diorjadore

[diorjadore]

LET’S GET MESSY.

“There’s nothing like the first time we met.”—It started as a stupid bet with your friends— pull someone your ex would hate. You thought it was just a game for both of you. But somehow, you changed everything. The way people saw him—the cocky, cold player was gone. For the first time, everyone saw Lando Norris completely, undeniably in love.

pairing. Lando Norris x fem! reader.

warnings. fast romance, 10k+ words, double pov (multiple, probably going to be confusing), kinda fuckboy! lando, partying, drinking alcohol, suggestive, sexual tension, overthinking, slight angst, implied timeskips.

music. The First Time by Damiano David // Ordinary by Alex Warren // Messy by Rosé.

YOU WERE EVERYTHING OTHER GIRLS WANTED TO BE.

Pretty, popular, born into the kind of wealth that didn’t just open doors—it built them. Monaco was your playground, your runway, your perfectly manicured backdrop. It was where you spent summers on yachts and winters in private chalets. Where champagne was practically breakfast, and your group chats were filled with plans for nights that blurred into mornings you’d barely remember.

Here, being rich wasn’t rare—it was expected. But being you? That was different.

You had the wardrobe. The last name. The effortless charm that made people stop talking when you walked into a room. Your closest friends—each of them a headline waiting to happen—were just as glossy, just as golden. Together, you were untouchable. Beautiful, bored, and always just a little too fast.

Monaco was everything to you.

It also happened to be home to one of the most dangerous boys you’d ever met.

And one of those boys was Lando Norris.

He wasn’t just rich—he was F1 rich. The kind of wealth that came with international fame, private jets, and a team of people to manage his smile. He was young, devastatingly handsome, and carried himself with the kind of cocky ease that only a man who drove 300 km/h for a living could. Lando was Monaco’s golden boy and its worst-kept secret.

Everyone knew what he was: a fuckboy in a race suit. Girls fell for him like dominoes—stunning, smart, even cynical ones—believing, just for a moment, that they’d be the one to make him stay. But Lando didn’t stay. Not in beds, not in relationships, not even in cities for long. His only loyalty was to McLaren, the car, the team, the speed. Everything else was fleeting. Everyone else was replaceable.

He was the beautiful disaster your friends warned you about. The kind you swore you’d never fall for.

───

It was supposed to be just another Friday night. The kind you’d lived a hundred times over—fast music, faster drinks, and the comfort of your girls dancing under kaleidoscope lights. The air inside the club was heavy with perfume and bass, the world spinning just slow enough to feel invincible. You were dressed to kill, glowing in that effortless way that came when you were surrounded by people who knew you, loved you, and matched your energy drink for drink.

But then you saw him.

Your ex.

Cutting through the crowd like he still owned the room, hand-in-hand with some new girl who looked like she’d been styled to be the version of you that didn’t talk back. Polished, dull, and clinging to his arm like a watch he didn’t even check anymore. Your stomach twisted, sharp and unexpected. Not heartbreak—you were far past that—but annoyance.

Your friends noticed immediately. Of course they did. They were your ride-or-die girls, and no one knew the history better than they did. The shared eye-rolls were instantaneous, but it wasn’t pity they offered—it was challenge.

“Y/n, I dare you to pull someone your ex would absolutely hate,” one of them said, the mischief already alive in her voice as she nudged you with her shoulder.

You let out a low laugh, the kind that tasted of tequila and rebellion. “Seriously?”

The worst part? You didn’t even hesitate.

You turned slowly, scanning the room like a queen surveying her kingdom. There were options—plenty, actually. A wall of beautiful, wealthy men trying far too hard. But you weren’t looking for just anyone. You were looking for someone who would sting. Someone who could eclipse that smug little performance your ex was putting on without even trying.

And then your gaze landed on him.

Lando Norris.

Too rich, too famous, too unattached. His hair was tousled like he’d run his hands through it between drinks, a half-laugh curling on his lips as he leaned over to say something to a group of guys in the VIP corner. Even across the room, you could see the spark in his eyes, the type of grin that spelled out nothing but trouble. He was reckless, charming, and exactly the kind of person who would send your ex into a spiral. Were you playing with fire? Absolutely. Did you mind? Not even a little.

You leaned back into your circle, lips curling into a smirk. “What about Norris?”

Your friends froze for half a second, their jaws dropping in unison before breaking into a chorus of gasps and laughter. One of them nearly spilled her drink.

“Lando?” She asked, eyebrows lifting as she leaned in closer, barely audible over the thump of the music. Her voice dripped with disbelief—and a touch of admiration.

You didn’t answer right away. Instead, your eyes remained fixed on him.

He was lounging with the kind of careless elegance that came from knowing he didn’t have to try. One arm thrown over the back of the couch in the VIP section, his head tipped back in laughter at something one of his friends had said. His smile—God, that smile—was lethal. Sharp, boyish, a little cocky. It was the kind of smile that had broken hearts in five countries before breakfast.

You turned back to your friends, an edge of mischief in your voice.

“Yes. Lando.”

Now they were all looking, trying not to be obvious but failing completely. You watched their expressions shift—shock, disbelief, then the slow, dawning realization that you were serious.

“Y/n,” one of them said, half-laughing, half-panicked. “You cannot be serious.”

“Oh, she’s serious,” another cut in, a wicked smile already forming. “And I’m so here for it.”

“She’s not just pulling someone her ex would hate. She’s aiming for his final boss.”

You smirked, shoulders relaxing into the confidence that came so naturally to you in moments like this. You weren’t some starry-eyed girl getting in over her head. You knew exactly what you were doing.

“Look,” you said, draining the last sip of your drink and putting it on the table behind you. “It’s not like I’m marrying him. I’m just going to talk to him.”

Lando sat slouched into the plush corner of the velvet couch, a lowball glass resting loosely in his hand, the amber liquor catching the neon lights like liquid gold. It was supposed to be a low-effort night—just the boys, some drinks, loud music, and the usual parade of girls orbiting around the VIP section like moths to flame. Monaco nights blurred together lately. Same scenes, same faces, same games.

But this time, the game had changed.

He noticed you before anyone said your name. You moved through the club like you belonged to it, heels clicking softly over polished floors, a flash of silk and confidence cutting through the haze of cigarette smoke and strobe lights. He’d seen you around—everyone had. You were Monaco royalty in your own right, the kind of girl who didn’t chase attention because she never had to. It followed you. Like a shadow. Like a promise.

“Lando?”

He turned at the sound of his name, eyebrow cocked.

“I bet you can’t make Y/n stay ‘til morning.”

The words came from Max, one of his closest mates, a little too tipsy and definitely too cocky. It was stupid. Reckless. But that’s what their nights always were—games built on ego and alcohol. And tonight, Lando was bored enough to play.

He let out a short laugh, more of a smirk than a sound, and swirled the ice in his glass.

“You think I can’t?” he said, voice low, eyes still tracking your slow approach from across the club.

Max grinned. “Not a chance. She’s way out of your league, mate. Smart. Cold. Probably sees right through all your lines.”

Lando’s grin sharpened. “I don’t need lines.”

Lando pushed himself up from his seat, the smirk still lingering on his lips as he stepped away from his friends, moving toward the crowd with effortless confidence. The moment stretched as his gaze found yours, locking onto you with an intensity that sent a quiet thrill down your spine.

It was like you knew—like you had already played this scene out in your mind before it even happened, like the night was shifting into something neither of you had planned but both of you understood.

"See you tomorrow, boys," he tossed over his shoulder, voice easy, amused, filled with something dangerously certain.

His friends laughed, some whistled, but Lando didn’t look back. Because right now—his focus was entirely on you.

You swayed in the middle of the crowd, lost in the rhythm—or at least, that’s how it looked to everyone else. In reality, every movement was intentional. Every roll of your hips, every flick of your hair, every slow drag of your hands over your body was done with a purpose. You moved like a siren on stage, like your skin was the music and the dance was a language only a certain kind of man would understand. Your fingers ghosted over the curve of your waist, tracing the edge of your dress like you were imagining someone else’s touch. It wasn’t subtle. It wasn’t meant to be.

And it worked.

You felt him before you saw him. Lando. Each step he took closer sent a shiver down your spine that had nothing to do with the bass shaking the floor. You didn’t turn to look. Not yet. You didn’t have to. You could feel his eyes on you like heat, sharp and possessive and hungry in a way that made your pulse spike with anticipation.

You let your hand slide down the side of your thigh, slowly, teasingly, until your fingertips brushed the hem of your dress. You didn’t break rhythm. You just danced, like you didn’t even know he existed, like you weren’t already thinking about the way he’d taste, the way his voice would sound against your neck. You smiled to yourself—dark, satisfied.

That boy didn’t know what he was walking into.

Occasionally, you let your gaze flicker sideways—past the lights, past the crowd, past the haze of expensive perfume and cologne—until it found what it was looking for.

Him. Your ex.

Still standing on the far side of the room, still clinging to the girl he’d brought like she was a trophy he’d only half-earned. But he wasn’t looking at her anymore. No, his eyes were glued to you—watching the way you moved, watching the way Lando was closing in like a storm at sea. You caught the flicker in his expression. That cold realization. That bruised ego. That spark of jealousy that came from knowing he was no longer the one who made you glow like this.

You looked again, the only direction that mattered now—your eyes cutting through the bodies and lights and smoke until they found him. Lando was even closer than before. Closer than you expected. Closer than was safe.

His gaze met yours with that same heat, that same spark, but now it was laced with something cocky, something hungry. He moved like a man who already knew the outcome, like the game was over before it started. Your heart thudded against your ribs, but you didn’t step back. If anything, you wanted him closer.

“All that for me, L/n?” he asked, voice low and smug as hell. There was a crooked smile playing on his lips, one that sent heat straight down your spine.

And then his hand slid around your waist.

He didn’t hesitate. Didn’t ask. Just took—like you were already his, like the whole night had been choreographed for this exact moment. His palm pressed firmly against the small of your back, pulling you into him in one smooth, confident motion. Your bodies aligned instantly, the fabric of your dress whispering against the expensive weave of his shirt. He smelled like danger and desire and something you could get addicted to far too easily.

You arched a brow, letting him see the fire in your eyes. “Cocky much?”

“Only when I’m right,” he said, eyes dropping to your lips for a fraction of a second—enough to make your breath catch.

You felt the warmth of his hand through your dress, steady, unbothered, like he had no doubt you’d stay exactly where you were. And the worst part?

You didn’t want to move.

You let your fingers rest lightly on his chest, feeling the subtle thrum of his heartbeat beneath your touch—fast, like yours. But he didn’t let it show. He was all charm and control and heat, and it wrapped around you like smoke, like silk, like a warning.

“You know what you’re doing, darling,” he murmured, lips close enough that you could feel the shape of his smirk as he spoke. His hand moved slowly beneath your dress, calloused fingertips grazing your bare skin like he’d already memorized every line of your body. It was intimate—too intimate for something that wasn’t supposed to mean anything.

Fuck. Fuck.

You were supposed to be in control.

This was your game. Your idea. Your revenge.

It had started as a joke. A dare whispered between friends. Pull someone your ex would hate. Someone high-profile, untouchable, impossible. Lando Norris had been the obvious choice—rich, beautiful, notoriously disinterested in anything resembling commitment. The ultimate heartbreaker.

Perfect, you’d thought.

But standing here, pressed against him, his hand on your inner thigh and his breath in your ear, it didn’t feel like a joke anymore.

You reminded yourself this was about your ex. About making him watch. About making him regret. You weren’t supposed to feel anything. Especially not for Lando.

Especially not now.

But then he said it—like the idea had just occurred to him, like it wasn’t sending your pulse into a full sprint.

“What about us going for a little drive?” he asked, voice low and laced with something dangerous. “Alone. Just us.”

Your breath caught.

He said it so casually, like it was nothing. Like slipping away into the night with you would be just another Monaco thrill. But his eyes… they didn’t lie. There was heat in them, yes, but something else too. Curiosity. Interest. Like he wanted to know who you really were, beneath the glitter and the dress and the calculated smirk.

For some reason, you couldn’t say no.

The word danced at the edge of your mouth, light as air, easy as breath. You could have said it. You should have said it. But the second his eyes met yours again, the rest of the club blurred around you—colors bleeding, music dimming, the crowd reduced to shadows. All that existed now was him and the heat between you.

It wasn’t just about the bet anymore. It hadn’t been for a while. You wanted more.

More of him.

More of the way his voice dipped when he leaned closer. More of that subtle, possessive way his hand moved across your skin, like he had every right to touch you like that. More of the way he didn’t rush, didn’t fumble, didn’t second-guess. He was calm. Confident. Like he’d done this before—but somehow, with you, it felt different.

You tried to remind yourself he was Lando Norris.

Notorious. Untouchable. The boy who lived his life on the edge of impossible curves and camera flashes. He had the world at his fingertips, and he never clung to any of it. You’d heard the stories. Monaco knew him too well. Girls came and went like seasons, and he never once looked like he regretted any of it.

So why did he feel different now?

Why was he looking at you like this?

Then he leaned in again, his lips so close to your jaw you could feel the warmth of his breath dancing across your skin. His voice came softer this time, lower, almost like he was confessing something he didn’t know how to carry.

“I don’t do promises,” he said, his words slow, precise. “But I don’t play games either.”

The silence that followed felt heavier than the music pounding around you. It pressed against your ribs, coiled in your lungs. You blinked, the sharpness of his honesty slicing through whatever careful story you’d been telling yourself. That this was casual. That it was control. That you were in charge.

It wasn’t a declaration of love. It wasn’t even affection. It was just… real. And in a place like this, with people like you—used to masks and illusions—that kind of honesty hit harder than any kiss.

You stared at him, trying to figure out what kind of boy said something like that. What kind of boy meant it. And more terrifyingly—what kind of girl you were becoming, now that you cared.

But you didn’t flinch. Didn’t run.

Instead, you pulled yourself together and tilted your chin just slightly, just enough to let him know you weren’t scared—even if your heart was in freefall.

“Then here’s the deal,” you said, voice low and razor-sharp. “No promises. No pretending. Just tonight. We don’t ask questions, and we don’t look for more.”

He didn’t blink. Didn’t look away. His eyes stayed locked on yours, and slowly, the corner of his mouth curved—not into a smirk, but something deeper. Something closer to agreement.

“That supposed to scare me?” he asked, like he was testing you now.

“It should,” you whispered, and you meant it.

But it didn’t. You both knew it.

Instead of pulling away, he reached for your hand. Not by accident, not with casual detachment—but deliberately. He laced his fingers through yours with a quiet intimacy that caught you off guard. No flash, no swagger, no performance. Just skin to skin. Warmth to warmth.

And that terrified you more than anything he’d said.

“Alright,” he murmured, thumb brushing yours. “Just tonight.”

You walked from the club, the night warm and alive around you, Lando’s arm heavy and comforting around your shoulders as his voice spilled with laughter. The wind off the marina tousled your hair, and the echo of bass from inside still pulsed faintly behind you like your heart hadn’t quite caught up to the fact that you were here, next to him, smiling so wide your cheeks ached.

“But Max took it better than I expected,” Lando said, chuckling to himself as he opened the car. “He looked pissed for, like, ten seconds. Then he kind of… sighed and just laughed. I think even he couldn’t believe it.”

You leaned into the car door as he opened it for you, still laughing. “I remember watching that live,” you said through a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. “And I never watch F1.”

He paused for a second, giving you a sideways glance. “Wait, really?”

You nodded. “Yeah. I was on the couch, half-asleep, and suddenly I hear the commentators losing it. I look up, see this guy waving a champagne bottle around like it’s a sword, and then crack. Trophy’s in two pieces.”

He was already laughing again, sinking into the driver’s seat beside you. “And you thought…?”

“I was like, ‘what kind of idiot is that?’” you said, shaking your head with a grin.

