiming him so intimately. 

Slightly tilting her head, her cheek gently brushes his jaw as she speaks. “I wasn’t hiding.”

Lando’s jaw flexes. “Havin’ fun then, I reckon?”

“I am, now that you’re here.”

Her words are light but set heavy between his lungs, leaving him breathless for a beat. Lando knows she’s thriving in this environment, playing games while having everyone buzzing around her. Including him. Especially him, perhaps; it’s exactly why she manages so well to get a reaction out of him anytime she feels like it.

“Yeah?” Lando challenges. “So that’s why you posted that shit? To watch me run to you like a headless chicken?”

The girl hums. “Mmmaybe…”

“And who were those wankers hanging around you?” continues Lando without filter, his grip tightening a fraction.

“Don’t tell me you’re jealous,” she laughs, turning in his arms as fluid as the music, her hands sliding up his chest to toy with the collar of his shirt.

Inhaling sharply, his gaze falls down on her. “Isn’t that what you want?”

“See, this is why you have so many fan girls, Norris,” she teases, “You’re so hot when you’re confident, even when you’re wrong.”

Her eyes meet his, sparkling with the promise of something more and, just as it always goes when it comes to her, Lando knows that more usually ends with him biting his tongue, desperately trying to keep all the frustrations in his fists. What irritates him most isn’t that he keeps on wanting her, but can’t, for the life of him, understand why. Why is she an exception to the rule? Why, despite knowing the outcome by heart, does he always finds himself circling back, helplessly drawn to the one person he can never quite ignore, no matter how hard he tries?

“Just answer the fucking question. Do you know them?”

She laughs again, louder this time, then shrugs. “No, not really… friends of friends,” she explains, her thumbs tracing lazy patterns on his neck, drawing him into the pull-push rhythm she is acutely aware that drives him mad.

There’s no label to what they do. Sometimes it’s afternoons tangled in expensive sheets, with palms resting over familiar skin. Other times it’s quick mornings before catching flights. Most of the times, it’s nights like this, when neither of them is in a hurry to reach the other because they both know that there will be a finish line at the end, regardless of how fast or slow they move.

He can’t get himself to behave when she’s like this, all elegant temptation wrapped in vulgar promise. Although she’s playing, she does it so good that he can find in himself to excuse it. It’s like she’s casting silent spells with her eyes and cursing him with her smile. It’s damn hard not to fall for it.

“Did you come alone?” it’s her turn to question him, pressing her body into his with the same normalcy as always. 

He shakes his head. “Max is upstairs with the guys to see if he can snag a table,” on the next inhale, the smell of her perfume cuts through the club’s haze, making his pulse race, yet anchoring him at the same time.

It’s rarely the same one, he’s noticed, as if she has different personas for every day of the week. Tonight, she wants to draw as much attention to herself as possible, the scent sweet and seductive, and it could make anyone follow it to the ends of the earth if it came to that.

Lando has just decided he will.

“Did you kiss anyone?” he shoots back, no preamble, the words slightly dipped in that jar of jealousy he has absolutely no right to own.

The girl blinks up at him, pretending to think about it, only to mess with him further. The bass vibrates through the floor as various bodies move around them in a blur of heat and sweat and some very questionable smell, but they barely notice any of it. His entire focus narrows down to her mouth and that glossy pout she keeps pressing together because, oh, how she enjoys torturing him.

Instead of answering, she rises onto her tiptoes to brush her nose against his in a silent ‘no’. At that, the tension in his shoulders loosens instantly, almost impossible not to perceive.

“Respect yourself, Norris,” she chuckles.

He puffs out a breath, annoyed that she sounds so pleased with the outcome of her mischief. “No such thing when you do it on purpose.”

“Only ‘cause you’re so predictable.”

Suddenly, she leans back to put some distance between them and his body reacts on instinct, following without thinking.

Her eyes flick downward at the movement, just as amused. “See?”

“Ah, don’t start,” his jaw tenses, taking his hands off her in order to put back the distance she went for.

The smile on her face fades a little, understanding that, ultimately, she will always have the last word, and that can be both a blessing and a curse. It was their agreement, after all.

There are rules, of course, though neither of them is willing to call them out loud. Rules would imply a structure and structure implies permanence, a luxury they don’t have.

For instance:

They don’t kiss hello. Their first kiss of the night only happens once they’ve decided they’re staying together.

No leftovers; if one of them has kissed someone else that night, they’re off-limits for the next 24h.

If he disappears after a race weekend and leaves her messages unopened for days, she lets him.

No marking territory. That includes: hickeys, bruises, lipstick on collars, or leaving anything behind at the other’s place.

If she decides she doesn’t want him in her bed after inviting him over, he leaves without complaint; she also never watches him leave. 

No pet names outside the bedroom. Calling each other by their last name is always their go-to in public.

