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A Case Of You - LN4

Lando Norris x Psychologist!Reader

Summary: When McLaren noticed their precious golden boy driver was struggling to take his Championship seriously, they decided to hire a new psychologist to "fix" whatever problem he had. Turns out, the problems were about to become even more real.

Word Count: 9k

Warnings: smut, praising, degradation, softdom!lando.

(I am aware this is unprofessional and no psychologist would ever act in such way, this is purely for writing and entertainment purposes, I don't mean to disrespect anyone's profession or career 💙)

Lando didn’t want to admit it, but he had his knees shaking. As he walked the long corridor towards the room right at the very end, he was certain his legs were going to give out at any point. It wasn’t an unfamiliar path, he has done that for many, many years. But never after stupidly crashing against his teammate during a race in a fit of frustration. Never when he had everything to lose.

Zak Brown’s door was open, inviting him to come in. Lando felt like he was walking into his death sentence. He had no idea what waited beyond that door, maybe a lecture, screaming, someone telling him they would give the priority to Oscar, or that the contract wouldn’t be renovated - all those possibilities terrified his sleep.

However, coming into that minimalistic decorated room, he definitely did not expect to find a girl, sitting on a chair around the glass table, right in front of Andrea and Zak, catching a smile in both men’s faces.

“Well, hello, Lando! Come in!”

Usually, Zak’s fatherly voice would feel like a warm hug, but instead it sent shivers down Lando’s spine. Stepping into that room, he knew that whatever was waiting for him was a worse punishment than all the scenarios his anxiety drew in his mind.

You were sitting legs crossed in that chair, dressed in a fitted pair of jeans and exceptionally boring white t-shirt, a pair of ballet flats covering your feet. You didn’t stand up when the driver walked in, but gave him a polite smile.

“Hi, guys.” He didn’t sit, standing with his hands in his pockets next to your chair. “You wanted to talk?”

His eyes wandered towards you, waiting for you to leave and give the men privacy. But you didn’t move a single muscle.

“Yes, we did, sit down, please.”

Zak’s voice wasn’t scary. He seemed relaxed. Happy, even.

Lando sat on the chair by your side. He didn’t know whether to look at his bosses in front of him or to your cryptic figure.

“How are you, Lando?” Andrea finally directed himself to the driver, smiling like he was family.

“I’m good…” He was going to wait before saying something, but patience wasn’t Lando’s biggest asset. “Who is she?”

“Lando, this is YN.”

Zak introduced. You noticed how nervous the british boy was by your side, shoulders tense, neck rigid as if he slept on top of a hard mattress.

“Hi, it’s nice to meet you.” You tried to give him your sweetest, most welcoming voice, to get him to relax a bit.

Funny thing is, Lando was sure he knew you from somewhere. Your face was strange, but your name sounded familiar. However, his mind couldn’t place the puzzle together.

“Hi?”

“She’s here to help you.”

And then it clicked. Lando has been complaining about his race engineer since race number two, definitely a bit more after Miami. He hated how bad he was getting screwed up with poor strategies this season, it was something he brought up every single team briefing, shamelessly. Suddenly, the brit gave you a big smile. Surely you must be everything he asked for, smart, intelligent, competent… And cute. It was his dream coming true. Maybe he should mess up a bit more if this was his “punishment”.

“Oh… I see… I feel bad for Will, though. Has he left already? I’d like to say goodbye, thank him for his work.”

“Will?”

Both Andrea and Brow had question marks all over their faces, thinking their driver had gone insane all of the sudden.

“Yeah… She’s my new engineer, right?”

Stella’s lips curled into an awkward smile, but Lando refused to believe he got it wrong.

“Look, boy…” Zak straightened his body to the chair, arms coming over the table, with that serious face Lando hated. “What happened on Sunday finally made Andrea and I sit down and talk. You and I have been together on this journey since 2019, you, more than anybody, know how hard we worked to give you a competitive car…”

Lando was breathing hard, unable to hide his discomfort, chest moving up and down quickly and rapidly.

“And now that you have it, you’re throwing your opportunities away.”

Andrea’s voice cut Zak’s speech with a sharpness that hurt. It was cold, too honest, too real.

“You’re unfocused, Lando. You get so desperate you make mistakes. I know that you want to win without changing yourself. I know that you’re a nice guy and don’t want to act like a douchebag. But right now, your self depreciation and lack of confidence is shoving you down a dark hole.”

Zak continued, finally managing to let out the words he carefully composed. You looked over to the driver on your left side, he was trying his best not to show any emotion, and failing, because you could see the ghost of a tear forming on the inside corner of his eyes, and his hands rubbing his knees with pressure.

“That’s not what I–”

“It’s time to face the harsh truth, Lando. It’s time to wake up.”

He looked from Andrea over to you. Eyes settling without the joy they had before.

“What the fuck is she doing here?”

“I’m your new psychologist, Lando.”

Lando looked over the men across from him and let out a sarcastic chuckle, a dry laugh, dismissive.

“You hired me a twenty year old therapist?”

In Lando’s mind, there was no way you were good at your job. You looked young, too young to have experience. He probably had more years of dealing with anxiety than you had working. There was no way McLaren would put their trust in someone like you.

“YN was working with Ferrari last year, I’m sure you’ve heard of her.”

His mind was clear. He did hear about you. You were a legend in Ferrari, Charles and Carlos always mentioned how sharp and good their team’s “psychologist” was. Lando always thought it was a dumb concept for a team to have a therapist, but no one ever mentioned saying a bad word about you. Until you made Vasseur cry in a meeting after he decided to let go of Carlos Sainz.

You were the golden girl, the genius behind the well being of the team, that was, of course, until you told the boss something he didn’t want to hear, then you were cut like disposable garbage. You didn’t take it to heart, you understood it perfectly. In fact, you didn’t expect a different behavior from the men in this sport.

When Zak Brown got caught in this tricky situation between Lando and Oscar, your name was the first one that popped. You were the solution to all his problems. A weapon. And even though you told both team principals that you can’t just fix people, it’s more complicated than that, they still viewed you as the secret to get Lando to focus again. Bring him back to his juvenile confidence and personality that wasn’t depressing or too harsh.

You knew Lando. Not directly, but you, sometimes, got the chance to observe him and draw very shallow conclusions. You didn’t see a boy who was lazy, or fragile, you saw a driver who cared too much and put so much pressure on himself that he lost his passion for the sport. Your goal wasn’t to fix Lando’s attitude, you wanted him to gain his sparkle back, and if that meant he would leave the job or McLaren for good, then so be it. But Zak and Andrea didn’t need to know that last part.

“I’ve heard she was fired from Ferrari, yeah?”

“It was their loss.”

Lando bliked, incredulous.

“I don’t fucking need a therapist, guys. I am just fine. Sure, yeah, I fucked up on Sunday, but I apologized and it’s not going to happen again.” His words were dry and uncaring, Lando was pissed. And then he turned to you, eyes frosty. “You can go make someone cry over Red Bull or Mercedes, I don’t care.”

“This is not a choice, boy. You are going to work with YN until the end of the season. The contract is signed, it’s done. This meeting is just to simply let you know.”

Lando sighed, hands running through his curls in frustration.

“This is a fucking joke.” Being fired would feel better.

“And if you don’t show up to talk to her at least once a week, we’re going to be forced to make Oscar a number 1 driver.”

No one out of the men noticed how you rolled your eyes. This type of behavior was everything you fought against. No one should be forced to talk or go to therapy, it was the opposite of productive. You realized you had a great deal of work ahead of you, not just with Lando, but with everyone on that team.

Lando was speechless, furious, and the smell of your perfume was making things worse.

“Are we done?”

Zak turned his attention to you, who were sitting still, unfazed by the display of feelings by the boy next to you.

“YN, do you want to add something?”

Lando rolled his eyes, refusing to look at you. Yet, you still turned your body towards him.

“I want to make a deal with you, Lando.” He hummed in response, staring at his feet like a child getting lectured by their parents. “Give me a chance for the next two races until summer break. You can meet me tomorrow, here, for our first session. Then, we can see each other every Friday before Free Practice and every Sunday after the race. After summer break I’ll let you choose whenever you want to talk, no forced sessions, I don’t want that. And if you absolutely hate me, I’ll let you kick me out before summer break.”

Lando took a deep breath, eyes closed. He firstly looked at the men in front of him, both physically unaware of your conditions, taken by surprise - which he loved to see. Then, his attention focused on you, with your perfect grin smile. Lando Norris loved a challenge, and he would love to prove to everyone that you were not the next Freud and he didn’t need saving.

“Ok, fine, whatever.”

You smiled, victorious. Zak clapped his hands, getting up from his seat, followed by Lando, who just stormed off the room without saying any proper words.

This one was going to be interesting.

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · · [next day] · · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

He’s late. Deliberately so. You knew it was on purpose, that he would do anything to get you to give up. But you could be as persistent and stubborn as him. There was no apology when the door creaked open, just the confident footsteps that weren't rushed. No guilt, no embarrassment, only sheer arrogance.

Lando Norris walked in like he owned the oxygen in the room, like he was doing you a favor by showing up at all. You didn’t move, didn’t even lift your gaze, keeping your eyes on the wall clock with mechanical indifference.

His eyes scanned the office, and you tracked every shift in his expression. The tiny furrow between his brows at the absence of any art, the twitch at the corners of his mouth when he saw only one chair, leather, black. Minimal. Impersonal. Surgical.

He failed to realize he was being read by the second he stepped in.

“No couch?” he murmured, finally. “Thought shrinks were supposed to have a couch.”

“You don’t strike me as someone who reclines easily.”

That got him a reaction - barely perceptible, though - only the curl of a lip and a faint twitch in his jaw. This was good, you wanted him slightly off balance.

Lando hesitated, but only for a moment. Then he sat, legs sprawled and arms folded, trying with his posture to adopt control. He wasn’t comfortable, he was performing. His breathing was calm, but his jaw was tight, a classic misdirection. He had been coached, media-trained, he knew exactly how to be a mirrorball, how to give people the exact version they needed to see.

Then, nothing. Not from him, not from you. The clock ticked; one second… Two…. Fifteen… Forty. By the time a full minute has passed, Lando started to fidget. Not enough to look restless, just enough to betray that he knew silence was a tactic. You, however, let it stretch a beat longer before speaking.

“They told me your problem was anxiety.” Your voice was smooth, analytical. “But… I just think you’re bored. Am I correct?”

His jaw tightened, eyes flashing to yours. That irritated him, mainly because you didn’t open the file that sat lonely over the table.

“You always diagnose people before they speak?” he shot at you, sharp edged.

“This is not a diagnosis.” You leaned back in your chair, hands folding together neatly in your lap. “I’m just stating what I see. You’re not here to talk, you’re here to check an obligation. Probably resentfully.”

“What, do you want me to cry?”

“Would that be productive for you?” You tilted your head.

“You tell me.”

You watched Lando with that same unnerving calm, enough to catch something charging behind his eyes.

“You like to provoke, Lando. I get it, it’s safer than being honest. That’s fine. Just know it’s not original.”

Lando let out a low, incredulous laugh and ran a hand over his face. He was amused, frustrated and profoundly annoyed.

“I get it…” he started. “You’re clever. Observant. Is that your thing?”

You didn’t answer, unfazed by his arrogance.

Lando shifted, legs drawing slightly closer together. Less performative now, less certain too. He didn’t know why he expected you to be… softer. Maybe the black turtleneck, maybe the voice… It was low, not quite monotone, but measured, like someone who doesn’t waste syllables. He couldn’t read you and that bothered him more than he wanted to admit. You didn’t look impressed, not with the name or his status. You weren’t trying to fix him, not even trying to understand him. You were studying him., like a pattern. And fuck, he hated that.

“I’m here,” he said, eventually, shrugging. “Isn’t that the whole thing? I show up, you take notes and I nod when you say something deep.”

You didn’t blink.

“That’s the thing about taking notes, it implies compliance. But you walked in late, challenged the setting, and haven’t said a single word.”

“You haven’t asked a single question.”

You paused. Watched him.

“What do you want people to see when they look at you?”

Lando froze. Not because the question was profound, but because you asked it like you already knew the answer. And he didn’t.

“I don’t care what people see.” he lied.

The lie was in the deflection, the cocked eyebrow, the way his gaze slided to the wall instead of holding yours. Lando cared, desperately. In both the typical and nontypical way. He wanted adoration and control. He lived for the power over how the world digested him.

“You care more than you want to admit.”

Lando was bleeding from wounds he neglected. He wasn’t restless. He was untethered. That was different. He put himself on autopilot and called it ambition. You’ve seen this before, athletes who mistake identity for devotion, who confused success with passion. Lando was burned out and he was empty. And he knew it. But saying it out loud would shatter the version of himself he liked to pretend it was real.

The McLaren driver jerked forward slightly.

“Don’t make this about media or fame or whatever sob story you think I’ve got locked in here.” He tapped his temple like it’s all just noise. “I’m not your pet project.”

“I don’t work with pet projects,” you replied.

“I’m not suffering either,” he muttered.

“I never said you were” You leaned forward, elbows on the desk now, eyes locked with his. “You used to be very active on social media.”

“Is that your diagnosis?” he shot back. “Not chronically online enough for you?”

“No. My diagnosis is that you’re pretending you love a version of your life that doesn’t feed you anymore.”

Lando stood up suddenly. Chair scraping against the floor, loud and sharp.

“This is bullshit.”

You watched the door, but he didn’t walk out. Lando wanted to escape, but not necessarily the room. The problem wasn’t you, it was the implication that someone might see the things he worked so hard to bury.

“You’re not scared of failure,” you continued, voice like velvet draped over a blade. “You’re scared of regretting wasting all your best years for nothing. And you are definitely scared of letting all those people down.”

He opened the door without a word, slamming it a second later. The escape wasn’t convincing.

You let the silence settle again, knowing you’ll have much fun over the next few days.

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·[race weekend - austria]· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

Hospitality units always smelled like nerves wrapped in espresso. The chill of the air conditioning never quite masked the heat of performance anxiety, or the mechanical rhythm of branding disguised as purpose.

You stood in the far corner. Out of the camera’s eye and journalists, just watching.

Lando moved like a pattern– smooth, repetitive, curated to look casual. But there was nothing casual about the way his fingers wrapped his gloves. Same stretch, same angle. Peel. Rewrap. Tighten. Peel again. His brow furrowed just slightly when the tape didn’t lie flat. Left hand. Right hand. Repeat.

He hadn't spoken to you since the session. But, again, you didn’t expect him to. However, the thing about tension - real, buried, humming tension - was that it always found a leak.

You watched the next cue: pacing. Not frantic, but measured. Four steps forward, pivot, four steps back. Always the same distance, as if he needed to feel in control of something. His headphones were clamped around his ears like they were a shield.

You recognized it. The compulsions, the rituals dressed up as preparation. Superstition repackaged as focus. And you weren’t the only one watching. Oscar stood near him, arms crossed, sipping a bottle of water. Familiar and easy. The kind of closeness that came from years of knowing without having to ask.

“Every ritual becomes a prison if you don’t know why you need it.”

The silence broke like glass.

Oscar blinked, while Lando froze mid-wrap. He pulled his headphones down slowly. Not confusion, calculation. The air changed. The brit looked at you like you’d stuck a finger in a live wire just to see if he’d twitch.

“What did you just say?” he asked, low.

You didn’t repeat it. You just held his gaze. Oscar shifted slightly, as if he could already sense the storm brewing behind Lando’s collar.

Lando took a step toward you. Not aggressive, but he was trying his best to be intimidating, however, keeping it cool for Oscar’s benefit… And for his own.

“You really think it’s okay to psychoanalyze me in front of someone else?”

“I am not psychoanalyzing you.”

“Oh, right,” he said, voice laced with something between a laugh and a threat. “Because everything you say is just an observation, right? Unbiased. Clinical. Above it all.”

“Why are you angry?”

He stepped closer. Close enough that you could see the flare in his nostrils, the slight tremor in his fingers. He hadn’t finished taping his gloves, left one still loose, unfinished.

“You know what I think?” he asked, voice quiet now. “You like watching people suffer. You like peeling them open so you can feel powerful. That’s not therapy, you’re just a sadist with a degree.”

Oscar’s head turned sharply, looking away, he was uncomfortable to be witnessing this private moment.

“You tape your gloves the same way every time, wear your headphones like a shell, repeat the same pattern until it feels like certainty. That’s not preparation. You look like you’re about to enter the Coliseum.”

His face twitched. A flinch disguised as a smirk.

“You’re invasive,” he snapped. “Cold. A fraud.”

There it was. The crack. Small, but enough. And then he was walking away, jaw clenched, headphones swinging from his hand like a weapon he didn’t get to use.

Oscar lingered, gaze flicking between the empty space where Lando stood and you.

“Sorry about that, Oscar.” you said softly, for him and only him.

Oscar didn’t speak for a long moment, until he nodded. Half a shrug, half something softer. Like maybe he understood, or maybe he wanted to say something for a very long time. He followed after Lando. And you stood still, alone in the echo of tension you’d helped create.

Back in his driver room, Lando ripped the glove tape off like it had personally betrayed him. Meanwhile, Oscar leaned against the wall in the lounge, arms folded, a frown just under the surface of his quiet.

“You want to talk about it?”

Lando scoffed. “She thinks she knows everything. Thinks she can just say shit like that.”

“She didn’t say anything wrong.”

“Are you kidding me?” Lando turned, sharp.

“You do that thing with the gloves every single time. If the seam’s off, you start over. Every single time.”

“It’s called routine.” Lando paced, jaw tight.

“It’s called panic management,” Oscar said, soft but steady.

“She’s not a therapist,” Lando muttered.

“She is,” Oscar said. “And a good one.”

“Whose side are you on?”

Oscar didn’t reply. Just looked at him with those calm and familiar brown eyes that earned him a friendship over the years.

Lando exhaled, hard, giving up resistance.

“It’s not about the gloves.”

“I know.” Oscar nodded

And Lando didn’t say anything else. Because the gloves were just the tip of the iceberg, he just didn’t want to know what would happen when his cracks gave away completely.

Later that day, you found yourself in your hotel room, staring at the untouched file open on your laptop. Lando’s name at the top, followed by blank fields.

You could have written paragraphs. Pattern recognition, emotional triggers. But you didn’t. Because the truth was, he wasn’t wrong. You did strike without permission. You did expose him in front of someone he trusted. And you had felt something when he looked at you like that.

But he wasn’t wrong, and neither were you. You weren’t there to be liked, you were there to be honest. Even if it meant pressing a finger to the bruise no one else would touch.

You closed the laptop, silence settling around you, an enormous clue that you had to make things right.

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

After the race that weekend, the paddock was nearly empty. Race was over, the press was done, the champagne dried.

You sat in the reserved team debrief room, the one tucked behind closed doors, unbranded, meant for sponsors and strategy meetings. This time the lightning was cold and there were only two chairs.

You didn’t check the time. You already knew he was late. On purpose. He made you wait, and you let him.

When Lando finally walked in, his race suit was peeled to his waist, fireproofs sticking to his skin, curls damp from the helmet. He shut the door behind him like the silence was part of the conversation.

You didn’t move and he didn’t sit.

“You’re early,” he joked, humourless.

“I’m always on time,” you replied.

“Bet that gets lonely.” He scoffed under his breath.

“Still angry?” You tilted your head.

“Nope.” He leaned against the wall instead of taking the seat. Arms crossed in a casual posture, unlike his eyes. “I’m curious… You said last time I was afraid of losing control, of the illusion cracking.”

You didn’t nod. You didn’t confirm. Those weren’t the words you used, it was just his confirmation bias working in your favour.

Lando moved closer.

“You always talk like you’re above it all. But you’re just as invested in being unreadable as the rest of us.”

“That’s not the same as pretending.”

“Isn’t it?” His mouth curled into something that almost looked like a smile, if you tilted your head the right way. “You ever think the reason you see through people is because you’re terrified someone might actually see through you?”

You didn’t answer.

Lando sat, finally. Elbows on knees. Exchanging his gaze between his hands and then back at you.

“You watch everything. Like you’re writing it all down in that head of yours. Every flinch, every tell. You think you’re safe because you’re the observer.”

“Sure, yeah, observation is a form of protection,” you admit, quietly, but unmoved by his attempt to getting you to crack.

“So is control,” he countered. “So is ritual.”

You said nothing, allowing the silence to grow, not giving him anything else. You weren’t the patient here.

He leaned back now, arms draped across the chair, but the tension had coiled itself under his skin. You could see it in the muscle twitch in his jaw, in the faint red line where the helmet had pressed too tight. His foot tapped, tap-tap-tap against the floor before he caught himself.

“I came in sixth,” Lando said it like it meant something different in this room than it did out there.

“I know.”

“I should’ve done better.”

“Why do you think that?”

He gave you a raised eyebrow in response.

“That’s my job? I should do good at my job.” he muttered.

“Is this all racing is for you? A job?”

You noticed how he tried his best to stay in his place instead of getting up and leaving.

“I’ve been thinking, you’ve got all these stories, all this insight. But no one really knows anything about you, do they?” Lando leaned closer. There was heat inside of him now. He was attacking this conversation like a challenge. “So let’s trade…” he started. “Why did Ferrari get rid of you?”

The question dropped like a loaded gun on the table, but your breath stayed steady.

“What have you heard?”

“That you said something about Sainz or Leclerc that made Vasseur cry.”

You slowly leaned into his space, where the tension turned into static, just enough to let your voice’s vibration reach his skin.

“I told Vasseur that replacing Carlos Sainz with Hamilton wasn’t going to fix all Ferrari’s problems.”

“But replacing Leclerc would?”

There was silence, excruciatingly loud. You leaned back and met his eyes. For the first time, the green wasn’t angry, they were searching.

The implication hung between you. You didn’t need to say more, and, frankly, Lando wouldn’t ask. You cracked the door open, and he had to decide whether to walk through or close it forever. But he couldn’t even offer you a smirk. Instead, his voice dropped to something quieter, however, not soft or gentle.

“I don’t know what to do with you.”

“That’s not my problem,” you said. “I’m not here to be done with.”

He stared at you for a long time.

“Your presence is too much,” he stated. Then, after a beat, “But I don’t… hate it.”

It wasn’t a confession, but it was very close. The weight of something unnamed, curling in the silence like smoke.

“Lando, you need to understand that out of everyone in this team, I am the one you can be sure will always stand by your side.” You shot at him, emphasizing the correct words with precision.

He stared at you for a beat too long. Jaw tight. Breathing uneven, as if he couldn’t decide whether to laugh or scream.

“And what if I don’t want anyone to stand by me?”

His voice was sharp, but there was something underneath it, like the truth didn’t sit right in his chest, so he spat it out before it suffocated him.

It stung, but you smiled.

“Well, you still have to endure me for another week.”

He didn’t answer, but this time, when he left the room, he didn’t slam the door. Instead, Lando closed it like he was leaving a secret behind.

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·[Silverstone]· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

The rain at Silverstone didn’t just fall, it poured. As if the track itself was exhaling all the pressure of the weekend in one weather rebellious event. You watched the storm without blinking, your reflection a ghost on the garage’s monitor screens.

You were soaking wet after getting caught by the storm on your way to the paddock, not like you moved to dry yourself, or brought an extra set of clothes. You stood like you were part of the infrastructure, just another column holding up the roof, head tilted, jacket hugging your body uncomfortably.

And then he found you. Lando. You didn’t look at him, not at first, but you felt the moment he crossed into your atmosphere. That internal barometer dipped. The air tightened.

You were there. Of course you were. Like you anticipated the storm, the delay in free practice, to give you two more time to talk. And when he saw you, soaked through, still as stone, every word he rehearsed to annoy you fell flat. So he said the first true thing that came to mind:

“You don’t look waterproof.”

You arched a brow.

“No shit.”

His lip twitched. He wasn’t expecting a reaction. Not out of this.

He moved closer, not deliberately. But close enough that he could see the rain collecting in the hollow of your throat. See how you hadn’t bothered to wipe the mascara smudge beneath your right eye.

“I thought psychologists would rather stay dry in their boring glass rooms.”

“It’s nice to remind myself that I am not a robot sometimes,” you softened. Lando almost laughed at your stupid joke. “Why are you here?”

“Jesus, woman, does everything need to have a reason for you?”

“Everything usually does.” You looked him dead in the eyes, the green morphing into some kind of grayish-blue. “Especially to you.”

Lando let the tension between your words sit tight and occupy space. You said it clinically, objectively, but he felt a weird weight in it.

“Are all therapists hard to read like you?” he asked, not provoking, just out of curiosity.

“You are aware that I’m a human being, right, Lando?”

Your eyes locked. There were only a few inches between you. The sound of rain was hammering metal. There was so much noise around, the buzz of garage equipment, engineers in motion. However, the stillness between you was louder than anything.

He reached up, adjusting the strap on his fireproofs. It was a pointless gesture, something to do with his hands. You caught the tell.

“Does it help?” you asked.

“What?”

“The fidgeting.”

“Does watching me do it turns you on or something?” He chuckled.

“No,” you said softly. “That would be unprofessional, wouldn’t it?”

You weren’t sure when his hand brushed against yours. It wasn’t incidental. You could pretend it was, but that wouldn’t explain the way his knuckles lingered, warm and damp from the rain, grazing yours with the kind of reverence that didn’t belong in a place like this. In a garage that smelled like rubber and nerves and burnt ambition.

No. That touch was intentional in denial, criminal in restraint. The backs of your fingers barely touched, it wouldn’t even register on a thermal camera, but it set your blood to boil. You didn’t move away. Neither did he. His pinky curled ever so slightly and now the side of his hand was flush against yours. The contact was so small it could be dismissed, but so intimate it felt indecent.

Lando tilted his head, just a little, like he was trying to read a language only your body spoke.

“You always this quiet when someone touches you?” he murmured.

His voice was lower than it should’ve been. Close. Not quite a whisper, nor quite a dare.

“Depends on who’s doing the touching.”

That made something flicker behind his eyes. Something feral and curious. Something he hadn’t quite decided to like or hate yet.

Lando didn’t move away. His breath was shallow now. Your hand still against his. Your shoulder close enough to his chest that you could feel the residual heat radiating off his suit. You could’ve said a thousand things. You could’ve asked him to step back. You could’ve told him this was a line you shouldn’t cross. But instead you said:

“You’re not angry anymore.”

He laughed, a bit shy.

“No. Just…” He paused, then swallowed hard.“…tired of pretending I am not intrigued by you.”

Your throat went dry. And for a moment — just one charged, godless second — you thought he might do it. Close the inch. Close the lie that this was being professional.

You leaned in by a breath. He did the same.

“Lando?”

The engineer’s voice sliced through the air like a barbed wire. The moment collapsed in on itself. You both jerked back — too fast. Like teenagers. Like something shameful had almost happened.

Lando cleared his throat, then ran a hand through his damp curls.

“Yeah?” His voice cracked. He didn’t fix it.

“They need you in sim.”

He nodded. Didn’t look at you again — not right away. But when he finally did, it wasn’t angry. Or smug. It was longing.

You watched him go and told yourself it didn’t mean anything. But your hand still burned where he touched it. And his did too.

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·[post-race session]· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

The air in the room felt heavier after the race. Dense, like it had gathered the weight of everything unspoken between you and the british driver. This was the final session, the last one before summer break, the last time you’d see him. You had both been counting down to it. Dreading it, maybe. But for different reasons.

The clock on the wall ticked too loud. The afternoon light couldn’t reach the inside of the room. You had set everything up like always: notebook open, pen placed carefully on top, two glasses of water. Predictable. Safe.

And then the door opened. Early. You looked up only to find Lando. No easy smile, no cocky quip. Just him. Quiet, raw in the edges, like something tender had been scraped open beneath the skin. His hair was still slightly damp, curling loosely at the ends. He wasn’t wearing the usual team hoodie, just a soft, thick gray hoodie, too oversized to his frame. His eyes found you and didn’t move away this time.

“Hey,” his voice was lower than usual, rougher.

“Hi.” Your voice came out thinner than you intended.

He walked in slowly, almost like he was afraid of startling you. Sat down on the carefully pulled chair, closer than usual. The chair creaked. His knee almost brushed yours under the small table. He didn’t lean back like he usually did. No forced posture of indifference. He just sat there and folded into himself, hands clasped in front of him.

You studied his face — the subtle tension in his jaw, the faint dark circles under his eyes, the way his thumb kept rubbing over his knuckle. You recognized it. The exhaustion of someone who’s been carrying too much for too long.

“I didn’t sleep last night,” Lando finally said, barely above a whisper. “Kept thinking.”

You stayed quiet. You knew better than to fill the space.

His eyes darted to you briefly, then back to his hands.

“I’m tired of pretending it’s fun all the time,” he exhaled. “Like, I know everyone wants the show, the jokes, the stupid fucking memes, the smiling… But sometimes I wake up and I don’t want to be here. I don’t want to… entertain.”

Your throat tightened.

He kept going, words spilling now.

“I used to love it. Racing, I mean. Not the circus. The driving, the feeling of… flying. But lately I —” His voice broke for half a second. “— I keep wondering if I’m losing it. If it’s slipping. Like, are these my good years or do I have none? Because, Oscar is fucking thriving out here, winning every damn race, and I feel so-”

He stopped himself. Looked away. You didn’t move. Not yet. You could feel the sharp edges under his words. The fear sitting behind the frustration.

“Average?” you completed, softly.

Lando flinched, just slightly. But there was relief in the honesty of it. He nodded once, eyes still averted.

You exhaled slowly. Let the moment hang.

“Lando...” Your voice was steady, almost a whisper, but firm. “Who you are is not measured by what Oscar wins. And it’s not measured by what they say about you, either.”

You watched him closely. His jaw tightened. His shoulders pulled inward, like he was bracing for the familiar storm.

“The public, the comments, the headlines, the noise… They turn every race into a ranking of your worth. They decide who’s rising and who’s falling. Who’s beloved and who’s mocked. But that narrative isn’t truth, Lando. It’s projection. It’s temporary.”

He blinked, hard. His hands rubbed over each other, fingers fidgeting.

“When you start believing that every mistake confirms what they say… that you’re not good enough, that you’re falling behind, that you’re a disappointment, you hand your identity over to people who don’t even know you. Oscar isn’t your measuring stick. And neither are they. You’re not broken because you care about how they see you… But you’ll break yourself trying to make them love you. They don’t get to decide your value. You do.”

His breathing slowed, as though the words were unraveling something tight inside his chest.

“You’re allowed to want more, Lando. You’re allowed to feel frustrated. But you’re not failing because someone else is thriving. That’s not how worth works.”

Lando gathered the courage to look over you. The look in his eyes was as if something had collapsed and bloomed all at once.

“I care too much,” he whispered. “I know I do. About what people think. About what it means. About being enough. And I fucking hate that I care.”

You swallowed hard.

You felt your own walls shift then. The carefully cultivated distance bending under the weight of his vulnerability. Then, very slowly, almost before you realized you were doing it, your hand lifted. You reached across the small space between you and your fingers found his, resting lightly at first, like you weren’t sure if you were allowed to touch him. His knuckles were warm under your skin.

The contact was small, professional enough that you could pretend — if you wanted — that it meant nothing. But it lingered. Longer than it should have.

His head lowered slightly, almost imperceptibly leaning into your hand, like he was starving for that single point of contact. Like it anchored him.

The room was thick with something neither of you named. And for the first time since this had begun, you felt a door opening.

“I didn’t want anyone to see me like this,” he murmured. “Weak.”

“You’re not weak.” Your thumb moved, the tiniest stroke against his knuckle, deliberate now.

His eyes closed for a second. You watched his lashes flutter, his breathing slowing, deepening like he was grounding himself in your touch.

“I don’t want this to end,” he said quietly, barely audible.

You should have pulled your hand back. You didn’t. Instead, his fingers intertwined yours, fitting perfectly in between, charging your touch with heat. And you realized you didn’t want it to end either.

The door closed behind him and you sat there for a long moment breathing into the silence trying to collect yourself but your pulse kept rising, your fingertips still tingling from where you touched him as if his warmth had branded your skin and maybe it had. Maybe that was the problem.

You stood slowly. Your legs unsteady like you had walked too close to something dangerous and inhaled too much of it. The weight of the session still clinging to your bones, but there was something else now, something heavier, hotter, curling at the base of your spine

You went immediately back to your hotel. The elevator was quiet. The hallway even quieter. The muted beige carpet, the soft overhead lights, the stillness of expensive sterility, and, yet, your head felt loud, like static roaring under your skin.

You walked faster, as if outrunning the friction inside you. Then you heard it behind you. Your name. Not loud, but enough to stop you, like gravity, like an invisible hand wrapping around your wrist, pulling you backwards. You closed your eyes once, briefly, because you already knew it was him.

You turned slowly. Lando stood a few steps behind. Hands in the pockets of that same thick hoodie. His hair a little more unruly now. His eyes locked on you, not playful, not teasing, just burning quietly, as if something inside him had finally slipped free and he couldn’t put it back.

“You shouldn’t be here” your voice came out low barely steady “This isn’t appropriate.”

Lando didn’t answer at first, he just stared and in that stare was everything you weren’t supposed to acknowledge. The unraveling threads, the slow smoldering pull that had been tightening between you for weeks, maybe from the very start. And you felt it humming under your skin, tightening your throat.

“I know.” he said, voice rougher than you had ever heard it, like sandpaper. “I know it’s not”

And still he didn’t move, didn’t leave, didn’t let you breathe.

You should have walked away. You should have shut it down. You were trained to. But you didn’t. Instead, you stood frozen, watching him watching you, and it felt like standing in the middle of a fuse burning too close to the detonation.

“Lando” you said again softer now, but there was a fracture in your voice, one you couldn’t quite control “Don’t do this.”

He stepped closer, not enough to touch, but enough that you could feel the heat of him radiating in the small sterile space between you. And you hated yourself for not stepping back. Because part of you wanted to lose the grip you kept white-knuckled for so long.

“I’m not the only one doing something.” he whispered, “Don’t pretend you don’t feel it too.”

You opened your mouth to argue, to deny, to push him away with words, but nothing came out. Because the truth was bleeding too loudly under your skin. You wanted him. God, you wanted him more than you wanted to keep control, more than you wanted to stay professional, more than you wanted to stay safe.

Lando saw it in your silence and that was when he moved the last inch between you. His mouth crashed into yours, like something inevitable. Brutal, desperate. His hands gripping your waist like he was afraid you’d vanish, like he was anchoring himself. And you answered it with a sharp intake of breath. Until you were kissing him back, hard, urgent, teeth and tongues clashing. It wasn’t soft, it wasn’t tender, it was weeks of restraint collapsing in the smallest space possible.

It lasted seconds, or minutes, you couldn’t tell. But when you finally broke apart, you were both breathless, chests heavy, wide-eyed, like neither of you fully believed you had actually crossed the line.

“This shouldn’t have happened. This was a mistake.” you managed to say, but your voice shook when it left. And the way he looked at you made your stomach turn into knots, because he didn’t believe you.

“It’s only a mistake if you want it to be.” Lando stated quietly. Daring you to pretend and go against your urges.

You stared at him. Your back against the hotel door. Your heartbeat thundering in your throat. You wanted to pull him in and you wanted to slam the door shut on this whole thing. Both impulses fighting like wild animals inside you.

Instead you turned the handle, opened the door behind you, letting the warm dim light spill out into the hallway.

“If you walk in here,” you whispered, voice hoarse. “I stop being your psychologist.”

Lando didn’t move for a second but his eyes never left yours, sharp, unflinching, full of something dangerous and hungry.

“I never planned for you to be my psychologist after summer break, either way.”

And for a moment the world hung perfectly still between you.

You didn’t know who moved first, or if you even had time to decide, because suddenly he was in the room and the door clicked shut behind him. The space shrank around you like the air had been sucked out, and all you could feel was him standing too close, too warm, too dangerous.

Lando was watching you like you were something fragile about to break, but his hands found your hips anyway. It was like being pulled into a current too strong to resist, like your whole body had been waiting for this to happen no matter how many times your mind said no.

Your back hit the wall softly, but it was enough to make you gasp, and that sound broke him. Whatever thin thread of patience he had left, it snapped. His mouth was on yours again, hungrier, rougher, his teeth grazing your lower lip, and you let him, because you were tired of controlling everything, tired of carrying the weight of being careful and detached and safe.

Lando’s hands slid up under your blouse, fingertips skating over your ribs as if memorizing every line of you, like he didn’t want to waste a single inch. Your skin burned under his touch. You arched into him without meaning to, and you felt him groan, low in his throat, against your mouth.

“Fuck, you’re driving me insane,” he whispered, lips brushing yours, his breath hot and uneven. “I tried to be good. I really fucking tried.”

