xoln04f1xo

[xoln04f1xo]

Pairings: Lando Norris x Singer!Reader

Warnings: Fluff overload, swearing, romantic tension, est. relationship, sex jokes / references to sex

WC: 1.5k

🎵 Water - TYLA

🎵 Water (Remix) - TYLA, Travis Scott

THE STUDIO & THE TRACK

The studio was dimly lit, warm with the scent of fresh coffee and the faint buzz of excitement. You tapped your foot nervously as Lando leaned back on the couch, headphones over his ears, eyes closed.

He was listening to Water - the track you hadn't let anyone hear yet. Besides your producer who helped.

Your manager still hadn't heard it.

Only him.

You watched him intently as the beat pulsed through the room, slow and sultry, like honey melting in heat. The melody dripped, cool and crystalline, over lyrics that were raw - confessional. The kind that made your chest hurt a little because they were about him.

The chorus hit, and your nerves skyrocketed.

Make me sweat Make me hotter Make me lose my breath Make me water Make me sweat Make me hotter Make me lose my breath Make me water

The track faded out with layered harmonies, synths trailing like ripples.

He took the headphones off slowly, staring at you in silence.

You swallowed. "So..?"

Lando blinked once. "You wrote that about me, didn't you?"

Your silence was the answer.

He exhaled a laugh, shaking his head, lips curling into that stupidly soft smile you loved. "That was... insane. Like, actually insane. You're gonna destroy the internet with that."

"You really liked it?"

He leaned forward, voice low. "I felt it, Y/N. Every single word."

You grinned, cheeks burning.

"Release it, ASAP."

THE DROP

Water hit streaming platforms at midnight, and within hours, it had flooded social media. Fans were losing their minds over the sultry production, the intimacy of the lyrics, and of course - your obvious muse.

Lando posted a blurry selfie with you from the studio, captioned:

Guess who this one’s about? 🥶💧 @ yourusername

The comments exploded.

The music video came next. Pearlescent lighting, slow motion, insane choreography. Lando's favourite scene was the one where your pouring water on yourself and shaking your ass. Of course it was.

He watched the premiere on YouTube Live, secretly sitting on your couch, a proud grin on his face as fans spammed the chat.

"This is her best song yet!"

"THE VOCALS??"

"Pretty sure she's singing about Lando.. 👀"

"The visuals are giving goddess."

You turned to him after the stream ended.

"Okay," you whispered, "this is going better than I expected."

"You mean you didn't expect to break the internet?"

THE DM

It happened two days later. You just got home from lunch with Lando, scrolling through your instagram DM's reading out the funny ones. You stopped in the middle of the hallway nearly spitting out your water.

"Lando.."

"Mmm?"

You turned your phone towards him.

@ travisscott - yo this water track is crazyyy. let me remix it. call me.

Lando's eyes widened. "Travis Scott?"

"Yeah."

"No fucking way.."

"Yes way."

WATER REMIX - TYLA, TRAVIS SCOTT

You hit the studio in LA three days later. Travis was electric - brimming with ideas, pacing around with headphones on and humming bars to himself. He stripped the beat back, added a darker bassline, and dropped his verse.

When you're low, keep you hot like flame Can make your whole life change She's a palm body, yeah, but the wrist plain Eliantte with a bustdown chain The way that thing move, girl, that waist change I'm lovin' how it bounce like it got springs I know a couple things we can exchange

The track slapped harder than anything you’d ever made.

When you sent it to Lando, he replied in three words:

Lando 🧡😻

HOLY FUCKING SHIT.

You laughed, heart soaring.

SURPRISE RELEASE

You teased the remix with a TikTok. Travis' voice dropping in after your hook.

The internet exploded.

Fans dissected every second - As they do - theorizing a surprise drop, screaming about the collab no one saw coming.

And then, at midnight, the remix dropped without warning.

#1 on all streaming platforms in less than 12 hours.

Travis posted a BTS reel of you two vibing in the studio, Lando commenting:

@ Lando: She's a cheat code

↳ @ yourusername: Only for you 😉

PILLOW TALK AND PLAYLISTS

Later that night, you were lying in bed, your head on Lando's chest, your phone buzzing with congratulations, label texts, and Travis reposting the music video teaser.

Lando was scrolling too, he finally set his phone doen and looked at you.

"You really made a global hit about me, huh?"

You smirked. "Maybe. Or maybe it was about... Carlos."

He rolled his eyes and tickled your side, making you squeal.

"Okay, okay! It was you."

He kissed your forehead, the softest whisper against your skin.

"I'm proud of you. Like, crazy proud."

You pressed your lips to his collarbone. "Thank you baby."

And with that, you both drifted to sleep, your song echoing in the background - now playing on radios, playlists, and hearts around the world.

GRAMMY EVE

You stood backstage at the Crypto.com Arena, legs encased in sheer, shimmery fabric, makeup set, mic in hand. Travis had just finished rehearsing his part and was chilling side-stage in a hoodie and diamond chain.

Lando leaned against the dressing room door, arms crossed, watching you like you were the only thing in the world.

"You're nervous," he said softly.

You exhaled a shaky laugh. "I'm basically about to sing about us having sex in front of fucking taylor swift. Of course I'm nervous."

Lando crossed the room and gently took your shaking hands in his.

"You've done this a hundred times before. But now you're doing it with the whole world watching. And that's exactly where you belong."

You smiled, grounding yourself in the way he looked at you - steady, read, yours.

"I love you," you whispered.

He grinned. "I know. I'm water, remember?"

LIVE FROM THE GRAMMYS

The arena lights dimmed.

A massive LED screen rippled to life behind you, showing swirling, dark ocean waves. A distorted heartbeat pulsed through the speakers - slow, intense.

You stood in the center of the stage, alone, dressed in a liquid-silver gown that moved like silk and seafoam. A single spotlight lit you like moonbeam.

You sang the first line, your voice haunting:

Make me sweat Make me hotter

The music swelled - cool synths, bass-heavy, smooth and hypnotic. Behind you, water visuals surged and crashed, a visual tidal wave synced to the beat.

Then the chorus hit - and the crowd erupted.

Can you blow my mind? Set off my whole body

Smoke curled across the stage as Travis Scott rose from a platform behind you, the beat switching to the remix version. The spotlight switched from you to him. He launched into his verse with energy so infectious, even Taylor Swift nodded along.

When you're low, keep you hot like flame Can make your whole life change

Spotlight back on you. Your vocals soared over Travis’ final lines, intertwining in perfect harmony. You and the backup dancers danced the same choreo as in the music video.

The last note echoed through the arena.

Silence.

And then - thunderous applause.

The camera cut to the audience: Beyoncé standing. Billie Eilish clapping with both hands above her head. And Lando? Standing too, eyes glassy, smile stretching to the back of his head.

You performed some of you other songs like Jump, Push to Start and Truth or Dare with some choreography.

THE AFTERGLOW

Backstage was chaos - publicists, press, security everywhere.

You barely made it to the green room before Lando got to you first, sweeping you into his arms.

"That was unreal," he murmured against your hair. "I've never seen you like that."

You smiled into his chest. "You mean confident? Bold? A little terrifying?"

"I mean unstoppable." He pulled back, hands cupping your face. "I swear I forgot to breathe for most of that."

A knock at the door.

It was Travis. "Yo. That was a fuckin’ movie out there. You snapped. We Grammy-gold now, baby."

You laughed, bumping fists. "Remix magic."

AND THE GRAMMY GOES TO...

Later that night, your category was called.

"And the GRAMMY for Best Pop Duo/Group Performance goes to…"

A beat of silence. A drumroll.

“Y/N and Travis Scott – Water (Remix)!”

You froze.

Lando yelled before you could even move: "YESSSS!!"

You and Travis made your way up the stage, the applause deafening. Your speech was a blur - thanking your fans, Travis, your team.

Then you paused, locking eyes with Lando in the crowd.

"And to the one who inspired every word of that song… thank you. For being my calm, my chaos, and my favourite storm."

He covered his face for a second, cheeks flushed, then blew you a kiss.

GOLD AND GLITTER

The Grammy sat on your vanity now, next to a photo of you and Lando at the afterparty - your lipgloss smudged, his tie undone, both of you beaming.

You curled up next to him on the hotel couch, trophy in your lap.

"Did you think we’d be here?" you asked.

Lando shrugged, resting his head against yours. "I knew you were going to change the world the minute I heard that demo in the studio."

You laughed. “You were the first person to ever hear Water.”

"And I always will be," he murmured. "Every version of it."

Library

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[xoln04f1xo]

Pairings: Lando Norris x Reader

Warnings: HARDCORE SMUT, BDSM ROOM, Dom!Lando x Sub!Reader, sir kink, daddy kink, heavy use of vibrators & butt plugs, teasing, unprotected sex, overstimulation, orgasm control, punishment, spanking, orgasm denial, restraints, degradation, praise kink, mocking, two fingers in bum, brat tamer!lando, Bratty!reader, spreader bar, use of shirt as a gag, i don't really know if there CNC or not?, colour system, hair pulling / dragging by hair, aftercare, remote control vibrator, Saint andrews cross, tears, dark praise, voyeurism, cockwarming.

YOU ARE RESPONSIBLE FOR THE CONTENT YOU READ. NOT ME

WC: 10.7k

A/N: this is like loads of mini blurbs in one with a slight storyline towards the end. i promised you guys some hardcore smut so i figured i would make a kind of story out of it? hope you enjoy!!

THE WIN

The crowd at Silverstone was still roaring when Lando finally stepped off the podium. Champagne clung to his race suit like victory sweat, and the British sun was merciless - but his grin outshone it all.

And then he saw her.

You weren't in the paddock. No. You were exactly where he asked you to be - waiting just beyond the garage, tucked behind the chaos of engineers and media, sunglasses low on your nose, arms crossed, hips cocked.

His girl. His reward. His favourite sin.

You smirked as he walked towards you, shaking out his curls, swagger in full tilt. “P1 looks good on you,” you said, voice honeyed with mischief.

He didn’t answer. Just kissed you - dirty, hungry, no cameras, no team, just his mouth on yous like he’d earned you along with the win. His gloved hand cupped the back of your neck and squeezed, just enough to make your knees soften.

"You’re coming home with me," he muttered against your lips.

"You make that sound like I had a choice."

"You don’t," he grinned.

THE DRIVE HOME

He took the back roads. Always did when he wanted his hand on your thigh and not on the steering wheel. You knew the game. The moment you entered the city, your fingers trailed over his joggers, down between his legs - over the bulge he hadn’t stopped hiding since the podium. Victory made him cocky. And cocky Lando was dangerous.

"I saw the way you looked at me from the grid," you teased.

"You wore that dress on race day," he shot back. "You wanted me distracted."

"And yet," you said, slipping your fingers under the waistband of his joggers, "you still came first."

He chuckled darkly. "Oh, baby. I’m not done coming."

THE PLAYROOM

His home was quiet when you entered - sleek, modern, but cozy. The second the front door closed, you were up against it, your wrists pinned above your head.

“You know what today is?” he whispered, voice low against your ear.

“British GP day?” you offered breathlessly.

“It’s obedience day.”

You whimpered. God, he was insufferable when he won. But the way he held you? The sharp edge of control in his touch? You melted for it.

He pulled you upstairs, past the bedroom - to the locked door at the end of the hall. His room. The one that didn’t exist to anyone else. You watch him enter the code.

The click of the lock made your thighs clench.

Inside, it was all dark oak and leather. Warm tones. Soft lighting. A padded bench, restraints hanging from the walls, a huge glass display case with organized toys: vibrators, plugs, cuffs, crops. A custom-built Saint Andrew’s cross stood like a threat and a promise in the corner.

You swallowed. Hard.

Lando stood behind you, undoing the zipper on your dress, slow and purposeful.

"Strip," he said. "Then kneel."

Your dress slid to the floor. You obeyed instantly, eyes on the hardwood, heart pounding.

He circled you like a predator, fingers trailing over your shoulders. "You were such a good girl at the race today," he murmured. "Didn't beg or whine once. Didn't call. Didn't even touch yourself this morning, did you?"

"No, sir," you whispered.

"Why not?"

"Because you told me not to."

He smiled. "And now?" he said, walking over to the case, selecting a long, blue vibrator, "I'm going to make sure you don't cum until I say so."

You kneel with your hair tied in a plait, thighs parted, back straight, palms resting on your thighs like he taught you. The hardwood is cool beneath your knees, but the warmth radiating off of your skin has nothing to do with the temperature of the room.

You can hear him behind you. The soft metallic clink of a drawer, the slow, deliberate click of a leather strap. Every sound coils tighter around your spine.

When he finally comes into view, he's stripped down to his grey boxers, curls damp from a quick shower, eyes dark and sparkling with that post-win arrogance.

"Look at you," he murmurs, crouching down to your level, one hand cradling your jaw. "My prize. My perfect little reward."

Your breath hitches.

He presses the vibrator to your inner thigh - not turning it on, just letting the silicone drag up toward your center. You twitch under the tease, but he only smirks.

"You want this?" he asks.

"Yes sir."

"Good. Because I want to see how long my obedient girl can hold off."

He rises, gestures. "Up. On the bench. Hands behind your back."

You climb onto the padded bench without hesitation, body humming with anticipation. He fastens the soft leather cuffs around your wrists first, buckling them behind you, then secures your ankles apart in the stirrups built into the frame. You’re open to him. Exposed. Helpless.

And he loves it.

He brushes his fingers along your inner thighs, then places the vibrator against your soaked folds.

The first buzz is low. Almost innocent.

You gasp.

He watches your reaction like a man studying a work of art - hungry, clinical, proud.

"You do not cum until I say so," he reminds you, voice almost gentle. "No matter how badly you need it. No matter how hard you shake. Do you understand?"

"Yes sir."

He dials it up. The hum intensifies, teasing your clit with maddening precision. Your hips twitch involuntarily, but there’s nowhere to go. The restraints hold you still, trembling and desperate.

And then...

A sharp slap to your thigh. Not too hard. Just enough to shock you.

"You’re already squirming"” he says, tsking. "And we’ve barely started."

He trails his fingers between your legs, circling your entrance, then withdraws just as quickly. You whimper.

Another smack. This time, your ass. Sharper.

"You like that?" he asks, running his palm over the sting.

"Yes, sir."

"Such a good little slut for me."

He lands another slap, this time on the opposite cheek, then soothes it with a kiss, lips brushing the spot he just punished. The contrast makes you shiver.

Then the vibrator returns. Pressed firmly to your clit. No teasing now - it’s relentless. Your thighs quiver. Your breath catches in your throat.

And just as you feel the orgasm building...

He turns it off.

You cry out.

Lando chuckles darkly. "Aww. That close already?"

You nod, barely able to speak. "Please..."

"Not yet."

He reached into the drawer next to you, pulls out a black satin blindfold. "Let's make this more fun."

He ties it around your head, plunging you into darkness. Every sound sharpens. Every breath he takes feels louder. You don't know what's coming - only that it will push you further.

Then you feels him again - fingertips dragging down your chest, a kiss to your forehead, a hand gripping your hip.

And the vibrator returns.

Stronger.

And still... your not allowed to cum.

The vibrator pulses mercilessly against your clit again, and this time, Lando doesn't speak.

He just watches. Listens.

To the way your breath hitches. To the whimper stuck in your throat. To the wet, obscene sound of your arousal. The blindfold leaved you grasping for sensation - the hot slide of his palm over your thigh, the shift of his weight beside you, the delicious friction building in your core.

And again... you feel it. That perfect edge. Orgasm coiling, tightening...

It stops. The fucking vibrator stops.

You sob through your teeth, hips jerking against your restraints. "Fuck, please," you gasp. "Sir, I..."

"You’ll wait," he cuts in, voice like velvet over steel. "I’m not done playing with you yet."

You hear the drawer open again. Then... the soft pop of lube. Your body tenses instinctively, recognizing what’s coming.

"You’re going to take this for me," he murmurs, pressing a lubed plug gently between your cheeks. "Because good girls get stretched before they’re fucked."

You whimper as the tip presses in. He goes slow, letting you feel every inch. It’s firm, thick, not painful - but it fills you so deliberately that your mind blanks for a second.

