ln4op81fc43

[ln4op81fc43]

tw for below

”men can’t be raped”

yes we can.

[ln4op81fc43]

CHILLS

warnings: mdni, 18+, smut, dark fic, dacryphilia, stalking, noncon

pairing: lando norris x fem!reader

summary: y/n’s always had a feeling someone was watching her, never did she say she was against it

Y/n was one of those girls.

The kind of girl that wore bows and pink all the time.

The kind of girl that was just begging to be stalked.

And, well, someone couldn’t quite resist her blush-coloured charm. Someone with a lot more sinister thoughts than anyone would have thought.

At first, it had been cute to her.

Little flowers taped to her door when she’s come back from Uni every day, or little notes with cute metaphors about how pretty she was.

So she just assumed it was one of her classmates.

But then, a few weeks later, they stopped. Y/n was, admittedly, a little confused, but she didn’t think too much about it. After all, it was just a secret admirer or whatever.

But that’s when the Polaroids started.

Again, they started off innocently enough - or as innocent as taking photos of her could be without her knowing.

Simple snaps of her walking back from Uni, slipped under her door or hanging on the ledge of her bedroom window. That’s when the chills started too.

Someone was watching her go home, and whether it was a classmate or not, it was still rather scary.

But not too much to Y/n.

She was intrigued, curious, almost dying to know who it was, but at the same time she was scared for her life.

But then, exactly two weeks on from the snaps of her walking home, she stopped fearing for her life. Not because the photos had stopped - but because they’d changed a little.

No longer were they somewhat innocent photos of her walking home in different pink dresses and skirt.

These were different.

That Tuesday, she found four Polaroids slid under her door when she came back, each more lewd than the next.

The first was of her removing her shirt, the edges of her black bra visible from the side angles. The second was the shirt fully off, thrown onto the floor.

The third was a side angle of her naked chest, under the warm glow of her bedroom light.

And the fourth was one of her - naked - going to the bathroom.

This was not the doing of her classmates at all. They surely weren’t this smart.

But that same night, Y/n found herself…intrigued.

Who was watching her? Who was so fascinated by her that they were taking these? And what did they want?

But then once more, the Polaroids changed. 

This time, the stalker didn’t hesitate to leave traces of himself on the photos - his hand resting on the ledge of her window, his knee just in the corner of another. 

And Y/n, through these small snippets, found herself with a rather confusing…crush? 

A crush on someone she didn’t know - someone who was stalking her, someone she didn’t even know looked like. 

Yet she couldn’t help herself. 

She felt so enticed by whoever this stranger was, and found her cunt throbbing at the thought of this obsessed man. 

The photo the next day only served to add to her crush.

This time, it was another photo of her in black lacy lingerie (which she’d purposefully put on in case her little stalker came back) with words scrawled onto it.

Leave your door open and we’ll see if you’re still a tease.

Leaving her door open would be a sign of consent, and she wanted exactly that.

Y/n steeled herself, eyes lighting up as she read the note. She could finally meet her stalker.

That night, Y/n had prepared herself.

She changed into a bralette, some very small shorts (not that she wouldn’t usually wear them) and some long, semi-clear, thigh-high socks.

She didn’t expect that the stalker would actually come, they’d probably be too scared, but she could never be too sure.

But, as the clock ticked, there was no sign of anyone.

The time went from 9pm, to 10pm, to 11pm, and then to midnight. It was dark out too.

Guess someone was just doing it for fun.

The girl twisted a little more in her sleep, but didn’t budge.

The stranger let out a hum, sucking a deep hickey on the inside of her plush thighs, licking over it slowly, eyes watching as her chest rose and fell.

Y/n mumbled something in her sleep, wriggling around a little, before her eyes shot open, distinctly aware of the feeling of warm breath spilling against the supple skin of her thighs. 

A chill went through her spine as she looked down, her gaze meeting a pair of green ones, boring into hers as he pressed warm kisses to her thighs. 

At least the stalker had…nice eyes? 

Y/n didn’t have time to say anything as the stranger dug his fingers into her thighs, pulling her body down. 

She could hardly see his face under the dark light, making out the shape of his pink lips, and dark, chocolate brown curls. He hadn’t even bothered to try and hide his identity.

“You left your door open,” the stranger said, his voice…a funny mix of accents, gravelly with lust, “like a slut,”.

Y/n could do nothing but gasp as the stranger ran his tongue over her clothed core, her body alert to his warm breath spilling across her thighs. 

A whimper left her lips as he yanked her shorts down with unreasonable force, dragging them down to her ankles. 

He tore them off in one swift movement, thrust to the side of the room as he crawled forwards on top of her.

She was acutely aware of the cold air against her core, not to mention the stranger staring at her embarrassingly wet cunt, opening her mouth to cry out.

The man clamped a strong, big hand down onto her mouth as she whimpered, eyes glossing over with tears.

“Crying?” the man sneered, “already? I haven’t even fucked you yet,”.

Y/n let out a whine against his hand, trying to squeeze her legs together and cover the heat growing between her legs as the man snarled.

The dark was a cover for the stranger, his identity covered as Y/n moaned, eyes rolling at the feeling of his lips against her clit, pressing soft kisses to her folds.

She felt pathetic for leaving her door open, she felt like a slut.

And she loved it.

The man was firm in his movements, keeping her exactly how he wanted to, his hand never leaving her mouth as he used his other to pull her ass back against his hips.

The small, cropped bralette was torn from her body, the material hanging in two as Y/n’s vision blurred with her tears, her face pushed into the mattress.

She shivered as she felt the tip of the man’s cock on her back, dragging over her skin.

“This what you wanted? To be fucked like a little whore?” the man sneered as Y/n whined, whimpering against his hand.

“Left your door open for any man to come and fuck your dirty, greedy little pussy,” his hand came down as a harsh slap against her clit as she shrieked, thighs quivering.

“Could’ve brought some of my friends for this filthy cunt,” he bullied three whole fingers into her one go as she cried out.

“You would’ve like that, wouldn’t you? Like a whore,”.

Y/n couldn’t bring herself to say anything, legs giving way as the stranger’s fingers brutally fucked in and out of her tight pussy, the tears spilling down his hand as he moved to squeeze her neck.

The man scoffed, pulling his fingers out as Y/n squeaked, clenching round nothing, the feeling of emptiness somehow worse.

The stranger, however, was quick to fix that.

A loud moan tore from Y/n’s aching throat as he slammed his cock into her, in one long, deep thrust.

The size was exceptional.

“Anyone could’ve had a piece of this,” his cock slopped against her folds, buried deep inside of her.

His member was thick and heavy, stretching into her, somehow getting deeper and deeper.

Y/n’s mouth hung open as the stranger covered her mouth again, silencing her moans.

He didn’t seem fazed by the drool from her mouth spilling onto his hand as he manhandled her body flat on her stomach, his cock twitching inside of her.

Y/n cried out as he started moving, jackhammering in and out of her, his hips pounding against hers as he pulled her head back.

His grip on her hair was tight as he thrust in and out of her, the other holding her jaw harshly.

“Open,” the man said, Y/n’s cheeks stained with tears, lip quivering as she parted her lips.

The man sneered, spitting onto her warm tongue.

She didn’t have a second to reply, his fingers pushing harshly into her mouth as she gagged.

The pad of his index finger pressed hard onto her tongue as she gasped, his finger coated in her salvia as he slammed into her, his cock pounding in and out of her.

It hurt, but the pain was drowned out by the pleasure, no- it added to the pleasure.

“Look at you,” the stranger said, Y/n’s attention drawn back to his voice.

It was like she revolved around him.

“Letting me fuck you like my own personal whore,” he grunted, voice gravelly and hoarse as he rammed into her, a pathetic mix of a whine and a moan on her lips again.

“I’m gonna tear your sweet little cunt apart,” the voice continued as Y/n balled her hands in the bedsheets.

“I’ve been dreaming about this,” the man said, his voice hoarse, “about fucking this pathetic, needy little cunt ever since I saw you walking home,” he gave your pussy a harsh smack. His thrusts never faltered as he gripped her jaw tightly, groaning.

He paused for a second, holding himself in here, bottomed out, almost giving her a second to recover.

Of course not.

“Fucking slut,” the stranger scoffed, continuing his movements, faster and harder than before as Y/n moaned.

“Let any man ruin you just after a few photos…thought I’d have to try harder, but no. Too much of a- fuck- a whore,”.

A whimper left Y/n’s lips as the man slammed into her, holding himself there as the feeling of his hot, thick cum spilling into her filled her greedy pussy.

She didn’t protest, a string of salvia attaching his hand to her mouth as the man stood up, staring at the cum dripping down her thighs.

Her body felt weak but god it had been so good.

She didn’t protest as he manhandled her body onto her back, pushing her weak legs apart, taking a camera from the floor and snapping a photo.

A lazy moan spilled from her lips as he shoved a finger inside of her, snapping another photo.

The two pieces printed from the bottom as he thrust them onto her stomach, keeping two copies for himself.

“Put them on your wall,” the stranger said, “I’ll be back every night. Wait for me,”.

And wait, Y/n did.

[ln4op81fc43]

QUIET

warnings: mdni, smut, 18+, praise, nicknames, no protection

pairing: lando norris x fem!reader

summary: y/n had always been great at driving, but handling public spaces? not so much. luckily she had a teammate who supported her well.

a/n: hiiii, english isn’t my first language but ive been reading fics on here and decided - why not, instead of just sending requests, i write them myself! i took inspiration from other writers too, my favourites being @cutieln4 and @lnfours

Being an F1 driver came with a certain lifestyle, most of which detailed partying, clubbing, going to events.

Y/n hated it.

But once again, the team had forced her to attend some event to promote a sponsor, dressed in a tight black dress. 

The air was warm in the intense summer months, the fabric of her clothing holding onto her like a second skin, the delicate golden necklace burning against her collarbone. 

And where was her bloody teammate?��

Shaking the thought off her mind, she stepped out the long limousine, the bright glare of cameras clicking around her instantly. 

They hurt her eyes, but she ignored it, flashing her signature smile into the lens of the glowering orbs round her.

The two men behind her, her assigned bodyguards, nudged her forwards past the cameras, towards the large room, packed with people.

Men in shirts and suits sauntered round with women on their arms, like nothing but an accessory. 

Y/n hadn’t grown up rich, she didn’t know how to act, how to behave, how to speak to people like them.

She’d never been a fan of close spaces, much less big crowds - it was like someone had dragged her into her own personal nightmare. 

Y/n could feel her throat closing up, the edges of her vision going blurry as she pushed through the crowd, trying to find a corner, or some space to calm her mind. 

She hardly even paid attention to her surroundings, subconsciously denying a chute of champagne from a waiter, and moving past. 

Her breathing grew raspier, thicker even, slicing her way through the crowds, her shaky hand fumbling with the knob of the bathroom door. 

Y/n’s face as filled with colour, her teeth sinking into her lower lip as she slammed the door of the stall, sitting onto the toilet behind her. 