You didn’t answer, because your hands were already tugging at the hem of his hoodie, pulling it over his head in one desperate motion. When it was gone, you stared for a beat at the way his chest rose and fell, his skin flushed with heat, the sharp lines of muscle under soft light. And then he was pulling your blouse over your head too, fingers quick and frantic.

“But you look so perfect for me,” he whispered almost reverently, hands sliding down your sides, thumbs grazing the soft curve of your waist. “Need to make you mine.”

The moment your skin met his fully, it was like setting fire to something too dry, too starved to survive. Lando pressed his body against yours, pinning you against the wall, one hand threading into your hair, tilting your head back so he could kiss down your throat. Slow at first, tasting you like he wanted to savor every pulse beneath your skin.

Your nails dug into his shoulders as his mouth reached your collarbone and lower, teeth grazing the swell of your breast. You hissed softly, feeling your control unraveling into ribbons falling at your feet.

“Lan…”

“Say it,” he rasped against your skin, his voice hoarse, possessive. “Tell me you want me to fuck you.”

“I want you to fuck me, Lando. Right here.” You barely recognized your own voice when it came out, breathless and shaking.

He groaned at that, like the words shattered something inside him.

“I knew it,” he whispered, voice sharp with need. “I fucking knew you wanted this. Tell me to stop.”

He whispered again, voice raw. But you couldn’t, because you didn’t want him to stop. You never wanted him to stop.

Instead, you pulled him closer, fingers curling into his hair, guiding him lower. Lando followed gladly, dropping to his knees like he belonged there, like he had been waiting for this moment as long as you had. His hands gripped your thighs firm enough to bruise, and then his mouth was on you, hot and wet and perfect.

“Fuck, you’re so wet.” he groaned, voice muffled against your heat. “All this because of me, baby?”

Your head fell back against the wall, a moan escaping before you could catch it, and his tongue worked you open with deliberate strokes, patient at first and then increasingly greedy. You bucked into him, your legs trembling under the weight of it all.

“God, yes… just like that,” you gasped, one hand slamming against the wall behind you, the other tangled tight in his curls, holding him there like an anchor, like you needed him to keep you from falling apart completely.

“Look at you falling apart for me,” he murmured, pulling back just slightly to meet your gaze. “You’re so fucking pretty like this.”

He groaned into you, the vibrations making you cry out again, and his fingers joined his mouth, two of them sliding inside you easily, curling up to find the spot that made your knees buckle.

“Lan… Please, I’m so close…”

His tongue flicked relentlessly against your clit, sending you spiraling faster and faster until you came hard against him, shaking, breathless, the world splintering at the edges.

“There she is. That’s it, baby. Give it to me.”

But he didn’t stop, not really. Even as your body trembled, he kissed his way back up your stomach, your ribs, your throat, catching your mouth again like he couldn’t stand not touching you for even a second. You tasted yourself on his tongue as he pressed you harder into the wall.

“I need you,” he rasped against your lips, and you nodded, because so did you. “You think I’m done with you? We’re only getting started.”

You barely made it to the bed, his hands on your waist guiding you backwards, his pupils blown wide, his breathing ragged as he stripped out of the rest of his clothes. You followed, shedding everything like armor, until there was nothing left between you except raw need.

He hovered over you for a moment, one hand cupping your cheek, thumb tracing your lips like he was trying to memorize you one last time before you both crossed the line completely.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he whispered, voice shaking. “So messy. So perfect. Gonna save me, pretty girl?”

You didn’t give him a chance to hesitate. You reached for him, pulling him down until his body was flush with yours, skin to skin, heat radiating between you.

“You act so cold in that little office, and now you’re begging for my cock.”

You guided him to you slowly, his cock pressing against your entrance and then sliding in, deep, inch by aching inch, until he was fully inside you, and you both gasped at the sensation of finally, finally being exactly where you both wanted.

“God, you feel so fucking good,” he groaned into your ear, his voice ragged, desperate. “So fucking tight for me.”

He held still for a moment, forehead resting against yours as you both adjusted to the overwhelming intensity of it all. Then he started moving, slow, deep thrusts that made your breath hitch with every roll of his hips, filling you so completely it bordered on unbearable.

You wrapped your legs around him, pulling him deeper, your nails raking down his back as his pace quickened, desperation bleeding into every movement, into every sound, into every gasp that filled the space between you.

“Tell me how much you need me,” he panted. “Say it. I want to hear you say it.”

“Please… fill me up, Lan. I want to feel you everywhere.”

The hotel room around you disappeared — the walls, the ceiling, the world itself — nothing existed except this, except him, except the impossible friction building higher and higher until you were both on the edge again.

“This pretty little cunt was made for me, yeah?” he growled, his voice dark, his thrusts rougher now.

“Yes,” you moaned, your voice breaking apart as the coil inside you tightened. “Fuck… ruin me. I want you to ruin me.”

“Is that what you want? To get ruined? To be treated, finally, like you’re not above anyone?” You nodded your head frenetically, unable to hold back the sighs escaping your lips. “You shouldn’t be treated like a superior when you look this good underneath me.”

He whispered your name over and over, like a prayer, like an apology, like he couldn’t believe you were real, his voice broken and raw as his pace grew erratic, hips snapping into you with reckless desperation.

“Fuck, you’re perfect… you feel so perfect… so fucking tight around me,” he groaned, the words rasping against your ear, his breath hot and ragged. “Taking me so fucking well, baby. God, I can't… you make me lose my fucking mind.”

You clung to him with everything you had, nails digging into his slick back as the coil inside you tightened to a breaking point. His hand slid between you, fingers finding your clit without hesitation, circling it with frantic precision.

“Come for me,” he begged, voice strangled. “Please. I want to feel you lose it around me. I need it.”

The pressure snapped, beautifully, violently. Your orgasm crashed through you like a wave you couldn’t control. You cried out his name, arching into him, your whole body trembling beneath the force of it, and it pulled him over the edge with you.

“Fuck, yes, that’s it. That’s my girl,” he groaned, burying himself deep one final time, his whole body shuddering as he came undone inside you. “You’re mine. You’re fucking mine.”

For a long time, neither of you moved, both panting, limbs tangled, hearts racing in sync, your skin damp with sweat, your bodies heavy against each other. His head fell into the crook of your neck as he tried to catch his breath, as though even now he couldn’t let you go.

You could still feel him pulsing inside you, the heat of him deep, claiming you in a way words never could. It was reckless. It was dangerous. It was everything you had told yourself you wouldn’t do. And still. You didn’t regret it.

But even as your breathing started to steady, you felt him twitch inside you, still hard, still desperate. His hands gripped your hips tighter, like he wasn’t done, like stopping now would destroy him completely.

“Lando…?” you whispered, breathless, but he didn’t answer.

Instead, Lando pulled out slowly, just enough to make you whimper at the loss, before slamming back into you in one ruthless, unforgiving thrust that made your back arch and your breath catch in your throat.

“Shh,” he rasped against your ear, voice darker now, something raw and cracked leaking into his words. “I’m not fucking done with you.”

You gasped, clutching at his shoulders, your entire body already overstimulated and trembling, but you couldn’t stop him — didn’t want to stop him.

Lando started fucking into you hard, fast, the bed creaking beneath you as his frustrations bled into every violent snap of his hips.

“You think you can drive me crazy like this and I’ll just stop after one round?” he gritted out, his jaw tight. “I’ve been losing my fucking mind over you.”

He cut himself off with a brutal thrust that punched the air from your lungs.

“It’s too much– I can’t–”

“No, baby, you can. I know you can, come on. Be a good girl for me.”

You choked out, dizzy, overwhelmed, your head thrown back into the mattress. His hands grabbed you from under your knees, forcing your legs up, folding you open for him completely as he pounded into you even deeper, rougher, like he needed to break you apart just to put you back together again.

“Look at you,” he snarled, his face flushed, sweat dripping from his hairline, eyes wild. “You’re so fucking desperate for me now. Such a good little mess under me.”

He growled deep in his throat, bending forward to bite into the soft skin of your shoulder, marking you as his. His thrusts became animalistic, grunts tearing from his chest as he fucked you like this was his only way to survive.

“Fuck…yes…take it. Take all of me,” he groaned into your skin. “You make me so fucking crazy, baby. You make me lose my fucking mind.”

You could feel yourself tipping again, that sharp edge pulling tighter with every brutal stroke, his pelvis grinding against your clit with every hard thrust. His dirty words filled your head, flooding your senses until you couldn’t think anymore. You were nothing but sensation, nothing but him.

“You’re gonna come again for me, aren’t you?” he demanded, voice strained. “Gonna milk my cock like the filthy girl you are.”

“Yes, yes. Fuck, I can’t—” you cried, barely able to form words anymore as the second orgasm slammed into you, harder than the first, your whole body convulsing around him.

He cursed under his breath, losing all rhythm as your spasming walls dragged him over the edge with you. His hips stuttered, cock pulsing deep inside you again, filling you until you felt the hot, wet rush of him coating your walls.

Lando hissed through gritted teeth, hands gripping you like he was terrified you might vanish beneath him.

The driver collapsed on top of you, panting, trembling, both of you soaked in sweat and flushed beyond repair. The world spun around you, but all you could feel was him. Still inside you. Still holding you like his entire sanity was hanging by a thread.

For a long time, all you could hear was your combined breathing, sharp and uneven, hearts still racing wildly against each other’s chests. His lips brushed your temple, softer now, but no less desperate.

His lips brushed your temple, softer now, but no less desperate.

“I don’t think I’ll ever get enough of you,” he whispered, voice cracked and raw. “I don’t want to.”

But even as the words left his mouth, you felt him harden inside you again, impossibly fast, his cock still buried deep, twitching with need.

You barely had time to catch your breath before his hips started to move once more, slow at first, a deep, grinding roll that made you gasp.

“You feel that?” he murmured darkly, his lips dragging along your jaw, voice thick with obsession. “Still so fucking tight. Still squeezing me like you’re begging me to fill you again.”

Your body was beyond exhausted, every nerve ending raw and oversensitive, but the feel of him, the low growl in his voice, the way he looked at you like you were his entire world, it set you on fire all over again.

“Lando… I–”

“Shh.” His hand wrapped around your throat gently but firm, forcing your eyes on him. “No more thinking. Just take it. Let me fucking use you, baby. You need this just as much as I do.”

His thrusts turned brutal again, sharp, unrelenting, his frustration bleeding out with every savage snap of his hips. The bed groaned beneath you, headboard slamming softly against the wall in rhythm with his movements.

“Fucking hell… All this time I’ve been losing my mind watching you act untouchable,” he growled, the words pouring out like venom as he fucked deeper, harder. “Provoking me like you don’t know exactly what you’re doing. Wearing those tight little skirts, standing so fucking close… you knew, didn’t you?”

You whimpered, completely wrecked under him, your hands gripping his biceps like they were your only anchor.

“Say it,” he demanded through clenched teeth, voice shaking. “You knew what you were doing to me.”

“I…I knew,” you sobbed, your voice high and broken. “I wanted you to want me like this.”

“You wanted me fucking obsessed,” he snapped, hand tightening around your throat just enough to make you dizzy, his eyes dark with something dangerous. “Well, congratulations, baby, you got me. You fucking got me.”

He slammed into you mercilessly, raw and possessive, sweat dripping from his brow, his teeth gritted as he chased another high like it was the only thing keeping him alive.

“You’re mine,” he hissed. “Every fucking part of you. This perfect cunt? Mine. These sounds you make? Mine. That sweet face when you’re about to break? Fucking mine.”

Tears blurred your vision, from pleasure, from overstimulation, from the overwhelming weight of his voice, his body, his claim. You felt like you were floating somewhere between pain and ecstasy, the brutal rhythm pulling you under again.

“Touch yourself for me,” he ordered, his voice dropping lower, more dangerous. “Come on. Rub that little clit while I ruin you.”

Your hand shook as you obeyed, fingers finding the swollen bud, barely able to keep a rhythm with the way his cock was splitting you open with every relentless thrust.

“That’s it. That’s my good girl,” he praised, voice breaking, filthy and loving all at once. “Look at you, taking me like you were made for it. You’re fucking perfect, you hear me? I don’t care what anyone says. Never letting you go.”

The pressure coiled fast, too fast, your entire body a live wire beneath him.

“Lan…I…Fuck, I’m gonna—”

“Come again,” he demanded, snapping his hips harder. “Fucking soak my cock while I fill you up one more time.”

You shattered with a scream, your body convulsing violently, walls clenching around him so tight it dragged him over the edge with you instantly. His thrusts grew erratic, desperate, hips grinding deep as he emptied himself inside you once more, his growl low and primal as he spilled every last drop.

“Fuck yes, baby, take all of me.” his voice cracked into a moan, breath ragged as he collapsed on top of you, trembling.

For a moment, it was pure chaos, shaking limbs, wet skin, breathless sobs, broken words whispered into flushed skin. His fingers tangled into your hair, forehead pressed to yours like he was trying to crawl inside your body, like even this wasn’t close enough.

“You’re never leaving me,” he whispered, voice hoarse and soft, trembling from exhaustion and raw obsession. “You hear me? I’ll fucking lose my mind if you ever leave me.”

You couldn’t speak. You could only nod, clinging to him with what little strength you had left, your heart pounding wildly in your chest.

When your bodies finally stilled, the room was drenched in sweat and shadows, the silence punctuated only by the harsh rhythm of your breathing. His chest rose and fell against your back as he held you, like if he let go, you’d vanish into the night.

Neither of you spoke. Words felt dangerous now. Fragile. Useless.

Lando’s fingers traced slow, reverent circles on your thigh, his touch softer than it had been all night, almost childlike in its tenderness. But beneath it, you felt the storm still simmering inside him, wild and unresolved, because this hadn’t been just sex. Not for him. Not anymore.

His voice finally broke through the quiet, low and hoarse, as if it physically hurt him to speak.

“You’re not going to leave, are you?” You swallowed, eyes fixed on the ceiling as your heart thudded painfully against your ribs. He shifted behind you, his grip tightening. “Don’t do that,” he whispered. “Don’t go silent on me. Not after this.” His lips brushed your shoulder. “Please.”

The desperation bled through his voice in ways he couldn’t control — the thin veneer of control he always wore around everyone else completely shattered now. You were seeing him entirely raw, entirely exposed. No podium smiles. No charming interviews. Just Lando, young, reckless, obsessive, scared.

You turned your head slowly to meet his eyes. They were wide, feverish, and almost glassy. He already knew.

“I don’t know if I can stay,” you whispered. The truth tasted bitter in your mouth. “We crossed too many lines tonight.”

His brows knitted together, the panic blooming fast beneath his carefully masked expression.

“But you wanted this,” he rasped. “You wanted me. You want me.”

Your throat tightened.

“That doesn’t mean it’s right.”

“I don’t fucking care if it’s right,” the boy snapped, voice rising for the first time, raw emotion cracking beneath it. “I care about you. About us. Don’t hide behind your rules now. You think I can just go back to pretending after this? After finally touching you, tasting you, having you?”

You closed your eyes for a moment, inhaling sharply, trying to hold yourself together as his words cut into you. Lando was right. You had wanted him. You still did. Every fiber of your body screamed for him. But that only made it worse.

“Lando… it’s not that simple.”

His jaw clenched, teeth grinding as frustration burned in his chest. He sat up abruptly, scrubbing his hand through his damp hair, pacing at the edge of the bed. The sheets slipped down your bare body as you watched him, your pulse pounding.

“You’re scared,” he said bitterly. “You’re fucking terrified.”

“Of course I am!” The words tore out of you louder than intended. “I’m your psychologist, Lando. I have a professional obligation—”

He spun toward you, eyes sharp and dark.

“Not anymore.” The air went still. You blinked. He softened almost immediately, his chest heaving. “Don’t make this the end. Don’t let tonight be… nothing.” His voice broke. “I’ll do whatever you want. I’ll never tell a fucking soul. Just don’t walk away.”

The weight of his desperation suffocated you. His words, his eyes, his entire body language screamed one thing louder than anything else: I need you.

But your mind was already pulling away, because you saw the inevitable consequences spiraling ahead like some cruel domino effect that neither of you could stop once it started.

Lando reached for your hand, gripping it like a man gripping a lifeline.

“You don’t have to fix me anymore. Just stay.”

You let him hold your hand, let him believe — for one more fleeting second — that this could somehow work. That this night could exist safely outside the world you both belonged to. But deep inside, you already knew.

You squeezed his hand softly, your voice barely a whisper.

“I need time.”

His face fell, just slightly. He forced a smile that didn’t reach his eyes, nodding like he understood. But you saw the panic still swirling under his skin, fighting for breath.

Later, while the early dawn crept through the thin hotel curtains, casting pale blue shadows over his sleeping face, you stood at the edge of the bed and watched him. Peaceful for once. Quiet. Unaware. His curls messy across the pillow, his bare chest rising and falling with slow, vulnerable breaths.

You memorized him like that.

By noon, the letter sat on the office desk.

“Effective immediately. Due to personal and ethical conflicts, I resign my position.”

You didn’t check your phone. You couldn’t.

You disappeared into summer break like a ghost slipping through the cracks of a world that had grown too dangerous. Away from paddocks. Away from McLaren. Away from him.

And yet, as the days stretched long and silent, as you stared out at unfamiliar skies in unfamiliar cities, you knew his hands still lingered on your skin, his words echoing like a heartbeat beneath your ribs.

You had left. But he wasn’t done.

Neither of you were done.

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nocoolusernamesavailable-blog · 2 months ago

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Gotta Be You - Charles Leclerc (TWO)

Time for another chapter😊 Chapter three will be out soon too! & i promise you, some major interesting things will happen😏

masterlist | promptlist | previous chapter ↳pairing: charles leclerc x female!gasly!reader ↳word count: 3,5K ↳warnings: tension, angst, friends to enemies to lovers, jealous!charles ↳side info: reader is Pierre's younger sister & Arthur Leclerc's childhood best friend ↳summary: In which you go on a shared holiday with both your best friend's (arthur) & your brother's (pierre) friend group, forced to be confronted with your former teenage crush Charles LeClerc yet again. The only problem is? You can't stand him nowadays, until you suddenly can.

You could carefully say that you'd managed to handle the first three days with Charles on the same floor as you. Survived was probably the best way to put it. You’d thought that your somewhat civil exchange on the balcony might pave the way for more neutral ground between you, but that illusion had quickly shattered. In fact, the tension seemed even worse now, and, if you were being honest, you weren’t entirely blameless for it.

Every interaction had become a test of wills, a clash between your determination not to fall into the Charming Prince Charles trap again and his maddening ability to push your buttons. You told yourself it was for the best—that if you didn’t keep your guard up, you might let old feelings resurface, feelings you were certain you’d buried long ago.

At least, that’s what you tried to convince yourself.

This morning, you were trying to distract yourself from all of it, rifling through your suitcase for something to wear to the beach. You pulled out a black bikini bottom and a pair of shorts, slipping them on quickly. You paired it with a matching top, but as you tied the straps around your neck, you realized you couldn’t reach the ones at the back properly.

You sighed, glancing around the room for a solution before deciding to use the mirror in the shared bathroom. It was supposed to take all of ten seconds, and you didn’t bother locking the doors—your side or Charles’. After all, what were the odds of him walking in at just the wrong moment?

The mirror wasn’t much help. The angle was awkward, and no matter how you contorted your arms, you couldn’t get the strings to tie properly. Frustration bubbled up, and you huffed loudly, letting the straps fall to your sides. The fabric of the bikini top hung loosely, barely covering your chest as you pressed your elbows in to keep it in place.

You leaned against the counter, grabbing your phone from your shorts pocket to text Kika for help. Just as you hit send, you felt it—a shift in the air, a presence behind you.

The scent hit you first. That maddening mix of his cologne and something undeniably him. Your body tensed as you froze, and your phone slipped from your grasp, clattering onto the floor. You didn’t need to turn around to know who it was.

“What are you doing here?” you snapped, whipping your head over your shoulder. Your suspicion was confirmed: Charles stood leaning casually against the doorframe, arms crossed and a smirk firmly in place.

“You left the door open,” he said, his voice infuriatingly calm. “And it sounded like you needed help.”

Your breath hitched as his eyes darted down, openly taking in the view of your exposed back. His gaze lingered on the curve of your shoulders, the bare expanse of your spine, before traveling lower. Heat rushed to your face as you straightened instinctively, clutching the fabric tighter against your chest.

“Charles, leave,” you said, your voice wavering despite your best efforts. “I don’t need your help.”

“Right,” he said, stepping into the bathroom anyway, his smirk deepening. “Because you were doing sooo well on your own..”

Your pulse quickened as he closed the distance between you, his movements slow, deliberate. You could see him in the mirror now, his expression equal parts amusement and something else—something that made your stomach flip.

“Charles, I mean it,” you tried again, but your voice came out softer than intended.

“Relax,” he murmured, his eyes meeting yours briefly in the reflection. “I’m just tying a knot. Unless you’d prefer to flash everyone at the beach?”

You opened your mouth to retort, but no words came out. His hands brushed your hair aside, the gentle touch sending a shiver down your spine. He draped it over one shoulder, exposing more of your back to his view.

Charles hesitated for a moment, his hands hovering near your skin as if giving you a chance to protest. When you didn’t, he reached for the loose strings, his fingers grazing your sides lightly as he pulled them together.

Your breath caught at the contact, and you watched his every move in the mirror, unable to tear your eyes away. His touch was careful, almost reverent, as he tied the straps securely.

“There,” he said softly, his voice low and steady. “All done.”

But he didn’t move away. His hands lingered, smoothing the straps into place, his fingertips brushing against your skin in a way that felt far more intimate than it should have.

You couldn’t stop your eyes from flicking up to his in the mirror. For a moment, the air between you felt charged, thick with something unspoken. His gaze was heavy, his usual confidence tempered by something quieter, more vulnerable.

“You’re staring,” you muttered, your voice barely audible.

“So are you,” he countered, a faint smile tugging at his lips.

Before either of you could say another word, a loud cough broke the tension.

“Am I interrupting something?”

You turned sharply to find Kika standing in the doorway, arms crossed and a knowing grin on her face "N-No, Charles was just leaving" you stuttered.

Charles carefully smiled, the smirk every so small, but yet still noticeable, clearly enjoyed by your flustered reaction.

Kika held up her phone in your direction, obviously referring to your text "Got your text, but looks like someone beat me to it,” she teased, glancing pointedly at Charles’ hands still hovering near your waist. “I’ll see you downstairs.”

“Kika, wait!” you called, but she was already walking away, her laughter echoing down the hall.

You started to follow her, but Charles caught your wrist, his touch firm but not forceful. You glanced up at him, confused, only to follow his gaze to the floor where your phone still lay forgotten.

“You forgot your phone,” he said, releasing you.

You bent to grab it, muttering a quick “Thanks” before rushing out of the bathroom, your heart pounding as if you’d just run a marathon.

The moment you caught up to Kika, you opened your mouth to speak, but the Portuguese girl was quicker, holding up a hand to stop you as a smirk spread across her lips.

“Y/n, don’t even try to convince me that was nothing,” she said, her tone dripping with amusement.

You groaned, rolling your eyes. “Shut up.”

Kika laughed lightly, tilting her head as if studying you. “Hmmm…” she hummed, her grin growing.

Her teasing was relentless, and as you tried to suppress the heat creeping into your cheeks, you gave her a playful shove. “Oh, stop it, will you?”

Kika stumbled slightly, laughing even harder. “I’m just saying, it’s interesting timing. Very interesting…”

You opened your mouth to respond but were interrupted by Arthur, who had just stepped out of his room. He raised an eyebrow as he took in the two of you, his curiosity clearly piqued.

“You seem awfully cheery,” he remarked, his gaze flicking between you and Kika.

Kika’s smirk deepened as she turned to Arthur, her voice laced with mischief. “Did you know that your brother just had his hands—”

“Oh my god, no,” you interjected quickly, cutting her off mid-sentence. You reached out, clapping a hand over her mouth to stop the words from spilling out. “Don’t even go there.”

Kika mumbled something against your hand, laughing, and you gave her a mock glare before letting go. She grinned wickedly, clearly enjoying your discomfort.

Arthur, on the other hand, raised an eyebrow, his interest now fully piqued. “His hands were?”

You groaned, exasperated, throwing your hands in the air. “She’s acting as if I voluntarily let that happen. Ew. Absolutely not.”

Arthur’s confusion turned to amusement as he folded his arms across his chest. “Okay, so what did happen?”

You sighed dramatically. “Nothing major. I couldn’t tie my bikini top, and Charles just—”

“Had his hands on your back,” Kika interjected, wiggling her eyebrows suggestively.

“Tied my top!” you corrected quickly, pointing an accusatory finger at her. “That’s it. That’s all he did. Don’t get your hopes up, okay? I still hate him.”

Arthur chuckled, leaning against the doorframe. “Sure you do. Sounds like a riveting story, though. Keep going.”

“Arthur,” you groaned, dragging a hand down your face "You two are acting like this is something massive.."

Kika wasn’t letting up, either. “You two being in the same room and not trying to kill each other? That is massive.”

“Oh, please.” You gave her another playful shove, but her laughter only grew.

Arthur tilted his head, his grin widening. “To be fair, it does sound like progress.”

“It’s not progress!” you snapped, though the laughter bubbling in your chest betrayed your indignation. “It’s called tolerating someone for a split second.”

Kika leaned closer to Arthur, mock-whispering, “She’s in denial.”

You groaned again, throwing your hands up as they both burst into laughter. “You two are impossible.”

Arthur straightened, a teasing smirk still plastered on his face. “Hey, at least now we know Charles can be useful for something.”

Kika snorted, leaning against the wall for support as she laughed. “You mean tying knots and causing chaos?”

You shook your head, exasperated but unable to stop the small smile tugging at your lips. “Okay, we’re done here. Both of you—out of my business.”

Arthur raised his hands in mock surrender. “Fine, fine. But for the record, I still think this is hilarious.”

Kika grinned, looping her arm through yours as you both started down the stairs. “I’m just saying, if you guys don’t kill each other by the end of this trip, I’m calling it a win.”

“Don’t count your chickens before they hatch, Thur” you muttered, though the laughter in your voice betrayed you "Still got a month to go"

As the three of you made your way downstairs, the teasing faded into lighter banter, but the lingering heat in your cheeks and the memory of Charles’ hands on your back stayed with you. You hated how your mind kept returning to that moment, to the way his touch had felt far more intimate than it should have been.

But for now, you shook it off, determined not to let them—or Charles—get to you. Not again.

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The sun hung high over the sparkling blue ocean, casting a golden glow over the beach. Waves crashed rhythmically, blending with the sound of laughter from your friends. The sand felt warm under your feet as you adjusted your stance, eyes locked on the volleyball soaring through the air.

With a leap, you smacked the ball cleanly over the net, landing the perfect shot. Arthur groaned dramatically, while Inès burst into giggles as they missed the return. Arthur wiped sweat from his brow and looked at Inès with mock defeat. "Honestly, I didn’t expect us to be this horrible at this game," he admitted with a chuckle.

You laughed, adjusting your ponytail. "You’re good at other things, Thur. Let me win at least one thing!" you teased.

Before you could serve again, Dennis appeared by your side, grinning wide. His sun-bleached hair was damp from the ocean, and his smile carried an air of mischief. "You’re better at this than I expected," he admitted, his voice teasing. "But… I think you could use a little pro-level trick."

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t suppress a grin. "Is this your not-so-subtle way of telling me I suck at beach volleyball?"

Dennis laughed, his shoulders shaking. "No, no! You’re honestly good at it," he promised, placing a hand lightly on your arm. His touch was casual but lingering just enough to seem… something else. "I just know a trick that’ll make it even funnier when we destroy those two."

"Hey!" Inès protested from across the net, pointing at you both. "That’s not fair! This feels like cheating!” she accused, her hands on her hips, a laugh leaving her lips.

Dennis raised a brow, unfazed. “How is teaching cheating?”

“You’re practically glued to her!” Inès shot back with mock indignation, though she was clearly fighting back laughter.

Arthur crossed his arms, smirking. "Getting cozy there, Hauger?" he called out, emphasizing Dennis’s last name with playful sarcasm.

Dennis turned his head slowly, fixing Arthur with a mock-threatening glare. “Jealous, Arthur? Want me to teach you too?”

Arthur rolled his eyes, laughing. “We’re playing beach volleyball, not filming a rom-com!”

Your laugh burst out, light and easy. You nudged Dennis with your elbow. “Alright, coach, show me this magical trick before Arthur starts drafting a movie script.”

Dennis smirked but quickly turned serious. "Okay, watch carefully.” he positioned himself behind you, gently placing his hands on your waist. "It’s all about balance and angle," he explained, sliding his hands down to adjust your stance, his fingers brushing your hips. "You’ve got great posture... perfect for this."

You smirked, shooting him a knowing look. "Smooth way of complimenting me, Dennis."

He grinned unapologetically. "What can I say? I'm observant, can’t blame me for stating facts. Also... you smell like coconut sunscreen—kind of unfair when I’m trying to concentrate."

Before you could respond, a flicker of movement caught your eye. Charles was stood off to the side, making his way over to one of the loungers, casually watching, though his jaw seemed a bit tighter than usual.

“Hold your arms like this when you jump," he instructed, adjusting the angle of your hands. “When you hit the ball, let your wrist snap like this…” His hand covered yours briefly, guiding the motion.

His voice dropped slightly, almost teasing. “And try not to get distracted by how good I smell while I’m being incredibly helpful.”

You rolled your eyes, biting back a grin. “I thought I was the one who smelled like coconut sunscreen.”

Dennis leaned just a little closer. "Fair point—you do smell pretty good," he admitted with a smirk.

Out of the corner of your eye, you caught a glimpse of Charles, now sprawled out on a sunbed, his gaze fixed on the two of you, obvious even through his sunglasses. His expression was unreadable, but his jaw still seemed noticeably tense.

Dennis chuckled softly, lowering his voice. “Pretty sure Charles is sending me daggers right now.”

You snorted. “Trust me, he’s probably thinking of killing me, not you.”

"You're oblivious, girl" he joked back at you.

You rolled your eyes at Dennis and sighed "Oh shut it, before I use my perfect posture to slam the ball into you" you huffed out with a laugh, playfully pushing his shoulder.

Dennis grinned but stepped back, holding his hands up in mock surrender. “Alright, let’s see what you’ve got.”

Focusing, you adjusted your stance, trying to copy exactly what Dennis teached you. As the ball came sailing over the net, you bent your knees, jumped, and snapped your wrist just like he’d shown you.

The ball hit the far corner with precision, landing just inside the line.

Cheers erupted from your side of the net. Dennis whooped, grabbing your hands and spinning you around. “Yes! You nailed it!”

Arthur groaned, falling backward into the sand with theatrical defeat. “We’re doomed. This just got so much worse.”

While you were having fun, playing beach volleyball with the others, Charles had spend the entire time mocking, unable to enjoy the sun. He had been sprawled out on one of the loungers, had his sunglasses perched low on his nose. The sun beating down on him as if mocking his sour mood. The waves crashed gently on the shore nearby, a rhythmic backdrop to the laughter and chatter coming from the makeshift beach volleyball game a few feet away. He tried his best to appear disinterested, but his eyes betrayed him, constantly flicking back to the game where you were laughing and joking with Dennis, Inès, and Arthur.

The sound of your giggles carried over the beach, clear and light, grating against his nerves in a way he didn’t fully understand. He used to be the one who made you laugh like that. The one who knew exactly how to tease you until your face lit up with that same carefree joy. Now, the distance between you felt insurmountable, and it frustrated him to no end.

“When are you gonna stop acting like a complete douchebag with her?” Joris asked lazily from the lounger beside him, breaking through Charles’ brooding thoughts. He sipped his drink, his tone teasing but laced with genuine curiosity.

Charles rolled his eyes, leaning his head back against the lounger. “She just gets on my nerves. Every time I see her, it’s like she’s trying to piss me off.”

Joris chuckled, swirling the ice in his glass. “Right. And you’re just an innocent victim here. Come on, Charles, she doesn’t get on your nerves—you let her get to you. There’s a difference.”

"It's not as if all those arguments are fake, she's honestly really making me angry loads of times" Charles huffed, crossing his arms over his chest. “She’s not exactly being nice to me either, you know.”

Joris raised an eyebrow. “I’m not saying she is. But this whole fake arrogance thing you’re doing? It’s not fooling anyone, except for her maybe”

“What the hell are you insinuating?” Charles muttered, his voice clipped.

“Oh, I don’t know…” Joris drawled, setting his drink down and turning to face Charles fully. “Maybe that even a blind man could see you’re in love with her?”

Charles froze for a second, then scoffed, the sound bitter. “I am not in love with her,” he said, though the lie tasted sour in his mouth. “She just knows exactly how to push my buttons, that’s all.”

“Right.” Joris snorted, leaning back on his lounger with a knowing grin. “And that’s why you’re glaring holes into Hauger right now.”

Charles’ jaw tightened instinctively, and his gaze snapped back to you. Dennis was behind you again, his arms loosely wrapped around yours as he helped you practice yet another volleyball technique. The proximity between the two of you was maddening—Dennis’ hands guiding yours, his voice close to your ear, and your laughter spilling out freely as if you didn’t have a care in the world.

Charles’ fingers clenched into the fabric of his lounger. “I don’t care who she cozies up to,” he said, his tone sharp and unconvincing.

Joris let out a low chuckle, shaking his head. “You’re a terrible liar, mate. That’s eating you alive, and we both know it.”

Charles didn’t respond immediately, his gaze fixed on the game as his thoughts churned. He watched the way you smiled at Dennis, the way you tossed your hair back in the sun, completely at ease. He hated how his chest tightened at the sight, jealousy twisting inside him like a knot.

“And even if I was…” Charles muttered finally, his voice softer, tinged with frustration. “What difference would it make? It’s not like I can do anything about it. She doesn’t feel that way about me anymore.” He hesitated before adding in a near whisper, “Not anymore.”

Joris’ teasing demeanor softened at his friend’s admission. “I’m not saying you should do anything about those feelings. But treating her the way you are now? That’s not working either. If anything, you’re just pushing her further away.”

Charles sighed heavily, running a hand through his hair. “It’s easier this way,” he admitted, his voice barely audible over the sound of the waves. “If she hates me, maybe I can get over her. I tried being friends with her before, and it didn’t work. I couldn’t stop feeling like this.”

Joris leaned forward, placing a hand on Charles’ shoulder. “You can’t control how you feel, Charles. But throwing away your friendship because of it? That’s not the answer. You two had something great. Don’t let it go to waste just because you can’t sort out your feelings.”

Charles didn’t respond immediately, his gaze drifting back to you. You were now doubled over with laughter as Dennis tried—and failed—to demonstrate a trick shot, tripping over the volleyball in the process. The sight should’ve been funny, but it only made Charles’ chest ache.

“I know,” he admitted, his voice thick with regret. “I just… I could’ve had my chance, and I wasted it.”

Joris sighed, squeezing his shoulder. “You’re not wrong. But sitting here wallowing about it isn’t helping anyone. And honestly? It’s stupid to waste everything you had—everything you could still have—over a crush. Treating her like this? It’s not just unfair to her—it’s unfair to you. You’re better than this, Charles.”

Charles closed his eyes, frustration and regret warring within him. “The problem is that it's not just a crush, Joris,” he muttered after a long pause. “It’s not something I can just turn off. I’m so in love with her… it hurts.”

Joris leaned back, giving him a moment of silence to collect himself. The sound of your laughter reached them again, and Charles opened his eyes, watching you as a sad smile played on his lips.

“Just don’t let your feelings destroy what you still have, my friend” Joris said softly. “Because if you keep going like this, you’ll lose her completely.”

Charles didn’t answer, but the weight of his friend’s words settled heavily on his shoulders. The truth was painful, but it was impossible to ignore.

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taglist: @vroomvro0mferrari @fishyfishersticks @prttylight @tempo-rary-fix @suns3treading @a-beaverhausen @formula1fordisaster @janeh22 @leclercdream @sageskiesf1 @ch16les @emryb @vyctorya @asmoothoperator

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nocoolusernamesavailable-blog · 2 months ago

Text

first kisses [CL16]

charles leclerc x childhood best friend!fem!reader

word count: 7.8k

summary: The one where you have to go back to your hometown for business and your past finally catches up with you.

warnings: kisses, angst, grief, homesickness (in the Noah Kahan way), friends to lovers; burning, pining, perishing! fluff at the end :)

author's note: Friends to lovers was on my mind, and this is what came out. Feedback is appreciated, so please share your thoughts/comments/questions!! Sending love! [xoxo elle]

^edit: Thank you all sooooo much for the love this has received! No one does it better than the f1 babes. Thanks again!!