Once it’s fully seated, he gives it a light tap, and your whole body jolts.

"Feel full, baby?" he asks mockingly.

You nod, breathless. "Yes, sir."

"Too bad. You’re not full enough."

He grabs the vibrator again and holds it steady to your clit. No teasing now. No mercy. Your thighs tremble, trying to clamp shut, but the restraints keep you wide, open, on display.

You’re close again - so close - and this time, you can’t stop yourself. Your voice breaks.

“Please let me come. Please, sir...”

He waits.

Silent.

Just watching your body twitch and writhe and beg.

Then: "Do it. Come for me. Right now."

Your release crashes through you like a wave detonating. You scream into it - head thrown back, muscles shaking, walls clenching hard enough to push against the plug still buried deep inside you.

Lando groans as he watches you fall apart.

But he’s not done.

Not even close.

He yanks the blindfold off. Your vision returns just in time to see him drop his boxers and stroke his cock - thick, flushed, leaking at the tip.

"That was pretty," he says. "Now it’s my turn."

He climbs onto the bench, straddling you from behind. Unbuckles your wrist cuffs just long enough to flip you onto your stomach, then rebinds you - bent over, ass up, face down. The plug remains in place as he guides the tip of his cock to your soaked entrance.

You’re still pulsing from your orgasm when he pushes in.

You cry out - the stretch of him, the fullness, the overwhelming sensation, just everything making you dizzy.

He grabs your bound wrists, using them for leverage, and fucks into you with no hesitation. Deep, sharp strokes that have your eyes rolling back.

"This is mine," he whispers in your ear before smacking your ass as he thrusts. "You hear me?"

"Yes sir."

"Say it."

"My pussy is all yours. All of me... yours..."

He slaps your ass again, then yanks the plug out with a pop, only to push two fingers inside the same spot immediately - the pressure so intense you scream his name. Let's just say its a good thing the room has soundproofing...

He fucks into you harder.

"Gonna cum again yeah? Good girl. Do it then. Cum on my cock."

You unravel beneath him, muscles clenching in a perfect, chaotic climax. Your moans are guttural now, tears sliding from your eyes. Lando let's go, hips stuttering, and groans your name as he buries himself deep and spills inside you, hot and possessive.

When it's over, he doesn't speak for a while.

Just lays across your back, catching his breath, hands stroking gently where he’d struck you before.

"You were perfect," he whispers against your shoulder.

And you - still shaking, still full of him - smile through your haze.

"Happy British Grand Prix," you murmur.

He laughs softly, kisses the curve of your spine, and says, "Best win of my life."

A FEW DAYS LATER...

You'd been pushing him all day.

Every snarky comment. Every teasing smile. Every time you called him "P1 daddy" in a tone that was a little too smug.

The final straw?

You stood in front of him in one of his McLaren shirts, nothing underneath, licked yogurt off your finger, and said with a wink:

"Remind me again, what was your lap time daddy? I wasn't paying attention."

He didn't say a word.

Just got up, took your wrist, and walked you straight down the hall. No expression. No warning.

Now you’re strapped to the bed, arms tied above your head with silk cuffs, legs spread wide with his custom spreader bar locked at your ankles. Blindfold on. Mouth gagged with the same shirt you were wearing.

You’re dripping.

He’s pacing - slowly, methodically - letting you squirm.

"You’ve had a lot to say the past few days," he mutters, voice low, sharp, and entirely unimpressed. "It’s adorable. Really. This little brat streak you’ve got going?"

You shift against the restraints, letting out a muffled whimper through the gag.

"I let you get away with it after the win. Figured I’d give you some time to enjoy yourself. Celebrate."

You hear the buzz before you feel it.

Oh fuck.

He drags the tip of the wand vibrator over your inner thigh, slow and taunting.

"But now I think someone needs a reminder of who runs this track."

The vibrator presses to your clit and your back arches instantly - hot, wild pleasure rushing up your spine.

Then it’s gone.

You whine.

Smack.

His hand lands on your thigh.

"You don’t get to act like a little brat and still get rewarded, baby."

He leans down, mouth brushing your ear.

"You get punished."

The vibrator returns. Harder this time. No teasing.

You can barely think. You’re already close - the days of pent-up teasing, unresolved lust from taunting him like a menace, it’s all catching up to you.

You buck against the restraints - and suddenly he’s on top of you, pinning your hips down, whispering:

"If you come without permission, I’m leaving you tied here for an hour. Plugged. Denied. Leaking all over my sheets."

You scream into the gag.

He pulls the wand away again.

Your body shakes.

"Poor baby," he mocks. "Can’t take it when she’s not the one in control."

He lands a sharp slap to your inner thigh, then another to your swollen, needy pussy. "This is mine. Not yours to tease me with. Not yours to use to get attention."

You nod frantically.

"Words."

He yanks the shirt gag from your mouth.

"Yes, sir," you cry. "Yours. All yours. Please."

"Please what?"

"Please make me come. I’ll be good, I swear..."

He pauses.

"You’ll earn it."

He climbs onto the bed behind you, lifting your hips, sliding two fingers deep into your soaked cunt. He groans.

"So fucking wet from being put in your place," he mutters.

Then you feel the head of his cock press into your entrance - thick, heavy, pulsing with heat.

"No more toys. No more games."

He fucks into you with one brutal thrust, burying himself to the hilt.

You scream.

His hand fists in your hair, pulling your head back as he begins to fuck you hard, relentless, punishing.

"You think you’re cute?" he snarls. "Wearing my shirt, mouthing off, acting like a little brat who forgot how this works?"

"Yes, sir...fuck...I’m sorry..."

He thrusts harder, rougher, grunting with effort as your walls tighten around him.

"Say you’re my good girl."

"I’m your good girl!"

Smack. He spanks your ass, hard. You cry out.

"Say it again."

"I’m your good girl, sir!"

"Louder."

"I’M YOUR GOOD GIRL!"

He growls in satisfaction. His rhythm stutters. "You’re gonna cum for me now. No holding back. Scream my name."

You come so violently your whole body convulses - stars behind your eyes, thighs trembling, throat hoarse as you scream, "Lando..."

He chokes out your name, emptying inside you with a groan so guttural it sounds like victory itself.

You both collapse.

Panting. Sweating. Tangled in silk and sin.

BONUS - NAMES HAVE CONSEQUENCES

You’re curled in bed, wrapped in one of his hoodies, still warm and fucked-out from earlier. Your muscles ache. Your lips are swollen. There’s a mark on your thigh in the shape of his hand and another on your neck in the shape of his teeth.

You should feel smug.

But instead, you’re anxious. Because he hasn’t said a word since you came.

And he always talks after you come.

He sits at the edge of the bed, towel-drying his curls, jaw clenched. You watch him from beneath the covers, guilt curling low in your belly. You know exactly why he’s silent.

"I told you to scream my name," he says finally, without looking at you.

You nod slowly. "I did."

"No." He turns his head now, eyes locked on yours - dark, intense. "You screamed Lando."

Your breath catches.

"That’s not what you call me when I fuck you like that. That’s not what you say when you cum so hard you nearly cry."

Your lips part to speak, but you hesitate. Too late.

He stands.

"You’re going to be punished," he says, calm, almost gentle. "Properly."

Your thighs clench under the covers.

"I want you on your knees," he says. "Now."

You obey immediately, crawling off the bed and onto the plush rug, settling on your knees in front of him. You lower your eyes like a good girl, already soaking again at the power in his voice.

"Colour?" he asks.

"Green, sir."

"Good."

He grabs your chin, lifts it.

"I love when you scream my name," he says. "But not like that. Not that name."

He grabs your hair and pulls you toward the edge of the bed, bending you forward so your chest rests on the mattress and your ass is in the air.

You feel him move behind you - the clink of cuffs, the opening of his drawer again.

"You’re not going to come this time," he says, buckling cuffs around your wrists. "You’re going to learn. And if you so much as whisper Lando, I’ll gag you and edge you for the rest of the night."

Your heart hammers in your chest.

He spreads your legs wider and slides a vibrator under you again - this time, not even bothering to ease you in.

The moment it hits your clit, your body jerks violently.

You moan into the mattress, already fighting the wave of pleasure.

Then smack.

A sharp slap to your ass, harder than earlier.

"You say it," he growls. "Say it right."

"Daddy..."

Smack.

"Louder."

"Daddy!"

The vibrator grinds into you harder. You’re soaking wet, trembling, already so close again it’s humiliating.

Smack.

"Sir, please..."

Another slap. Your ass is on fire, your clit is throbbing, and your head’s spinning from pleasure and punishment.

"Who do you belong to?" he demands, voice rough and filthy.

"You, Daddy!"

"What’s my name?"

"Daddy!"

"Again."

“Daddy... please... let me cum..."

“You think you deserve to come after disrespecting me?”

"No, sir," you whimper. "But I need it...please."

He growls, grabs your hair, yanks your head back so he can see your face - ruined, desperate, flushed.

"You don’t come until I fuck it out of you."

He shuts off the vibrator.

You sob.

But then he slides inside you - hard, fast, without warning - and you scream.

"Say it again."

"Daddy!"

"Who makes you feel like this?"

"You, Daddy...fuck...you do!"

He pounds into you like he’s making a point - every thrust a correction, every moan he pulls from you a lesson burned into your skin.

"Come now," he growls. "Now, baby. Let go."

You explode around him, screaming Daddy like a prayer, like a broken, perfect confession.

He finishes right after, spilling inside you with a curse and a final, brutal thrust.

AFTERCARE - SOFT RESET

He doesn’t speak for a moment. Just holds you, arms wrapping around your waist as he pulls out slowly, carefully. You’re trembling.

"You okay?" he whispers, already unlocking your cuffs.

You nod, eyes glassy. "Fucking great."

"Ah... watch your language. You know I don't like it when you have a potty mouth."

He scoops you up into his arms like you weigh nothing, carrying you to the bath he already drew - warm water, bubbles, soft towels waiting.

You curl into his chest as he sinks in behind you.

"I don’t care if the whole world calls me Lando," he says softly, kissing your shoulder.

"But when you’re like this… when you’re mine…"

He pulls you closer.

"You call me Daddy."

"Yes sir."

RACE MODE: CONTROL ON

It starts at home.

He doesn't even ask this time.

Lando just presses you against the bathroom counter, lifts your leg up onto the edge, and slides the sleek black plug-shaped toy between your thighs with practiced ease. It’s shaped perfectly to hit every spot when you walk, sit, breathe. You squirm as it clicks into place.

"Colour?" he murmurs into your neck.

"Green, sir," you breathe.

He pulls back and lifts the tiny remote from the counter, spins it once in his fingers like a key to a very private kingdom.

Then he smiles. That cocky, post-pole-position grin. "Good girl. Keep it in all day."

Your eyes widen. "All day?"

"Oh, you’re wearing it for the entire race weekend, sweetheart," he says, slipping the remote into the zippered pocket of his race suit. "But today?"

He leans down.

"Today I’m leaving it in my driver’s room. Locked. Just like you."

By the time you’re in the paddock, the toy’s already humming softly.

You’re standing trackside with his trainers, PR team, and two journalists - smiling like nothing’s wrong - even as your thighs clench and your lips part in a silent gasp. No one can hear it, but you feel it.

Every pulse is a reminder: you don’t get to take it out. You don’t get to ask for help. And you definitely don’t get to come.

Because if you do?

He promised you punishment. Real punishment.

Restraints. Denial. A full day of edge play without release.

And worst of all?

"No touching yourself for a week."

You shift in your seat beside the pit wall, legs crossed, heart pounding. The vibration kicks up right as Lando walks by in his race suit, helmet under his arm. He doesn’t even look at you.

Bastard.

He’s been gone all of thirty seconds when your phone buzzes with a text.

Lando 🧡😻

Sitting pretty for me, yeah?

You chew your lip. Type one-handed, the other gripping the edge of your chair.

You

You left it ON. I’m gonna scream.

Lando 🧡😻

You scream, I send McLaren security to walk you out. No panties, right?

You clench.

You

No. You knew that because you took them from me.

Lando 🧡😻

Watch your attitude and who your talking to.. Stay wet for me. I want the seat soaked by the end of practice

A few laps in, and you're barely functioning.

You’re leaning forward on the railing above the pit lane, VIP pass around your neck, trying to look interested in telemetry while your clit throbs from deep vibrations you can’t stop. Your pussy flutters helplessly around the toy - needy, empty, hot.

Someone beside you is talking about tire strategy.

You can’t hear a word.

Because the toy just pulsed twice in a row - harder. Like he set a custom pattern and timed it to the laps. Or maybe he gave it a little buzz while they adjusted wing settings. Either way, you’re going to kill him.

Your phone buzzes again.

Lando 🧡😻

You wet enough to leak yet?

You press your thighs together and pretend to smile at a camera across the way.

You

I hate you. I’m going to get arrested.

Lando 🧡😻

Keep pretending. You’re doing so good, baby. Don’t come. Not until I win.

He got fastest lap so he's happy. You’re soaked. Your thighs glisten. The crotch of your dress sticks to you. Everyone's cheering, and you’re shaking for an entirely different reason.

Lando walks past the crowd, waving, grinning - sweat-soaked.

He stops by you for just a second, hand brushing low over your back where no one can see.

"You didn’t come, did you?"

You can barely breathe. "No, sir."

"Good girl."

Then he kisses your cheek, presses the remote into your hand - and whispers:

"Keep it in. I’ll deal with you when we’re home."

RULE BROKEN. GAME ON

You lasted through FP1.

Barely.

But by lap 12 of FP2, the buzzing between your legs was too much.

You made a choice. A bad one.

Slipped away during a lull in the session, took the lanyard off your neck, ducked into the far paddock bathroom, and locked the door.

The moment the toy slipped from inside you, your knees buckled.

Your whole body sighed in relief.

But as you dropped the soaked silicone into your handbag, you felt the weight of what you’d just done.

Disobeyed. Lied. Broke his direct command.

You wiped yourself clean, fixed your dress, and walked out like nothing had happened.

You were going to put it back in later, maybe sneak it in before he found out.

He didn’t have to know.

Except… Lando asks to see you the second he’s out of the car.

"Driver’s room. Now," he says to you, looking past Oscar directly at you.

You follow the him down the hallway like you haven’t just betrayed everything your Dom expects of you.

The moment she closes the door behind you, Lando turns to face you, still half out of his race suit - sweaty, flushed, smug as ever.

He holds the remote between his fingers.

"You did so good out there," he says, walking toward you. "Toy was on the whole session. Could barely keep my head in the car thinking about you sitting out there, leaking on a plastic chair."

Your heart plummets.

He presses the remote’s button.

Nothing.

You flinch anyway. Make a show of it. Arch your back just a little. Let out a shaky breath.

Fake it.

Play the part.

He smirks, eyes locked on your body. "Feel that?" he asks.

You nod quickly. Too quickly.

"Hurts, huh? You’re probably sore already. Bet your thighs were trembling all through FP2."

You moan softly, shifting your hips. ""Y-Yeah…"

He tilts his head.

Still smirking. Still relaxed. But his eyes?

Cold.

"You’re such a good little toy, aren’t you?" he murmurs, slipping a hand under your dress, fingers brushing along your inner thigh. "So wet, still keeping it in like I told you to."

Your stomach twists.

His fingers slide up…

And pause.

Your pussy? Bare. Empty. No plug. No vibrator. No permission.

His hand stays there for a beat too long.

Then he pulls it back. Calm. No change in expression.

Except now you know he knows.

And still - he says nothing.

He leans in, presses a kiss to your temple, and whispers, "I’ll see you back at the house, baby. We’ve got a lot to celebrate."

And a lot to punish.

LIED TO DADDY...

The ride home is quiet.

Too quiet.

You watch him from the passenger seat - one hand on the wheel, the other drumming against his thigh.

You want to say something. Confess. Beg. But you know Lando well enough to recognize the calm before the storm.

By the time he pulls into the garage and turns off the engine, your heart is racing harder than it was trackside.

You step out of the car, and before your heel even touches the tile...

"Inside," he says. "Strip. Knees. Now."

You obey instantly. Your dress hits the floor before you reach the living room.