If he calls at 3 in the morning and she declines it, Lando has to wait for her to contact him; no more calls, double texting, or guilt-tripping, even if it drives him half insane wondering where she is and who she’s with.

No dates, no gifts, no couple-y activities.

Last but not least: don’t make it weird.

In other words, there is no ownership in whatever it is that they’re doing. They can leave whenever they want, come back without explanation, pause and rewind, and slip into each other’s lives as if no time has passed at all. In theory, it’s mature. A carefully negotiated freedom. Respect disguised as detachment, even.

However, the story changes in practice. It becomes the kind of contract that only works when both of them are willing to suffer and push through the uncertainty of it. And because sex is so good… they are, that’s the problem. But beneath all the space they give each other, the fragility of it all is painfully noticeable: the hyper awareness that either of them could end it at any moment, and the other would have to smile, nod and pretend it didn’t feel like losing a limb.

This is exactly why she keeps playing her games. The teasing and the calculated distance serve their purpose. Digging through the rational side of her brain, significantly smaller when Lando is near, she understands that if she keeps him chasing, then she never has to ask him to stay. Lando’s only allowing it because he’s also playing his own version of the same game, giving her enough to keep the door open — things like his attention, jealousy, the soft parts — but never enough to make her believe she can ever rely on it.

Luxury. They don’t have that.

They’ve built the entire partnership around illusions, convincing themselves that choice matters more than commitment. Over time, even though they won’t mention it, they learned that people who leave themselves an exit, rarely unpack their bags completely.

“Come on, wanna dance?” she ignores his frustration, extending her arm to pull him back into her space.

Lando shakes his head, shoving his hands into the front pockets of his jeans. “You know what I want,” it’s all he says, the deeper meaning of it getting right through her.

“What about Max?”

“Max also knows what I want.”

The girl laughs, playfully slapping his shoulder. “I can’t believe you told him about us, you’re so fucking annoying.”

“Well, technically, I didn’t tell him shit,” Lando defends himself, “He saw me texting you, and I just didn’t deny it when he asked if we’re fucking.”

She softens from the inside out at the way he lets out the unfiltered stream of thoughts. With her, Lando never bothers to censor or hide himself behind protective walls because, somewhere along the way, he’s decided she’s safe. 

Then, after a beat: “In that case, did you kiss anyone today?”

“I only got home a couple of hours ago,” he replies, glancing at the watch on his wrist for a few moments.

“Yes or no, Norris,” she pushes him, mostly because she needs to hear it.

He grins. “No.”

In fact, Lando hasn’t kissed anyone since the last time he kissed her, three weeks ago. Which is a lot of time, considering he’s very good at it. Not that he struggled to find willing company, there had been plenty, but between race weekends and another continent putting thousands of miles between them, the urge to shove his tongue down a stranger’s throat and/or temporarily wet his dick simply vanished.

She doesn’t need to know that, though.

“Alright,” she bites her lower lip briefly. “Yours or mine?”

One corner of Lando’s mouth tips upward as he reaches for her wrist, answering her question without words. She adopts his facial expression, smiling at the fact that, yes, is that easy for them to communicate. Instinctively, they both know it, anyway. Her apartment is much closer and they are buzzing with anticipation at the thought of touching each other as soon as possible. So, in reality, there is only one viable option.

He leads her toward the exit through the crush of bodies, between flashes of deep purple light. Once they step outside, the night air cools their senses a little. Lando releases her wrist, just in case, but she stays close, following him around the corner of the building to where his car awaits, hidden in the dark. 

Lando barely has time to unlock it, let alone reach for the handle. She moves fast, her palms finding his chest, then the thickness of his neck, curling her hands around it. His back meets the cold metal behind with a subdued thud, more startled than hurt, and before the surprise can register, she rises onto her toes to kiss him, the collision of three weeks spent convincing herself she didn’t miss this dissolving in the way the noise in her head simply falls silent.

His hands instantly settle at her waist to pull her closer, then slide lower, fingers spreading across the curve of her ass to squeeze. As a response, she whimpers against his lips, desperately searching for one of them so she could guide it between her legs. For a heartbeat, Lando simply lets her have it, breathing a sigh of relief at the thought that they’re both incredibly, absolutely, with-no-chance-of-recovery, monumentally screwed.

Satisfied, she melts into him with another quiet sound she immediately tries to swallow; it’s embarrassing how much she’s craving that exact touch.

Lando smirks into the kiss, feeling the heat of her through the thin fabric of her panties. “’s that bad you can’t even wait, hm?”

As she prepares to reply, his fingers graze her clit, making her hum instead. Her hips jerk forward while he rubs slowly over the material, savoring the way her breath stutters. She can’t help but cling to him as if the world would end if he stopped touching her right now. To assure her it won’t, Lando deepens the kiss, tongue sliding over hers, wet and skillful, one more time before he pulls back to speak.