He looked over at you, brows raised, lips twitching into a slow smirk. “And now you’re in a car with said idiot. Interesting turn of events.”

You buckled your seatbelt with an exaggerated sigh. “Life comes at you fast.”

The engine of his McLaren roared to life with a thunderous growl that rolled through your chest, electric and alive. You barely had time to catch your breath before Lando pressed the accelerator with a grin that warned you something reckless was about to happen. The car jolted forward, smooth but sudden, and the force of it pressed you back into the seat.

“Oh my god, Lando!” you shouted, your voice caught somewhere between shock and disbelief. You instinctively grabbed for the door handle with one hand and threw your other across your stomach, trying to steady yourself as your laughter burst out without warning — loud, raw, and uncontrollable.

Wind rushed through the open windows like a wave, pulling at your hair and tugging at the hem of your dress. The lights of Monaco blurred around you — gold, white, pink — a kaleidoscope of movement and motion that matched the adrenaline rushing through your veins. The speed, the music, the laughter — it all crashed together until the world outside the car didn’t feel real anymore.

You turned your head to look at him, breathless from laughing so hard, your cheeks aching. And that’s when you noticed it.

He wasn’t looking at the road.

He was looking at you.

His eyes were locked on your face like it was the most captivating thing he’d seen all night. Maybe all week. Maybe longer. The corners of his mouth curled up slightly, not in amusement this time, but in quiet fascination. It wasn’t flirtatious. It was real.

“What?” you asked through the last of your laughter, brushing hair from your eyes, suddenly aware of how long he’d been watching.

He shrugged one shoulder, his grin softening into something more thoughtful. “Didn’t think you were the kind of girl who laughs that hard.”

You blinked. That caught you off guard. “What kind of girl did you think I was?”

He didn’t hesitate. “Bitchy. Untouchable. Spoiled daddy’s girl.”

You turned fully toward him, your jaw dropping, half offended and half… entertained. “Seriously? That’s what you thought of me?”

He glanced at you again, lips twitching upward as if he already knew you were going to give him hell for it. “Come on. You live in Monaco. You move like you’ve never waited in line a day in your life. And that face you make — you know the one — like everything around you is boring.”

You scoffed. Loudly. “Wow. Okay. Brutal honesty night, is it?”

He laughed under his breath. “I’m just saying. I didn’t expect you to laugh at a dumb story about breaking Max’s trophy like it was the funniest thing you’ve ever heard.”

“Well,” you said, crossing your arms playfully, “maybe you should consider that your assumptions suck.”

The car hummed smoothly beneath you, tires rolling over the quiet asphalt as the coastline glowed in soft blinks of gold and silver. Your laughter from earlier still lingered in the air, blending with the thrum of the engine and the music that pulsed low through the speakers—something chilled and distant, like a memory.

You sat with your legs curled slightly in the seat, the night wind streaming in through the half-cracked window. Your skin was warm from the club, your heart still a little high from the way he made you laugh—really laugh—without even trying. The city behind you had slipped into something blurry, unreal. And beside you, Lando hadn’t spoken for a while.

But it wasn’t an uncomfortable silence. It felt like a necessary breath between moments. The kind of pause you only take when something real is about to be said.

Then he broke it—his voice easy but weighted, like he’d been holding the thought in for a while.

“People always make comments, you know. About us.”

You blinked, turning toward him slowly. His face was lit by passing lights and the dim glow of the dashboard, sharp lines softened by shadows. “Us?”

“Yeah,” he replied, his tone casual, though the way his hand tightened slightly on the wheel betrayed something more. “You and me. I’ve heard it more than once—‘You two would kill each other or fall madly in love.’ That kind of thing.”

You let out a surprised laugh, tilting your head slightly as the corners of your mouth curved. “Seriously? That’s dramatic.”

He gave a one-shoulder shrug, eyes still on the road, but you could tell he was listening for your reaction. “Monaco people love drama.”

You smiled to yourself, your gaze drifting out the window as the lights from the harbor flickered in the distance. There was a beat of silence before the question slipped from your lips, quieter than before.

“What do you think?”

There was a subtle shift in the air, a tightening between seconds, like the moment had just stepped closer.

Lando didn’t answer right away. His jaw tensed slightly, and his gaze flicked to the sea of dark road ahead before returning to the curve of the coastline.

“Nah. I think we’d scare the shit out of each other.”

Your laugh came quickly, light but genuine, though the words clung to you in a way you didn’t expect. “How so?”

His lips pulled into the smallest of smiles—one that didn’t quite reach his eyes but felt honest all the same. “Because you’re not what I thought. And I’m probably not what you thought either. That messes with people.”

You turned your face toward him again, studying the edges of him—the sharp line of his jaw, the curve of his mouth, the focused way he watched the road like it kept him grounded.

“What did you think I was?” you asked, your voice low.

His reply came easily, like it had been there waiting the whole time. “Someone who wouldn’t waste her time on me.”

The words hit you harder than they should have. Not because they were dramatic, but because they were honest. Because they stripped away the layers you were both so used to wearing.

And maybe it was the wine still in your system, or the way the wind kissed your skin, or the way this whole night had unraveled in the most unexpected way—but something in you softened.

Before you could even answer, the hum of the car shifted as Lando eased his foot off the accelerator. The smooth glide of speed slowed to a gentle stop, and when you looked up, the lights of his apartment building loomed above you—sleek, modern, all glass and angles glowing against the night.

He pulled into a quiet corner of the private drive, the low purr of the engine lingering for a beat before he turned the key and killed it. Silence fell, but it wasn’t awkward. It was charged—like the car itself was holding its breath.

You blinked, heart ticking a little faster now as the realization settled in. You weren’t heading to some scenic overlook. He’d brought you here.

Before you could ask why—before you could even think—he turned toward you, leaning back slightly in his seat. His eyes didn’t leave yours, calm but unreadable.

“You don’t have to come up,” he said, voice low, unpressured. “I just didn’t feel like dropping you off with… whatever this is still hanging in the air.”

There was no smirk on his lips this time. No playfulness in his tone. Just honesty. Soft and a little vulnerable, like he didn’t quite know what came next either.

You couldn’t end it like this. Not when everything in the air was still humming—unspoken words, unfinished moments, unsatisfied tension. You didn’t even say anything as you unbuckled your seatbelt. Just moved, quietly, naturally, like the answer had already been written somewhere between the laughter and the silence, the glances and the confessions.

Lando opened his door and came around to yours, not because he had to, but because he wanted to. His hand brushed your back gently as you stepped out into the soft hush of the night, the click of the car door closing behind you sounding louder than expected. You followed him toward the entrance of the building, heels clicking softly against the pavement, heart loud in your chest.

The lobby was quiet, minimalist, clean. The kind of expensive that didn’t need to try. You stood beside him as the elevator doors opened with a soft ding, and he pressed the button for his floor without a word. The ride up felt slower than it should have, tension stretching between you like a pulled thread.

Still, no words. Just stolen glances. A small, nervous laugh from you when you caught him watching you again. He didn’t smile this time. Just kept looking, a quiet intensity in his eyes like he was trying to figure you out before either of you crossed another line.

Then—ding. The doors slid open.

You walked out into the hallway together, footsteps muted by thick carpet. His place was at the end, and when he unlocked the door, the soft glow of city lights poured in from the full-length windows lining the living room. Everything was clean but lived-in. Not flashy, but somehow still unmistakably him—warm tones, a couple racing helmets on display, sneakers kicked off in the corner, a hoodie slung over a chair.

You stepped inside slowly, your eyes sweeping across the space, fingers brushing the edge of the kitchen counter as he closed the door behind you. He didn’t try anything, didn’t touch you, didn’t rush.

He just watched you like he was waiting to see if you’d regret it. If you’d change your mind.

You turned to face him, arms loosely folded in front of you, and said quietly, “I didn’t think I’d end up here tonight.”

He stepped closer, slow but deliberate. “Neither did I.”

He looked at you, you looked at him. And in that breathless stillness—between the soft city light spilling through his windows and the low hum of silence—you both knew. No more teasing. No more pretending. Whatever this was, whatever had been building from the moment your eyes met in the club, it had finally reached its boiling point.

You didn’t wait for him to make the first move.

Your hands moved on instinct—grasping the sides of his face, fingers sliding into the softness of his curls, grounding yourself in something real. You pulled him toward you like you couldn’t bear another second of space between you. He didn’t resist. He didn’t hesitate.

Your lips met his in a kiss that wasn’t delicate or unsure—it was urgent, full of heat and hunger and everything you’d tried to suppress all night. His hands found your waist in a rush, gripping tightly as if afraid you’d change your mind. But you wouldn’t. You couldn’t.

He kissed you like he’d been thinking about it for too long. Like he wanted to make up for all the moments he hadn’t.

His arms lifted you like you weighed nothing, setting you down onto the cool kitchen counter, but all you could feel was the burn of his hands on your skin. His lips never left you—not your mouth, not your jaw, not the hollow of your neck where his breath hit hot and fast. He kissed you like he didn’t know how to stop, like the moment he did, he might lose something.

And you didn’t want him to stop either.

Your fingers curled tightly into the fabric of his shirt, anchoring yourself in the middle of the whirlwind building between you. His body pressed into yours, close and sure, and still not close enough. His scent—clean, warm, something faintly expensive—wrapped around you like a second skin. Your pulse pounded in your ears, drowning out everything else except the sound of him.

“Fuck, Y/n…” he breathed against your neck, his voice rough and low, like the words had been dragged straight from his chest. “You’re driving me crazy.”

The way he said your name—like it meant something. Like it was more than just tonight. Like he’d never said it like that before.

───

You were halfway to the door, heels in one hand, your dress barely zipped, when you heard the bed creak behind you—his voice following a second later, low and rough, not yet fully awake.

“You’re leaving?”

The question hung in the quiet of the morning like smoke. You paused, eyes dropping to the floor for a beat before you turned to face him. He was sitting up now, the sheet pooled around his waist, curls sticking up in every direction, his skin kissed by golden light spilling through the curtains. He didn’t look like the cocky version of himself you saw in the paddock or at parties. No grin. No posture. Just Lando, raw and honest, blinking through the confusion of waking up to find you already trying to disappear.

“I just figured…” you started, voice softer than you expected, “I figured it’d be easier this way. You know, before it gets awkward. Before we ruin whatever… this was.”

You tried to sound casual. Detached. Like you hadn’t just spent the night tangled in his sheets, in his hands, in the kind of chemistry you couldn’t fake. But it didn’t quite land. You were stalling, hiding, hoping he wouldn’t see how quickly you were trying to protect yourself from something that already meant more than it should have.

Lando didn’t reply immediately. He just sat there, elbows on his knees, hands clasped loosely together, like he was holding something he couldn’t quite name. His eyes were on you, but not in the way they were last night. This wasn’t hunger or mischief. It was curiosity… mixed with something quieter. Something a little more careful. You had the sense he wasn’t looking at your body anymore—he was just looking at you.

And that made it harder to stand there pretending you didn’t care.

“I was thinking,” he said after a long beat, his voice still a little hoarse, “maybe we could go grab lunch. I know this place not far from here. They make this insane pesto ravioli. You’d like it.”

You blinked. Lunch? That wasn’t how these things usually went. You were supposed to ghost each other. Or at best, trade a half-smile at the next party and pretend you didn’t remember what it felt like to fall asleep with his arms around you.

“Lunch?” you repeated, more surprised than dismissive. Your voice had a cautious edge, like you were afraid to believe he meant it.

He shrugged, glancing away for the first time. One hand raked through his messy curls, his mouth pressing into a thin line as if he hated how unsure he suddenly felt. “Yeah. I mean… unless you’ve got somewhere better to be.”

He said it like it didn’t matter. Like if you said no, he’d brush it off. Go back to sleep. Forget all about it.

But you knew better.

Because beneath the light tone, behind the almost-casual smile, something in his eyes was different. There was a flicker of hesitation, not because he regretted last night, but because it meant something. And maybe he hadn’t planned on it. Maybe it caught him off guard. But he didn’t want to let it go just yet.

You nodded slowly, lips parting on a faint breath as the words tumbled out, soft but sure. “Yeah… just lunch.”

You said it like a promise to yourself, a casual agreement, something that didn’t weigh more than it should. Something light. Harmless. Manageable.

But beneath that calm tone, you felt the quiet swell of something more dangerous. Something warmer. Like stepping into sunlight after too long in the dark.

Just lunch.

That’s what you told yourself. That’s all it was going to be.

What could possibly go wrong?

You were older now. Wiser. Sharper around the edges where once you’d been all softness and wishful thinking. You didn’t fall like that anymore—not for pretty boys with jawlines sharp enough to slice you open. Not for quick smiles and fast cars. Not for someone like Lando Norris, who had the world wrapped around his finger and still somehow looked at you like you were the only person in the room.

You weren’t that girl.

Not anymore.

You wouldn’t fall just because he kissed like he meant it. Just because he touched you like he’d been waiting a long time to do it. Just because for a few quiet moments, you forgot the world and everything that came with it.

You wouldn’t fall.

Lando’s smile was soft as he pushed off the bed, stretching slightly before grabbing a shirt from the back of a chair. He rubbed the back of his neck, curls tousled and wild in the golden morning light. “Give me ten minutes,” he said over his shoulder, his voice still scratchy from sleep. “I’ll be quick.”

He disappeared into the bathroom, the door clicking shut behind him. And just like that, you were alone.

You stood there for a moment, barefoot on the cool wooden floor, still holding your heels in one hand, your dress from last night now looking more like a memory than a choice. The room smelled like him—warm cotton, something faintly citrus, and underneath it all, the scent of last night: heat, closeness, something heady and fragile that hadn’t quite faded.

You let out a breath and looked around. The sheets on his bed were a mess. Your lipstick was faint on a glass by the sink. His jacket was draped on the back of a chair you didn’t remember using.

There was no reason to stay.

No real one, anyway.

But you weren’t ready to go.

You pulled your dress over your shoulders slowly, running your hands down the fabric to smooth it into place. Your reflection in the hallway mirror caught you off guard for a second—hair tousled, lips pink from kissing, your eyes just a little softer, like something had cracked open in the night and never quite closed again.

You didn’t look like the version of yourself you always showed the world.

You looked… more honest.

You blinked, gathering your things. The plan was simple: you’d get through lunch, maybe say something clever, laugh at his jokes, and walk away with your head held high. That was all. That’s what you’d trained yourself to do.

But a quiet voice in the back of your mind whispered something else.

A question.

What if you didn’t walk away?

What if you let yourself stay—just for now—not because you were weak, not because you wanted something from him, but because… maybe he wanted something too?

Something real.

Something more than just a night.

And if he didn’t? If this was just a flicker in the dark?

Then at least you’d know.

At least you gave the moment a chance to become something more than a memory you’d spend weeks trying to forget.

───

You walked through Monaco like it was yours. The soft clack of your shoes on the cobblestones, the sea breeze dancing around your shoulders, and the warmth of Lando’s arm beneath your hand—it all felt too perfect. Too easy. Your fingers rested lightly around his bicep, every now and then squeezing involuntarily when another ridiculous part of his story made you lose it with laughter.

He was animated now, telling you about a night that clearly lived in the “shouldn’t have survived that” category. “So we’d already had, like, way too much tequila,” he said, still grinning like he couldn’t believe the memory was real, “and Carlos was convinced he knew where the keys to this golf cart were. I don’t even know who the cart belonged to. I think it might’ve been from a hotel we weren’t staying at.”

You doubled over, one hand on your chest, the other clinging to his arm as you laughed uncontrollably. “You stole a golf cart?!”

“Borrowed,” he corrected with a wink, “for, like, fifteen minutes. But then Carlos tries to turn this tight corner—while we’re singing Despacito, by the way—and just… boom. Straight into the tree.”