He doesn’t even look at you. Just walks over to the bar cart, pours a glass of water, drinks it slowly, then finally turns toward where you're kneeling.

Eyes sharp. Voice ice cold.

"You took it out."

You open your mouth.

"Don’t. Speak."

You close it again.

He walks to you, crouches in front of your naked body, and tilts your chin up with a single finger.

"You disobeyed me. Lied to me. Faked it."

He clicks his tongue softly.

"You think you can trick me?"

You shake your head quickly, tears forming.

"I gave you a rule. A toy. A gift."

His voice lowers.

"And instead of wearing it like a good girl, you threw it in your bag like a pair of earrings."

You swallow hard. "I-I was going to put it back in before quali..."

SLAP.

A sharp slap across your ass - not hard enough to hurt, but enough to stun you still.

"You don’t make the rules. You don’t get to modify my instructions."

He stands tall.

"Crawl."

You hesitate for half a second too long.

"Now."

You crawl after him, naked, ashamed, soaked in anticipation. He leads you into the playroom.

And the door shuts behind you like a verdict.

RUINED ON THE CROSS

The door shuts with a soft finality behind you.

Lando doesn’t speak.

He walks past you, into the room, barefoot now - cool, calm, in total control. The light is dim. The wood panelling softens the space, but the cross at the far end stands tall and unapologetic.

You stare at it, heart thundering.

He opens the case of toys. Doesn’t even look at you when he speaks.

"You’ve got ten seconds to get your naked little ass strapped to that cross before I make this worse."

You move. Fast.

The Saint Andrew’s Cross is cold against your back as you step into place - arms and legs spread, stretched, vulnerable. You can’t even hide. There’s no cushion, no mercy here.

Lando walks behind you. The restraints buckle into place one by one - ankles, wrists, tight. You’re fully exposed, bent slightly forward, ass out, back arched. Breath shaky.

Then the gag.

Soft silicone. Wide enough to fill your mouth. No safe word needed - he can read your eyes like scripture.

He comes into view holding something new.

A toy.

Thicker. Longer. Much more than what you were wearing earlier.

Your eyes go wide over the gag.

He smiles - cruel, calm. "You want to act like a big girl? You’ll take the big girl toy."

You whimper.

He kneels behind you, running slick lube over the toy - then presses it against your tight, already overstimulated entrance.

"Breathe for me."

You inhale. He presses.

The stretch is devastating. You scream into the gag, body twisting against the restraints, thighs shaking as he slowly pushes it in.

"I know," he murmurs. "It’s big. Almost too big for a needy little liar like you."

He bottoms it out.

You’re full. Stuffed. Whimpering around the gag with tears spilling from your eyes.

"That's what guilt feels like, sweetheart," he says softly. "That ache in your belly? That's what disobedience earns you."

Then comes the first spank.

Loud. Sharp. It echoes in the room.

Then another. And another.

He doesn’t stop. Each one lands over the same spot until you’re gasping through the gag, body jerking, restrained and helpless and completely at his mercy.

"You thought I wouldn’t notice?" he growls. "You think I don’t know every sound your body makes when it’s full of me?"

Spank.

"Every twitch of your thighs?"

Spank.

"Every fake little moan you made when the remote did nothing?"

Spank.

You’re sobbing now. Your body can’t handle it. Not the toy. Not the spanking. Not the shame.

He leans close to your ear.

“Confess.”

You shake your head, gag muffling your cries.

“Confess,” he snarls, ripping the gag out of your mouth. “Right now. Or I’ll leave you here overnight.”

You scream it.

"I TOOK IT OUT! I lied...I lied, I’m sorry, Daddy, I just... I couldn’t take it...”

Your whole body collapses against the cross, trembling.

And then you feel his fingers between your legs. Two of them. Slipping in beside the thick toy that’s already stretching you wide.

You scream.

He chuckles darkly. “You will come. But not because you want it. Not because you begged.”

He starts fucking you with his fingers — deep, slow, controlling every twitch.

“You’re gonna come for me,” he murmurs. “With tears on your face and shame in your chest and my name in your throat.”

You nod frantically.

“Say it.”

“Daddy...”

“Louder.”

“Daddy, please...”

“Now.”

You explode. Clenching around the toy, dripping down your thighs, body jerking so hard the restraints groan under the tension. You scream for him, cry his name, shatter all over the cross like it’s the only thing holding you up.

He doesn’t let go.

Not right away.

Just holds your chin. Watches the tears.

Then finally?

Kisses your forehead.

“You’re forgiven,” he whispers. “But you’re not done yet.”

DADDY'S GOOD GIRL AGAIN

Your body’s shaking.

You’re still strapped to the cross, stretched, raw, sensitive everywhere. Your muscles are aching, your throat’s tight, your face damp with tears you didn’t even realize were falling.

And then his hands are on you - warm, steady, real.

“Hey,” Lando whispers, kissing the back of your neck. “You’re okay, baby. You did so good for me.”

He begins unstrapping you carefully. First the wrists, then the ankles. He catches you the second your weight slumps forward, arms around your waist like a safety net.

“I’ve got you. Shhh, I’ve got you.”

You feel him carrying you, arms strong under your thighs, chest pressed to his. You curl into him instinctively, cheek against his collarbone, still trying to find your breath.

He carries you into the ensuite bathroom and lowers you gently into the already-filled tub - warm water laced with lavender and eucalyptus oil. It wraps around your sore muscles like a hug.

Lando kneels beside the tub, brushing your hair away from your face, his thumb wiping a tear from your cheek.

“Colour?” he asks softly, eyes locked on yours.

“Green,” you whisper.

“Green?”

You nod. “Green. Just… floaty.”

He smiles - that rare, soft smile he saves just for you. The one that makes your heart ache.

“I love you when you’re a good girl. I love you when you’re a brat. And I love you even when you’re dumb enough to try and lie to me.”

You huff a laugh through your nose, eyes fluttering shut.

He chuckles too, dipping a washcloth into the water and gently running it over your back, your shoulders, your arms.

“Hey,” he murmurs. “Look at me.”

You do.

“You’re everything. You hear me?���

You nod, lip trembling again.

“You are mine. My girl. My best girl. Even when you mess up.”

His voice lowers as he dips the cloth lower, over your thighs. “Especially when you try to take things like punishment into your own hands. Because then I get to remind you exactly who you belong to.”

“You,” you whisper.

“Damn right.”

He reaches for the shampoo and gently begins washing your hair, massaging your scalp like you’re made of glass.

“Hurting you isn’t the point, it's never ever about hurting you. But if I do, you know the safeword and our colour system. But if you cant say it then you do that special thing we talked about yeah? but it is never about hurting you” he says, his voice almost reverent now. “Owning you is.”

And when he pours warm water down your back to rinse it all away, it feels like everything heavy is washing off you - the shame, the tension, the ache.

He pulls you up into a thick towel, wraps it around you, carries you back to bed. Lays you down, naked, wrapped in fleece and comfort.

Then he slides in beside you. Pulls you right onto his chest.

You lie there for a long time, fingers tracing lazy shapes over his stomach.

“I really thought I could fake it,” you mumble against his skin.

Lando laughs, full and soft.

“You faked a moan like a soap opera actress, baby.”

You giggle.

Then pause.

“Were you really gonna leave me cuffed to the cross overnight?”

He tilts your chin up, looks you dead in the eyes.

“I would’ve brought you snacks.”

You smile.

“I love you,” you whisper.

“I love you more,” he murmurs, kissing your forehead. “Now sleep. You’ve earned it, you perfect little mess.”

And as you drift off, his arms wrapped around you like armor, you know one thing for sure:

There is no safer place in the world than being ruined - and rebuilt - by the man who loves every piece of you.

TOUCH ME WHERE THEY CAN SEE

You didn’t mean to push him this far.

Or maybe you did.

A little.

You wanted his attention.

You knew exactly what you were doing the second you stepped out of the car wearing that satin slip dress with no panties underneath - just the tiniest triangle of fabric taped inside, not even enough to hide the way you glistened when you shifted your thighs.

He saw. Of course he did.

He saw you lean over the champagne bar too, ass practically peeking from the slit in your dress. Saw the way that guy - some mid-level sponsor assistant with too much cologne and not enough shame - tried to flirt with you.

And you?

You didn’t stop him.

You laughed at something he said. Put your hand on his arm for a second too long. Smiled sweetly when he offered to get you another drink.

You didn’t touch him inappropriately. Not really.

But you didn’t stop him either.

And that was enough to set everything in motion.

Lando’s watching you from across the party, a glass of whiskey in his hand, his suit unbuttoned just enough to flash the chain around his neck - the one he only wears when he’s in Dom mode.

You catch his eyes over the crowd.

They are dark. Heavy. Unblinking.

And you know - he’s already decided what your punishment will be.

Still, you try to play it off. One more sip of champagne, one more polite laugh, one more little roll of your hips when the sponsor boy leans in.

That’s when you hear it.

The snap of fingers.

Behind you. One time.

You turn your head.

He’s closer now. Standing just behind a pillar, where no one else is looking. Where no one else will hear what happens next.

He crooks one finger.

Come. Here.

Your feet are moving before you consciously decide to obey.

He doesn’t speak as you approach - doesn’t give you a chance to explain.

He just turns, grabs you by the wrist, and pulls you into the dark hallway beside the rooftop elevator - a glass corridor with one-way windows that face out toward the skyline.

You’re hidden.

But everyone can see the shape of what’s happening.

The way he cages you against the glass.

The way your head tips back as his thigh presses between your legs.

The way you moan - softly - as his hand trails up your side, beneath the fabric of your dress.

"Do you like making me jealous?" Lando murmurs, voice low and deceptively calm in your ear. "You like letting that loser touch your arm? Smile at you like you’re available?”

You inhale sharply. “No, Daddy…”

"Don’t lie. You know what happens when you lie to me."

You whimper as his fingers find your bare slit.

“No panties,” he says flatly. “Of course.”

You nod, lips parted. “I wore the dress you liked.”

“And ruined it by flirting with a man who doesn’t even know how to make you come.”

His voice is cut glass. Cold and condescending. But his fingers? They’re slow and sinful - slipping through your folds, teasing the rim of your entrance, never quite pressing in.

You rock your hips, trying to chase it. Trying to earn what you know you don’t deserve.

"You think if you're a little slut in front of me, I’ll fuck you right here like a reward?"

You whimper. “Maybe…”

Smack. His palm meets the inside of your thigh. Hard.

“No. No, you don’t get rewarded for disobedience.”

He pulls something from the inside pocket of his jacket.

It’s the remote.

Your heart stutters.

“I was going to turn it on for you,” he says, brushing the cool metal against your thigh. “I was going to let you wear it while you talked to my team. Let you suffer through a dinner with my hand on your knee.”

“But now?”

He tucks it away.

“You don’t get anything.”

His fingers slide inside you just once - deep, curling against your most sensitive spot.

Your body jerks.

And then - he pulls out.

Your entire body shakes with the need. Your thighs are soaked. Your clit is throbbing. You are on fire.

“Please, Daddy...just one...”

“No.”

He gently - lovingly - cups your face. Tilts it toward the party outside the glass wall.

“Smile,” he says softly. “They’re watching.”

You swallow hard and obey, biting your lip, cheeks flushed.

His fingers slip back between your legs. Not inside - just against your clit. Slow pressure. Barely anything. A cruel tease.

“You don’t come until I say.” His voice drops. “And tonight?”

He leans in, tongue flicking your earlobe.

“I’m not saying shit.”

You walk back out together.

Your hand tucked into the crook of his elbow.

His fingers resting lightly on your lower back - looking like protection, but really there to remind you.

No relief. Not tonight.

You're wet. Empty. Shaking. Pretending.

And every single person at the party thinks you’re just his beautiful, smug little girlfriend with a secret.

Which you are.

But the secret isn’t your smile.

It’s the aching pulse between your legs.

THE BREAKING POINT

Saturday night.

You’ve spent the last 36 hours soaking your panties.

Every time Lando brushes your waist. Every time he tugs you close for a photo. Every time he presses a kiss to your neck when no one’s looking.

And every time, he whispers some variation of the same damn phrase:

“Still not allowed, baby.”

“Don’t even think about touching.”

“You’ll come when I say.”

But he doesn’t say.

Not in the car. Not in the elevator. Not even when you got on your knees behind locked doors and begged with your mouth, your body, your tears.

He let you suck him off in the shower.

And then zipped his suit and walked out like you weren’t breaking behind him.

You’re ruined.

And now you’re sitting in the hotel suite - his suite - curled on the corner of the couch, legs squeezed together so tight your knees ache. Every breath, every heartbeat, feels like friction.

Oscar’s there too. Chill, oblivious - scrolling through his phone, waiting on Lando to finish showering before they run through strategy with the engineers.

You should be embarrassed.

But you're past that. You didn't even care.

You’re vibrating with need.

And when Lando finally walks back out - towel low on his hips, curls damp, fresh-faced and smirking - you fucking snap.

You don’t even realize you’ve moved until you’re on your knees in front of him again, tugging at the edge of his towel like you don’t care who’s watching.

“Please,” you whisper, voice cracked and wild. “Please, Daddy. I can’t... I’ve been good. I haven’t touched myself, I’ve worn whatever you wanted... I can’t think, I can’t sleep, I need you, please...”

Oscar looks up from his phone, eyebrows shooting halfway up his forehead.

Lando doesn’t even blink.

He just stares down at you - a little amused, a little dark.

“Someone’s dramatic tonight,” he hums.

You whimper, fists clenching the edge of the towel. “I’ll do anything. Say it in front of him. Right now. I don’t care. I’ll be your good girl, your toy, your fuckdoll, your... your anything, Daddy, please just let me come.”

Oscar makes a tiny choked noise behind you, but stays quiet.

The room is dead silent otherwise.

You’re trembling.

Lando crouches in front of you, brushes a hand down your cheek like he’s holding something precious.

“You begging me in front of my teammate?” he asks softly. “That desperate, baby?” he mocks.

You nod violently. “Yes. Yes.”

His gaze flicks to Oscar - who looks like he’s trying not to die of secondhand arousal and horror.

“You alright, mate?” Lando asks casually, like this is normal.

Oscar blinks. “I… um. I’ll wait outside.”

Lando shrugs. “Nah. Stay if you want. She clearly doesn’t mind the audience.”

You moan, already humiliated, soaked, burning.

Lando turns back to you, one hand wrapping slowly around the back of your neck.

Then he leans in.

Mouth brushing your ear.

And says:

“No.”

You shatter.

“Daddy...please...”

“No,” he repeats, lips at your cheek now. “Because if you wanted to come, you wouldn’t have made me jealous. You wouldn’t have made a scene. And you sure as hell wouldn’t be dragging Oscar into this.”

You sob into his chest, clinging to him like a lifeline.

“Two more days,” he whispers. “Then maybe. If you’re quiet. If you behave.”

He tilts your face up and smiles, all sweet and cruel.

“You just gave him the show of his life, sweetheart. What else are you gonna give me for free before I decide you’re ready?”

You’re humiliated. Shaking.

Still - still - wet.

Oscar clears his throat behind you, backing out of the room without another word.

And Lando kisses your forehead.

“Now clean yourself up and get off your knees. You’re not coming tonight. But I’ll let you sit in my lap while I talk race strategy.”

Because even when you’re desperate?

You’re still his.

EARN IT IN FRONT OF HIM

You’re wearing the dress he picked.

Soft beige, sleeveless, clinging to your body like second skin. No bra. No panties. Just the thin press of fabric and your own slick heat soaking into it with every careful movement.

You were perfect all morning. Didn’t ask for release. Didn’t whine. You stayed quiet in the hotel room, sat pretty at his feet while he drank coffee and skimmed tire data. You even offered to organize his travel kit for the week.

You’ve never been this good.

And Lando noticed.

That’s why you’re here - seated sideways across his lap in a private team lounge, pressed against his chest, his hand resting loosely on your hip.

The entire room’s filled with staff - two strategists, a race engineer, Oscar, and one of the logistics coordinators. Everyone’s focused on the live monitor and tire charts.

No one’s paying attention to you.

Except Oscar.

Because he knows.

He knows what’s happening.

He knows why your legs are pressed together, why your head’s bowed slightly, and why Lando keeps flexing his hand gently against your inner thigh like a secret signal.