“Get in the car and lose those panties.”

The leather seat sighs beneath her as she drops into it, fingers already hooking beneath the band of her panties. She lowers them down her thighs with impatience boiling in her veins, kicking them free until they land somewhere on the floor mat. 

Lando slides behind the wheel, one hand already turning the key as the other reaches across the console. The engine roars to life beneath them, its vibrations rumbling through the floorboards and straight to her core. His wide palm finds the bare skin of her inner thigh right away, slightly shaking, a teasing little smile playing on his lips at the same time he turns to lock his eyes on her, the intensity behind them poking a hole right through her stomach.

Two fingers slip along her folds without hesitation, parting her with intentional pressure. She’s so prematurely soaked, dripping before he’s even found her entrance. As soon as he does, the sound that escapes her throat gets lost between a whimper and a plea.

“How the fuck are you so wet?” asks Lando as he pulls out of the parking spot one-handed. His fingers gather the slick that’s coating her, then smears it all over her pussy only to prove his point. “You didn’t get any before I got back?”

The girl spreads her legs wider, one hand gripping the door handle, while the other finds his forearm, nails digging into the muscle there. Her hips roll up to meet his movements, chasing the friction with a silent whine. 

The car accelerates smoothly onto the main road. Lando’s driving is flawless even as his middle finger sinks into her heat, curling against that spot that makes her vision blur. The wet sound of it fills the interior of the car, creating a kind of noise that makes his cock twitch in his jeans. Because of course, he’s already straining, the denim pulling tight across his lap as blood rushes south. The outline of him is insistent, therefore impossible to miss, but the hand on the steering wheel never wavers. Years of training have taught him to split his focus, to keep the car steady even when every instinct tells him otherwise. Right now, the same instinct screams to pull over and bury himself inside her, because he’s pretty sure he’ll ruin his pants by the time they get to hers. 

Just as quickly, Lando decides that he’ll make it because he has to, so he adds a second finger, working them in and out with precision, keeping his thumb lightly pressed on her clit.

“Too busy. Got work. No time,” she replies belatedly, her voice breaking the short sentences in tiny fragments.

So… that means neither of them had slept with anyone else, kissed anyone else, or tried to make a move on anyone else for three whole weeks. Interesting, Lando thinks to himself.

He glances at her briefly. “Aha,” his fingers start pumping in and out slowly, the heel of his palm grinding against her clit with each tamed thrust. “And now I have to deal with you, yeah?”

“Please,” the girl cries out, her hand squeezing the door handle on her side. 

Lando is not the one to deny her anything, especially when she’s asking for it so nicely. Every time he pushes in, he slightly spreads his fingers to stretch her open, then scissors them on the way out so she feels every knuckle drag along her channel. 

“I’ve got you, baby,” Lando guarantees. “You love fucking my fingers while I drive, don’t you? I can feel how fucking tight you’re getting.”

She tries to protest, but only manages a broken moan. 

Lando smirks, his eyes trained on the road as he angles his wrist and starts finger-fucking her harder with short yet sharp thrusts that punch right against her front wall. The intensity of it blurs her vision, sparks shooting up her spine then traveling straight to her extremities. It is a dizzying sensation that numbs her entire being. A feeling she was able to experience only through Lando, and even though she doesn’t yet know how to describe it — perhaps she never will, and that’s okay — one thing is certain: she will never forget its power.

“Shit, you’re making such a mess,” he scolds her in a gravelly voice, glancing at his right for a split second. Nevertheless, Lando doesn’t slow down, just keeps working his fingers in deep, curling and twisting until every nerve ending lights up.

With her lips parted, her head falls back against the headrest, breath coming out in ragged pants. The seat beneath her is slick with her arousal, the leather shiny where she’s leaked all over it. She can feel every callus on his fingers as they slide in and out of her clenching heat; she can feel her heart in her throat. The pressure builds so fast it steals the wind out of her and, before she knows, her walls flutter, her clit throbs at the constant contact with the bridge of his palm, then it hits her without warning.

Her pussy clamps down hard around him, pulsing as she comes. She squirms into her seat, sobbing, begging, praying that the blissful feeling would never fade. For that to happen, his fingers must remain buried inside her at all times. Now, later, forever. But as the waves start to ebb, the thought of Lando pulling out makes fresh tears prick at her eyes. With a trembling hand, she reaches down to wrap it around his wrist, silently asking for more, desperate to stay full.

Her own fingers dig into the edge of the seat, knuckles whitening as she holds herself open for him. “Please, don’t,” she breathes out, “Don’t take them out.”

Lando’s eyes snap sideways the second her voice cracks the plea. His heart slams against his ribs at the sight of her all wrecked and shaking and, as the car glides to a stop at the red light, he uses the hand on the steering wheel to recline her chair. The seat whirs back with a mechanical hum, tilting her body into a deeper angle that spreads her thighs wider.