God, she hated this.

She thought F1 was just driving and racing and winning - not glitz and glamour, but she was very wrong.

Y/n hadn’t even realised she was shaking, tears streaming down her face, her mascara smudging, lip quivering, chest heaving. 

Her perfect makeup, the make up that the team had forced to be done by professional artists. It was more like torture.

Bang, bang, bang. 

Y/n jumped at the sound, someone beating their fist on the stall door on the other side of the bathroom. 

“Y/n?” 

That was Lando’s voice. Her teammate. 

He shook every doorknob, all of them open except…her one.

“Y/n?” Lando spoke again, his voice more calmer, the banging stopping, “you on there?” 

“Yeah,” 

There was a pause for a moment, before Lando spoke. “Can you open the door f’me?” 

Y/n hesitated, her fingers brushing against the lock, but she slid it open anyways. 

Lando looked panicked, his cheeks flushed, hair messy like he’d been running his hands through it - had he been worried? For her? 

His expression melted into one of sympathy, the girl in front of him wrecked, shaking, vulnerable.

“C’mere,” he knelt down, almost like she was a child, taking her hand into his, his thumb brushing over her knuckles. 

His rings were cold across her palm, his eyes soft. “You’re alright now,” he pulled her into a hug, her face buried into the crook of his neck.

Y/n’s lashes clung together as a fresh wave of tears brimmed in her eyes, his free hand rubbing up and down her back softly. 

“You look so pretty, bunny,” he whispered, tucking a strand of hair behind her ears, “was it too much? The crowds and stuff?” 

Y/n nodded. 

She could feel the familiar ache in her throat, the same one she had every time she forced herself to hold back tears, the material at the bottom of the dress pooling round her. 

Neither of them cared they were sat on the floor of the bathroom, Lando’s attention solely on the girl in his arms, practically begging for comfort.

“It’s okay,” Lando whispered, his voice soothing and calming, “it’s okay, bunny,”

“D’you wanna leave?” 

Y/n hiccuped, wiping her eyes, ignoring the smudges of black across her cheeks as she looked up. 

That made Lando smile. 

His hands came to cup both of her cheeks, thumbs wiping the smears of black as he stood up, helping her to stand too.

“I’m sorry,” she mumbled, Lando immediately silencing her with a soft squeeze to the waist. 

“Don’t be,” he said, pulling her closer to him by her waist, looking out the bathroom door. 

The event was yet to begin, no one at the entrance anymore. Perfect.

Lando tugged on her hand, pulling her along the side of the room, ignoring the few stares they got as he led her away from the crowds.

“We’ll get in trouble,” Y/n hissed, ignoring the butterflies in the bottom of her stomach as Lando held her hand, pulling her to the cars along the road. 

“Takeout?” 

“Why not?” 

There was something almost humorous about leaving an event as glamorous as the sponsor event and getting take out.

And that’s how Y/n and Lando ended up sat rather close together on his sofa, three bags of takeout around them. 

Lando had his feet up on the table, one arm still round her waist as he snickered. 

“What?” Y/n whined, “what are you laughing at?” 

“You’ve got some…” he swiped a finger across her cheek, wiping the ketchup from her face.

Her cheeks dusted a light shade of pink at the contact, gaze falling to the floor. “Thanks,” she muttered. 

This was more awkward than she thought.

“You look really pretty tonight,” Lando spoke, his gaze fixed on the burger in his hand, “by the way,” 

“Thanks,” she muttered, “you look…good too,” 

Y/n’s gaze fell to her own drink, Lando slowly wriggling it free from her hand and placing it softly onto the table. 

Yet again, there was a pause, before his lips came to her cheek, soft, gentle, gliding across the apple of her cheek.

Right where his lips met her skin, a faint blush covered her skin, her lashes fluttering. 

“This is weird,”

“I know,” Lando groaned, “I’m not sure how to…you know, initiate it,”

“Like this?” 

“Wha-?”

Y/n took advantage of his gaze in her, her lips pressing against his. 

Lando’s hands were hesitant to come to her waist, pulling her closer to him as he deepened the kiss. 

His hands came to the thin material of her panties, ripping it clean in too. 

Y/n gasped, Lando’s tongue taking advantage of her open mouth to delve further in. 

“Oh fuck, bunny,” Lando’s head fell back as her hips pushed down on his aching member, a wet patch forming on his ever-growing bulge.

“Let me do it,” Lando’s voice was raspy and thicker, an octave lower, as he pushed her hand away from his belt to pull the leather off himself. 

His cock jumped free of the restraint of his trousers, thick and long, his tip an angry shade of red.

“Sorry bunny,” 

“What- Lando!” 

His hands tore the material down from her chest, the dress clean in two as she blushed, the dress now hanging in separate pieces.

Lando’s hands fumbled on the table, grabbing his card as Y/n huffed, dress in nothing, except adorned in her jewellery.

“That was expensive, I spent ages trying to find-!”

“Buy it in every colour,” he pushed the thin card between her lips, a squeak of confusion falling from her mouth.

Lando took his thick cock into his hand, pumping himself slowly as Y/n put the card back down onto the side, one hand coming to pull her chin to face him. 

“Spit,” 

“What?” 

Lando held out his hand as Y/n blushed, before she spat into his palm. 

“Good,” Lando muttered, spreading the warm liquid down his length, right to his shaft as Y/n rubbed small circles into her bundle of nerves.

Y/n gasped as he took his cock into his hand, slapping it softly onto her clit, spreading her own slickness through her folds.

His tongue came to the swell of her breast, slowly dragging round her perked nipple as Y/n gasped, head falling back.

“Sit on it bunny,” Lando whispered, his hands squeezed the flesh of her waist, guiding his tip to her entrance. 

“Oh fuck…that’s it baby, just like that,” Lando cursed, his fingers digging into her skin as she sank onto his tip, her mouth falling open in a silent gasp.

“You can take all of it, bunny,” he held Y/n on his lap, lowering her fully until he bottomed out. 

The bulge was evident in her tummy, and she could feel every ridge and vein settled inside of her as her hips twitched, Lando’s dick jerking softly inside of her.

“Ride me…please,” Lando whispered, his eyes a darker than usual, pupils blown up a hundred times. 

She started off slow, bouncing up and down on him as he groaned, head falling back onto the sofa.

“That’s it bunny…taking me so well, aren’t you?”

Dirty talk, Y/n’s biggest weakness. 

“Been picturing how you’d- fuck, how you’d riding me…with my dick in you,” he cursed, “better than anything I imagined,”

Y/n squeaked, the words spurring her on somehow further, ignoring the ache of her legs as she bounced on him, the slick of her pussy making it ten times easier.

“This pretty little pussy…gonna be the death of me, bunny,” he muttered. 

“Lando,” Y/n whimpered, almost whining, “my legs…they hurt, please…”. Lando scoffed almost mockingly, his hands lifting her slightly. 

Y/n shrieked, the sudden slam of her hips against him unexpected, the feeling reverberating through her body and core. 

She could feel the undeniable knot building up in her stomach, as could Lando, his tip slamming into her g-spot again, and again. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Lando cursed, still holding her up as his thrusts became sloppier, the sound of his cock ramming against her slickness becoming louder. 

“Fucking addicted, I swear,” he groaned, “this pretty little pussy…like a drug,”

Y/n was the first to fall over the edge, her vision going white and orgasm flooding through with a cry as her head fell back. 

There was something so mesmerising about how her hair fell back behind her, how her body convulsed on his cock, like she was possessed. 

He held her tightly, riding her through her high.

Lando followed shortly after, his hips snapping into her once, twice, before he pulled himself out, his cock pressing against her thigh as his seed spilled out. 

His hips jerked, his cum painting across her flushed skin, and that sight was something he’d never forget. 

“Fucking…Fucking gorgeous,” he muttered, pulling her closer to him, his cock softening under her. 

Y/n said nothing, her chest rising and falling as Lando held her, his chin resting on top of her head. 

“Bunny that was…that was amazing,” he breathed out. 

Y/n nodded, words catching in her throat as she came down from her high. 

Lando’s hand ran through her hair, the wisps of hair sliding through his fingers like silk as she calmed, her chest stilling shortly, resuming to its normal pace.

“Y’alright?” he finally spoke, voice deeper yet kinder and warmer.

Y/n nodded.

And for the first time, she felt truly loved.

[ln4op81fc43]

Pretty please do a lando x ex!reader. They were married for 2 years then got divorced, have a toddler together, and they meet face to face for the first time 6 months after the divorce (usually family members would take the toddler between them). A lot of angst and then a moment of weakness leads to lots of smut and their toddler walking in on them which leads to more angst. please, ily, ty 🩷

BITTERSWEET REGRET

warnings: smut, mdni, 18+, angst, swearing, arguing, established parents, crying

driver: lando norris

a/n: love this one, hope you enjoyed!

Everytime Y/n dragged herself to that same apartment, she hated it.

And she was stood there now, her hand poised in a fist a few centimeters from the wood of the door, staring at the house that used to be hers too.

Her name still remained under his on the mailbox, weather-worked and tarnished.

She remembered painting that with him.

It had been a warm day, not too hot, not too cold, Lando in some old clothes covered in paint after finishing up the walls of the bedroom.

“You look ridiculous,” Y/n had laughed, staring at her then-husband with glee, the huge paint marks across his back and chest like little patches.

“Says you!” he had scrunched his nose, his paintbrush pausing as he was about to start her name on the box.

“Yeah, says me,” Y/n had retorted, melting into the kiss as he brought his lips to hers. And in his distraction, his brush had drawn a long, thick, black line over the edge of the mailbox.

The pair had just laughed about it then. But now, she felt more lost than ever before.

She could hear her daughter’s laughter bubbling from within - it felt like glass sliding beneath her ribs.

But Y/n knocked, hesitantly, quietly.

The door opened before she could raise her hand again, and there he was. Lando. Her ex-husband.

He was barefoot, comfortable in their - his - house, curls messier than she remembered and his face filled with softness he’d once reserved just for Y/n.

Now, it was for the girl in his arms.

Sunday was a painful reminder of what she’d lost, with her father’s chocolate curls, that same cheeky grin, the same laugh, the same watercolour eyes.

She wondered if she even had anything to do with Sunday, and it wasn’t just Lando alone.

“Daddy looks silly,”

Y/n’s daughter’s voice snapped her from her thoughts as she looked to the girl, her small hands squishing at Lando’s face.

She was sweet.

“Hi baby,” Y/n spoke, cursing herself as her voice cracked on the edge, ever so slightly. She didn’t want to be weak to him, “ready to go?”

She wanted to make it quick.

“No!” she whined, “I want to stay with daddy, let me stay, mommy!”

Y/n flinched. That hurt way more than she expected

Lando said nothing, averting his gaze from Y/n’s face as he leaned down to the girl, whispering something in her ear that made her giggle, before she toddled over to Y/n finally.

Y/n hated it.

It was like they had some…secret that she didn’t get to know. And with that, she took the girl from him, and left.