“Shift, baby,” Lando murmurs low, voice soft enough only you and maybe Oscar can hear. “Just a little. Let Daddy feel you.”

You obey immediately.

Your hips shift - slow, subtle - until the curve of your ass slots against the bulge in his trousers. You move like molasses, rolling your hips in a barely-there grind that anyone else would miss.

But not Oscar.

You can see him glance from the monitor to you.

His cheek twitches. His eyes flick down.

He knows.

And it only makes you wetter.

“You doing okay, mate?” Lando asks casually across the table.

Oscar clears his throat. “All good.”

Lando grins, then turns back to you. “You’re being such a good girl,” he murmurs into your hair. “You like sitting here, grinding your empty little pussy on Daddy’s cock while everyone talks tires?”

You nod.

“Use your words.”

“Yes, Daddy.”

His hand slides up the inside of your thigh under the hem of your dress, knuckles brushing your slick skin. You flinch. He chuckles.

“You’d let anyone in this room use you if I told you to, wouldn’t you?”

You blink up at him. “Yes, Daddy.”

“Say it.”

“I’ll do whatever you say. I’ll be good for anyone you ask me to.”

He hums, smiling lazily, clearly pleased.

Then nods toward Oscar.

“Ask him if he needs anything.”

You turn, cheeks flushed but voice steady.

“Oscar?” you say sweetly, tilting your head. “Do you need anything from me?”

Oscar nearly drops his pen.

“Uhh...” His ears go red. “No. I’m...uh, I’m good, thanks.”

You smile. Perfect. Obedient. Not an ounce of shame.

Lando strokes your thigh again, just enough to remind you who’s in control.

“Good girl,” he whispers.

You melt against him.

Oscar’s one of the first to leave - practically speed-walking out the door.

The moment it clicks shut, Lando flips you onto your back on the lounge sofa, pressing down into your throat with one hand.

“Look at you,” he growls. “Smiling at him like a perfect pet.”

You breathe heavily, skin flushed, heart racing.

“Didn’t even hesitate,” he murmurs. “Did everything I asked. Offered yourself up like a gift.”

“Because I’m yours,” you whisper. “Because I’ll do anything to be good again.”

His eyes darken.

“You’re almost there,” he says. “But not quite.”

Then he stands.

And leaves you aching, soaked, and untouched once again.

BEHIND CLOSED DOORS

You’ve been tied up for nearly an hour.

Your wrists are cuffed above your head, legs spread and strapped open with velvet cuffs that force your soaked pussy to remain on display. A soft gag rests between your lips, keeping your moans muffled. You’re drooling a little - humiliated, aching, trembling with need.

Lando promised.

He said, “If you’re perfect for me all day, I’ll let you come. Once. Just once.”

And you were. Perfect. Obedient. Polite in front of Oscar again. You didn’t even flinch when Lando dragged two fingers between your thighs at breakfast, licked his fingers clean secretly, and kept eating like nothing happened.

Now you're here - in the dark-lit room only he enters, finally, finally about to be rewarded.

Every time he walks in - touches your throat, kisses your jaw, whispers “Soon” - your body burns hotter.

But he keeps leaving. Stepping out to “check on Oscar,” who’s still upstairs watching post-race footage and chatting about engine modes.

You’re close to snapping again when you hear the door creak open.

Your eyes flutter open, hazy, and you see Lando again - flushed, chest rising, as if he ran down the hallway just to look at you.

He walks in, silent. Closes the door behind him and stands at the edge of the playroom, drinking you in.

He whispers, almost reverently:

“God, you’re beautiful like this.”

And this time… he doesn’t leave.

He crosses the room and drops to his knees between your legs.

He’s finally going to...

UPSTAIRS

Oscar blinks at the hallway.

It’s the third time Lando’s said he’ll “be right back.” He didn’t bring water. Didn’t use the bathroom. Just… keeps disappearing.

Oscar frowns.

He gets up, stretching, and casually says, “Gonna hit the toilet, mate.”

No response.

He doesn’t go to the bathroom.

He waits.

Stands in the hallway just out of sight, heart ticking oddly, until he hears the faintest creak of a floorboard.

There.

Lando. Padding barefoot down the side hall, toward the room he always keeps locked.

Oscar waits.

Then slowly, quietly, follows.

He doesn’t mean to spy. Not really.

He just… doesn’t know what’s going on. Maybe Lando’s secretly texting someone. Maybe he's hiding something stupid.

But when he gets close enough to the door, he sees something unexpected.

The light is on.

Through the keyhole, Oscar leans slightly - careful, silent.

And what he sees nearly knocks the breath from his lungs.

You're there.

Naked. Gagged. Wrists bound to a suspension bar. Legs spread wide in cuffs.

Lando’s kneeling in front of you - mouth between your thighs, hands on your waist, moaning against your skin like a man starving.

Oscar jolts back instinctively, heart hammering, face flushing with heat.

But it’s too late.

Lando’s head turns - eyes narrowing - and he sees the shadow under the door.

He stands slowly.

Walks to the door.

Opens it.

And Oscar freezes, guilt stamped across his face.

Lando leans in the doorway, arms crossed, shirt half unbuttoned, mouth wet with you.

“…Enjoying the show?”

Oscar stammers. “I-I wasn’t...I just...”

Lando shrugs.

“She begged for three days. Thought she’d earned it.”

He looks over his shoulder, then back.

“Looks like you wanted her to earn it too.”

Oscar’s lips part, speechless.

Behind Lando, you moan faintly through the gag, cheeks flushed, eyes wide and wet.

Humiliation. Need. Shame.

And… thrill.

Lando glances at you.

Then back to Oscar.

“You can walk away now.” A pause. “Or you can come in. But if you come in, you don’t unsee any of it.”

Oscar swallows.

Silence hangs heavy.

And Lando?

He waits.

Your chest is heaving.

You’d been seconds away from your first orgasm in days - Lando’s mouth buried between your thighs, his moans vibrating against your clit - when the door creaked open.

And everything froze.

Now, Oscar is standing just outside the playroom, eyes wide, jaw tight, obviously trying not to look too long - and failing.

You can feel his gaze flicking from your bare, bound form to Lando’s flushed face, then away. But Lando isn’t embarrassed. He isn’t apologizing. He’s smirking.

As if he planned this all along.

He stands, slowly, and gestures behind him toward you.

“Come in.”

Oscar hesitates.

“I’m not asking you to touch her,” Lando says, calm. “She’s mine. That doesn’t change.”

Oscar swallows, then takes two careful steps into the room. His gaze drops - again - to where your legs are still strapped wide, wrists tied above your head, breasts rising with each desperate breath.

Lando turns to you.

“She’s been good,” he says, not even looking at Oscar anymore. Just you. “Obedient. Patient. Three days of denial.”

He runs his hand slowly up your thigh. “And now she’s going to come. But not before I remind her exactly who she belongs to.”

He walks to the wall, selects a second set of cuffs.

Then turns to Oscar.

“Come here.”

Oscar’s breathing shallow. “You sure..?”

“You’re not going to touch her,” Lando says again. “Just help me restrain her better.”

Oscar moves toward you carefully, eyes flicking to yours - a silent are you okay? that you answer with a frantic nod around your gag.

You are soaked. Humiliated. And completely on fire.

Lando lifts your left thigh and buckles the ankle into a padded thigh sling. “Hold that up for me,” he tells Oscar.

Oscar does. No hesitation now.

Then the other.

Now your legs are bent and spread wider, lifted open, cunt completely exposed to both of them.

Lando tilts your chin up.

“You’re perfect,” he whispers. “Letting him see you like this. Letting me use you like this.”

He pulls the gag out of your mouth and kisses you - deep, claiming, full of promise.

Then he steps back and looks at Oscar.

“You can stay,” he says. “But if you do, you don’t talk. You don’t move. You don’t come near her.”

Oscar nods silently and steps back against the wall.

Lando turns back to you.

And finally, finally - he drops to his knees again.

You cry out when his mouth meets your clit. Desperate. Ruined. Every nerve feels raw and ready. Your hips twitch but the restraints hold you wide open. Exposed. Helpless.

And Oscar?

He’s still watching.

Silent.

Red in the face.

But watching.

Lando fucks you with his mouth like it’s the only thing he’s ever loved - moaning into your folds, fingers pressing inside you, curling just right.

You’re babbling now - pleads and promises and broken little Daddy, please sobs.

Lando groans.

“Come for me,” he growls. “Let him see how fucking beautiful you are when you come for me.”

That’s all it takes.

You scream as your orgasm rips through you - full body shaking, crying out, hips grinding against his face as he doesn’t stop. Doesn’t let you come down. Just keeps going.

“Daddy...fuck...Daddy, please, I can’t...”

“You can,” he growls. “You will. Again.”

You do.

You come again - sobbing now - thighs twitching, mouth slack, tears streaking down your cheeks.

And Lando kisses them away.

AFTER

He finally lets you rest - unstraps your wrists, holds you close in his lap. You’re trembling, still leaking between your thighs, lips swollen and eyes dazed.

Oscar’s still standing by the wall.

Silent.

Lando glances at him, brushing your hair back.

“Thanks, mate,” he says, tone casual now. “She’ll sleep like a baby after that.”

Oscar clears his throat, voice rough. “No problem.”

Then:

“I’m just gonna… go.” Lando nods. “Shut the door on your way out.” You listen as Oscar leaves - slowly, without another word.

And when the door clicks shut?

Lando presses his forehead to yours and smiles.

“You did so good,” he whispers. “I’m so proud of you.”

Oscar 🥐

Hey Are you… okay?

You

Yeah. I’m good. Better than good actually. Tired. Floating a little.

Oscar 🥐

Yeah, I figured. You were… wow.

I didn’t mean to see it. I swear.

You

I know. It’s okay. He invited you in. I wanted you to stay.

Oscar 🥐

Did he know I was watching… before he told me to come in?

You

Of course. He always knows.

Oscar 🥐

Is it always like that? That intense?

You

Sometimes worse Sometimes softer Always safe. Always wanted.

Oscar 🥐

You looked like you were in another universe Like you’d fall apart if he touched you again But you wanted it

You

I did. I do. That’s the whole point. Giving in to it.

Oscar 🥐

I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone look at another person the way he looks at you Like you’re his entire world And maybe his favorite toy too but like In a sacred way lol

You

That’s exactly what it is.

Oscar 🥐

He trusts me. And so do you. That means a lot. I won’t ever talk about it But if you ever want someone to check in on you after… Or if he ever goes too far I’d be there in a second

You

He won’t But I appreciate it. Really.

Oscar 🥐

I didn’t look at you like that. Not in a gross way. I just… couldn’t look away. You were beautiful

You

Thank you. You don’t know how much that means

Oscar 🥐

I get it now Why you’d let go that hard Why he deserves that side of you

You’re both kind of terrifying And kind of perfect

You

stop i’m already emotional

Oscar 🥐

Go to sleep, mess. Tell him I said good job And don’t tell him I said any of this or I’ll never hear the end of it

You

Your secret’s safe Goodnight, Oscar

You’re half-asleep when you feel the bed shift.

Lando’s arm is no longer around your waist. The warmth of his chest behind you has faded slightly. You blink one eye open and see his back - shirtless, spine carved by shadows in the early morning light - hunched slightly.

He’s holding your phone.

And it’s open.

You blink harder. “Lando..?”

His head turns slightly, but not all the way.

“You left it unlocked,” he says calmly. Oh no. Your heart skips. “It buzzed. I thought it was my alarm.” A pause.

“I saw Oscar’s name.”

Another pause.

“I read it.”

You sit up slowly, sheet pulled around your chest instinctively, even though he’s already seen all of you - claimed all of you.

He doesn’t sound mad.

And that’s worse.

“Lando…” you start.

He finally turns to look at you.

His face is unreadable.

“You told him I always know,” he says. “That I own you. That it’s safe.”

You nod. “Because it’s true.”

He hums. Low. Dangerous.

“You thanked him for saying you were beautiful. Told him it meant a lot.”

Your heart tightens.

“I wasn’t flirting,” you whisper.

“I know,” he says simply. You blink. “I’m not mad,” he adds. “But I am curious.”

He crawls back onto the bed, slow and quiet, until he’s kneeling in front of you - your phone now abandoned on the nightstand, his full attention on you.

“You shared something sacred,” he says, brushing a knuckle down your cheek. “You let him see it.”

“I thought you wanted him to.”

“I did. I do.”

His voice lowers.

“But what I didn’t expect… was how much it would fuck with my head seeing how soft you were with him.”

You flinch. “I didn’t mean to...”

“Shhh.”

He presses a finger to your lips.

“Not angry. Just…”

He tilts his head, eyes narrow.

“I think you owe me a little more.”

Your breath catches.

“A little extra obedience,” he murmurs. “To remind you who you share everything with. First. Always.”

You nod. “Yes, Daddy.”

He kisses you once - deep, slow, full of possession.

Then pulls away, already smirking.

“You’re going to sit on my cock for a while today,” he says. “While I work. Silent. Plugged and full. No talking. No whining. Just held there. So I can feel everything that’s mine.”

“And if Oscar texts again?”

He grins, teeth flashing.

“I’ll let you answer. But only if I’m inside you.”

“You shared yourself with him.”

That’s what he said when you finally sat up in bed, heart racing, trying to explain.

Not you cheated. Not you crossed a line.

Just that. A statement. A truth.

You shared something sacred. You let Oscar see you at your most raw. And Lando let it happen. But that doesn’t mean he’s letting it go.

So now, you’re sitting on his cock in the desk chair of his office - fully dressed, nothing visible, nothing suspicious - except for the way your thighs are shaking, your nails digging into your own skin as you try to obey.

No movement.

No sound.

No permission.

He’s not even touching you.

He’s working - typing away, headphones in one ear, sunglasses on, half-focused on a virtual track walk. One hand on your thigh, not to tease… just to remind you that you’re still full.

Still his.

It’s been nearly two hours.

Your legs are numb. Your pussy is clenching around him, fluttering with every breath you take. Every shift of his hips sends a ripple of heat down your spine.

You want to grind. You want to move. You want to beg.

Instead, you do what he told you to.

You stay still.

Your phone buzzes.

Lando hums quietly.

Then, slowly, he slides his hand from your thigh to your purse on the desk.

He pulls out your phone, unlocks it, glances at the notification.

Oscar.

He turns the screen toward you, smirking.

Oscar 🧡

You okay today? I keep thinking about… last night. Hope it wasn’t too much.

You bite your lip hard.

Lando’s hand tightens slightly on your hip.

"You want to answer him?" he asks, voice casual, as if he isn’t balls-deep inside you.

You nod slowly.

“Use your words.”

“Yes, Daddy.”

“Then go ahead,” he says. “But don’t forget where you are.”

You pick up the phone - trembling fingers trying to type.

You

I’m okay Still kind of recovering lol It wasn’t too much I’m glad you stayed

Lando reads over your shoulder.

“Sweet,” he murmurs. “Maybe a little too sweet.”

Then he takes the phone from your hands and tilts your chin toward him.

“Now I’m going to answer him for you,” he says. “Since you let him see something that only I should get.”

You swallow.

“Don’t worry,” he whispers. “I won’t cross the line. I’m just going to underline it.”

He types slowly, deliberately.

You → Oscar (typed by Lando)

He read the messages He’s not mad Just reminded me who I belong to In case I forgot

Then another.

You → Oscar (still Lando)

I’m not allowed to answer messages unless he’s inside me So… Yeah We’re good

You moan without meaning to — a soft, strangled sound — and his hand wraps lightly around your throat.

“Quiet,” he warns. “Unless you want another hour.”

You nod quickly.

Lando smirks and leans down, voice low and thick with control.

“He’s going to read that message ten times,” he says. “And then wank in the shower thinking about how you’re stuffed full of me while texting him like a good little girl.”

You whimper.

Lando pulls out slowly - not all the way, just enough to feel how wet you are.

Then leans into your ear.

“After this meeting,” he whispers, “we’re going to the playroom. And I’m going to fuck you until you forget how to text.”