Once the brake is set, he twists easily in his seat, angling his body so he can reach her properly. The other hand joins, wrist rotating until his palm faces upward. His fingers slide out to reposition, then push back with purpose. The new technique lets the pads of his fingers drag over that spongy spot inside her, pairing the thrusts with a broad sweep of his thumb across her swollen clit. She lets out a cry, but Lando is more interested in watching the amount of wetness that keeps leaking out of her.

“So fucking pretty,” he whispers, feeling her pussy tightening with each wink. “No wonder those fuckers were all over you.”

She wants to deny deny deny, but it’s just her moans that fill the car, echoing off the windows.

Lando watches her face, then glances down at where his hand disappears inside her. “Think you can take another?”

He’s not waiting for her to reply and, maybe a bit too optimistic, Lando adds a third finger, experimentally pressing at her entrance. He’s just testing the waters first, and when he’s sure she can take it, it slides in alongside the others, making her choke on another whine that comes from deep within.

Lando groans under his breath, feeling how tight she is around three digits, how her pussy asks for more and ripples with every slow thrust. It makes him wonder how on earth did he manage to make her trust him enough to let the carefully constructed wall slip from her features, leaving only pure feeling behind. The privilege of witnessing it baffles him. His thoughts scatter, multiplying faster than he can keep hold of them. Looking at her like this makes boundaries feel strangely artificial, because no arrangement is supposed to leave a person thinking this much about the other. 

“That’s it, you’re so fucking hot,” he praises, voice thick with arousal. “Getting ready for my cock, yeah?”

The light turns green.

Green light from her, too.

He drags in a breath, forcing himself to look away before meeting her eyes, only to catch her already looking at him with the same certainty. Fuck, fuck. Her body twitches and right when she gets dangerously close to the limit, Lando slows, easing the pressure but keeping his fingers inside to feel her relaxing. He loves on her with gentle strokes through her folds, spreading the mess she’s made, only the slight flex of his jaw betraying how affected he really is. Because he already knows she’ll occupy every corner of his mind until dawn.

“Lando…” her breath catches on his name, then fractures into a shaky exhale. Lando. It tastes unfamiliar just because she never lets herself say it like this, with so much tenderness that it stops sounding like a name and starts sounding like a confession. 

He can’t handle this right now, so he goes back to what he does best: making her feel good. The same pressure comes back tenfold and, luckily this time, she has a few moments to brace herself. Her thighs shake, her hips lift more into him, and then clear fluid gushes around his fingers, splashing over his hand and soaking everything around. It runs down her ass, pooling on the leather as she squirts hard, the orgasm tearing through her very soul with brutal intensity.

“Shit, babe. You’re ruining my fucking leather,” he says, matter-of-factly, no accusatory tone in his voice. “Such a filthy little thing, holy fuck.”

Lando keeps working her through it, fingers pumping and curling even as she whimpers from overstimulation. The sight of her coming apart like this — seeing how every pulse of her cunt pushes more slick out — makes his cock throb painfully. So bad that Lando is close to reach down, unzip himself, and wrap his fist around his length to stroke in time with the wet sounds of his fingers buried inside her. Unfortunately, the car behind is already impatiently honking, prompting him to mutter a string of curses under his breath as the car starts moving again.

A few minutes later, they finally crash through her apartment door with her body pinned closely at his chest, their mouths locked in a messy tangle of tongues and teeth and heavy breathing. The slam against the frame rattles the hinges, but what makes her startle are his hands, suddenly touching everywhere at once, gripping her waist, sliding under her tank top, yanking her impossibly closer until there’s no physical space left between them. It gives her a sense of urgency, reminding her, over and over again, just how much she’s missed it. 

It? Him?

It doesn’t matter right now, really. Everything happens so fast that it’s hard to keep up with the way he spins her around the second they reach the kitchen island. She feels the roughness of his palms on her hips while he bends her forward over the marble. The skirt rides up on its own, exposing the bare curve of her ass. It’s a pretty view that makes Lando groan at the sight of her glistening folds, already used so thoroughly by his fingers and swollen from the car ride over.

“Remember the safe word, yeah?” Lando rasps, voice hoarse with need.

The girl sighs in protest. “Yes, just fuck me already.”

Noted.

One hand shoves the fabric of her skirt higher, bunching it around her waist while the other yanks his pants open. His cock springs free, the head shiny and leaking at the tip. Intentionally or not, she did a number on him with the show she put on in the car and now, Lando is way past the teasing phase. His knee wedges between her thighs, forcing them wider with a rough shove, then he lines up with no hesitation. The thick head pushes past her entrance in one hard thrust, burying to the hilt in a single stroke that makes her cry out, fingers gripping the edge of the countertop.