*Flashback*

She sat at the end of an abandoned dock. The towering ships were the only thing around her, a pleasant, quiet company. Monaco was set ablaze with a burning orange glow from the setting sun over the hills that hemmed the city in. The water sparkled in front of her, shimmering and dancing freely. She found herself envying the ocean. When the ocean was calm, people loved it for its serenity. When the sea was charged and crashing, people adored its fierce energy. But when she was calm, she was chastised for being withdrawn. When she exposed her power, she was commanded to be quieter, gentler. So she envied the ocean for its freedom and beauty.

Footsteps padded against the sturdy dock somewhere behind her, steadily growing closer. She knew who it was before she even looked over her shoulder. Wiping away salty tears, she sniffed her nose hard. She didn’t want him to see her like this.

Charles studied her from behind, not entirely understanding why she was reduced to tears at her father’s venomous comment. He’d seen her handle far worse from him time and time again over the years. He couldn’t find a way to understand why this one got to her. It had her running from her house, away from everyone, and brought her all the way out to the docks in the bay. Something carried her out here, and he wanted to know what.

Her eyes were trained unerringly on the horizon. She was dreaming about reaching out to it and dragging her finger along it. She didn’t acknowledge her looming best friend. She didn’t know what to say to him, so she opted for saying nothing.

Charles plopped down next to her, his feet dangling over the end of the dock. She rolled her eyes. He obviously didn’t pick up on the fact that she wanted to be alone. Typical.

She huffed and turned her face away from him into her shoulder. Charles rolled his eyes this time. Girls.

For some time, the two of them just sat there, toes tracing lazy circles in the water below. The ocean spray hit their warm skin, infecting their senses. Slowly, it set her at ease. Charles waited for the ocean to do what it did best: to heal.

Once the sun had gone down and dusk settled in, calamity disappeared. She was feeling hollow now, and cold. Nights down by the water often became chilly. Wrapping her arms tightly around herself, she shivered. Charles noticed immediately.

“Can we go back now?” He asked, thinking that she might open up on the walk home. He was also eager to get back to his warm house.

“No,” She said simply. It was the first thing she’d done to actually acknowledge his presence, save an eye roll. Charles groaned.

“You go then, you big baby.” She mumbled in response, tightening her arms around her middle. Charles’ head snapped to her with an incredulous look plastered onto his features. He wanted to grab her by the shoulders and chuck her into her beloved bay. Maybe that would set her straight.

While he was seriously contemplating his plan to shove her in, she leaned into him, her head resting gently against his shoulder. Charles’ eyebrows popped up in surprise as he eyed her in his peripherals. Her mumbled ‘sorry’ was barely audible, but acceptable for now. He knew that she didn’t mean to be moody; it was just a byproduct of a bad situation.

“Your dad’s an ass,” Charles said stiffly, still a little unsure about having her head on his shoulder. The two of them had never touched like this before. It made him nervous. It made her secure.

“Yeah,” she agreed, a weak laugh shaking her frame. Charles ventured a shaky hand towards her shoulder. When she let him cup her shoulder with his hand, he pressed her closer to him with a firm tug. She suddenly felt warm, the chill of the night cut through with just a one arm hug from her best friend. Best friend. Suddenly, it seemed an improper title.

“Wanna talk about it?” Charles whispered, his quiet voice floating over the dark sea like a ghost.

“No,” was all she could manage. A new flush of emotions welled in her chest. Her eyes rose to look at Charles through her lashes. He was the one looking out at the water now. This was her Charles.

“What do you want to talk about then?” he said, desperate to get her talking because this silence was getting heavy. He didn’t like the feelings that were stirring in his stomach. He was becoming painfully aware of how he was sitting, the way he smelled, the way his fingers rested against his best friend’s shoulder. Best friend.

She pulled away from him then so she could look him in the eye. His brown hair was swept off to the side, looking messy and charming. Charming? Had he always looked like this? Or was it just tonight’s high emotions that set her hormones into overdrive? Charles’ eyes fell on her, too. Her lips were puffy and pink, her eyes shimmering in the moonlight. He swallowed hard.

“Charlie?” She whispered his name like a secret, folded up into a night they would never talk about again.

“Yeah?” He said, his voice low and reverent. He was waiting for whatever she was going to say. He found himself hanging off every word that fell from those pink lips. He would never stop.

“I have a proposition for you,” she said carefully. She didn’t want him to read between the lines and end up ruining the beautiful friendship they shared. “Don’t get…weird.”

“Alright,” he said skeptically. She already knew that he was weird enough as it is.

“I think we should be each other’s first kiss. Just get it out of the way so we don’t have to worry about it,” she said quickly, firmly. She forced herself to believe that there was no ulterior motive behind her proposition. This was purely clinical, a normal thing. She didn’t want anything from Charles other than one simple kiss. Charles reared back a little, slightly dumbfounded. He was unsure. What did this mean for them? Did this mean she liked him? He wouldn’t mind that. The thought was a new one and it made him nervous.

“Come on, Charlie. I don’t want my first kiss to happen with some random guy. Please?” Her voice was light on his ears, unreal almost. He shared her sentiment; he didn’t really want to kiss a girl that didn’t know him the way she did. But the thought of another boy kissing her finalized his decision. He hated that mental picture.

All he did was nod.

With shaking fingers, she laid her hand over his on the dock between them. Biting down on her lip harshly, she stared at him. Charles gulped while returning her gaze. Time stilled around the two teenagers as they each leaned into their best friend. The kiss was simple, just lips against lips, but something about it sent up fireworks into the dead night. She was soft; he was nervous. Colors and light rippled across closed eyes. Chills ran rampant over skin.

When they broke apart, they were both breathless. Their eyes locked for only a split second before they snapped their attention back to the inky horizon. After a few seconds of complete, nervous silence, a giggle tore from her. Charles found himself laughing with her.

Their hands stayed intertwined between them on the last board of the dock.

*Present Day*

As you stroll down the streets that you once ran through as a little girl, you can’t help the nostalgia that warms your heart and brings a flush to your cheeks. It’s been too long since you’ve returned to your hometown. Something has always held you back. First it was school, then traveling, and now work. Since you moved away to college, you’ve gotten very good at avoiding this place and the histories that it holds. Even simply walking along the sidewalks, glancing at the shops and people, you find yourself becoming lost in the overwhelming weight of familiarity. There’s a complicated relationship between you and this small nation you once called home. As dearly as you love it, you nearly choke on all of the memories and emotions that rise helplessly to the surface. Joy is always accompanied with sorrow, gain with loss. Quietly, you contemplate exactly how you’re going to walk in the precarious balance of it all.

The soothing summer air and the simple caress of a cool ocean breeze does wonders to help ease your burden. Monaco’s bay has always been a place of rest for you. So, as you approach your destination, you try to mimic the sea’s power and adopt its peace. Rounding the stone gate, your feet automatically walk you down a path that you’ve followed countless times. Trees and grass and stones are scattered on both sides of the paved walk. Slowly, your eyes track over the names, names you’ve read so many times that you can nearly count them off by memory. These names you know so well, but never the people they belonged to. No, it was too late for that.

Your footsteps automatically slow as you reach the far corner of the grave yard. Sunshine spills through a nearby tree, casting sunspots over her stone. Your mother’s name is carved gracefully into the marker. Shaky legs guide you next to her, kneeling before her. With reverent fingers, you trace the letters of her name.

“Bonjour maman,” You whisper. Tears well in your eyes as you rest your hands in your lap, cradling the lilies you brought to leave for her. A far too familiar feeling flutters in your chest, rising into your throat. It’s the sort of darkness that makes you cold even when you can feel the sun on your skin. Loss does funny things to you– things that never go away. It’s something that you live with forever, but it grows smaller and smaller until you don’t notice it as often. Or until you come home and are reminded of everything that once was and never will be again.

Wiping at your eyes, you find yourself looking at another grave just across the path. The name fills you with the same feeling as your own mother’s. Hervé Leclerc.

You remember attending his funeral. Charles clung to your hand for the entire service. He was a mess. As he was lowered into the ground, Charles turned his head into your shoulder and sobbed. Everyone left, even his mother and brothers. They had to return to the house, but Charles couldn’t bring himself to say goodbye. It was just the two of you standing there on the path between his father and your mother. You clutched onto each other and made a promise to never let go. And you never did.

Parts of you still clung onto Charles as if you were still those kids who played footie in the streets or ran around karting events like you owned the place. Even more, you lingered in the kiss you shared as teenagers. There was a bond that was formed that night that you’ve never fully understood. Your soul reached out to his and fused to it. You suppose that’s why you miss him so dearly, even after all of these years. Your friends say that you should hate him, despise him for not being the friend he said he would be. But you couldn’t. Mistakes and misjudgments and idiotic errors meant nothing compared to what you’ve both endured and shared with each other. Maybe you weren’t the best friends you used to be, or even friends at all, but those parts of you were still reserved for him. There was nothing you could do about that, even if you tried.

Sniffing and drying your eyes, you decided that you’ve wept enough. There are things to do and people to see. Pressing a kiss to your fingers and then pressing your hand to your mother’s headstone, you say a quick goodbye. You pull a single lily from the bouquet before gently leaving the rest at the grave. With sure steps, you cross the path towards the other grave.

“Monsieur Leclerc,” You say with a small smile as you reach down and leave the lily at the foot of his stone. Your fingers rest and drag across the rough stone as you stand to leave.

Walking out of the graveyard, you feel your grief sling itself across your shoulders. But, instead of weighing you down, it holds you tight. You can’t help but imagine the hands of your mother and the hands of your best friend’s father reaching out to you, spurring you on. There’s always joy where there is sorrow.

The walk back to your car is quick. The summer morning in Monaco is already bursting with life. People are racing around, elegant outfits thrown over elegant frames. Cars that are worth more than houses lazily strut about the curving streets. Towering buildings bustle with life at the beginning of a work day. The city is alive.

There’s a slow smile that creeps onto your face as you pull your sunglasses down to watch the scene unfold before you. So many lives happening all at once. You wonder what they’re all doing today, what stresses they hold or what excitements they harbor. Late summer in Monaco is a dreamscape. Sometimes, in moments like these, you wonder how you left for so long.

While staring out at the business that’s swallowed you up, you’ve forgotten to watch where you’re going. A shoulder knocks into yours harshly, sending you reeling backward. Your heel catches on a loose stone, sweeping your feet out from under you. But, before you find yourself crashing to the ground, someone’s hands wrap tightly around your waist, catching you. Your hands latch onto their arms, trying to steady yourself. The person who both nearly threw you against the pavement and saved you from doing so, returns you to an upright position.

“Sorry, I wasn’t-” he starts while pulling his sunglasses from his face.

“I’m so sorry, I-” you begin at the same time.

The two of you freeze mid-sentence. Slowly, you reach up and pull your sunglasses off your nose to really take him in. He’s grown so much since you saw him last. He was just a little boy then, still navigating the tail end of puberty. His hair used to be longer, his face pudgier. Long gone is that little boy you once knew. He’s a man now.

“Arthur?” His name slips from your lips as you stare at him. His eyes sparkle in the sun while a smile tears across his face. At least there are some things that don’t change.

Your name bubbles from his throat as he reaches out and pulls you into a crushing hug. Lifting you from the ground, he spins the two of you in a circle. Being in Monaco was already hard to adjust to, but seeing Arthur Leclerc is a whole new level of surreal.

When he finally sets you down, your hands don’t drop from his shoulders. It feels so good to see him. Your heart beams, painting your face with a smile so large it burns your cheeks.

“Look at you! You’re so…” you say, your hand reaching up to touch his face.

“Handsome?” he interjects with a wink.

“I was going to say old,” you answer, shaking your head at him. Same old Arthur. For another second, you just stare at each other. It’s been five years since you’ve seen each other last. Five years since you last saw any of them.

“Come on,” Arthur says suddenly, taking your hand in his. He’s pulling you after him firmly while he weaves through the foot traffic that’s overtaken the walkways. Your objections fall on deaf ears as he hauls you after him.

“I’m out to the shops with maman, she’ll want to see you,” Arthur says excitedly while leading you a few more doors down. He stops you in front of a small flower shop that you know well. It was always Pascale and your mother’s favorite. It doesn’t surprise you in the slightest that Pascale still shops here.

Wasting no time, Arthur pulls you through the door and across the shop floor to where Pascale is. Her head is bent over an array of bouquets, a basket tucked around her arm. She’s dressed in light pastels, her hair done expertly. The sight of her makes your chest ache with memory. Watching her this way, without her knowing you’re there, feels like a scene in a movie made from your past. How many times have you watched her shop or cook or care for everyone? This moment plays on a loop in your mind but with different settings, scenery, clothes, jobs, people.

“Maman,” Arthur says, his hand leaving yours. He approaches his mother, resting a hand on her shoulder. She wraps her arm around his middle, flashing him a smile you can’t see. Arthur leans down to whisper in her ear before glancing back at you. Pascale’s gaze follows his, confusion evident on her face.

It lasts only a fraction of a moment until her graceful eyes meet yours. Time stills and everything becomes just as it’s supposed to be. You can hear the soft in and out of your own breathing, the thrum of your heart in your chest. Her basket tumbles to the ground, discarded so she can throw her arms around you. It’s the second hug you’ve received today that you never expected. There’s something endlessly warm and comforting about Pascale’s arms being wrapped around you. The familiarity of it makes you want to sob into her shoulder.

“Oh, my girl, my sweet girl,” she hums into your hair, her hands rubbing up and down your back. The hug lasts however long she decides, her grip unerring and relentless. When she finally pulls away, she gives you two kisses on each cheek.

“Let me look at you,” she says warmly, clutching your hands in hers while staring you down. Pascale’s eyes travel from your head to your toes and then back up. Twice.

“You’ve always been beautiful, like your mother,” she says with a tsk. But you can hear the slight quiver in her voice. Your mom was her best friend. It isn’t easy to lose a best friend.

“Thank you,” you whisper back, afraid that if you speak any louder, your voice would break. Staring at your mother’s best friend and the mother of your childhood best friend, there’s a special type of love you feel blossoming in your chest. No one could replace your mother, but Pascale did a damn fine job filling in where she could.

Pascale invites you to join her and Arthur shopping for the rest of the morning. As you travel from shop to shop, feeling 12 years old again, you chat amongst yourselves. The Leclerc's grill you with questions to which you answer as best you can. In return, they answer all of your questions.

However, there’s one subject neither of you dare to bring up: Charles.

“Have you seen your father recently?” Pascale asks while inspecting a tomato, disdain clear in her voice.

“No, I haven’t heard from him since he moved,” you answer honestly, while tying off a bag of lemons to place in her basket. Your father was never that involved, always gone on business. When he was around, he was brutal and full of hate. When your mother died, he became so distant, you barely considered him your father anymore. The end of your relationship occurred when you finally left for college. You haven’t heard from him since, spare one time bothered to call to let you know he was moving to London.

Pascale lets out a string of curses under her breath. It brings a small smile to your face. Pascale will always have your back. There’s never been a time where the Leclercs haven’t been there for you. They’ve supported you through thick and thin, and always made you promise to look to them for help whenever you needed it. You feel so grateful to be loved so fully by a family, especially when you didn’t really have one of your own.

“You’ll come for lunch,” Pascale says as she finishes up her shopping. Your eyes dart over to Arthur’s. An amused look passes over his face, a classic, crooked smile lighting up his features. Sighing and shaking your head, you both know there’s no way you’re getting out of this.

“No sense in fighting it.” Arthur says while slinging an arm around your shoulders. You just nod in agreement while following Pascale to checkout. After hauling all of the shopping to the car, Arthur drives the three of you home.

The Leclerc house is just as you remember it. As you walk into the foyer and take off your shoes, peace falls over you. It’s as if you’ve stepped into a time capsule. The walls haven’t been painted since you were ten and were forced to help. The bright decorations and life that they preserve call to your childhood. As Pascale and Arthur disappear deeper into the house, you find yourself lingering behind. Eyes taking in every sight, fingers reveling in every touch, nose breathing deep the smells of the past, and between it all strings of history hang. Everything is a reminder of what once was.

A chill cascades down your back as you round into the dining room and watch from a distance as the youngest Leclerc and his mother dance about the kitchen to put away the groceries. Their soft chatter draws a lump into your throat. How long has it been since you were in a place filled with words like theirs spoken from the mouths of people you love like them? As much as your heart aches, it also swells with profound comfort.

Pascale whips some delicious sandwiches up for the three of you to snack on while you continue to jabber on about the last five years. Apparently, your frequent calls and letters were not enough to tide this woman over. She wants every last detail about where you’ve been and what you’ve been doing there.

By the time you’re long done eating, you’ve laughed so hard you’ve nearly cried, and fought tears back so desperately, a headache is coming on.

“I’ve got to go,” Arthur says after checking his watch. Your eyes fall to your phone to check the time. It’s well past four in the afternoon. Your eyes widen in surprise, not realizing how long you’ve been with the two of them. Your carefully planned out day has gone horribly askew. But, you couldn’t be happier. You weren’t sure if you were going to be able to see the Leclercs or not while you were here. Fate intervened and decided for you.

Arthur says his goodbyes, kissing both you and his mother on the cheek before clearing the plates and disappearing into the kitchen. Pascale shifts in her seat to get more comfortable, signaling that she isn’t quite done with you yet. Smiling at her, you follow suit, trying to get comfy in your chair. Just as she opens her mouth to ask you another question, the sound of the front door opening steals away your attention.

“Arthur? Did you forget something?” Pascale calls out, a frown coming over her face. It was odd that he would come through the front door. When Arthur doesn’t answer, Pascale calls out to him again. Soft footsteps coming toward you through the hallway is the only answer the two of you receive.

Silently, you watch as Pascale watches the doorway to the foyer. As the footsteps draw closer and then stop, Pascale’s face twists into a hundred different emotions. Her eyes flick over to yours once, then bounce back to the doorway. Confused, you start to turn around in your chair.

“Maman, I’m…” A familiar voice dances into your ears. Surprise turns you the rest of the way around, finding him standing there in the doorway. A rush of emotions bursts from your chest, making your fingers go numb and your head go fuzzy. The sunlight bounces around the room and splashes him in warm tones. His tousled brown hair, warmly tanned skin, and wide eyes look achingly similar to when you saw him last. Of course you’ve seen pictures of him over the years– it was unavoidable when he was the Charles Leclerc. But, nothing compares to seeing him standing right in front of you. Nothing compares to him seeing you too.

“Charles!” Pascale says, bounding out of her chair to wrap her son up in a long overdue hug. Your presence has thrown this whole encounter off its axis. Shamefully, you remember that you, in fact, are not actually part of this family. Charles wasn’t expecting you and now you’ve ruined his surprise.

You let your eyes fall from his, taking a keen interest in a specific crack found in the floorboards. Listening silently to the small chatter that passes between the mother and son, you feel suddenly out of place. It makes your heart ache that you don’t feel like you fit here with Charles now. Suddenly the house that was just full of life and memories feels cold and foreign.

Urged out of your seat by this sudden revelation, you stand quietly so as not to disturb the two people in front of you. Quickly, you go about collecting your things. All you can think about is how to get out of here as quickly as possible. There’s a part of you that wishes someone would stop you, hold you by the arm and keep you from running away. But that’s the wish of a fool, of a lovesick teenager. This is real life, and you know better than anyone that things rarely turn out the way you hoped they would. Hope is a dangerous game that you played for far too long.

“I’m so sorry to interrupt,” You say quickly, placing a hand on Pascale’s shoulder. She turns toward you with wide eyes. There’s a tenderness and worry there that makes you nearly stop in your tracks. There’s a question poised on her lips, the one that would make you stay here like you so desperately want to. But you can’t, you won’t.

“But I really have to get going. It’s been lovely to see you again. I’ll make sure to pop in and say goodbye before I leave.” The words roll easily off your tongue, but you know that you won’t be stopping by again. The looming presence beside you makes sure of that. You’ve barely looked him in the eye, let alone spoken to him, and you can hardly handle it. Coming here to say goodbye to all of them again isn’t something you could handle.

Wrapping Pascale up in a warm hug, you hold her for an extra second or two. You’re not sure when you’ll be able to do it again, so you savor every moment. Kissing her on either cheek, you whisper one last goodbye.

Finally, you turn around and are face to face with your past. His eyes are trained on you, relentless and green. There’s a small frown that paints deep lines between his eyebrows. His pink lips are down turned on a freshly shaven face. From this distance, you can smell his cologne and see the uneven rise and fall of his chest. You haven’t seen him in years– felt his presence like this in years. How can it feel like centuries ago, but nearly like it was yesterday as well? So much has changed and yet everything has stayed the same.

“Charles,” you say curtly, your lips coming to rest in a strained line. He blinks once and opens his mouth like he’s going to say something. However, he never gets the chance. You’re slipping between the two of them, all but sprinting to the front door. Quickly, you yank on your shoes, tear open the front door, and jog down towards the road. A thousand and one thoughts take over your mind as you begin your walk towards your hotel.

Seeing Charles was the last thing you thought you’d be doing on this trip. He was always traveling for his job. Formula One took him all over the globe. But, in some cruel turn of fate, he ended up here, your home, at the same time as you. All of the warmth that had been swirling around you all day, slowly accumulating and healing you, dissipated in the blink of an eye. Even in the heat of the day, you felt frostbitten.

Wandering around, you didn’t feel up to returning to your hotel room yet. Isolating yourself in that cookie-cutter, dimly lit room seemed like torture. Instead, you decided to walk the town once more. Walking always helps you sort things out. Whenever you were mad or frustrated or sad, you always went on a walk.

The bustle in the streets allowed you to slip away for a while, unnoticed by everyone around you. For now, you were simply a cog in the machine. There’s nothing more freeing than being no one for a little while. You can let all of your cares and concerns slide away as you’re swallowed up by life.

As you walk, you find yourself passing by a young boy holding the hand of his mother. You wouldn’t have cast them another glance if your eye hadn’t been caught by the bright red hat the boy donned. The yellow Ferrari crest sat atop the hat and the perfect ‘16’ etched into the brim let you know that this boy was sporting his favorite racing driver’s merch. He stumbled along with his mother’s hand in one of his and a toy formula car in the other.

While they pass you by, you can’t help but paint the features of a young Charles over that little boy’s features. He looked a lot like him. Shaggy brown hair, big eyes, and happy smirk constant on his lips.

It was a little silly how much you thought of your past. You used to spend hours going over every detail, every happy memory, and every sad one too. Sometimes, you even thought that you might live in your past to hide from your future. But it stopped a while ago. You somehow started to turn it off, to not think about him or this place.

But it’s impossible to do when you’re literally standing in the heart of your hometown. Reminders of your past are at every corner. It’s inescapable. Memories are attached to everything here. Your past is intertwined with this place, these people.

If you can’t escape it, you might as well embrace it.

You decide to head for the one place you haven’t yet dared to go. By the time you get down to the bay, the crowds have lessened. People are returning to their houses to eat supper and prepare for another work day. That means that the docks will be quieter tonight.

The sun is slipping towards the horizon as you meander about the maze of ships and yachts. Soft splashing sounds and the glittering of pearly white boats surrounds you. This was the world that you were born into, of castles on water and seas and skies that glitter like champagne. However, you couldn’t feel more detached. You belonged here once, amongst these starlets and superheroes, but not anymore. Charles’ return made that all too clear. This was his world, his domain. Treading here was dangerous, a promise to slip back into the past.

Slipping further down the dock, you make your way toward the place you’d always come to sit. Just as you’re about to turn down the row, your eyes catch on a figure already sitting at the very end. His arms are out behind him, his head leaned back while his legs dangle off the edge of the dock. He’s off to the right side. He always sat on the right side.

It’s undoubtedly Charles. You could tell from a mile away. It’s the way he holds himself, the way he slouches, the way his hair tosses in the wind. Your heart constricts in your chest as you see him sitting there in a spot that was only ever meant for the two of you.

Slowly, you make your way down the dock. He’s been waiting for you here. What that means, you have no idea. But one thing is certain, he wants to see you, otherwise he wouldn’t be here.

Without a word, you sit down next to him, letting your feet hang over the water. He doesn’t look at you, nor you at him. Instead, you both just look out over the water in silence. This is what you were both practiced at. When there was something to be said, but no one knew how to say it, this is what you did. There’s something about the sea that always helped figure things out, it always healed the hurt. Maybe it will do the same today as it did in the past.

Closing your eyes, you breathe in the smell of the bay. You’ve always loved the ocean, it’s power and beauty. When you were just a girl, you were jealous of it. You remember those feelings well. A little girl’s jealousy. But still, there was truth to it. You wish desperately for the power of the ocean now, as you sit here with the embodiment of your past. You hope endlessly for its serenity as you battle the emotions inside of you.

Cracking your eyes open again, you dare to turn your head towards your old best friend. Surprise ripples through you when you find him already looking at you. Your eyes lock and it’s finally time to face him.

For the first time in five years, you really let yourself study him. His hair is long, but styled well. It suits him. His eyes are bright, but not entirely joyful. There are new lines and spots on his face, showing that he’s growing up. There’s a pleasant amount of stubble on his jaw. His lips are still pink and lovely. His neck has grown large due to his occupation, along with all of his other muscles.

Your mind flicks back to that night on the dock where you shared your first kiss. That little teenage boy you used to know has grown into this gorgeous man that sits in front of you. He’s not just physically fuller, he’s larger than life. It feels nearly impossible that this is the Charles that you once knew, the Charles that you once loved.

“I knew you’d come out here eventually,” Charles says, his lips tilting up into a half-hearted smile. One of his dimples pops for just a second before falling away again. The sight is so familiar it makes your heart race.

Clenching your jaw, you just nod. What are you supposed to say to him? There are a million things poised on your lips, but you can’t bring yourself to voice any of them. Fear of the answers to your questions holds you back.

“Want to talk about it?” Charles says coyly, a shy smile playing across his mouth as he tilts his head to the side. This pulls a small laugh from you. He’s quoting himself from all those years ago when you sat here together. You’d stormed out of your house when your dad did something or other and ended up here. It was the night that you kissed. It was the night you fell in love with my best friend.

“No,” You answer with a small smile, now quoting yourself. Charles sighs while shaking his head. Your name rolls off his tongue and it’s like no time has passed at all. You’re both teenagers with both parents still alive and big dreams waiting out on the horizon. Enamored as ever, you look him deep in the eyes.

With one last deep breath of ocean air, you take the plunge.

“You never gave me a reason.” A simple sentence that means everything.

When his father died, he was still working on getting an F1 contract. He had lied to his father on his deathbed about signing with Ferrari. He was so torn up about it that his entrance into F1 was tainted. He became obsessed and threw himself into the sport with everything he had. For a while, there was nothing but racing for him. Charles wasn’t Charles for a long time.

When he started racing in F1 for Alfa Romeo, you were left behind. Contact fizzled out until one day he was just completely gone. He never called, never responded to any of your texts or voicemails. After a few months, you got the message and stopped trying. Nearly five years of radio silence and now here he is, sitting in front of you.

“You never even bothered to say goodbye.” Your voice is just a broken whisper. The breeze floating over the water whips at your hair and cheeks. Quiet sloshing of waves is all you hear for a while. Charles stares at you with glossy eyes. His mouth is slightly ajar, waiting for a suitable answer to come to him.

“I’m sorry,” He says, that frown coming back onto his face. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. I was lost and young and stupid.”

You hum in concurrence.

“By the time I realized what I did, you were long gone. I didn’t know if you’d even want to hear from me,” he admits.

You think about all the times in the last five years that you longed for his call. How many times have you yearned to hear his voice? To see him again? Countless. Even in the several short-lived relationships you’ve had over the years, you’ve shamefully compared them all to Charles. There was never a day that you didn’t want to hear from your best friend. In all the hiding and avoiding that you do, there’s no way to skew the truth.

“I missed you,” Charles goes on when you don’t answer him. You can feel him staring at you, but your eyes have strayed once more to the horizon. His admission to missing you makes you feel like you might fall over. The one thing that’s always torn you up time and time again was not knowing what he was feeling like going through all of this. There were nights in the very beginning where you stared at your ceiling thinking of him and wondering if he was doing the same. Your soul longed for him then, just as it does now.

“All of those letters you wrote to maman? She sent them to me when she was finished with them. I keep them in my journal that I take with me everywhere,” Charles says while leaning toward you. “I read them over and over when I miss you so much I can’t breathe.”

He’s read your letters? You think about all the things you’ve ever said in those letters to Pascale. You bore your soul to her in some, explaining your battle with grief or what shitty guy you’d been seeing. You explained your schooling ups and downs, as well as your careers. Your life over the last five years could be easily traced through those letters. And Charles had read every single one. He’s known you more than you’ve known him in these years spent apart. Maybe you should be mad at Pascale for giving them to Charles, or at Charles for reading them, but you’re not. You’d never hidden anything from Charles before, why would that stop?

A warm hand finds a home on the side of your jaw, guiding your face away from the horizon and toward him. His eyes lock onto yours. Silently, you wonder when he got this close. His fingers hold onto your jaw, not letting you turn away from him again.

“I miss you so much I can’t breathe,” He says again, his voice just a whisper. It catches on the breeze and floats out to sea, never to be heard again. Your heart is hammering in your chest while your mind goes blank. Your body doesn’t register this as reality. Charles is here, holding you in his hand at the end of your dock in Monaco. This scenario has played out in your dreams time and time again. The love you’d hidden away breaches the surface, pouring from you in ways you didn’t know were possible.

“I miss you, too,” you admit freely for the first time in years. Your Charles finally gives you a smile that makes him look like himself.

Now, as he looks at you, there’s clarity in his eyes. Those green eyes that you watched grow and leave and now return are calling you to him. You understand now that you’ve both suffered enough. There’s been too much loss for there to be no gain. Finally, finally, here it is. The moment you’ve waited for since the last time you sat on this dock so close together. It’s your time.

“Charlie,” you whisper into the evening air. He perks up at his name on your lips, his eyes falling there. Every inch of you yearns to press into his touch, to never let go of it. But you’re still unsure. There’s always been more than best friends for you with Charles. You have to tell him that. It’s been hidden away inside of you for too long. If nothing else comes of this, even if you two fade into oblivion, at least you’ll have said it.

“I loved you,” you say earnestly. “I love you.”

Silence greets you. His face searches yours for a minute, his eyes wide and unreadable. Terror squeezes your chest, an ache of admitting a secret kept hidden away for too long. Desperately, you wish you could look away from him, towards your beloved horizon. Maybe you could hide yourself there. But Charles’ fingers on your jaw keep you held steadfast in place.

“I have a proposition for you,” he says finally, his face inching closer. You nearly fall over at his words. It’s a tease at what you once said to him right here, all those years ago. He remembers everything. Just like you.

“But don’t get weird,” he quips, a smile coming across his face just before he closes the gap between you two, pressing his lips to yours. You return his smile and accept his kiss. His fingers are strong on your jaw as he pulls you in deeper. The caress of his lips on yours and the rub of his stubble feels heavenly. As many times as you can imagine a moment, it never compares to the real thing. Wild dreams and fantasies don’t even touch having Charles’ skin on yours.

His free hand drifts down to your waist, bringing you in closer. His touch is needy, his kiss ravenous. It conveys years of desperation from both of you. Not only does it light up this moment, but it brings new life to your intertwined past. Years upon years of spending days and nights together all come down to this moment. This is where two pasts that danced around each other merge into one new life.

The sparks that fly off of the two of you bound over the water, reaching the horizon and further. The city that you were born in, the boy you were born for, and the life you were destined to discover, all wrap their arms around you at once. Finally, for the first time in years, you feel at home.

Charles hauls you onto his lap, his hands strong against your waist. Pulling away from the second kiss you’ve ever shared, you’re sure it won’t be the last. No, there’s a lifetime of moments like these ahead of you.

Charles rests his forehead against yours. His breathing is ragged mimicking your own. His eyes are shut as he runs his hands up and down your back. Sighing, you lean into his touch.

“I love you, too,” He says after a few minutes of silence. “Always have.”

A lump rises in your throat as tears rush to your closed eyes. Even after five years of suffering, you can’t help but forgive him. These five years that you’ve spent apart have grown you both into the people you are today. Call it fate, destiny, divine intervention, whatever it may be, but something tore you apart so one day you could be together again. There was healing that needed to happen in both of you while you were separated. But now there was healing to be done together.

“We have a lot of lost time to make up for,” you can’t help but tease, your voice watery. Charles’ laugh vibrates against your hands that are pressed to his chest. He opens his eyes to look at you. His eyes are tearlined but finally filled with that joy that you’ve been desperate to see. He looks at you like you’re everything he’s ever wanted. You’re his biggest dream.

He pulls you into another searing kiss. Fireworks dance behind your eyelids as he clutches onto you. His tongue glides against your bottom lip, forcing your mouth open in a gasp. He tightens his arms around your waist, so you think he’s pulling you closer. But instead, he’s grabbing onto you as tightly as possible so you can’t fight him as he leans forward off the dock. The two of you roll off the front of the dock, splashing into the summertime sea.

When you bob up to the surface, you find Charles treading water. He’s laughing so hard that he’s barely staying afloat. For a split second, you allow yourself to enjoy the view. He’s completely doused, his light colored shirt plastered onto his skin. There’s a childlike joy radiating off of him.

“I’ve waited so long to do that,” he admits while swimming over to you. Shaking your head, you splash him in the face as he draws in close. In retaliation, he wraps you up in his arms and kisses you so hard you fear it might bruise. Nonetheless, you kiss him right back, your legs wrapping around his waist.

“Come on, let’s go back,” you say just as the pair of you are about to slip under water. Charles presses a chaste last kiss to your lips before swimming off towards the dock.

As you turn to swim after him, you cast one last look over your shoulder to the watery horizon. The sea really did what it does best: it healed.

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nocoolusernamesavailable-blog · 2 months ago

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I CAN'T LIE TO YOU ✮ LN4

pairing: Lando Norris x bestie!Reader (childhood best friends to lovers) summary: Lando Norris decides to surprise his best friend after being a long time away from home. What she didn't expect was that he had a big secret that he couldn't share with her words: 4.5K - warnings: swearing, suggestive content & not proof read author's notes: I'm back once again! Now you just know I'm a sucker for childhood besties to lovers. Also, I may have already started writing a part two for this one... let me know if you want it!

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The days in England have become more boring with time. Y/N was losing her mind over the repetitive routine that follows the life of a college student. Work, study, beer with close friends and bed. So when her mother invited her for a family dinner, she worried about how excited she got with the event. It wasn’t supposed to be anything special, just her parents and a few of their close friends gathered to catch up over nice food.

Coming home felt way too good. It’s a feeling most college students get when they go back to their hometown, leaving their crappy flat in university to be served with their parents pampering during their quick visit. Y/N was supposed to be back to her place in just a couple of days, but she felt satisfied to be in a different place than the four walls of her house. Not to mention that she was having a good laugh with everyone at the table.

Her mother always takes dinner parties to another level, serving the best food in her special crockery, saved for moments like this. So Y/N packed a nice new outfit; a cute long-sleeved dress that looked perfect with tights and heels. Not that the guests cared about how she was dressed, but it felt nice to look beautiful and all put together for once after months of hoodies and leggings.

As usual, her parents invited the Norris family, as they’ve been the best of friends for the longest time. Not only they lived next to each other for years back when she was younger, all of their kids were really close friends with Y/N. But the spotlight always goes to Lando, who is the same age as her, making them grow up attached to the hip.

They all grew up going to the same school, not to mention that she would always tag along in Lando and his brother’s karting sessions, having the best time watching them drive flawlessly on tracks. He always enjoyed the times when she’d steal her parents cameras so they could make some homemade videos of their time together. Or when they would sit back, watch their dads play golf every Saturday and share candies in the cart.

Y/N and Lando have been inseparable since the age of four, growing up side by side, going through everything together. She was so important to him that, when he joined Formula 1 and had to choose a number to race, he chose the age the two of them had become friends.

“The number four is for my best friend, Y/N. She was the one to suggest it, and the meaning behind it is very cute. Actually, I don’t want to tell you to not spoil anything, but I can only say that it’s very dear to my heart”, Lando said once in an interview during his second season in F1, making every single one of his fans curious about the meaning.

But it’s been a while since the infamous duo had been together. They supported each other from afar; Y/N sometimes joining him for race weekends and Lando coming back to see her on birthdays and weekends in London, while he visited the McLaren factory. But the last time they had been together was four months ago, during summer break, when he dragged her to join him for his crazy trips around the world. When racing and university was back on, they lost a little bit of touch; almost no calls and only a few texting breaks so they wouldn’t fall apart.