Later…

You lie face-down, wrists tied to the mattress, Lando’s cum dripping between your thighs. Your phone buzzes again on the floor, screen lighting up just enough to see:

Oscar 🧡

Fuck I’ll keep my distance But tell him I get it now

You don’t answer. You don’t have to. Because Lando is right behind you - reading it too. And smiling.

A/N: right... i kind of went crazy with this one but you voteed for hardcore smut. so thats what i wrote. i know it was a really long one but i hope you made it to the end. If you want a part 2 then request it and if you want anything specific then im open to writing it but please read the guidelines for requesting

Taglist: @dessashippr @barcelonaloverf1life @kuinasstuff @bubble012 @fangirlmusicbiashoe @linnygirl09 @imvunia

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[xoln04f1xo]

Pairings: LN4 x Reader

Warnings: seduction, political danger, masks and identity themes, reader in disguise, emotional intensity, high-society vampire drama

WC: 1.4k

Divider: @bleedingspiral - @strangergraphics

Monaco had always been a jewel. But tonight, it glittered with secrets.

The masquerade was held in a ballroom carved into the cliffs, a place older than the principality itself. Lit by chandeliers of glass and bloodstone, the hall pulsed with glamour and illusion. No humans without bloodline ties were allowed. No cameras. No lies.

You shouldn't be here.

But you weren't just human anymore.

Oscar had arrived first. Dressed in a slate grey, mask smooth and unreadable. He slipped through the crowd like smoke, already playing spy before the first toast.

"No sudden movements," he murmured in your ear piece. "We're being watched."

You adjusted your mask. Midnight silk and gold. You looked nothing like yourself. Good.

Lando would meet you inside. Separately. Safer that way.

"Why is Max hosting this?" you asked under your breath.

Oscar replied, voice low. "It's not just a party. It's a court."

"A vampire court?"

"More like a gathering of houses," he said. "Bloodlines. Alliances. Power."

And you - the claimed mortal with a witchblood pulse - were the wildcard.

Lando appeared before the dance.

You felt him first.

Like gravity shifting. Like air becoming wine.

He wore black. Masked in silver and ash. No smile. Eyes locked on you the second he entered.

Your heart forgot how to beat.

He made his way to you. Slowly. Claiming space with every step.

"You look like sin I haven't earned yet," he said.

"You look like the consequence," you replied.

He chuckled. But there was no warmth.

"Max knows your here," Lando said. "He's waiting to make a move."

You swallowed. "Then don't give him an opening."

"Too late," a voice purred behind you.

Max.

He didn't wear a mask. Of course he didn't.

His gaze slid over you like a silk blade. Possessive. Curious.

"Lovely to see you again," he said. "Witchblood suits you."

Lando stepped in front of you, jaw tight. "She's under my protection."

"Not for long," Max murmured. "There will be a vote tonight. On her fate."

"What now?" you said.

Max smiled. "This is a court after all."

The dance floor began with a waltz. Politics disguised in choreography.

Max claimed the floor with you.

You had no choice.

He moved with lethal grace. Fingers light on your back, breath warm near your ear.

"You've already tasted power," he said. "You liked it."

"I trust Lando."

"Trust is fragile. Power is forever."

You stepped into him, surprising him.

"I don't want power."

He grinned. "Then you will be destroyed by someone who does."

After the dance, Oscar found you.

"It's worse than we thought..." he whispered. "They're splitting the court. Some want to use you. Some want to claim you. Some want you dead."

"And Lando?"

"He wants you free."

In the dark hall behind the ballroom, Lando kissed you like it might be the last time. Desperate. Reverent.

"We'll run if we have to." he said.

You gripped his collar. "I'm done running."

Your pressed your forehead to his. Magic sparked at your fingertips.

"Let me fight," you whispered. "Let me show them what I am."

"They'll come for you harder."

You looked up, eyes glowing faintly.

"Then let them."

Midnight struck. The court called a vote.

You stood beside Lando. Mask gone. Power humming under your skin.

Oscar read the scroll.

"Fate of the marked mortal: claim, bind, release or execute."

Max stepped forward.

"I vote to bind her to the Red Coven."

Gasps

Lando bared his fangs. "Over my fucking ashes."

A dozen voices rose.

Oscar shouted, "SILENCE."

Then you stepped forward.

"I choose for myself."

Chaos.

"You have no right," someone insisted.

You raised your hand and fire ignited in your palm.

"I have all the right I need."

The ballroom was burning - not with fire, but with tension.

You stood at the edge of it all, your hand still warm from the flame you’d conjured. A hundred eyes watched you: noble-born vampires, coven leaders, bloodline traitors, and relics in the shape of men who hadn’t breathed in centuries. The fire was gone, extinguished the moment you lowered your hand, but its echo remained in the air, sharp and humming. You’d left a mark. You knew it. So did they.

Oscar was at your side, quiet and still. He was already calculating escape routes. Lando was in front of you, his body angled protectively, blood dripping from a cut at his temple, torn by a glass shard thrown in the chaos.

“You didn’t have to do that,” he murmured, eyes not leaving the crowd.

“I did,” you answered. “They need to see me.”

“They already see you,” he whispered. “I’m not sure that’s a good thing.”

You glanced at him, a small breath leaving your lips. “Let them fear me.”

His eyes snapped to yours at that. Something unspoken passed between you - not just awe or worry, but recognition. You weren’t what he’d first met under floodlights and paddock tension. Not anymore.

You weren’t just human.

Not just claimed.

You were becoming something else entirely - and the world around you was beginning to bend in response.

Later, they ushered you into one of the stone chambers behind the ballroom, away from the noise and perfume and politics. It was cool and dark, the walls pulsing faintly with old enchantments.

Lando stood with his back to the door, arms crossed, blood dried at the collar of his shirt.

“I shouldn’t have brought you here,” he said finally.

“You didn’t,” you replied. “I chose this.”

He turned, slowly. His eyes were back to their usual hazel, but beneath them, exhaustion clung like a bruise.

“There are rules in their world,” he said. “And you broke them.”

“I didn’t ask to be part of their world.”

“But you are now,” he whispered, stepping closer. “And Max won’t stop. The moment you denied him...”

“Was the moment I declared myself.”

Lando stared at you. “He’ll come for you.”

“Let him.”

“God, you sound like me,” he muttered.

“I learned from the best.”

That broke something in him. His mouth twitched into the ghost of a smile - and then he leaned in, pressing his forehead to yours, the gesture equal parts affection and plea.

“I want to take you away from all of this,” he said, breath brushing your cheek. “Steal you into the night. Lock the doors. Make you mine completely.”

“You already have,” you whispered.

He pulled back. Just enough to see your face. Just enough to look for doubt.

But there wasn’t any.

You didn’t sleep that night.

Instead, you stood on the balcony of the safehouse Oscar had secured near the harbor, watching the lights of Monaco dance like ghosts across the waves.

Lando joined you after hours of silence. The wound on his temple was gone. He’d healed. But he looked no less haunted.

“You saw what happened back there,” you said softly. “They’re afraid.”

“Of you,” he replied. “And what you mean.”

You turned to face him. “Do you think I’m becoming something else?”

He hesitated.

Then... “Yes.”

You waited.

“But not in a bad way,” he said. “You’re… evolving. Magic changes you. But it isn’t corrupting you.”

“Then what is it doing?”

He looked at you with something like reverence.

“It’s making you a mirror. And they hate mirrors in this world.”

“Why?”

“Because it shows them everything they’ve become.”

Before dawn, Oscar returned with parchment in his hand, lines of blood-ink shimmering in the candlelight.

“A summons,” he said grimly. “From the Coven of Ash.”

Lando took it with a sigh. “The oldest ones.”

“They want her to answer for what she did tonight,” Oscar said. “The flame. The defiance.”

“Then I’ll go,” you said.

Both men looked at you.

Oscar: calculating.

Lando: torn.

“You’re not their subject,” Lando said.

“I know. But I’m not hiding anymore.”

“You don’t understand...”

“I do,” you cut in, voice sharp but even. “You said it yourself. I’m changing. So let me meet them as who I am.”

Lando stared at you, jaw tight.

Then, softly: “I’m scared of what they’ll do.”

You stepped forward, taking his hand. “Then come with me. Be the weapon I don’t use. But let me walk in with power.”

He hesitated.

Then nodded.

As the sun rose over Monaco, casting pale gold against the sea, you turned to the two immortals who had aligned themselves with you - one, bound to you by choice and blood; the other by loyalty and belief in something ancient waking up inside you.

And you whispered the words that had been echoing in your dreams for nights now.

“Let them come.”

Because you were done reacting.

It was time to rewrite the rules.

Taglist: @wierdflowerpower @teti-menchon0604 @omgsuperstarg @ernegren @lemon-stvrrr @rainbowphades @hollie911 @barcelonaloverf1life @formula1fordisaster @lemon-stvrrr @fangirlmusicbiashoe @f1samcro @linnygirl09

[xoln04f1xo]

Pairings: Lando Norris x Reader

Warnings: Makeout, implied sex, mention of alcohol, angry parents, bad boy lando, parents walking in, flashback to when they met, mental health themes, suicidal thoughts, mentions of death, lando helps, fluff, smut, angst, suggestive. Kind of a mix of everything.

YOU ARE RESPONSIBLE FOR THE CONTENT YOU READ. NOT ME.

WC: 2.6k

🎵: Fill me in - Craig David

Your parents had gone out again. So you called Lando.

"Hey, they're gone, you can come over."

You got a bottle of red wine out and put it on the table as well as turning on the jacuzzi.

The second you opened the door his lips were on yours. He kicked the door shut behind him and his hands were firm on your hips. One second you were against the wall and the next he was hovering over you on the couch. You break away from the kiss. "I turned on the jacuzzi, come."

He followed you through the house to the garden. You both turned your phones on DND so you couldn't be distracted. Stripped off your clothes and climbed into the hot tub, you straddled his legs while kissing him and one thing led to another.

Later on you ended up in your room watching a random movie neither of you were really paying attention to.

Your parents got home and Lando was quick to hide in your closet in case they came in.

"Hey, why is the hot tub on?" your mum shouted upstairs.

"I'll be right down, two seconds." you shout down.

You put a hoodie and shorts on, walk downstairs to say hi to your parents while Lando was still upstairs in your closet which made you giggle a bit.

"I'll turn off the jacuzzi now." you say. "Thank you sweetheart." your dad says.

Once you did that, you went back upstairs with snacks and drinks. "Lando you can come out of the closet now... never thought I'd say that ever in my life." You let out a giggle when you see his messy hair.

Your parents could never know about you and Lando... the would freak the fuck out because he wasn't known for his good behaviour.

A little while later Lando snuck out of the window and went home.

The next morning your parents sat you down at breakfast and lets just say they had questions...

"Why were you creeping around late last night?"

You didn't know how to answer, you were just shocked. You didn't know what they saw or even if they saw Lando so you just answered "huh? what are you on about?"

"Why could I see two shadows moving in your bedroom light?"

You just sat there in silence staring at your breakfast. You didn't know what to say.

"Okay fine I had a friend over... I knew you would say no so I just invited them over anyways." You say not giving away the fact that Lando was there and the activities you got up to.

"I'm going upstairs." You say.

When you get to your room you called Lando.

"I just got questioned by my parents about last night. Are you sure you went around the side of the house? Your sure they didn't see you?"

"Yes Y/N, they didn't see me. I promise."

"Okay. My parents are on holiday if you wanna come over later?" he asks.

"Yeah okay. I'll tell my mum I'm going to spend a night at a friends house. I'll see you later."

Lando 🧡😻

I'm parked down the street x

Y/N

On my way. Be there in 5 x

"Mum, I'm going out with a friend." you said. "Okay be back for 12 yeah?" you nod. You walked down the street and checked no one was looking before you got in the car.

"Hey," you say and kissed him. "Where are we going?"

"We are going to a club." He starts the car and drives for about 20 minutes.

You get to skip the line because Lando used to do business with him whatever that means... you didn't really want to know.

The second you went in he dragged you to the dancefloor. You started dancing with him. He bought you a few drinks and was by your side all night.

Before you knew it, it was 2AM and you still had to walk home. Lando gave you his hoodie cause you were cold.

It was around 4AM when you got home, drunk. Your parents had tried calling you multiple times but your phone died which made them worried...even though you were 20.

"You said you would be home at 12 but walking in at 4?" 'Out with the girls' but leaving with the boy next door? Is that who you were with last night hmm? Is that his hoodie your wearing?" They asked.

You rolled your eyes.

"Stop firing questions at me like I'm on a fucking game show. God, why does it matter who I'm with? Why does it matter if I'm with Lando?" You asked, genuinely curious.

"Because he hasn't had the best behaviour record." Your dad said rubbing his hands over his face tired and clearly stressed that you were even hanging around Lando.

"Whatever." You walked upstairs.

Y/N

Look. My parents know about us. They saw me get in your car earlier and they saw your shoes by the front door the other day.

Lando 🧡😻

Fuck. You okay?

Y/N

I'm fine. Besides the fact they quizzed me like I was on a fucking game show. I didn't say anything though.

Lando 🧡😻

Good, as long as your okay though. Goodnight my love xx

[ A FEW WEEKS LATER... ]

Your parents were gone for the dinner.

...or so you thought.

You barely heard the door click shut before Lando had you pressed up against your bedroom wall, hands tangled in your hair, lips feverish against your neck.

"You've been teasing me all day," he murmured, voice low, sending shivers down your spine. His accent, that smirk... deadly. "You knew exactly what you were doing wearing that dress."

You gasped a laugh, tugging at his shirt. "I didn't wear it for you."

He pulled back just enough to raise an eyebrow, unconvinced. "Liar,"

Your fingers slid under his shirt, warm skin meeting yours, while his hands gripped your waist like he couldn't get close enough. The air between you crackled - heated and hungry. His mouth found yours again, slower this time, deeper. The kind of kiss that made time dissolve.

He picked you up and walked over to the bed, laying you down as he got between your thighs. Your wrists pinned above your head with one of his hands.

He was about to take your panties off when...

"Hey sweetheart, we..."

Lando's eyes widened in shock, looking at you. He got off of you wile covering you both.

Your mother froze mid sentence.

Your dad followed behind her, blinking like he was trying to un-see what was very clearly happening.

Your dad's face had turned the colour of a tomato.

Your mum? Horrified, but trying pretend she wasn't. "Oh my fuck... sorry! We thought you were..."

"We forgot the theatre tickets," your dad grumbled, still avoiding eye contact.

Lando, to his credit, recovered faster than you. He offered them a sheepish smile and a small wave, like this was a casual Thursday. "Evening, Mr and Mrs Y/L/N. Lovely weather, yeah?"

You wanted the ground to swallow you whole.

"Grab the shitting tickets and go." your mum hissed to your dad, dragging him out of the room like she was diffusing a bomb.

Silence.

Then Lando turned to you, biting back laughter. "Well... getting cockblocked by your parents wasn't what I meant by a good time at all."

You groaned, pulling the pillow over your face. "Kill me now..."

"Not until after round two," he whispered, grinning.

A couple hours later, the house felt heavy with tension. Lando had left after promising to text you the second he got home - though not before kissing your forehead and whispering, "Don't let them get to you." Easier said than done.

You sat on the edge of your bed, knee bouncing, heart racing like he was still there.

Then came the inevitable.

Your door swung open, nearly coming off it's hinges.

Your dad walked in first, face tight. Your mom followed, arms crossed like a full-blown jury.

"Sit." your dad said, like it was some kind of courtroom. "We need to talk."

You didn't move. "I'm already sitting."

"Don't get smart."

"You walked into my room without knocking," you shot back.

"that's not the issue," your mum snapped. "The issue is him."

"Of course it is," you muttered.

"Y/N," your dad said, tone low and warning. "You know how we feel about Lando."

"Yes. You have made that pretty fucking clear for years," you replied, voice raising. "Even when we were just friends, you treated him like some criminal."

"He's not just your friend now, is he?" your mum said, voice sharp. "And he's not exactly model boyfriend material either. Street racing? Skipping classes? Getting into fights with teachers?"

Your jaw clenched. "He's not like that anymore."

"He was like that," your dad cut in. "And that matters. People don't just change overnight because they like a pretty girl next door."