You were crying with laughter, trying to catch your breath, shaking your head in disbelief. “You’re joking.”

Lando laughed with you, but his eyes lingered on you a moment longer than the joke required. He watched you—really watched you. The way your eyes crinkled at the corners, the way you leaned into him like it was instinct. And then, something shifted in his chest.

He hadn’t told that story in a long time. Not because it was some secret—plenty of people knew bits and pieces—but because he didn’t usually care enough to give the real version. He never felt the need. But with you, it came out so naturally, like the only thing he wanted was to make you laugh again. And again. And again.

What surprised him most, though, wasn’t the way you laughed. It was the way he felt when you did.

Because somewhere in between that story and your reaction to it, he realized something he hadn’t wanted to admit—not to himself, not to anyone.

You made him feel something.

Actually feel something. Something heavy and warm and dangerous in its comfort. Like he was waking up in a version of his life that didn’t revolve around racing lines and calculated risks. Like this—you—could mean more than he planned for.

Even the thrill of crashing that golf cart into the tree with Carlos—wild and reckless and hilarious—didn’t touch the high he got from seeing you smile at him like this. From hearing your voice mix with the sound of the city and the sea. From walking next to you and not wanting to be anywhere else.

He swallowed hard, his grin faltering just slightly as he looked ahead.

He was getting attached.

Too fast. Too deep.

And you didn’t even know it.

Then you glanced up at him again, eyes sparkling with amusement and a little disbelief. “You’re actually insane, you know that?”

He chuckled, slow and quiet, but there was something else behind it now. Something real. Something vulnerable. His eyes didn’t leave yours.

“Yeah,” he said softly. “But you’re still here.”

───

Did it really surprise anyone that you didn’t go home after lunch?

Because to be honest, it didn’t surprise you anymore. At some point between laughing over coffee and letting him walk you back upstairs with his hand resting lightly on the small of your back, you stopped trying to find an excuse to leave. You should’ve, probably. That was always your move—be charming, leave first. Keep the upper hand. But right now, you were cross-legged on Lando Norris’ living room floor, hair a mess, legs bare beneath a hoodie far too big to be yours.

He was behind you, sunk deep into his sim setup, muttering under his breath every time he missed a corner. You’d been teasing him for the last half hour about how he should stick to real cars. He shot you a middle finger over his shoulder when you said that, laughing.

The ease between you had crept in quietly. It wasn’t forced. It wasn’t fake. And that was dangerous.

You were still grinning when your phone buzzed again. And again. A wave of notifications hit all at once.

You opened Instagram.

And froze.

There you were, in crisp, crystal-clear paparazzi shots. The walk through Monaco. Your arm linked with his. Your eyes half-closed in a laugh. His looking at you like… like you were the only thing that mattered. It was everywhere.

You scrolled lower, reading the first few captions out loud.

“F1’s fastest flirt… finally slowing down?” “Player no more? Lando’s mystery girl revealed.”“Caught in Monaco: Norris and new flame looking cozy.” “Lando’s Not-So-Secret Soft Side: Who’s the Girl Making F1’s Favorite Player Smile Like That?”

“Um,” you started, your voice light but laced with disbelief, “we’re… kind of all over the internet.”

Lando immediately paused the sim and twisted around in his seat. “Already?”

“Yup,” you said, scrolling quickly through the tagged photos. The images were everywhere — you two walking together in Monaco, mid-laugh, your arm looped through his. There was even one of him glancing down at you, and it didn’t feel staged or performative. It looked… real. And maybe that’s what made your heart skip just a little.

“Look,” you added, holding up the screen for him to see, “walking photos, laughing photos, and… oh. This one’s cute. You’re staring at me like I’m your screensaver.”

Lando groaned and pushed himself up, padding barefoot across the floor before dropping beside you with a soft thud. “Oh no,” he sighed, resting his elbow on his knee. “They caught my weak side.”

You snorted, the sound slipping out before you could stop it. “You have a weak side?”

Without missing a beat, he leaned just a bit closer, glancing at the screen before his eyes met yours. “Apparently, it’s you.”

You blinked, heat blooming in your cheeks. You rolled your eyes, trying to shake it off. “Gross.”

“Oh, come on,” he teased, nudging you with his shoulder. “That was smooth.”

“Barely,” you muttered, but the corners of your mouth betrayed you — lifting into a reluctant smile.

You were glad you were here with him.

You were.

But still… something in you twisted. A familiar shadow that curled deep in your chest, whispering doubts you didn’t want to listen to. You fought some kind of demon in yourself—quiet, persistent, always waiting. The part of you that still thought this couldn’t be real. Couldn’t be lasting. Couldn’t be safe.

Should you fully let him in this early?

Should you let anyone?

Your eyes dropped to your intertwined hands again, and for a moment you considered pulling away—not because you didn’t want to be close, but because it scared you just how natural it already felt. How much of your heart he had access to without even asking.

What if this was just temporary? What if you were just an adrenaline rush, a novelty, a brief distraction between races?

───

“You’re falling, buddy,” Max said, not even trying to be subtle. He held his phone out toward Lando, screen lit up with yet another article plastered with your face next to his, the two of you mid-laugh, framed in that golden Monaco sun like it was a movie still.

Lando didn’t even look at it. He leaned back against the wall of the motorhome, arms crossed tightly over his chest like that would keep the weight of Max’s words from hitting too deep.

“No I’m not,” he muttered, shaking his head as if saying it enough times might make it true. As if convincing Max would somehow help convince himself. “It’s just… two days. Chill.”

Max gave a slow, sarcastic nod. “Right. Because you’re totally known for having girls stay over two nights in a row. That’s classic Lando behavior.”

Lando’s jaw tightened. “It’s not like that. She’s cool, that’s it.”

“‘Cool,’” Max echoed with an incredulous snort. “You’ve said that three times now. You trying to sell it to me or yourself?”

“It doesn’t mean anything.”

Max rolled his eyes, clearly over the denial. He stepped closer and leaned on the edge of the table. “Okay. Fine. Then prove it.”

Lando glanced up, brows pulling together. “What do you mean?”

“A bet,” Max said casually, like he was offering a game of cards. “One week. You bring her to the next race. Spend real time with her. And at the end of it, if you can look me in the eye and swear you don’t feel a thing? Cool. You win.”

There was a pause. The kind of silence where everything settled heavy in the air, pressing in with the weight of unsaid truths.

“And what do I get out of that?” Lando asked eventually, forcing a little smirk even though his voice came out a bit quieter than usual.

Max’s grin widened, knowing he’d hooked him. “I’ll take your entire media schedule in Canada. Interviews, photos, all the annoying stuff you always complain about.”

Lando let out a short laugh, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “You really think I’m falling for her?”

“I know you are,” Max said, leveling him with a look that was almost brotherly. “The only question is whether you’re gonna admit it before you ruin it.”

Lando looked away for a moment. He thought about your voice still lingering in his head, the way you looked curled up in his hoodie, how fast everything felt when you laughed. Too fast. But maybe it had always been heading this way.

“Alright,” he said at last, voice low. “You’ve got yourself a bet.”

Max held out his hand. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Lando shook it, already unsure whether this was a challenge or a setup — because deep down, he wasn’t sure he could spend one more day with you without falling harder.

And now? He had seven.

───

You still couldn’t wrap your head around how you got here. Not just here as in Spain, but here with him—standing in the paddock beside Lando Norris like you belonged there. Like this was normal. Like any of it made sense.

It all started so casually, a passing comment over dinner when the music was low and his hand had been resting on your knee like it had always been meant to be there. “What are you doing this weekend?” he’d asked, eyes catching yours mid-laugh. Then came the follow-up, so casual it nearly slipped by you: “Come with me to Spain. To the race.”

You’d hesitated. Of course you did. Because you weren’t supposed to be the girl at his races. You weren’t supposed to be seen stepping off a private jet next to him, smiling politely as cameras turned your way. It was supposed to be one night—two, at most. Not mornings tangled in sheets, or dinners filled with laughter so warm you forgot to guard your heart.

And yet, you said yes.

Now, you found yourself walking the paddock, trying not to shrink beneath the weight of a thousand unspoken stories. You were used to attention, sure—but this was different. This wasn’t admiration or curiosity. It was dissection. Speculation. Headlines practically writing themselves with every step you took beside him. You could already imagine them.

But the noise faded once you were back in the hotel, the sun setting in soft orange behind the sheer curtains. The window was cracked open, letting the balmy air drift through the room. You were curled up in bed, wearing one of Lando’s hoodies, your phone forgotten beside you.

The door creaked open, and a moment later the mattress dipped beside you as he slid in beside you, damp hair curling at his temples, skin warm from the shower. He didn’t speak right away, just reached for you—his head settling on your chest like he belonged there, like he’d always belonged there.

Your fingers moved without thinking, curling through his hair, your nails gently scratching his scalp the way you’d already learned he liked.

After a beat, he spoke, voice muffled by your collarbone. “You didn’t seem bored out there.”

You smiled, fingers still in his hair. “Watching you fight for second place? I’ve seen worse.”

He huffed a laugh, the sound soft against your skin. “Could’ve been worse. Could’ve come in fifth.”

You were quiet for a moment, both of you just breathing in sync. Then he shifted, just slightly, enough to lift his head and look up at you.

“I don’t know,” he said, his voice lower now, more hesitant. “Lately I’ve been feeling like… I drive better when you’re around.”

Your heart skipped something uncertain. It wasn’t just the words—it was the weight in them. The uncertainty. The rawness. Like he hadn’t meant to say it out loud.

You didn’t reply right away. What could you even say?

Because you were feeling it too—that strange pull. That terrifying warmth. And suddenly it wasn’t about bets, or flings, or proving something to someone.

It was about this. Him. You. And something that felt dangerously close to real.

You were quiet. You just smiled.

God damn it—stop smiling.

You weren’t supposed to feel like this. This fluttery warmth in your chest, the way your body relaxed with him beside you—it wasn’t part of the plan. You were meant to stay detached, to keep it casual. One night, maybe two, and that was it. But now, your hand was moving through his curls like it had done it a hundred times before, and that quiet peace in your chest was starting to feel dangerously close to comfort.

Your smile gave too much away. You could feel it. It wasn’t just polite or playful. It was soft. It was real. And when you looked down and saw Lando looking up at you from where his head rested on your chest, you knew he saw it too. He didn’t smirk like he usually would. No teasing glint in his eyes. Instead, there was something careful in his expression—something honest. And in a way, it made you want to run.

But you didn’t.

“You’re my lucky charm,” he murmured, barely louder than the breeze drifting in from the balcony. “I like having you by my side.”

His voice was quiet, almost unsure, like he wasn’t used to saying things like that out loud. And maybe he wasn’t. Maybe this wasn’t typical for him either. That thought struck you like a pulse—sharp and warm all at once.

You blinked slowly, your fingers pausing in his hair before moving again gently, threading through like you were holding onto something delicate. You wanted to answer, but you didn’t know what to say. What did you say to someone who made you feel this seen? This wanted?

And worse—what did you say when you were starting to want him just as much?

───

The streets of Barcelona stretched ahead, quiet and calm in the late hours of the night. The afterparty had ended, the music and laughter fading into the background, leaving only the distant hum of the city and the occasional flicker of headlights passing by. The air was warm, carrying the scent of summer and the faint traces of alcohol lingering between you and Lando as you walked side by side.

You weren’t even that drunk—though the world felt softer, the edges of reality blurred just enough to make everything feel lighter. But Lando… he was past that. His steps were uneven, his weight leaning into you more than he probably realized, his arm draped over your shoulders in a way that was both protective and dependent. You could feel the warmth of him, the way his body swayed slightly with each movement, and you knew he needed to sit before he lost his footing completely.

"You want to sit for a while?" you asked, glancing at him, taking in the way his eyes were heavy-lidded, his smirk lazy, his usual sharpness dulled by the alcohol.

He just nodded, letting you guide him toward the nearest bench. You sat him down carefully, standing in front of him as he leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees, head tilted slightly as he looked up at you. His breathing was slow, steady, but there was something in his gaze—something hazy, something unguarded.

Then, suddenly, he moved—too fast, too unsteady. His large palms found your thighs, his touch warm, grounding, sending a jolt of something unexpected through you. Your breath hitched, your body stiffening for just a second, unsure of what to do, unsure of what this meant.

"You are so pretty, Y/n," he murmured, his fingers tracing slow, absentminded patterns against your skin, his voice softer than usual, more vulnerable.

You didn’t answer.

His gaze lifted, those damn green eyes locking onto yours, hazy but sincere, searching for something he wasn’t sure he’d find. "You know, Y/n," he said, voice quieter now, more thoughtful, "I didn’t know what I was doing before I met you."

You opened your mouth, ready to say something, ready to stop whatever this was turning into—but before you could, he spoke again.

"I mean, I was just a boy who fed his ego with girls and cockiness."

His words hung between you, heavy, raw, more honest than you had ever heard him be.

"Lando, you’re drunk," you reminded him, forcing a small smile, though it felt bitter on your lips. You didn’t know if he meant what he was saying. But you wished he did.

You knew you were screwed. This wasn’t a game anymore. It was supposed to be stupid bet to pull someone your ex would hate. It wasn’t supposed to be this.

"I’m serious," he murmured, his voice quieter now, more certain than it should have been in his state. "I mean every word. I’ll tell you everything again once I’m sober if you want."

You swallowed, your throat suddenly dry, your heart beating just a little too fast.

"I was nothing before you, Y/n."

The weight of Lando’s words settled between you, thick and unshakable, pressing against the quiet night air. The city hummed softly around you, distant voices and the occasional flicker of headlights passing by, but none of it mattered. Not now. Not with him looking at you like that.

His fingers still rested against your thighs, warm and grounding, his touch absentminded but deliberate.

"I was nothing before you, Y/n," he murmured again, his voice quieter now, more careful, more real.

You swallowed, your throat suddenly dry, your heart beating just a little too fast. The words felt too big, too heavy, too true.

"Lando…" you started, hesitating, unsure of what to say, unsure if saying anything at all would make it better—or worse.

He tilted his head slightly, his drunken haze evident but not enough to dull the sincerity in his eyes. "What?" His voice was soft, almost cautious, like he wasn’t sure if he wanted to hear whatever you were about to say.

"You’re drunk," you reminded him again, even though it wasn’t really the problem. Even though you knew it wasn’t the excuse you wanted it to be.

He let out a breath, slow, uneven. His fingers flexed slightly against your skin before he pulled away, leaning back into the bench, running a hand through his messy curls.

"I know," he admitted, voice barely above a whisper. "But that doesn’t mean I don��t mean it."

The honesty in his tone made something twist inside you—something you weren’t ready to unpack.

He exhaled, shaking his head slightly, as if frustrated with himself, as if frustrated with the way the words were coming out. "I didn’t know what I wanted," he murmured, his voice quieter now, more careful. "I had everything but it felt like nothing. I was nothing."

He looked up at you then, his green eyes locking onto yours, holding something deeper, something real.

"But now I know what I want."

And the way he said it—the certainty in his voice, the way his gaze didn’t waver—made it terrifyingly clear.

The silence stretched between you, thick with unspoken thoughts, with emotions neither of you were ready to name. You could feel the weight of his confession pressing against your chest, making it harder to breathe, harder to think.

You wanted to believe him. You wanted to let yourself believe that this wasn’t just drunken words, that this wasn’t just the alcohol talking. But you also knew that if you let yourself believe it, there would be no going back.

Lando stayed quiet for a moment, his head still resting against your shoulder, but you could feel his fingers flexing gently against your thigh, like he was trying to find the courage to keep going. The alcohol loosened his tongue, but what he was saying wasn’t just drunken nonsense — it came from somewhere much deeper.