“Fuck, yes!” she exclaims, feeling as if she can finally breathe again. 

Her reaction doesn’t take Lando by surprise, but it catches him smiling from ear to ear. He starts pounding into her, hips snapping forward with enough force to push her forward against the island, the wet slap of skin on skin echoing through the apartment. Her pussy clenches around him on instinct, slick coating his shaft every time he pulls back, only to slam in again. Deeper. Harder. Gone.

The sounds are obscene and it only turns them on more.

“Just like that, fucking take it,” Lando breathes in little pants, his hand fisting her hair to yank her head back. “Talk to me, love. What do you need?”

You, she’s about to answer, but the lump in her throat only allows her to say: “More.”

Lando nods, releasing her in order to wrap both hands around her waist, his palms almost covering her entirely. The counter creaks under the force of his thrusts, her moans turning into gasping sounds. He angles his hips a few times until he finds the perfect spot inside her that makes her legs shake. 

She sobs out a curse at that, her body arching back into him as she soughs more of his cock.

“Harder, Lan,” she whimpers, “I’m close.”

The sound of her pussy sucking him bounces of the walls, a tune her apartment has heard many times before.

“Yeah, already?”

Her response is a sob of despair that invites Lando to oblige, slamming into her so hard that the entire island shifts slightly beneath them. Her walls flutter around him, the wet heat dragging him in all over again. In a thrust and a half, her orgasm crashes like a violent wave that rips a strangled scream from her throat. Her pussy convulses in tight vibrations whose sole purpose is to keep him glued to her. The release floods around his length, slick coating his balls as he keeps fucking her through it, forcing her to ride the aftershocks.

“Yes, baby, fuck. Come on, drench my cock,” he snarls, tightening his grip on her. “Shit, you feel so good. Fuuuck.”

Her vision whites out first. The kitchen island blurs into nothing, the edges of the room dissolving into a spinning haze. Her stomach drops, the floor tilts beneath her even though she’s bent over solid marble. The sensation is sickening and euphoric all at once, like being spun too fast on a carnival ride while her fucked-out pussy keeps spasming around him. She tries to open her eyes wider, but the dizziness only intensifies, forcing her lids shut as the world spins and rocks and bends.

Her hearing is next, vanishing into a ringing void. She’s still aware of the wet slap of skin, even her own breathing, but it all sounds as if she’s on the bottom of a pool.

Lando’s hips stutter, then slam forward one final time. Thick ropes of cum shoot deep inside of her, filling her already sloppy hole until it leaks around his cock, dripping down on her thighs in sticky trails. He keeps grinding through it, making sure to push until the last drop, while her walls now quiver weakly around him.

It goes like this for a solid minute after Lando collapses on top of her. His chest presses against her back, burning hot, sending her thinking of all the times she felt his crushing weight like this. Her body feels light as a feather pinned beneath him, the only anchor she can count on to keep her at the surface of her own feelings. 

Fluids continue to seep out, hot and messy, but she can’t bring herself to tell him to move yet, even though she needs him to. She needs Lando to move immediately. He needs to pull out, tuck himself back into his pants and get the fuck out of her apartment. This is too good and she can’t afford the fall. 

She has spent months convincing herself she could separate wanting from needing, pleasure from attachment, intimacy from consequence.

In a split-second, she went from needing-pleasure-intimacy to wanting-attachment-consequence.

The thought strikes with such force that it hollows her out. Then, panic slips beneath the fading bliss. It’s cold and immediate and so against their casual arrangement. They are supposed to leave each other exactly as they found one another: untouched in every way that mattered. But tonight, for some reason, the tectonic plates began to move, and she knows in her soul that she can’t shift them back.

ＳＨＥ ＦＩＮＩＳＨＥＳ ＴＨＥ last bite of her waffle curled into the corner of the couch, one knee tucked beneath her. The morning sun filters through the half-drawn curtains in pale ribbons that warm the apartment. It’s not as nice as Lando’s, but it’s much quieter, even with the television murmuring in the background. 

He sits beside her, one arm draped lazily across the back of the couch, his coffee balanced on his knee.

“You’re gonna spill it all over my carpet,” she warns him, but Lando is too busy glancing down when she shifts, his gaze catching on the faint bruise blooming on the bare skin of her thigh where her oversized sleep shirt has ridden up.

His expression changes almost imperceptibly, that teasing light that usually lives behind his eyes softening into a contemplative concern. Without thinking twice, he puts the cup back on the table, (not because she told him to), then turns to reach out. His fingers barely make contact as the tips brush the edge of the love mark, so careful that it has the potential to translate into an apology, if she didn’t know better.

The action is impossibly gentle, as though he’s afraid pressing any harder might send her tumbling in a tearful heap onto the floor. 

Looking up at her, his thumb stills. “You’d tell me if I hurt you, wouldn’t you?”