This time, Y/n didn’t even knock.

She shoved the door open, her heart in her throat as she rushed in, ignoring all the furniture, still in the same place as when she’d left two years ago.

“Sunday?! Where is- Lando, where the fuck is my daughter?!”

“Our,” Lando corrected her, his voice so…calm, sweet, confused, she hated it. “Our daughter,”

“Fuck that! Where the fuck is she?!”

“She got a nosebleed,” Lando’s hands came to hold her shoulders, tight, the first time he’d touched her since she’d left, “it’s normal, Y/n! Kids gets nosebleeds all the time!”

“Bleed?! You let her bleed- are you insane?!”

“It was a nosebleed-!”

“She’s three, Lando!” Y/n screamed, “she’s three- she’s tiny! What if she had lost more-?” she bent down, scooping the girl into her arms, checking her forehead, cheeks, everything, “Jesus, she’s so plae, why didn’t you call me?!”

“It stopped in two fucking minutes!” Lando yelled back, his voice raising to match hers, “she sneezed! Thats it!” he threw the wet cloth down, “it’s not a fuckign emergency!”

“You don’t get to device that!” Y/n prodded his chest, her nail digging into his skin, “you can’t gamble with her health because you’re too lazy and proud-!”

“I fucking handled it, Y/n! You just want a reason to call me a dhit father!”

Y/n laughed, the sound taunting, mocking, as Lando flinched.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” she sneered, her voice cold, “you’ve given me plenty,”

“Yeah? Coz I fucking left, did I?” his face darkened, “I fucking left coz marriage got too hard for me, did I?” his tone was seething, jeering.

“I left because I had to! The silence, it was killing us both!”

“She’s still here!” Lando pointed at the girl in Y/n’e lap, clinging to her shirt with watery eyes, “you don’t get to fall apart coz one thing doesn’t go perfectly!”

”I thought you loved her,”

Y/n’s voice had fallen to a quiet whisper as tears burned in her eyes.

She wasn’t sure who she meant. Was it the crying girl in her arms now? Or the wife she’d once been to him?

“I do,” Lando’s voice matched hers, “don’t you dare say otherwise,”

“She got hurt on your watch,” Y/n said, her words almost like a death sentence, so cold, lacking anything, any affection for the man she’d once loved.

There was a pause.

“She’s fine, Y/n. She is, I promise you, she’s okay,”

But Y/n didn’t stick around the hear the final words he whispered. “I’m so sorry, Y/n,”

And Lando? Well, he’d never looked more like a stranger to her.

Sunday had fallen asleep in her arms.

Y/n had forced herself to agree to speak to Lando, her daughter sprawled across her lap, the silence thicker than it would have been.

It felt weird, being in their old house, on the same sofa they’d shared so many memories.

Lando was sat in front of her, not on the couch, but on the floor, looking up at her, his expression unreadable and quiet. Like he didn’t dare speak.

“She looks just like you when she sleeps,” he muttered, his eyes draped over the girl on Y/n’s lap.

“Don’t,” Y/n spoke harshly, “don’t be sweet to me, I’m furious,”

“I know,”

The quiet stretched long, and Y/n dared to look up - she wished she hadn’t, because his eyes were sad, it almost made her forget all that had happened.

It reminded her of the old days, when he’d stay up til 3am with her, just to let her cry in his arms, or rocking their sweet baby to sleep, one warm hand on the small of her back.

“You think I’m a bad father?”

“No…I just-I panicked, okay? I always panic when it’s her,” Y/n felt her voice break, “it’s always what if, and I wasn’t even there with her-,”

“Y/n,” Lando spoke, “I’m a lot of things, but please, I can look after our baby,”

There was a pause.

“Y’know, when I took her to get cleaned up,” he stared at the floor, “she said, ‘can mommy fix it?’”

Y/n could feel her heart break.

She looked down at her daughter, the sweet girl with the brunette curls and his eyes, and the slightly chubby cheeks.

Y/n hated it. That she still loved that stupidly beautiful, infuriating man who had made her laugh on their wedding night until she cried.

The man who’d lost his patience only once before their divorce, when he’d snapped at her over something trivial, and begged for forgiveness with lilies in his hand.

Lando walked quietly, moving down, onto one knee. Like when he’d proposed.

“Can I..?” he reached a hand for Sunday.

Y/n nodded.

“Hi daddy,” the girl stirred on his lap, staring up at the man that was her father as he stood up, walking her up the stairs. Y/n’s lap felt cold without her daughter.

“She still sleeps with the stuffed bear you won at Silverstone,” she said, when he came back.

“I didn’t win it,” Lando smiled faintly, “I paid the guy to rig it,”

“We’re a fucking disaster,”

“I know,”

And then he kissed her. And she melted right into it, lips against his, fitting together like two puzzle pieces.

It wasn’t supposed to go past the kiss, though.

But then her hands were in his curls, tugging just like before, his groan reverberating against her mouth as he backed into the wall with a soft ‘thud.’

“Tell me to - fuck - tell me to stop,” his voice was raspy as his hand tore down the material of her shirt, her body exposed in her lacy bra.

“I can’t- I won’t,” Y/n almost pleaded.

His hands gripped her waist as she lifted her, navigating easily through the hallways, until they reached the main lounge, where moments like this had happened so much.

“I shouldn’t want you this bad,” Y/n’s nails dragged over his abs under his shirt as he dropped her onto the bed.

“But you do,” he whispered, eyes darker than before, nipping at her neck as he had done when she was all swollen with his child, “you fucking do,”

Lando tugged her bra off.

Her skin was the same, the body he’d memorised so many times in the dark, her body was his home.

His lips were instantly on her body again, her chest, her collarbone, the underside of her throat.

Lando’s hand came to the swell of her breast, squeezing the supple flesh in his hands, perfectly memorised, tracing over her perked nipples.

“Lando-,” she gasped, her hips involuntarily bucking into his, “please- I need you,”

He was in no place to argue, his hand coming to her waistband, pulling the panties down to her ankles, and staring at her perfect, dripping heat.

“So wet already…” he just stared, bringing himself down to press a warm, open-mouthed kiss to her pussy.

His legs hooked round his chest as he kissed her sweetness again, and again, his tongue gliding over her soft pearl.

His fingers slid into her, slow at first, like he couldn’t believe he was allowed to touch her again, as Y/n’s arched herself, desperate for him.

“You’re still so- Jesus, Y/n,”

Y/n’s hand fisted in his hair, pulling him back up to kiss her as he added another finger, stroking against her velvet folds.

The pad of his thumb rested on her sweet pearl, rubbing slowly circles as she whimpered.

“Been thinkin’ about this every night,” he rasped, “how pretty you look, takin’ all of me…you remember that, don’t you?”

“How you’d ride me all night, then cry when your legs got sore. How you taste, how you sound, how you look when you fucking cum on my-,”

Y/n said nothing, her hips grinding down in his fingers, but she silenced him with a kiss, feral, desperate.

“Lando-,”

“I know, baby, I know,”

He pulled back slightly, fingers still ramming into her tight pussy at a steady rhythm, thrusting his own joggers off.

His cock was hard and thick, a vein along the underside, one she’d always felt when he pushed into her, his tip a soft pink, leaking and hard.

He looked bigger, somehow.

Y/n pushed her legs apart instantly, almost as a sign as he took his member into his hand, slapping his tip against her folds?

The sound was borderline sinful - wet, sloppy - just how he liked it.

Y/n gasped, struggling to keep her moans down as he tip stretched into her like it had done so many times before, nestling in the pit of her belly.

She could feel all the ridges, his cock twitching inside of her, home once again.

Lando wasted no time, his hand coming to brush her hair from his face as he leaned down to kiss her, his tongue lapping at hers.

His hips snapped into her at that same brutal pace he’d gone before, not angry, but showing her how much he’d missed her.

“Lando, please- fuck, yes,”

Even her words were chopped, barely able to form a coherent sentence, cock drunk already.

“I know, love,” Lando whispered, “I know…c’mon, you can take it,”

He could see the bump in her belly, his cock moving in and out of her at a set rhythm, not too fast, but showing he was there. And fuck, she knew he was there.

It should have been a crime to be deprived from his for so long.

Y/n could feel her orgasm coming quicker than ever, her nails clawing at his back, like she was claiming him.

The sound of his cock moving against her folds was filthy, downright nasty, but god, did they both love it.

He bent down to capture her lips in a kiss, feral almost, as she cried out, her head tipping back on the sofa where she lay, Lando on top of her, moving harshly with purpose. With a goal.

Her vision went white as she finished, her legs quivering round his waist as her eyes fluttered closed, Lando quick to follow as he yanked himself from her, his cock twitching on her belly.

His seed spilled from his tip, pooling onto her stomach as she panted, pretty beneath him.

All his.

The room was dark, quiet, the curtains drawn to keep the room more muted.

Y/n’s body was draped across Lando’s, her limbs all over the place, and what felt like almost shame weighing heavy in her heart.

Her fingers drew soft shapes on his ribs, ones she’d done before, memorising his body, every little beauty mark and blemish.

“I missed you,” Lando finally spoke.

Y/n didn’t know what to say. What was she supposed to say?

Me too? I know? Okay?

Instead, she just breathed, her lips against his collarbone, almost trying to remember him. Just in case.

And then-

“Mommy?”

It was the smallest voice, soft, sweet, but it turned Y/n’s blood to ice.

“No, no, no,” she sat up, Lando hastily covering her body with the blanket, as the small girl stared up at them in confusion.

The stuffed bear was in her hand, her eyes wide with tears as she stared at her parents.

“I-I had a bad dream,” she hiccuped, “and you weren’t in your bed,”

“Hey, sunshine,” Lando beckoned the girl closer, covering his dignity with the same blanket, “it’s okay, it’s alright, yeah? We’re both here,”

“Why’re you both naked?”

Y/n felt like she was going to throw up.

“We were sleeping, okay? It’s just adult stuff, yeah?”

“Did you make up?” the girl looked up at her father with wide eyes, tear tracks along her soft, chubby cheeks.

Y/n felt like she was going to cry.

“I’m sorry, love,” she whispered, taking the girl into her arms, her body covered, “I should’ve come to check on you,”

Sunday sniffled, clinging onto her as she nodded. Same attitude as Lando.

“You go to bed, mommy’s gonna come in a second, okay?”

She out her clothes on once the girl had left, leaving to go say goodnight again. Fuck.

The door clicked softly behind Sunday’s bedroom as Y/n took her face into her hands. She barely made it down the hallways before she slid down the door of their once-shared bedroom.

The air left her lungs like a punch in the gut, knees buckling, her vision tunneling as she held her knees, shaking.

She was trembling, hot and cold at the same time, her daughter’s voice ringing in her ears.

“Why were you naked?” “Did you make up?” “I couldn’t find you,”

What the fuck had she just done?

The hallway was starting to blur, her vision fading as she pulled at her hair, desperate for anything to make her daughter forget. And then-

“Y/n-!”