“You know what scares me the most?” he finally whispered, his voice rough. “I’ve spent years building this version of myself. The one that’s always fine. The one who wins, who laughs, who flirts and moves on like none of it ever means anything. And it worked for so long.” He laughed softly, but there was no humor in it. “I didn’t even realize how fucking lonely it felt until you showed up.”

Your breath caught, but you stayed still, letting him speak.

“I see the way you look at me,” he continued, his voice lowering even more, “and for the first time in a long time… it’s not because of the car, or the fame, or the headlines. You see me, don’t you? The real me. And I don’t know how you do it, but it scares the shit out of me, Y/n.” His grip on your thigh tightened slightly as if he was trying to anchor himself.

He finally lifted his head to face you fully, his eyes glossy but sharp, locking with yours. “You’re dangerous,” he whispered, almost like an accusation, but there was a tenderness behind it. “Because you make me want things I promised myself I wouldn’t want. Things that feel… permanent.”

You swallowed hard, your heart pounding so loudly you were sure he could hear it.

“I thought I could control this,” he admitted, shaking his head. “I thought I could keep you at a distance, just have fun, not let it get serious. And then suddenly you’re in my bed, you’re in my head, you’re here, and I—” he stopped himself, his voice breaking slightly. “I don’t know how to not want you.”

His thumb brushed gently over your skin, slower now, softer. “I didn’t think I’d ever want someone like this again.”

© norristrii 2025

babsie radio ! hey babess!!! It’s heree!! But yk, i had like a week break from this fic, so I kinda forgot how I wanted to continue it… soooo…..kinda open ending ? sorry i’m evil👹

[diorjadore]

Look at You.

alternative title: objects in mirror may be hornier than they appear

summary: teasing turns into something intense, it’s the beginning of something more: exploration and a growing list of fantasies you’re both eager to check off

content: 18+!! smut, nsfw, mirror sex, voyeuristic elements, power dynamics (soft), mutual teasing, consent & trust, some bondage, public play references, kink discovery, domestic intimacy, lando being a menace, horny but wholesome energy

word count: 5.3k

pairing: lando norris x fem!reader

walls are way too thin - series - a´s masterlist

might be confusing if read as standalone

It’s quiet,the kind of quiet that only settles a few days after chaos, when the dust has settled but the air still remembers the storm. The hotel room is dimly lit, the curtains drawn against a pale, lazy afternoon. The TV flickers in the corner, playing something neither of you are watching, some cooking show or maybe a nature doc, sound turned low, narration drifting in and out like a lullaby.

You’re stretched across the wide hotel couch, head tipped back over the armrest, spine curled in something between contentment and exhaustion. Your legs are draped across Lando’s lap, bare skin pressed against the soft cotton of his joggers. A half-eaten bowl of crisps rests on your stomach, crumbs dotting your shirt like little souvenirs from earlier laughter.

Lando’s hand moves slowly, absentmindedly, tracing lazy patterns across your shins. He doesn’t look at you—his gaze is trained on the ceiling like he expects it to blink back at him. There’s a stillness in his posture that feels rare, like he’s finally let himself land after being airborne too long.

And then—he shifts.

It’s subtle, but you feel it. The way his thighs tighten beneath you, the sudden pause in his fingers like a thought just took up too much space in his chest. You don’t move. Don’t even open your eyes.

“What?” you murmur, voice hoarse with rest.

There’s a beat. Then, light and unmistakably mischievous:

“You know the thing you told me…”

You sigh, already bracing. “Lando, I say like... a million things to you every day. Narrow it down.”

You can hear the smirk as he speaks, soft and self-satisfied. “The thing about mirrors.”

Your eyes fly open.

He doesn’t look down right away—just grins like he’s been waiting for your reaction. Like he’s been saving this for exactly when your defenses are lowest. Your legs twitch in his lap, but he grabs your ankle before you can pull away.

“Don’t,” you warn, voice already warm with embarrassed laughter.

“Oh, I will,” he says, finally glancing down at you. His curls fall toward your face, casting shadows across your cheeks. “You said—and I quote—‘I’ve always wondered what I’d look like fucked in front of a mirror.’”

You groan, dragging one hand over your face. “I was drunk.”

He hums like he’s considering it. His thumb circles the inside of your ankle now—barely there, but maddening. “You were honest,” he says, sing-song and smug.

Your hand stays over your eyes, but you peek at him through your fingers. His grin has grown just a little too pleased with himself, like he knows exactly what kind of spiral he’s starting.

“I hate you,” you mutter, half-hearted.

“No you don’t.” His free hand moves to your thigh, thumb brushing lightly beneath the hem of your shorts, casual—but not. There’s intention behind the touch now. Something slower. More curious. “You trust me with your darkest, filthiest secrets.”

You snort. “That wasn’t a secret. It was a hypothetical.” Your voice is muffled against your palm, but your breath hitches all the same.

“Mmm,” he hums, not even trying to mask how much he’s enjoying this. “You said you’d never done it. That you wanted to watch.” He drags out the last word, slow and sticky with intent. “Wanted to see your own face when you came.”

You drop your hand from your face with an exaggerated sigh and give him a flat look. “You are literally insufferable.”

Lando just leans back, completely unbothered, his grin widening into something downright sinful. “But now I can’t stop thinking about it. You. Mirror. Me behind you…” He shifts slightly beneath you, his hands tightening on your thighs as he lets the images stack. “On your knees. On top. Bent over the edge of the bed, maybe. Fuck—bent against the mirror.”

He shrugs with an easy, almost innocent smile. “I’m not picky.”

You sigh again, a little less dramatic this time—more resigned. “You’re such a menace.”

“And you,” he says, eyes gleaming, voice dipping low, “love it.”

He lets that word sit for a second, warm and weighty.

“Maybe…” he adds, almost too casual, “you still want it?”

There’s a beat.

Then his gaze slides across the room—to the tall, sleek mirror propped elegantly near the corner, angled just enough that you can see the bed behind it. It’s glossy and unassuming, entirely unaware that it’s about to become the center of a very inappropriate conversation.

You follow his line of sight automatically, lifting your head from the couch. The mirror gleams back, pure and quiet.

He catches your hesitation. Sees the way your eyes linger just a second too long.

“Oh fuck,” he whispers, voice delighted, “you do.”

“Lando,” you say, a warning, though your voice is already softer. Already shifting.

“Don’t Lando me.” He slides his hand lower, palm trailing along your ribs, your waist, slow and exploratory. “You’re the one who planted the idea. I’m just—” his thumb dips just beneath the waistband of your joggers “—cultivating it.”

You bark a laugh, caught off guard. “You sound like a pervy gardener.”

“Pervy, definitely,” he says, grinning. “But also curious.”

He tilts his head like he’s thinking deeply, but his fingers don’t stop moving. They hook just slightly into the elastic at your hip, not tugging—just there.

“Aren’t you?” he asks.

You don’t answer right away. Mostly because your mouth’s gone dry again. Because yeah, okay—maybe it wasn’t just a passing comment. Maybe you have thought about it since then. More than once. Maybe you’ve imagined watching the way your body moves, the way his hands look on your skin, the way your own expression changes when he’s deep inside you. Maybe that idea has stuck to you like syrup ever since it slipped out of your mouth.

He shifts beneath you, knees nudging until you’re forced to sit upright in his lap. Your breath stutters at the sudden shift in posture, in energy. He’s closer now. Focused. Serious in a way that feels heavy and intimate.

“You want to see how good you look,” he murmurs, voice nearly a whisper, “or do you want to see how good I make you look?”

Your throat is tight, pulse thudding behind your ears. When you speak, it’s smaller than you meant it to be.

“Both.”

His grin turns sharp, almost reverent. “Come on, then.”

He offers his hand—palm up, fingers open, like he’s inviting you to dance.

You arch a brow, resisting the tug in your chest. “What is this, prom night?”

“Don’t make me carry you,” he warns, already bracing.

“You wouldn’t—”

You don’t even get the word out.

He lunges, sudden and unreasonably fast for someone so full of crisps and cockiness. His hands slide under your thighs, then your waist, and before you can blink, you’re off the couch and slung over his shoulder like a sack of flour.

“Lando!” you yelp, legs kicking uselessly in the air as your view flips upside down. “Put me down, you absolute dickhead—!”

He just laughs, a rich, full sound that bounces off the hotel walls. One of his hands pats your ass, entirely too pleased with himself. “Told you not to test me.”

You slap weakly at his back, breathless from laughing. “I swear to god—”

He spins in a tight, dizzying circle just to make it worse, your hair whipping around your face, before finally, finally setting you down with surprising care.

Your feet hit the carpet. You’re standing in front of the mirror now.

It towers in front of you, clean and polished and waiting. You catch your reflection—a little wild-eyed, flushed from laughter, shirt rumpled and falling off one shoulder.

Lando steps up behind you, chest brushing your back, hands still on your waist. His face is close to your ear now, voice low and soft and too sincere.

“You wanna see what I see?”

Your laughter lingered in your throat as you caught your own reflection—wild hair, flushed cheeks, the hem of your shirt now askew from the ride. Behind you, Lando’s hands slid over your hips, steadying you. His eyes met yours in the mirror, playful but darkened by something deeper.

“Better,” he murmured, close to your ear.

“Now look,” he murmurs, catching your gaze in the glass. “Don’t look at me. Look at you.”

His hands move under your shirt, slow and deliberate, calloused fingertips grazing the curve of your waist like he’s rediscovering you. The brush of skin-on-skin sends goosebumps racing down your arms, and for a moment, all you can do is breathe. Shallow, shaky, anticipatory.

Then his hand rises—firm but gentle—tilting your chin with two fingers until your gaze lifts. He angles your head toward the mirror. Forces your eyes to meet your own reflection.

His mouth finds that sensitive spot just behind your ear, lips warm, tongue flicking out briefly, and your lashes flutter, instinct pulling you inward. But he taps your jaw, gentle but insistent.

“Nope,” he murmurs, voice low and curling with amusement, a grin pressed against your skin. “Keep watching.”

You swallow hard.

He peels your shirt off slowly, raising your arms over your head, the fabric brushing your flushed skin as it slides away. He lets it fall to the floor without ceremony. His own shirt follows seconds later, revealing the warmth of his chest against your back. You can feel his skin, hot and solid and there.

You glance at the mirror again—see yourself bare from the waist up, your body molded into his, and his arms winding around you. His hands travel the span of your torso, tracing the curve of your ribs, skimming under the band of your bra. The way your body arches into his touch is automatic. Craving.

And then his fingers slip below the waistband of your joggers, dragging slow over your hipbones, thumbs sliding inward toward the center of you.

“Still just a fantasy?” he asks, mouth brushing your shoulder, voice husky now, the heat rising between you undeniable.

You don’t answer.

You can’t.

Your pulse is pounding in your ears, blood rushing to all the wrong places, and his fingers are already dipping low—confident, familiar, but still unbearably teasing.

He chuckles, and the sound is low and dark and satisfied, vibrating down the line of your spine like thunder.

“That’s what I thought.”

Your knees wobble. You reach forward, planting one hand against the edge of the mirror to stay upright, palm flat against the glass as he presses himself flush against your back. The heat of him envelops you, chest to spine, hips snug. You can feel him hard against you, feel every line of tension in his body. But it’s his focus that undoes you—the way his gaze stays locked on yours in the reflection.

It’s the most exposed you’ve ever felt—not because of how little you’re wearing, but because of how seen you are.

He’s watching your face as he touches you—watching the way your mouth parts with each exhale, the way your eyes go half-lidded when his fingers dip just a little lower. You try to stay still. Try not to squirm or reach for more.

But your hips roll back, seeking pressure, seeking him.

He smirks, maddening. And then he pulls back—just enough to make you whimper.

“Patience,” he whispers, lips grazing your ear, hot and breathy. “You said you wanted to see, didn’t you?”

“Fuck,” you breathe, the word barely audible, your knuckles going white where you grip the edge of the dresser. “Then stop teasing.”

“Oh,” he says, amused and dark, his teeth grazing your neck, “now you want it quick?”

His fingers slip forward again, slow, purposeful, slick with anticipation.

“What happened to the fantasy?” he teases, circling your clit with such maddening gentleness you could scream. “Didn’t you want to watch yourself fall apart?”

You moan softly, forehead resting against the glass, your own eyes blinking back at you—flushed, parted lips, pupils wide with want. He doesn’t let you look away.

His hand at your jaw moves again, angling your face so you have to see. Have to witness yourself unraveling at the hands of someone who knows exactly how to pull you apart.

“Keep watching,” he says again, and this time there’s no grin—just heat. Reverence. Need.

You do.

And it’s devastating.

He pushes your joggers and underwear down in one smooth, unhurried motion—like he’s unwrapping something he’s been dying to get his hands on. The fabric pools around your ankles, and you step out without looking, body trembling with anticipation. The cool air kisses your calves, but it doesn’t register. Not when Lando’s already behind you again, all warm skin and want and steady hands.

You meet his eyes in the mirror.

He’s devouring you.

Shirtless, hair messy, lips parted just slightly, chest rising with slow, deliberate breaths. His gaze is heavy—dragging over every inch of you, lingering at the curve of your ass, the dip of your spine, the tension in your thighs. And then he finds your reflection, locking eyes with you like you’re the only thing he’s ever wanted.

“You’re so hot,” he whispers, reverent. Like he’s saying it more to himself than to you.

Your breath catches. “Please,” you manage, quiet, aching.

His hand moves then—slides slowly down your stomach, fingers splayed wide. You feel the way his palm presses heat into your skin, trailing lower, lower. You can’t look away. Not from him. Not from you. Your reflection shows everything—the way your mouth falls open, the way your legs shift restlessly, the way your chest rises with every staggered breath.

Then his fingers reach your center.

You jolt—just slightly—as he slides between your folds, already slick and ready for him. His touch is sure, practiced, unbearably slow at first. Just the pads of his fingers, circling, exploring, spreading you open like a secret. He watches it all. Watches you watching him. The way your hips twitch forward against his hand. The flush spreading down your chest. The desperation leaking out of every breath.

He moves with maddening control circling your clit with just the right pressure, dipping down to gather more slick, then back up again. A rhythm that’s measured, teasing, intimate. It’s not just about getting you off. It’s about watching what it does to you.

“Look at yourself,” he murmurs, voice rough against your ear. “Look how you fall apart for me.”

You can’t stop.

You don’t want to.

Every roll of his fingers makes your knees shake, your hand clutch the mirror for dear life. You gasp when he slips one finger inside, then another, curling them just right, his other hand bracing your hip, grounding you, anchoring you.

And in the mirror, you watch it all: the flushed wreckage of your face, the ripple of your stomach, the dark intensity in his eyes as he works you open, coaxing you closer with every slow thrust of his hand.

You’ve never looked so utterly undone.

And he’s never looked more obsessed.

“Fuck, you feel—” he chokes on the rest, breath catching in his throat as your body tightens around his fingers, heat pulsing through you like a live wire.

Your eyes flutter shut without meaning to, overwhelmed—but his hand tangles gently in your hair, tugging just enough to bring your gaze back to the mirror. Back to him. Back to you.

“Look,” he murmurs, voice low and fraying. “Don’t miss this.”

And so you do. You force your eyes open, breath trembling, and meet your reflection.

It nearly knocks the air from your lungs.

Your lips are parted in something between a gasp and a moan, cheeks flushed deep, collarbone rising and falling with every hitched breath. Your skin is glowing with heat, the sheen of sweat already starting to gather where his chest brushes your back. You can see the exact moment his fingers curl just right—your body jerks, stomach twitching, another sound slipping free before you can swallow it.

It’s just his fingers. Just the slow, relentless rhythm of them moving inside you, pressing into that spot that makes your vision go white. But it feels like everything. It feels like he’s inside every part of you at once. Filling you. Reading you. Ruining you.