A lot happened in those four months. Lando had a new gorgeous girlfriend; a model who everyone had become obsessed with her TikTok videos for beauty tips. They had been seen together a few times around the world, her joining him for the races and a lot of make-outs behind DJ booths at parties. Y/N, on the other hand, was lacking in the dating department. But the friends she made over the past year made everything worthy. After years of pretty much having Lando as her only very close friend, she finally found new people to go out and have fun as a normal 20-year-old.

With that, Y/N and Lando’s friendship got weird. He had been avoiding her for a while, with the excuse of being too busy with racing, but actually not wanting to talk about his personal life with someone who knew him like the palm of her hand. Meanwhile, she was having a good time with her friends to be bothered by anything. But lately, life had become more boring and Y/N felt like having Lando back would bring some more fun into her life again, with all the epic parties and the good times they always managed to happen.

“Only one month left”, she thought, as winter break was approaching, meaning that Lando would finally be free to come home for the holidays.

She was pushed out of her thoughts by Adam Norris, who now seemed interest in Y/N’s life after a long catching up with her dad. “Tell us more about college! Are you having fun? Learning anything special?”, he asked with a kind smile.

“Oh, I’m graduating this spring, so it’s been… rough”, she chuckled. “But everything has been amazing, you know? The internship is so cool and the people are nice as well”.

“I just can’t believe it will all be over soon”, his wife, Cisca, responded. “It feels like it was just yesterday when you joined uni and Lando started his first season in F1. Time really flies, uhm?”

Every mention of his name made Y/N smile like a fool. But lately, it has been accompanied by a ting of pain on her chest. God, she missed him so much.

“What is it that you miss?”, Cisca asked, pulling Y/N out of her thoughts. Shit, did she say that out loud?

“I said I missed your pie so much, Cis. You know I have always loved it growing up”, Y/N tried to cover it up by stuffing her mouth with the cheesy pie, trying to keep her thoughts of being spoken out loud. But something caught her by surprise.

“Yeah, mum’s pie is the best in the world, isn’t it?”, a male voice said from behind her, one that she hadn’t heard in person for a while. Her eyes widened when she realized who it was, only to turn around and see Lando standing right behind her tugged into his signature comfortable hoodie, with a giant smile plastered on his face, and a bouquet in his hands. “Surprise!”

Y/N brought her hands up to her mouth, trying not to cry at the sight. She couldn’t believe what was standing in front of her. So she jumped out of her seat and jumped into his arms, not caring about anyone else in the room or the flowers being crumpled up in his hands. Lando buried his nose in her hair, taking in her scent, making him feel at ease for once

“What are you doing here?”, she leaned back, holding his face between her hands. His soft eyes looked down at her, his smile never faltering.

“I thought I could surprise my best girl”, he admitted, digging one of his hands into her hips, making her securely close to him. “I had a break before the end of the season, and it had been so long…”

“Shut up, you idiot. I just want to hug you”, she cut him mid-sentence, burying her face in his neck, making his smile even wider, if that was possible. Everyone on the table laughed at her reaction, but let them have their moment after months without seeing each other. It felt too good to be true.

“I missed you so much”, he whispered in her ear, pressing a small kiss to the top of her head.

“I missed you too. Welcome home, Lan”, she leaned back and kissed his cheek, making it tinted red. Lando was so cute when he blushed. “You brought me flowers! How cute is this?”

She took the giant bouquet filled with red and pink roses out of his hands, bringing it close to her body. “It’s an apology for not being here as much as I should”, he said, making her heart so warm with the thoughtful gift.

“You being here is enough”, she pressed another kiss to his cheek and quickly pulled him for another hug. They just couldn’t get enough of each other.

“Alright, we all know you both really miss each other, but you can catch up after dinner. Food is getting cold and poor Lando must be starving”, her mother cut them off, making Y/N look back at the table, her face burning in embarrassment. He laughed at her behavior and pulled the chair next to her so they could sit together.

Through the whole dinner, Lando told all of his amazing stories traveling the world, leaving all the ‘best friends only’ parts for later, when he would be alone with Y/N. She felt so happy to finally have him by her side, making fun of her table manners, resting his hand on her knee and cracking any bad jokes just to see her roll her eyes. And even though he lived those many adventures, Lando knew life couldn’t get better than having his favourite person in the world back on his side.

“So, Lando, what finally brings you back home?”, Y/N’s father asked, making him shrug.

“You know, the championship could’ve been better and I feel really tired, you know?”, Lando searched for his best friend’s hand under the table, entwining their fingers once they met. Then he looked at her with an adoring smile on his face. “I just need some recharging. Thought I could use some home time before the last few races of the year”.

“You’re always welcomed to recharge in our house if you want to, Lando”, her mother said before the conversation was taken somewhere else once again.

While everyone else chatted, Y/N and Lando updated their phone gallery with new pictures of them. A lot of cute selfies and pictures of their homemade dinner which soon found their place on their Instagrams.

y/username

liked by landonorris and 3,419 others

y/username: always feels good to have my best friend back in the house

tagged: landonorris

landonorris Besties reunited LFG!

↪ y/username you’re such a bore

fanacc1 FINALLY SOME Y/N AND LANDO CONTENT

fanacc2 Wasn’t him dating a model?

↪fanacc3 He is, but Y/N is his childhood best friend

fanacc4 ugh, if i was his gf, i would be so jealous of them together

↪fanacc5 I bet his girlfriend actually hates them

fanacc6 Does this mean more Y/N around the paddock?

The dinner was coming to an end with the delicious sweet treats they prepared for dessert. At that point, Lando and Y/N were just existing at the conversation. He slipped an arm around her shoulder and she found a comfortable spot to lean into him and keep sipping on her wine while they shared a slice of cake. But even though they were quiet, they surely weren’t tired. So as the rest of the adults continued with their chat, they took their glasses of wine to the backyard, just so they could have some alone time.

Lando chuckled when he saw what was still standing strong in her backyard. “You still have our old treehouse?”, he asked and she nodded excitedly. “Wow, it looks so much nicer than before”.

“It’s because I renovated it, you fool. Haven’t I told you?”, she asked, but Lando shook his head. “Oh my… you have to see this! Now it’s a grown up treehouse! Take a look”.

Y/N dragged him to the small construction and made him climb all the way up to the house. It changed a lot with the renovations. Their wall doodles from when they were little kids were preserved by a varnish coat on the wood. She also substituted the old toys for books and her collection of vinyls, making the place look extra cozy. There was even a table for afternoon tea and card games, a TV and a huge futon, with lots of cushions, so they could just lie down and spend the rest of the day hidden from the world.

“What a glow up!”, he joked. “I loved it. This is amazing”, Lando took a place next to the window, where the moonlight invaded the room. Y/N sat next to him and almost immediately pulled out her camera just to capture the moment. And just like old times, they had fun doing a tiny photoshoot together, only to be cut off by his mom, calling them from the ground.

“Are you coming, Lando?”, Cisca asked, making him look over to Y/N, who replied for him.

“I’m not letting him go anywhere, Cisca”, she joked, throwing her arms around Lando, making his mother laugh. “Don’t worry, I’ll take good care of your son”.

“Have fun you two”, they waved at her and sighed after finally being left alone for a proper catching up between best friends. Lando had a satisfied smile on his face and he felt so calm at that moment. He threw both of his arms around his best friend and hugged her tightly.

“Home, at last”, his cheek was pressed on the side of her face, making her giggle with the contact. “I want to know everything going on with you. Just blurt it all out. I owe you this”.

“Oh, nothing great happened”, she shrugged. “Nothing that you didn’t know already. The internship is nice, but it’s coming to an end soon and I’m not sure they’ll keep me with them. And college is almost finished, so that’s kind of bittersweet”.

“I thought you were excited to have a degree”, he said, making her sigh. “Are you not happy about graduating?”

“Of course I am. You more than anyone knows how important this is to me”, she answered. “And I made so many good friends and I’ve been having the best time with them. I know graduating will make us grow apart”.

“Endings aren’t always nice, uhm? But you have to look at the bright side of things”, he started. “You’re finally achieving something great and you managed to have a really good time along the way. Made friends and worked really hard to become the best professional out there. I’m so proud of you!”

Lando has always been her biggest supporter on pursuing her academic path. He remembers all the talks they had about her wanting to master in communications. While he didn’t get to finish school to up his game in racing, he was there for every step his best friend took until enrolling in university. So when they talk about it, he always has that beautiful proud smile on his face, to which Y/N loved seeing.

“Thank you”, she smiled shyly. “And what about you, Mr Worldwide? You’ve been everywhere these past months. How was it?”

“Oh, always amazing”, he beamed. “I got to see so many amazing places around the world. You would’ve loved all the clubs I went to. The DJ booths are amazing. Oh, and the golf courts… breathtaking”.

“Yeah, I saw all the pictures”, Y/N arched her brows and rolled her eyes. “You didn’t even bother on calling, telling me about your adventures”.

“Sorry, I lacked in that department”, he apologized. “Even though everything has been amazing, I’m so tired of this year. I could’ve done better on the track and the last few races have been exhausting. I knew that I needed to recharge before the last two races, so I came back to you”.

“It’s always a pleasure to have you home”, she ran her hand through his curls and smiled. Lando always saw Y/N as his home. She always brings him that sense of familiarity, and her absence in his travels around the world were taking a toll on him.

Not to mention that hiding a big secret from his best friend also wasn’t doing him any good.

“But I’m not here to talk about me. I want to know everything about you”, he poked her side with his index finger and smirked. “Anyone special appeared in your life in the past few months?”

“Please”, she rolled her eyes. “The last time I had a proper hook up was during our summer trip to Bali with that guy on the club”.

“Come on, it can’t be that bad”, he giggled, but Y/N’s face was burning in embarrassment.

“I had a few dates in the past months, but fuck me, they were annoying”, Lando laughed at her statement. “One of them found out you’re my best friend and spent the entire time asking questions about you. And the only guy who was actually decent came in his pants when we were making out in his car. Didn’t even get to touch me”.

“Oh, poor you”, he giggled. “So no boy to be my new best friend? I mean, come on, we need more male energy in this friendship”.

“Sorry, Lan. No boyfriend this time”, she said. “You, on the other hand, started dating this gorgeous model and forgot to tell me about everything.”

And there she said it: the topic Lando had been avoiding the most throughout the whole night. He really didn’t want to talk about it with Y/N, because his big secret had been hiding right there. He knew he couldn’t, and didn’t want to, lie about anything to her. And he also knew that he really needed to vent about this secret with her as well.

Lando turned really quiet, and looked away, avoiding her eyes. “Don’t start now, Y/N. I mean, there’s not much to say, to be fair”, he mumbled.

“Come on, I want to know everything about the woman who stole my bestie’s heart”, she poked him, but Lando didn’t dare to look Y/N in the eyes. “I mean, everybody loves her and she seems sweet. Why don’t you want to tell me about her?”

“Because we’re not together”.

“What do you mean? I’ve seen the Instagram pictures and the gossip pages posting videos of you two kissing in the club. I thought you were becoming a thing”.

“Y/N, don’t push it”, he asked, his voice bargaining on his throat.

“Why don’t you want to tell me about her?”

“Because we’re not together, I told you”, he sighed. “She’s a PR stunt. She’s not my girlfriend, and it’s been consuming me from the inside ever since we started this little thing”.

Lando finally looked her in the eyes and Y/N saw them brimming with tears. As an immediate response, she rested a hand on his arm and waited until he was ready to talk more. He leaned into her touch and the tears started to stream down his face. He’s never one to cry for anything, so the tears meant that it was so much more than he was letting show. Her heart broke at the sight of her best friend.

“Is this why you look more tired than usual?”, Y/N asked and he nodded, making the tears fall harder. “Oh, Lan… Come here”.

She pulled his head to rest on her chest and Lando wrapped his arms around her, needing some sort of comfort. He didn’t say much for a couple of minutes after, feeling his heart aching on his chest. He wanted to talk about everything with Y/N, because he knew she would understand him. He always feels vulnerable and safe enough to talk about anything with his best friend.

“Everything is so fucked up, Y/N”, Lando cried out. “God, I can’t take this fake relationship anymore. Do you know how disgusting it feels to pretend to be in love with someone you’re not? And to lie to everyone, hiding it from my parents. From you. I can’t stand it”

“I’m sure you have a good reason to be doing so”, she said, fingers running through his curls and making him sure that she was right there with him. Y/N felt his fingers clinging tighter onto her. “You’re just doing your job and that’s okay. This won’t last forever”.

“I feel so lonely, you know? I was doing so bad on the last few races and I missed home so much. I missed talking to my dad and hugging my mom. I missed making fun of my sisters and going for a drive with my brother. And I missed you so much. I wish I could just stay here for a long while”.

“Soon you’ll get to be here for as long as you want, baby”, Y/N pressed a kiss on top of his head and Lando sighed in comfort. It ached a little less with her there. “And we’ll get to spend so much time together. You can come over and we’ll have sleepovers. We can take the car, drive around and go clubbing until sunrise. Whatever you want”.

“God, it would be so easy if it was you”, he whispered, still holding onto her as if his life depended on it. What did he mean with that? Just those single words made Y/N’s heart skip a beat. Truth is, while her heart ached for her best friend, she was relieved he’s not in love with someone else. Did he have feelings for her?

“You know, I looked over my so-called girlfriend one night while we were hanging out at the club and I wanted to shout to everyone that it was all an act. She’s like a solid reminder of how lonely I am all the damn time. It’s ridiculous”, he grunted.

“Come on, look at me”, Y/N pulled his face to look up and held his head between her hands. “Lan, you are never alone, okay? Even if you feel like you are, and even if I’m not there physically, you know that I’m always with you. I’m right here”, she rested a hand over his heart, making him smile through his tears. “I've been in your heart since the moment we met”.

“I…”, he started, but couldn’t get to say the rest. After all this time, Lando was afraid that the next move would ruin their friendship forever. But looking her in the eyes, comforting him through this rough time, he knew she felt the same. “I love you, Y/N”.

She was expecting anything. ‘I know’, maybe. That was so much bigger than what she imagined. Lando had said he loved her countless times over the years they’ve known each other; after all, they grew up together, almost like brother and sister. But this time, it was different. Y/N knew it, and Lando knew it too.

Y/N was too stunned to speak, so he continued with his confession. “I always have, you know? And I only hid everything from you because I can’t lie to you. And because I thought you’d never look at me the same way if you found out”.

“Lando, I…” she stopped mid-sentence, trying to catch some air. “Fuck, this is a lot. Just wait a second”.

They giggled together and he leaned his forehead against hers. “It’s okay to not say anything right now. I just dropped a giant bomb on your lap. This wasn’t the way I wanted to confess to you, but I just couldn’t keep it to myself anymore”.

“Are you saying this because you’re emotional? Because I swear to God, if you are, I’m gonna kill you for misleading me”, her eyes were brimming with tears and Lando whipped them away.

“I’m telling you the truth”, he assured. “I think I’ve loved you my entire life. With all the crazy things I’ve experienced in my life, you were the only constant. You’re home, Y/N”.

“Why didn’t you tell me before?”, she asked and he took a deep breath.

“Because I was afraid of losing you. Scared this might ruin our friendship somehow”, he admitted. “You’re the most precious thing in my life. Do you know how scary it is to fall in love with your best friend when you’re just a kid? And then grow up, and those feelings never go away, just getting stronger every day. I just didn’t want to lose you”.

“You weren’t going to lose me, Lan”, her eyes softened at his confession and now he was the one wiping her tears. Y/N brought him back for a hug and even though he didn’t have an answer, deep down he knew she felt the same.

“I’ve loved you since we were four. There’s a reason why I always carry this number with me”, Lando confessed. “God, look what you do to me. I never cry”.

“You only cry for the important things”, she reminded. “That’s why I love you, Lando. I’ve been in love with you for my entire life too, idiot”.

His eyes widened as he looked up to her, who had a smirk plastered on her face. “Can I kiss you?”, Lando asked, but before she could properly shake her head in agreement, he crashed his lips into hers. He needed to be home, and Y/N has always been home for him. It was the most intense kiss they ever had, like years of lingering had finally paid off for both of them.

Lando pulled her closer with a hand on the back of her head. She wrapped her fingers around his neck, smiling into his lips. Then, as if it wasn't enough, he pulled her to sit on lap, making them closer somehow. She slowed down the pace, making the kiss needier and more delicious. Lando even let out a satisfied throaty moan, his heart speeding on his chest. Her touches made him feral, knowing that after years of pinning, he finally had his dream girl.

“Thank you for this”, he whispered against her lips, a wide and satisfied smile on his face. “Thank you for all the years, all the times you've been here for me, to tell me everything is going to be alright.”

“Always, Lan”, she played with the hairs on his nape. “I love you so much”.

“I love you too. So much”, he left one more peck on her lips before hugging her again. “I don't know what I'd do without you”.

“Yeah, me too”.

The story of how they fell in love with each other was long, but beautiful. Lando and Y/N sat in that tree house all night and shared all of those stories with each other. And for a second, he really believed everything was going to work out. After all, if he had Y/N, Lando would be just fine.

❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁

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nocoolusernamesavailable-blog · 2 months ago

Text

A Night In Monaco | LN4 and OP81

°ᡣ𐭩 . ° . summary ━━━━━━━ In Lando’s Monaco apartment, Y/N takes full control during a first-time threesome with Lando and Oscar. She dominates them both, making them whimper as they submit to her every command. Neither man touches her without permission—she decides who gets what, and when. By the end, they’re wrecked and breathless, completely hers.

°ᡣ𐭩 . ° . pairing ━━━━━━━ Lando Norris x she!reader, Oscar Piastri x she!reader

°ᡣ𐭩 . ° . word count ━━━━━━━ 10.3k

°ᡣ𐭩 . ° . warnings ━━━━━━━ +18, sexual content, p in v, creampie, oral sex (f and m receiving), double creampie, breast play, nipple play, fem!dom, sub!Lando, sub!Oscar, threesome, multiple orgasms, cum eating, cockhold

Based on this request.

The room was warm, the kind of warmth that came from tension rather than the Monaco sun outside. Y/N sat on the edge of the sofa, her legs crossed, the stem of her wine glass twirling lazily between her fingers. Lando was beside her, his body angled toward her in a way that suggested he wasn’t entirely focused on the conversation. His eyes lingered on her lips every time she spoke, and his fingers tapped against the can of Monster in his hand like he was trying to distract himself from something.

“You’re quiet,” she said, her voice low and deliberate, her accent softening the words just enough to make them sound like honey dripping from her lips. She tilted her head, her dark eyes catching his. “Something on your mind?”

Lando leaned back, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “You’re on my mind,” he replied, his voice just as deliberate as hers. He wasn’t hiding it anymore—the way he looked at her, the way his body seemed to gravitate toward hers. It was almost embarrassing, the way she could reduce him to this. But he didn’t care. Not when she was this close, not when she smelled like vanilla and something earthy, something that made his chest tighten every time he inhaled.

Y/N laughed softly, the sound low and throaty, and leaned back too, her eyes never leaving his. “Careful, Lando,” she teased, her voice laced with amusement. “You’re starting to sound like a man who’s about to make a mistake.”

Before he could respond, the doorbell rang, sharp and insistent, cutting through the thick air between them. Lando frowned, glancing toward the door. “Who the hell is that?” he muttered, but Y/N was already smirking again, like she knew something he didn’t.

Oscar stood in the doorway, his hand still hovering by the doorbell, his other hand clutching a small bag. He looked… uncomfortable. Like he’d walked into something he wasn’t supposed to see. Lando’s eyes narrowed, but Y/N was already on her feet, her movements slow and deliberate, like she was savoring every second of this.

“Osc,” she said, her voice warm and inviting, the kind of tone that made it impossible to say no. “Come in. You’re just in time.”

Oscar hesitated, his eyes darting between Lando and Y/N. “I can come back,” he said quickly, taking a step back as if he was preparing to bolt.

Y/N stepped forward, closing the distance between them with a grace that made both men’s breath catch. “Or,” she said, her voice dropping to a whisper, “you can stay. But only if you stop pretending you don’t want to watch.”

Oscar’s eyes widened, and for a moment, he looked like a deer caught in headlights. But then he nodded, a small, almost imperceptible motion, and stepped inside.

–

The tension in the room was palpable, thick enough to cut with a knife. Y/N returned to the sofa, her movements slow, like she had all the time in the world. She picked up her wine glass, took a slow sip, and then set it down with deliberate precision. Her eyes flicked from Lando to Oscar, and then back again, a smirk playing on her lips.

“So,” she said, her voice low and teasing. “Who’s going to make the first move?”

Neither man spoke. Lando’s jaw tightened, and Oscar looked like he was trying to disappear into the couch. Y/N laughed softly, the sound like velvet, and leaned back, her legs uncrossing slightly. She knew exactly what she was doing, and she was enjoying every second of it.

“You two are adorable,” she said, her voice dripping with amusement. “But I’m not going to wait forever.”

Lando was the first to move. He leaned forward, his eyes locked on hers, and she could see the hunger in them, the way he was barely holding himself back. “What do you want, Y/N?” he asked, his voice rough, like he was already half-lost in her.

She smirked, her eyes flicking to Oscar for just a moment before returning to Lando. “What do I want?” she repeated, her voice low and teasing. “I want you to stop pretending you don’t want me. Both of you.”

Oscar’s breath hitched, and Lando’s eyes darkened. Y/N leaned forward, her arms resting on her knees, her face inches from Lando’s. “Well?” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “Are you going to make me wait?”

Lando didn’t hesitate. He reached for her, his hand tangling in her hair, and pulled her into a kiss that was anything but gentle. Y/N responded immediately, her lips parting beneath his, her hands gripping the front of his shirt to pull him closer. It was messy and desperate, the kind of kiss that left no room for doubt about what he wanted.

Out of the corner of her eye, Y/N saw Oscar shift uncomfortably, his eyes fixed on them like he couldn’t look away. She pulled back slightly, breaking the kiss, and looked at him over Lando’s shoulder. “Your turn,” she said, her voice breathless but still teasing.

Oscar froze, his eyes wide, like he hadn’t expected her to call him out like that. But then he nodded, his movements slow and deliberate, and leaned in, his lips brushing against hers in a kiss that was softer, more tentative, but no less heated.

Y/N pulled back again, her eyes flicking between the two of them, and smirked. “Now that wasn’t so hard, was it?” she said, her voice low and teasing. She leaned back, her arms resting on the back of the couch, and looked at them both with a challenge in her eyes. “So, what’s next?”

The room was thick with anticipation, the kind that made the air feel heavy and charged, like the calm before a storm. Y/N sat back on the sofa, her legs spread just enough to be teasing, her dress riding up her thighs. She looked at Lando and then at Oscar, her eyes glinting with a mix of mischief and dominance. Neither man moved, their breathing shallow, their gazes locked on her like she was the only thing in the room worth looking at.

“Well?” she said, her voice low and smooth, like velvet laced with fire. “Who’s going to make the first move?”

Lando swallowed hard, his fingers tightening around the can of Monster he’d been nursing. Oscar shifted uncomfortably, his eyes darting from her to Lando and back again, like he was trying to figure out if this was some kind of trap. Y/N smirked, leaning back against the cushions, her arms stretching out lazily.

“If you’re waiting for me to beg,” she said, her tone dripping with amusement, “you’re going to be waiting a very long time.”

Lando was the first to break. He set the can down on the coffee table with a soft clink, his eyes never leaving hers. He moved slowly, deliberately, like he was testing the waters, and knelt in front of her. Oscar stayed where he was, frozen, his hands gripping the edge of the couch like it was the only thing keeping him grounded.

Y/N reached down, her fingers tangling in Lando’s curls as she tilted his face up to meet hers. “Good boy,” she purred, her voice low and husky. “Now, where were we?”

Her other hand slid slowly up her thigh, the hem of her dress inching higher until it was bunched around her hips. Lando’s breath hitched, his hands gripping the edge of the sofa like he was trying to keep himself from touching her. Oscar’s eyes widened, his cheeks flushing as he watched, unable to look away. She wasn’t wearing any underwear.

“No touching yourselves,” Y/N said, her voice firm but soft, like she was giving an order she knew they wouldn’t dare disobey. “No fucking. Just your mouths. Make me come first, then maybe I’ll let you have more.”

Lando’s eyes darkened at her words, his lips parting slightly as he leaned in, his breath hot against her inner thigh. Y/N’s fingers tightened in his hair, guiding him closer, and when his mouth finally met her, she let out a soft sigh that made Oscar’s entire body tense.

She glanced over at him, her lips curling into a smirk. “What about you, Oscar? You just going to sit there and watch, or are you going to join in?”

Oscar hesitated, his eyes darting between her and Lando, like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to move. Y/N snapped her fingers, the sound sharp and commanding, and he was on his feet in an instant, his gaze locked on hers. She tilted her head slightly, a silent invitation, and he didn’t need to be told twice.

Reaching down, Oscar hooked his fingers under the straps of her dress, pulling them slowly off her shoulders. The fabric slid down her body, pooling at her waist, revealing her bare chest. Y/N didn’t flinch, didn’t try to cover herself—she just watched him, her lips curled into a smirk, daring him to continue.

Oscar’s hands trembled slightly as he cupped her breasts, his thumbs brushing over her nipples, already hardened from the anticipation. He leaned in, his lips hovering just above her skin for a moment before he finally closed the distance, his mouth warm and wet against her. Y/N let out a soft gasp, her fingers tangling in his hair as he sucked gently, his tongue circling her nipple in slow, teasing motions.

While Oscar focused on her chest, Lando was on his knees between her thighs, his hands gripping her hips as he buried his face in her. His tongue was relentless, licking and sucking in a rhythm that made her toes curl. Y/N’s breathing hitched, her head falling back against the cushions as she let out a low moan.

“Fuck,” she whispered, her voice trembling with pleasure. “Just like that.”

Oscar shifted his attention to her other breast, his lips and tongue just as eager, while Lando devoured her with a hunger that left her trembling. She tightened her grip on both their heads, pulling them closer, urging them on.

“Good boys,” she murmured, her voice laced with command and satisfaction. “Don’t stop.”

Neither of them dared to disobey.

Lando’s tongue was relentless, sliding between her folds with a practiced precision that had her toes curling. He alternated between broad, slow strokes and focused flicks around her clit, each movement deliberate and maddening. His lips wrapped around her sensitive bud, sucking gently at first, then harder as her moans grew louder, her fingers tightening in his curls. She could feel his breath, hot and uneven, against her skin, and the way his hands gripped her thighs to keep her spread open for him only heightened the intensity.

Oscar, meanwhile, was focused on her breasts, his mouth warm and wet as he teased her nipples with his tongue. He swirled around them in slow, deliberate circles before lightly grazing them with his teeth, just enough to make her gasp. When he bit down gently, a sharp jolt of pleasure shot through her, and she arched into him, her body trembling from the combined sensations.

“Fuck,” Y/N whispered, her voice barely more than a breath as her hips rolled against Lando’s mouth, seeking more of the pleasure he was giving her. Her fingers tightened in Oscar’s hair, pulling him closer, urging him to continue. “Don’t stop. Either of you.”

Lando obeyed without hesitation, his tongue circling her clit faster now, his lips sucking harder. Oscar’s teeth nipped at her nipples again, and the dual sensations sent her spiraling. Her breath hitched, her back arching off the couch as the pleasure built, coiling tighter and tighter until she couldn’t hold back any longer.

She came with a low, shuddering moan, her thighs clamping around Lando’s head as her body trembled. He didn’t stop, licking her through it, drawing out every last wave of pleasure until she was panting and spent, her hand trembling as she pushed him away gently.

Breathless and still riding the high of her orgasm, she pulled Lando onto the carpet, her legs straddling his hips as she leaned down to kiss him. Her lips were hungry, demanding, and he responded immediately, his hands gripping her waist as he tried to pull her closer. But Y/N didn’t let him take control. She deepened the kiss, her tongue sliding against his, her movements slow and deliberate, a reminder that she was in charge here. And she made sure he knew it.

She glanced over her shoulder at Oscar, who was still sitting on the couch, his eyes dark with want. “You’re not allowed to touch me,” she said, her voice firm but playful. “Not yet. Sit there and watch how I use him.”

Oscar’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t argue. He just watched, his breathing growing heavier with every moan Lando let out, every sound that escaped Y/N’s lips as she moved against him.

Y/N’s lips lingered on Lando’s, her tongue sliding against his in a slow, deliberate rhythm that left him breathless. She pulled back just enough to smirk down at him, her eyes glittering with dominance. “Hands to yourself,” she murmured, her voice low and commanding, and Lando obeyed instantly, his arms falling to his sides as he stared up at her like she was the only thing that mattered.

She shifted her hips slightly, the motion slow and teasing, and Lando let out a soft groan as she felt the hard outline of his cock pressing against her through his jeans. Y/N smirked, her lips brushing against his ear as she whispered, “You like that, don’t you? Feeling me grind on you while you can’t do a thing about it.”

Lando’s breath hitched, his hands twitching at his sides as if he wanted to touch her but didn’t dare disobey. Y/N’s hips rolled again, this time with more purpose, the friction of her dress against his jeans sending a shiver up her spine. She leaned back slightly, her hands braced against his chest, and looked down at him, her gaze heavy with both challenge and desire.

“Fuck, Y/N,” Lando whispered, his voice rough with need, his hips jerking slightly as she pressed down harder, her movements slow and deliberate. She could feel him trembling beneath her, his body straining to keep still, to obey her command.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Oscar shift on the couch, his hands gripping the edge of it like he was trying to keep himself from moving. His eyes were dark, his lips slightly parted as he watched her, and she could see the way his jaw tightened with every roll of her hips, every moan that escaped Lando’s lips.

“Poor Oscar,” she said, her voice dripping with mock sympathy as she glanced at him. “You look like you’re aching.” She ground down on Lando again, harder this time, and he let out a low groan, his head falling back against the carpet. Y/N smirked, her gaze flicking back to Oscar. “But don’t worry. You’ll get your turn.”

Oscar’s breath hitched, his fingers digging into the couch cushions as he watched her, his body visibly tense with need. Y/N laughed softly, the sound low and throaty, and leaned back down to kiss Lando again, her hips still moving in slow, teasing circles. She felt him twitch beneath her, his cock straining against his jeans, and she pulled back slightly, her lips brushing against his as she whispered, “Patience, Lando. You’ll get what you want. When I say so.”

Lando groaned, his hands clenching into fists at his sides, and Y/N smirked again, her eyes locking onto Oscar’s. “And you,” she said, her voice soft but dripping with command, “keep watching. You’ll learn a thing or two about how to please a woman.”

Oscar’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t argue. He just watched, his breathing growing heavier with every roll of Y/N’s hips, every moan that escaped Lando’s lips as she ground against him. She kissed Lando again, her hands gripping his shoulders as she moved against him, her body flush against his, her movements slow, deliberate, and utterly in control.

Y/N slowed her movements on Lando’s lap, her hips rolling in a final, teasing circle before she stilled completely. She leaned back, her hands braced against his chest, and looked down at him with a smirk that was equal parts playful and assertive. Lando’s eyes were wide, his breathing heavy, his body trembling beneath her as if begging her to continue. She laughed softly, the sound low and throaty, and ran a hand through his curls, her fingers tangling gently in them.

“Patience, Lando,” she murmured, her voice dripping with amusement. “I’m not done with you yet. But someone else needs a turn.” She shifted her weight slightly, her thighs pressing against his hips as she lifted herself off his lap with a deliberate slowness that made him groan in frustration. Her dress slid back down her thighs as she stood, the fabric teasingly brushing against her skin as she took a step back. Lando’s hands twitched at his sides, like he wanted to reach for her, but he didn’t dare. He just lay there, his chest rising and falling rapidly, his eyes following her every move with a desperate hunger that was almost painful to see.

Y/N turned away from him, her movements slow and deliberate as she walked toward Oscar, who was still seated on the couch. His eyes were locked on her, dark and intense, his hands gripping the edge of the cushion like he was trying to keep himself under control. She stopped in front of him, her gaze sweeping over him with a mix of challenge and amusement, and then she smirked.

“You’ve been very patient, Oscar,” she said, her voice low and teasing. “Let’s see if you can keep it up.” Without waiting for a response, she lowered herself onto his lap, her legs straddling his hips, her dress riding up her thighs as she settled into place. Her pussy pressed against the hard outline of his cock, the thin fabric of her dress doing nothing to dull the sensation. Oscar’s breath hitched, his hands twitching on the cushion as if he wanted to touch her, but he didn’t move. He just stared at her, his eyes filled with a mix of awe and need.

Y/N leaned in, her hands resting on his shoulders as her lips brushed against his in a soft, teasing kiss. She pulled back slightly, her breath warm against his mouth, and murmured, “Hands to yourself, Oscar. You don’t get to touch me. Not yet.” Her hips rolled slowly, the heat of her pussy pressing against him through the fabric of her dress, and Oscar groaned, his body tensing beneath her as he fought to keep his hands at his sides.

She kissed him again, this time with more purpose, her lips parting slightly as her tongue brushed against his. Oscar responded immediately, his mouth moving against hers with a hunger that matched her own, but he kept his hands still, his fingers digging into the couch cushions as he obeyed her command. Y/N’s hips moved in slow, deliberate circles, the friction sending shivers up her spine as she ground against him, her dress riding higher with every motion.

“Good boy,” she whispered against his lips, her voice low and approving. She kissed him again, her movements growing more demanding as she rocked against him, her body flush against his, her dominance clear in every touch, every movement, every breath. And all the while, Lando lay on the floor, watching with a mix of jealousy and desperation, his body aching for her return. But Y/N didn’t look back. She was too busy making Oscar her next victim.

Y/N stopped grinding on Oscar, her movements slowing to a tantalizing halt that left him breathless beneath her. She leaned back slightly, her hands braced against his shoulders, and smirked down at him, her eyes glinting with mischief and dominance. Without a word, she rose from his lap, her dress sliding back down her thighs as she stood. The fabric brushed against her skin in a way that was almost teasing, and she took a step back, her gaze flicking between Oscar and Lando with a look that was equal parts challenge and amusement.

“Strip,” she said, her voice low and commanding, her hands resting on her hips as she looked at Lando first, then Oscar. Neither man hesitated. Lando’s hands trembled slightly as he reached for the hem of his shirt, pulling it over his head in one swift motion. His chest was lean and toned, his skin flushed with anticipation, and Y/N’s gaze lingered on him for a moment before she turned to Oscar.

Oscar was slower, more deliberate, his eyes never leaving hers as he tugged his shirt off and tossed it aside. His chest was broader than Lando’s, his muscles defined but not overly so, and Y/N’s lips curled into a smirk as she stepped closer to him, her fingertips brushing lightly over his abs. She felt him tense beneath her touch, his breath hitching slightly as her fingers trailed lower, tracing the line of his hip bones before she moved away, her gaze shifting back to Lando.

She walked between them slowly, her movements deliberate and unhurried, her fingertips trailing over Lando’s abs, over the curve of his hip bones, before she stepped back and looked at them both, her dark eyes glittering with dominance. “I want to hear you whimper,” she said, her voice low and velvety, the words dripping with command. “Not moan. Not speak. Whimper.”

Lando’s jaw tightened, his hands clenched into fists at his sides as he struggled to keep himself under control. Oscar’s breathing grew heavier, his chest rising and falling rapidly as he stared at her, his body visibly tense with need. Y/N smirked, her gaze flicking between them, and then she reached for the hem of her dress, pulling it slowly over her head and tossing it aside.

She stood before them, her confidence unshakable, her dominance clear in every inch of her exposed skin. The soft curve of her breasts drew both men’s gaze immediately, the absence of a bra leaving nothing to the imagination. Y/N didn’t flinch, didn’t try to cover herself—she just stood there, her chin tilted up slightly, her gaze steady and unwavering. Her body was on full display now, every inch of her radiating power and control.

Neither Lando nor Oscar dared to look away, their eyes locked on her like she was the only thing in the room. Y/N smirked, her lips curling into a knowing smile as she took a slow, deliberate step forward, her hips swaying slightly with the movement. She could feel their eyes on her, their hunger palpable, and she reveled in it, in the way she had them completely at her mercy.

"You wanted this," she said, her voice low and velvety, the words dripping with challenge. "Now you’re going to show me just how much."

The room was silent, the only sound the ragged breathing of the two men as they stared at her, completely and utterly under her spell.

Y/N stepped into the middle of the living room, her movements slow and deliberate, her naked body a canvas of power and control. She knelt down, the cool floor beneath her knees only adding to the electric tension in the room. Her eyes flicked between Lando and Oscar, her gaze steady and unwavering as she commanded them with nothing but a look.