He was already beside her, barefoot, hair messy, shirtless, no smugness in his face, just concern.

“Hey- sweetheart,” he cupped her face, “you’re okay, baby, you’re okay,” he dropped to the floor, “I’ve got you, just-just breathe f’me, yeah?”

“That’s it’s…slow and steady, in and out, baby,” he whispered, “that’s a good girl, that’s it, breathe for me, through your nose,”

“Lando- I-I messed up, I messed up so bad, I’m such a fucking mess-,”

“Hey, hey,” he spoke softly but firmly, “you’re not, you’re just overwhelmed, yeah? You’re allowed to be overwhelmed,”

“She saw us,” Y/n croaked, “she saw us- what kind of a fucking mother am I-?”

“A brilliant one,” Lando shook her slightly, holding her tight, hands on her shoulders, “she’s loved and safe and comfortable because of you,”

She clung to him like a life line.

“I shouldn’t have let it happen…not like this,”

“But you did,” Lando mumbled quietly, “but I don’t regret it. I don’t regret having you, even for just a moment,”

Tears spilled again.

“I miss you,”

“Then let me stay,” his lips brushed against her forehead, “let me fix what I fucked it before, because- no, let me speak, because I’m the one who lost the biggest gift in life, yeah? I fucked up,”

This time, his lips brushed hers more softly, like a quiet promise.

“You’re everything, you hear me?” Lando whispered, “you’re my pretty girl, the mother of my child, my sweet, sweet wife,”

And this time, as Y/n cried, she didn’t let the shame swallow her whole.

And later, as they lay in the bed, cuddled together in bed, no words were spoken, just a quiet peace blooming in their hearts.

Maybe this time, the pieces could fit together better.

THE END

© 2024 all rights reserved — frankie-norris. do not modify, repost, plagiarize, or claim my work as your own without permission.

[ln4op81fc43]

ACTING LIKE YOU DIDN’T WATCH THEIR RACE

warnings: mild sexual innuendos, mentions of oral sex <3333

drivers: lando norris, charles leclerc, max verstappen, carlos sainz, daniel ricciardo

a/n: learnt all the warnings/drivers/notes from a friend, hope you enjoy our first work!

© Please do not repost, translate or share our work to other platforms, thank you!

[ln4op81fc43]

SPEED DIAL

Warnings: Mention of a crash, mentions of injury, mentions of blood, angst, crying

driver: lando norris

a/n: I really do be liking this one 😈

Lando’s phone buzzed, the light cutting through the darkness of his room.

He stirred, groaning to himself as he turned onto his side - who the hell was calling at nearly midnight?

But the buzzing didn’t stop. Why wasn’t it stopping?

Another grumble left his lips, the brightness of the screen temporarily blinding him, his finger lingering over the decline button - yet something told him to accept.

“Hey,” he mumbled, voice croaky as he put the call on speaker.

“Is this Lando Norris?”

“Yeah- uh, speakin’, yeah,”

“This is St. Mary’s Hospital. We’re calling regarding Y/n Y/L/n,”

The room suddenly felt too small, too hot, like the walls were pressing in, closing him in.

“What-?” his throat tightened, “what happened?”

“It was a crash- a car crash,” the person spoke, “she suffered a broken arm and a few ribs, nothing life threatening,”

“Why’re you calling me?” his voice was strained.

There was a pause.

“You’re still listed as her emergency contact,”

Lando didn’t breathe, nor did he move.

It had been a year since the breakup - no hard feelings, no shouting or yelling, nothing.

Just heartbreak.

Lando had been so close, so, so close to convincing himself that she had forgotten him.

And yet - she had never taken him off her emergency contacts.

An intake of air swept through his lungs, and suddenly, he found nothing mattered.

She was hurt.

“I’ll be there in fifteen minutes,”

Lando didn’t waste another second.

Lando was on his feet in seconds, grabbing his car keys and almost tumbling down the stairs. The drive was torturously slow, aggravating, his fingers tapping on the wheel, until finally…

The what if’s clawed at his mind - what if he hadn’t answered his phone? What if it had been worse than it was?

What if-?

He pushed the thought away. Y/n was safe.

The air outside was freezing cold, yet his skin burned.

His feet carried him through the automatic doors on instinct, his heart hammering like a war drum against his ribs.

The nurse at the front desk barely had time to register his arrival before he was speaking, the words tumbling through his lips.

“Y/n L/n,” he said, slightly breathless. “I…she was brought in earlier. Car accident,”

Even the words sounded…weird on his tongue.

“Room 214 - down the hall, second left,”

Lando didn’t wait for more. He was already moving.

He reached room 214 in record time, barely slowing down as he turned the corner.

His heart pounded against his ribs, nerves and adrenaline tangling together in a messy knot in his chest.

He hesitated for half a second outside the door, his fingers twitching at his side. God, what was he even going to say? Y/n had probably forgotten him already.

The first thing he noticed was the quiet beeping of a monitor. The second was her.

Y/n was propped up against a stack of pillows, her arm in a sling, bandages peeking out from beneath the hospital gown.

Her hair was slightly messy and tangled, like she had been running her hands through it, and a faint bruise bloomed across her temple, turning a magenta shade of purple.

But despite all of it, she still looked like her. His Y/n.

Her tired eyes lifted when she heard the door click shut, the wood clicking into its place..

Bemusement flickered across her face for a brief moment before something softer replaced it…and he couldn’t quite place what ir was.

“…Lando?”

Oh, how his chest fluttered when she said his name…

“Hey, trouble,” he said, his voice low, “heard you decided to take ‘reckless driving’ a little too literally tonight,”

A weak, wheezy laugh tumbled from her lips.

“Wasn’t my fault,”

“Oh, so your foot just slipped on the accelerator?” he teased, stepping closer.

Y/n rolled her eyes, but there was warmth there - something familiar - something Lando felt himself almost yearning for.

Something that made his stomach flip in a way he hadn’t let himself feel in a long time.

He took another step forward, eyes scanning her face for any signs of discomfort. “You scared the shit out of me, you know,” he whispered.

“I got a call saying you’d been in an accident, and for a second, I-,” he swallowed thickly, shaking his head as he sat down on the edge of her bed, careful not to jostle her.

“I didn’t know what to do with myself,”

“You came,” Y/n whispered, something unreadable behind the eyes Lando had fallen in love with.

Lando let out a breathy chuckle, shaking his head. “Of course, I came,” his voice dropped, just barely above a whisper.

“You still have me as your emergency contact, Y/n,”

Her lips parted slightly, a quiet exhale slipping past them.

He reached out without thinking, his fingers ghosting over her bandaged arm before settling against her hand, his thumb tracing light circles against her skin.

“You should’ve changed it,” he murmured.

“I know,”

A beat of silence stretched between them, heavy with words unspoken.

“I didn’t want to,”.

His fingers tightened around hers, his thumb now brushing back and forth. “Y/n…”

“I guess I always knew,” she admitted softly, her voice slightly hoarse, “that if something happened, you’d still come,”

There was no answer Lando could come up with. Instead, he huffed out a breath

“You always did have a habit of scaring the hell out of me,” he scolded her softly.

“I’d say I’m pretty consistent,” she giggled.

Lando let out a low chuckle, shaking his head. God, how he had missed that smile.

It had haunted him in the quiet moments over the last year, slipping into his thoughts when he least expected it. And now, seeing it in person, right in front of him-

Yeah, he was done for.

“Please don’t do that again,” he muttered, squeezing her hand.

“No promises,”

“Guess I’m stuck with your recklessness for all of eternity, then,” he sighed dramatically.

“Sounds like you don’t mind that too much,”

Maybe he didn’t.

[ln4op81fc43]

who let the bitch off her leash, and why is she attacking frankie

listen, girl, I haven’t got time for your whims.

you said you’d leave me alone after those threats you sent meme her here you are, once more obsessive over me - it’s weird and actually a little disturbing, to be frank.

if the whole “copying” this is about me wanting to write a book - seriously? you’re pissed I wanna write something in a notebook? what next, you’re gonna obsess over my grades?

the book I’m writing is about a fic which has NOTHING to do with your mafia bullshit, if you’d spent half the time you did whining into actually reading, you’d see in my old ask, before I de-cluttered, that it’s based off of a fic called gridlock. nothing to do with mafia, stupid.

and velcro is VERY a common in karting if you’re small/were small when you did so!

here’s some links:

https://www.murraymotorsport.com/bengio-kart-seat-padding-benpad-c

https://www.demon-tweeks.com/uk/tillett-vh-kart-seat-pads-for-hip-protection-7000849/?srsltid=AfmBOor-GHA3VmaFZ92caLhbf6hNWYO9lnkM3yIEZoFMOEdSrIYsirdv

https://direct-karting.com/en/seat-protection-pad-lateral-with-velcro

there’s absolutely no reason to bring me up, yet you did, and you’re no doubt going to act like the victim. I put my work into ai a checkers and all the scores came out low, focus on your own work and leave me be, seriously!

it’s creepy and obsessive.

no one wants to be you, trust me.

link to the post where I put stuff into ai checkers

edit: as well as this, what I find “concerning” is how I get tons of hate anons when she “happens” to post about me and the exact same things anons accused me of. get a grip, babes

edit 2: I was stupid to not see this to begin with, but now I do. she won’t stop til she’s driven me off tumblr, but I’m not going to leave until I do so of my own accord. you’re not driving me off anything and you never will, you don’t told that power over me, you’re nothing to me and to anyone. if you’re this pressed about tumblr, god forbid anyone meets you in real life.

[ln4op81fc43]

DANG

the elixir of passion - l.n - part 1

Warnings: mafia romance, arranged marriage

Pairing: Lando Norris x fem!reader

Summary: Y/n hates being in a Mafia family. But it’s not quite the man she’s engaged to that catches her eye…

A/n - tysmmmm to @lnracer who made the moodboard for this, pls check her blog out, her mood boards are insanely good

masterlist

The late afternoon sun spilled through the floor-to-ceiling windows, soaking the grand studio in honeyed light. 

Dust motes swirled lazily in the glow, like tiny specks of gold caught between reality and a dream. The air was thick with the scent of oil paint and turpentine, clinging to the walls like a second skin.

Y/n stood in the heart of it all, barefoot on the cool marble floor, her silk robe slipping off one shoulder, forgotten. 

Before her, stretched taller than her, was a vast canvas - an untamed universe waiting to be shaped by her hands.

She had been working on it for days, maybe weeks - she had lost track of time, lost in the feverish devotion only an artist could understand. 

The colors bled and intertwined like whispered confessions, layers upon layers of depth. A base of muted ivory, almost parchment-like, set the stage for the storm of color she had breathed into existence. 

Deep strokes of indigo, like midnight shadows creeping along the edges. Violent bursts of carmine, like wine spilled across silk. Delicate veins of gold leaf traced through the chaos, cracks in a porcelain mask.

It wasn’t just a painting.

It was her.

Every frustration, every unspoken scream, every forced smile at a dinner party she wanted no part of - it was all in the paint, hidden in the layers no one would ever understand. 