And still—he’s watching. Not even glancing at the mirror anymore. His gaze is fixed on you, the real you, the shaking, gasping version he’s holding up with one arm while the other works you to the edge with steady, intimate precision. Like he’s memorizing you in real time. Like he’s never seen anything more perfect.

His jaw is tight, flexing with restraint, his breath warm and ragged against your shoulder. “You feel so fucking good,” he groans again, voice breaking into something raw. “So wet for me.”

You try to respond, but your throat closes around the sound. Your whole body is tensing, spiraling fast.

And in the mirror, you watch the moment your mouth falls open. The exact second your thighs shake. The tremor in your fingers as you brace yourself, barely upright, chasing the inevitable.

It’s not just his fingers—it’s his voice, his breath, the mirror, the way you’re both watching you fall apart like it’s the most sacred thing in the world.

“Let go,” he whispers, lips brushing your ear. “I’ve got you.”

Your hand slips against the mirror, palm slick—every nerve drawn taut around the rhythm of his fingers.

He knows you’re close. You feel it in the way his movements grow more focused, more deliberate. No teasing now. No retreat. Just the steady pressure of his fingers stroking deep, the heel of his palm grinding against the swollen ache of your clit in perfect rhythm.

Your thighs tremble. Your breath catches.

“You gonna come for me?” he breathes into your neck, voice wrecked and reverent, like he can’t believe what he’s seeing. His eyes flick to the mirror. “Look how fucking gorgeous you are like this. Falling apart for me.”

You do.

Your reflection is a blur of parted lips and wide, glossy eyes—cheeks flushed, chest heaving, jaw slack. You’ve never seen yourself like this. Not just the way you look, but the way he watches you. Like he worships it. Like nothing else matters. His mouth is at your shoulder, open and hot, his hand at your front dragging you closer to the edge with every pass.

“Come on, baby,” he whispers, and it’s the tenderness in his voice that tips you over. Not the pressure. Not the friction. Him.

Your head falls back against his shoulder, a soft whimper escaping your lips.

He’s fucking you deep, hard, but controlled, letting the pace build slow enough to make you desperate, fast enough to make your legs shake.

“Lan—” you gasp, but it falls apart when he moves his fingers just right.

“I know,” he groans, forehead dropping to your shoulder. “You’re close. I can feel it.”

You nod frantically, one hand flying back to grip his hip, anchoring yourself.

“Eyes. On. Me.”

You obey, barely. And when you come, it’s blinding. Messy. His name torn from your lips as your body trembles and he doesn’t stop.

You stay like that, breathless, collapsed against jim, both of you shining with sweat, cheeks flushed, bodies humming.

The mirror shows it all: the wrecked hair, the red marks, the wild grins that creep in after the comedown.

He catches your eye in the glass again.

You’re still breathless, your palms pressed to the cool glass, forehead resting there for a moment as your lungs fight to steady. The air between you crackles—humid with sweat and heat, your bodies humming, flushed, open.

Behind you, Lando doesn’t move. But you feel it—that lingering pull just beneath the surface. His hands still at your waist, thumbs moving in slow, reverent strokes like he’s memorizing the afterglow.

And when you glance up, find his gaze in the mirror again, it’s still there. Hunger.

Low, molten, impossible to ignore.

You both look wrecked. Hair wild, skin marked, eyes glazed and grinning in a way that only happens when you’ve finally crossed a line you’ve been dancing around for too long.

You catch your breath. Blink once. Then smile lazy, knowing.

“Fuck,” you murmur, finally turning in his arms. “Like we’re stopping there.”

He laughs, surprised, still catching up but you’re already tugging him backward by the wrist, toward the bed, toward more.

He lets you, pliant and amused, until the backs of his knees hit the edge of the mattress. You give him a gentle push and he goes easily, landing with a soft grunt, elbows braced behind him, curls sticking to his damp forehead.

“You’re serious?” he asks, grinning like he already knows the answer.

You don’t respond. You just drop to your knees between his legs, fingers finding the waistband of his joggers and tugging them down in one confident pull.

His breath stutters, eyes flicking to the space between you. But just as he looks down, your hand wraps around his thigh—firm. The other slides up, curling into the hair at the nape of your neck as you tilt your face up.

“No, no,” you say, smirking as his cock twitches. “You’re watching now.”

You jerk your chin toward the mirror.

His jaw slackens a bit—something in him tipping from smug to stunned as he realizes what you’re doing.

You lean in, breath warm over his skin but not touching, watching his reflection watch you.

“Don’t take your eyes off it,” you whisper.

You shift closer, knees spreading wide on the soft rug between his legs, hands gliding up the backs of his thighs—slow, deliberate. The muscles there twitch beneath your touch, and he exhales sharply, head tipping back for just a second before he remembers.

The mirror.

You watch his gaze drop to meet yours in the reflection, jaw tight, eyes dark with something deeper than lust. Anticipation. Awe.

Your fingers curl around the base of him, gentle at first. Testing. He’s already hard—hot and heavy in your palm and he twitches at the first light stroke of your thumb.

“Eyes up,” you murmur, just loud enough for the mirror to catch it.

He obeys.

And then you lean in.

Your lips brush the tip—barely there. Just a whisper of warmth, enough to make him suck in a breath through his teeth. You press a kiss to it like you would his mouth: slow, reverent, nothing rushed. His hips jerk slightly, but your hand steadies him, firm at his thigh.

You let your tongue follow, teasing around the head in lazy, wet circles—coaxing a groan from deep in his chest. It’s not needy yet. It’s slow. Intentional. A build.

His reflection is a portrait of tension: head tilted back slightly, eyes fighting to stay locked on himself, jaw clenched with restraint.

You slide down a little further, taking him just past your lips before pulling back again, spit-slick and grinning as his hips try to chase the heat.

“Patience,” you echo back to him, voice velvet-wrapped and wicked.

He groans—muttering your name like it’s a warning, like he’s hanging on by threads. One hand curls into the bedding, the other flexes at his side, but he still won’t break his stare in the mirror.

Your mouth closes over him again, slower this time, lips stretching around the weight of him. You sink down inch by inch, letting him feel every part of it, every stroke of tongue, every subtle suck until your eyes water slightly and his legs tense beneath your hands.

“Holy fuck,” he whispers, voice rough and wrecked.

And still, you don’t rush.

You keep the rhythm smooth, teasing, rising and falling in slow, deliberate waves. Enough to make his toes curl. Enough to keep him right at the edge without falling.

“You’re killing me,” he breathes, eyes locked on yours like he doesn’t want to miss a single second.

And you smile around him, because that’s the point.

You ease off him with one last wet kiss, lips swollen and glistening, a thin string of saliva catching the light before it breaks. His thighs are tight under your palms, chest rising in jagged, shallow breaths, and in the mirror—God—the restraint written across his face is almost more than you can take.

His hands twitch at his sides like he’s fighting not to grab you.

“You’re too good at this,” he mutters, voice hoarse and reverent, like he’s confessing something sacred. “It’s fucking evil.”

You hum, tongue flicking lazily over your bottom lip. “Is it?”

And then you do it again. Slower. Just your tongue this time, licking a stripe up the underside of him, your eyes locked with his through the mirror like a challenge.

His whole body jolts.

“Jesus—” His voice breaks off into a groan, low and ragged, one hand gripping the edge of the bed like it’s the only thing keeping him grounded. “You’re playing with fire.”

You take him into your mouth again—deeper now, just for a moment, just enough to make his legs shift, to drag another guttural sound out of his throat—then pull back with a pop. Your hand replaces your mouth, stroking him slowly, firmly, letting your thumb sweep across the head with maddening precision.

He bucks into it instinctively.

Then you stop.

Completely.

He growls, actually growls and sits up straighter, grabbing your arms and hauling you into his lap in one smooth, desperate motion. Your knees hit the mattress on either side of his hips, breath caught somewhere in your chest.

“Okay,” he pants, eyes blazing. “We´re not playing games here.”

You blink, dazed. “What?”

He kisses you hard. Open-mouthed, breathless, filthy. His hands are already moving—gripping your thighs, your hips, pulling you flush against him. You feel the heat of him trapped between you, thick and throbbing, and the way he grinds up just once is all promise.

“I let you play your game,” he murmurs against your mouth, voice a dangerous rumble. “But now we´ll stop the games.”

He flips both of you over. Your head hangs off the bed, hair brushing the floor, and the world spins upside-down for a heartbeat before he’s there, his body aligned with yours. You´re watching the mirror again, your reflection distorted by the angle, but you can still feel every inch of him moving above you.

He pushes in, not slow, not hesitant but hard and sudden, like all restraint has shattered. Your breath catches in your throat, eyes watering from the sharp, beautiful stretch. He meets you in the mirror’s glass too, raw and raging, both of you locked in that watching moment.

For a second it's movie-perfect: your muscles clench, his curls obscure his features, sweat tracing down your skin, your breath mingling in the reflection of glass—every pulse, every flicker of mirrored light, everything raw and wild and real.

His hands grip your hips like they're never going to let go, steadying himself. His free hand moves up to curl around your throat—not choking, but connecting just enough pressure to tie you to the moment. You choke out a groan, voice echoing into the glass like a promise you didn't mean to make.

It’s violent and tender both—his tongue brushing over your collar bone, mouth stretched tight as he grunts and moves. You're balancing between pleasure and panic, eyes on your reflection as you feel him fully seated inside you, deep in a way that steals the air from your lungs.

The mirror explodes with movement: your hips rolling up, his thrusts driving forward, eyes still locked, wanting to see every reaction, every sound leaving your mouth. The world narrows to glass and flesh, sound drowned by the echo of your breathing and the creak of bed slats.

“Fuck,” he hisses into your ear, teeth grazing your lobe. “Look at you.”

You shiver, trembling, caught between the burn and the beauty of watching yourself want him.

He pushes inside you harder, faster. Mirror or not, there's no holding back. Hands move between you, fingers finding that spot behind your hipbone, knuckles brushing skin so perfectly, pleasure and want bleeding together.

You drop your head back, eyes flicking back to the mirror again. It’s too much and enough at once.

“Lando,” you moan. And in your reflection, he hears your name like a vow.

He huffs a laugh—raucous, desperate. “Say it again.”

Your voice shakes as you repeat it. He leans in, thrusts a final time, and everything shatters—clenches, breaks, crashes into the silence after.

The mirror registers your wild exhale, his head bowed low, both of you spent and shaking. In that reflection, you see the aftermath: sweat mottled curls, bruising hips, two silhouettes breathing hard, tangled and real.

He pulls you back up onto the bed fully, lips trailing kisses down your chest until he settles next to you. Everything’s loud now: your breathing, his heartbeat.

You stay there for a long moment, chests rising and falling in sync, the mirror still catching every aftershock in soft, glowy angles. Your skin is slick with sweat, your hair’s a wreck, and Lando’s got that dazed, cocky smile that always shows up right after he’s absolutely wrecked you.

Eventually, he exhales a laugh. “Well. That escalated.”

You snort into his shoulder, voice hoarse. “You literally flipped me like a pancake.”

He grins, lazy and smug. “Yeah, but like... a sexy pancake.”

You groan, covering your face. “You ruin everything.”

He props himself up on one elbow, hair wild, eyes still hazy. “Ruin? That was art.”

You squint at him through your fingers. “You’re insufferable.”

“And yet,” he says, brushing your hair off your face with exaggerated tenderness, “you keep giving me material.”

You pause, arching a brow. “Material?”

“For the next mirror session,” he says with a wink. “You think I’m forgetting that look on your face?”

You swat him with the nearest pillow, but you're laughing now—giddy and ruined and stupidly happy.

“Okay, Casanova.”

After the mirror, it didn’t stop. If anything, it unlocked something.

You started making lists—mental ones, whispered ones, ones jotted down in the Notes app under fake names.

Places. Positions. Kinks. Scenarios.

Sometimes it was mind-blowing. Sometimes it was hilarious.

Like the time you tried shower sex and both of you nearly slipped and died.

Lando caught you by the elbow mid-slide, shampoo burning your eyes, both of you wheezing with laughter.

“Sexy,” you gasped, bent over awkwardly with conditioner still in your hair.

Or the time he tried blindfolding you but tied the scarf too tight and you got a headache halfway through.

And then there were the wins—lazy morning sex with your wrists tied above your head and his mouth trailing kisses down your stomach.

A hotel balcony in Barcelona, warm night air against your skin while his fingers curled inside you and he murmured, “Keep your voice down.”

Or the time he dared you in a restaurant, completely drunk on red wine and adrenaline and you made him comeunder the table flushed and giggling while he tried to pretend he hadn’t just ruined his pants.

It became your thing.

Not just the sex.

The exploring.

Together. With complete trust and absolutely zero shame.

You laughed when it was awkward. You raved when it was good. You tried again when it flopped.

tag list:

@lifesass @norrisjpg @random-movie @widow-cevans @mxdi0 @graceln4 @urmomsgirlfriend1 @mara1999

[diorjadore]

Because I Love You

Summary: YN Fewtrell and Lando Norris have been friends for as long as anyone can remember, the fans absolutely adore the pair together. YN has never missed an F1 race ever since Lando signed with McLaren. That is right up until Lando Norris hard launches his new girlfriend and YN can't stand the sight of them together.

Requests are open

Instagram /

liked by: lando, maxfewtrell and 898,322 others

yn.fewtrell: last weekend before race season @/lando 🏎️💨

username: and we're just supposed to believe they're not a couple???

| username: WAIT they're not together??

username: new fans discovering yn and lando aren't dating is the funniest thing to me because we've been watching this for years

lando: favourite karaoke partner 🧡

| username: who's going to tell them that they're dating then

username: sorry but is the most couple ass looking post i've ever seen

username: i dont even post my actual relationship like this

liked by: yn.fewtrell, maxfewtrell and 988,918 others

lando: back to the track, gonna miss this

username: stop it they're in love

username: how can two people be so oblivious

yn.fewtrell: can't wait to be back in the paddock 🧡

| username: ah the paddock princess is coming home

username: ok but they're def together and just havent announced it

username: sigh, whos gonna tell them

liked by: yn.fewtrell, lando and 598,322 others

maxfewtrell: third wheelin'

username: LMAO THE CAPTION

yn.fewtrell: you're lucky you were invited

username: story of max's life

username: when ur little sister and best friend date

username: NO BCS WHAT DO YOU MEAN THEY'RE NOT TOGETHER BUT HOLD HAND WHEN HE DRIVES!?!?!?

username: even max is tired of their bs

Twitter /

Instagram /

liked by: yn.fewtrell, mclaren, maxfewtrell and 992,383 others

lando: what a weekend

username: another couples post

username: he wins and this is the post

yn.fewtrall: WINNER !! WINNER !! WINNER !!

username: i wish that was me

liked by: lando, maxfewtrell and 898,322 others

yn.fewtrell: WINNER !! WINNER !! WINNER !!

username: shes in love

username: paddock princess looking real good

lando: for you, always

| username: what in the 'we're just friends' was that comment

username: mom and dad

Twitter /

YN to Max /

Twitter /

Lando to YN /

Instagram /

liked by: mclaren and 614,192 others

lando: 🧡

username: what the fuck is this

username: yn's been real quiet since this

| username: fr i think this is the first post of his she hasn't like

| username: i mean can u blame her

username: yn doesn't go to the emilia gp + lando hard launching a gf = coincidence i think not ☝🏻

username: lmao imagine having more chemistry with your 'friend' than ur gf

username: wait wasn't this girl at the last gp, no wonder yn looked upset that weekend