“Come here,” she said, her voice low and velvety, the words dripping with authority.

Both men obeyed instantly, their legs carrying them to her without hesitation. They stood before her, completely naked, their cocks standing at attention, inches from her face. The sight alone was enough to make her pulse quicken, but she didn’t let it show. Instead, she tilted her head slightly, her lips curling into a smirk as she looked up at them, her dominance clear in every inch of her posture.

She shifted her focus to Oscar first, her eyes locked onto his as her hands slid up his thighs, her touch feather-light yet purposeful. She leaned in, her lips brushing against the inside of his thigh in a soft, teasing kiss that made him shiver. Oscar’s breath hitched, his hands twitching at his sides as he fought to stay still, to obey her command not to touch her. She kissed his thigh again, her lips warm and wet against his skin, and then she glanced over at Lando, her smirk widening when she saw the jealousy burning in his eyes.

Lando was furious. He couldn’t stand the thought of her touching Oscar first, of her lips brushing against his skin while he was left to watch, to wait. He was the one who had introduced her to Oscar. He was the one who had known her longer, who had wanted her more. And yet, here he was, standing there like a fucking idiot, completely naked, his cock hard and inches from her face, the tip flushed with desperation as he watched her kiss Oscar’s thigh, her lips lingering just long enough to make him squirm.

Y/N knew exactly what she was doing. She had known Lando long enough to understand how possessive he could be, how much he hated the idea of sharing her, even for a moment. And she was using that to her advantage, using it to drive him wild, to make him ache for her in a way he never had before. She kissed Oscar’s thigh again, her tongue flicking against his skin in a way that made him groan, and then she glanced back at Lando, her dark eyes glinting with mischief.

“Patience, Lando,” she murmured, her voice low and teasing, her lips brushing against Oscar’s skin as she spoke. “You’ll get your turn. But first…” She leaned in, her mouth hovering just above Oscar’s cock, her breath warm against him as she whispered, “Let me hear you whimper.”

Oscar’s breath hitched, his body trembling beneath her as he fought to keep himself under control. “Fuck, Y/N,” he whispered, his voice rough with need. She smirked, her lips brushing against the head of his cock in a soft, teasing kiss that made him groan, and then she pulled back slightly, her gaze flicking to Lando again for a second.

And when she finally took him into her mouth, he couldn’t hold back any longer. A soft, desperate whimper escaped his lips, the sound sending a shiver down Y/N’s spine as she smirked up at him, her dark eyes glinting with satisfaction.

She could feel the tension in his body, the way he trembled beneath her touch, and she reveled in it, in the power she had over him. Her tongue flicked out, tracing the sensitive underside of his shaft in a slow, deliberate motion that made him groan, his hands clenched into fists at his sides as he fought to stay still.

She smirked up at him, her lips curling into a knowing smile as she took him into her mouth, inch by inch, her tongue swirling around him as she descended. Oscar’s breath hitched, his body tensing as she took him deeper, her lips wrapping tightly around him as she began to move. Her head bobbed slowly, her tongue pressing against the underside of his cock with every upward stroke, her lips creating a delicious suction that had him trembling beneath her.

Y/N’s movements were deliberate, her pace slow and unhurried, as if she wanted to savor every moment of this. She pulled back slightly, her lips brushing against the tip of his cock as she swirled her tongue around him, teasing him with the barest hint of pressure before taking him back into her mouth. Oscar groaned, his hands forming into a fist as he fought to keep himself under control, his body trembling with the effort.

Out of the corner of her eye, Y/N could see Lando watching them, his eyes filled with jealousy, his cock impossibly hard as he stood there, completely at her mercy. She could see the frustration burning in his eyes, the way his jaw tightened as he watched her suck Oscar’s cock, and she reveled in it, in the way she was driving him wild with just a few slow, deliberate strokes of her tongue.

She pulled back slightly, her lips brushing against the tip of Oscar’s cock as she smirked up at him. “You like that, don’t you?” she murmured, her voice low and velvety, the words dripping with amusement. Oscar nodded, his breath coming in short, ragged gasps as he stared down at her, his body trembling with need.

Y/N didn’t give him a chance to respond. She took him back into her mouth, her lips wrapping tightly around him as she began to move again, her pace quickening slightly as she worked him with her tongue. She swirled it around the sensitive head of his cock, teasing him with the barest hint of pressure before descending again, taking him deeper into her mouth with every stroke.

Oscar groaned, his body trembling with the need. Y/N’s movements grew more purposeful, her pace quickening as she worked him with her tongue, her lips creating a delicious suction that had him trembling beneath her. She could feel the way his cock twitched in her mouth, the way his breathing grew heavier with every stroke of her tongue, and she smirked around him, her eyes glinting with mischief.

Y/N pulled back slowly, her lips leaving Oscar’s cock with a soft, wet pop that echoed in the silent room. A string of saliva connected her mouth to the tip of his shaft, glistening in the low light as she wiped her lips with the back of her hand, a small smirk playing on her face. Her chin was damp, her lips swollen, and she didn’t care in the slightest. She turned her gaze to Lando, her eyes locking onto his with a mischievous glint that made his breath catch.

Lando was fuming, his jaw clenched, his hands trembling at his sides. The jealousy was written all over his face, his eyes burning with a mix of frustration and desire as he watched her. Y/N tilted her head slightly, her smirk widening as she crawled toward him on her knees, her movements slow and deliberate, like a predator stalking its prey. She stopped just inches away from him, her eyes never leaving his, her breath warm against his cock as she leaned in, her lips brushing against the sensitive skin of his inner thigh.

“Patience, Lando,” she whispered, her voice low and velvety, the words dripping with amusement. She kissed his thigh again, her lips warm and wet, her tongue flicking against his skin in a way that made him shiver. “You’re going to have to wait your turn. But don’t worry, I’ll make it worth it.”

Lando’s breath hitched, his body trembling with the effort of staying still, of obeying her command not to touch her. She leaned back slightly, her eyes locked onto his as her hand wrapped around the base of his cock, her fingers tightening just enough to make him groan. She smirked, her lips curling into a knowing smile as she began to stroke him slowly, her thumb brushing against the sensitive underside of his shaft with every upward motion.

“You’re so eager, aren’t you?” she teased, her voice low and husky, her eyes full of mischief. She leaned in again, her lips brushing against the tip of his cock, her breath warm against him as she whispered, “Whimper for me, Lando.”

Lando didn’t hesitate. A soft, desperate sound escaped his lips, the sound sending a shiver down Y/N’s spine as she smirked up at him, eyes glinting with satisfaction. She leaned in, her lips wrapping around the tip of his cock, her tongue swirling around the sensitive flesh in a slow, deliberate motion that made him groan. Her hand continued to stroke him, her fingers tightening slightly as she took him deeper into her mouth, inch by agonizing inch.

Lando’s breathing grew heavier, his body trembling beneath her as she worked him with her mouth, her tongue pressing against the underside of his cock with every stroke. She could feel the way his hands clenched into fists at his sides, the way his hips jerked slightly, as if he was trying to thrust into her mouth but didn’t dare disobey her command. She smirked around him, her eyes flicking up to meet his as she pulled back slightly, her lips brushing against the tip of his cock as she whispered, “Good boy.”

She took him back into her mouth, her movements growing more purposeful, her pace quickening as she worked him with her tongue. She swirled it around the sensitive head of his cock, teasing him with the barest hint of pressure before descending again, taking him deeper into her mouth with every stroke. Lando groaned, his body trembling with the need to touch her, to take control, but he didn’t dare. He just stood there, completely at her mercy, his eyes locked onto her as she took him deeper, her lips creating a delicious suction that had him trembling beneath her.

Y/N’s movements were deliberate, her pace slow at first, as if she wanted to savor every moment of this. She pulled back slightly, her lips brushing against the tip of his cock as she swirled her tongue around him, teasing him with the barest hint of pressure before taking him back into her mouth. Lando groaned, his hands clenched into fists at his sides as he fought to stay still, to obey her command not to touch her. But it was becoming increasingly difficult, the sight of her with his cock in her mouth driving him wild.

She was mesmerising, her eyes locked onto his as she worked him with her mouth, her lips creating a delicious suction that had him trembling with need. He couldn’t take his eyes off her, couldn’t stop staring at the way her lips stretched around him, the way her tongue flicked against the sensitive flesh of his cock with every stroke. He was completely lost in her, in the way she was driving him wild with just a few slow, deliberate strokes of her tongue.

Out of the corner of her eye, Y/N could see Oscar watching them, his breath coming in short, ragged gasps as he fought to keep himself under control. She smirked around Lando’s cock, her eyes flicking to Oscar for just a moment before returning to Lando. “You’re so beautiful like this,” she murmured, her voice low and husky, the words sending a shiver down Lando’s spine. “Completely at my mercy.”

She took him back into her mouth, her movements growing more purposeful, her pace quickening as she worked him with her tongue. She could feel the way his body tensed beneath her, the way his cock twitched in her mouth, and she smirked around him, her dark eyes glinting with mischief. She was in complete control, and she knew it. And she was loving every second of it.

Y/N pulled back slowly, her lips leaving Lando’s cock with a soft, wet pop. Lando whimpered, the sound desperate and needy, his body trembling as he fought to keep himself under control. She smirked up at him and rose to her feet, her movements slow and deliberate. She stood before them, naked and confident, her gaze sweeping over their flushed faces and trembling bodies like a queen surveying her subjects.

The silence was thick, suffocating, charged with the weight of anticipation. Neither Lando nor Oscar dared to speak, their eyes locked on her as she stepped closer, her bare feet padding softly against the floor. She stopped inches away from them, her chin tilted slightly, her smirk widening as she looked between them, her dominance radiating from every inch of her.

“Here’s the deal,” she said, her voice low and velvety, the words dripping with challenge. “I’m going to touch you both for sixty seconds. Whoever doesn’t make a sound gets to fuck me first.” Her smirk widened, her dark eyes glinting with mischief as she added, “Good luck.”

Neither man dared to respond. They just stood there, their breathing shallow, their bodies tense with anticipation as she stepped closer, her hands trailing up their chests in a slow, deliberate motion. Her touch was feather-light, her fingertips brushing over their skin in a way that sent shivers down their spines. She leaned in, her lips brushing against Lando’s collarbone in a soft, teasing kiss that made him shiver, his hands clenched into fists at his sides as he fought to stay silent.

Her gaze flicked to Oscar, her smirk widening as she leaned in to kiss his shoulder, her lips warm and wet against his skin. She moved lower, her tongue flicking against his chest in a slow, deliberate motion that made him tremble, his breath hitching slightly as he fought to keep himself under control. She glanced up at him, her eyes glinting with mischief as she whispered, “You’re doing so well, Oscar. Don’t break now.”

Her hands trailed lower, her fingers brushing over their abs, teasingly close to their cocks but not quite touching. She shifted her focus back to Lando, her lips brushing against his stomach in a slow, lingering kiss that made him groan, his body trembling beneath her touch. She smirked up at him, her eyes dark with mischief as she whispered, “Patience, Lando. You’re doing so well.”

But she wasn’t done. Her hand wrapped around his cock, her fingers tightening slightly as she began to stroke him slowly, her thumb brushing against the sensitive underside of his shaft with every upward motion. Lando’s breath hitched, his body trembling as he fought to stay silent, but it was becoming increasingly difficult, the sight of her with her hand on his cock driving him wild.

She turned her attention to Oscar, her hand wrapping around his cock as well, her fingers tightening just enough to make him groan. She smirked up at him, her eyes with mischief as she began to stroke him slowly, her thumb brushing against the sensitive underside of his shaft with every upward motion. Oscar’s breath hitched, his body trembling as he fought to stay silent, but it was becoming increasingly difficult, the sight of her driving him wild.

She glanced between them, her smirk widening as she leaned in, her lips brushing against the tip of Lando’s cock in a soft, teasing kiss that made him groan. She shifted her focus to Oscar, her lips brushing against the tip of his cock in a soft, teasing kiss that made him tremble. She could feel them both on the edge, their bodies trembling with need, their breathing ragged and uneven as they fought to stay silent.

But then, it happened. A soft, desperate whimper escaped Oscar’s lips, the sound sending a shiver down Y/N’s spine as she smirked up at him, her dark eyes glinting with satisfaction. She pulled back slightly, her hand still wrapped around his cock, and murmured, “Well, well, Oscar. Looks like you’re the loser.”

She turned her attention to Lando, her smirk widening as she whispered, “You win, Lando. Congratulations.” Her hand tightened around his cock, her thumb brushing against the sensitive underside of his shaft as she stroked him slowly, her movements deliberate and unhurried. She leaned in, her lips brushing against his ear as she whispered, “Now, let’s make this worth it.”

Y/N leaned back slightly, her hand tightening around Lando’s cock as she gave him one final, slow stroke before releasing him. Her eyes flicked to Oscar, who was still standing there, his breathing ragged, his body trembling with need. She smirked, her lips curling into a knowing smile as she stepped away from Lando and walked over to the couch, her movements slow and deliberate. She sank down onto the soft cushions, her legs spreading slightly as she leaned back, her gaze locked on Oscar.

“Sit,” she commanded, her voice low and velvety, the word dripping with authority. Oscar didn’t hesitate. He moved quickly, sinking down onto the couch opposite her, his eyes never leaving hers. She could see the way his hands twitched at his sides, like he wanted to touch himself but didn’t dare without her permission. She smirked, her lips curling into a knowing smile as she leaned back, her legs spreading wider, her hips tilting slightly toward him. “Touch yourself,” she said, her voice firm but soft, like she was giving an order she knew he wouldn’t dare disobey. “Slowly. But if you even think about coming, I’ll stop everything.”

Oscar’s breath hitched, his hands trembling slightly as he reached between his legs, his fingers wrapping around his cock. He began to stroke himself slowly, his eyes locked on Y/N, his breathing growing heavier with every stroke. She smirked, her gaze flicking to Lando, who was still standing there, his cock hard and flushed with need, his eyes burning with a mix of jealousy and desire. She tilted her head slightly, her smirk widening as she murmured, “Come here, Lando.”

Lando didn’t hesitate. He moved quickly, sinking down onto the couch beside her, his body trembling with need as he leaned in, his lips brushing against her ear. “Fuck, Y/N,” he whispered, his voice rough with need. “I’ve wanted this for so long.”

She smirked, her hands sliding up his chest, her fingertips brushing over his skin in a slow, deliberate motion. “Then take me,” she murmured, her voice low and velvety, the words dripping with challenge. “Show me how much you’ve wanted this.”

Lando didn’t need to be told twice. His hands gripped her hips, his fingers digging into her soft skin as he positioned himself between her legs, his cock brushing against her slick entrance. He leaned in, his lips brushing against her ear as he whispered, “You’re so fucking perfect, Y/N.”

She smirked, her hands sliding up his back, her nails digging into his skin as she whispered, “Fuck me, Lando. Show me how much you’ve wanted this.”

He didn’t hesitate. He pushed into her slowly, inch by agonizing inch, his breath hitching as he felt her tight, wet heat enveloping him. Y/N’s breath hitched, her head falling back against the couch as she felt him filling her, stretching her in a way she had never experienced before. Her pussy clenched around him, her walls stretching to accommodate his size, and she let out a low, shuddering moan as he bottomed out, his hips pressed flush against hers.

Lando groaned, his hands tightening on her hips as he began to move, his thrusts slow and deliberate, each one sending a jolt of pleasure through her body. Her pussy felt like it was on fire, every nerve ending alight with pleasure as he fucked her, his cock hitting that sweet spot deep inside her with every thrust. Her tits bounced with the rhythm of his movements, her nipples hard and sensitive.

“Fuck, Lando,” she moaned, her hands gripping his shoulders, her nails digging into his skin as she rolled her hips, meeting him thrust for thrust. “You feel so fucking good.”

Lando groaned, his pace quickening, his thrusts growing harder, deeper, as he fucked her, his hands gripping her hips tightly as he drove into her. Y/N’s pussy clenched around him, her walls fluttering as she felt her orgasm building, the pleasure coiling tighter and tighter with every thrust.

Her eyes flicked to Oscar, who was still sitting there, his hand wrapped around his cock, stroking himself slowly, his eyes locked on them, his breathing ragged and uneven. She smirked, her lips curling into a knowing smile as she murmured, “Look how good he fills me. Look how I stretch for him. That could’ve been you.”

Oscar groaned, his hand tightening around his cock as he stroked himself. He could feel the heat building in his groin, the pleasure coiling tighter and tighter with every stroke, but he didn’t dare come, not when she had made it clear that she would stop everything if he did.

Y/N’s gaze flicked back to Lando, her smirk widening as she rolled her hips, meeting him thrust for thrust, her pussy clenching around him as she felt her orgasm building. “Fuck, Lando,” she moaned, her hands gripping his shoulders, her nails digging into his skin as she whispered, “You’re so fucking good at this.”

Lando groaned, his pace quickening, his thrusts growing harder, deeper, as he fucked her. Y/N’s pussy clenched around him, her walls fluttering as she felt her orgasm building more and more, the pleasure coiling tighter and tighter with every thrust.

Her eyes flicked to Oscar again, her smirk widening as she murmured, “You’re so obedient. Sitting there like a good little boy while he fucks me senseless.”

Oscar groaned, his hand tightening around his cock as he continued to stroked himself. He could feel the heat building in his groin, the pleasure coiling tighter and tighter with every stroke, but he didn’t dare come.

Y/N’s smirk widened as she glanced at Oscar, her eyes glinting with mischief. “Come here,” she commanded, her voice low and velvety, the words dripping with authority. Oscar didn’t hesitate. He moved quickly, sinking down onto the couch next to her head, his cock hard and flushed with need. Lando’s thrusts didn’t stop, his hips meeting hers with every movement, her pussy clenching around him as she reached for Oscar’s cock, her fingers wrapping around the base of his shaft in a firm grip.

She began to stroke him slowly, her thumb brushing against the sensitive underside of his cock with every upward motion. Oscar groaned, his body trembling with need as he watched her, his breathing ragged and uneven. Y/N smirked, her lips curling into a knowing smile as she leaned in, her lips brushing against the tip of his cock in a soft, teasing kiss that made him shiver. Then she took him into her mouth, her tongue swirling around him in slow, deliberate motions that had him groaning, his hands gripping the edge of the couch as he fought to stay still.

All the while, Lando continued fucking her, his thrusts growing harder, deeper, as he chased his own release. Her pussy was full of him, her walls fluttering around his cock as he filled her, the sensation of him inside her sending waves of pleasure through her body. Her breasts bounced with every movement.

Y/N’s mouth was full of Oscar, her lips wrapped tightly around him as she worked him with her tongue, her movements slow and deliberate, as if she wanted to savor every moment of this. She could feel the way his cock twitched in her mouth, the way his breathing grew heavier with every stroke of her tongue, and she smirked around him.

Between Lando’s cock filling her pussy and Oscar’s cock in her mouth, Y/N was completely lost in the pleasure, her body trembling with the intensity of it all.

She let out a low, shuddering moan, the sound muffled by Oscar’s cock as she came, her pussy clenching tightly around Lando as waves of pleasure crashed over her. Overwhelmed, she pulled back, releasing Oscar’s cock from her mouth with a soft, wet pop. Her head fell back against the cushions, her lips swollen and glistening, as a loud, unrestrained moan escaped her lips, echoing through the room. Her body trembled, her hips rocking against Lando as he continued to thrust into her, driving her pleasure higher.

Oscar’s breath hitched, his body trembling as he fought to keep himself under control, the sudden loss of her warm mouth around him driving him wild. His hand tightened around his cock, stroking himself slowly, his eyes locked on her as she came undone beneath Lando. The sight of her, completely lost in pleasure, sent a jolt of heat through him, and he groaned.

Y/N’s moans grew louder, her voice raw with need as Lando fucked her through her climax. Her fingers dug into his shoulders, her nails leaving faint marks on his skin as she arched into him, her body trembling with the intensity of her release. She gasped for air, her chest heaving as she whispered, “Fuck, Lando,” her voice trembling with pleasure.

Oscar groaned, his body trembling as he watched her, his hand moving faster on his cock, the pleasure coiling tighter and tighter with every stroke. He wanted to touch her, to feel her, but he didn’t dare disobey her command. He just sat there, completely at her mercy, the sight of her coming undone beneath Lando driving him wild.

Lando’s thrusts grew faster, more erratic, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he felt the heat building in his groin. “Y/N,” he groaned, his voice trembling with urgency, “I’m so close. I’m going to cum.”

Y/N smirked, her eyes glinting with mischief as she leaned in, her lips brushing against his ear. “Cum inside me, Lando,” she whispered, her voice low and velvety, the words dripping with command. “Fill me with your cum.”

The moment the words left her lips, Lando’s entire body tensed. A low, guttural moan escaped his throat as he thrust into her one final time, his cock twitching violently as he came, hot ropes of cum spurting deep inside her. His hips jerked uncontrollably, his release so intense it left him trembling, his breath hitching as he spilled himself into her. Y/N gasped, her pussy clenching tightly around him as she felt the warmth of his cum filling her, the sensation electric and overwhelming.

She moaned, her voice raw with pleasure, her body trembling as she felt every pulse of his cock inside her. “Fuck, Lando,” she breathed, her hips rocking against him as she savored the feeling of his cum coating her walls, the slick heat of it making her even more sensitive. Her pussy fluttered around him, her walls tightening as if trying to milk every last drop from him, and she leaned back, her head resting against the couch, a satisfied smile playing on her lips.

Lando groaned, his body still trembling as he stayed buried inside her, his cock twitching as the last remnants of his release spilled into her. He couldn’t believe how dirty she was, how commanding she had been, and the thought alone sent another jolt of pleasure through him. “Fuck, Y/N,” he whispered, his voice rough with need, “you’re so fucking perfect.”

Next to her head, Oscar was on the edge of losing control. His hand gripped his cock tightly, his strokes growing faster, harder, as he listened to her command Lando to cum inside her. The words had sent a shockwave through him, the thought of her being filled so completely driving him wild. His breath hitched, his body trembling as he fought to keep himself from coming, the heat in his groin building to an unbearable level.

“Fuck,” he groaned, his hand tightening around his cock as he stroked himself, his eyes locked on Y/N’s face as she moaned, her pleasure palpable. The sight of her, completely lost in the feeling of Lando’s cum inside her, was almost too much to bear. His cock twitched in his hand, pre-cum leaking from the tip as he fought to keep himself under control, his breathing ragged and uneven.

Y/N glanced over at Oscar, her smirk widening as she saw the state he was in. “Look at you,” she teased, her voice low and husky, “so desperate just from watching. Don’t cum yet, Oscar. You’ll get your turn.”

Oscar groaned, his hand tightening around his cock as he fought to obey her command, the sight of Lando still buried inside her driving him wild. He wanted to touch her, to feel her, but he didn’t dare disobey her. He just sat there, completely at her mercy, the heat in his groin coiling tighter and tighter with every breath.

Y/N leaned back against the couch, her body still trembling from Lando’s orgasm, her pussy slick and dripping with his cum. She looked up at Lando and smirked. “Sit down,” she commanded, her voice low and velvety, the words dripping with authority. “Let him take his turn.” Lando hesitated for a moment, his cock still twitching from his release, but he obeyed, pulling out of her slowly with a soft groan. He sat down where Oscar had been, his eyes never leaving Y/N, his expression a mix of pride and possessiveness as he watched her.

She turned her gaze to Oscar, her smirk widening as she spread her legs wider, her pussy still glistening with Lando’s cum. “Your turn,” she said, her voice firm but soft, like she was giving an order she knew he wouldn’t dare disobey. Oscar’s breath hitched, his body trembling with need as he moved toward her, his cock hard and flushed with anticipation. He positioned himself between her legs, his hands gripping her hips as he leaned in, his lips brushing against her ear. “You’re so fucking perfect, Y/N,” he whispered, his voice rough with need.

Y/N smirked, her hands sliding up his chest, her fingertips brushing over his skin in a slow, deliberate motion. “Fuck me, Oscar,” she murmured, her voice low and velvety, the words dripping with challenge. “Show me how much you’ve wanted this.”

Oscar didn’t hesitate. He pushed into her slowly, inch by agonizing inch, his breath hitching as he felt her tight, wet heat enveloping him. She was still so wet from Lando’s cum, her pussy slick and warm as it stretched to accommodate his cock. The sensation was overwhelming, the mixture of her tightness and the slick heat of Lando’s release sending a jolt of pleasure through him as he bottomed out, his hips pressed flush against hers.

“Fuck, Y/N,” Oscar groaned, his hands tightening on her hips as he began to move, his thrusts slow and deliberate, each one stirring a deep, aching need inside her. Her core throbbed with heat, every nerve alive with pleasure as he moved inside her, his cock finding that perfect spot deep within with every powerful stroke. She could feel the way his cock stretched her, the way it filled her completely, and she moaned, her hands gripping his shoulders, her nails digging into his skin as she rolled her hips, meeting him thrust for thrust.

“You’re so fucking tight,” Oscar whispered, his breath hitching as he felt her pussy clenching around him, her walls fluttering as he fucked her. The sensation was overwhelming, the way she stretched around him, the way her pussy gripped him so tightly, sending waves of pleasure through his body. He could feel the warmth of Lando’s cum coating his cock, the slick heat of it making every thrust feel even more intense, and he groaned, his pace quickening, his thrusts growing harder, deeper, as he chased his own release.

Lando watched them, his eyes filled with a mix of jealousy and pride. To him, it felt like he had already claimed Y/N as his, and Oscar was just borrowing what was his. She’s mine, he thought, his cock twitching as he watched Oscar fuck her, his hips meeting hers with every thrust. She belongs to me. He could see the way her pussy stretched around Oscar’s cock, the way her walls fluttered around him, and the thought of her being filled completely by another man sent a jolt of heat through him. But he didn’t feel threatened. Instead, he felt a sense of pride, like he had already marked her as his, and Oscar was just a guest in his territory.

Oscar’s thrusts grew faster, more erratic, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he felt the heat building in his groin. “Y/N,” he groaned, his voice trembling with urgency, “I’m so close. I’m going to cum.”

Y/N smirked, her dark eyes glinting with mischief as she leaned in, her lips brushing against his ear. “Cum inside me, Oscar,” she whispered, her voice low and velvety, the words dripping with command. “Fill me with your cum.”

The instant the words left her mouth, Oscar’s whole body went rigid. A deep, primal groan tore from his throat as he drove into her one last time, his cock pulsing hard as he climaxed, thick streams of cum flooding deep inside her. His hips bucked without control, the orgasm hitting so hard it left him shaking, his breath catching as he emptied himself into her. Y/N gasped, her pussy clenching tightly around him as she felt the warmth of his cum mixing with Lando’s, the sensation electric and overwhelming.

She cried out, her voice hoarse with bliss, her body quivering as she felt every throb of his cock buried deep inside her. “Fuck, Oscar,” she gasped, her hips rolling against his as she relished the sensation of his release soaking her walls, the warm slickness heightening her sensitivity. Her pussy clenched around him, her muscles contracting like they were trying to draw out every final drop, and she leaned back, her head sinking into the couch, a contented smile tugging at her lips.

Oscar let out a low groan, his body still shaking as he remained deep inside her, his cock twitching with the final waves of his climax leaking into her. He could hardly believe how filthy she was, how utterly in control, and the thought alone sent another surge of pleasure racing through him. “Fuck, Y/N,” he murmured, his voice gravelly with desire, “you feel like fucking heaven.”

Lando watched them, his cock twitching with arousal again as he saw Y/N’s pussy still stretched around Oscar’s cock, the mixture of their cum dripping from her.

Y/N smirked, her eyes gleaming with mischief as she tilted her hips slightly, forcing Oscar to pull out of her. His cock slipped free with a wet sound, a mix of his and Lando’s cum dripping out of her pussy and onto the couch beneath her. She leaned back, her legs spread wide, their combined release glistening on her thighs and pooling between her legs. Lando and Oscar stared, their breaths hitching as they watched her pussy, stretched and still quivering, their cum spilling out of her in a filthy display of their shared claim.

Lando, already hard again at the sight, clenched his fists, his jaw tight as he watched her with a mix of pride and possessiveness. Oscar, still trembling from his release, couldn’t look away, his cock twitching as he took in the sight of her completely filled, their cum dripping from her swollen lips.

Y/N’s smirk deepened as she reached down, her fingers sliding through the slick mess between her legs. She hooked two fingers inside her pussy, feeling the warmth of their cum coating her walls, and pulled them out slowly, her fingers glistening with their release. She held her hand up, her gaze flicking between the two men as she brought her fingers to her lips. Her tongue darted out, licking the cum from her fingers with deliberate slowness, her eyes never leaving theirs. She sucked them clean, her lips wrapping around her fingertips in a way that made both men groan, their cocks twitching with renewed arousal.

“Delicious,” she purred, her voice low and husky, the word dripping with satisfaction. She leaned back, her fingers trailing down her body as she smirked at them, her dominance radiating from every inch of her. Lando and Oscar were completely transfixed, their eyes locked on her as she savored the taste of their cum, their bodies trembling with the need to reclaim her.

She tilted her head slightly, her smirk widening as she whispered, “You both did so well.” Her fingers dipped back between her legs, teasing her swollen pussy as she watched them, her dark eyes glinting with mischief. You’re mine now, she thought, her dominance radiating through the room. “But don’t think I’m done with you yet,” she said, her voice low and velvety, the words dripping with command. “There’s still so much more I want to do to you.”

Her gaze flicked between them, her smirk deepening as she saw the way their cocks twitched at her words, their bodies trembling with need. Lando’s jaw tightened, his eyes filled with a mix of pride and desperation, while Oscar’s breath hitched. Good boys, she thought, her dominance only growing stronger as she savored their reactions.

She leaned back slightly, her fingers still teasing her pussy as she looked at them, her eyes flashing with challenge. “Who’s next?” she asked, her voice soft but firm, like she was giving an order she knew they wouldn’t dare disobey. Her lips curled into a knowing smile as she added, “Or maybe… I take you both at the same time.”

The room fell silent, the only sound of their ragged breathing as they stared at her, completely and utterly at her mercy. Lando’s cock twitched, the thought of her taking both of them at once sending a jolt of heat through him. Oscar groaned, his body trembling with need as he imagined her pussy stretched around him while she rode Lando, their cocks filling her completely.Y/N smirked, her fingers sliding out from between her legs as she leaned back, her legs spreading wider, her pussy still glistening with their cum. This is where I belong, she thought, her dominance radiating from every inch of her.

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nocoolusernamesavailable-blog · 2 months ago

Text

Unspoken Desires | LN4

🎀 summary ━━━━━━━ Lando and Y/N had been friends for some time, having met through mutual friends. Lando had been attracted to Y/N from the moment they met, and his admiration for her only grew over time—particularly for her breasts. He thought no one knew about his fixation, but Y/N had figured it out. Once she realized Lando's obsession, she started wearing more revealing tops whenever she knew they would be in the same place. One night, when they ended up alone, Y/N began teasing Lando with her breasts. It was then that she confessed she knew about his attraction.

🎀 pairing ━━━━━━━ Lando Norris x she!reader

🎀 word count ━━━━━━━ 2.8k

🎀 warnings ━━━━━━━ +18, sexual content

Lando shifted uncomfortably in his seat, trying to avert his gaze as Y/N walked into the room. She had chosen one of those tops today—the kind that seemed designed to test the limits of modesty. The fabric clung to her curves, leaving little to the imagination, and he could feel his pulse quicken as his eyes instinctively drifted downward.

Her boobs. He swallowed hard, cursing himself for being so obvious. Focus, Lando. Just focus. But it was no use. Every time she moved, the material stretched, teasing him with glimpses of what lay beneath. He wondered if she noticed his ogling. Surely not. He prided himself on being discreet, on making sure his admiration stayed hidden behind a veil of casual indifference.

Y/N sat down across from him, crossing her legs in a way that made the hem of her skirt ride up just enough to keep him guessing. "Hey," she said, her voice smooth and inviting. "You look like you’ve got a lot on your mind."

"Uh, nothing," he stammered, quickly glancing away. "Just… just thinking about work, I guess."

She raised an eyebrow, her lips curling into a sly smile. "Work? Really? Because you’ve been staring at my chest for the past five minutes."

His face flushed instantly. "What? No! I wasn’t—"

Y/N leaned forward, her elbows resting on the table. The movement caused her top to dip slightly, revealing just enough to make his breath hitch. "Relax," she said, her tone light but laced with something deeper. "It’s not a crime to appreciate a good pair of… assets."

Lando felt his throat go dry. Was she messing with him? Testing him? Or was she really this nonchalant about it? Either way, he couldn’t tear his eyes away. Her confidence was intoxicating, and the way she toyed with him made it impossible to think straight.

"I… uh… I wasn’t staring," he mumbled, though the words lacked any real conviction.

She chuckled softly, leaning back in her chair. "Sure you weren’t. And I suppose you haven’t spent every night since we met fantasizing about them either?"

His jaw dropped. "How—how do you know that?"

Y/N’s smile widened, and she tilted her head ever so slightly. "Let’s just say I’m observant. And you’re not exactly subtle, Lando."

He opened his mouth to respond, but no words came out. Instead, he felt heat rising to his cheeks, his heart pounding in his chest. She knew. Somehow, she knew. And instead of being freaked out or angry, she was… playful. Teasing.

"Listen," she said, her voice dropping to a whisper. "It’s okay. You don’t have to hide it anymore."

Lando blinked, unsure if he was hearing her right. "I don’t?"

"No," she replied, her tone confident yet inviting. "In fact, I kinda like it. It means you’re paying attention."

Her words sent a jolt through him, and he felt his resolve slipping. There was something in her demeanor, in the way she held herself, that made him want to lean in, to close the space between them. But he hesitated, unsure of how far she was willing to take this.

"Look," she continued, her hand reaching out to gently brush against his. "Why don’t we stop pretending? You want me, and I… well, I want you too."

Her admission hung in the air between them, heavy and electric. Lando’s mind raced. This was insane. They were friends. They had always been friends. But now, with her so close, her touch so warm, the lines blurred.

"Y/N," he began, his voice shaky. "Are you sure about this?"

She didn’t answer right away. Instead, she stood up and rounded the table, her movements slow and deliberate. When she reached him, she placed a hand on his shoulder, her fingers tracing small circles against his skin. "Positive," she murmured, her breath hot against his ear.

Lando shivered at her nearness, his body responding instinctively. He wanted to reach out, to touch her, but he was afraid—afraid of ruining whatever this was, afraid of pushing too far.

"Don’t overthink it," she whispered, her lips brushing against his earlobe. "Just let yourself feel."

And then, without warning, she stepped back slightly and pulled her top over her head, tossing it aside. Her breasts were exposed now, ripe and full, the pale curve of her nipples begging to be touched. Lando’s breath caught in his throat, his eyes fixated on her form.

"Y/N…" he muttered, his voice barely audible.

She smiled again, stepping closer until her hips were pressed against his lap. "Go ahead," she urged, her hands moving to guide his own. "Touch them. Adore them. Let me feel how much you’ve wanted this."

Y/N’s fingers curled around Lando’s wrists, her grip firm yet gentle, guiding his hands toward her breasts. His palms were sweaty, his heart pounding so hard it felt like it might burst through his chest. He wanted to pull away, to tell her he couldn’t do this, but the weight of her confidence and the undeniable thrill of finally being allowed to touch her paralyzed him.

Her skin was so soft.

His fingertips brushed against the underside of her breast, and she let out a small, breathy moan that sent a shiver down his spine. She didn’t stop him, didn’t scold him for moving too slowly. Instead, she leaned into his touch, her head tilting slightly as if she were savoring the sensation.

“Lando…” she murmured, her voice low and teasing. “You’ve been dreaming about this for so long, haven’t you? Don’t hold back now.”

He swallowed hard, his throat dry, and nodded dumbly. Her nipple grazed against his palm, and he almost jerked his hand away in shock. But she tightened her grip on his wrist, anchoring him in place.

“That’s it,” she whispered, her lips curling into a sly smile. “Feel how perfect they are. Tell me what you think.”

His mouth moved, but no words came out. All he could do was stare at her chest, at the way her breasts jiggled ever so slightly with every movement, at the rosy tips that seemed to perk up under his hesitant touch. He didn’t know what to say, how to articulate the chaos of emotions swirling inside him. Desire, guilt, disbelief—it all crashed together in his mind, making it impossible to form coherent thoughts.

“I-I don’t know what to say,” he stammered finally, his voice cracking.

She chuckled softly, a sound that was both comforting and intoxicating. “You don’t have to say anything,” she said, her tone warm and inviting. “Just show me how much you’ve wanted this. Show me how much you’ve thought about my body when you’re alone.”