Her fingers ghosted over the drying strokes, feeling the ridges, the peaks and valleys of her own emotions made tangible.

She leaned in, brush poised, her lower lip caught between her teeth. The world beyond the studio did not exist. 

Not the towering house of glass and stone her family controlled with an iron grip. Not the weight of expectations that pressed against her like chains. 

Not the impending meeting she had spent the last week pretending wasn’t happening.

Here, in front of her canvas, she was free.

A slow inhale. A flick of her wrist. The bristles kissed the linen with precision, leaving behind a feathered stroke of Prussian blue, the exact shade of twilight before the stars dared to appear. 

She blended it with a touch of sienna, deepening the shadows, carving movement into stillness.

Another stroke. Another breath.

She was creating something that mattered.

And then-

The sharp slam of a door.

She startled violently, her pulse surging like a struck chord. The brush in her hand betrayed her, dragging a harsh, ugly smear of blue across the canvas - an intrusive wound slicing through the careful harmony of colors.

Silence fell heavy in the wake of destruction.

She stared.

A breath. Then another.

The ruined section of her painting gaped at her, an insult, an injury, an irreversible mistake. The perfect balance she had spent hours crafting - gone.

Rage bloomed like wildfire in her chest.

“What the hell?” her voice cracked like a whip as she whirled around.

A servant stood at the threshold, hands clenched at his sides, gaze carefully averted. “Miss-,”

“Do you have any idea what you just-?,” she inhaled sharply, hands trembling, fingers still curled around the brush like it was a weapon. 

“Are you insane? Do you know how long I’ve been working on this?”

The man did not flinch. He had served this household long enough to know that the youngest daughter’s temper was a storm that came and went, fierce but fleeting.

“Your parents have summoned you,” he said, voice measured, rehearsed, “they are waiting in the drawing room,”

Y/n let out a dramatic groan, tossing the brush aside with a clatter.

“I don’t want to,”

“Miss…”

She waved a dismissive hand, turning back to her canvas, as if by sheer willpower she could undo the damage, return to the moment before her work had been defiled. 

But it was there, an imperfection she could not ignore, staring back at her like a broken promise.

The echo of her bare feet against the marble floors was a quiet rebellion. 

She took her time descending the grand staircase, fingers trailing along the intricate golden railing, her painted nails clashing against the cool, polished metal. 

If they were going to summon her like a misbehaving child, then she would make them wait.

The house was a cathedral of wealth - vaulted ceilings stretched impossibly high, chandeliers dripped with crystal like frozen rain, and the air carried the faint scent of aged wood and imported cigars. 

Every step she took reminded her that she did not belong to herself. She belonged to this legacy. This empire.

Her mother and father sat in their usual spots in the grand drawing room, a place suffocating with old money decor - dark mahogany, velvet curtains, oil paintings of long-dead ancestors staring down in judgment. 

The fireplace crackled low, casting restless shadows against the bookshelves lined with knowledge she had no interest in.

Her mother barely looked up as she entered, swirling the wine in her crystal glass, adorned in a tailored dress that screamed elegance and quiet cruelty. 

Her father, a man carved from stone and steel, exhaled sharply, setting down the cigar he had been nursing.

“You’re late,” his voice was a blade, sharp, slicing.

Y/n flopped onto the nearest chaise lounge with all the grace of a spoiled heiress, legs crossed, arms draped over the sides like she was posing for a portrait of boredom.

“You summoned me. I arrived. What do you want?” her voice dripped with indifference, but she was already bracing for the inevitable.

Her mother set down her glass with deliberate poise. “It’s time, Y/n,”

“Time for what?” she blinked, feigning confusion.

A beat of silence.

Then her father leaned forward, his presence as heavy as the empire he ruled. “The marriage,”

“You can’t be serious,” Y/n groaned so loudly it bordered on theatrical.

Her mother sighed, rubbing her temples as if she were already exhausted by this conversation. “We’ve entertained your childish whims for long enough. The painting, the running around like some wandering artist-,”

“Some wandering artist?” Y/n interrupted, feigning offense. “Mother, please, Van Gogh and I are practically the same,”

Her father’s patience snapped. “Enough,”

The room crackled with authority, pressing against her chest, demanding obedience. But she had never been good at obedience.

“You will marry Leo,” he voice was final, immovable, like the closing of a steel door. “It has been arranged. The families have agreed. This is not a discussion,”

Y/n let her head loll back against the chaise, staring dramatically at the ceiling as if God Himself might descend and deliver her from this nonsense.

“I don’t want to,” she muttered, a petulant child refusing their medicine.

Her mother exhaled, long and tired. “You don’t have to want to. You just have to do it,”

Y/n turned her head lazily, watching them through half-lidded eyes. “And if I don’t?”

Her father’s jaw twitched.

“You will,”

A flicker of something cold ran through her. Not fear - no, she had never feared them. But she knew what they were capable of.

She had been born into a gilded cage, and they had just locked the door.

The car was suffocating.

Y/n sat with her arms crossed, fingers tapping an impatient rhythm against the silk fabric of her dress, watching the city pass in a blur of neon lights and steel. 

The tinted windows made everything feel distant, like she wasn’t really here - just a spectator in a life already planned out for her.

Across from her, her father scrolled through his phone, his expression impassive, his mind already leagues ahead, calculating, deciding, ensuring his empire continued without fault. 

Beside him, her mother sat with perfect posture, a vision of grace and restraint, dressed in elegant dark tones, a string of pearls resting just below her collarbone.

They hadn’t spoken much since leaving. They didn’t need to. Everything had already been decided.

She knew better than to fight now - at least, not outright.

The car slowed as they entered the estate district, where the roads widened and the city’s chaos was replaced by eerie, curated perfection. 

The mansions here weren’t just homes. They were monuments to power, symbols of generations who had taken, built, and ruled from behind marble walls.

And then, through the wrought-iron gates that rose like prison bars, she saw it.

Leo’s estate.

A monstrous display of arrogance.

The mansion sprawled across the land like a king’s palace, all high archways and sweeping balconies, the stone glinting pale under the estate lights. 

A circular driveway wrapped around an ornate fountain, where statues of nameless gods poured crystal-clear water into a pristine pool. 

The gardens were too perfect, trimmed into obedient shapes, standing in neat rows like soldiers awaiting orders.

It made her sick.

The car glided to a stop in front of the grand entrance.

A moment of silence.

Then the door was opened for her before she could reach for it.

Y/n stepped out into the evening air, her heels clicking against the smooth pavement. The scent of fresh-cut grass, polished leather, and expensive cologne wrapped around her like an unwanted embrace.

And then she saw him.

Leo stood at the top of the grand staircase, watching her descend as if she were a prize being delivered to his doorstep.

He was immaculate. He always was.

His suit was impossibly tailored, cut to perfection, dark as ink against his golden skin. 

His blond hair was slicked back with effortless precision, not a strand out of place, his sharp features carved by generations of good breeding and wealth. 

He was handsome, yes, but it was the cold kind of handsome - one that belonged in magazines, in portraits, in oil paintings hanging over a mantel.

One that had never known rejection.

A slow smirk curved his lips as his gaze flickered over her, assessing, appraising.

“Ah,” he drawled, descending a single step, “my future wife has arrived,”

Y/n resisted the urge to roll her eyes so hard they fell out of her skull.

Instead, she plastered on the kind of polite smile that had been drilled into her since childhood - the one that was all teeth and no warmth, the one that masked the storm inside her.

“Leo,” her voice was smooth, honeyed with a razor-sharp edge.

His smirk widened, his head tilting just slightly. “You look exquisite,”

She tilted her head in mock amusement. “And you look… like a prick,” she said sarcastically.

”I’ll take that as a compliment,” his chuckle was low, arrogant, like he was in on a joke only he understood.

She didn’t correct him.

Behind her, her father stepped forward, cutting through the tension with a single measured glance.

“Leo,” he greeted, offering a firm handshake, “it’s been a long time,”

Leo took his hand, grip just as firm, just as calculated. “It has,” his gaze flickered to Y/n’s mother, “Mrs Y/l/n, always a pleasure,”

Her mother offered him a graceful nod, the barest trace of a smile, her approval measured in ounces.

Everything about this was political. Calculated. Expected.

Y/n was the only one out of place.

The grand doors were opened for them, and they were ushered inside by silent attendants.

The air shifted the moment they crossed the threshold - cooler, heavier, filled with the scent of polished wood, aged whiskey, and the faintest trace of cigars.

The drawing room was no less grand than the exterior, all dark mahogany and velvet, with high windows that overlooked the vast estate. 

A fire crackled low in the hearth, casting restless shadows against the walls, where oil paintings of men who had built this empire watched in silent judgment.

Y/n sat when she was supposed to. Crossed her legs when she was supposed to. Kept her expression neutral when she was supposed to.

She hated it.

Leo poured himself a drink, slow and deliberate, before turning back to them. He didn’t pour one for her. He didn’t ask.

“So,” he swirled the amber liquid in his glass, watching her over the rim before taking a sip. “I assume you’ve come to finalize the details?”

Her father nodded, leaning forward slightly. “The agreement remains unchanged. Our partnership will ensure stability between both families. The wedding will be in the fall,”

Y/n barely kept herself from scoffing. They spoke about her future as if it were a business deal. A contract.

Because it was.

Leo’s smirk didn’t fade. “And the bride?” His eyes flickered to her, amusement dancing beneath the surface, “No complaints?”

She held his gaze, unflinching.

“I don’t recall being given a choice,”

Leo exhaled a quiet laugh, as if she were a particularly amusing pet. 

“Oh, Y/n. You should consider yourself lucky,” he sipped his drink, gaze sharp. “Most women would kill to be in your position,”

“Then I’d be happy to switch places,” a slow, mocking smile curved her lips. 

Silence stretched thin between them.

Her father shot her a warning look, but Leo only laughed again, setting his glass down with a soft clink.

“I always did like your fire,” he mused, voice dripping with amusement, “but don’t worry. You’ll adjust,”

Something cold slid down her spine.

She didn’t need to ask what that meant.

Around them, the guards stood like statues, their presence a silent reminder of the power at play here. Men who had seen things, done things, without a second thought.

But among them - standing slightly apart, quiet, watchful - was one she had not noticed before.

A shadow among statues.

Dark curls, sharp features, piercing green eyes that flickered to her only for a second before returning to his post.

And for the first time since she had stepped into this house, the air felt heavier.

Different.

Like a shift in gravity itself.

The air in the drawing room felt too heavy, thick with expensive cigar smoke and the weight of expectations. Y/n shifted in her chair, crossing one leg over the other, her silk dress pooling around her like a liquid rebellion.

Across from her, Leo leaned back, his confidence oozing from every deliberate movement. 

He was watching her, as if waiting for her to fold, to accept her fate with a pretty smile and silent compliance.

He would be waiting a long time.

“To our bright future,” he lifted his glass. 