Caught off guard, she opens her mouth to say something, but the words stop in her throat, goosebumps racing across her skin. She’d grown used to people treating tenderness like an afterthought. The fact that he acts so soft now is just as contrasting with the way he went down on her to leave that mark only a few hours ago. 

She shifts closer until she’s facing him properly. “You can’t hurt me. Not like this,” she assures him, slowly climbing into his lap as if to prove a point. Her hands find his shoulders, then drift upward to rest loosely around the back of his neck, her fingers absentmindedly combing through the hair at the nape. “It just confuses me a little,” the girl admits.

“What confuses you?”

“I thought we weren’t supposed to leave any traces, Lan,” she reminds him, half in jest, half in earnest.

The corner of his mouth curls a little, excitement slowly replacing the seriousness that had clouded his features moments before. 

“Lan?” he repeats the nickname, one eyebrow lifting in wonder.

“Yeah, Lan…” she breathes out, rocking her hips gently. “I assume you didn’t insist to come all the way back just to bring me breakfast, did you?”

Because that would be weird, and they both know it. They can’t be weird about it, it’s in the Rules. So, the breakfast must be just an excuse. They know what inevitably draws him back to her and vice versa. Being with Lando requires so little effort that she’s not even trying. A part of her brain tells her that it should feel complicated, because they were friends first. Instead, it feels disarmingly simple and easy and mundane and normal, and even the text conversation they’d had earlier was the most effortless she’d had with a man in months.

Months!

While keeping his eyes on hers, Lando’s fingers start working the button of his jeans open. He drags the zipper down, avoiding to even blink as he reaches inside to pull his cock free; it always looked better in the morning light, she thinks, heavy, flushed dark at the head, the vein running along the underside visibly pulsing. He wraps a hand around the base, gives it one stroke, then his other palm slides up her bare thigh in a silent signal that dictates her exactly what to do next: she lifts her hips, the couch cushion dipping beneath her knees, impatient to go along with the way he chooses to respond.

Lando angles his cock upward automatically, rubs the blunt head through her folds, first forward, then backward, then notches it at her entrance. The pressure alone makes her breath catch in her throat. He pushes, and the fat crown stretches her open, forcing her walls to yield around the grith, still sensitive from last night’s shenanigans. At last, she manages to inhale to capacity as she sinks down an inch. She feels the ridge catch inside her, but has to rise again to ease the burn before dropping lower. Each careful descent drags another thick inch into her until her thighs finally meet his and she’s seated to the root. 

A small whimper escapes her lips, which Lando claims gently, just like that, to encourage her.

As if it’s muscle memory, her pussy twitches around the length, clenching greedily at the way he fills her. The physical connection feels somewhat different this time; they both sense it in the way they hold each other, resting their foreheads against one another.

“You with me, baby?” Lando whispers, a crooked smile tugging at his mouth.

The girl answers with a slow roll of her hips, griding down so the head nudges deeper. The motion drags her inner walls along his length, slick and tight and warm, and it’s almost too much for Lando, whose fingers tighten on her waist possessively as if he has something to prove too, thumbs hooking at her shirt to reveal her collarbone.

“Can I?” he asks for permission, mostly to establish the fact that the bruise between her thighs was, indeed, an accident, but the one he’s about to suck on her skin is not.

She nods, then Lando’s mouth seals over the spot above. He sucks hard, tongue pressing flat, teeth grazing skin until the bruise blooms red. She keeps moving on top of him, lifting and dropping in a solid rhythm, stretching herself wide around his cock again and again, her arousal coating him whole, claiming, dripping down his shaft to soak the open fly of his jeans. 

For the first time since they started doing this, the sounds they’re making are barely audible. It’s like they’re afraid not to break. It’s never like this, never tame and controlled, as if… as if they’re doing the opposite of fucking, which is making love. Which they’re most definitely not. 

Lando groans silently into her neck after that, the little buzz traveling straight through her. His hands slide lower, gripping her ass in order to guide her into deeper strokes. All the cells in her body light up when he pushes back in, the head catching at her entrance before pulling just as deep again. Her clit rubs over the base of his cock on every downstroke, causing repeated sighs to abandon her mouth. 

A hand slides up the curve of her spine until his palm cups the back of her neck, fingers threading through her hair to hold her exactly where he wants her. He hauls her mouth down to his, lips parting wet and messy, tongues sliding together in clumsy pecks that are more shared breath than actual kisses. When she tries to pull back for air he follows, keeping her close, the slick sound of their so-called-kiss filling the tiny bubble they’ve build around themselves.

“Lando, please…” she trails off, unsure what she’s even asking for anymore.

Something, anything, as long as it includes him.

Lando lets out a sigh of understanding. “Myeah, I feel you, baby,” the words vibrate straight into her mouth. His hand drops to her ass again, gripping as he rocks her back down onto his length. “You like riding my cock that much?”