Her words were a dare, a challenge, and Lando found himself unable to resist. With a quiet groan, he cupped her breast fully in his hand, his fingers tightening instinctively as if afraid she might slip away. The feel of her weight in his palm was surreal, something he had fantasized about countless times but never dared to believe could be real.

She was real.

He could feel the heat radiating from her skin, the rapid flutter of her heartbeat as it pressed against his palm. And then there was the taste of her name on his tongue, the way it rolled out of his mouth as if it belonged there.

“Y/N…” he breathed, his voice thick with emotion.

She rewarded him with another soft moan, her eyes fluttering closed as she pressed herself more firmly against his hand. “Yes, that’s it,” she whispered, her voice dripping with satisfaction. “Touch me, Lando. Let me feel how much you’ve wanted this.”

He wasn’t sure how much longer he could keep his composure. Every stroke of his fingers against her skin felt like a spark igniting aflame within him. His other hand rose tentatively, mirroring the movements of the first, until both of her breasts were cradled in his palms. He kneaded them gently at first, marveling at their softness, their weight, the way they filled his hands perfectly.

And then, without warning, his thumbs flicked over her nipples, catching them between his fingers and rolling them teasingly. Y/N arched her back immediately, her head falling backward as a gasp escaped her lips.

“Oh…” she cried out, her voice trembling with desire. “Lando, yes… just like that.”

He could feel her pulse quickening beneath his fingertips, her body reacting to his touch in a way that made his own arousal impossible to ignore. His cock twitched against the fabric of his pants, aching for release, but he couldn’t tear his focus away from the woman in front of him.

Her breasts were even more magnificent up close, their pale perfection streaked with the faintest blush of pink. He marveled at the way her nipples hardened under his touch, the way they seemed to beg for more attention. And when his fingers circled them again, pressing lightly before releasing, she whimpered softly, her hips shifting against him.

“Don’t stop,” she pleaded, her voice breathless and urgent. “Please, Lando… I need more.”

Her desperation sent a surge of triumph coursing through him. For so long, he had been the one craving, the one yearning for her attention. Now, she was the one begging, and the power of it was intoxicating.

With renewed confidence, he changed his technique, sliding his hands up to cup her breasts more firmly. His thumbs dragged slowly across her nipples, teasing them until they stood proudly, begging for more. Y/N’s moans grew louder, her hands gripping his shoulders for support as she pressed herself closer to him.

“Harder,” she demanded, her voice breaking slightly. “Touch me harder, Lando. I want to feel how much you’ve wanted this.”

Her words were a command, and Lando obeyed without hesitation. He pinched her nipples between his fingers, twisting them gently but firmly, eliciting a sharp gasp from her lips. She bucked her hips against his lap, grinding against him in a way that left no doubt about her arousal.

“Ah! Yes!” she cried out, her nails digging into his shoulders. “God, Lando… I knew you had it in you.”

He wasn’t sure how much longer he could keep this up. His own need was growing unbearable, his cock straining against his zipper as he continued to explore her body. Each moan, each shudder of her body against his, only served to fuel his desire further.

“Y/N…” he muttered again, his voice hoarse with longing. “I can’t… I can’t take much more of this.”

She opened her eyes, her gaze smoldering as she looked down at him. “Then don’t,” she said simply, her tone daring him to push further. “Take what you want, Lando. Stop holding back.”

Y/N smirked, her eyes locking onto his as she slowly slid off the couch, her movements deliberate and confident. She knew exactly what she was doing. Lando watched her with wide eyes, his breath hitching as she dropped to her knees in front of him, her face level with his crotch. The air between them thickened, charged with unspoken desire that neither could deny any longer.

“What are you doing?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper, though there was no real question behind it. He knew exactly what she was doing.

“What do you think I’m doing?” she replied, her tone playful but laced with something deeper—something that made his heart pound harder in his chest.

Her lips curled into a wicked smile as she reached for the zipper of his jeans, her fingers brushing against his skin as she pulled it down slowly, deliberately. His cock twitched at the sensation, already hard and pressing against the fabric of his boxers. Y/N hummed softly, a sound that sent shivers down his spine, as she hooked her fingers into the waistband of his pants and tugged them down just enough to free his aching erection.

“You’re so eager,” she murmured, her voice low and teasing as she wrapped her hand around his length, giving it a slow, firm stroke. “I can feel how badly you want this.”

Lando groaned, his head falling back against the couch as her touch sent waves of pleasure coursing through him. “God, Y/N…” he muttered, his voice strangled as he tried to hold himself together. “You have no idea.”

She laughed softly, a sound that made his stomach tighten with need. “Oh, I think I do,” she said, her tone dripping with confidence. “I think I know exactly how much you’ve been dreaming about this.”

Before he could respond, she leaned forward, her lips brushing against the tip of his cock, teasing him mercilessly. Lando’s hips jerked involuntarily, his hands fisting in the fabric of the couch as he fought to stay still. “Please…” he begged, his voice cracking. “Don’t tease me like this.”

“Hmm, but I thought you liked it when I tease you,” she said, looking up at him through her lashes as she took him into her mouth, her warm, wet tongue swirling around the head of his dick before sliding down his length.

Lando groaned loudly, his body arching off the couch as her mouth worked its magic on him. She sucked gently at first, her lips tight around him as she bobbed her head up and down, taking him deeper with each movement. Her hair fell around her face like a curtain, framing her in a way that made her look even more irresistible. He couldn’t tear his eyes away.

“Fuck, Y/N…” he gasped, his fingers tangling in her hair as he tried to steady himself. “You’re killing me…”

She pulled off him with a pop, her eyes gleaming with mischief as she looked up at him. “Am I now?” she teased, running her tongue along her lips as if savoring the taste of him. “Well, maybe I don’t want to kill you just yet.”

With that, she shifted her position, kneeling up slightly as she cupped her breasts in her hands, pushing them together to create a perfect shelf for his cock. Lando’s eyes widened as he realized what she intended to do, his breath catching in his throat as she guided the tip of his dick between her cleavage.

“Do you like that?” she asked, her voice sultry as she began to rock her shoulders, using her tits to fuck him. “Do you like feeling my boobs wrapped around your cock?”

“Yes,” he choked out, his hands gripping the edge of the couch as he struggled to stay upright. “God, yes…”

Y/N continued to move, her breasts slick with the saliva from her mouth as she pressed them tightly around him, squeezing him with each thrust. Lando’s vision blurred with pleasure, his whole body trembling as she worked him over, driving him closer and closer to the edge.

“You’re so good at this,” he managed to pant, his voice hoarse with need. “I can’t believe you’re doing this for me…”

She grinned wickedly, her eyes locking onto his as she quickened her pace, her tits bouncing with every movement. “Believe it,” she said, her tone sharp and commanding. “And don’t you dare come until I tell you to.”

Lando groaned, his head falling back again as he tried to obey her command, but it was nearly impossible. Her tits felt so good around him, so warm and soft and tight, and the way she moved only made it worse. He could feel the pressure building in his balls, his orgasm threatening to spill over at any moment.

“Y/N…” he warned, his voice strained as he opened his eyes to look at her. “I don’t think I can hold back much longer.”

She smirked, clearly enjoying his discomfort. “Good,” she said simply, her tone leaving no room for argument. “Because I want you to feel every second of this.”

With that, she tightened her grip on her breasts, forcing them even closer together around his shaft as she rocked her hips, her movements becoming more erratic as she pushed him toward the edge. Lando’s breath came in short, desperate gasps, his body tensing as he felt the climax begin to build.

“I’m close,” he admitted, his voice barely audible as he struggled to hold on. “So close…”

Y/N didn’t say anything, just kept moving, her eyes never leaving his as she drove him closer and closer to the brink. And then, finally, he couldn’t hold back any longer. With a loud groan, Lando came, his release spilling out over her breasts as she continued to milk him until every last drop was gone.

Panting, he collapsed back against the couch, his body limp and spent as he stared up at the ceiling, trying to catch his breath. Y/N, meanwhile, sat back on her heels, a triumphant smile playing on her lips as she looked down at him.

“Told you I knew what I was doing,” she said, her tone smug but undeniably sexy.

Lando couldn’t help but laugh weakly, his body still buzzing with pleasure. “Yeah,” he agreed, his voice rough. “You definitely did.”

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nocoolusernamesavailable-blog · 2 months ago

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LN4 | Vexing Vacation – Part 2

Summary: When you agreed to join your brother on his vacation, sharing a room with his best friend wasn’t part of the plan. Now, that you’re constantly stuck with Lando and his relentless teasing, you’re not sure whether you want to strangle him or kiss him.

Lando Norris x Fewtrell!Reader, one-bed trope, a lot of banter and a hint of forced proximity :)

WC: 3.6K

Warnings: mentions of sex/sexual insinuations, and curse words

Part 1 | Masterlist | Part 3

She didn’t know how, but Y/N had eventually managed to fall asleep in that freezing cold room. It actually didn’t even feel that cold anymore when she woke up in the morning. Nevertheless, she tugged the blanket up higher and buried her head further into the pillow. That’s when she noticed it – the heavy weight that was tightly gripping her waist, and the source of warmth against her. How had this happened? She was not even five centimetres away from the edge of the bed.

That little fucker.

Poor Lando wasn’t even properly awake when he was basically flung across the bed. He blinked groggily, rubbing his sleepy eyes. He looked up at her in confusion. “What the hell?” he grumbled, still trying to shake off the sleepiness.

Y/N, fuming, sat up and glared at him. “You were practically spooning me, Lando! What the hell’s wrong with you?”

Lando, rubbing his eyes, mumbled defensively, “I didn’t mean to! I must have just… rolled over in my sleep.”

She narrowed his eyes at him, pointing a finger in his face. “I warned you about this, Lando! I told you if you would cross over to my side I’d get Max to take care of you!”

Lando, now more awake, sat up and looked at her, a hint of a smirk playing on his lips. “I believe there was a promise of choking involved, too?”

Y/N’s jaw was slack in shock at his boldness. “Don’t be smart!”

“Come on, you were pretty cosy with me, too—”

“Cosy with you? I was on the edge of the bed! I literally would’ve fallen off if I moved any closer to the edge,” Y/N protested.

“You didn’t seem to mind the extra warmth,” Lando shrugged.

She glared at him. “Oh, please. It’s not like I had much of a choice with you clinging to me.”

Lando shook his head at her fiery temper; it was far too early for this. “Well, it’s not like you tried to push me away. I think you’re just too scared to admit you liked it,” he said, his smirk widening.

“Are you kidding me? I was practically falling off the bed. That was not enjoyment, that was survival. If you think that’s what enjoyment looks like, you’re obviously not very good in bed,” Y/N huffed, getting out of bed to collect her stuff.

“Wow, okay. I’ll have you know I’m very skilled, I get compliments all the time.”

Y/N rolled her eyes. “Overcompensating much?”

Lando smiled suggestively, “If you want, you could find out for yourself.”

“Ugh, gross. Absolutely not. One night of accidental cuddling is more than enough.”

“If you change your mind, I’ll be more than happy to provide a demonstration,” Lando smirked.

“Dream on,” she concluded, stalking into the bathroom.

– – – – –

Half an hour later Lando and Y/N had joined Max and Pietra downstairs for breakfast, the intense discussion long forgotten. The soft sound of clattering plates and cutlery filled the hotel restaurant when they sat down. The group slowly ate their breakfast while they talked about possible activities for the day. After a vote, the plan was set: a morning hike, followed by an afternoon of exploring the town – especially the cute stores they spotted on their way.

And so, soon after they finished up their breakfast, they set out for their hike before it got too hot. The scenery was stunning; different types of trees and plants lined the pathway they followed, the sun shining through the leaves above them and every now and then, through the heavy bush, they could see the beautiful view of a lake nearby with tall mountains in the back. Unfortunately, the gorgeous sight was marred by Lando’s presence. Of course, he had to walk right behind Y/N, and couldn’t keep his mouth shut to save his life.

“Careful there, don’t trip,” Lando told her as she manoeuvred over a large rock with little grip.

Y/N shot him a glare over her shoulder, mistaking the sincere concern in his voice for teasing. “I’ll take you down with me.”

Lando was surprised at the sharp response – he didn’t mean to insult or mock her. Y/N had always been witty; she always had a comeback ready for whatever Lando said, but she had never been good at noticing when Lando was genuine instead of taunting. She usually took all his comments as banter, even his attempts at flirting. Her consistent rejections made him play along; turning it into a joke instead of a true effort at pursuing his best friend’s sister. Maybe it was for the best; the dynamic worked, and Max would never allow anything more than friendship between them anyway.

When the group reached the edge of the lake, they decided to take a break. They climbed down the rocks carefully and perched themselves on large stones scattered at the waterfront. Max searched through his backpack for the snacks Pietra had made them bring and offered everyone some. They drank water, ate something, and took a few pictures of the gorgeous view before continuing their hike.

Lando was the first to climb up the steep rocks back to the trail. He looked down while he waited for the rest, watching as Y/N struggled to find solid footing for the rather difficult climb.

“Let me help you,” Lando offered, holding out his hand for her to take.

She glanced up at him. “I’m fine,” she said dismissively, right as her foot slipped. Before she knew it, she was reaching out for his hand, grasping it tightly while he steadied her. His grip was strong and he knelt closer to offer his other hand in case she should need it, gently pointing out where she should step next. His unwanted help annoyed her; she could do it herself, she just needed to regain her balance first. Regardless, she followed Lando’s advice, his casual yet firm guidance impossible to refuse.

Once back on solid ground, Y/N felt a flush creep up her neck, embarrassed by her misstep and flustered by how unusually kind Lando had been. She avoided his gaze, brushing off her clothes as if that would somehow dismiss the moment. "Thanks," she muttered quickly, hoping to move on.

"No problem," Lando replied, his voice softer than usual. He felt a pang of guilt in his heart for making her uncomfortable; his only intention had been to help. As he watched her avoid his gaze, he couldn’t help but think she looked cute – adorable, even, all flustered and embarrassed. The way her cheeks flushed slightly warmed his heart. Normally, she would only show him her strong and independent side, always refusing to accept his help or express her true emotions when he was near. She didn’t want him to see her in a vulnerable state, but sometimes it couldn’t be avoided. And whenever Lando managed to catch a glimpse of that softer side, like now, all he felt was the overwhelming urge to protect her.

Lando shook his thoughts away, and continued his way, not straying from the trail this time. He walked next to Max, while Pietra followed Y/N closely, letting a distance grow between them and the boys further ahead.

“What was that?” Pietra asked her.

“What?”

“You know, Lando helping you, and then you blushing like crazy,” she clarified.

Y/N laughed nervously, “What? It was nothing!”

“Mhm, sure. You guys already seemed weird at breakfast. Did something happen last night?”

Y/N sighed, checking how far ahead the boys were. She deemed them far enough to be unable to eavesdrop. “Lando cuddled me tonight,” she admitted hesitantly.

“What?” Pietra nearly screeched.

“Yes. I don’t know how it happened. I was as close to the edge as possible, like five more centimetres and I would’ve fallen off,” she told Pietra, looking at her over her shoulder, “I even threatened that I would choke him in his sleep if he crossed to my half of the bed, but it made no difference…”

“So Lando cuddled you in his sleep, and now he helped you up the rocks? I have a feeling he’s got a crush on you, babes,” she said, wiggling her eyebrows suggestively.

Y/N laughed, “Oh, please, P. That’s not true, he’s been bothering me for five years now.”

She merely shrugged, a knowing smile on her face. Y/N rolled her eyes – she knew better than that.

They finished the hike half an hour later, not counting the brief stop at the viewpoint. Once back at the hotel, they quickly freshened up and wasted no time heading out again, eager to explore the nearby boutiques and picturesque streets lined with quaint houses. After grabbing coffee and a pastry at a small cafe, they began exploring the local shops.

The group split up as they wandered off to different stores. Y/N found herself drifting toward a small bookstore tucked away on a quiet street. She’d forgotten to pack a book for the trip – not that it would have fit in her overstuffed suitcase anyway. She picked up several books from the English section, reading the backs one by one, trying to decide which one she should read this vacation.

“Now that seems like a good literary piece,” Lando said from behind her, startling her.

“Jesus, Lando. Why would you do that?” She said, grabbing her chest with her free hand, nearly dropping the heavy books in the other.

Lando grinned. “You’re too easy to scare,” he teased, casually leaning against one of the shelves. “What are you looking at anyway?”

Y/N handed him one of the books. “Hm, a romance novel?” He said curiously and she flushed at the implication.

“Not just a romance novel, it—”

“Anything where the main characters kiss is automatically romance, isn’t it?”

She sighed; Lando grinned.

“Why are you here? For as far as I know, you don’t read,” Y/N told him, taking the book from his hands, weighing her options.

“Thought I’d check on you. Make sure you didn’t get lost,”

Rolling her eyes, she put all books but one back in their places. “More like make sure you had another chance to annoy me,” she huffed, grabbing another book off the shelf.

Lando watched in amusement as she flipped through a few of the pages before putting it back.

“Okay, I’m buying this one. Do you want to look at a book for yourself, or can we leave?”

“I’m good,” he responded with that annoying smug smile of his tugging at his lips.

“Alright, then.” She nodded before heading to the register and paying for the book. Lando followed her out of the store and led them to a different one where Pietra and Max were waiting. They visited more stores until they felt it was time for dinner. As they were already in the town centre, they just walked around a bit until they found a restaurant that seemed to please everyone.

Y/N sat down at the table they were directed to, hanging her bag with the book on the chair. When she looked up again she saw that Lando had already claimed the seat next to her. She shot a questioning look at Pietra, who was sitting across from her, subtly signing with her eyes, ‘What is up with him?’ Pietra’s lips quirked into a knowing smile, her eyes glinting with amusement. She gave a small shrug as if to say, ‘You tell me’.

Dinner went much smoother this time around, especially since Lando couldn’t constantly stare at her face from her side. They had enough to talk about after all they had seen and decided to discuss their plans for tomorrow ahead of time. It would be a beach day, so the timing of buying the book was perfect.

Halfway through the meal, Y/N felt the light pressure of Lando’s arm casually resting on the back of her chair. It wasn’t touching her exactly, but it was close enough to make her aware of his presence. She froze for a second, her fork hovering in midair as her body tensed.

Lando didn’t say anything, just continued eating as if nothing had happened.

Y/N glanced across the table at Pietra, widening her eyes slightly, slightly nudging her head to Lando’s arm. Pietra took a sip of her drink, suppressing a smirk as she met Y/N’s gaze.

She looked at Lando in annoyance before shifting in her seat, leaning slightly to the other side to put more distance between them.

Lando, of course, noticed. He turned to face her straight away with a confused look.

“Get your arm off my chair,” Y/N said harshly.

Lando raised an eyebrow, his expression mockingly innocent. “What? I’m not even touching you.”

Y/N glared at him, her voice firm. “You’re close enough.”

Lando chuckled under his breath, clearly amused by her irritation. “Oh, come on. I’m just being friendly.”

“Friendly would be keeping your hands to yourself,” she shot back, trying to ignore how much his teasing actually made her pulse race.

Lando raised his hands in surrender, but his eyes gleamed with amusement. “No need to get all worked up.”

Y/N rolled her eyes, but she couldn't stop the warmth creeping up her neck. “You wish I’d get worked up over you. I’d just prefer if you didn’t touch me.”

Lando shrugged. “For not wanting to touch me, you seemed to hold onto my hand pretty tightly earlier,” he teased, leaning closer while Max eyed you in surprise.

Y/N’s eyes widened slightly as she recalled the moment he helped her up, a blush once again covering her face at the memory. “I was trying not to fall, I wasn’t touching you voluntarily.”

Lando chuckled softly, the sound annoyingly charming. “Yeah, keep telling yourself that.”

Y/N gaped at Pietra, who was still staring at her with a knowing smirk. She groaned in frustration before the conversation continued. Only a second later realising Lando still hadn’t removed his arm, she sent him another glare but didn’t bother asking him again.

The rest of the dinner passed relatively smoothly. Lando didn’t provoke Y/N much while they all chatted about tomorrow’s beach day and laughed about Max’s story of how he got stung by a jellyfish a few years back. By the end of the meal, Y/N had only needed to throw in a few comebacks and thought she kept her temper pretty well.

They paid the bill and left the restaurant, where the cool evening air greeted them. Y/N wrapped her arms around herself, the lingering warmth of the meal dissipating quickly in the cool night breeze. The four of them strolled back towards the hotel, the streetlights casting shadows on the pavement.

In the elevator, Max and Pietra talked about what time they’d set out for the beach tomorrow, while Y/N leant against the wall, tired from the day’s activities, trying to ignore the fact that she and Lando would be alone again once they got back to their shared room.

When they finally reached their floor, Y/N said a quick goodbye to her brother and his girlfriend before trailing after Lando. She kicked off her shoes as soon as she entered the room and went in search of her toiletries. Once she’d gathered everything she needed, she made a beeline to the bathroom. “I’m taking a shower,” she announced, before promptly closing the door behind her.

The clattering sound of the running water was a welcome distraction from her busy mind which, for some reason, kept replaying the moment in the forest. She could feel Lando’s calloused hand holding hers tightly every time the image reappeared in her head, the same tingling feeling emerging along with it, too. She could see the gentle look on his face, and feel her embarrassment at nearly falling on her face – it was like she was there again. The repeating memory was just as annoying as the man prominently featured in it. The man who seemed to always find a way to irritate her, even when she was alone, in the shower.

She banished the recollection to the back of her mind and finished up her shower. She quickly dried herself off and put her underwear and top on before she reached for her shorts, only to realise they weren’t there. She sighed deeply, mumbling to herself, “Of course, I forgot my shorts. Why would anything go my way for once.”

She groaned, running her hands over her face when another realisation came, “God, why did I only bring thongs?”

She squealed into the towel, a loud high-pitched sound, at her own stupidity.

”It’s all Max’s fault. If he hadn’t screwed up and gotten me my own room, everything would have been fine, but no!” She grumbled leaning her elbows on the counter, burying her face in her hands. “I’m going to kill him one of these days.”

Meanwhile, Lando had settled onto the bed, leisurely lying back, hands behind his head while he watched a random movie. Unbeknownst to Y/N, he could hear her frustrated mumbling coming from the bathroom, but he chose to remain silent until he heard her voice calling out louder.

“Lando?”

“Hm?” He responded uninterestedly.

“Could you please hand me my pyjamas? I forgot them…”

“Nah, I’m comfy. You’ll have to get them yourself.”

Y/N poked her head out the door. “Are you serious, Lando? I literally only have my underwear in here.”

Lando shrugged, not looking away from the TV, causing Y/N to sigh.

“Lando,” she warned, “if you don’t hand them to me, I swear—”

“I won’t look, promise,” he said, and she could hear the amusement in his voice.

With a deep sigh, Y/N tightened the short towel around her before she carefully stepped out of the bathroom, scanning the room to make sure Lando was keeping his word. He was lying in bed, hands behind his head, eyes lazily watching the TV playing some rerun of an old movie.

She tiptoed to the chair, where she thought her pyjamas were, but they weren’t there. Her eyes narrowed. Of course, they’d gone missing.

Muttering under her breath, she began searching through the drawers, still holding the towel tightly around her body. She bent down, checking the bottom drawer when she heard a low, barely audible curse behind her.

“Fuck,” Lando muttered, breaking the silence.

Y/N froze for a second before whirling around, catching his eyes very clearly locked on her. “What the hell, Lando! You promised you wouldn’t look!”

“Well, you said you only brought thongs. That’s not exactly encouraging me to look away.”

“You heard that? You know what, never mind. Fuck off, Lando. Where’s your decency?”

“Non-existent,” he replied with a smirk.

“Look away, Lando.”

“I don’t see the appeal,” he said, his smirk growing.

“I swear to God, I’m going to kill you someday.”

“Have you thought yet about how? ‘Cause I’ve got a suggestion.”

She glared at him from across the room. “Do I even want to hear it?”

A playful grin spread across his face at her frustration, “Having you sit on my face seems like a pretty good way to go…”

“God, Lando. Get your head out of the gutter!” She exclaimed, mortified at his blunt response.

Y/N huffed in exasperation, her cheeks burning with embarrassment as she turned her back to him, tightened the towel, and continued searching for her shorts. “You’re impossible,” she muttered under her breath, rummaging through the drawers with a little more force than necessary. Did he have no shame?

Y/N’s eyes scanned the room in growing frustration, her shorts nowhere to be found. She groaned softly, starting to doubt herself. Maybe she hadn’t packed them at all? No, that couldn’t be right, she wore them last night. They had to be around somewhere.

Lando, who had been watching her search in mild amusement, raised an eyebrow when she turned back to him with an accusing look. "You didn’t take my shorts, did you?"

He sighed, shaking his head in disappointment. “Why do you always assume the worst of me?”

“Because the worst is usually true!” she snapped back, still glaring as if that would somehow force him to confess.

Lando chuckled. “I swear, I didn’t touch them,” he paused, a mischievous smile on his face, “but you might want to check under the closet.”

Y/N narrowed her eyes but reluctantly looked under the closet, this time turning her back away from Lando – he had seen enough of her. Sure enough, her shorts were hidden underneath the closet, all the way to the back.

“Of course,” she muttered under her breath, feeling a wave of embarrassment wash over her.

Lando shot her a smug grin. “See? Sometimes the problem isn’t me – sometimes it’s you.”

She ignored his comment and grabbed the shorts, quickly making her way back to the bathroom to change. She let out a deep breath as she slipped into her pyjamas, mentally cursing herself.

Once she was dressed and ready for bed, she walked out, trying to keep her expression neutral. Lando was now walking around the room, collecting his toiletries and making a big deal of grabbing his pyjamas before disappearing into the bathroom while she settled into her side of the bed. She busied herself with her phone as she waited for Lando to come back before she turned off the light.

She pulled the blanket up high and immediately turned on her side. “Goodnight,” she mumbled, “you better stay on your side tonight.”

“Goodnight, Y/N,” Lando replied overly sweet, as if mocking her warning.

She felt Lando shift in the bed as he lay down, but it stayed at that. Maybe she would have a peaceful night tonight.

– – – – –

Part 3

@dripostsstuff @willowsnook @f1fantasys @sarx164 @watermelonslut @diorsummer @zzfhcp @spideylovin @harrysdimple05 @pattydel @mayusaatma @leonie404 @mywritersmind @weekendlusting

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nocoolusernamesavailable-blog · 2 months ago

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let's show f1 writers some love;

i've seen some discourse over the off-season about the quality of writing on f1tumblr, which is not only disheartening to see because i know how much effort goes into fic writing and smaus, but it also makes me sad to think new readers aren't finding the gold that exists on here.

so, i wanted to create a thread for people to shout out their favourite writers or fics or blogs that supports f1 writers! here are mine in no particular order;

@percervall @curiousthyme @jamminvroomvroom @vetteltea @monzabee @userlando @holllandtrash @goldsainz @lavenderlando @strawberrysainz @chaiiitime @chilling-seavey @velvetsainz-writes @landograndprix @luvth0t @driverlando @coff33andb00ks @snoopyracing @moonlightwritingf1 @lnfours @libraryofloveletters @vamossainz55 @silversainz @lxclerc @whorekneecentral @a-distantdreamer @formula-hamilton

i absolutely adore you all and i know there are so many more blogs out there! so please add your faves to this post or make a post of your own — i know it means the world to writers when ya'll shout them out. 💋 cate xo

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nocoolusernamesavailable-blog · 2 months ago

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like all-fire¹ ⛐ 𝐋𝐍𝟒

you knew the angles of a hunt the way others knew prayer, but lando had dropped from the sky like a storybook curse. (or: part one of the 𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘰 𝘯𝘰𝘳𝘳𝘪𝘴 𝘩𝘵𝘵𝘺𝘥 𝘢𝘶.)

ꔮ starring: dragon rider!lando norris x dragon hunter!reader. ꔮ word count: 33k+ overall; 16.5k in this part one. ꔮ includes: romance, action, angst, implied smut. alternate universe: non-f1, alternate universe: how to train your dragon. depictions of injuries, blood, violence, animal/dragon death; mentions of food, alcohol; suggestive language, profanity. one-sided rivalry, slowburn, rivals to lovers, creative liberties on viking culture, lando has a hiccup -ish story arc. not beta read; all mistakes are my own. ꔮ commentary box: it is unsurprising to me that my longest ever published f1 fic to date would be for @norrisradio. tara, when it comes to you, i think i can start to understand what it means to love to the point of invention. here is the first tranche of my birthday threats treats. as always: i love you like all-fire 🐉 𝐦𝐲 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 🎧 official playlist ⸻ flight risk

“I didn’t know you were an artist.”

Your voice echoes off the cold stone walls, sharp and amused, curling like sea mist between the wooden bars that separate you from Lando Norris—golden boy of the Isle of Formulae and apparent doodler of majestic reptiles.

He doesn’t look up. Just keeps dragging a piece of charcoal across a scrap of parchment, tongue caught between his teeth like a boy trying to stay inside the lines. The sketch is decent, too. Big wings, swept back like sails. The suggestion of movement in the spine. A Stormcutter, probably. The smug shape of it.

“You going to give me pointers?” he asks absentmindedly. His voice has the same irritating lilt it always has. Half grin, half blade. “Or just more unsolicited praise?”

You shrug from where you’re sitting, arms looped loosely around your knees. Your leathers are still damp from the ocean. Salt crusts at your collar. They hadn’t even let you rinse off before locking you in this glorified goat pen beneath the riders’ stronghold.

“I just thought it was sweet,” you coo. “You, sketching dragons like some lovesick maiden scribbling hearts in the margins. Very unexpected. Very sensitive. Is this how you woo them? Draw them first, ask questions later?”

That gets a twitch of a smile, barely there. “You wouldn’t know anything about wooing dragons,” he says. “All you do is kill them.”

You lean your head back against the wall. “You wound me, Norris.”

He closes the sketchbook. Not slams it, just folds it like he’s tired of pretending to be calm. There’s soot on his fingers. A smudge on his cheekbone, like war paint. He paces, restless, the clink of his boots against stone the only sound for a few heartbeats.

“I wasn’t expecting to catch you today,” he admits, like you’re two old friends bumping into each other at market, not predator and prey on the wrong side of a manhunt.

You let out an unceremonious snort. “You never do. And yet, here we are. Again.”

The flashback flickers quick behind your eyes: the scent of pine needles and burnt ozone, the way the blasted Stormcutter had burst from the fogbank with a scream that shook your ribs. Lando, perched sideways on her back like some reckless prince, grinning like a lunatic as he drove you into the canyon wall with nothing but wingbeats and well-timed arrogance.

He hadn’t even drawn his blade. Just landed beside you after your net trap had backfired spectacularly.

“Caught you,” he’d said. Arms crossed, chin tilted. Oozing victory.

“Tripped,” you’d muttered.

He’d smiled wider. “Sure. On my genius.”

Now, in the gloom of the cell, you eye him again. He looks the same as always: sea-wind curls, tunic a bit too fine for someone who rides dragons into battle, and that Stormcutter charm that makes even silence feel smug. But there’s something else tonight. A quiet tension in the line of his shoulders. The sketchbook, maybe.

Or the fact that he still hasn’t found a dragon that feels like home.

“What’s her name again?” you ask, nodding toward his sketchbook. “Your-big winged terror.”

“Moomoo.”

You laugh. “Gods, you really are soft.”

“And you,” he says, leaning closer to the bars, eyes bright with challenge, “still haven’t explained what you were doing sneaking around our rookery with a vial of sleep moss and three dragonbone bolts.”

You shrug again. “Old habits.”

He shakes his head, but he’s not angry. Not really. You two have danced this dance too many times for it to carry real venom.

A dragon screeches in the distance, sharp and wild against the moonlight. The Isle of Formulae never sleeps. Neither, it seems, do its riders.

Nor its hunters.

You stretch your legs out, tilt your head toward him. “Are you going to keep me locked up all night, or are we going to talk about why you’re really down here sketching dragons instead of riding them?”

Lando flips you off, and you almost smile. Almost.

The first time you met Lando Norris, you had both been seventeen and full of blood.

Yours, from a graze across your thigh. Dragon fire, sharp as glass. His from a split lip, courtesy of your elbow. You’d tracked a rogue Devilish Dervish into the pine-choked ridges of his territory, thinking it had fled from your island’s northern cliffs. Your traps were crude, efficient. You knew the angles of a hunt the way others knew prayer.

But Lando had dropped from the sky like a storybook curse.

His Stormcutter hadn’t even roared. Moomoo only sliced through the fog with wings like blades, scattering your carefully placed fire-bombs with one gust. Lando then landed in front of you, smug and golden, like he belonged to the clouds. His first ever words to you: “You’re trespassing.”

You had drawn your dagger, and spat in his face, “I’m cleaning up your mess.”

He’d grinned then—and you hated it, how easy it looked on him. How boyish. How bright. Like war was just another game. That day, you left with a bruise blooming along your ribs and a furious ache in your pride. He left with a smudged cheekbone and your name carved somewhere behind his teeth, even if he never said it aloud.

After that, it became a pattern. You found dragons, he found you. Sometimes too late to stop you, always just in time to scold. Sometimes you slipped away. Sometimes he let you. Once, during a wildfire in the Valley of Bones, you worked together. No words, just movement. You saved a nest together. Tiny winged things chirping against the smoke.

Later, he tossed you a waterskin without looking. “Don’t tell anyone,” he muttered.

You never did.

You began to map the shape of him like you did the sky. The way he always flew low before a dive. The way he clicked his tongue to steady Moomoo. The way he looked at dragons—not like a rider, not like a soldier. Like a boy looking at constellations.

You began to wonder if you had been wrong.

Now, in the damp belly of the stronghold, Lando leans against the cell door like it’s a tavern counter and you’re his favorite bard.

“So,” he drawls, twisting the ring on his finger like he’s bored. “How many laws did you break this time? Or is it a record?”

“Only two. Three, if you count breaking your ego.”

“Impossible. My ego’s flame-proof.”

“Shame your face isn’t,” you grouse.

He breaks out into a smile, and there it is again. The stupid, sunlit thing of him. The way he always looks like he knows something you don’t. That’s not the case, though.

You wait until he’s fallen asleep.

Or pretends to.

He does this thing where his breathing deepens just a little too rhythmically. His arms folded behind his head like he’s sunbathing, one leg cocked over the other. It’s theatrical. Deliberate and utterly maddening.

You crouch by the cell door, fingertips finding the loose stone at the base of the frame. It lifts with a soft scrape. Behind it, the pin you stashed three visits ago glints in the dim torchlight. You work quietly. The lock isn’t complicated. Riders don’t expect prisoners to return often enough to hide tools.

Click.

You swing the door open with the careful grace of someone who has done this before. Because you have. You’ve been caged here, and you’ve escaped. Only once before from Lando; thrice from the one named Alex.

You step into the corridor, boots whispering against the stone. You make it four steps before you glance back. Lando is still in his makeshift throne, eyes closed, mouth set in the ghost of a smile.

You sigh, louder than you need to. “You know,” you call, “for someone who keeps catching me, you really are terrible at holding me.”

He doesn’t move. Doesn’t even open an eye. Just mutters, voice low and scratchy with sleep he isn’t actually in: “There’s no fun in seeing you behind bars.”

That stops you. Not completely—your body keeps facing the exit, but your eyes drag back to him. The ridiculous slouch. The charcoal still smudged at his temple. That line between his brows that only shows up when he thinks you’re not looking.

“You should lock the pinhole next time,” you say wryly. “Or check for false stones. Or, I don’t know. Maybe just try harder.”

He shifts just enough to shrug. “Maybe I don’t want to try harder.”

“You’re a terrible jailer, Norris.”

“And you’re a predictable flight risk.”

You don’t say goodbye. You never do. But you do shut the door a little quieter behind you.

The smell hits you first.

Brine, singed leather, smoke. Home.

You crest the final ridge before the cliffs drop into your island’s harbor, and there it is. Jagged rooftops and soot-streaked towers, chimneys coughing out black ribbons into the sky. A place built by people who never learned to stop surviving.

Your boots crunch over gravel as you walk into the guild courtyard. There’s blood on your sleeve, soot in your hair, and the distinct ache of someone who slept on a wet cave floor.

The gate creaks open, and Max is the first to spot you. Of course.

He doesn’t run. Max never runs. But he folds his arms across his chest and raises one brow with enough judgment to bring down gods. “Two days,” he says gruffly. “No raven. No signal. Not even one of your dramatic little smoke flares.”

“Hi, Max,” you chirp. “I missed you too.”

He squints. “Did you at least kill something?”

“Only the mood.”