Y/n let her eyes flick lazily to the crystal tumbler in front of her, untouched. Her fingers traced the rim, but she didn’t lift it. 

Instead, she tilted her head with the slow, deliberate amusement of a woman entirely unimpressed.

"Bold of you to assume I’d drink to that,”

A chuckle rumbled from his throat, low and knowing. "Come now, Y/n. There's no need for dramatics,”

"Oh, but you love dramatics," she countered, lips curving in a slow, sharp smile, “after all, what’s more dramatic than an arranged marriage in the twenty-first century? It’s giving medieval,”

Leo smirked, swirling the amber liquid in his glass. "You’ll adjust,”

She didn’t miss the way his words carried an edge. Not quite a threat, but not far from one either. Her stomach curled in distaste, but she met his gaze without flinching.

And then, just for a second, her attention flickered to the man standing slightly apart from the others.

Unlike the rest of the guards, who stood like silent shadows, he wasn’t looking past her - he was looking at her. A brief glance, there and gone, but it left something lingering in the air between them.

His green eyes held no expectation, no demand. Just observation. A quiet intensity that prickled beneath her skin.

Her fingers tapped against the glass, just once, a subconscious movement, before she dragged her gaze back to Leo.

He was watching her too closely now.

"You look like you have something to say, darling," he mused, tilting his head.

Y/n leaned forward slightly, elbows resting on her knees. "Oh, I do. But I’m just wondering if it’s worth saying, considering how little you actually listen,”

Leo exhaled a laugh, shaking his head. "You’re going to make this difficult, aren’t you?"

"Oh, you have no idea,” she smiled, slow and dangerous. 

Silence stretched between them, taut as a violin string ready to snap. The tension was palpable, and yet, beneath it, something else simmered in the background.

The bodyguard had not moved, had not spoken, but she was aware of him. The way he stood, the way he listened.

He was different from the rest. She could feel it.

And that?

That was dangerous.

Dinner was a grand, calculated affair.

The long mahogany table stretched between them, polished to a gleam so pristine that Y/n could see the distorted reflection of the chandelier above. 

The dining room was as suffocating as the rest of the estate - high ceilings, gilded edges, and paintings of ancestors with eyes that seemed to follow her every move.

The scent of roasted meats, expensive wines, and delicate spices hung heavy in the air, but she had no appetite.

Leo sat at the head of the table, exuding effortless authority, swirling his wine like he had orchestrated every event leading up to this very moment. 

Her parents were seated beside him, engaged in polite conversation about markets, territories, and business dealings she had no interest in.

And then there was her.

A bride-to-be, perched on the edge of a throne she never asked for.

The servants moved with seamless precision, carrying silver trays, placing crystal glasses just so, refilling wine without a word. It was all too perfect. Too suffocating.

She exhaled slowly, letting her nails tap lightly against the table, a soft rhythm no one else noticed - no one but him.

He moved before she had even registered his presence.

A figure behind her, quiet, unobtrusive.

The bodyguard again. 

His hands, gloved in black leather, reached for the chair just as she did.

For a brief moment, his fingers brushed the carved wooden back, a fleeting whisper of contact between them.

Her breath hitched, just slightly.

He pulled the chair out smoothly, the scrape of wood against marble barely audible beneath the hum of conversation. 

His movements were precise, effortless - as if he had done this a thousand times before, as if it was second nature.

But there was something else.

Something deliberate.

Y/n sat slowly, feeling the heat of his presence behind her, the air between them charged with something unspoken.

A pause. A hesitation.

And then, just before he stepped away, a single word, so low only she could hear. 

"Careful,”

Her pulse jumped.

She didn’t turn to look at him, but she could feel him, standing just behind her shoulder, an unmoving shadow.

A warning. A promise. A threat.

By the time she finally dared to glance sideways, he was already gone - blending into the background, back to his post like he had never been there at all.

But she knew better.

Because for the first time that night, something had changed.

And Y/n wasn’t sure if she was ready for what came next.

Her parents sat across from her, poised, proper, entirely at ease in this world of business and blood.

Leo, ever the perfect host, carved into his steak with precision, discussing trade routes and alliances as if this were just another evening, just another business deal.

It made her restless. Suffocated.

The candlelight flickered as she placed her napkin on the table and rose from her seat.

Her mother’s eyes snapped to her first - sharp, disapproving.

“Y/n,” a quiet warning.

Her father barely looked up from his meal, but his disappointment was palpable. “Sit,”

“I need to use the restroom,” she said flatly, already stepping away.

Leo didn’t even pause in conversation. Her parents exchanged looks but said nothing more, their polished façades holding steady for the sake of appearances.

She didn’t wait for their approval.

The moment she stepped into the hallway, the cool air against her skin was a relief.

The heavy drapes, the towering ceilings, the polished mahogany stretching in every direction - it was all too much. But here, in the quiet, she could finally breathe.

Her feet carried her further, past the grand staircase, past the gilded portraits of men who built empires from the shadows. She should have gone to the bathroom. She should have turned back.

But she didn’t.

Instead, her fingers ghosted over the intricate woodwork of a door slightly ajar.

Leo’s office.

Her pulse quickened.

The room was dimly lit, the scent of expensive cigars and leather lingering in the air. Papers were strewn across the large desk, documents stacked haphazardly, notes scrawled in bold, sharp ink.

Something told her she shouldn’t be here.

She stepped forward anyway.

Her fingers brushed the edge of a document, its contents half-hidden beneath another. Something about shipments - dates, locations - her brows furrowed as she moved to lift the page.

And then-

"What are you doing?"

A voice. Cold. Steady. Her breath caught. Slowly, she turned.

Lando stood in the doorway, half-shadowed by the dim light. His expression was unreadable, his stance deceptively relaxed, but there was nothing casual about the way his sharp green gaze pinned her in place.

She gripped the paper tighter. “I-,”

"You shouldn’t be here,”

His tone didn’t waver, didn’t rise. It was calm. Absolute.

Her heart pounded. He could tell Leo. He could drag her back to the table, expose her for snooping where she didn’t belong. But he didn’t.

He stepped closer, his presence unnervingly steady, like he had already decided exactly how this would end. He reached past her, fingertips grazing the paper just enough for her to release it.

He set it back on the desk, untouched.

Then, in one smooth motion, he turned and opened the door.

A silent command.

She hesitated for half a second before stepping forward, past him, out into the hallway where the shadows stretched long across the walls.

The walk back to the dining room was quiet.

But just as they reached the threshold, just as she was about to step back into the warmth of candlelight and the weight of expectation -

He leaned in. Just enough for her to hear.

"Careful,”

The same word. The same warning. Her breath hitched. And just like that, he was gone.

Back to his post, back to his place in the background, as if he had never been there at all.

But Y/n knew better.

And for the first time in a long time, something burned beneath her skin.

Obsession.

[ln4op81fc43]

Come out of hiding to check on my pookie and see that that attention whore is back at it again, trying her best to stay relevant!

guess who’s obsessed with you again

genuinely can’t have any peace around here

[ln4op81fc43]

snatched

waist? what waist?

[ln4op81fc43]

ooo part two 2️⃣

curly maintenance - l.n - p.2

Warnings: None!

Pairing: Lando Norris x fem!reader

A/N - I’m not quite sure why y’all like this - I hate it, but here’s your part two :)

part 1

Lando had never really cared much about his hair before. Sure, he’d throw in some product now and then, but for the most part, he just let it do whatever it wanted.

But now?

Now he was sitting on the floor between Y/n’s legs, head tilted back against her knees as her fingers gently ran through his curls, detangling them with a patience and care he never had for himself.

“You know,” she mused, her nails scratching lightly at his scalp, “if you actually took care of your hair properly, you wouldn’t have these little frizzy bits sticking out all the time,”

Lando hummed, eyes fluttering shut. He barely even heard what she said, too focused on the way her fingers moved in slow, soothing motions.

“Mhm. Whatever you say,”

She rolled her eyes, but the small smile on her lips gave her away. “You’re literally falling asleep right now,”

He peeked one eye open and grinned. “And whose fault is that?”

“Yours, for having a head full of curls that need serious attention,”

He huffed dramatically but didn’t argue. Instead, he shifted slightly, leaning further into her touch like a cat seeking warmth. “D’you think my curls are cute?”

Y/n snorted. “Is that what you’re fishing for?”

“Just answer the question!”

She paused for a moment, fingers absentmindedly twisting one of his curls around her finger. “Yeah, they’re cute,”

Lando smirked, cracking one eye open again. “You’re obsessed with them, aren’t you?”

“Oh my god, shut up,”

“You totally are,”

“I’m going to stop if you keep talking,”

Instantly, his lips clamped shut, making her laugh.

“That’s what I thought,” she teased, continuing to run her fingers through his hair.

She reached for a bottle of leave-in conditioner beside her, squeezing a little onto her palm before working it through his curls. “I swear, you’re like a puppy. Just sitting here all happy while I do all the work,”

Lando let out a content sigh. “Can’t tell if you’re callin’ me a bitch or well behaved,”

Y/n shook her head, amused. “You’re impossible,”

“Yeah,” he agreed sleepily, “but you love me anyway,”

Her hands paused for a fraction of a second before she continued. She hoped he didn’t feel the way her heart skipped a beat at his words.

“Yeah,” she whispered, so soft he almost didn’t hear it. “I do,”

Lando hummed in response, tilting his head slightly to nuzzle into her touch.

“Y’know,” he murmured, voice slower now, heavier with sleep, “you should do this all the time. Like… every night. Mandatory,”

Y/n laughed, her fingers threading through his hair again, gently massaging his scalp. “Oh, so now I’m your personal hair stylist?”

“Personal hair whisperer,” he corrected, a lazy grin tugging at his lips. “Only you can make my hair look this good. And feel this nice,”

“Flattery will get you nowhere, Norris,”

“It got me here, didn’t it?”

She rolled her eyes but continued to work her fingers through his curls, adding a little extra product to make sure they stayed soft and defined.

The room had gone quiet again, the soft hum of the TV in the background the only noise apart from the occasional sigh of contentment from Lando.

He shifted slightly, adjusting his position until his head was resting fully in her lap, his face half-buried in her stomach.

Y/n glanced down at him, smiling as she took in the way his lashes fluttered against his cheeks, his breathing slowing.

“Falling asleep on me?” she whispered, fingers still carding through his hair.

“Mm. Maybe,” he admitted, eyes barely open now. “But only ‘cause you’re too good at this,”

She chuckled softly. “I guess I can let you sleep,”

“Best girlfriend ever,” he murmured sleepily, voice muffled against her.

Y/n felt warmth bloom in her chest at his words, her fingers slowing just slightly as she watched him drift off.

She’d never seen him this peaceful before, and a part of her hoped he’d always trust her to take care of him like this.