"He's not trying to impress you," you said. "He's trying to be better - for himself. You'd know that if you ever gave him a chance instead of assuming the worst every time he walks past our driveway!"

Your mom looked stunned for a second, then narrowed her eyes. "You’ve always been a smart girl, Y/N. But this? This is reckless. You don’t see it, but he’s pulling you into his mess."

"No," you said firmly. "He’s not pulling me anywhere. I’m choosing this. Choosing him. Because I know who he is when he’s not constantly being judged."

Your dad’s fists clenched at his sides. "You’re too young to throw your future away on some kid with a chip on his shoulder and a fast car."

"And you're too old to keep acting like people can’t grow!" you shouted. "You didn’t see the way he looked at me when you barged in. Like I was something good in his world."

A long, uncomfortable silence hung in the room.

Your mom finally spoke, softer now. "We just don’t want you to get hurt."

"I already am," you said. "Just not by him."

[ TWO YEARS AGO ]

It was the middle of October. Cold, grey, and quiet - too quiet for your thoughts to stay contained. You'd been unravelling for weeks, smiling when people needed you to, lying through your teeth that everything was "fine."

It wasn't.

No one really noticed. Except him.

Lando had moved in next door that summer, loud and cocky and borderline obnoxious with his music and that stupid modified go-kart he insisted on racing up and down the street. You barely spoke, except for the occasional sarcastic comment when he nearly took out your mailbox.

But that night?

He saw you. Really saw you.

You’d climbed up onto the roof - your spot when things got too heavy. Your hoodie sleeves covered trembling hands. You didn’t want to jump. You just… didn’t know how to keep going either.

You didn't hear him climb up.

"Hey."

You flinched, eyes darting to the edge where his fingers gripped the shingles as he pulled himself up with practiced ease. He looked confused at first, then serious - more serious than you had ever seen him.

"You good?" he asked quietly.

You didn't answer.

He didn't push for an answer either.

Instead, he sat down next to you, leaving a gap. One that wasn't threatening. One that said, I'll wait.

The wind whipped past. You felt like you were braking apart.

Finally, you whispered, "I don't think I want to be here anymore."

Lando didn't move.

"Like, here? On the roof?"

You blinked. That was not the reaction you had exprected.

You gave him a weak laugh - more like a breath than a sound. "No. I mean... here."

He turned his head. No judgement. Just quiet understanding.

"I kinda figured," he said. "You've been fading. I noticed."

You looked at him and then, your walls cracking. "Why didn't you say anything?"

He shrugged. "Didn't know how. Didn't want to scare you off. But I wasn't gonna let you sit up here alone either."

Silence again. Then he asked, "You want to come down? Not for me. For you."

You nodded slowly."

And that was the first night he walked you inside, sat on your floor while you cried, and didn’t try to fix you. He just stayed. He came back the next day. And the next.

He brought snacks. Bad jokes. Dumb stories about his races. Eventually, he brought warmth. Something to look forward to.

You never told your parents. But Lando? He became your safe place.

[ BACK TO THE PRESENT ]

As you sat in your room, the echoes of the fight still ringing in your ears, that memory anchored you.

They could say whatever they wanted about Lando.

But they didn’t know.

They didn’t know how he pulled you off that roof without ever touching you.

They didn’t know he saved you before anyone even realized you needed saving.

⏲ 11:46 PM

Your room was dark, save for the soft blue glow from your phone screen. You stared at his contact photo - him in a hoodie, throwing a peace sign with a smirk. Stupid, charming, loyal Lando.

You hit call.

It rang once. Twice.

"Hey," he answered softly like he already knew.

"I didn't wake you did I?"

"No. I couldn't sleep."

You didn't speak right away. He waited, as always.

"We fought. Hard." you say, a tear rolling down your cheek.

A breath on the other line. "What did they say?"

"That I’m reckless. That I’m throwing away my future. That you’re just some mistake I haven’t figured out how to let go of yet."

Silence.

Then... "You okay?"

You blinked fast, voice tight. "I don’t know. I’m tired. And angry. And it just..." You took a shaky breath. "It hurts more than I thought it would."

"I’m sorry," he said. Not like it was his fault. Just like he meant it.

You rolled onto your side, holding the phone closer, like his voice could wrap around you.

"Lando?" you said quietly and you heard a little hum from him. "That night... on the roof. How did you know what to say? You didn't even flinch."

He hesitated, then said, "Because someone didn't get to me in time."

Your breath caught.

"I was fifteen," he went on, voice quiet. "Mate of mine. Karting kid. We were close... like brothers. He was under pressure all the time. Sponsors. Family. Expectations." A pause. "He cracked. One night he texted me something weird. I didn’t think much of it until the next day. And by then…"

He didn’t finish the sentence.

You pressed your fingers to your lips.

"I blamed myself for a long time," he continued. "Swore I’d never ignore those signs again. So when I saw you that night… I recognized it."

Tears slid silently down your cheek.

"I wasn’t trying to fix you," he said. "I just wanted you to stay. Just one more night. And the next. And the next."

You closed your eyes.

"I don’t know if I ever thanked you," you whispered.

"You don’t need to."

"I do." You sniffled, trying to smile. "You saved me. Not with some grand speech or hero move… You just sat down. And stayed."

"I’d do it again," he said. "A thousand times."

You listened to the silence between you, thick with the weight of everything you’d both been through.

"I wish they could see that side of you," you said.

"They don’t need to," he replied. "You do. That’s enough."

You smiled through the ache. "I love you, you know."

"I know," he whispered. "And I’ve got you. Always."

A/N: So... This was a very random one. A little mix of everything. I hope you enjoyed it!

Taglist: @dessashippr @barcelonaloverf1life @kuinasstuff @bubble012 @fangirlmusicbiashoe @linnygirl09

[xoln04f1xo]

I need more parts of Bloodlines and Chequered Flags with lando norris. Please :)

guys…it’s coming I PROMISE!! i’ve been busy making edits for tiktok and i’m just so tired after work 😔

my LN4 fic is coming out tomorrow. i’m in the middle of a little writers block but i’ll get through it. then after that i will focus on my series. especially bloodlines and chequered flags because i really enjoy writing that one.

[xoln04f1xo]

oh… 😶

[xoln04f1xo]

PAIRINGS: oscar piastri x reader

WARNINGS: Depression, self-harm (past and relapse), mental health struggles, anxiety, emotional comfort, hurt/comfort. - you are responsible for the content you read.

WC: 0.7k

DC: @strangergraphics

A/N: This is really a really heavy fic, please read the warnings above first. Please talk to someone you trust if you are struggling with anything. My DMs are also ALWAYS open so just text me whenever! 🧡

You hadn't meant for him to see. Not like that.

It was supposed to be a quiet evening. The two of you were curled up on the couch in your shared apartment after another long race weekend. You'd changed into one of his hoodies - oversized and comforting, sleeved trailing past your fingertips. But when you shifted to reach for your mug on the coffee table, the fabric slid just enough to reveal your wrist.

Oscar saw.

You knew the moment he did.

He didn't flinch. Didn't speak. Just paused, his gaze catching on the faded lines etched into your skin. Then, carefully - gently - he reached out and took your hand in his. His thumb brushed over the marks, not asking questions, not making assumptions. Just there.

You pulled your sleeve back down with shaking fingers. "I didn't mean for you to see."

"I know," he said softly. "I didn't want to make you uncomfortable. I'm sorry."

You shook your head. "You didn't"

And then you didn't say anything else. Not that night.

You tried to pretend everything was fine. That the look in his eyes hadn't cracked something inside you. Not pity - never pity. Just that unbearable tenderness, the kind you weren't used to. The kind that scared you.

For days, you floated through your routine. Work. Oscar's texts. Smiling when you needed to. Laughing at his jokes.

But at night, the silence felt heavier. The ache crept back in - sharp, familiar, dangerous.

It had been months. Nearly a full year without a relapse.

And then one night, alone in the apartment while Oscar was away for a media event in London, the weight of everything got too loud again.

You couldn't even explain why.

You didn't plan it. It just happened.

And the second it was over, you felt the same rush of shame and guilt and grief for the process you thought you'd made. You cleaned up, wiped your tears, and curled under the blanket on the couch like nothing had happened.

But Oscar noticed the second he walked through the front door.

He always noticed you.

He walked through the door, suitcase in one hand, tired but smiling. "Hey baby."

You tried to smile. It didn't reach your eyes.

Oscar's expression softened. He put the bag down, crossed the room, and cupped your cheek with one hand. "Hey," he said again, but quieter. "You okay?"

You nodded automatically. He didn't believe you.

He always gave you time to speak. He didn't pressure you.

But you couldn't hold it in anymore.

"I slipped," you whispered.

His brows furrowed, confused for a second - until his gaze dropped to your sleeve. "What do you mean baby?"

You swallowed the lump in your throat. "I relapsed. Just once. A few nights ago."

He didn't say anything right away. He didn't gasp or look horrified. He just stepped closer, pulling you into his arms, cradling the back of your head against his chest like he was holding something precious.

"I'm sorry," you whispered again, and your voice cracked. "I know I should've told you. I just... I didn't want to disappoint you."

Oscar pressed a kiss to your head. "You didn't disappoint me."

"But I messed up..."

"You didn't mess up. You're human. You've been fighting so hard for so fucking long. One moment doesn't erase all of that."

You broke then, sobbing into his shirt, and he held you like he never wanted to let go. No pressure. No shame. Just warmth and quiet strength.

That night, you lay in bed with his hand wrapped around yours, and for the first time in days, you felt like you could breathe again.

"I feel like I've failed," you admitted in the dark.

Oscar shook his head gently beside you. "You haven't. Recovery isn't a straight line. You're still here. That matters."

You turned your face toward him, your eyes rimmed red, throat sore. "What if it happens again?"

"Then we talk about it. We find help if you need it. You don't go through it alone, okay?"

You hesitated. "You're not scared of all this? Of me?"

He looked at you like you'd just asked him if the sun scared him. "No. I'm scared for you sometimes, sure. Because I love you. But that doesn't mean I can't handle it. I want to be here for you. Even on the hard days."

You buried your face in his chest again, overwhelmed. "You’re too good to me."

He laughed softly. "Not possible."

The next week, you started therapy again. You’d gone years ago, stopped when you thought you were "better." But Oscar gently offered to help you find someone this time. He never pushed. Just supported. Showed up.

When your appointment ended, he was outside waiting in the car with a coffee and your favourite snack.

"You didn't have to,” you said, eyes wide.

"I wanted to," he said, smiling at you like it was the simplest thing in the world. "Small victories deserve big love."

Healing wasn't linear. Some days were light. Others were hard. But Oscar never stopped showing up.

He held your hand when you cried for no reason. He made you laugh when your chest felt tight. He reminded you to take your meds when you forgot. And on your anniversary, he wrote you a card that simply said:

I see every part of you. The bright. The broken. The brave. And I love you more every day. – O

You cried when you read it.

He kissed your cheeks dry.

And in the stillness that followed, you knew that this wasn’t just love.

This was healing.

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[xoln04f1xo]

ooooo cunty ✨

THE OSCAR RADIO IS OUT. AND ITS INSANE .

"alpine’s still managed to find a way to fuck me over after all these years later huh"

[xoln04f1xo]

Why'd you have to go and make things so complicated?

LN4 x Reader

Angst blurb

You used to love the way Lando laughed with his head thrown back, unguarded and loud, like there was nothing in the world that could touch him.

Now, he barely smiles the same when others are around.

It's late. Your in his Monaco apartment, silence stretching between you like a chasm neither of you wants to acknowledge.

"Why are you like this?" you ask finally, breaking the silence with a quiet edge in your voice. You're not even sure what you mean by this anymore - just that everything feels different.

Lando doesn't look up from his phone. "Like what?"

You sigh, curling your knees into your chest. "Like somebody else. Around your friends, the team, even the fans... you act like I don't even exist sometimes."

He sets his phone down now, but his expression tightens. "It's not like that."

"Isn't it?" you shoot back, the pain bubbling out before you can swallow it down like you always do. "Because I liked you when it was just us. When we were driving with the windows down and you were ranting about F1 politics and Spotify algorithms like a dork. I like that version of you."

His brow furrows. "That's still me."

"No," you say, voice cracking. "It's not. Now you're watching every word, every move. Like you're scared to breath wrong. Like you're always switched on."

Lando runs a hand through his curls, clearly frustrated. "You know how it is. People are always watching. Everything I do gets picked apart."

"I get that," you say, softer now. "But what about me? I’m not the press. I’m not your fans. I’m just... me. And I need you - not this version that’s perfectly polished and filtered."

He doesn't answer right away. Just stares at the floor, jaw tight. You continue, voice trembling with a mix of anger and heartbreak.

"Why’d you have to go and make things so complicated?"

That gets his attention. His eyes meet yours, and for a moment, he looks like the Lando you used to know. The one who showed up at 2 a.m. in sweatpants with a milkshake and a stupid grin. The one who held your hand like it meant something even when no one was looking.

"I didn’t mean to," he whispers.

"But you did." You stand, grabbing your hoodie from the back of his couch. "You promised me you’d never fake it. You swore you'd be real with me."

"I know."

"I don’t want perfect. I just want you," you say, your voice barely holding together. "And if you can’t be that anymore... I don’t think I can keep doing this."

The silence that follows is deafening. He doesn't stop you when you walk out.

And maybe that's the answer you've been too afraid to face all along.

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[xoln04f1xo]

This fic!

[xoln04f1xo]

Pairings: Oscar Piastri x Reader

WARNINGS: tooth rotting fluff

WC: 1k

DC: @strangergraphics

Oscar Piastri was not used to nerves.

He could handle 300 km/h turns and intense radio messaged mid race easily. He could remain cool under the pressure of qualifying laps and media days, always calculated, always calm.

But this?

This was something entirely different.

His palms were sweaty, which was ridiculous because he had applied sunscreen at least three times that day. The little velvet box in the pocket of his shorts felt like it weighed five kilos, even though he's checked it maybe fifteen times to make sure it was still there.

And you? You were walking a few paces ahead of him on the beach, barefoot in the soft white sand, completely unaware. Laughing at something he didn't catch. Looking over your shoulder at him with that sunshine smile.

God he loved you.

He loved it when you wore his oversized hoodie and stole the last few Oreos from the cupboard. He loved it when you FaceTimed him from home just to ask which takeout he wanted for when he got home. He loved it when you showed up at races with tiny good-luck notes folded into his gloves.

And tonight, he was going to ask you to be his forever.

But holy fucking hell was he nervous.

He had rehearsed the words a thousand timed. On the plane here. In the shower. Whispered into his pillow the night before while you were curled up to him, breathing softly.

He just... didn't want to mess it up.

"Hey," you called back to him, flashing a grin. "Are you lagging because I beat you in paddle boarding or..?"

He laughed, voice a little too high. "No.. no.. just uhh, enjoying the view."

You rolled your eyes playfully, but slowed your pace to let him catch up. "You okay? You've been acting weird since dinner."

He reached for your hand instinctively, threading his fingers through yours.

"I'm okay, promise." he said. more to convince himself than you. "Just thinking."

You leaned your head on his shoulder as you walked. "About what?"

"You," he answered truthfully, heart thumping so loud he wondered if you could hear it.

As the sky melted into hues of pinks and oranges, the two of your stopped in front of a little cove, where the waves kissed the shoreline softly. The resort had given you a private path for the evening. A single bamboo torch flickered beside a blanket already laid out with fruit, two drinks, and a tiny speaker playing soft music.

You blinked. "Oscar, what is this?"

He rubbed the back of his neck. "Just... wanted a special evening."

You gave him a smile, your eyes twinkling with curiosity. "It's beautiful."

The nervous energy in his chest turned into something warm and overwhelming.

Now or never.

He took a deep breath and stepped in front of you, gently taking both your hands.

"Y/N," he began, voice shaking despite his best efforts. "I've been trying to figure out the perfect words for this moment... and I thought they'd come easy. I mean... I talk to press every weekend."

You chuckled, eyes softening.

"But I've realised," he continued, "there are no perfect words. Because what I feel for you is bigger than anything I can say."

He paused. You stared at him, heart hammering, lips parting slightly as you began to realize what was happening.