Max sighs, and it sounds like gravel. You know why he does this, why he leads. He was thirteen when a dragon took out half his village, and seventeen when he speared that same beast through the eye. There’s no poetry in it. Just a ledger in his mind: dragons above, losses below.

“You look like hell,” George chimes from the forge steps, flipping a dagger in his hand.

“I feel like it, too,” you shoot back heatlessly.

George grins, wide and sharp. He’s all angles and calculation, the kind of man who can kill with a compass and a good guess. Once mapped the migratory pattern of a Copyclaw using nothing but burnt maps and a rock collection. He doesn’t hunt for revenge. He hunts for control. The way other men play chess.

“So,” George drawls, “what kept you? Got tangled in rider territory again?”

You give him a look. A brief flash of Lando’s smug face crosses your mind, uninvited. “Something like that,” you say vaguely.

Then comes Yuki. You hear him before you see him. The clang of something heavy being dropped, followed by an exuberant shout: “Oi! Look who's back from their romantic getaway with death!”

He lifts you off your feet like a sack of potatoes.

“Yuki—!”

“You smell like shit. That means it went well.”

He drops you with a cheeky grin. Yuki doesn’t need reasons to fight dragons. He was born in a crater where one landed. The first thing he ever saw was smoke. Brawn, sure, but never brute. There’s a surprising tenderness in how he cleans his axes.

You brush yourself off and smile despite yourself. The courtyard is loud again. Full of bad jokes and worse stories. Despite the burn on your wrist and the bruises blooming down your spine, it feels good to be back.

Max finally softens. Just a little. “We need you for the next hunt,” he says. “No more solo heroics.”

“No promises,” you say under your breath, but you nod when Max shoots you a glare.

Because this is the closest thing you have to a family. And families, at least the good ones, wait for you. Even when you smell like dragon spit.

George tosses you a roll of bandages. Yuki heads to the stew pot. Max goes to argue with someone about a broken lance.

For a while, you let yourself believe this is all there is. Just soot and laughter and the people who know you best.

You clean up to the best of your ability. It doesn’t work all that much. By the time you’re stalking into the meeting hall, the unmistakable musk of three unwashed hunters and one deeply burned stew invades the senses.

You slump into your usual seat, the one near the back with a good view of both the door and the window. Max stands at the head of the war table, arms crossed, expression carved from stone. George lounges to his right, half-polished blade in his lap, while Yuki rocks back and forth on two legs of a chair that looks like it’s seen better centuries.

“Alright,” Max starts, voice brisk. “Next hunt’s local. Razorwing in the northern fjords. Nothing we haven’t handled before. We move at dawn.”

George yawns. “Another day, another lizard with a vendetta.”

“Razorwings aren’t lizards,” you point out.

“Semantics.”

Max continues like he’s used to being ignored. Which, to be fair, he is. “Standard formation. You two—” He nods at you and Yuki, “take the flanks. George and I handle the ridge.”

“Finally,” Yuki grins. “Something to hit.”

You roll your eyes. Max makes a few more notes, ticking off supplies and exit routes. George scribbles nothing useful on a parchment. Just when you think the meeting’s over, Max tries to bury the lede in his goodbye: “Oh, and someone reported a Night Fury sighting. South cliffs. Likely nonsense, but there it is.”

You blink.

“I’m sorry,” you say, sitting up straighter. “Did you say Night Fury?”

“I did. And we’re not pursuing it.”

You stand. The stool screeches against the stone. “Why the hell not?”

Max levels a look at you. The kind that usually ends arguments before they start. “Because it’s a dead end. No one’s seen one in over a decade.”

“Until now,” you protest.

“A fisherman saw a shadow. That’s not proof.”

“It’s enough to chase!”

George, for once, doesn’t back you up. He shrugs, all reluctant reason. “Max has a point,” he says, and you can count on one hand the amount of times the two men have agreed. “Even if it is real, chasing it is suicide.”

You glare at him. “You’d believe in tracking a dragon by the way moss grows on stones, but not this?”

“Moss doesn’t kill you with plasma blasts.”

“It could, if it tried hard enough,” Yuki offers unhelpfully. Probably because he’s starting to feel left out.

You rub your temple. The anger starts small, a coil in your gut, then it grows, pressing at your ribs. “Look,” you say, as if you’re explaining to a child instead of your peers. “If we found one—if we tracked it, fought it, maybe even captured it—we’d be legends. We wouldn’t have to go after Puffertails and Boomback for table scraps.”

Max doesn’t flinch. “We don’t hunt legends. We survive,” he says firmly. “That’s what this guild does. That’s what I do.”

You sit back down, hard. The stool groans under you. Yuki leans over, whispering like he thinks he’s subtle. “I mean, it would be pretty cool,” he says conspiratorially, because Yuki Tsunoda is exactly the type of guy to want a little bit of glory for himself.

You stab your stew with unnecessary force.

Cool doesn’t begin to cover it. You can already see it—the Night Fury, wings stretched like shadow, lightning dancing across its scales. Your name etched into the history books beside it. Not a footnote. Not a ghost.

And yet, all you get is another hunt. Another day. Another dismissal.

The fire in the hearth crackles. The stew bubbles. Inside you, something sharp and bright refuses to go out.

The Razorwing hunt goes by without a hitch. You capture, you kill, you sell. It’s calculated, clinical. You reap enough benefits that Max gives you all a mini-vacation. You have two days off and a lead so thin it could snap in a stiff breeze, which is exactly your definition of fun.

The village is all crooked shacks and nets hung out to dry, the air heavy with the sharp tang of fish guts. The cliffs loom just beyond the docks, jagged and wind-cut. Somewhere out there, a man claimed he saw lightning move like it had a mind of its own.

You wander through the mist, boots sinking into the wet sand, asking questions the way you always do: carefully, with a grin you don’t mean and a knife tucked under your sleeve just in case. You don’t expect much. You definitely don’t expect to round the side of a weather-beaten hut to find Lando leaning against a barrel like it owes him money.

“Looking for something?” he says, smiling like a cat who already knocked the vase off the shelf.

You sigh. Loudly. “Oh, good. My headache’s here.”

He laughs, and it grates in the way it always does. Bright and insufferably charming. His curls are windswept, a scarf tied loose around his neck like he just walked off a ship full of admirers.

“I didn’t peg you for the ghost-chasing type,” you say wryly.

“And I thought you were too practical for fairytales.”

“It’s not a fairytale if someone saw it.”

“Someone also said they saw a dragon made of fog and moonlight last month,” Lando quips with that toothy, shit-eating grin. “You want to chase that too, or are you saving that for your next break?”

You roll your eyes. “What are you even doing here, Norris?”

“Same as you. Looking for answers. Or at least a good story.”

“You’re not a storyteller."

“No,” he agrees, pushing off the barrel with surprising grace. “But I know a good tip when I hear one”

You squint at him. His hands are in his pockets. He’s not armed, which means he’s either reckless or overconfident. Probably both. You step around him, muttering, “Waste of time.”

“And yet you came all this way.”

You keep walking, even when he calls after you. You only falter when he tacks on a too-loud, “I might have something you want.”

You want it on record: Lando Norris has nothing you could want. He’s a cocky sonuvabitch who walks around like he’s Odin’s gift to the Barbaric Archipelago. He’s absurdly handsome, unnecessarily loud, and trouble in human form.

Still, you stop enough to glance over your shoulder. “If this is another drawing of a dragon eating Max’s head off—”

“Not this time.” He taps his satchel. “Fisherman gave me something. Said it belonged to the thing he saw. Might be yours, if you buy me a drink.”

You stare. He smiles.

“Come on,” he says, tilting his head towards the supposed direction of the town’s tavern. “I promise I’ll only bite if you want me to.”

You grit your teeth and drag your feet, but not to walk away.

The pub Lando guides you to smells like a hint of something fried in questionable oil. It’s the kind of place that doesn’t ask questions and charges extra if you do. You’re tucked in a corner booth beneath an antler chandelier that flickers every time someone slams a mug on a table. Lando looks annoyingly at home—elbow propped up, mug in hand, acting as if this is a first date and not a tenuous truce between natural enemies.

He takes a long sip of the beer you bought him. Smacks his lips. “Tastes like regret and river water,” he declares. “I love it.”

You narrow your eyes. “You said you'd show me what the fisherman gave you.”

“I did.”

“So?”

He leans back, cradling the mug like it’s some kind of priceless heirloom. “I said I’d show you after a couple of drinks,” he croons.

“I’m going to chop your dick off and feed it to Moomoo.”

He breaks out into a grin. “Thinking of my dick, are we?”

You glance around the tavern. No one here knows your name. That’s half the appeal. The other half is that the chairs aren’t nailed down, which means you could grab one and bash Lando’s head in at any given moment. You take a cautious sip of your drink. It’s sharp and bitter. Lando watches you with open amusement.

“What punishment did you get for letting me go?” you ask him for the lack of better thing to talk about.

His eyebrows raise, disappearing behind his curls. “Who said I got punished?”

You lift a brow right back. “Come on. You let a known dragon-hunter walk out of your holding cell. Again.”

He gives a little smile. Not the bright, showy one. The smaller kind that hides behind silence. “Let’s just say it was frowned upon.”

“So they did punish you.”

He doesn’t confirm or deny. Just takes another slow sip, gaze flicking to the fireplace. You know a little about Formulae, about how its chieftain is a dragon-loving freak who didn’t even eat meat. Formulae is a haven for the monsters. Aqueducts, wing-inspired windmills, Dragon Racing bleachers. Hangars, stables, feeding troughs. Fucking dragon baths, even. The antithesis of your own isle—one that still has catacombs, catapults, trebuchets.

Lando’s side of the archipelago takes their liberation very seriously. They take their concept of peace very seriously, which makes you a disruption. Which makes Lando’s supposed incompetence a travesty.

He taps your mug with his. “To freedom.”

You scoff. “To manipulation.”

You drink, because he insists, and because part of you wants to. The beer doesn’t taste any better the second time, but the company’s warmer than you want to admit. The satchel with whatever-the-fisherman-gave-him rests between you on the bench, untouched. You don’t reach for it. Not yet.

You learn, instead, that Lando talks like he drinks. Too much and with vouchsafed confidence.

He’s on his third mug now, sprawled like a spoiled cat in the booth, telling a story about the time he tried to ride two dragons at once. You think he’s embellishing. Actually, you’re sure he is. The physics alone are suspect.

“And then the Snowtail looks back at me,” he says, slurring only slightly, “like she’s about to demand a formal apology, and the Flightmare just gives up mid-air. I swear, I saw disappointment in its eyes. Y’d think I broke some sacred bond of dragon trust."

You hum, lifting your mug to your lips and hiding a grin. He squints at you, suddenly earnest. “You’re not even listening,” he grumbles petulantly.

“I am,” you lie.

He waves a hand dramatically. “You never do. You just watch me like you’re waiting for me to fall off a cliff.”

You sip again. “That’s not true,” you say sagely. “Sometimes I watch you like I’m hoping the cliff falls on you.”

Lando laughs. It bubbles out of him warm and unguarded, and for a moment, you feel something soft lodge between your ribs. Then he leans in, closer than he’s been all night. His gaze is heavy-lidded, breath warm with beer and mint. You hold perfectly still.

He’s close enough to kiss you. And maybe he means to.

But instead of meeting him halfway, you duck sideways and knife the bottom of his satchel with the practiced efficiency of someone who’s been playing the long game. The leather parts with a quiet rip. You slip your hand inside, just about to claim your prize—

Lando’s fingers clamp around your wrist. Hard. “Ah, ah,” he tuts, suddenly far too sober, though his smile is still that lazy curl. “And here I thought we were having a moment.”

You twist, elbow aimed at his side, but he’s faster than he looks. He ducks it, using your own momentum to pull you across the booth. Your hip slams into the table. “You were faking!” you hiss.

“Only a little. You know how much I like a good show,” he says conversationally, as if you hadn’t just tried to rob him mid-flirtation.

Your fingers close around the first thing you can grab inside the satchel. A sheaf of crumpled parchment, ink-stained and dragon-marked. His notes. You wrench free and bolt.

The tavern erupts in surprise as you shove past a server holding a tray of questionable stew. Chairs scrape. Someone curses. The barman doesn’t even flinch, just sighs and mumbles something that sounds suspiciously like good riddance.

Behind you, Lando’s laugh chases you out the door. He doesn’t even follow you, which leads you to think that there was no prize to win in the first place.

Your boots are still wet when you make it back to your base. You unroll Lando’s parchment with fingers still tingling from the cold and adrenaline. Your heart, traitorous thing, dares to hope.

The notes are exactly what you expected at first. Lando’s drawings are infuriatingly intricate. A Fire Fury mid-flight, wings curled into flame. A Copyclaw in slumber, drooling molten snot. The strokes are loose but reverent, every scale inked like it mattered.

Then you get to the text. Stormcutter enjoys smoked eel. Gets grumpy when rained on.

You blink. Flip to the next page. Terrible Terror has an irrational fear of mirrors.

Another page. Deadly Nadder likes singing. Off-key. Possibly on purpose.

Your eye twitches.

Where are the wingspan measurements? The structural weak points? The tactical value? You’re knee-deep in doodles and diary entries. It’s less a field manual and more a… crush journal. For dragons.

You rub your eyes and groan. Yuki knocks once and lets himself in anyway, balancing a bowl of something unidentifiable in one hand. It smells strongly of onion and what might be scallops. “You’re back early,” he grunts.

You don’t look up. “Couldn’t sleep. Needed to review intel.”

Yuki peers over your shoulder. “Is that a Shocktail doing yoga?”

You slap the parchment closed with dramatic finality. “No,” you huff, and your next words are a little more annoyed than you probably mean them to be. “It’s nothing.”

He shrugs and sits cross-legged on the floor, slurping loudly from his bowl. “Looks like art,” he says in between spoonfuls.

“It’s useless,” you snap.

Yuki squints at your face. “You look mad.”

“I am mad.”

“You also look impressed.”

You throw a pencil at him. Yuki catches it mid-air and goes back to his second dinner. Meanwhile, you stew in the aftertaste of Lando’s ridiculous, beautiful fluff.

You shouldn’t care. You still do. And worse—you think you might be smiling.

The woods are thick with morning mist and bird chatter, damp moss curling around your boots as you pick your way past tree roots and half-frozen puddles. George is somewhere behind you, muttering to himself about wind patterns and wingbeats, but you’ve slipped ahead for a breather. And space. And maybe, if you’re honest, to get away from the lecture that always comes when you suggest Scuttleclaws might be smarter than him.

You’re not expecting to find Lando crouched like a vulture by a bush of winterberries, inspecting them like they might detonate. He doesn’t notice you yet. He plucks a berry and sniffs it, nose wrinkling. “Do you think if I die from poisoning, Moo will avenge me or just eat the leftovers?” he asks, and you realize he’s probably expecting somebody else. Maybe that one named Oscar, with the moles like constellations and the Songwing for a companion.

“Hard call,” you say dryly.

Lando startles, spinning. His hand goes to his tool belt but relaxes when he sees it’s you. “Gods above,” he exhales. “Why do you walk like a shadow?”

You step forward, hand resting lazily on the hilt of your dagger. “You played me for a fool back at that tavern,” you accuse him.

He straightens, brushing moss from his jacket. “I didn’t fool you,” he says. “You just assumed I was drunk.”

“You slurred through half a story about riding a dragon backwards.”

“I did ride it backwards. Once.”

“Let me guess. You sketched it afterward, with annotations about how the dragon prefers back-handed compliments and shrimp.”

His eyes light up. “He does prefer shrimp, actually.”

You snort, folding your arms. “Those notes were ridiculous.”

“Were they?”

“Completely useless.”

He tilts his head, not quite smug. “So you didn’t like them.”

“Didn’t say that.”

Lando raises an eyebrow. You chew your lip, suddenly aware of the quiet between the trees. Even the birds have hushed, as if watching. He meets your gaze, and for a heartbeat, there’s no teasing. Just him. “What did you think of them?” he asks with startling sincerity.

You don’t blink. “Used them to light my fires,” you lie.

Lando winces, hand to his chest like you’ve stabbed him. “Cold.”

You shrug, already turning back toward the trees. “It was a cold night.”

He calls after your retreating back. “I drew you once, you know!”

“Those berries will definitely not kill you, by the way,” you shout out as you stomp away. Again, Lando’s laughter follows you. It flits over the leaves and finds a home in your bones.

George is leaning against a fallen log when you get back to him, half-buried in his notebook and squinting at something he’s sketched. You recognize the silhouette of a Timberjack mid-wingbeat. His artwork is amateur compared to Lando’s, though his annotations are equally questionable: Glide ratio questionable. May have seen a mating display. Possibly just itchy.

You clear your throat. “We have company.”

He doesn’t look up. “You mean the squirrel?”

“I mean Norris.”

George sighs like you just told him it was going to rain. Then, with a faint smirk, “He’s still breathing, then.”

“Barely. He's trying to poison himself with berries.”

“Classic Norris.”

“‘Classic?’” you echo, because you can’t imagine what George might know about Lando Norris, of all people.

Before George can answer, a voice calls out, bright and obnoxiously cheery: “George Russell, as I live and annoy you!”

You turn. Lando’s emerging through the tree line with that same half-limp swagger, seeming to have followed you through the forest. He tosses something between his hands—probably one of the cursed berries—before chucking it over his shoulder.

George looks up, grinning despite himself. “Norris,” he calls out. “You still making dragons your emotional support animals?”

“Only the emotionally stable ones. So, not you.”

George stands and they clasp arms like old friends meeting at a harvest festival, not in the middle of potentially opposing missions. It’s strange. You knew George had grown up on Formulae, but he never talks about it much. Left not long after their last chief was chosen. Something about politics. Pride. Unsaid things.

Now, he’s laughing with Lando about a festival pie-eating contest and whether Moo still gets winded climbing hills. You watch, slightly bewildered, because this isn’t a camaraderie you’ve seen in hunts prior. Then again—Max had always been on those expeditions, ready to pounce at any sign of weakness. Here, in this forest where it’s just the three of you, George and Lando get to be boys again.

“You two want a tent and some matching cloaks, or should I come back later?” you ask wryly.

George waves you off. “We were practically raised in the same barns.”

“You mean the ones that burned down?” you prod.

“Suspiciously, after you left,” Lando deadpans to George.

You look between them. “Should I be worried you two will form an alliance?”

“Already did years ago,” Lando quips. “You’re just late to the reunion.”

George chuckles, going back to his notebook like Lando isn’t public enemy number five. You chew the inside of your cheek, watching Lando stretch in the sun like a particularly smug cat. You had expected tension. Instead, you got banter, shared history, and a fresh sense of unease curling under your ribs.

You’re not sure who’s the traitor here. You suspect it might be your own curiosity.

Lando leaves like he lives: dramatically, with flair, and just a bit too proud of himself. He throws an arm around George’s shoulders, plants an exaggerated kiss on his cheek with an exaggerated Mwah! and starts backing into the woods like he’s on stage, not surrounded by dead leaves and dubious birdsong.

Then he turns to you. “Come here,” he says, already puckering up. “Don’t be shy.”

You raise a hand, flat-palmed. “Try, and I’ll knife more than your satchel.”

“I’ll get you next time,” he sing-songs. Then he vanishes into the brush, whistling some tune that will probably end up stuck in your head for weeks.

George wipes his cheek, still smiling, and hoists his pack. “He hasn’t changed.”

“He kissed you.”

“He does that.”

You stare at him. “And you let him?”

“Better than a headbutt.”

You and George make your way down the deer path, heavy steps crunching dry pine needles. The sky’s beginning to shift to that soft orange of mid-afternoon, sun caught in the net of tree branches. A wind stirs the leaves and the faint sound of birdsong returns, like the forest finally decided it was safe again. You glance over. “So. You and Lando.”

George hums noncommittally. You try not to sound too invested as you go on, “You were friends? Before?”

“Childhood friends. Trained together. Ate dirt together,” he replies easily.

“Why didn’t he follow you when you left?”

George doesn’t miss a beat. “His place was there,” he says plainly, without a trace of emotion. “Mine wasn’t.”

That hangs between you for a moment, just long enough to feel a little heavy. You try to keep your voice light. “He seems… like a terrible influence.”

George chuckles. “He is.”

“He drew hearts around a Tide Glider in his notes.”

“He would.”

You watch the wind toss leaves across the trail, golden and soft like the tail-end of a fire. “Do you trust him?” you ask before you can stop yourself. It’s invasive, but it’s what you want to know the most.

George doesn’t answer right away. Then, simply: “He’s a decent guy.”

You make a noise in the back of your throat, somewhere between disbelief and digestion. Decent. Lando. As if those two words were ever meant to be neighbors. You and George keep walking. The words follow you like a second shadow, long and uncertain in the fading light.

You try not to think about Lando.

Which is harder than it should be, really. One would think a man who kisses cheeks like a wayward aunt and sketches dragon doodles like love letters wouldn’t be difficult to forget. But Lando lingers. Like a burr under your collar. Like sap on your hands. Like a song you only half remember but can’t stop humming.

So you throw yourself into chores. You sharpen blades, clean gear, prep snares. You spend half the afternoon arguing with Yuki over whether he actually saw a Gronckle belch itself awake or if he’s just been skipping sleep again. You avoid Max, who still thinks the Night Fury is just a bedtime story told by drunk fishermen and arrogant riders.

And you definitely avoid the loose corner of your pack where you’ve stuffed Lando’s dragon sketches. Just in case. Not for any particular reason.

But the truth is, you’re restless.

So when night falls, you grab your foraging bag and leave. Just a simple errand. Mushrooms. Maybe some wild leeks. Something to do with your hands that doesn’t involve stabbing things or thinking about emotionally constipated riders with stupidly nice curls.

The forest is quieter at night. You like it that way. Leaves whispering. Crickets clicking. The cool hush of dark. You’re crouched beside a root cluster, fingers brushing over a patch of what might be edible fungi when something cracks through the stillness.

Not a twig. Not a squirrel. Something else.

A whistle. High-pitched. Sharp. And then the sky behind you goes violet.

You don’t think. You dive.

The explosion scorches the air where you were seconds ago. Earth rattles beneath you. Trees shriek as branches split. You roll behind a fallen log and press your back to the bark, heart stampeding through your ribs. Silence, then a rustle. Your head snaps up.

And there it is.

Above you, perched on a boulder like a phantom made solid, is the dragon from every impossible tale you’ve been told not to believe. Black as obsidian. Eyes like molten gold. Wings tucked tight. Breathing quiet.

The Night Fury.

It sees you.

You should run. Every manual says run. But you don’t.

You leap over the log, feet scrambling on the dirt, and you run towards it. Because this isn’t a ghost, this is real. And if it’s real, then maybe everything else might be too.

Even the part of you that wants to understand what others fear. Even the dragon-hearted things you’ve never let yourself chase.

The Night Fury’s eyes narrow like a challenge, like it can’t quite believe you’re doing what you’re doing. Which is fair. Even you can’t believe it. There’s something electric in your chest now, something hot and hungry, and your legs move like they have their own mind. The dragon tenses. Tail flicks. Jaws open.

You see the glow before you hear the whine. Bright, violent purple gathers in its mouth. And then it fires. You twist at the last second, but not fast enough. The heat brushes your cheek like a slap. Dirt explodes beside you. Your ears ring. Your knees skid. You brace for the follow-up shot, lungs burning, heart ricocheting in your ribs.

And then you’re flying. No, wait. Falling.

Someone’s shoulder slams into your gut. You go down hard, breath punched out of your lungs. A heavy weight lands on top of you, warm and furious. “Are you completely out of your mind?” Lando hisses, voice tight with rage. “What the hell were you thinking?”

You wheeze. “I was thinking I nearly had it until you showed up and ruined it!”

Above, the Night Fury lets out a sharp, almost offended screech. A blur of black wings cuts across the sky. One beat, two, and it’s gone. Melted into the night like a dream you can’t quite hold onto.

Lando stays sprawled on top of you. You squirm. “Get off me,” you huff.

“Gladly,” he bites, rolling off with a grunt, “and you’re welcome for saving your idiotic life.”

You sit up, brushing leaves and dirt from your arms, and glare at him. “I didn’t need saving.”

“You were one plasma bolt away from being a pile of ash.”

“And you were one second away from being stabbed by me.”

He lifts his head, curls wild, eyes glowing in the faint moonlight. There’s dirt smudged across his cheek. “If this is some death wish thing, at least have the decency not to do it in front of me,” he snaps.

You stare at him, chest still heaving. “You don’t get to be mad. You don’t even belong here.”

“Neither do you, apparently, if this is how you treat your own damn survival.”

The silence that follows is thick with smoke and disbelief. The forest smells like scorched pine and singed moss. Your palms sting from the fall. Your heartbeat hasn’t slowed. You stare up at the trees and say, half to yourself, “It was real.”

Lando lies beside you, panting softly. “Of course it was real.”

You look at him. “You knew it was here.”

He doesn’t look away. “I hoped.”

You breathe in, breathe out. Then, because you can’t help yourself: “This was your idea of a rescue mission? Wait for me to get flambéed and then sweep in all knight-in-shining-stupid?”

Lando laughs, bitter and breathless. “Worked, didn’t it?”

You roll your eyes as your fingers twitch, aching for the creature now gone. You know, deep in your bones, this won’t be the last time you chase it. Or the last time Lando gets in your way.

You stagger a little too hard when you try to stand.

The ground shifts. Tilts. One moment it's solid beneath you, and the next it isn’t—your boots skid on the loose gravel, and your shoulder bumps against the nearest tree trunk. The bark is rough, the pain a sharp jolt.

Lando’s already on his feet. His eyes catch yours, then drop to the side of your face. His whole expression changes. “You’re bleeding,” he says, flat and clipped.

You scoff. “I’m fine.” You're not.

The air bites the side of your face like acid. Your skin feels tight, too hot. The copper taste of blood hits the back of your throat. Lando moves in a blur. One hand presses firmly against your shoulder, steering you back until your knees hit a low rock. You grunt as you sit, more from the indignity than the pain. He shrugs off his satchel, rummages through it with purpose.

“I don’t need your help,” you mutter.

“Sure,” he says. “And I’m a stable boy from Bjorn’s Hollow.”

The adrenaline has faded, and in its place: the dull ache of injury, and Lando's steady presence beside you. He wets a cloth with something sharp-smelling. Presses it gently to your temple. You flinch.

“Hold still,” he says, less annoyed now, more tired. “You could’ve been roasted alive."

“Would’ve saved me the embarrassment of this,” you grumble.

Lando dabs the wound with surprising care. His thumb brushes your jaw to steady your head, and for a moment, he doesn’t say anything. Just works in silence, brows furrowed, mouth set in a line. His fingers smell like iron and ash and the pine sap clinging to everything here. You don’t meet his eyes.

When he finally speaks, it’s quieter. “You really don’t know when to quit, do you?”

You shrug one shoulder. “No glory in quitting.”

“No glory in dying either.”

The cloth comes away dark and damp. He glances down at it, then folds it once, presses the clean side to your cheek.

The wind shifts again, cooler now. It slips between the trees, rustling the ferns and carrying the scent of scorched bark and damp earth. Lando steps back, wiping his hands on the hem of his tunic like he hadn’t just been ridiculously gentle. Like he hadn’t just touched you like glass.

“You want me to carry you home, too?” he asks, too breezy.

You raise an eyebrow. “What, and have you trip over your own ego halfway there?”

“Bold words from someone who nearly got barbecued.”

You snort, then shift to stand. Your legs ache, the side of your face throbs, but you manage to straighten with only a little wobble. Lando eyes it. Says nothing. You dust off your trousers with more force than necessary, then glance over at him. He’s already pretending to be preoccupied, fiddling with the straps on his satchel.

“Hey,” you say, quieter than you mean to. “Thanks.”

That catches him. His fingers still. His head tilts just enough to look at you from under his curls. He tries to mask it, the way his whole posture softens. The corner of his mouth twitches like it wants to smile, but his voice stays casual. “Don’t get used to it.”

You roll your eyes, but there’s something warm in your chest. “Next time, stay out of my way,” you add, because letting him off too easy would be a mistake.

He grins then, crooked and cocky. “Next time, try not to run face-first into plasma blasts.”

Max clears his throat, a low scrape like the drag of flint on steel. It cuts through the quiet like a blade through cloth.

You turn from the fire where you’d been half-tending a pot of something vaguely edible, half-ignoring the way your thoughts keep drifting toward the scuffed roll of parchment tucked beneath your cot. Max stands near the doorway, arms crossed, that permanent frown carved deep into his face. In his hand: Lando’s notes.

Your stomach drops. “You going through my things now?” you ask, more defensive than you mean to.

Max doesn’t flinch. He unrolls the parchment with deliberate slowness, eyes dragging across the ink like it personally offended him. “Didn’t have to look far. You left this out.”

“That doesn’t mean it’s yours to read.”

“Doesn’t mean it’s yours to keep either, does it?”

You open your mouth, then close it. The fire cracks behind you. Smoke curls lazily toward the rafters. What would you say? That you were just curious? That you liked the drawings? That you kept it because it reminded you of the look on Lando’s face when he thought you’d burned them—that flicker of panic, fleeting and real?

Max steps forward, boots thudding dully against the wooden floor. He stops only when he’s close enough to shove the parchment into your hands. “You gettin’ soft on me?” he asks, not bothering to beat around the bush.

You scoff, trying to mask the way your fingers hesitate before wrapping around the roll. “For the record, I still think he’s an idiot.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

“They’re not even useful,” you snap, fingers tight around Lando’s notes. “They’re—fluff. His dragon has a favorite type of berry, Max. Berries.”

Max’s eyebrows lift. “But you kept them.”

You look away. Max drops onto the bench opposite the fire, elbows on his knees. His voice loses its edge. “I know you haven’t lost anyone,” he says with the deliberate slowness of a pre-prepared lecture. “Not really. Not like George lost his brother. Not like Yuki lost his village.”

You don’t respond. Just stare at the parchment, the delicate ink lines, the gentle swoop of a dragon mid-flight. There’s no battle strategy there. No terrain maps. Just Lando’s dumb, useless, heartbreakingly tender observations.

Max continues as though he’s narrating the memory to himself more than to you. “You took this path because you saw what happened to the rest of us. You saw me hold pieces of my sister in my arms. You wanted to make sure no one ever had to do that again.”

You remember that day like it was carved into bone. Max, soaked in blood that wasn’t his. George, screaming. Yuki, hollow-eyed and shaking. And you, standing there—untouched, unharmed, ungrieved.

No one you loved had been taken. But the fear of what could be, what one day might be, was enough. You didn’t need personal loss to understand the cost.

You became a hunter not out of hatred, but to keep the scales from tipping. To make sure you were always ahead of the threat. Because if you could kill it first, maybe it wouldn’t have the chance to take anyone else. You tuck the notes into the inside of your jacket, heart heavy, throat dry.

“I haven’t forgotten,” you say.

Max watches you for a beat longer, eyes narrowing like he’s searching for something in your expression. Then he nods, sharp and simple. He stands and leaves without another word.

The fire pops. The stew bubbles, overcooked and starting to stick to the sides. And the parchment crinkles beneath your fingers, just enough to crease the corner of a sketch. A dragon in flight, mouth open in a silent roar, eyes full of something that looks too much like wonder.

It’s an unraveling you can’t afford, so you shove the parchments somewhere Max won’t find them, and you shove the thought of Lando even deeper down.

To be fair to him, Lando makes it easy. Weeks pass, then a month, then another. Lando vanishes off the map like a ship swallowed by fog. No sightings. No barroom rumors. Not even George has heard anything, which is somehow more suspicious than if he had.

You keep your head down. Learn how to fight with your fists. Help Yuki patch his arm after a scuffle with a Skrill. Study the Night Fury sketches when no one’s looking.

But then—

It’s a trader’s camp at the edge of a salt-flat ridge, and you’re there for dried herbs and a new waterskin. You’re halfway through bartering when someone behind you whistles low. “Been a while.”

You know that voice. You turn, heart skipping in a way you refuse to admit. And there he is. Lando, leaning against a fence post like he’s got all the time in the world. Wind-mussed curls. A smirk just sharp enough to spark irritation. Same old.

Except—

Your gaze drops. The left leg is gone from the knee down, replaced by a metal-and-wood contraption that clicks softly as he steps forward.

He sees you looking and grins, wide and unbothered. “I know, I know,” he says with a charm that’s a little too practiced. “Still devastatingly handsome, right?”

You stare. Words fail you in a way they never have before. Lando tilts his head. “What? Cat got your tongue?”

You don’t answer. Can’t. It’s not the prosthetic, not really. It’s the thing under it. The implication. The truth you already know but hate admitting: a dragon did this to him. The monster—the thing—he would defend to an inch of his breath.

He doesn’t say it. Doesn’t have to. Instead, he shrugs like he’s tossing off a joke. “Had a bit of a disagreement. You should see the other guy.”

Still, you say nothing. Just watch the way his stance shifts subtly to accommodate the new weight. How his eyes flash, just once, with something that isn’t humor. Lando raises an eyebrow. “Come on. You’re not gonna say something mean and weirdly flirtatious?”

You try, because one less leg doesn’t mean Lando Norris is an invalid. You want to ask him what happened. You want to know if the dragon is still out there somewhere, and if he’d fault you for believing in an eye for an eye. In the end, all that comes out is, “You’re an idiot.”

Lando beams. “Ah. There it is.”

That goddamn leg clicks softly as he moves past you, like it wants to remind you that even charm and wit can’t outrun consequence forever. You watch the shopkeep nod at you, then flick his chin toward Lando, who is already tucking away the coin pouch you were about to reach for.

“You didn’t—”

“Too slow, hunter,” Lando calls over his shoulder, grinning like he hadn’t just blindsided you with a guilt donation. He hands you your basket full of goods, all paid for now. “I guess I owe you one. For all the times you almost got me killed.”

You frown, stepping out of the stall after him. He’s doing that thing again. Shoulders squared, posture tall, cloak flaring just enough to make a statement. He means to saunter off like a storm in retreat, all drama and mystery.

Except he can’t.

The prosthetic drags slightly on the uneven cobbles, interrupting his grand exit with a subtle limp. It doesn’t ruin the image, exactly, but it slows it down. Lets you catch up. So you walk beside him.

You say nothing at first. Just watch the way he adjusts unconsciously—how he plants his good foot a little harder, swings his hips a little wider to compensate. Every fourth step, he touches the hilt of his sword like a nervous tic.

“You gonna keep staring,” Lando says, not looking at you, “or are you gonna write me an ode? I like the word ravishing. Works well in a chorus.”

You roll your eyes. “You limped off like you were trying to be mysterious,” you grunt. “I was just trying to see if the theatrics survived the leg.”

He nearly smiles. “They did. Just... slower.”

“Slower’s easier to keep up with.”

That makes him glance at you. A flick of amusement in his eye, but something softer underneath. You’re not sure what to make of it.

Then, you touch his elbow. Just a brush, like testing if he’s real, if the months apart haven’t made you dream him into something else. Lando stares at the spot your fingers had been. He looks back at you, a smirk forming.

“Don’t do that,” he chides. “I fall in love with people who are mean to me.”

You scoff, instantly retracting your hand. “Oh, go wrestle a Scauldron.”

“At least a Scauldron wouldn’t insult my hair.”

“Well, A Scauldron wouldn’t talk my ears off.”

“Yeah? A Scauldron—”

“—doesn’t pout when it loses at dice.”

He breaks into laughter. Real, unguarded. It’s bright and warm and nothing like the gritted smile he wore when you first saw him again.

He says, still grinning, "Gods, I missed y—this."

You don’t say it back, don’t point out his mid-sentence pivot. But you let yourself walk a little closer.

Just enough that your steps sync, even if the rhythm’s changed.

The trees whip and rustle in a way that feels normal for this high up the ridge, the wind slicking along the slope like it always does. But then there’s that low, droning hum. The distinct thrum of wings—not Windwalker wings. Something broader, slower. More deliberate.

Yuki hears it too. He straightens from where he’s crouched beside the trap, spear in hand. “That doesn’t sound like our guy.”

“No,” you mutter. “It sounds like trouble.”

And it is.

The Hobblegrunt dips into view over the crest of the trees, its patchy scales catching the sun like oil on water. You already know the rider before you see his face—because of course it’s Lando.

“Unbelievable,” you hiss.

He circles once, then coasts low enough that you can see the dumb grin on his face, the wind tugging his curls sideways beneath his helmet. You expect him to just fly by. Maybe flash that grin and be on his way. Instead, the dragon banks and lands with a heavy thud not ten yards from where you’ve set the trap.

“What is he doing here?” Yuki asks flatly.