“Sleep well, Lan,” she whispered, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of his head. “I love you,”

[ln4op81fc43]

erm mind u ive got no idea who this other author is, but ur asks are so obv being sent by you bro............ embarrassing

[ln4op81fc43]

UN FUCKING MATCHED

the elixir of passion - l.n - part 1

Warnings: mafia romance, arranged marriage

Pairing: Lando Norris x fem!reader

Summary: Y/n hates being in a Mafia family. But it’s not quite the man she’s engaged to that catches her eye…

A/n - tysmmmm to @lnracer who made the moodboard for this, pls check her blog out, her mood boards are insanely good

masterlist

The late afternoon sun spilled through the floor-to-ceiling windows, soaking the grand studio in honeyed light. 

Dust motes swirled lazily in the glow, like tiny specks of gold caught between reality and a dream. The air was thick with the scent of oil paint and turpentine, clinging to the walls like a second skin.

Y/n stood in the heart of it all, barefoot on the cool marble floor, her silk robe slipping off one shoulder, forgotten. 

Before her, stretched taller than her, was a vast canvas - an untamed universe waiting to be shaped by her hands.

She had been working on it for days, maybe weeks - she had lost track of time, lost in the feverish devotion only an artist could understand. 

The colors bled and intertwined like whispered confessions, layers upon layers of depth. A base of muted ivory, almost parchment-like, set the stage for the storm of color she had breathed into existence. 

Deep strokes of indigo, like midnight shadows creeping along the edges. Violent bursts of carmine, like wine spilled across silk. Delicate veins of gold leaf traced through the chaos, cracks in a porcelain mask.

It wasn’t just a painting.

It was her.

Every frustration, every unspoken scream, every forced smile at a dinner party she wanted no part of - it was all in the paint, hidden in the layers no one would ever understand. 

Her fingers ghosted over the drying strokes, feeling the ridges, the peaks and valleys of her own emotions made tangible.

She leaned in, brush poised, her lower lip caught between her teeth. The world beyond the studio did not exist. 

Not the towering house of glass and stone her family controlled with an iron grip. Not the weight of expectations that pressed against her like chains. 

Not the impending meeting she had spent the last week pretending wasn’t happening.

Here, in front of her canvas, she was free.

A slow inhale. A flick of her wrist. The bristles kissed the linen with precision, leaving behind a feathered stroke of Prussian blue, the exact shade of twilight before the stars dared to appear. 

She blended it with a touch of sienna, deepening the shadows, carving movement into stillness.

Another stroke. Another breath.

She was creating something that mattered.

And then-

The sharp slam of a door.

She startled violently, her pulse surging like a struck chord. The brush in her hand betrayed her, dragging a harsh, ugly smear of blue across the canvas - an intrusive wound slicing through the careful harmony of colors.

Silence fell heavy in the wake of destruction.

She stared.

A breath. Then another.

The ruined section of her painting gaped at her, an insult, an injury, an irreversible mistake. The perfect balance she had spent hours crafting - gone.

Rage bloomed like wildfire in her chest.

“What the hell?” her voice cracked like a whip as she whirled around.

A servant stood at the threshold, hands clenched at his sides, gaze carefully averted. “Miss-,”

“Do you have any idea what you just-?,” she inhaled sharply, hands trembling, fingers still curled around the brush like it was a weapon. 

“Are you insane? Do you know how long I’ve been working on this?”

The man did not flinch. He had served this household long enough to know that the youngest daughter’s temper was a storm that came and went, fierce but fleeting.

“Your parents have summoned you,” he said, voice measured, rehearsed, “they are waiting in the drawing room,”

Y/n let out a dramatic groan, tossing the brush aside with a clatter.

“I don’t want to,”

“Miss…”

She waved a dismissive hand, turning back to her canvas, as if by sheer willpower she could undo the damage, return to the moment before her work had been defiled. 

But it was there, an imperfection she could not ignore, staring back at her like a broken promise.

The echo of her bare feet against the marble floors was a quiet rebellion. 

She took her time descending the grand staircase, fingers trailing along the intricate golden railing, her painted nails clashing against the cool, polished metal. 

If they were going to summon her like a misbehaving child, then she would make them wait.

The house was a cathedral of wealth - vaulted ceilings stretched impossibly high, chandeliers dripped with crystal like frozen rain, and the air carried the faint scent of aged wood and imported cigars. 

Every step she took reminded her that she did not belong to herself. She belonged to this legacy. This empire.

Her mother and father sat in their usual spots in the grand drawing room, a place suffocating with old money decor - dark mahogany, velvet curtains, oil paintings of long-dead ancestors staring down in judgment. 

The fireplace crackled low, casting restless shadows against the bookshelves lined with knowledge she had no interest in.

Her mother barely looked up as she entered, swirling the wine in her crystal glass, adorned in a tailored dress that screamed elegance and quiet cruelty. 

Her father, a man carved from stone and steel, exhaled sharply, setting down the cigar he had been nursing.

“You’re late,” his voice was a blade, sharp, slicing.

Y/n flopped onto the nearest chaise lounge with all the grace of a spoiled heiress, legs crossed, arms draped over the sides like she was posing for a portrait of boredom.

“You summoned me. I arrived. What do you want?” her voice dripped with indifference, but she was already bracing for the inevitable.

Her mother set down her glass with deliberate poise. “It’s time, Y/n,”

“Time for what?” she blinked, feigning confusion.

A beat of silence.

Then her father leaned forward, his presence as heavy as the empire he ruled. “The marriage,”

“You can’t be serious,” Y/n groaned so loudly it bordered on theatrical.

Her mother sighed, rubbing her temples as if she were already exhausted by this conversation. “We’ve entertained your childish whims for long enough. The painting, the running around like some wandering artist-,”

“Some wandering artist?” Y/n interrupted, feigning offense. “Mother, please, Van Gogh and I are practically the same,”

Her father’s patience snapped. “Enough,”

The room crackled with authority, pressing against her chest, demanding obedience. But she had never been good at obedience.

“You will marry Leo,” he voice was final, immovable, like the closing of a steel door. “It has been arranged. The families have agreed. This is not a discussion,”

Y/n let her head loll back against the chaise, staring dramatically at the ceiling as if God Himself might descend and deliver her from this nonsense.

“I don’t want to,” she muttered, a petulant child refusing their medicine.

Her mother exhaled, long and tired. “You don’t have to want to. You just have to do it,”

Y/n turned her head lazily, watching them through half-lidded eyes. “And if I don’t?”

Her father’s jaw twitched.

“You will,”

A flicker of something cold ran through her. Not fear - no, she had never feared them. But she knew what they were capable of.

She had been born into a gilded cage, and they had just locked the door.

The car was suffocating.

Y/n sat with her arms crossed, fingers tapping an impatient rhythm against the silk fabric of her dress, watching the city pass in a blur of neon lights and steel. 

The tinted windows made everything feel distant, like she wasn’t really here - just a spectator in a life already planned out for her.

Across from her, her father scrolled through his phone, his expression impassive, his mind already leagues ahead, calculating, deciding, ensuring his empire continued without fault. 

Beside him, her mother sat with perfect posture, a vision of grace and restraint, dressed in elegant dark tones, a string of pearls resting just below her collarbone.

They hadn’t spoken much since leaving. They didn’t need to. Everything had already been decided.

She knew better than to fight now - at least, not outright.

The car slowed as they entered the estate district, where the roads widened and the city’s chaos was replaced by eerie, curated perfection. 

The mansions here weren’t just homes. They were monuments to power, symbols of generations who had taken, built, and ruled from behind marble walls.

And then, through the wrought-iron gates that rose like prison bars, she saw it.

Leo’s estate.

A monstrous display of arrogance.

The mansion sprawled across the land like a king’s palace, all high archways and sweeping balconies, the stone glinting pale under the estate lights. 

A circular driveway wrapped around an ornate fountain, where statues of nameless gods poured crystal-clear water into a pristine pool. 

The gardens were too perfect, trimmed into obedient shapes, standing in neat rows like soldiers awaiting orders.

It made her sick.

The car glided to a stop in front of the grand entrance.

A moment of silence.

Then the door was opened for her before she could reach for it.

Y/n stepped out into the evening air, her heels clicking against the smooth pavement. The scent of fresh-cut grass, polished leather, and expensive cologne wrapped around her like an unwanted embrace.

And then she saw him.

Leo stood at the top of the grand staircase, watching her descend as if she were a prize being delivered to his doorstep.

He was immaculate. He always was.

His suit was impossibly tailored, cut to perfection, dark as ink against his golden skin. 

His blond hair was slicked back with effortless precision, not a strand out of place, his sharp features carved by generations of good breeding and wealth. 

He was handsome, yes, but it was the cold kind of handsome - one that belonged in magazines, in portraits, in oil paintings hanging over a mantel.

One that had never known rejection.

A slow smirk curved his lips as his gaze flickered over her, assessing, appraising.

“Ah,” he drawled, descending a single step, “my future wife has arrived,”

Y/n resisted the urge to roll her eyes so hard they fell out of her skull.

Instead, she plastered on the kind of polite smile that had been drilled into her since childhood - the one that was all teeth and no warmth, the one that masked the storm inside her.

“Leo,” her voice was smooth, honeyed with a razor-sharp edge.

His smirk widened, his head tilting just slightly. “You look exquisite,”

She tilted her head in mock amusement. “And you look… like a prick,” she said sarcastically.

”I’ll take that as a compliment,” his chuckle was low, arrogant, like he was in on a joke only he understood.

She didn’t correct him.

Behind her, her father stepped forward, cutting through the tension with a single measured glance.

“Leo,” he greeted, offering a firm handshake, “it’s been a long time,”

Leo took his hand, grip just as firm, just as calculated. “It has,” his gaze flickered to Y/n’s mother, “Mrs Y/l/n, always a pleasure,”

Her mother offered him a graceful nod, the barest trace of a smile, her approval measured in ounces.

Everything about this was political. Calculated. Expected.

Y/n was the only one out of place.

The grand doors were opened for them, and they were ushered inside by silent attendants.

The air shifted the moment they crossed the threshold - cooler, heavier, filled with the scent of polished wood, aged whiskey, and the faintest trace of cigars.

The drawing room was no less grand than the exterior, all dark mahogany and velvet, with high windows that overlooked the vast estate. 

A fire crackled low in the hearth, casting restless shadows against the walls, where oil paintings of men who had built this empire watched in silent judgment.

Y/n sat when she was supposed to. Crossed her legs when she was supposed to. Kept her expression neutral when she was supposed to.

She hated it.

Leo poured himself a drink, slow and deliberate, before turning back to them. He didn’t pour one for her. He didn’t ask.

“So,” he swirled the amber liquid in his glass, watching her over the rim before taking a sip. “I assume you’ve come to finalize the details?”

Her father nodded, leaning forward slightly. “The agreement remains unchanged. Our partnership will ensure stability between both families. The wedding will be in the fall,”

Y/n barely kept herself from scoffing. They spoke about her future as if it were a business deal. A contract.

Because it was.

Leo’s smirk didn’t fade. “And the bride?” His eyes flickered to her, amusement dancing beneath the surface, “No complaints?”

She held his gaze, unflinching.