She can only moan his name again, lightheaded from the stretch and the heat and the way he keeps her entire body pinned to him.

“You do,” he replies for her, “Fucking hell, you’re so good at it,” continues Lando, panting. “So good you’re gonna make me come, baby, fuck.”

Her thighs shake with the effort, burning from the pace, but she can’t stop. And Lando’s grip reminds her exactly why she can’t: it feels too damn good and just him helping her slam down faster, harder, the wet slap of her cunt taking everything he has to offer has the power to undo her in a split-second.

“Lan,” she gasps, tugging at his curls as sweat slides down her spine, legs trembling with exhaustion.

“I’ve got you, I’ve got you,” he promises and, in one sudden motion, he flips her onto her back. 

She inhales sharply at the shift, at how easily he manhandles her, at how much it makes her clench around him because it’s so fucking hot and she’s never been this turned on in her life. 

Next, Lando hooks her thigh over his arm, plants one foot on the floor for leverage, then drives back inside her with hard thrusts, determined to get them both as high as humanly possible. 

“Oh, fuck,” she clings to him, head tipping back as relief floods through her. For the hundredth time in the last twelve hours, she’s not on planet Earth anymore. He takes her to a whole another dimension, introducing her to new ways of perceiving and using her senses. More intense and clearer than ever. 

“Shit, fuck, fuck,” Lando starts mumbling, so close to losing himself. “I’m gonna come, baby. Tell me where you want me,” his jaw tenses, voice cracking as his whole body starts to shake. 

Her arms wind around his shoulders, also trembling from the effort, fingers digging into the damp curls at the back of his head. “Right there,” she encourages him, “Keep it all inside.”

He reacts like the words physically hurt him, his thrusts turning short and frantic. He fucks into her a couple more times then he buries himself and stays there, every inch pulsing as he spills exactly where she wants him to. She can instantly feel the warmth, the sensation so intimate it makes her eyes sting. It brings her peace and hope and all the things they’ve pushed away, because they’re friends and they won’t ever let anything come between them. Even if that meant giving up the mind-blowing sex they obviously have together.

The warmth keeps spreading, leaking out around his cock with tiny twitches of his hips. The sounds he makes now are simply delicious: sharp, broken gasps that melt into throaty moans he can’t hold back. His body jerks with each spurt, and she holds on to him through every second of it, thighs quivering around his waist.

Lando doesn’t pull out immediately, but stops to lower himself over her, one knee still braced on the couch, the other foot on the floor, his softening cock nestled inside her, where it should stay for the rest of his days.

She reaches up, cupping his jaw, ready to pull him into another kiss when his phone starts ringing from the jeans tangled around his thighs. Lando’s expression shifts while fishing for the phone. He manages to answer on the fourth ring, his professional tone kicking in record time, making her silently giggle.

He keeps the same serious voice even as he carefully eases his cock out of her, cum spilling out, trickling down her ass and onto the couch. With one hand on her hip, Lando’s thumb strokes soothing circles while talking, promising whoever’s on the other end that he’ll be there — wherever there might mean — by twelve. He’s calm and controlled, but his eyes never leave hers, the intensity behind them telling her everything she needs to know.

At least for now.

“Yeah, yeah, sure,” says Lando. “Of course, I’ll see you then. Cheers, mate,” he ends the call, flopping back onto the couch to pull up his pants. 

She closes her thighs together, but doesn’t sit up, content to look at him through her eyelashes. “Are you leaving?”

Lando nods reluctantly. “I’ve got to film a YouTube video with this brand,” he explains, flashing her an apologetic smile. His gaze lingers on her face for a moment longer than necessary, reading all the subtle changes he’s not sure she even realize she’s making. 

His palm finds her shin first, warm on her skin as he traces upward, the gesture enough to appear both casual and purposeful, depending on which version each of them prefers. Lando’s hand pauses briefly at her knee then, he bends to press a kiss on the same spot.

“Am I seeing you tonight?” asks Lando, ignoring the butterflies in his stomach, straightening his back as he looks around for his keys on the coffee table.

She props herself onto one elbow, watching him with an expression she doesn’t bother hiding this time.

Of course, the grin spreading across her face tells him.

Fighting one of his own, Lando points at her with the keys. “Go clean up.”

Her jaw drops a little. “Go fuck yourself.”

“You do it better,” he says right before rushing out the door, letting it shut behind him.

She can finally hear the TV again, but a cold silence settles back into her apartment and, despite every instinct telling her to run in the opposite direction instead of spinning in place, she can’t remember the last time she’d felt this happy.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ MASTERLIST . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

Thank you for reading!