You’re already striding toward the Hobblegrunt, the grass crunching underfoot. “Being a menace. As usual.”

Another dragon descends behind Lando’s, sleeker and wirier. Its rider—the devastatingly attractive Oscar Piastri—already looks like he’s ready for a squirmish. Great.

Yuki peels off to intercept the second rider, leaving you to deal with Lando, who swings off his saddle with more ease than you’re comfortable seeing. “You shouldn’t even be on that thing,” you snap before he's fully dismounted.

Lando only stretches, wincing slightly as he adjusts to the weight of the prosthetic. “And let you have all the fun? Never.”

You level a glare as he eyes your trap. “Let it go,” he says, some seriousness wheedling its way into his tone. “The Windwalker doesn’t belong in chains.”

You step between him and the netting. “That’s not your decision to make.”

He tilts his head, mock-thoughtful. “I think you’ll find I make a lot of decisions.”

“And most of them are bad.”

He grins. “Still bitter about the pub?”

“Still bitter about you existing, mostly.”

The Windwalker, hobbled by the net, lets out a low, keening call that makes your shoulders twitch. You hear Oscar and Yuki bickering somewhere behind you, the sound of metal hissing softly as swords get drawn.

Lando doesn’t move to fight. Just looks at you with something bordering on earnest. “You know it’s not dangerous,” he says, and the softness in his tone has your hands balling into fists. “It was just flying through. You know that.”

You hate that he’s right. Almost as much as you hate how calm he is about all this. Like he didn’t just get back into the air after months of recovery. Like this is normal. Like he isn’t risking what little he has left just to do something good.

“Go home, Norris.”

He smiles like he heard something else entirely. “Not until you let this one go.”

The Windwalker stares at you through the trap netting, its massive eyes wide and terrified. You clench your jaw. You do not have time for sentiment. You do not have time for Lando. And yet here he is. Again.

Lando throws the first hit, which isn’t much of a hit at all. It’s a weak, wide sweep of his leg that you sidestep with one eyebrow raised. “You’re off your game, Norris,” you say.

“Are you about to go easy on me?” he huffs, breath already coming heavy.

“If you ask nicely enough,” you say flatly, then you duck his next lunge and clip him with the handle of your blade. Not hard enough to bruise. Just to make a point.

He stumbles, catching himself before he falls. Barely. His prosthetic digs awkwardly into the soft soil, throwing off his balance.

You hesitate.

Lando notices. For the first time in a long time, he looks angry. A muscle in his jaw jumps; something sparks behind his gaze. “Don’t you dare pity me,” he spits.

So you don’t.

You twist, drop low, and hook his leg with yours. He hits the ground with a grunt, kicking up a spray of dirt and dead grass. His breath knocks out of him all at once, the sound of it cracking something in you. Maybe your resolve. Maybe your chest. Hard to tell.

Yuki whistles from a few feet off. “You done flirting or can we wrap this up?”

You toss Lando a look. He rears back, ready to retaliate against you. But then the Windwalker makes a sound like the sky tearing in two. Not a screech. A wail.

It thrashes against the trap, wings flapping wildly, nostrils flared, eyes locked not on you or Yuki but at the ridgeline past the trees. It stumbles forward, then tries again, every movement desperate. Desperate in a way you know too well. Not fear. Not rage.

Grief.

Yuki lowers his weapon. “What’s it doing?”

You follow the Windwalker’s gaze.

Through the trees, there’s a hollow in the rock. Shadowed. Barely visible. But you see the shine of shells. Pale blue. Delicate. A cluster of eggs, nested in a shallow bed of moss and old feathers.

“Shit,” you breathe.

The Windwalker cries again, and this time, your chest hurts with the sound of it.

Yuki raises his bow.

Lando curses, sharp and quick, and Oscar shifts beside him, poised to spring. The nest is halfway up the slope, cradled in the crook of two twisted boulders, fragile as a breath. Life, pressed soft and waiting beneath the thin veil of time.

You move to shield Yuki from Lando and Oscar before you can think better of it. Your body remembers who you owe.

“Don’t,” Lando says. Just one word. You glance at him. There's no heat in his voice now, no swagger. Only a raw, desperate thing. “Please.”

“Stay out of it,” you warn, blade gleaming in the rising light.

“They’re not a threat. The Windwalker’s only attacking because you cornered her,” Oscar chimes in. “Let the eggs go. Let her live."

The Windwalker wails again, a sound so keening it curls your spine. It thrashes, wings bent, one leg bloodied, dragging against the trap Yuki laid. Its eyes aren’t on you. They’re on the slope.

You falter. Just for a second.

Yuki doesn’t.

“Let her live?” Yuki spits the words out like they taste bitter. He doesn’t look at Lando. He looks at you. “We do this for our island. So they don’t have to bury children. You remember that, right?”

And for a moment, you don’t.

You forget the soot-stained grief on Max’s face. You forget George’s silence when his brother’s name comes up. You forget why you ever picked up a blade at all. All you see are eggs. Small. Still. Waiting.

Lando sees the flicker in you and latches onto it. He says your name all soft and prayer-like. A benediction in its own right. “They deserve a chance,” he insists, but he’s pleading with the wrong person. You’re not the one aiming.

“Our dead deserved a chance, too,” Yuki grits out.

He lets the arrow fly.

Time holds still.

The sharp twang of the bowstring, the brief hiss of the arrow splitting air, the sickening crack as it lands dead center. The explosion is oddly quiet. A wet pop, a scatter of yolk and shattered shell.

The Windwalker lets out a sound that rends flesh from spirit. Her wings crumple in on themselves. Her long neck curls inward. For a heartbeat, even the wind refuses to move. You don't need to be a dragon rider to feel it. You don't need to speak their tongue. You feel her loss like it sits in your own lungs, heavy and foreign and final.

It feels like the sky splits. Like some terrible thread has snapped.

No one moves. Not even Lando, who still has one hand lifted like he could catch the moment and rewind it. The Windwalker sinks to the ground, her body shuddering with a grief too large for the fragile world around her.

Yuki exhales a clean, hard breath, like the shot cost him something. When he drives his spare arrow into the creature’s underbelly, there is no protest. Not when the Windwalker has already faced a fate worse than death.

All you can do is watch.

All you can do is burn.

It helps you to keep your hands busy.

Every morning, you’re up before the sun, strapping gear to your hips and brushing ash from your jacket. You go on hunts back-to-back. You volunteer for the risky ones, the ones that take you into the canyons with no wind and too many blind corners. You don’t flinch when the dragons scream. You don’t blink when the blood sprays. You just wipe it off and move on.

Max notices, but it’s all wrong. “That’s what I like to see,” he says, clapping a hand on your shoulder after a particularly vicious kill. “Focused. Sharp. More of that.”

You nod, give him the tight-lipped grin he wants to see. You tuck the ache behind your ribs and carry it like another blade.

But when you’re alone, you see it again. The Windwalker’s cry, stretched into the sky like it was begging for the world to end. The way its wings shuddered before the collapse. The pale shards of eggshell, smoking.

You’ve killed before. That wasn’t new. This, though, felt like the wrong kind of silence after. And worse than that, you see Lando’s face. Not angry. Not yelling. Just empty.

He had looked at you like he didn’t know you. Like he wasn’t sure if he ever had. That’s what you can’t get rid of, no matter how sharp your knives are or how long you run. You think about the way he’d stood between you and the nest, as if his body could change the outcome.

You don’t know where he went. You haven’t seen him since.

Max thinks you’re in your element. George says you’re finally living up to your potential. Yuki just grunts in approval every time you return without a scratch.

And maybe you are everything they say. A good hunter. A leader. Someone who does what needs to be done.

But when you wash your hands at night, the blood never feels like it comes off. And you lie awake with your jaw clenched, stomach churning, because you’d give anything to go back. Not for the dragon, maybe. Not even for the nest.

For the look on Lando’s face before he turned away.

That’s what guts you.

You think he probably never wants to see you again. You wouldn’t blame him.

It still burns. It burns more than the fire ever did. And so you keep hunting, keep killing, until one evening the world closes in on you.

The moon is hanging low and fat over the edge of the cove, casting a blue sheen over the black sand. You step carefully over driftwood and scattered shell fragments, your boots crunching soft against the quiet. The salt air curls thick around you, dampening your curls and your thoughts. It’s a routine check—or that’s what you told Max. One of the scout dragons had gone off course near the sea cliffs, and you volunteered to look into it.

You hadn’t expected anything. Definitely not this.

A shadow uncoils at the far end of the cove, slipping from the rocks like a second thought. Your body tenses before your brain catches up. Wide-set eyes blink at you. The creature stands low and feline, with wings folded tight like a cloak. Sleek black scales shine like wet ink.

The Night Fury.

Your breath stills. This close, it doesn’t seem real. It feels carved out of stories and fear. You go for the hilt of your blade out of instinct. The dragon’s pupils dilate to slits.

Then it pounces.

You fall hard onto your back with a grunt, sand flying into your mouth, your ears, your collar. The beast looms over you, breath warm and sharp like struck flint. You suppose this is the part where your life is meant to flash before your eyes. Some seven-minute montage of all the things you did and all the things you failed to do.

Except the Night Fury doesn’t fire. Its jaws don’t close over your throat. It just looks at you, and so you don’t fight it. Not yet. There’s a strange hesitation in its body, something twitchy and curious, not feral. You’re about to whisper something stupid like, Well? when the creature is suddenly yanked off you.

The weight lifts and you scramble back, coughing. The dragon skids a few paces, grumbling.

“Are you insane?” comes a voice you haven’t heard in what feels like years.

Lando.

You stare.

He’s tugging the dragon by a leather strap looped loosely around its chest. His hair is longer now, tied back messily, and his jacket’s worn in that familiar, too-casual way. He looks at you like you’re the one who just ruined his evening.

“You know,” he says, huffing, “most people don’t try to fight dragons with sarcasm.”

“Most dragons don’t pounce instead of blast.”

“That’s called progress.” He raises a brow. “You alright?”

You brush sand off your sleeves, still blinking with mild confusion. “I think I liked it better when you were missing.”

“Ah,” he says, like that stings, but not enough to stop him from smiling. “Missed you, too.”

You glance past him. The Night Fury glares back at you, tail twitching like it’s half-annoyed it was interrupted. It doesn’t move to attack again. It almost looks bored. The dragon’s breath is hot against your arm, and you stay absolutely still, heart banging in your throat.

Then it snorts—an almost indignant huff—and stalks back a few paces. You watch, dumbfounded, as Lando steps up beside it like it’s nothing, fingers brushing over its flank like he’s petting a particularly irritable horse and not the harbinger of death and doom.

“You’re taming it,” you say flatly.

Lando glances at you, all teeth and mischief. “I prefer ‘mutual understanding between reluctant companions.’”

“That’s a Night Fury,” you sputter. “The unholy offspring of lightning and death itself.”

“Yeah, yeah. He’s a big softie. Just don’t look him in the eyes too long. Or move suddenly. Or carry fish he doesn’t like.”

You blink. “He’s picky?”

“Just like me,” Lando says cheerfully, crouching to scratch just behind the dragon’s ear. It practically purrs. You recoil.

“Is it broken?”

“Rude,” Lando says, not looking at you.

The Night Fury casts you a glance. Not threatening, but certainly not welcoming either. Its muscles coil as if in silent warning, tail twitching like a cat’s. You bristle, instinct telling you to draw your blade, but Lando casually raises a hand.

“Easy, both of you,” he says, like he’s mediating a family squabble.

You eye the dragon. “Why hasn’t it flown off?”

Lando stands, and for the first time, you notice the slight unevenness in the way the dragon holds itself. Its tail sweeps to the side, sluggish and imbalanced. You narrow your eyes.

It’s missing its right fin.

Cleanly.

Precisely.

“That’s why,” Lando says plainly.

You don’t say anything. But you think about Max. About the mangler cannons he sometimes shoots at shadows. How he never checks to see whether or not the shot landed, instead trusting the creatures would die a slow, horrific death. You swallow hard and keep the fact to yourself as you focus back on Lando.

“It matches,” Lando says, tapping his own prosthetic leg with a half-smile. “Though, fair warning: he’s grumpier about it than I am.”

You stare at them. Man and dragon. One missing a leg, the other a tail fin. Two halves of something ridiculous. You run your hands over your face. “It’s official,” you say incredulously. “You’ve gone fucking insane.”

Lando grins wider. “And yet, here you are. Still following me into caves.”

The dragon flicks its tail again, and you try not to notice the way it settles just slightly closer to him. You look at Lando. “You gonna name it?”

He pauses. “Thinking about ‘Murder Muffin.’”

“Gods.”

“Too cutesy?”

“Unhinged.”

He grins. “We’ll work on it,” he says, and you’re not sure if you like the way he says we.

The Night Fury gallops off into the tree line like a shadow with paws, tail flicking in the half-light. You watch it go, dazed, arms limp at your sides. There’s mud on your knees and pine needles stabbing into your thighs, and you can’t decide which makes you feel more unsteady. The fact the dragon hasn’t killed you, or the way Lando yanked it off you like it’s just a particularly spirited puppy misbehaving in front of company.

You’re still catching your breath, trying to make sense of the fact you’re alive, when Lando makes himself comfortable on a fallen log a few feet away. The sound of him settling—leather creaking, a sigh escaping like it’s been corked up too long—makes your skin itch. You don’t look at him, but you feel him in your periphery, familiar in the way a thorn is once it’s been lodged in too long.

He doesn’t speak right away. Just exhales, slow and deliberate, as if he’s trying not to spook a bird. Or you.

You get there first. “If you’re about to say anything about Windwalker eggs, save your breath.”

He raises his hands without argument. “Wasn’t going to.”

You glance at him, suspicious. “Really.”

“Well,” Lando says, plucking a twig from his curls and flicking it with theatrical flair, “Not immediately.”

You look back at the trees where the Night Fury disappeared, as if the darkness there might offer an easier conversation. The silence stretches. Not hostile, not charged—just tired. The kind that sits deep in your joints and behind your eyes, weighted with things you haven’t let yourself say aloud.

Then, softly, Lando says, “I know why Yuki did it.”

You can’t help the scoff that crawls out from the back of your throat. “Oh, do you?”

“Yeah. You think if you kill enough of them, fewer people end up dead. It makes sense.”

The ache in your jaw ratchets up a notch. You don’t speak. You don’t nod. The accusation—if it even is one—sits close enough to the truth that you let it hang there. Lando rubs the back of his neck, eyes on the moss underfoot. “I think, maybe, you understand why I don’t. Why I can’t.”

You still don’t look at him. But you don’t push back, either. The quiet between you deepens, thins, turns from cold steel to something threadbare and uncertain.

A rustle draws your gaze. The Night Fury has returned, dark and sleek, creeping low to the ground like fog over wet stone. It sniffs the mossy dirt near your feet, then nudges the toe of your boot like it’s testing your boundaries.

Your whole body tenses. Your breath catches. But you don’t flinch, you don’t reach for a blade. You just watch.

When you finally glance at Lando, expecting a smirk, a quip, something to shake loose the tension, he’s just—watching. Still.

There’s no cocky grin. No usual flash of teasing in his eyes. Instead, his face has gone soft around the edges, gaze full of a quiet warmth that doesn’t try to press in too close. Like he’s afraid you’ll bolt. Like you’re the rare creature now.

“Careful,” you say, throat dry, voice cracking faintly. “Fall in love with me and I’ll start charging you for my time.”

Lando grins, but it’s smaller than usual. Like he knows not to laugh too loud when something fragile is unfolding. Like something in him wants to reach out, but he’s holding himself back.

The Night Fury curls up at a short distance, tail swishing like it’s already bored of the both of you. You sit there with Lando in the hush that comes only after surviving something that should’ve ended differently. The kind of silence that doesn’t need words to be full.

Like a fool, you stay.

You tell yourself it’s for the dragon. The sheer rarity of it. The mystery. The biology. The need to witness a Night Fury in action, to observe and log and study. That’s the story you stick to, anyway, every time you find your feet taking you back to the cove in between missions. It’s definitely not because you might want to run into Lando again. Nope. Not that.

The cove doesn’t change much between visits. It always smells of wet stone and blooming moss, and there’s perpetually a breeze that feels a little too curious, like it knows you shouldn’t be here. The trees crowd the edges like sentries, branches heavy with green, and the pool in the middle glimmers dark as spilled ink. Sometimes the dragon is there, curled on a sun-warmed rock, tail flicking in vague irritation when it hears you. Sometimes, it isn’t.

When Lando isn’t around, you try to bond with the Night Fury on your own. Try being the key word. You bring it food—only raw things, no seasoning, which feels like an insult to your heritage. You offer a few quiet words, a few outstretched palms. Once, you even read to it out of boredom and desperation. The Night Fury stares at you with the blank, judging look of a cat that is absolutely not impressed.

And today? Today, you’re wrestling it.

It’s not your brightest moment. It had pounced playfully (you think?), and you’d misread it as an attack. Now you’re half-pinned against the grass, muddy and muttering curses, as the Night Fury noses your chest like it’s debating whether or not to finish the job.

“You know,” says a voice, far too amused, “it probably knows how much I like you. That might be why it hasn’t eaten you yet.”

You groan.

Lando stands just past the tree line, arms crossed, grinning like he’s watching the best play he’s seen all year. He’s got a new scarf looped around his neck and smudges of ink on his fingers, and that stupid little smirk that makes you want to strangle him to death.

“You have a real talent,” you say, trying to wriggle free without dignity, “for showing up at the worst possible moment.”

“No,” he says, strolling closer, “just the right one. Otherwise I wouldn’t get to see you covered in grass stains and shame.”

You finally shove the dragon off with a grunt—it goes willingly, smug—and sit up, brushing yourself off. Your pulse is still drumming too fast. “You think it really knows?” you ask, only half-joking.

“That I like you?” Lando shrugs, crouching beside you with a grin that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Dunno. Dragons are smart. Smarter than people, sometimes.”

You don’t answer. Just reach for a twig and flick it in his direction. The concept of Lando liking you is a foreign one. The Night Fury curls beside you again, pressing its head into the grass. It doesn’t look at you, but it doesn’t leave either.

You try not to think too hard about what that means. About any of it.

Later on, the moon is a half-lidded eye in the sky when George finds you loitering by the docks, hood up and boots caked in enough mud to give you away. You’re checking your pack for the fourth time, making sure your offering of dried trout hasn’t spoiled. Not for Lando. For the dragon. Obviously.

“Don’t look now,” George says behind you, voice low and far too smug for someone who supposedly minds his own business. “But if this is your idea of sneaking out for a date, you might want to rethink your footwear.”

You startle and nearly drop the trout. “It’s not—” you start, then stop. Denying it means explaining it. Explaining it means talking about the Night Fury. Which would mean questions. Which would mean the truth.

You settle for an unimpressed look. “Nice of you to assume I have the time for romance.”

George leans a hip against a barrel, arms folded, grin sharp. “You have the time. Just not the common sense.”

You kick a pebble into the water, watching the ripples spread. “Any wisdom to share, then? Since you apparently think I’m throwing my life away with that curly-haired demon,” you snark, but George takes it seriously.

He hums, glancing toward the dark stretch of trees that lead to the forest. “If you were throwing your life away, I should probably warn him about you.”

You bark a laugh, short and a little sharp. “Fair.”

George doesn’t smile back. Not fully. “You know what you’re doing, right?”

Your jaw tenses. When you don’t respond, George pushes off the barrel and claps your shoulder. “Don’t break his heart unless you’re ready to deal with the fallout. That’s all.”

For gods’ sake, you are not about to take love advice from George Russell of all people. Wordlessly, you turn toward the trees and start walking. Behind you, George tacks on, “And for the love of all that is good, do something about the mud!”

You keep walking. You don’t mind the mud.

The forest glows gold in the evening light, the canopy overhead catching every last thread of sun like it doesn’t want to let go. You follow the trail to the cove without really thinking, boots quiet on the mossy floor, heart not so much. You tell yourself it’s the dragon. It’s always the dragon.

When the trees part and the clearing opens up to the little rise where grass grows thick and soft, you see them—Lando and the Night Fury. Curled up like some ridiculous painting. One arm tossed over the creature’s wide flank, the other pillowed beneath his head. The Night Fury’s wings are half-furled, its sides rising and falling with an almost feline purr. It looks like peace. It looks like something out of reach.

Your chest squeezes.

You take a step back. You shouldn’t be here.

Lando voice, low and syrupy with sleep, drags you out of your thoughts. “You watching us, or are you gonna join the cuddle pile?”

You freeze. “You’re awake?”

He cracks one eye open and grimaces without lifting his head. “I heard your stalking. Like a bear with performance anxiety.”

“I was just passing by.”

“No, you weren’t.”

You glance over your shoulder, then back at him. “I could still go.”

“I should tell George about the time you tried to climb a pine tree to avoid a Deathgripper and got stuck halfway up.”

Your glare is all teeth. “Blackmail. Really?”

“Call it gentle persuasion. Just—c’mere.”

You sigh like it pains you; your legs carry you forward anyway. The grass is cool beneath your knees as you lower yourself down. The Night Fury shifts but doesn’t protest when you press cautiously against its other side. Its scales are warm. Surprisingly so.

Lando stretches out an arm, draping it over your side. It should be awkward. Iit isn’t. His prosthetic rests near your ankle, the Night Fury’s wing curved like a blanket around all three of you.

“This is absurd,” you murmur.

“Absurdly perfect,” he corrects.

You don’t argue.

You just let yourself breathe. And when your head sinks against his shoulder, and the forest hums like a lullaby, and Lando's hand strokes lazy circles into your back—you sleep.

You don’t remember falling asleep. One moment, the moss beneath you is scratchy, the Night Fury’s flank is warm at your back, and Lando’s chest rises and falls under your cheek. The next, you’re drowning in fire.

Dragons, dozens of them, wings spread like stormclouds. Shrieks that don’t echo in the air so much as your chest. A shadow falls across you, massive and final, and when you look up, Lando is standing there with a spear in his gut and nothing in his eyes.

You scream.

You jolt awake so hard you nearly elbow Lando in the throat. Your breath punches out of you like you’ve taken a fall from a tree. The cove is dark, the stars smudged behind fog, and the sound that wakes you fully is not your gasp. It’s your murmured name, over and over again, in a tone so soothing your heart has no choice but to calm.

“Hey. Hey. It’s okay,” Lando says, voice impossibly soft. “I got you. You’re okay.”

He’s already holding you.

One of his hands cups the back of your neck, thumb brushing gently along your hairline, the other curled around your back. You don’t realize you’re crying until he wipes at your cheek with the pad of his thumb. “You’re alright,” he says again, voice quiet despite the rasp of being half-awake. “You’re with me. ‘M with you.”

You let your forehead fall against his collarbone, breath hiccupping like a broken metronome. Your hands fist into the fabric of his tunic. He smells like pine sap, smoke, and something warmer underneath. “Sorry,” you gasp. “I didn’t mean to—”

“Don’t,” he cuts in gently. “Don’t apologize.”

You shift to look up at him. His eyes are half-lidded, his lashes catching the faint moonlight, and there’s a tenderness there that no one ever gets to see. Not unless he lets them.

Maybe it’s because he’s just woken up. Maybe it’s because you’re rattled by the fact your nightmares now take the shape of losing him. For one breathless moment, you and Lando are both leaning in.

And then something massive and warm wedges between you like an overgrown toddler.

The Night Fury huffs, curling its body into the narrow space, its head plopping squarely onto Lando’s chest, tail flicking over your thighs. You groan into a face full of Night Fury scales. “You’ve trained it to be a chaperone, haven’t you,” you huff.

Lando laughs, breath puffing against your temple. “Jealous?”

You scowl, but your fingers lace through his, your hand warm in his palm. You don’t let go. He doesn’t ask you to. The Night Fury snores.

Lando squeezes your hand thrice.

Peace, for now, settles over the three of you like a blanket shared in silence.

There’s a draft that keeps rattling the map tacks loose.

You try not to fidget, try to pretend you’re listening as Max outlines patrol rotations and supply shortages with his usual tight-jawed precision. But you feel the weight of something else bearing down on you—not just the silence from the other side of the cove, not just the warmth of a hand you held too long last night.

Then Max says your name. You look up. Blink. “What?”

His arms are crossed, expression unreadable. “You’re being reassigned.”

George raises an eyebrow. Yuki straightens beside you. Max doesn’t give you a second to protest. “You’re going to hunt the Night Fury,” he says. Informs. Orders.

The words slap the air out of your lungs.

George lets out a low whistle. “Didn’t you say that was a dead end, like, three meetings ago?”

“Yes,” Max says. “But now I think it’ll be a good use of our resources. And a good way to sharpen our edge.” His eyes flick to you, hard and flat. “Someone’s been… distracted.”

You force a laugh that sounds too much like a cough. “Wow. Touching.”

Yuki elbows you, grinning. “You’re the only one fast enough to keep up with it. If anyone can bag that monster, it’s you.”

You smile because you have to. Because you’ve always known how to act the part. But your stomach knots, thick and tight, and you can feel your pulse in your teeth. George gives you a slap on the back hard enough to make you stumble. “Hey. At least now you get to be a legend.”

You nod. Swallow. It tastes like ash. Like the memory of an almost-kiss and the press of fingers into your cheek. Like betrayal you haven’t committed yet.

Because you know exactly where the Night Fury is, and you don’t want to find it. Because—now—being a legend doesn’t sound all that great, not when the price of it as a cat reincarnated as a dragon.

You avoid the cove like it owes you money. You trudge through marshes, forests, even scale half of Windspire Bluff just to convince Max you’re taking the Night Fury hunt seriously. In truth, you’re hunting everything but. Lando, the cove, the look in his eyes that night you almost kissed. They’re all things you studiously pretend not to think about.

Max is thrilled. He pats your back in war meetings, claps your shoulder and says things like, “That’s the fire you’ve been missing,” while you nod and smile like your stomach isn’t churning in on itself. George and Yuki egg you on, of course. George says it’s about time someone bagged the infamous beast. Yuki calls it poetic justice. You call it karmic justice.

So you run. And your running takes you far north, to the Isle of Berk, where spring hasn’t dared to set foot yet. The place is still wrapped in snow and old battle songs. Even the wind here feels older, sharper, like it’s been through too many winters and wants to take it out on you personally.

You get caught in a storm halfway through your so-called sweep of the island. It whips your cloak into your face and soaks your boots, and by the time you see the crooked chimney of the nearest inn, you’re ready to offer your soul for a fireplace.

The inn is leaning sideways, either because of bad carpentry or too many drunken patrons. Inside, the air smells of mead and wet wool. The innkeeper eyes you with the resigned weariness of a man who’s seen too many travelers and not enough coin.

“We’re full,” he grunts, then jerks a thumb toward the second floor. “But if you can bargain a bunk off someone, be my guest.”

You curse under your breath and climb the stairs. Each step creaks as if it’s about to give up. The hallway is dim, the lanterns low and flickering. You pick a door at random, knock once.

It swings open.

And standing there, hair damp, shirt half-buttoned, and looking like a hallucination you forgot to forget—

Lando fucking Norris.

Your breath stalls in your throat.

He blinks at you, eyebrows lifting slowly. “Well,” he says, voice scratchy with sleep. “Either I died and this is some incredibly cruel afterlife, or you’re standing outside my room.”

You can’t speak. You’re too busy cursing every god that decided to make your life a joke. Lando leans against the frame, undeterred. “Come to bargain?”

You stare at Lando, the icy wind at your back doing nothing to justify the heat crawling up your neck. You try to pivot—literally—to escape back into the hallway and the excuse of inclement weather, but Lando’s hand shoots out, fast and firm, wrapping around your wrist. Not hard enough to hurt, just insistent enough to tell you he’s not letting this go.

“Not this time,” he says. “You’re not pulling another disappearing act.”

You scowl, not meeting his gaze. “Wasn’t a disappearing act. I’ve been busy.”

“Busy avoiding me.”

“Don’t flatter yourself. It has nothing to do with—” You gesture vaguely, and unfortunately, that only makes him smile with a kind of hurt that cuts you, too.

“Oh, please,” he says. “Don’t say it. Say it wasn’t about the cove. About you curled up next to me like a very stabby little spoon. About you holding my hand all night like I was your emotional support prosthetic.”

Your sputter is immediate, ungraceful, and completely incriminating. “You are so—”

“Irresistible? Right. You keep saying that with your eyes.”

“I didn’t—”

He leans in, voice low, not teasing so much as careful. “Then why did you leave without a word?” he asks.

That stops you cold. The warmth leaves your face all at once. You shuffle backward on instinct, but you’re already inside his inn room. He shuts the door behind you with a soft thud. Trapped, like the dragons you’ve spent years going after.

“Because if I didn’t leave, I would’ve stayed,” you manage, and your voice is a whisper you didn’t mean to let out.

Lando’s expression shifts. A crack in the armor. Vulnerability flashes in his eyes, raw and open. “So?” he says. Almost shrill. Almost hysterical. “Why not stay?”

“Because,” you snap, too loud, too brittle, “you make things complicated. And I already have a complicated life. I don’t need more of it in the form of—of whatever this is.”

He tilts his head. “Is this the part where you deny you feel anything? Because—and I say this with the utmost respect—you are shit at pretending.”

You open your mouth to retort. Or maybe to yell. You’re not sure which. But then he steps closer and your brain short-circuits at the proximity, the warmth of his breath, the softness in the way he’s looking at you. Like he’s braced for rejection but hoping you won’t deliver it.

So you do the only thing you can think of.

You kiss him.

It’s not graceful. It’s definitely not planned. You cut him off mid-sentence with a shove of your mouth against his, palms fisted into the front of his tunic like you’re holding on for dear life. His surprise lasts only a heartbeat.

Then he’s kissing you back, hands finding your waist, your back, your shoulders—anywhere he can touch like he’s reassuring himself you’re real. When you finally break apart, he’s dazed for only a moment, but then he’s breaking out into that bright grin. All teeth and sun. You hate how much you’ve missed it.

“Told you,” he murmurs. “Shit at pretending.”

His hand lingers at your jaw, thumb brushing against your cheekbone like he can’t quite believe you’re real. You’re not sure you believe it either. His skin is warm, his lips still tingling against yours, and this moment is happening—no dream, no nightmare, just this impossibly soft present.

“You suck at avoiding me,” he adds, a little breathless, eyes half-lidded with something like wonder.

“You literally opened the door,” you retort, voice catching on the edge of a laugh.

“You literally came to Berk.”

“Coincidence.”

“Sure,” he sighs, pressing his forehead to yours. “Total accident you found the one inn I was staying in. On the entire island. During a snowstorm.”

You roll your eyes, even as your heart thuds like it’s forgotten how to stay calm. “Are we going to talk all night, or…?”

Lando laughs, the sound curling warm in your chest and blooming outward like thaw. He kisses you again, slower this time, less teeth and frustration and more like he actually means it. Like he’s been waiting to. When he pulls you toward the bed, it isn’t awkward. Not exactly. But there’s a shift—a stutter in his confidence when he sits down and the weight of his body favors one side. His prosthetic leg knocks against the bedframe with a dull thunk, and he winces.

You catch the flicker in his eyes before he can tuck it away. That familiar urge to disappear into himself, to make a joke or dodge the moment. You reach out before he can. “Hey,” you say, hands resting firm and sure on his shoulders. “I know.”

He doesn’t meet your gaze. “It’s not…exactly the most graceful situation.”

“Good thing grace isn’t what I’m after.”

That earns you a huff of something close to a laugh. He tips his head back to look at you fully, and something in him untangles, just a little.

“You’re still the worst,” he says, but he doesn’t sound like he believes his own words.

What follows isn’t smooth, but it’s real. Your boots thud to the floor one by one, your jacket half-hangs off a chair, and his tunic ends up somewhere you won’t find until morning. The room fills with the rustle of fabric and whispered laughter, the awkward jostling of limbs and then, quiet. Breath.

His hands are cautious in places you didn’t expect, confident in others. You kiss the scar where his leg ends and feel the way his breath catches, the way the tension in his spine softens like something he didn’t realize he was holding onto finally lets go.

There’s tenderness in the way he cradles the back of your head, in the way you trace the curve of his ribs. You both move like people who have nearly lost too much and now want to memorize everything. It ends with soft cries of each other’s name, with a burst of warmth, with lips pressed together as if sealing the moment with a kiss.

When you finally settle, your head tucked against the slope of his shoulder and your body tangled up in his, the world outside shrinks to the shape of this bed, this boy, this breath.

The storm outside whispers against the windowpanes. The room is thick with warmth and the low golden light of the hearth, casting lazy shadows across the wooden floor. You feel the press of his breath at your temple, the rise and fall of his chest steady beneath your cheek.

He presses a kiss to the crown of your head, lips lingering there for a moment. “You’re in so much trouble when I tell everybody,” he croaks.

You hum against his collarbone. “You tell a soul, and I tell the Fury you called it a moody cat.”

A beat. Then, his voice tinged with something that sounds an awful lot like affection, Lando hums, “…Truce?”

You smile into his skin. “Truce.”

The sun hasn’t even crested the rim of the mountains when you start trying to sneak your boots on without waking him. It’s a laughable effort. The floorboards groan with every shift of your weight, and your tunic gets stuck halfway over your head. You’re still blindly wrangling with it when you hear the gravel in his voice.

“Leaving already?”

You pause, face still trapped in fabric. “Thought I’d let you sleep in.”

“How considerate,” he grumbles. You finally tug the tunic down and see him sitting up, curls a mess, eyes squinting at you like the light hurts. “Usually people say goodbye after, you know, spending the night and all.”

“I figured you’d prefer the mystery.”

He snorts, but the edge of it is brittle. You know what you’re doing. He knows what you’re doing. That doesn’t make it any less shitty. “Yeah, nothing sexier than being ghosted before breakfast,” he bites out.

You turn away to grab your belt, jaw tight. “It’s not like that.”

“Then what’s it like?” he asks. When you glance over your shoulder, he’s watching you with something guarded behind his eyes. Humor still rests in the curve of his lips, but it feels less genuine, more like armor. “You keep acting like I’m the one you need to keep secrets from.”

You take a long breath. Then another. The fact spills out of you, somewhere in the cracks borne from how Lando took you apart last night. “Max sent me to find the Night Fury,” you admit, and it hangs in precarious balance between you two for a full minute.

Lando’s tone is skeptical when he speaks. “I thought he didn’t believe in them.”

“I thought the same.”

The air sharpens. He swings his legs over the side of the bed, prosthetic clicking gently as it hits the wooden floor. “Does he know about the cove?”

“No,” you answer instantly.

Lando is still looking at you, blankets curled over his hips, hiding the planes of his body that you had just gotten acquainted with. “Does he know about my Night Fury?” he asks, tone a little more demanding.

You hesitate, and that’s all the answer he needs. “Is the tail—” His voice breaks off. He swallows and tries again. “The tail fin. The cut. Was that Max?”

Your mouth opens. Nothing comes out.

Lando’s jaw works. “I should have known.”

You want to say something. Anything. But the truth sits like a stone in your throat, and the look on his face—like someone kicked the breath out of him—makes it even harder.

Lando goes quiet, and for a breath too long, so do you. The wood floor creaks beneath your boots as you shift your weight. The air in the inn room is thick with the scent of hearth smoke, and beneath it, the cooling trace of last night: sweat, skin, warmth.

He doesn’t look at you when he says it. “Was that your plan? Distract me with sex so you could go after him?”

Your blood runs cold. “Excuse me?”

Lando finally meets your gaze, jaw clenched. His voice is sharper than you’ve heard it in a while, crackling around the edges like the spark in a dragon’s throat. “It’s not like you haven’t done worse. You already knew where he was. You could’ve taken him out right there."

You breathe in through your nose, slow. “You think I would do that to you?” You try to pretend that your voice didn’t crack midway.

“I think you only do what you want,” he snipes, and immediately his expression crumples, like he regrets it. All of it. But the words are already hanging between you, jagged and raw.

Your hands ball into fists, nails biting into your palms. You cross the room in two steps, lean over him where he’s still tangled in the bedsheets, chest bare and blinking up at you as if he’s trying to piece together what just happened.

And then you kiss him.

Not like last night. Not desperate, or angry, or hungry. Soft. An apology you can’t quite say, a promise you can’t quite keep. Your lips linger, and he doesn’t move, doesn’t even breathe.

When you pull back, you stare right at him. You try to keep the pain out of your voice. It probably bleeds through, anyway.

“I thought you knew me better than that, Norris,” you answer, and he looks up at you like the world is caving in on him.

You stand and leave the room without looking back, because Lando is right about that—you do what you want. The door shuts behind you with a finality that echoes louder than it should. You walk.

Fast.

Far.

Before you can start to cry. ⛐

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