"I travel the world, I drive some of the fastest cars, and I meet thousands of people. But nothing - nothing - ever feels quite right unless you're part of it. You make everywhere feel like home."

And then... in one fluid, practiced motion, he dropped to one knee in the sand and pulled the little velvet box out of his pocket.

Your breath caught.

"Y/N," he said, eyes glistening in the fading sunlight. "Will you marry me?"

You blinked. Tears welled instantly in your eyes as your hand flew to your mouth. For a second, all you could do was nod, frantically, heart swelling so full it felt like it could burst.

"Yes," you whispered, voice cracking. Then louder. "Yes! Oscar... yes.!"

The biggest, most relieved, happiest grin bloomed across his face as he slid the delicate gold ring onto your trembling finger. He stood, and you threw your arms around him, practically launching yourself into his chest.

Oscar laughed against your neck, holding you tight, burying his face into your hair.

"You really said yes?" he mumbled, voice muffled and stunned.

"Yes," you repeated, laughing through tears, "Of course I did you idiot. I love you."

He pulled back just enough to look at you. "I love you too. More than I have ever loved anything."

Then he kissed you - slow, smiling, sweet. The kind of kiss that said we did it. The kind that felt like a new beginning.

Later that night, you were curled into each other on the blanket, watching stars appear one by one.

Oscar kept looking at your hand like he couldn't believe the ring was really there. He traced circles on your knuckles with his thumb, completely smitten.

"Were you really nervous?" you asked, turning to look at him.

"Petrified," he admitted with a sheepish grin. "I almost dropped the ring in the ocean."

You burst into laughter. "Stop it. You did not."

"I did! That box is slippery, okay?"

You leaned over and kissed his cheek. "You were perfect."

"I'm glad," he murmured. "I wanted it to be just right."

You were quiet for a moment, then whispered, "I think this is the happiest I've ever been."

Oscar tightened his arm around you. "Just wait till the wedding. And the honeymoon. And the seventy plus more years I plan on loving you."

You blinked slowly, heart melting all over again.

"I don't need anything fancy," you said. "Just you."

"I'm yours," he said simply. "Forever."

And with the moon shining softly over the ocean, and your ring glittering in the starlight, you knew - this was the beginning of everything you'd ever dreamed of.

L's thoughts: Heyy! so i was thinking about writing a wedding scene? Lmk what you think.

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[xoln04f1xo]

Pairings: Figure Skater!Reader x Land Norris

Warnings: MDNI 18+ Performance, soft dom/sub dynamics, dressing room sex, praise kink, afterglow, smau ig?, soft launch

WC: 1.3k

DC: @cursed-carmine

L's thoughts: So i'm back from my little break and i've had this idea in my notes for like FOREVER so i decided to finally do it. Hope you enjoy reading!!

You had never seen the arena this packed before, the lights hot on your ski, the ice beneath your perfect canvas.

You stood alone in the center, one gloved hand raised, heart thudding like a drum inside your ribs. This was it. The culmination of months of brutal training, mental walls shattered and rebuilt - your shot at gold.

Somewhere in the crowd, you knew he was watching.

The music filled the arena, a haunting orchestral arrangement that started soft and aching, like the whisper of a secret. Your blades cut across the ice in a single fluid stroke, arms raising like wings. Every move was precise and graceful. To finish the routine was a triple lutz into a clean toe loop, your landing smooth enough to steal breath. You spun with a kind of fury, passion radiating from every pirouette.

The final pose came with a crescendo - and you dropped into it like a dancer on stage, breathless, eyes shining.

The crowd erupted.

You blinked, chest heaving. The arena blurred. Your name on the scoreboard lit up with a gold number 1 on it. You had finally done it. You were a nationals winner.

You bowed, soaking in the roar of the crowd, but all you could think of was him. The boy in the stands who told your this was yours the night before, who made you believe it.

You slammed the changing room door behind you, laughter caught in your throat as Lando pinned you against it, his mouth claiming yours before you could even speak.

"You were fucking divine out there," he growled against your lips, hands roaming your waist, gripping the glittering fabric of your costume. "I couldn't breath watching you."

"Did I make you hard in the stands, Norris?" you teased breathlessly, gasping as his teeth found your throat.

"You made me lose my mind," he muttered, grinding against your hip. "That landing? That split? I nearly got up and dragged you off that ice."

You moaned softly, head falling as he his hands under your skirt, dragging your tights and panties down with deliberate slowness.

"You want this medal off?" you asked, fingers tangling in his curls.

"Leave it," he whispered, eyes dark with hunger. "You earned it."

He dropped his knees before you, hooking your legs over his shoulders as your back hit the door again. The cool air bit at your thighs. The his tongue found you - hot, slow, tortuous - and your legs shook instantly.

"Lando... fuck..." you cried, gripping his hair, the pressure building fast. He moaned into you, like he was starving, like you were the only thing in the world he needed to taste.

When your orgasm hit, it was loud, blinding. He stood, wiped his mouth, and kissed you again - deep and messy and full of heat.

"Still with me?" he asked, palming himself through his joggers. You nodded, dazed.

"Then bend over the counter."

You obeyed, bracing your arms against the vanity as he yanked your costume up around your waist and pushed inside you without warning, groaning low at how wet and tight you were.

"Oh my god, fuck..." you whispered, back arching. "You feel so... fuck..."

His pace was punishing, every thrust laced with pride and lust and that worshipful way he looked up at you, like you were both goddess and fire.

"This pussy wins gold every damn time," he rasped into your ear, one hand gripping your hip, the other pressed over your chest, right where your medal lay. "Mine. Always mine."

You came again with his name on your lips, and he followed with a low, shuddering moan, hips buried deep.

Silence filled the room, broken only by your uneven breaths.

Lando leaned forward, kissing the space between your shoulder blades, arms wrapping around you from behind.

"You were perfect," he murmured.

You smiled, breathless. "So were you."

He chuckled. "You're gonna need another medal if we keep celebrating like this."

"Maybe next time I win, we do it in the locker room shower?"

His eyes darkened again. "Now that's motivation."

The interview...

You stood in front of the sponsor wall, gold medal still around your neck, fielding a line of questions from reporters, lights flashing so often it felt like a strobe show.

You were calm. Glowing, even though only partially from the win.

"Congratulations on the gold," one reporter smiled. "Absolutely stunning routine. How are you feeling now that it's sinking in?"

You smiled brightly. "Exhausted. Grateful. Hungry."

Laughter rippled through the press crowd.

"And uhh, rumor has it someone special flew in to see your routine?" another voice chimed in, a little too smooth, clearly fishing. "A certain F1 driver?"

Your brows rose just slightly - but your smile stayed perfectly polite. "I have a lot of friends who support me," you said, voice calm and professional. "Some of their brands sponsor me, uhh for example Quadrant." you say pointing to the logo on your shirt.

A murmur passed through the reporters, and you spotted the PR assistant from your federation trying very hard not to laugh off-camera.

"Come on," a younger journalist passed with a grin, "Lando Norris was seen in the stands yesterday. Front row. And he wasn't exactly subtle about cheering."

You tilted your head, feigning innocence. "Oh, was he? I wasn't looking at the stands much. Had some... spinning to do."

More laughter. Someone muttered "touché."

You paused - just a second too long.

Then you smirked. "Nothing I wouldn't do again."

A beat of stunned silence. A few gasps. One woman visibly dropped her pen.

The media session finished moments later, but the rumours were already flying."

📸 [@ landonorris] Photo of your gold medal draped over a McLaren hoodie on a hotel bed.

Caption:

“Champion energy only 🥇🔥”

Let's just say... fans were losing it.

It started innocently enough. Well, soft launch innocent.

You posted a photo on Instagram: just your hand holding a disposable coffee cup with a familiar-looking sleeve… one you’d definitely stolen from Lando’s McLaren garage stash.

Caption:

“Jet lag and espresso shots don’t mix ☕️✈️” Location📍: Monte Carlo, Monaco

Lando reposted it an hour later to his story. No caption. Just a blurry zoom-in on your hand - your gold medal charm bracelet clearly visible - and a fire emoji.

Fans were connecting the dots fast.

Then came his own post: A photo of two pairs of feet on a dock. Yours, in white figure skates. His, in slides and socks.

Caption:

“Balance.”

The comments exploded:

“WAIT.”

“I recognize those skates.”

“Lando soft-launching a literal national champion 😭”

“Does she teach you how to turn without locking up?”

“No way that’s THE golden girl???”

You didn’t confirm or deny. Neither did he.

But the next week, you were flying out to Barcelona for the Grand Prix.

THE RACE 🏁

The paddock was a whirlwind of orange. You wore a black tank top, Lando’s signature number 4 subtly printed on the corner, and a papaya McLaren cap tugged low over your eyes.

You stayed back in the garage with the team during qualifying. Kept it low-key. Just a supportive “friend.”

But by race day, the energy was electric. You felt the same nerves as competition day - except this time, you were in the stands, not on the ice.

And when Lando took P1 after a flawless drive, the garage exploded.

You ran down with his engineers, squeezing past cameras and PR staff. He was already out of the car, helmet off, curls wild with sweat and champagne.

You barely heard the reporter shout, “What does this win mean to you, Lando?”

He didn’t hesitate.

“It means everything,” he grinned. “Not just because of the car, the strategy, or the team - though they were brilliant. But because someone really special is here today. She knows what winning feels like… and today, I finally get to join her.”

The camera swung toward you.

You froze.

Then you gave a small wave, your medal-charm bracelet catching the sun.

The internet exploded.

(Later that night)

📸 [@ landonorris] Photo of you in the garage, back turned, still in your cap and tank, Lando’s arm around your waist.

Caption:

“My champion.”

[@Y/N:]

“Mine now too 🏁❄️”

L's thoughts: I really hope you enjoyed this one! i am literally running out of ideas so please request! i'll write anything (just look at my guidelines please first before requesting)

Library

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[xoln04f1xo]

L's Guidelines for requesting are:

© I do not give consent for my work to be translated, copied or published on any other platform. If i wanted that, i would do it myself.

I do NOT write:

r@pe

SA

No consent

piss kink or shit kink

illegal age gaps

anything to do with feet

incest

scat play

racism / anti-semetism

sexism

homophobia

body shaming

just bigotory in general

(this will be regularly updated)

anything apart from those 14 things i will be down to write about. just specify the things you want included and i will probably write it.

Open for emoji anons!

[xoln04f1xo]

Pairings: Charles Leclerc x Reader

WARNINGS: MDNI 18+, unprotected sex, p in v, vibrator, handcuffs, sex tape recording, oral (f!receiving), praise, soft!dom Charles, bratty!reader, colour system, mention of safe word.

WC: 0.8k

Divider: @anitalenia

It starts with a dare.

You'd barely made it into your apartment after that car ride - your thighs still sticky, your voice hoarse from moaning his name. Charles had been glued to your back the whole way in, whispering filthy things in French and fumbling with your keys like a man starved.

And now, here you are. In your bedroom. Lights low. The sound of your own voice - breathy and ruined - playing back from the phone propped on a nearby dresser.

“Oh my God, Charles...”

He hits pause.

“That’s my favourite part,” he says smugly, kneeling between your spread legs. “When you lose your voice screaming for me.”

You squirm in the cuffs, metal cool and unforgiving where your wrists are fastened to the headboard. You’re already soaked - already trembling - and he hasn’t even used the toy yet.

“You’re enjoying this too much,” you mutter breathlessly.

He chuckles. “You’re the one who said, ‘let’s record it next time.’”

You try to glare. It turns into a gasp when he presses a kiss to the inside of your thigh.

“I did not say next time meant tonight.”

“You should know better than to tease me, baby.”

Charles’ eyes are dark, pupils blown wide, lips pink and glistening from his earlier work between your legs. He’s shirtless, hair a little messy, and his voice is all command.

“Color?” he murmurs, fingers brushing the inside of your knee.

You nod immediately. “Green.”

“Good girl.”

He picks up the vibrator from the nightstand, flicks it on low. The soft hum makes your breath hitch.

“Safe word?”

“Rose,” you whisper, hips lifting slightly.

“And if you want to slow down?”

“Yellow.”

He nods, satisfied. “Perfect. Now… stay in your seat, passenger.”

You whimper at the callback. His grin is devastating.

He presses the toy to your clit - lightly at first, then just enough pressure to make your hips jerk. Your hands strain against the cuffs.

“Charles...fuck...”

He just watches you unravel. One hand gripping your thigh, the other holding the toy in place with devilish precision.

“You’re already dripping,” he murmurs, voice low and reverent. “Haven’t even fucked you again yet.”

You arch up, breath stuttering as the vibrations intensify.

“Please...need you...”

“Need me?” he echoes. “Is that what this pretty body’s begging for?”

You nod frantically, legs trembling.

But instead of giving in, he turns the vibrator up a notch. You cry out, thighs clamping around his wrist - but he doesn’t stop.

“I want you to come like this first,” he says, soothingly. “And then I’ll give you my cock. Stretch you open nice and slow while you’re still shaking.”

It’s the way he says it. Like a promise. Like worship.

You’re so close, the edge sharp and sweet. Your back arches, mouth open in a silent moan as the orgasm crashes over you - hot, wet, overwhelming. Your body convulses, the cuffs clinking softly as you ride it out.

Charles watches you come undone, proud and possessive.

“That’s it. That’s my girl.”

You barely have time to recover before he’s sliding up between your legs again, guiding the head of his cock through your slick folds.

“Still want me?” he murmurs against your ear.

“Always.”

He thrusts into you in one smooth stroke. You scream - raw, overstimulated, completely at his mercy. He groans low in your ear, burying himself to the hilt.

“Fuck, baby… so tight after coming. Taking me so well.”

His rhythm starts slow - deep, grinding thrusts that make you sob his name. Then faster, rougher. The cuffs jingle with every motion, your body pinned and pliant under his.

Your moans mix with the obscene slap of skin on skin, the room full of filthy, desperate sounds.

“You look so perfect like this,” he pants. “I should keep you cuffed like this. Every night. Just waiting for me.”

You clench around him, eyes rolling back. He leans down, licking into your mouth, then trails kisses to your throat.

“That recording? I’m keeping it. For the nights I’m on the road without you.”

You whimper. “You’re insane.”

He grins, cock twitching inside you. “For you? Always.”

You come again with a choked sob, whole body tightening, and he follows with a deep growl, fucking you through his orgasm with brutal intensity.

And then… silence. Except for your breathing. The vibrator now discarded. His weight heavy on you, forehead pressed to yours, heartbeat racing in sync.

Eventually, Charles reaches up to unclip the cuffs, kissing each wrist as he frees you.

“You okay?”

You nod, utterly spent. “I feel like I’ve been wrecked and worshipped at the same time.”

“That’s the goal,” he murmurs, brushing a damp strand of hair off your cheek.

He cleans you up gently, tucks you into his chest like you're made of glass.

The phone chimes softly. He reaches for it, saves the video to a locked folder, then glances down at you, smug.

“You sure you want me driving?”

You smile into his skin. “Only if I’m in the passenger seat.”

Library

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[xoln04f1xo]

Pairings: Oscar Piastri x Reader

Warnings: explicit smut, orgasm denial, praise kink, wrist restraints, dom!Oscar, sub!reader, oral (f receiving), unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it), mild breathlessness, overstimulation, dirty talk. Minors DNI

WC: 0.9k

Divider: @renyanovyn

You've always kept things professional around Oscar, despite the long glances, the teasing smirks, and the electric tension that's followed you around the paddock all season. But when a rainy delay turns into a red flag, then turning into a private evening in his flat, all bets are off. Suddenly, he's not just chasing podiums - he's chasing you. With his voice low and his hands bold, Oscar proves he's not as quiet as people think... not when he's whispering in your ear and pulling you into his sheets. On the track, he's patient. In bed? He's not interested in waiting his turn.

The storm outside drums soft against the windows, but inside, it’s silent - except for the hum of your heartbeat in your ears and the low sound of Oscar's voice.

“You’ve been driving me insane all season,” he murmurs, standing just inches away, his fingers ghosting over your waist. “You know that, right?”

Your breath catches as he leans in, his lips brushing just beside your ear. “Walking around like that. Smiling like you don’t know exactly what it does to me.”