“I don’t recall being given a choice,”

Leo exhaled a quiet laugh, as if she were a particularly amusing pet. 

“Oh, Y/n. You should consider yourself lucky,” he sipped his drink, gaze sharp. “Most women would kill to be in your position,”

“Then I’d be happy to switch places,” a slow, mocking smile curved her lips. 

Silence stretched thin between them.

Her father shot her a warning look, but Leo only laughed again, setting his glass down with a soft clink.

“I always did like your fire,” he mused, voice dripping with amusement, “but don’t worry. You’ll adjust,”

Something cold slid down her spine.

She didn’t need to ask what that meant.

Around them, the guards stood like statues, their presence a silent reminder of the power at play here. Men who had seen things, done things, without a second thought.

But among them - standing slightly apart, quiet, watchful - was one she had not noticed before.

A shadow among statues.

Dark curls, sharp features, piercing green eyes that flickered to her only for a second before returning to his post.

And for the first time since she had stepped into this house, the air felt heavier.

Different.

Like a shift in gravity itself.

The air in the drawing room felt too heavy, thick with expensive cigar smoke and the weight of expectations. Y/n shifted in her chair, crossing one leg over the other, her silk dress pooling around her like a liquid rebellion.

Across from her, Leo leaned back, his confidence oozing from every deliberate movement. 

He was watching her, as if waiting for her to fold, to accept her fate with a pretty smile and silent compliance.

He would be waiting a long time.

“To our bright future,” he lifted his glass. 

Y/n let her eyes flick lazily to the crystal tumbler in front of her, untouched. Her fingers traced the rim, but she didn’t lift it. 

Instead, she tilted her head with the slow, deliberate amusement of a woman entirely unimpressed.

"Bold of you to assume I’d drink to that,”

A chuckle rumbled from his throat, low and knowing. "Come now, Y/n. There's no need for dramatics,”

"Oh, but you love dramatics," she countered, lips curving in a slow, sharp smile, “after all, what’s more dramatic than an arranged marriage in the twenty-first century? It’s giving medieval,”

Leo smirked, swirling the amber liquid in his glass. "You’ll adjust,”

She didn’t miss the way his words carried an edge. Not quite a threat, but not far from one either. Her stomach curled in distaste, but she met his gaze without flinching.

And then, just for a second, her attention flickered to the man standing slightly apart from the others.

Unlike the rest of the guards, who stood like silent shadows, he wasn’t looking past her - he was looking at her. A brief glance, there and gone, but it left something lingering in the air between them.

His green eyes held no expectation, no demand. Just observation. A quiet intensity that prickled beneath her skin.

Her fingers tapped against the glass, just once, a subconscious movement, before she dragged her gaze back to Leo.

He was watching her too closely now.

"You look like you have something to say, darling," he mused, tilting his head.

Y/n leaned forward slightly, elbows resting on her knees. "Oh, I do. But I’m just wondering if it’s worth saying, considering how little you actually listen,”

Leo exhaled a laugh, shaking his head. "You’re going to make this difficult, aren’t you?"

"Oh, you have no idea,” she smiled, slow and dangerous. 

Silence stretched between them, taut as a violin string ready to snap. The tension was palpable, and yet, beneath it, something else simmered in the background.

The bodyguard had not moved, had not spoken, but she was aware of him. The way he stood, the way he listened.

He was different from the rest. She could feel it.

And that?

That was dangerous.

Dinner was a grand, calculated affair.

The long mahogany table stretched between them, polished to a gleam so pristine that Y/n could see the distorted reflection of the chandelier above. 

The dining room was as suffocating as the rest of the estate - high ceilings, gilded edges, and paintings of ancestors with eyes that seemed to follow her every move.

The scent of roasted meats, expensive wines, and delicate spices hung heavy in the air, but she had no appetite.

Leo sat at the head of the table, exuding effortless authority, swirling his wine like he had orchestrated every event leading up to this very moment. 

Her parents were seated beside him, engaged in polite conversation about markets, territories, and business dealings she had no interest in.

And then there was her.

A bride-to-be, perched on the edge of a throne she never asked for.

The servants moved with seamless precision, carrying silver trays, placing crystal glasses just so, refilling wine without a word. It was all too perfect. Too suffocating.

She exhaled slowly, letting her nails tap lightly against the table, a soft rhythm no one else noticed - no one but him.

He moved before she had even registered his presence.

A figure behind her, quiet, unobtrusive.

The bodyguard again. 

His hands, gloved in black leather, reached for the chair just as she did.

For a brief moment, his fingers brushed the carved wooden back, a fleeting whisper of contact between them.

Her breath hitched, just slightly.

He pulled the chair out smoothly, the scrape of wood against marble barely audible beneath the hum of conversation. 

His movements were precise, effortless - as if he had done this a thousand times before, as if it was second nature.

But there was something else.

Something deliberate.

Y/n sat slowly, feeling the heat of his presence behind her, the air between them charged with something unspoken.

A pause. A hesitation.

And then, just before he stepped away, a single word, so low only she could hear. 

"Careful,”

Her pulse jumped.

She didn’t turn to look at him, but she could feel him, standing just behind her shoulder, an unmoving shadow.

A warning. A promise. A threat.

By the time she finally dared to glance sideways, he was already gone - blending into the background, back to his post like he had never been there at all.

But she knew better.

Because for the first time that night, something had changed.

And Y/n wasn’t sure if she was ready for what came next.

Her parents sat across from her, poised, proper, entirely at ease in this world of business and blood.

Leo, ever the perfect host, carved into his steak with precision, discussing trade routes and alliances as if this were just another evening, just another business deal.

It made her restless. Suffocated.

The candlelight flickered as she placed her napkin on the table and rose from her seat.

Her mother’s eyes snapped to her first - sharp, disapproving.

“Y/n,” a quiet warning.

Her father barely looked up from his meal, but his disappointment was palpable. “Sit,”

“I need to use the restroom,” she said flatly, already stepping away.

Leo didn’t even pause in conversation. Her parents exchanged looks but said nothing more, their polished façades holding steady for the sake of appearances.

She didn’t wait for their approval.

The moment she stepped into the hallway, the cool air against her skin was a relief.

The heavy drapes, the towering ceilings, the polished mahogany stretching in every direction - it was all too much. But here, in the quiet, she could finally breathe.

Her feet carried her further, past the grand staircase, past the gilded portraits of men who built empires from the shadows. She should have gone to the bathroom. She should have turned back.

But she didn’t.

Instead, her fingers ghosted over the intricate woodwork of a door slightly ajar.

Leo’s office.

Her pulse quickened.

The room was dimly lit, the scent of expensive cigars and leather lingering in the air. Papers were strewn across the large desk, documents stacked haphazardly, notes scrawled in bold, sharp ink.

Something told her she shouldn’t be here.

She stepped forward anyway.

Her fingers brushed the edge of a document, its contents half-hidden beneath another. Something about shipments - dates, locations - her brows furrowed as she moved to lift the page.

And then-

"What are you doing?"

A voice. Cold. Steady. Her breath caught. Slowly, she turned.

Lando stood in the doorway, half-shadowed by the dim light. His expression was unreadable, his stance deceptively relaxed, but there was nothing casual about the way his sharp green gaze pinned her in place.

She gripped the paper tighter. “I-,”

"You shouldn’t be here,”

His tone didn’t waver, didn’t rise. It was calm. Absolute.

Her heart pounded. He could tell Leo. He could drag her back to the table, expose her for snooping where she didn’t belong. But he didn’t.

He stepped closer, his presence unnervingly steady, like he had already decided exactly how this would end. He reached past her, fingertips grazing the paper just enough for her to release it.

He set it back on the desk, untouched.

Then, in one smooth motion, he turned and opened the door.

A silent command.

She hesitated for half a second before stepping forward, past him, out into the hallway where the shadows stretched long across the walls.

The walk back to the dining room was quiet.

But just as they reached the threshold, just as she was about to step back into the warmth of candlelight and the weight of expectation -

He leaned in. Just enough for her to hear.

"Careful,”

The same word. The same warning. Her breath hitched. And just like that, he was gone.

Back to his post, back to his place in the background, as if he had never been there at all.

But Y/n knew better.

And for the first time in a long time, something burned beneath her skin.

Obsession.

[ln4op81fc43]

chowder vs lando

pairing: lando x gf!reader

warnings: language?

summary: lando and his dog chowder have a love hate relationship

masterlist

[ln4op81fc43]

this is user @/msimpala--67, an attention seeking individual who many have had to deal with. I was one of them, simply trying to end whatever war she’d waged with someone for defending their brother.

the user is @/papaya-twinks and there’s more context here

tagging this with f1 tags so people know not to approach that sick, twisted, evil little witch, as she calls other people.

not bro genuinely demanding a public apology when she refused to do the same, and openly discredited someone’s autism, compared them to a two year old, and posted his trauma for the world to see.

[ln4op81fc43]

me when the most unimportant, useless and poorly written person tries to “clock me” when everyone in kika’s circle has seen the screenshot from last month lmao 😭

learn to type and you’re not hard babes x

this is user @/msimpala--67, an attention seeking individual who many have had to deal with. I was one of them, simply trying to end whatever war she’d waged with someone for defending their brother.

the user is @/papaya-twinks and there’s more context here

tagging this with f1 tags so people know not to approach that sick, twisted, evil little witch, as she calls other people.

not bro genuinely demanding a public apology when she refused to do the same, and openly discredited someone’s autism, compared them to a two year old, and posted his trauma for the world to see.

[ln4op81fc43]

for the sake of everyone else, I also tried to reach out to her to make her stop begging for attention and this is the response 💀

here

what a loser

girl literally stop talking about me? how obsessed are you?

screenshots from her blog, using alts to stalk me?

calling me ableist when you compared my brother’s autism to a two year old

also tagging your stuff as f1 is crazy work lmao but I’ll do the same x

if we’re sharing messages then sure!

here x

first is her saying she never called my brother than to faun

second is proof of her doing exactly that

not showing the death threats because I’m not dealing into that but it happened and the screenshot is in my hidden, I’ll post it later x

and I’m sorry but your post is so unprofessional, unstructured, and genuinely just shows that you’re that delusional

11 people? lmao lie better mate

again to repeat, I never once said it was okay for my brother to use that word, I defended him and said neither was in the right, coz she compared his severe autism to a two year old

this ain’t even between me but she’s involving me like she expected me to back her pathetic ass on the internet rather than my twin 💀

it’s also funny how you don’t show you saying vile stuff about his mental health x

ALSO lmao you’re sharing my brother’s trauma and personal ABUSE in those messages, don’t you feel disgusting?

jules never shared his personal trauma with everyone, and now you’ve leaked it to the whole world, you’re fucking disgusting

and don’t call me kika I’ve ASKED you so many times, I’ve said how disrespectful it is, because of where that name came from, so STOP.

EDIT:

the apology my brother asked me to send her, and I was gonna send mine over afterwards

HER RESPONSE 💀 this girl is crazy lmaooooo