Max to YN /

Instagram /

liked by: lando, maxfewtrell and 1,032,004 others

yn.fewtrell: my friends say i look hotter anyway

username: YES YOU DO GIRL

username: no fucking way

username: yall she might as well have just tagged landos gf and said fuck u

maxfewtrell: so much for deleting instagram ig

| yn.fewtrell: dont expose me

| username: lmao you just know she was crying to max after landos post

username: ohh damn in ferarri colours too, shes mad mad

Lando to you /

Your Story /

Twitter /

Instagram /

liked by: yn.fewtrell, maxfewtrell and 1,398,322 others

lando: best win in weeks

username: because she was there

maxfewtrell: brilliant race mate

username: ok but did anyone else see the major side eye yn was giving the new gf

username: im here for the drama honestly

username: sorry ??? he wins and two out of four of the posts are just @/yn.fewtrell

| username: you must be new here

liked by: lando, maxfewtrell, mclare, and 898,322 others

yn.fewtrell: missed this 🧡

username: mom and dad never break up again pls

mclaren: missed u in the paddock 🧡

username: are they lovers?

| username: worse

lando: missed you muppet

| username: imagine being this much of an idiot

| username: ask her out

maxfewtrell: glad you're back where you belong

username: she looked miserable in the paddock with his new gf

Lando to YN /

YN to Max /

Instagram /

liked by: maxfewtrell, lando and 928,322 others

yn.fewtrell: because i love you

username: oh bby

username: wait i actually feel so bad for her rn

username: iconic to confess through insta tho

username: just let them be happy

Twitter /

Lando to YN /

Instagram /

liked by: lando, maxfewtrell, mclaren and 1,792,901 others

yn.fewtrell: because i love you

username: theyre so cute wtf

lando: i love you too, pretty girl

| username: PRETTY GIRL

username:  i love them

maxfewtrell: not to sound like a fan but FINALLY

| username: lmao everyone forgets max has been the longest sufferer

| username: you know its bad when your brother is actively rooting for you to get with his best friend

| username: imagine the pining this man has heard

| username: he knows all the gossip, hes heard it from both sides

username: mom and dad back together

mclaren: does this mean youre coming home (the mclaren garage)

Twitter /

Instagram /

liked by: yn.fewtrell, mclaren, maxfewtrell and 2,422,811 others

lando: couldn't do it without you, @/yn.fewtrell 🧡

username: mom and dad

username: crying he got the win and the girl

maxfewtrell: maybe go back to pining

username: the kiss after his win omg

mclaren: when's the wedding

username: you can physically see how much they love each other omg

yn.fewtrell: so, so proud of you baby, what an honour it is to watch you 🧡

[diorjadore]

You're Dating Him?! - LN4

masterlist - request

pairing: lando norris x leclerc!fem!reader

summary: lando's been soft launching, but when someone spots the youngest leclerc out with him in Italy, her brothers don't react as they'd hoped

w/c & a/n: smau | I need smau fic ideas, chat gpt is not helping 😭

lando

liked by oscarpiastri, carlossainz55, maxfewtrell, maxverstappen1, and 1,832,075 others

lando nice and needed vacation ☀️

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user1 IS THAT A G-GIRL ⁉️⁉️

carlossainz55 aye you bastard answer my messages 😑 ♥︎ by author

charles_leclerc looks like little lando norris is all grown up 🥺

maxfewtrell oh he's all grown up all right 😏

lando maxfewtrell you keep your mouth SHUT

charles_leclerc maxfewtrell ????

user2 damn we got lando soft launching before gta 6

user3 she looks oddly familiar but I can't think of how

maxfewtrell 😶

user3 maxfewtrell TELL US WHAT YOU KNOW

maxfewtrell user3 🤐

user3 maxfewtrell you BITCH

oscarpiastri looking tan mate 👍 ♥︎ by author

user4 do we think oscar knows who she is

maxverstappen1 why was I not informed about this

lando because you have connections 😄

maxverstappen1 lando so you're assuming I'd tell others ??

lando maxverstappen1 don't play the victim we all know you love to gossip 🙄

user4 lando says max v has connections to her 🤔 does that mean she's part of the f1 world ♥︎ by author

user5 YOU'RE ONTO SOMETHING

user6 LANDO LIKING ?????

user7 maybe she's a sister of one of the drivers??

user8 no way that would ever happen lmao

lando

liked by charles_leclerc, maxfewtrell, oscarpiastri, and 2,310,871 others

lando they do say Italy is the country of love 🫶

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user9 soldiers we've lost him 🫡

carlossainz55 🫡😢 ♥︎ by author

user10 carlossainz55 LMAOAOAO its okay carlando lives on forever

oscarpiastri don't do anything I wouldn't do kids 👍

lando I'm literally older than you 🤓 and she's your age...

user11 NEW INFORMATION UNLOCKED ‼️ mystery girl is brunette, 23, knows f1

user12 that unfortunately doesn't really help much

user11 user12 yet...

danielricciardo since when did you take good pictures 🤨 ♥︎ by author

lando she taught me 🤭

user13 THAT SHOULD BE ME HOLDING YOUR HAND 💔

alexandrasaintmleux gorgeous girl ♥︎ by author

maxverstappen1 I recognize that back...

lando SHUT UPPPP

lando maxverstappen1 wait wdym you recognize her back 😾

charles_leclerc hey my sister went to Italy recently too lmao imagine if you ran into her

lando heh that would be pretty funny 😅

maxfewtrell lando can you be anymore obvious mate

yourusername I cant charles is so oblivious 😭

lando

liked by maxfewtrell, oscarpiastri, yourusername, charles_leclerc, and 2,310,871 others

lando 🌊🛥️ maxfewtrell

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maxverstappen1 interesting...

oscarpiastri stay hydrated folks 👍

lando yes dad 👍

charles_leclerc looking clean 🔥 ♥︎ by author

arthur_leclerc cute couple 🤝 ♥︎ by author

lando I hope you'll still think that when you realizewho she is

maxfewtrell 🤪

arthur_leclerc maxfewtrell 🤔

carlossainz55 you two better be keeping it PG 👀😏

lando more like MA

charles_leclerc lando be safe use protection ☝️

maxfewtrell charles_leclerc ☠️

charles_leclerc maxfewtrell ?????

alexandrasaintmleux tell her I said hi 🎀 ♥︎ by author

charles_leclerc you know who she is??

alexandrasaintmleux charles_leclerc hehe....

user14 I HAVE A SUSPICION ON WHO IT IS BUT Y'ALL WILL CALL ME CRAZY

user15 SPILL

user14 user15 I THINK SHE'S yourusername

user14 hear me out: she's oscars age (who are both 23), she's brunette (like charles lorenzo and arthur), charles told us that his sister recently went to Italy on lando's post of pics from there, she liked this post, AND alexandra (charles' gf) commented on this and the last post

user16 user14 WAITTTTTT I THINK YOU'RE RIGHT

yourusername

liked by lando, oscarpiastri, maxfewtrell, alexandrasaintmleux, and 2,310,871 others

yourusername cat's out of the bag I guess 🤗 this is my cutesy boyfriend lando 💗

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user17 WHATATATATAAT YOU'RE WHO LANDO HAS BEEN SOFT LAUNCHING ⁉️

maxverstappen1 I KNEW IT ♥︎ by author

user7 I CALLED IT BRO I SAID A DRIVERS SISTER AND YALL DOUBTED

user8 IM SORRY 😣

oscarpiastri finally!! congrats 👍 ♥︎ by author

maxfewtrell NOOOO I WAS HAVING FUN TROLLING

yourusername yeah we know 😄

user18 how did lando pull a leclerc

lando excuse me???

user19 lando she's literally an angel and then you're.... lando

yourusername user19 that's exactly why I love him :)

lando yourusername I love you too baby 🥺 ♥︎ by author

charles_leclerc what the FUCK.

charles_leclerc I'LL KILL HIM

charles_leclerc WHAT THE FUCK WHY ARE YOU HUGGING THAT THING

lando "THAT THING" ⁉️⁉️

charles_leclerc lando fuck off je ne te parlais pas

lando charles_leclerc I don't understand french 😢

yourusername lando maybe it's for the better my love 🥰

charles_leclerc yourusername "MY LOVE"???? UNBLOCK ME AND ANSWER MY CALLS

alexandrasaintmleux yourusername don't unblock him he's got steam coming out of his ears... and arthur also showed up

maxfewtrell 😎🍿 ♥︎ by author

lando glad you're enjoying this while I'm fearing for my life

charles_leclerc WHO THE FUCK DOES HE THINK HE IS TOUCHING MY BABY SISTER????

arthur_leclerc WHY IS HIS MOUTH ON YOURS IN THAT TWEET

charles_leclerc POURQUOI TU SORS AVEC LUI?? JE VAIS LE POUSSER DANS LES BARRIÈRES SUR LA VOIE, ATTENDS JUSTE

charles_leclerc lando YOU SAID YOU WERE KEEPING IT MA ON THIS VACATION

arthur_leclerc don't worry bro I'm sharpening my axe 🥰

lando arthur_leclerc AXE?!?!!? WHY DO YOU HAVE AN AXE??

maxverstappen1 lando it was nice competing with you

lando ☹️

user20 damn lando I wasn't familiar with your game 😮‍💨

lando everyone being so surprised that she's dating me is quite insulting 😪

leclerc_pascale beautiful ❤️ ♥︎ by author

yourusername I LOVE YOU MAMAN

lando I'm too pretty to die 💔

arthur_leclerc who lied to you??

lando arthur_leclerc your sister I guess ♥︎ by author

lorenzotl lando you're only digging your grave deeper

lorenzotl I'm so happy for you ma petite soeur ❤️ ♥︎ by author

yourusername thank you enzo I love you ❤️

arthur_leclerc lorenzotl YOU'RE OKAY WITH THIS ?????

charles_leclerc does he make you happy.

yourusername yes very happy 🥹

charles_leclerc yourusername is he respectful.

yourusername charles_leclerc he couldn't be more of a gentleman

charles_leclerc yourusername I still don't like this 😡 but... I'll give him a chance

lando charles_leclerc THANK YOU PLEASE DON'T KILL ME I SWEAR I'LL BE THE BEST BROTHER IN LAW

arthur_leclerc lando BROTHER IN LAW?????

[diorjadore]

ੈ✩ drivers sending you pictures of bf! lando ੈ✩

warning : fluff, chaos

a/n : sooo, i saw this on tumblr AND A LOT OF OTHER PALCES, THIS IS NOT COPYING, I AM JUST INSPIRED TO MAKE MY OWN! phew, anyways enjoy watching!

·:｡･ﾟﾟ･ ✩ ･ﾟ ･ﾟ·:｡･ﾟﾟ･ ･ﾟ·:｡･ﾟﾟ･ ✩ ･ﾟ ･ﾟ·:｡･ﾟﾟ･･ﾟ·:｡･ﾟﾟ･ ✩ ･ﾟ ･ﾟ·:｡･ﾟﾟ

let me know if you want to be added or removed

permanent tg: @isotopemylove @chair-things @justaf1girl @bibblemiluvr @blushmimi @nikfigueiredo @amz824 @ivegotparticulartaste @raizelchrysanderoctavius @freyathehuntress @piastri-fvx @sadiemack9 @ilivbullyingjeongin @cherry-piee @luvleylisen @sweate-r-weathe-r @jxnellat @loveofmylife12 @budgetcupid @lilaissa @scorpiodiosa @wondergirl101ks @nichmeddar @hoeforlifee @urfavnoirette @lily-ann-b @okcurran @miniboast @teti-menchon0604 @motorsportloverf1 @formula1-motogpfan @capricornito @star73807-blog @isagrace22 @unstablefemme @lovestruck-sky @celiacallsitcausal

[diorjadore]

Me af

stop earning advanced degrees i need you to finish your fanfiction

[diorjadore]

Keeping it professional || LN4

landonorris x pr!manager

summary: After Lando's many escapes his team finally decides to get him a new pr manager or how he calls it a 'babysitter'. He despises the idea and makes your life incredibly difficult, but a night out might change this dynamic. A relationship that's meant to be strictly professional changes into some sort of friendship that might even end up as something more.

01. Babysitter

02. Media Games

03. A Night out in Monaco

04. The Aftermath and a Flight to Austria

05. Snappy

06. One Step at a time

07. Celebrations

08. Crash

9. Altitude and Confessions

10. Live a little

11. The Breaking Point

12. Out of Our Hands new

[diorjadore]

off track. - lando norris.

content: soft!lando, secretly clingy, exposed in the cutest way, established relationship, a little banter, a lot of fluff.

---

To the world, Lando Norris was quick wit and sharp edges. Fast cars, faster comebacks. He had charm, sure — cheeky little smiles and a casual kind of charisma that made people fall for him without even noticing. But you knew the truth.

He was a baby. Your baby. And he worked very hard to keep it that way — quiet, private, just for you.

Only you got to see him crawl into bed after a long day, bury his face in your neck, and mumble “missed you.” Only you got the whiny “babeee” when his hoodie was just a little too far away, or when he wanted head scratches but didn’t want to ask. He’d rest his cheek on your thigh, let you brush curls off his forehead, and melt with every touch like it rewired his brain.

And you? You adored it. Protected it like a secret.

But secrets don’t stay secrets forever.

It happened after a race weekend — back at the hotel, most of the team still buzzing from the adrenaline. You were on the bed, flipping through photos on your phone, and Lando was curled up next to you, face buried in your hoodie, knees practically pulled to his chest.

He let out a soft noise when you rubbed his scalp, something between a sigh and a hum.

“Feel good?” you teased, low enough that only he could hear.

“Mhm,” he mumbled. “Don’t stop.”

And you wouldn’t have — except the door opened.

“Hey, we’re grabbing— oh.”

Oscar stood there. Frozen.

You froze too. Lando didn’t.

He groaned dramatically, didn’t even lift his head. “Why don’t people knock anymore?” Oscar blinked. “Are you… purring?” Lando rolled over, burying his face deeper in your side. “No.” “Yes.” “Shut up.”

You tried to hide your laughter, and failed.

Oscar grinned, hands in the air. “Alright, alright. I’ll just tell everyone our team’s golden boy turns into a cuddle monster when no one’s looking.”

Lando peeked up just to glare. “I will sabotage your car.”

“Already happens on its own, mate,” Oscar shot back, closing the door with a laugh.

The moment it clicked shut, Lando sighed and turned back to you.

“Now you have to keep playing with my hair,” he pouted. “My reputation’s ruined.”

You kissed the crown of his head, smiling. “Good thing I never cared about your reputation.”

And with a little smirk — still blushing, still melting into your lap — he mumbled, “Yeah. That’s why you’re my favorite.”

---

✦ please do not copy, repost, or translate this work. © lazysoulwriter // i write with a lot of love and care, so please respect that.

[diorjadore]

don’t smile

୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ pairing: lando norris x singer!reader

summary: one of f1’s favorite couples, lando norris and y/n, breaks up unexpectedly leaving not only fans confused but you as well

notes: this might be really stupid but idc! lando won the monaco gp which was crazy!! <3

୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ masterlist / social media au / fc: sabrina carpenter

liked by yourbff, alexandrasaintmleux and 1,964,729 others

yourusername ‘don’t smile’ is yours now <3

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user15 guys why hasn’t lando liked yet

user4 HES SO ALWAYS SO THISTY IN THE COMMENTS WHERE IS HE

user29 all the pics of lando are gone…

↳ user9 don’t say that my lany/n heart

user12 stop the lyrics

↳ user32 omg what???