He doesn’t kiss you right away. He waits - eyes locked on yours, reading every stuttered breath, every flicker of need. He wants you to ask for it. Or maybe beg.

But you’ve waited long enough.

You reach up, curling your fingers into the soft fabric of his shirt and pull him in - the kiss starts hungry, all teeth and heat, and he groans low in his throat as if he's been holding back for months. Maybe he has.

He presses you gently against the wall, not rough, but intentional - like he’s finally allowed to touch what he’s been craving. His hands slide beneath your top, warm against your skin, and when your hips roll into his, he hisses through his teeth.

“Tell me what you want,” he breathes, kissing along your jaw, down your neck. “I’ll give you everything.”

Your reply is barely a whisper - but he hears it, and that’s all he needs.

In the bedroom, he doesn’t hold back. Not like he does in interviews, not like the calm, focused driver the cameras see. Here, Oscar is all fire. Mouth on your skin, hands roaming with purpose, and when he finally presses himself against you, skin to skin, the way he groans your name is something you’ll never forget.

“You’re mine tonight,” he says, voice low and wrecked, fingers laced with yours against the sheets. “And I’m not letting you finish until I’ve overtaken every part of you.”

Your wrists are bound - not tightly, but firmly - soft silk tied to the headboard, a contrast to the heat simmering in your veins. Oscar stands at the edge of the bed, shirt off, sweat-slick from where he’d pressed his body to yours, eyes dark with intent as he takes you in.

“Look at you,” he murmurs, voice low and reverent. “So fucking perfect like this. Spread out for me. Needy. Mine.”

You tug at the restraints instinctively, hips lifting in search of friction, but he only chuckles - a dark, low sound that sends a fresh wave of heat between your thighs.

“Not yet,” he says, crawling over you, slow and controlled. “You don’t get to come until I say so.”

His mouth finds your neck, biting just enough to make you gasp, and then he trails down - kisses, tongue, teeth - over your chest, your stomach, until he’s right where you want him. His hands hold your thighs open, his thumbs rubbing lazy circles as his mouth works you over with maddening precision.

You moan his name, hips twitching against his tongue, and he groans in response like the taste of you drives him wild.

“That’s it, baby,” he whispers against you. “So responsive. You’re such a good girl for me.”

You feel it building - the heat, the pressure - it’s so close. Your back arches, fingers clenching around the silk, your body trembling.

But just as your climax threatens to crest, he pulls away.

“No... Oscar...” you whine, voice wrecked, frustration sharp.

He kisses your thigh, almost sweetly. “Not yet, love. I want to watch you fall apart properly.”

You’re panting, desperate, soaking wet and needy beneath him. He shifts up, kissing you breathless again, his fingers replacing where his mouth was - slow, deep, curling just right. But each time you’re close, he stops. Over and over. Until your body is shaking and your eyes are glassy.

“You’re doing so well,” he praises, brushing hair from your face, his voice gentle even as his actions are anything but. “So beautiful. Taking everything I give you. My perfect girl.”

When he finally thrusts into you, it’s with a groan of pure relief, like he’s been holding back just as much.

“Fuck, you feel like heaven.”

He sets a pace that’s deep and consuming, hips rolling with controlled power. Every thrust hits home, every word from his lips fuels the fire even more.

“Been wanting this for so long. Wanted to ruin you... praise you... make you mine.”

Your arms strain, your body writhing, and this time, when he feels you tighten around him, he leans down, lips brushing your ear.

“Now,” he growls. “Come for me. Let go.”

And when you do, it crashes through you like a wave - intense, overwhelming, electric. Your whole body clenches around him, shaking as he follows seconds later with a low, broken moan, hips stuttering as he spills into you.

He doesn’t move for a moment - just holds you, kisses your neck, whispers how good you were, how proud he is, how beautiful you looked falling apart for him.

And when he unties your wrists, he kisses each one softly.

“You okay?” he asks, brushing a thumb over your cheek.

You nod, breathless. “More than okay.”

He smirks, laying beside you and pulling you close. “Good,” he murmurs. “Because next time, I’m tying you tighter.”

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[xoln04f1xo]

Pairings: Vampire!Charles Leclerc x Witch!Reader

Warnings: vampire, witch, magic, spying

WC: 1.3k

Dividers: @thecutestgrotto

The moon over Barcelona hung heavy and low, a pale sentinel in the velvet sky. You stood on the hotel rooftop, hood up, wards already cast. The glamour around you shimmered faintly with silver runes - visible only to those who knew how to look.

He would come.

He always did on full moons.

The hunger got worse then - sharper, more volatile. The lunar tide called to all magic, but it gnawed at vampires differently. Their control slipped. The blood sang louder in their ears and for Charles, who was already fraying at the edges, it was nearly unbearable.

You lit a candle with a word, pressed a palm to the ground, and whispered your incantation into the night air:

“Nex lux, arce tenebras…”

The spell hummed, settling into the circle drawn in lunar chalk.

And then he was there.

Not with footsteps. Just… there.

His presence folded into the air like a shadow finding its source. Eyes glowing faintly red, jaw tight, movements too smooth - Charles wasn’t human tonight, not even close. The glamour had peeled away in the moonlight like old paint. He looked like what he truly was: beautiful and terrible.

“Your wards sting,” he murmured, stepping to the edge of your circle.

“They’re not for you,” you said softly. “They’re for what you might become.”

He laughed, bitter and low. “Comforting.”

“You came to me,” you reminded him. “That still means something.”

He stepped into the circle without hesitation. The air buzzed between you like a struck bell.

“I can feel it,” he whispered. “Every heartbeat around me. In the hotel. On the streets. Even now, yours.” He looked at you, eyes sharp and full of ache. “It’s louder than ever.”

You reached out, pressing two fingers to his wrist. “Because the moon is full. Your instincts are at war with the spells. You’re burning inside.”

He didn’t deny it.

“I can fix it. Not for long,” you warned. “But enough to get you through the night.”

“Do it,” he said, voice almost breaking.

You stepped closer and placed your hands against his chest, where his heart beat too fast, too strong. Magic stirred under your skin like a second pulse.

He sucked in a breath. “I missed you.”

You smiled faintly. “You saw me six hours ago.”

“Not like this.” He closed his eyes. “Here, where I can touch you without pretending.”

You hesitated only a moment before you leaned in, resting your forehead against his. “Then don’t pretend.”

The spell you wove was old - older than either of you. A ritual for balance, not suppression. To take the edge off his hunger without stripping him of himself. Your voice was steady as you spoke the words, but your heart trembled.

“By moon’s light, blood’s might, Still the fire, halt the fight…”

Charles shuddered as your magic flowed into him. He gasped softly - hands gripping your waist like a lifeline.

“…Calm the storm, hold the flame, Let the monster rest without shame.”

He fell silent. Still. His eyes closed.

When the spell faded, the air was cold and quiet again. You were shaking.

He opened his eyes slowly, the red dimmed now to a soft garnet.

“Better?” you whispered.

“Yes.” He pressed a kiss to your brow. “Because of you.”

You pulled back, touching his cheek. “But it won’t last past dawn. You’ll feel the pull again. Stronger next time.”

“I know.”

“And we’re running out of options, Charles.”

He was silent.

Then: “There’s a blood ritual. One the old ones spoke of. It bonds a vampire to a witch permanently - shares strength. Balances the hunger.”

Your heart froze. “That’s forbidden.”

“It’s not death,” he said. “But it’s close.”

“It would tie us together forever. Our lives, our magic, our fates.” You stepped back. “If I die… you die.”

“I’d rather die with you than live without you.”

You looked at him, stunned.

The moon bathed you both in silver.

And for the first time, the truth slipped out, quiet and raw:

“I love you.”

Charles smiled, sharp and soft all at once. “Then let the moon witness it.”

Far below, a figure stepped away from the edge of the opposite rooftop, cloak rustling like dry leaves. Natalie, watching. Listening. Her eyes glowing faintly violet in the dark.

“So it’s true,” she whispered. “Witch and vampire. Blood and magic.”

She crushed a rose petal between her fingers and whispered to the wind:

“Let the Coven know. The balance is broken.”

The moment hung in silver stillness.

Charles’s fingers were still tangled gently in your hair, your pulse steadying beneath his touch. The spell you cast shimmered softly beneath his skin, quieting the storm within him - for now.

But then he stiffened.

You felt it instantly. Every muscle in his body locked. His nostrils flared, and the red in his eyes flickered like a dying flame catching wind.

“Charles?” you whispered, heart already beginning to race again. “What is it?”

His head turned, slowly, toward the far edge of the rooftop across from yours.

“She’s here.”

Your blood ran cold. “Who?”

He didn’t answer right away. His gaze sharpened - too focused, too still. His predator instincts surfacing. He was listening, not with ears, but with something deeper.

“I don’t know her name. But she’s cloaked in ash and jasmine. That’s witchcraft. Not like yours,” he added quietly. “Sharper. Tainted.”

You stepped forward, casting a warding sigil in the air with two quick fingers. A faint shimmer lit up the rooftop ledge in response.

The ward flickered - just for a heartbeat - and then bent, as if brushing against someone unseen.

“Shit,” you breathed. “She’s cloaking herself. Not a glamour... something more advanced. She was watching us.”

“She’s gone now,” Charles murmured, still staring. “But not far.”

You reached for the charm around your neck - a moonstone amulet you hadn’t touched in years. It pulsed, faintly warm. “That’s not just any witch. That’s a Coven seal.”

Charles looked at you then, eyes narrowing. “What does that mean?”

“It means,” you said, voice grim, “that someone just reported us. And if it’s the Inner Circle, they won’t care that you haven’t hurt anyone. The old witches… they see vampiric love as a corruption. An infection. And they think I’ve been compromised.”

“Have you?” he asked softly, and for the first time, there was doubt in his voice - not in you, but in the fear of what you’d have to endure for loving him.

Your lips curled into a pained smile. “Maybe. You’ve infected my thoughts. My dreams. My heart.” You stepped closer again, til your foreheads touched. “But I’m not afraid of that.”

“I am.” His hands slid to your waist. “I’ll kill them if they try to take you from me.”

You gripped the front of his jacket. “You can’t, Charles. That’s exactly what they want... to prove you’re a monster.”

“And if I don’t defend you, what am I?”

“Alive,” you snapped. “And smart. We don’t fight them... not yet. We stay ahead of them. We hide deeper.”

His jaw worked silently. “I hate hiding.”

“I know,” you whispered. “But I’d rather be your secret than your obituary.”

A beat of silence stretched between you.

Then, Charles pulled you tight into his arms, burying his face in your neck. His voice was low and razor-edged.

“I swear on everything I have left… I won’t lose you. Not to them. Not to fate. Not to time.”

You clutched him just as fiercely, your fingers curling into the fabric over his spine.

But neither of you noticed the small charm left behind on the rooftop ledge across the way... a single black feather laced in silver thread, smouldering faintly with cursed intent.

The first marker.

The first warning.

The hunt had begun.

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[xoln04f1xo]

Pairings: LN4 x Reader

Warnings: blood drinking, supernatural themes, sensual tension, power discovery, Max being a seductive threat, witchcraft, blood magic, mutual obsession

WC: 0.9k

Divider: @bleedingspiral

You dreamt of fire.

Of candles melting in reverse, their wax climbing the wick. Of voices whispering in a language you didn't understand, but somehow knew. Of fingers - your fingers - drawing sigils in the condensation of a mirror.

When you woke up, the whispers were still there.

Only this time they were coming from inside you.

The realisation crept in slowly.

Something was changing. Had already changed.

Your fingertips buzzed with warmth, a kind of humming right under the skin. You traced your finger along the surface of your mirror and watched as faint sparks followed your touch. You blinked. Rubbed it away. Tried again.

They returned.

"I'm not just human," you whispered to yourself.

And when you whispered it - when you said it out loud - the room responded. A flicker of wind despite no windows open. The curtains moved. The air bent. Something else stirred.

Oscar had been right. You blood wasn't just claimed - it was touched.

But not by vampires.

By something older.

Witchblood.

You found Lando in the garage, pacing.

He looked like he felt your presence before you entered. His shoulders loosened. But when he met your eyes, something in his gaze shifted.

"You feel different," he said.

You nodded. "Because I am."

Lando moved closer, slower then usual. Like you were something delicate now. Not because you were weaker - because you were dangerous.

"What happened?" he asked.

You looked down at your hand. The up. "I lit a candle without touching it."

He blinked. "What?"

You took a breath and let your voice lower into something focused, centered.

"I think I'm a witch."

He didn't laugh.

Instead, Lando exhaled, low and reverent. "That explains why your blood sings."

"Sings?"

He reached out, almost touching your arm, then paused. "It hums to creatures like me. It's not just delicious, it's..." He closed his eyes. "Spellbound."

"So I'm a buffet and a magical conduit."

“You’re more than that,” he said quickly. “You’re…” He hesitated. “I don’t know what you are to me. But I know I can’t lose you.”

You blinked. “That’s not just protectiveness, is it?”

“No,” he admitted. “It’s thirst.”

His voice was low. Controlled. But his eyes… his eyes betrayed the hunger.

“I haven’t fed since I met you,” Lando confessed. “Not from anyone.”

You stepped forward. “Why?”

“Because every time I try, I taste you in my mind.” His hands clenched at his sides. “And it’s not enough. Nothing is. Except you.”

Later that night, you lit a candle with a whisper.

It obeyed.

Then you sat in the center of the room, surrounded by symbols you’d drawn on the floor with chalk and wine.

Oscar had sent you a grimoire. A real one. From his family line.

You weren’t just witch-touched.

You were born to this.

And you wanted to know how far it went.

The spell you chose was small. A locator.

You focused your energy. Thought of Lando. Thought of his scent, his voice, the feel of his hands trembling when they brushed your wrist.

The candle flared.

And then - a second name flooded your mind like venom.

Max.

His presence hit you like a slow burn, like a tide rising behind your eyes. Smooth. Confident. Watching.

You turned slowly.

And there he was.

Leaning against the window frame.

“You called me,” Max said, voice like dark silk. “Even if you didn’t mean to.”

You stood, heart pounding. “What do you want?”

“To taste what Lando’s too scared to claim.”

You backed up.

Max stalked forward.

“I see the power in you,” he said. “You think the prophecy is about him? No. It’s about you.” His eyes gleamed. “You could end every bloodline with a whisper. Or command them.”

“I don’t want any of that.”

He smiled. “That’s what makes you dangerous.”

Before he could step closer, Lando was there.

In a blur of fury and shadow and wind.

He slammed Max into the wall, fangs bared. “Touch her, and I’ll end you.”

Max just laughed. “So possessive. So late.”

“Get out,” Lando growled.

Max licked blood off his lip where it cracked against the bricks. “You’ll come to me eventually,” he said, gaze flicking to you. “You’ll want more than caution and chains.”

And then he was gone. Just… gone.

You were shaking.

Lando held you. Tight. Too tight.

“He can’t get in again,” he promised. “I’ve reinforced every barrier.”

You looked up at him.

“Take it,” you said.

“What?”

“My blood,” you whispered. “Take it. I trust you.”

His eyes widened. “I can’t...”

“You can.”

You stepped closer. Pulled your collar aside. Exposed your throat.

“I want you to.”

He tried to look away.

You cupped his cheek. “You need this. I need to know what it feels like.”

Slowly, reverently, Lando leaned in.

His lips brushed your skin. “This will change everything.”

“I know.”

He kissed your neck first. Gentle. Soft.

Then his fangs sank in.

And the world turned inside out.

Heat flooded your veins. Pleasure and pain, tangled together. Your knees buckled, and he caught you, held you against his chest as he drank.

You felt him inside your mind - memories, flashes, emotions. His rage. His loneliness. His aching need for something real.

You saw yourself through his eyes. Bright. Sacred. Craved.

And when he pulled away, your skin glowed faintly.

“You taste like starlight,” he whispered.

You touched his face. “And you taste like something I shouldn’t want.”

“But you do.”

“Yes,” you breathed. “I do.”

Outside, the sky bled red with the rising moon.

And deep below the paddock, something old stirred.

Max was already planning his next move.

And you?

You were no longer prey.

You were becoming something else.

Something dangerous.

Something thirsty.

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