None of my works are available for reposting on other platforms. Reblogs, likes, and comments are deeply appreciated ♥︎

Slowly but surely, with a heavy emphasis on slowly. I just have a few issues I’m currently dealing with in my life, and it’s hard to juggle that with writing. I do think about writing every single day, though. I’m constantly making notes and the requests you’ve all been sending are genuinely so good that it’s taking every ounce of self-control not to drop everything and just do it ✓ I just need both my mind and body to cooperate at the same time which, right now, seems to be the rarest crossover event imaginable.

Now, about the UNRELATED part... as if there has ever been such thing in this inbox of mine, please know I love a good yap, never shy away ♥︎

So. I actually get where you’re coming from. I do have some thoughts, if you’ll allow me 😼

I was lucky enough to experience the Carlando era as it was happening, and trust me when I say, it IS something one would want to remember and bring up with every occasion. They had such a good, naturally funny dynamic. In lots of ways, Lando grew up with him. Certain relationships shape you as a person, but you’ll never forget your first, right?

Even now, I get so nostalgic whenever I rewatch the old mcl videos. But if I were to compare, I do find myself appreciating Landoscar more, and I think the biggest reason why is simply that, during their time (so far), they had far more at stake.

Friendships in F1 are easy when they’re not regularly fighting for podiums and wins; it’s something Carlos himself admitted. Then there’s a whole different story when a championship title sits between them every single race weekend.

We’ve already seen how quickly a direct confrontation can erode connections, trust and mutual respect (rip brocedes). The fact that Landoscar went through an entire season, pushing each other to the absolute limit and still came out the other side speaking so highly of one another is something I genuinely admire.

To me, that says far more about a relationship than any funny compilation video ever could.

As for why you might connect with them more... I think you touched on it yourself. Maybe you like seeing Lando on top of things (metaphorically, of course 👀), or see him in that role of being the older, wiser (debatable), more experienced teammate. You know, the established driver, the one the (2023) rookie naturally looks up to. Because Oscar did. Even before he knew he’d make it to F1. Then suddenly they’re teammates and you can understand how that admiration evolved into something much more equal over time.

I also just think their personalities complement each other so fucking well.

Lando is hyperactive; Oscar is calm.

Lando thinks out loud; Oscar thinks first.

Lando has to fill the silence; Oscar is comfortable sitting in it.

Lando needs more attention; Oscar gives it to him, always.

Oscar simply indulges Lando’s antics just enough and knows exactly when to play along and when to let him tire himself out. In return, Lando seemed to bring him out of his shell ever since the beginning, in a way very few people managed. Their dynamic is built on balance; Carlando was built on similarly.

Last thing I would like to mention,

It honestly took everything out of me, but it’s the piece I’m currently most proud of in terms of story and how I structured it. Although... the amount of times I had to rewrite some scenes is actually stupid.

One thing I don’t usually like doing is explaining my writing because I firmly believe stories should become whatever you, the reader, need them to be in the moment you read them. Plus, once I press that POST button, it’s not entirely mine anymore.

But. Since you mentioned Oscar being the good guy (he is, without a doubt), I just wanted to touch on something that was really important to me while writing it: I never viewed Lando as the bad guy either. He was flawed, but not malicious.

By the time everything fell apart, he’d become so accustomed to having her beside him that he unconsciously began taking the relationship for granted. He didn’t love her less, but somewhere in that looong time they were together, he stopped realizing how much maintenance love actually requires sometimes. Especially with a life like his. So when everything imploded, his first reaction wasn’t to fight. He simply went numb because he couldn’t process the magnitude of what had happened yet. Also, walking away wasn’t indifference on his part, he was just in shock. He needed distance before he could understand the wreckage and the fact that he, just as she accused him, had a major role in bringing their relationship to that point.

I agree with this specific ask; Lando has a lot more to say. The tragedy is that he ultimately did understand where he failed her, but there was no battlefield left to return to. Well, not after what he heard on that balcony 👀 That’s why, I think, for so many people his story feels unfinished in a way that hers or Oscar’s doesn’t.

There are conversations that never happened and thoughts that he never got to voice and, as for a part 2, you’re not the only one asking for a continuation:

I see all of you, always. And I’m sorry for the hundreds of requests I’ll probably get to, sometime in the next decade if I’m lucky 😔🤞🏻

Now, I’m about 73% sure there will be a part 2. I’ve made some notes and I know exactly how I would like to go about it. At the moment, however, I have about... six, I think, fics that are waiting for me to either finish or edit or both. So it will take a second, okay :,)

Again, thank you Leah for reading it so thoughtfully and for loving it despite how much it hurts. I appreciate you lots 😙🤍

If you’re looking for more angsty stories, these are some of my personal favorites in my masterlist:

LN

If it’s meant to fall apart

Endings, beginnings

Final call

Not quite us

Delayed gratification

Furious Four

Let’s call it

OP

Cloud-kissed

MV

This time tomorrow