↳ user12 “don't smile because it happened, baby, cry because it's over” and yall expect me to believe lando and her didn’t break up

yourbff girl if you don’t block him…

↳ yourusername don’t rush me katie i’m just not ready (pls get the reference)

↳ user63 BLOCK WHO

alexandrasaintmleux i feel like i missed a few chapters

↳ yourusername girl LET ME TELL YOU

↳ user56 NO SHARE WITH THE CLASS

↳ user90 literally begging on my knees for it not to be about lando

liked by user23, user64 and 724,029 others

y/nupdates y/n seen at airport heading to paris

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user12 so she’s not going to the miami gp

user34 she literally said last week she was gonna go with lando to miami what the hell happened

user9 i don’t think i’ve ever seen y/n cover her face that much

↳ user17 her eyes look kinda puffy too☹️

yourusername just added to their close friends story!

liked alexandrasaintmleux, yourbff and 2,492,708 others

yourusername i’m a busy woman

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user34 i fear this is the end of lany/n

user11 does this mean more new music???

user23 miss girl really said i’m not wasting any tears on no man i’m in paris

↳ yourusername you’d be surprised lol (comment has been deleted)

↳ user48 NO QUEEN NEVER CRY

user37 missed seeing y/n in the paddock ngl

↳ user52 no cause can you imagine her fit for race day tomorrow i know she would’ve eaten it up

alexandrasaintmleux leo and i miss you in the paddock :(

↳ yourusername play date for bambi and leo soon!! miss u more bae

↳ user62 Y/N GOT BAMBI IN THE DIVORCE

liked by yourusername, mclaren and 2,389,528 others

lando good work this weekend imola next

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user16 papaya on top!!!

user23 how he didn’t blind anyone with that helmet is beyond me

user34 y/n still liking is hurting my heart

↳ user73 literally the best f1 couple need them back

↳ user96 don’t disrespect alex and lily like that

user31 bring y/n back

mclaren no one beats a landoscar double podium

yourusername just added to their close friends story!

liked by user12, user85 and 882,905 others

y/nupdates y/n in imola with dog bambi a few days ahead of the imola grand prix

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user19 “y/n and lando are still together!!” i scream as they drag me into a white padded room

user23 i’m so confused

↳ yourbff you and me both girl

↳ user49 ARIANA WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE

user37 no cause y/n still follows lando and likes his posts but lando doesn’t follow y/n or like her posts it’s so weird

user40 bambi has no clue his parents are divorced

user95 honestly praying y/n and lando being broken up is some big april fools joke

↳ user6 babe it’s may

yourusername just added to their close friends story!

liked by yourusername, yourbff and 2,951,087 others

lando never taking her for granted again

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user81 THANK THE LORD

user28 literally stood up and clapped during my chem lecture

user16 y/n let me know if he’s bothering you queen

user19 lando almost lost a baddie

↳ yourbff no HE DID lose a baddie

↳ lando but i persevered

↳ yourusername on thin ice tho

user47 lando better worshiping the ground she walks on now

yourusername bambi’s parents no longer divorced!!!

[diorjadore]

My Current Boyfriend — LN4 TikTok Trend

hiii i felt bad after giving such a boring answer to this ask so i wrote around 800 words to make it up to you, lovely anon!! it's not much and i wrote it in a rush but i hope you enjoy it! xx

────────────

“Wait!” Lando says as you’re about to start recording the video. 

Rolling your eyes, you stand straight and turn to him, watching him fix his curls for the fifteenth time in the last three minutes. 

“Baby you look fine! Can we please start?”

“I look like I just woke up from a nap on your lap.”

“That’s probably because you actually just woke up from a nap on my lap.” 

Lando doesn’t answer, he just keeps staring at his reflection on the kitchen window and threading his fingers through his hair. 

With a sigh and the tiniest smile, you turn back to your phone and lean down, placing both forearms on the counter and deciding this moment is as good as ever to start the prank on him. 

“What did you just say?”

“Hey guys!” You smile and wave as soon as you start recording. Lando is distracted, but still in the shot as he stands right behind you. “So, I’m at my current boyfriend’s kitchen right now,” you say casually and cheerfully, watching him freeze with both hands on his hair. Your smile grows bigger at that, but you don’t stop yourself, nor the prank, focusing on what you’re saying and trying your best to keep going. “And we’re about to make some pasta for—”

You press your lips together and swallow back your laughter, then tilt your head to watch him over your shoulder. 

Lando is already looking at you, his eyes wide and eyebrows high up on his forehead. 

“What?” you ask. 

“Did you just— Did you introduce me as your current boyfriend?”

“Yeah…”

“On camera,” he says. “You’re making a video. And you’re calling me your current boyfriend on camera.”

“Yes. Was I supposed to call you something different?”

He stares at you for a moment, then shakes his head and drops his arms. 

And just like that, he walks away. 

“Lando, c’mon!” you chuckle, a tiny part of you feeling guilty for making him feel bad enough to the point of storming out of the kitchen. “Come back here…”

He doesn’t answer, but he also doesn’t take too long to come back. In fact, you don’t even have time to stop the video before he’s already walking straight to you. A frown on his face and eyes on his phone.

“Current,” he says, pausing to clear his throat and then quickly speaking again. “Adjective. Belonging to the present time. Happening or being used or done now.”

He purses his lips and nods, as if processing the information he just read. 

You blink, and the smile on your face turns into a grin. You want to know where this is going, so there’s no way you’re going to interrupt him now. 

“I mean,” he says to his phone, and then, without even glancing at you, he looks up to the counter where the video is still recording and adds straight into the camera, “I guess I do belong to the present time. And I am being used right now. Although I don’t know what for. But I’m clearly being used for something here. And ok, it’s not happening right now, but I was being done earlier today when—”

“Oh my God!” You drop your jaw and laugh, stepping toward him and placing both hands on his mouth as soon as you realize what he was about to say. “Lando!”

Still ignoring you, he places his hands on your wrists and pulls them away from his mouth. 

“So yeah, I am the current boyfriend,” he says to the camera, hugging you while also forcing your arms behind your back, and stepping forwards while also guiding you to step backwards. “But just to be clear, I’m also the past boyfriend and the future boyfriend.”

At this point, you don’t fight him anymore. You just drop your head back and laugh at the ceiling, letting him cage you against the counter and between his legs. 

“Bold of her, or anyone else, to assume there’ll ever be a next one after me.” He crosses his arms around your back and talks over your shoulder, still focusing on the camera. Always focusing on the camera. “Don’t let her fool you. It’s husband material here. She’ll eventually put a ring on it.”

You gasp. “I’ll put a ring on it?” 

“Down on one knee, asking me to be hers forever…”

You raise your brows and purse your lips, holding back a smile. 

“She loves me. She can’t resist this face. Or this charm. So yeah, I might be the current boyfriend, but I’m also the only current one.”

“And the forever one,” you add with a whisper, then lean in to press a kiss to his cheek.

“And the forever one,” he repeats with a nod, right before stretching his arm to stop the video and just as he turns his face to press a kiss on your lips.

────────────

[diorjadore]

The face he makes getting a hug and kiss from dad 🥺

[diorjadore]

that papaya dress

Summary: Lando didn’t dare look at you during dinner, but he can’t keep his hands off you once you’re alone.

Warnings: nsfw (18+)

Word count: 2.2k

“Lando.” You call his name and finally break the silence that’s now lasted halfway back to Monaco.

He doesn’t reply, clearly in one of the moods sometimes he slips into, his eyes concentrated on the road ahead as he navigates the McLaren through tight twists and turns. At the speed he’s going you’ll be back earlier than you expected, but you trust him enough not to be scared as he presses on still a little faster, despite the speed limit sign that flashes by that he’s clearly exceeding.  

“What’s wrong?” you try again.  

“Nothing.”

“You barely spoke at dinner, to me or anyone else.” The intention for the evening had been to have a fun and relaxing night out, with friends in town visiting, dinner in Nice, and drinks after, although you’d decided to skip out on the last part when Lando hadn’t seemed too keen on continuing on with the rest of the group.

You wonder if something significant is weighing on his mind—even in an off week there’s always still plenty for him to worry over, never-ending data and preparations for the next race and staying on top of his workouts and maybe somewhere in there the rumblings of future contract negotiations and Red Bull haranguing him again. “Can you at least look at me?”

“Just like everyone else?”

“What are you talking about?” You’re always conscious of your behavior while out with him, knowing the slightest thing can turn something or someone the wrong way, and that it’ll be plastered all over every platform before you can do anything about it.

“Didn’t you notice them looking at you?”

You frown, feeling as though you’d been at an entirely different dinner than he had. Maybe you’d noticed a few glances sent your way, but that wasn’t unusual whenever you went out with Lando, and otherwise you’d been too busy laughing and having a good time with your friends to be aware of much else. “What do you mean?”

“They were staring.” He shifts into a higher gear and the hum of the engine heightens. “At you.”

“Who?”

“Everyone,” he waves his hand in a broad, vague gesture. “The valet. Those guys we passed on the way into the restaurant. The girls sitting at the bar. I swear, even the chef peeked out of the back. Everyone looked.”

“In a bad way?” you finally venture to ask, not sure if you really want to know, especially given how tense he seems and how protective he can be when some less than sweet comments have been sent your way.  

“If it was anything like the way I was thinking about you?” Even in the split second he permits himself to look before his eyes go back to the road, you catch the heat there. “That fucking papaya dress is driving me insane.”  

You grin, your concern from before forgotten. Only now you notice all the tells—how he’s gripping the steering wheel, the way he shifts around in his seat, the set of his jaw—and you don’t know how you’d missed them before. “Oh?”

He sneaks another glance at you and catches your smirk. You wonder how many times he’s done that already throughout the night without you noticing, and you wonder if anyone else had picked up on it instead, and suddenly you’re very happy you’d decided to leave early.

“It’s not funny,” he whines.

“It’s a little funny,” you say. You had bought the dress with him in mind, of course. You didn’t wear orange—sorry, papaya—often, and it was certainly more revealing than most of your other summer dresses, but the moment you saw it, and in your size no less, it practically called to you from the rack and you knew you had to have it.

And sure, maybe it was a bit cruel to wear it out like this; after all, you had looked in the mirror and known what you looked like when you left, but it wasn’t like he’d never seen you wear anything of the sort before, not when you wore bikinis out to sunbathe or go to the beach all the time and he’d seen you wearing nothing at all on plenty of occasions, so it sufficed to say it was rather amusing to you that this dress of all things provoked this kind of reaction from him. 

He pulls up at a stoplight, losing the distraction of driving, and you take advantage, reaching over to put a consoling hand on his thigh. “I think you’ll survive.”

He scrubs his big hands over his face and makes another pathetic sound of desperation. “Don’t touch me, please. Not right now.”

“Sure, we can just talk then!” you say brightly. “What do you like about the dress?”  

His gaze shifts fully to you now, and you bask in the way you feel his attention slide down your body.

“This part?” You gesture to the hem, sliding your hand up your own leg until it brushes the edge of the material. When he doesn’t answer, next you draw your fingertips down to where the dress plunges low between your breasts. “Or what about this?”

His eyes follow, darkening, lingering, at least until the car behind honks and he speeds away, the light green for who knows how long. You’d never say Lando drives recklessly, but it feels on the verge of it now as he threads the car through the tiny streets of Monaco proper, you mentally counting the number of turns remaining until he reaches his apartment building and pulls into the garage.

He’s barely pulled up the brake before you’re on him, scrambling across the console in the middle to get your hands in his hair and your lips on his. It’s tempting to stay here, to crawl over and settle in his lap and ride him right here in the car, but you’ve made it this far already, so you convince yourself to hold out just a little longer. While not just anyone can enter, the garage is not exactly private, and if you’d worried over what kind of scene you might have caused before out at dinner, you certainly don’t want to imagine that.  

It’s thankfully empty though as you both scramble out of the car, and so is the elevator up, because you can’t get enough of him and he seems to feel the same, steering you down the hall with his hands on your hips, you trusting he knows the way well enough with his eyes closed.

He doesn’t even pause when you reach the door, mouthing your neck while he jams the key in the slot and shoves it open.

You both stumble through the doorway, and you’re barely crossed the threshold when you kick off your shoes and drop your purse, not even bothering to try to reach the tiny table by the door.  

“I’m not gonna make it,” Lando whines, and you’re about to tell him he’s being a tad bit dramatic when he pushes you against the foyer wall and presses himself into you so you can feel him everywhere, hard and hot.

“Here’s fine,” you breathe, not even sure if he’s heard you with the way he goes back to kissing you, hands sliding down your body.

His shirt’s already half unbuttoned, the same way it had been all throughout dinner—you think about how you could and would certainly lodge some complaints about that later, as if that wasn’t distracting to you the entire time you’d been out—so it’s not much effort to take it all the way off.

You draw your hands down his chest, feeling his nipples harden before you move lower, to his abs first and then his jeans.

He groans, his head thudding against the wall as you palm him through the material, feeling how hard he is already.

“Were you like this the whole time?”  

He nods, pouting, eyes closed, and you also know him well enough by now to know he’s probably playing with you, so you do the same, touching him through the double layers of fabric until you take mercy on him and undo both his belt and the button there, careful with the zipper that follows.  

He takes his hands off you to shove his jeans and boxers to the floor, and it’s only a second until he’s back on you, and if there was anything better than Lando pressing you against the wall before, it’s him doing the same thing now but gloriously naked, save for the chain around his neck.  

“Leave it on,” he says quickly when you reach back to unzip your dress.

Instead he arranges it exactly how he wants, tugging the straps of your dress down, grinning when your breasts spring free and he realizes you didn’t wear a bra beneath. You hadn’t been able to find one that didn’t show and had laid right when you’d gotten dressed earlier and you had hoped you’d be able to get by without for a few hours. While you’d been a bit nervous about a potential wardrobe malfunction then, it’s worth it now for the instant gratification of feeling his hands directly on your skin.  

He pulls the hem up with one hand and uses the other to tug your underwear down your legs, a barely-there thong that ends up thrown somewhere across the floor.  

You press your thighs together to relieve the ache there, and it becomes all the more satisfying when he fits himself between your legs and rubs up against you. There’s lot of ways you can go about this—pressing his thigh between both of yours, letting him lift you, turning around to face the wall while he curls around you from behind—but just like this feels so good already, his hard, hot length sliding easily through your folds.

“Want you,” you tell him as though he can’t feel, his fingers sliding down between your legs now to check how true that is, but he still bites back a moan, never tired of feeling how much he turns you on.

You take pity on him, finally, wrapping your hand around his cock before you guide him into you, gasping at the stretch. You’re used to taking him by now, but he’s still big and it feels like even more with this angle and when there’s not much you can use in the way of leverage besides wrapping a leg around him, your hand in his hair, fingernails digging into his back.

He slides all the way in so easily, especially with the way you tilt your hips up to meet his thrusts. It’s tight like this, knee bent up alongside his hip, and then he slips his hand beneath your leg and lifts it so he slides even deeper, and you both groan.

“Baby, I can’t, I’m gonna…” He whimpers again, his forehead knocking against the wall with a dull thud, one of his big hands gathering the material of the dress and bunching it against your hip so it stays out of the way.  

“Wait for me,” you murmur.

You unwind your hands from around his neck and let them drift down to his hips, making him pause, guiding him, so he pulls out slowly and pushes back in even slower so you feel every inch, the drag of his tip against that perfect spot inside you, how your clit rubs against him when he hits the angle just right. He gets the idea then, and soon you’re the one moaning, telling him that he feels so good inside you, that you won’t be able to stop either.

He never denies you anything, though, and he’s certainly not going to start now, so he gives you what you want, what you need, stroking deep as he can get inside you, his lips on your throat more teeth than kisses.

You grab his hand and push it down between you and it gets even better, the way his thumb presses against you with just the right pressure, his palm spread across your stomach, how full you feel, and that’s the thought that pushes you over the edge, something snapping inside you and making you squeeze around him, sinking back against the wall like a molten mess, knees wobbly.  

He speeds up, chasing his own orgasm now, and it doesn’t take him long for him to cum, your cunt still fluttering around his length. He pants against the juncture of your neck and collarbone and takes his time straightening up again, as slow and languid as he was rushed and frantic before, waiting till he softens and slips out of you.  

“Are you okay with the dress now?” you ask, pulling it both down and back up so it covers all the right places, although that seems pointless when you’re only going to take it off again in a few minutes and it’s clearly going to need a wash anyway. “I don’t have to get rid of it?”

“I think this only made it worse,” he groans, and even after all that, you can see his eyes catching on where it clings to all your curves. “I think it’s my favorite now.”

You grin and file away that thought for the next time you decide to tease him.

[diorjadore]

You Post A Story Dressed Up

masterlist

[diorjadore]

can u do a lando x reader where she gets along well this his family and he cant help admire her and think about marriage and stuff like that. thank youu <3

WHAT IF IT WAS 4EVER?,LANDO NORRIS.

→ Summary: You went to spend a lazy Sunday at his parents' house with his family.

→ Warning: Mention of Reader. Fluff. Romance.

→ Author's note: Please make me more requests from him! I love writing about him.

And sorry if there are mistakes, English is not my language.I hope this is what you asked for!

The Norris house smelled of lavender, fresh coffee, and baking banana bread. It was one of those lazy, overcast Sundays when everyone wore sweatshirts and spoke softly so as not to break the spell of comfortable silence.

Lando sat on the edge of the kitchen table, his long legs stretched out in front of him, watching a scene that had been repeating itself for a few weeks, but it seemed like the kind of routine he wanted to have forever.

She.

In the kitchen with her mother, laughing easily as she cut fruit, grabbed too many cups at once, and stole spoonfuls of raw cake batter. She got along so well with everyone—as if she had grown up there, as if she already knew the exact places for the cutlery, the favorite smell of his sister's tea, his father's silly jokes.

“Do you think she’ll accept?” Flo’s quiet voice brought him back to reality. She was standing next to him, drinking a cappuccino.

“Accept what?”

“You.” Flo raised an eyebrow. “With that silly look on your face, you’re going to propose to her tomorrow.”

Lando let out a muffled laugh, but inside… she was right.

He looked again.

She wasn’t just beautiful. She was warm, she was light. She was “stay in bed for five more minutes”; she was the kind of hug that could calm any storm. She had a way of smiling that made people stop talking just to keep looking.

And the scariest thing?

She liked his family. She really did. It wasn't an effort, it wasn't out of politeness. It was genuine.

When his mother mentioned the old dress from her youth, she asked to see it. When his father mentioned old cars, she asked. When Cisca teased Lando, she laughed knowingly. Everything with her was natural. Nothing forced.

Later, when lunch was over and everyone was sprawled on the couch with dessert plates on their laps, she laid her head on Lando's shoulder and began to play with his fingers.

“Your family is wonderful,” she said softly, so that only he could hear.

Lando swallowed hard. His heart was beating faster than on a starting grid.

“You are wonderful,” he replied.

She smiled against his skin. But then she straightened up, sitting back down.

“You seem strange. Are you okay?”

“Okay.” He ran a hand over his face. “I’m just… trying to figure out how I ended up here. On this couch. With you. Feeling like… this is it.”

“What is this?”

He looked into her eyes, and even though he was afraid of appearing too intense, he didn't hold back.

“That’s it. Me, you, my family. The sound of the rain outside. You making tea for my mother, playing with my sister. Me wanting time to stop. That’s it.”

She didn't say anything for a few seconds. But she took his hand and squeezed it tightly.

“I feel it too. And if it comforts you, it also scares you a little.”

Lando smiled, a shy smile, different from the ones he gave to photographers or on podiums. It was that smile that only she knew. The real one.

“It’s not fear of failure,” he confessed. “It’s fear of not being enough. You…you are so many things.”

She laughed, looking at him with that sparkle in her eyes that made everything seem easy.

“So we do it together. And you’ll see: what you take from life... is this.”

When everyone went to sleep and only the two of them were left in the room with the movie paused and the lights dimmed, she dozed off with her legs over his. Lando didn't have the heart to wake her up. He stayed there, running his hand through her hair, watching her serene and sleepy expression.

And it was in that moment — simple, calm, without anything extraordinary — that he knew for sure.

It wasn't the highest podium he wanted to reach.

It was her.

That was it.

It was all that.

And if he ever had the courage, he would tell her that he thought about asking for her hand right there, with her hair spread out on his lap and the muffled sound of the rain through the window.

But for now, Lando was content to kiss her forehead and promise, with all his heart:

“I will make you happy. Every Sunday. Forever, if you let me.”

Taglist: @paucubarsisimp @nngkay @meganesanchez @htpssgavi @merinottt @luvvpedri @moonvr @joaosnovia @httpsdana @ilovebarcaaaa @p4uul0vr @pedricando @barcapix @owala6789

[diorjadore]

Ties & Tiny Hairbrushes

Lando Norris x Family!Norris

The morning sun poured softly through the windows, bathing the Norris household in a golden glow. The classical music drifting through the hall added a touch of elegance to the chaos about to unfold.

You stood by the bathroom mirror, curling iron in hand, already dressed in a silky robe. Aurora sat cross-legged on your bed in her pajamas, hair a wild halo around her head. Her dress—a delicate flower girl number with tulle and embroidered petals—hung on the closet door like something out of a fairytale.

"Alright, my little lady," you said, unplugging the curler and reaching for the brush, "let's get you princess-ready."

Aurora perked up. "Can I wear the sparkly butterfly clips? The pink ones?"

You grinned. "Of course. A princess should always sparkle."

Meanwhile, down the hall, Lando was in the trenches. The twins, Theo and Milo, were a mess of limbs and giggles on the floor, half-dressed in miniature tuxedos. Theo stood stiff as a board, arms out like a robot, while Milo was busy chewing on his bow tie.

"Mate," Lando said, kneeling down with practiced patience, "this goes around your neck, not in your mouth."

Milo giggled. "Tastes like blueberries."

"Nope, not even close," Lando muttered as he wrestled the tie from Milo’s grip.

He turned to Theo, gently adjusting the bow tie with surprising precision. "There. You look like you're about to host the Oscars."

"Do I look like Uncle oscar?" Theo asked.

Lando grinned. "You look even better."

You walked in just as he was attempting to get Milo to sit still. "Need backup?"

Lando looked up, hair a little disheveled but smiling. "Nah, I got this. We’re bonding over bow ties."

"He tried to eat his," you pointed out.

"Minor setback."

Back in the bedroom, you smoothed Aurora’s freshly brushed curls, placing the pink sparkly clips on either side of her head. She turned toward the mirror, eyes wide.

"I look like a fairy," she whispered.

You kissed her head. "The prettiest fairy ever."

Downstairs, the dining table was set with toast and fruit, but no one had the time. Theo and Milo chased each other in slow motion, mindful of their suits, while Aurora twirled in front of the mirror.

You appeared at the top of the stairs, now in your dress—a soft pastel colour that matched the wedding theme. Lando looked up and froze for a second.

"Wow."

You raised a brow. "Good wow or panic wow?"

"Very, very good wow."

You smiled, walking down and helping button his cufflinks. "You’re not looking too bad yourself."

Once everyone was in the car, snacks packed and emergency wet wipes on standby, the chaos resumed.

"Milo dropped his shoe!"

"Theo has the ring pillow!"

"I need to pee!"

"We’re five minutes away," Lando groaned, glancing at you. "Still want another baby?"

You laughed. "Ask me after the open bar."

At the venue, everything went smoother than expected. Aurora walked down the aisle scattering petals with the grace of a seasoned pro. Theo held the ring pillow like it was made of glass. Milo waved at every single person, yelling, "Hi!" to strangers.

You and Lando sat near the front, hands clasped. During the vows, Lando glanced over, smiling as he watched Aurora playing with the hem of your dress and Theo mouthing along with the officiant.

"We make cute kids," he whispered.

"And chaotic ones."

"Perfect combo."

Later, at the reception, you danced with Aurora to the slow songs, while Lando spun the twins around until they were dizzy with laughter. The kids eventually passed out on a couch, sticky with cake and still in their suits.

You leaned into Lando as the music played and the lights twinkled above. "Think we crushed it today."

He kissed your temple. "We always do."

This was Requested.🫶🏼

[diorjadore]

His Little Star

Lando Norris x Family!Norris

Lando always thought he understood love. He loved racing, his family, his friends, and you—undoubtedly, unconditionally. But nothing prepared him for the tidal wave that crashed into him the first time he held Aurora.

She was small, with your eyes and a tiny nose scrunched up in confusion, wrapped in a white blanket like the world outside was too overwhelming. And from that second on, Lando was done. He was a goner.

It didn’t take long before she took over every inch of his world.

“Auroraaa,” he called in that silly sing-song voice, peeking under the blanket of her pillow fort. “Daddy’s home!”

Silence.

Then—gasp—a little squeal and giggles from under the blankets. Lando lifted the fabric and there she was, three years old now, wearing a crown made out of glittery pipe cleaners and holding a stuffed McLaren teddy.

“You’re supposed to say the magic word,” she whispered, eyes wide with mock seriousness.

Lando gasped dramatically. “Oh no, I forgot again? Is it… banana milkshake unicorn sparkle pie?”

She burst into laughter, jumping into his arms with enough force to nearly knock him over. “Nooo, it’s ‘Princess Aurora, Queen of the Castle!’”

“Well then,” he said, spinning her around, “Princess Aurora, Queen of the Castle, I am at your service.”

You watched from the kitchen doorway, heart full, watching the two of them in their bubble. He hadn’t even taken off his race gear, yet here he was, kneeling on the floor, pretending to be her horse while she shouted commands like, “Faster, Sir Lando!” and “To the Royal Kitchen for snacks!”

That night, as you tucked her in, Lando lay beside her, one arm curled around her small body. “You’re my best friend,” she mumbled sleepily, fingers tangled in his curls.

“I’m yours forever, bub,” he whispered.

She was asleep moments later.

But Lando didn’t move. He stayed like that—watching her soft breaths, brushing a curl out of her face—because even after winning races, trophies, and crossing finish lines all over the world, nothing ever came close to this. To her.

To being her dad.

His favorite title.

This was Requested.🫶🏼

[diorjadore]

ᥫ᭡. gorgeous — KIMI ANTONELLI [smau]

in which… two rookie f1 drivers soft launch their relationship, and the media goes crazy about it

liked by olliebearman , iamrebeccad and 609.000 others

yourusername sneak peek 🌸

comments

charles_leclerc is there something you’d like to share with us y/n?

yourusername my gelato maybe 😇

user43 charles in overprotective big brother mode hahah we love to see it 🫶🏻

user87 HELLO DID Y/N JUST SOFT LAUNCH WTF?!

user65 I just woke up and y/n suddenly has a boyfriend what 💔💔

user13 streets are saying our favorite rookie is in a relationship!

user76 liked by olliebearman, is this a sign you guys !?

user45 ofc he’s going to like her posts they’re friends it doesn’t mean they’re dating lol people need to chill tf out

alicia_torriani you’re glowing girl next time we’re getting that ice cream together 🥹

yourusername ilysm and WE MUST!! 💘

kimi.antonelli I wonder who’s the guy holding the flowers 🤔

liked by yourusername

user60 ARE WE ALL SEEING THE SAME THING, KIMI AND Y/N

user39 she liked his comment omg

user48 tbh this seems like a very profitable pr move

user13 pr move or not you’ve got to admit they’d be an iconic couple

liked by georgerussell63, mercedesamgf1 and 1.328.000 others

kimi.antonelli good to be home + recharge the batteries 🍕💯

comments

mercedesamgf1 summer break 🔛🔝😎

user90 f1 media having a field day both Kimi AND y/n soft launching in the same week

user33 the second picture he’s so cute omg<3

user42 wait doesn’t y/n have the same necklace and bag as the girl in the picture?

user10 I don’t think so I’m pretty sure it’s just very similar

f1gossipnews coincidence? we think not 👀

user30 oh my shayla (my kimi and y/n ship) neither of them are single anymore 🥀🥀

user28 fr they had so much chemistry 😭

user14 lol you guys need to stop being so invested in their lives it’s weird, can’t they just be good friends?

user28 I’m sorry but have you seen the way Kimi looks at her, there is NO way they are just ‘good friends’

yourusername i’m just as shocked as you are, an actually decent outfit ?!

kimi.antonelli hey that was rude (I got advice from a professional 👌)

liked by user73, user62 and 54.000 others

f1wagnews y/n y/l/n spotted today in Italy riding a bike with mystery man!🫣 some sources say our first female driver may be on a path to becoming a wag herself! follow f1wagnews for more updates

comments

user63 on a path to becoming a wag herself what the helly

user64 not a mystery man… that’s just her cousin guys 😭 let her live

f1wagnews 👀👀👀 sources are saying it’s not a cousin… stay tuned 💅

user17 no because if this man distracts her and she doesn’t finish P1 again i’m throwing hands

user90 girl don’t let a man fumble your podiums pls we beg

user72 how is SHE the driver and STILL giving wag energy?? a queen tbh

user02 what if it’s her physiotherapist??? y’all jump to wag every time she breathes near a man

user12 the way she’s riding that bike… she’s in love. trust me i studied body language in 2014 on tumblr

user80 can’t believe i have to say this but SHE IS THE PRIZE actually

user20 lowkey hope it’s a local italian who doesn’t even know what a grid penalty is, she deserves peace

f1wagnews sources say its a familiar italian 😉

user35 y’all acting shocked like she hasn’t had rizz since F2 days

liked by kimi.antonelli, alexandrasaintmleux and 3.300.000 others

yourusername plot twist ❤️

comments

f1wagnews WE’VE BEEN INVESTED SINCE DAY ONE. CONGRATS TO OUR FAVE SOFT LAUNCHERS 😭👏

gridhoney the driver x driver power couple we were manifesting

sillyseasoncentral BREAKING: paddock collectively loses their minds over this hard launch

olliebearman i knew it and still feel betrayed

yourusername shh you’re literally the first person we told😐

olliebearman correction: I predicted this entire relationship

kimi.antonelli mate you need to stop

arthur_leclerc do i get to be best man or do i have to fight ollie for it

yourusername we’ll see<3

arthur_leclerc RUDE

user16 if they don’t do the kiss through the helmets thing i’m boycotting

user83 never trusting a “mystery man” again. it’s always a fast Italian with dreamy eyes

rookieszneditz someone make a “friends to grid rivals to lovers” edit IMMEDIATELY

alex_albon how did i not know and i see you two like every race weekend??

yourusername lily knew🤷‍♀️🤷‍♀️🤷‍♀️

alex_albon WHAT? SHE DID?!

lilymunihe of course 🥰

liked by yourusername, lewishamilton and 5.439.000 others

kimi.antonelli mi fortuna più grande

comments

georgerussell63 watch them get a 1-2 podium and thank each other instead of their engineers

yourusername LOL , I’m about to go tell Carmen you said this

georgerussell63 I TAKE IT BACK

teamradiochaos radio if they crash into each other: “tell her i still love her 😭”

slowpitstopz kimi posted his gf… and i’ve never felt more single

dtscripttok this better be in the next Drive to Survive with dramatic music and everything

olliebearman i told you not to soft launch in italy, didn’t i. DIDN’T I.

kimi.antonelli you told me a lot of things i ignored 😇

user63 him calling her his greatest luck 🫠🫠

arthur_leclerc you’re so lucky y/n puts up with you

kimi.antonelli I know 🙏I wonder every day how I got so lucky

yourusername ❤️

liked by kimi.antonelli

user98 them sharing earphones is my roman empire 🥹

user32 who would’ve thought your childhood karting rival will become your girlfriend when you both race in f1, Kimi really is living the dream…

user73 there’s no way he didn’t manifest this

kimi.antonelli 🤫🤫

©LECLERCSAINTMLEUX 2025 I DO NOT APPROVE OF THIS OR ANY OF MY WORKS TO BE COPIED OR TRANSLATED ON ANY PLATFORM ANYWHERE WITHOUT MY PERMISSION

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